NOVEL WEB Chapter 78: Alley of Slaves
Morhen City — Neighboring City of Urzen.
Beneath the bustling market life of Morhen, the air was thick with the scent of spices, sweat, and the clamor of haggling merchants. Stalls were lined with colorful fabrics, exotic trinkets, and goods smuggled from far-off lands. Yet beneath all the noise and color, the city hid a darker truth — one that made it infamous in the region.
Morhen wasn't just a hub of legitimate trade. It thrived on a black market so extensive that it outshone even Urzen's vampiric undercity tourism, a hidden economy pumping coin into the hands of criminals and corrupt nobles alike. The heart of this underground empire lay in its undercity — a network of tunnels, secret halls, and hidden alleys.
The city specialized in the slave trade, an industry maintained through continuous bribes and the silent cooperation of its city guards. Even the viscount himself turned a blind eye, fattened by coin and power. This was a city far surpassing Underzen not just in wealth, but in moral decay.
"Get going!" a slaver barked, his voice cutting through the humid air. He wore a sweat-stained tunic, his forearms thick from years of hauling chains. In his hand, a set of iron links rattled menacingly with every movement.
Behind him, a line of slaves shuffled forward — their bodies gaunt, faces pale from starvation. They had been given just enough food and water to keep them breathing. No more, no less. Every step they took was heavy, their ankles rubbed raw by shackles.
"Keep up! You're still breathing, so you can still work!" the slaver growled.
From further down the alley, another voice spoke. "We haven't heard from Freud lately in that city of vampires. Think he didn't make it?"
"No way," came the reply, a lazy drawl from a man leaning on a crate. "He probably just lost his communication scroll."
This was Morhen's slave alley — hidden behind stacked crates, guarded by locals who were well-paid to look the other way. Only those raised here knew its location by heart. Tourists would never see it unless they had the coin to prove they belonged.
The alley itself was wide enough to fit two large supply carts side by side. Cages of varying sizes lined the walls, some stacked atop one another. Chains, whips, and branding irons hung from hooks, all within arm's reach for quick discipline. The stench of unwashed bodies, rust, and dried blood clung to the air like a permanent stain.
One man, sitting atop a crate, stood out among the rest. A deep, jagged scar cut across his right eye, the milky white orb inside unmoving. He puffed slowly on a cigar, the ember flaring with every breath. This was the de facto leader of the slavers here.
"I heard that place is getting some big changes," he muttered, watching his men work.
"D'you mean Urzen?" another slaver asked, hauling a crate filled with meager food rations for the captives. "No way, right? That place has been stagnant since before I was born."
"Apparently," the leader said, exhaling a plume of smoke, "some oddity's entered the city… and he's ruining business." Without warning, he reached out and pressed the glowing tip of his cigar into the shoulder of a male slave too weak to resist. The man didn't even cry out — just flinched. His eyes were already dead.
"Maybe I could hire some merce—"
BANG.
A sharp, echoing crack tore through the alley. Crates at the entrance exploded into splinters, a thick cloud of dust swallowing the view.
"Vampire!" someone screamed from the far end.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?" another voice shrieked.
SPLAT.
The leader straightened, grabbing a heavy chain and wrapping it around his forearm. He tugged it taut, testing the weight, then swung it in a slow, deliberate motion.
"The hell? Didn't we pay those guards to deal with wannabe heroes?"
"Ignite!" he roared, and the chain burst into flames. The heat shimmered in the air, yet his flesh remained untouched.
"I'll teach that bastard a lesson myself—"
CRASH.
A body slammed into the pile of crates beside him, bursting them apart. The corpse rolled limply into a heap of coiled chains, bones jutting at odd angles.
"Please! Don't kil—"
CRACK.
The sound of a neck snapping was muffled by the dust cloud still hanging in the air. The leader could barely see shapes moving beyond the haze.
"Bastard's killing my manpower!" he snarled, spinning the chain faster. The metal whistled through the air, gaining speed.
FWOOSH.
When he cracked it forward, the force split the air with a deafening sonic boom. The dust shifted — but it did nothing to calm him.
Then he saw it.
A figure stepped through the fading haze. Wings — dark and jagged — stretched from his back. His skin was blistered and peeling, scorched black by the sun, yet he still burned, smoke curling from his flesh. Only the patchy shade of the tarps above offered him the smallest reprieve.
Corven.
The sight rooted the leader in place. The stories said vampires like that were only creatures of the age of myths — but this one looked like a devil stepped out of the underworld to punish him.
"S-shit…" His voice cracked. His instincts screamed to run.
He didn't waste another second. Yanking a rolled parchment from his pocket, he tossed it into the air. "Backup! Now!" he shouted into the communication scroll before bolting down the alley.
But Corven moved faster.
THUD.
The leader hit the ground face-first, breath forced from his lungs. A crushing weight pressed between his shoulder blades — Corven's foot, pinning him in place like a predator holding down prey.
"What do you want!" the slaver spat, his ribs groaning under the pressure.
"Child. Where is she!" Corven's voice was a snarl that carried like a shockwave, his fury so tangible it made the slaver's ears ring and bleed.
The caged slaves stared wide-eyed. They had been broken by years of abuse, yet the sight of their tormentor pinned sparked something deep — a hunger for revenge.
"Kill him!" one man shouted from his cage.
"Please, demon! In exchange for our lives, kill him!" another begged, his wrists raw from chains as he worked on assembling cuffs.
The voices spread like wildfire.
"Silence!" the leader barked, but his authority meant nothing now.
"A young girl, right!?" he blurted desperately. "That's what you're after!? It's up ahead! You can take them all — every single one! Just… just spare me!"
BANG.
A gunshot cracked from behind. The bullet punched clean through where Corven's heart should have been.
"The fuck is that…?" a new voice asked, calm and measured.
A man clad in black leather stepped into view, a mask covering his face. His eyes glowed faintly, eerily similar to the mercenary's. In his hand, he held a firearm — or at least, the world's version of one.
CLANG.
The spent casing hit the ground.
"The devil or something…?"