With a jolt, Hans forced his heavy eyelids open again.
A pounding ache filled his head, and his entire body throbbed with pain.
Despite these conditions, the keen senses of a seasoned warrior strained to grasp the situation.
The cloth still draped over the iron cage blocked light and sound, an invention of slave traders to keep their captives calm.
It was still doing its job effectively.
Where was he?
What was happening?
He had no answers.
The only clue was the swaying motion beneath him.
‘We’re moving… It’s not a carriage, judging by the way it shakes. A wagon, perhaps.’
This knowledge, honed from countless infiltrations into slave markets, was of little use in his current predicament.
The key to solving his problem — his sword — was not in his hands.
Lost in thought, he felt the cover of the cage suddenly rip away.
“Gah!”
Blinded by the sudden flood of light, Hans groaned involuntarily.
How long had he been unconscious since collapsing on the auction stage? Judging by the sunlight, it was morning now.
He wasn’t in a dark, hidden underground space anymore but in an open garden with a grand aristocratic mansion looming in the background.
“Here’s your product,”
said the men who had been pulling the wagon.
They hoisted Hans’ cage with ease.
Even though their wolf ears twitched from under their masks, betraying their beastman heritage, their strength was far beyond human limits.
They hefted the iron cage — large enough to hold a man — and dropped it with a thud on the garden ground.
“You know it’s a violent one, right? Maybe you should call some servants…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The voice responding belonged to a woman, gentle yet firm.
Her face was hidden behind a plain mask, not the elaborate clown’s mask worn by the trader.
The clown handed something to the masked woman.
“Well, we’ll be going then. Remember, the Beles Trading Company isn’t liable for injuries caused by the merchandise.”
“Ownership comes with responsibility, doesn’t it?”
“Exactly. Have a good day.”
Bowing slightly, the clown and his men left, pulling the empty wagon away.
When the trader was gone, Hans’ new owner stepped forward.
Though her identity remained hidden behind her mask, Hans knew there was no point in wondering who she was.
What mattered now was freedom.
“You’ve had a hard time, haven’t you?”
Her soothing voice barely registered.
His dulled senses were useless, and his thoughts creaked like rusted gears.
She crouched down and unlocked the cage with the matching key.
With a soft click, the iron bars — which he had clawed at until his nails bled — swung open as if it had all been effortless.
Hans sprang forward like a loosed arrow.
Rage consumed his vision.
He saw nothing except a glimpse of pale skin beneath her collar.
“Die!”
he roared.
Though human and lacking the strength to crush stone with his bare hands, he threw every ounce of his energy into strangling her.
His fingers clenched her neck, his last weapon.
The two of them tumbled across the garden.
Flowers flattened beneath their struggle.
Hans clung to her as if it were his final act.
Better to die than live as a slave.
He knew too well the horrors that awaited.
But he would not die alone.
With a feral scream, he poured all his strength into his grip.
His voice failed, dissolving into a bloody gurgle.
Then he noticed it — she wasn’t resisting.
The realization struck as his grip faltered.
Her mask had shifted, revealing amber eyes that gazed back at him, calm and familiar.
“So impatient as always,”
she said, her voice composed despite the handprints on her neck.
Hans knew that voice. He knew her.
The rabbit ears twitching above her head confirmed it.
“Gwyn… It’s really you.”
He had never imagined meeting her like this — as master and slave.
Memories of their shared fight for freedom flooded back, sharp and bitter.
When their battle had ended, not all comrades had followed the same path.
Beastmen, in particular, had claimed their place as new nobility.
Their strength and bloodlines made them prized rulers.
If Hans had been one of them, he might have been pardoned and risen to nobility himself.
But he was human. His comrades had climbed into prosperity, leaving him behind.
“You’ve changed,”
he murmured, disbelieving.
The scruffy rabbit girl he remembered now stood before him in finery, with a household of servants at her command.
She belonged to a world he could not touch.
“You haven’t,”
she said, pity coloring her words.
Hans remained a fugitive, covered in grime and scars, still running from the past.
“How did this happen to you? You, of all people?”
His mouth opened to answer but closed again.
A chill settled over him as he spoke, low and accusing.
“You were at the auction.”
They had once fought together to abolish slavery.
What did it mean that she now stood among its buyers?
“Answer me.”
Gwyn sighed, her hand brushing lightly over his cheek.
He flinched but didn’t move away.
“You know slavery hasn’t disappeared, no matter what the law says.”
“Yes, but we can still fight—”
“And throw away everything we’ve earned?”
She gestured at the estate around them — the wealth, the prestige — all symbols of their bitterly won peace.
“I’m a countess now.”
The words hit like a blow.
“And the others? They’ve found places too. You want them to give it all up? To bleed again?”
Hans bit his lip until it bled.
“Not everyone’s a hero, Hans. Not everyone can be like you.”
Hero.
It wasn’t a word he had ever claimed for himself.
He was a fool, a blunt instrument.
He leapt again, now knowing exactly who his enemy was.
Gwyn’s words echoed as he lunged.
But his hands didn’t waver.