Chapter 443: The Mission Is Over
Turning slowly, Serah walked calmly into the vault, each step echoing with a measured finality. The flames that had raged around her began to die away, the fiery wings folding into nothingness, the infernal blaze of her hair softening back to its natural wavy red. But though the fire faded, the aura of power clung to her like a storm that refused to pass. Her eyes, glowing with that predatory crimson light, never once left Drosmir.
The man’s breath quickened. The realization struck him harder than any blade—the four best guards he had trusted with his life had all been cut down by one woman, almost effortlessly. His trembling grew worse, his widened eyes darting behind the mask as he jolted in panic. When Serah’s unflinching gaze locked on him, he recoiled with a startled yelp and stumbled backward, collapsing onto his rear behind the fortress of coin bags.
Desperation clawed at him. He scrambled, crawling through the maze of stacked coin sacks, his hands slipping on scattered gold pieces. He tripped, fell, and rose again, his fear driving him like a whip. His breaths came ragged, words spilling from his lips in a frantic murmur.
"I must escape. I can’t be caught here... no, not after everything I’ve built, everything I’ve sacrificed. None of it can end here. Not like this. Not by her."
He clawed his way through the piles, rushing toward the rear wall of the vault where only he knew the hidden way out. A secret passage carved for his use alone. His hands slammed against the smooth stone, fingers groping for the trigger mechanism. But before he could press it, a sudden whistle sliced the air—
THUNK!
A longsword slammed into the wall, burying itself mere inches from his face. The force of it quaked the stone. Drosmir froze in terror, his entire body locked in place, a cold sweat drenching his skin. His hands shook so violently he could hardly steady them.
"Where do you think you’re going?"
Serah’s voice rang behind him, cold, sharp, and merciless.
Drosmir’s breath hitched. His body shivered as if the temperature in the vault had plunged below freezing. Slowly, unwillingly, he felt the shadow fall over him. The weight of her presence pressed down like a blade on his neck. Every instinct screamed not to turn, but he forced his trembling body to obey, inch by inch.
And then he saw her.
Her red eyes glared into his soul, piercing, unyielding, stripping away every mask and lie he had ever woven. The sheer intensity of her stare made his heart pound like a drum in his ears. His throat tightened. A strangled gasp escaped him, and he whipped his head away, recoiling violently until his back slammed into the wall. He pressed himself there like a cornered rat, chest heaving.
"Y-Your Highness! Please!" he stammered, desperation spilling from him like sweat. "Please have mercy! This—this is not what it looks like, Your Highness. I beg of you. It’s... it’s nothing more than business. Just business! Please, don’t misunderstand... pl—"
Serah’s eyes narrowed, her voice slicing through his words like a blade.
"Not what it looks like?" she repeated, her tone dripping venom. "Just business? Are you trying to mock me, Drosmir? To make me believe such filth? Tell me—what kind of business involves chaining people, stripping them of freedom, selling their lives like cattle? What do you call it when men and women are bound in soul-forged chains, ripped from their will? Is that business to you?"
Her words rang like fire in the vault, searing hotter than her flames. Drosmir’s lips trembled, but no sound came at first. Finally, his voice cracked, trembling, pitiful.
"Princess... I—I understand. I admit, perhaps, it looks unforgivable, but... please... please, this is not something I must—"
CRACK!
Her boot slammed across his face with brutal force. The kick whipped his head sideways, tearing the mask from his face and sending it clattering against the wall. Blood spattered the stone as his skull rebounded with a sickening thud. He gasped, choking, a cry torn from his throat as crimson streaked his cheek.
Serah’s expression was unflinching, her disdain burning hotter than her fire.
"Your words disgust me more than the filth I saw on your auction block," she said, her voice cold and heavy with loathing. "Men like you, mindless and corrupt, are the reason innocent dark mages are branded as enemies of humanity. It is parasites like you who poison the world."
She leaned closer, her crimson eyes narrowing into daggers, her voice low and merciless.
"Tsk... I would cut you down here and now. But you’re worth more alive than dead. You’ll talk when I demand it, and for that reason alone... you breathe."
Her blade gleamed as she wrenched it free from the wall beside his head, the steel catching the dim vault light.
***
After knocking Drosmir unconscious, Serah dragged his limp body with her, step by step, back toward the auction hall where Jorin and the others had been battling Drosmir’s forces and the armed buyers. The stench of blood and the crackle of fire greeted her before she even reached the chamber. Upon stepping inside, she found herself standing amid carnage. Bodies lay strewn across the hall, twisted in unnatural positions, their faces locked in expressions of terror or fury. Blood pooled beneath them, spreading like a dark tide over the stone floor. Some corpses bore clean slashes across their throats, their lives ended with swift precision. Others showed deep stab wounds driven through armor into flesh. A few lay still with arrows buried in vital points—eyes, hearts, necks—marking the skill of the bow at work. The grand auction hall that once echoed with greedy chatter now reeked of deathly silence.
Despite being heavily outnumbered, Jorin, Kael, Elira, Myla, and the knights had prevailed against thirty of Drosmir’s men and the additional buyers who had chosen to resist. The cost, however, was not without weight—three knights had fallen. Yet, the survivors had achieved victory, standing weary but alive among their enemies’ remains. And, just as Serah had ordered before departing, they had spared those buyers who did not take up arms, leaving them bound and alive on the cold floor.
Without wasting a breath, Serah forced the Drosmir to reveal the location of the slaves. Under the threat of his broken pride and her simmering flames, Drosmir gave them what they needed. Following his words through twisting corridors and foul-smelling passages, Serah and her allies discovered the prison chambers. The sight was both heart-wrenching and enraging: men, women, and children shackled in rusted chains, their bodies scarred, their faces hollow with fear. One by one, their restraints were broken. Soon, the air was filled with cries of relief, gratitude, and disbelief as the freed slaves stepped forward into the light.
Guiding them out of their dark prison, the group made their way toward the fortress entrance. There, they encountered Commander Kroiph and his men, bearing the marks of their own battle. They too had triumphed, though at the price of their own fallen comrades. The weary groups merged, the weight of shared struggle binding them together as they pressed on toward the surface.
At Serah’s command, Kroiph sent word to the royal palace of their success. The message traveled swiftly, and before long reinforcements arrived—extra knights clad in polished armor, healers bearing satchels of herbs and glowing vials, and archivists with grim expressions prepared to record and collect every trace of what transpired. The healers moved quickly, tending to the wounded with steady hands, soothing the scars of battle and especially giving care to the slaves whose suffering had lasted far longer than the night’s fight. The knights fanned out, rounding up the surviving enemies, binding them in chains, and forcing them into the iron-barred prison carriages they had brought. The archivists, methodical and relentless, walked among the dead, cataloging their remains and searching every chamber of the underground fortress for hidden documents, treasures, and evidence.
Serah handed Drosmir to the knights. But she wasn’t finished with him. She ordered them to place him alone in a carriage, chained and silenced. As a final twist of justice, she fastened a slave collar around his neck, stripping his will from his. The once-proud lord of the black market was reduced to the very thing he profited from—a prisoner, powerless and bound.
After ensuring Drosmir’s humiliation was secured, she walked the battlefield, checking on her comrades and Kroiph’s men. At last, her steps brought her to where her team was gathered. Jorin sat hunched on a wooden board, his torso and shoulder swathed in white bandages that were already spotted with red. Myla sat beside him, her arm around his shoulders, her presence both protective and affectionate. Kael sat apart on a boulder, his posture casual but his eyes sharp as ever. Elira, quiet, had found another stone to rest upon.
Serah’s lips curved faintly. "Well, you all look pretty beat," she said, her voice carrying warmth even in her weariness.
At her words, the group turned toward her. Jorin gave a weak chuckle, smirking despite his pain. "Oh, yeah. If you ask me, I’m beat more than anyone here."
Myla squeezed his shoulder gently, smiling faintly. "I’d like to disagree with you, but... you’ve earned the right to say that, bae."
Kael rolled his eyes, turning his head with exaggerated annoyance. "Tch. I’m not doing too bad, I guess."
"Me neither," Elira added softly, giving a small nod of agreement from where she sat.
"Well, that’s good to hear." Serah’s gaze moved over them, her voice steady yet sincere. "I want to thank each of you for standing with me throughout this mission. Truly, I doubt we would have succeeded without every single one of you. Each of you had a role to play, and you carried it out with perfection. Because of that, Vaelen Drosmir is finally brought to justice."
A silence followed her words, filled only by the distant murmurs of knights. Then Jorin scoffed, shaking his head. "We appreciate the credit, Princess, but in truth... all this was possible because of you."
"He’s right," Kael said firmly. "If you hadn’t suggested Drosmir’s ties to the docks in Heyh, we never would’ve caught Ubbe and those two thieves. Without that, we’d never have stumbled into Fina, right on the doorstep of Drosmir’s hideout."
"Yeah, Princess," Myla chimed in, her eyes gleaming. "This was all thanks to you. And now, maybe, we can actually enjoy a break from our duties."
"At least I’ll finally get some undisturbed sleep," Elira added dryly, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
Serah’s chest warmed at their words. She gave a faint smile, her voice softer now. "I appreciate you all." She turned, beginning to walk away. "Get some rest. We’ll return to Ilis once the archivists are finished."
She walked a few paces away before she slowed, their voices fading behind her. A smirk touched her lips as she remembered their praise, though her thoughts pulled her elsewhere. She whispered to herself, low enough that none could hear: "If only they knew the truth—that we reached this point thanks to a dark mage’s advice." Her tone carried a hint of amusement and irony. Tilting her head, she looked up at the moon hanging in the midnight sky. Its pale light bathed her face as she murmured, "Thank you, Marcus. May our paths cross again soon."