Although Kara was not yet a seasoned warrior, she remained the princess of her tribe, and her combat reflexes far surpassed those of an ordinary human. Faced with Larson, weakened by years of idle living and completely lacking in training, she had only needed three precise moves.
She gave him a quick hook to break his guard, a violent kick to the knee to unbalance him, and finally a palm strike to the chin that sent him to the ground, unconscious, in less than a minute. All she had left to do was finally beat him to death.
"It seems I underestimated you, Kara. I thought you would be terrified at the idea of taking a life."
"Tss..." Her hands were covered in blood, and she did not seem to be stopping.
"I have to get revenge for my uncle. Terrified? Slavery was far more terrifying," she retorted. But when she could no longer feel any breath, her rage softened.
"Well... You've opened my eyes."
Kaiser settled heavily into the leather armchair, waiting for the surrounding uproar to die down. Shouts of anger, the shattering of glass, and the cracking of wood echoed through the corridors; the newly freed former slaves were expressing their pent-up fury by systematically dismantling the slavers' office.
It did not bother him. He had already decided: slavery and organ trafficking were now forbidden in this hideout. He might still tolerate the exploitation of certain monstrous creatures and the sale of stolen goods, but nothing that touched humanity, in any form whatsoever.
After a good thirty minutes, a relative silence fell, broken only by nervous whispers. It was then that the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud thud.
About ten beastkins, muscles tensed and features twisted with anger, stormed into the room. Among them, one man immediately stood out.
His massive build and broad shoulders dominated the group, while his upright wolf ears and thick gray tail revealed his belonging to the Lycan tribe. His gray hair, skillfully braided, fell over a torso covered in scars. His cold gaze was enough to understand that he was the leader of this small band.
Before anyone had time to utter a word, Kaiser, without even standing up, casually crossed his legs and asked in a perfectly calm voice:
"Your name?"
The Lycan let out a low growl, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you to demand my name in this place?" he replied, openly challenging him.
Kaiser let out a sigh. "I am merely an outcast without lineage or glory," he said with a vague wave of his hand. "However, I harbor ambitions that go far beyond this wretched self of mine. If you would, sit down. We have things to discuss."
The Lycan, Gunar, hesitated for a moment, his gaze scrutinizing the mask, unable to read the impassive expression on his face. Then, with wary slowness, he sat on the edge of a chair facing him. "Ambitions? Very well. Speak. What are these grand ambitions that drive you to free slaves?"
Kaiser took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, and his voice grew steadier, capturing the attention of everyone crowding the doorway.
"Look at the world around us," he began. "It is rotten to the core. The Holy Cathedral, for example, hides behind pious tales of demon hunting to manipulate the Emperor and enslave the people. Commoners starve to death in stinking alleys while the nobility grows fat. Half-blood elves are despised and persecuted by the pure-bloods of Yggdrasil. Dark elves wallow in gratuitous cruelty, led by twisted individuals who proclaim themselves wise. As for the tribes..." He paused meaningfully, his gaze sweeping over the group of beastkins. "They slaughter each other for scraps of barren land and resources so pitiful they become pathetic."
He leaned slightly forward, his gaze darkening. "I do not seek to become a king or a god. I have no pretense of ruling the world. My goal is far simpler, and far more satisfying: I want to put a leash around the necks of all those who believe themselves untouchable and trample others."
Gunar glanced around at the gathered former slaves. All of them, even the most hostile, were now silent, hanging on Kaiser's every word. The Lycan turned back to him, stubborn skepticism in his voice.
"Those are pretty words. But why should we believe you? You are human. How are you any different from those who chained us, sold us, and branded us as slaves?"
An almost imperceptible smile brushed Kaiser's lips. "Are you so sure of your judgment? Tell me, who were you before the chains stole your identity? A warrior of your stature, a Lycan of your rank... You should never have ended up in a cage."
Gunar clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. A flash of pain and shame crossed his gaze. "My name is Gunar," he growled. "I was a B+ rank warrior in the Frost-Wolf pack of the Lycans. During the last war against the Kitsunes, I was betrayed, surrounded, and left for dead with a wound that should have been fatal. Scavengers, mercenaries in the pay of the highest bidder, found me and sold me like cattle."
Kaiser nodded slowly, as if he had guessed this story. "So," he concluded in a soft but relentless voice, "it was mainly the Kitsunes who put you in this shit, and your pack that betrayed you. Obviously those mercenaries are sons of bitches, but they were also just opportunists."
"It seems that no matter the world, there are always those who make the same mistake. They kill each other in ridiculous tribal wars while others shamelessly profit from it. The latter are obviously subhuman scum. But the biggest idiots are still those who don't know how to unite to move forward."
At those words, Gunar growled, a deep, bestial sound that came from the depths of his throat. He turned a gaze filled with hatred toward Kara, who stood motionless near the door, her mere presence a reminder of the hereditary enemy. His eyes burned with a thirst for immediate revenge.
Aura surged rapidly through the room. And Kaiser, weak as shit, was struggling to breathe.
"Fuck! Is this bastard trying to kill me or what?" he thought, clearing his throat.
"Easy, Gunar," Kaiser cut in, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. "The young Kitsune you're glaring at with such hatred was also abandoned by her own. She is an outcast, just like you."
Then he raised his voice, addressing the entire group, capturing every gaze.
"Each of you carries a different wound, a unique grudge. One hates his own kind, another the elves, a third humans or rival beastkins. But one thing unites you, stronger than all your individual hatreds: the refusal to ever again be prey. If you want to survive in this world that rejects you, and even more, if you want to change it, you need my vision and my resources. And to achieve my goals, I need your strength and your rage. It is a perfect symbiosis; we can consider it a pact."