Inside a tavern not far away...
The leader of the slave-hunting squad, Sloane, squinted his small, piggy eyes that gleamed with shrewdness as he turned to his first mate and asked,
"Where's that little bastard Jayray?"
The first mate immediately turned and shouted at the rowdy, drunken crowd,
"Jayray! Where the hell are you, you little bastard?!"
...
The group looked at each other, confused.
Then a figure stumbled forward—a kid with a head disproportionately large for his body, dazed and vacant-eyed.
"Jayray left with a little girl."
A little girl? In this dump?
Sloane's expression darkened. Something felt off. He remembered recent rumors and turned sharply to the big-headed kid.
"Which way did they go?"
...
Elsewhere, Jayray was crouched beside a woman lying in a corner.
Her belly was large—she had to be six or seven months pregnant.
She was barely sheltered by a makeshift structure of cardboard and scrap metal, her swollen body exposed to the elements.
Her skin was translucent and clean—clearly untouched by labor or hardship. Torn silk embroidery still clung to her, whispering of former nobility.
She exuded a maddening, maternal beauty.
Jayray licked the corner of his mouth, his eyes growing clearer with excitement.
Jackpot.
He'd found the perfect score—an abandoned noblewoman, fallen from grace, utterly powerless to resist.
"Sir... Could you spare us some money?" the woman asked, caressing her belly, her voice laced with a seductive undertone.
Who could resist that?
Jayray's sick mind clouded over in an instant.
Maybe... a quick taste before the sale wouldn't hurt.
But behind him, the green-haired girl silently drew two wooden spikes from beneath her skirt.
Calling them daggers would be generous—they were more like sharpened sticks. But the dried, dark blood crusted on the tips told a different story. They were sharp enough for killing.
"Thud!"
The two spikes slammed into Jayray's lower back, snapping his twisted fantasy in half.
"Argh! You little shit—!"
Jayray roared, flailing an arm backward to grab the attacker.
But the girl's face twisted into a feral grin. Using her small size, she darted forward, weaving under his swipe.
She slipped between his legs.
Then—One spike plunged deep into the soft flesh of his rear.The other rammed straight into his prostate.
The agonizing, gut-wrenching pain shot through Jayray like lightning, searing up every nerve and detonating in his brain.
"AAARRRGHH!"
He screamed, clutching his groin, legs buckling beneath him.
And in the next breath—
Two more spikes drove into his neck.
The little girl calmly wiped the soiled wood clean on his clothes before clambering up onto his limp body. She began searching him expertly, robbing him of anything of value.
The woman finally lowered the hand covering her mouth. She looked at the girl with a pained tenderness.
"Monet... Thank you. Mama couldn't do anything to help."
"It's okay, Mama. I'll heal your legs. I promise."
A glance downward told the full story—her legs weren't curled up seductively, they were bent unnaturally, like jelly. Clearly shattered—someone had broken them on purpose.
...
"Boss! Over here! I saw Jayray heading this way when I was taking a leak!"
Low voices carried from the mouth of the alley.
The woman and Monet froze.
Before they could react—
The big-headed boy barreled into the alley. His eyes widened at the sight of them, practically sparkling gold.
Then he spotted Jayray's corpse.
Beaming, he turned around and shouted back, "Boss! Found him! Jayray's dead! Can I get his share of the money?"
"Of course! You earned it!"
Sloane squeezed into the alley with a swarm of men behind him, filling the narrow space wall to wall.
His eyes gleamed as he took in the blood spattered on Monet's clothes.
"The green-haired devil who preys on loners... That nickname's gonna fetch a high price."
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