Several people sat in a room.
The establishment, known as The Rusted Blade, was a haven for those who operated in the shadows—slave traders, mercenaries, and adventurers with questionable morals. It was a place where gold changed hands, and lives were bartered like commodities.
It was a centre of the slave trade because it was close to The Great Forest.
"They shouldn't be this late"
The man at the head of the table said. Geric. He has a scar from his forehead to his chin. Unlike his younger brother Varcus, who was a fierce warrior on the battlefield, Geric is a merchant first and a slave trader second. He maintains that image—a fine leather doublet, gold rings on his thick fingers, and a neatly trimmed beard that hides the perpetual frown on his face.
To his right sat Rufin, a tall man with sharp eyes, responsible for negotiating prices with the nobles and wealthy merchants of the capital.
Then there was Kel, a bald-headed, fierce man whose arms were covered in tattoos. He maintained order—whether for unruly slaves or mercenaries who got too greedy.
"Varcus should have returned by now," Geric growled, his fists clenched tightly around his mug. "It's been a week. No matter how much the monsters resisted, he had enough people to handle it."
Rufin leaned back in his chair, his fingers together. "Perhaps they encountered more resistance than anticipated. The demons may be weakened, but they are not entirely defenceless. Or... perhaps they stumbled upon something unexpected."
"It's not uncommon for them to be delayed, Gerrik. Moving a full load of slaves through rough terrain takes time, and those demons aren't exactly cooperative."
"A delay is one thing, but a whole week without news? That's bad business. Plus we're running out of fresh supplies. The nobles will start looking elsewhere if we can't deliver. You know how they get—always wanting the rarest and finest for their collections."
"Maybe they ran into trouble? The roads have been a mess lately. Bandits, rival slavers, even some damn adventurers thinking they're heroes."
Kel scoffed. "Varkas had two dozen men. Not to mention mages. If they were attacked, we'd have heard about it by now."
Gerik's jaw tightened. "Unless they're all dead."
The room fell silent.
For the first time, the possibility truly sank in. If something had wiped out Varkas' entire operation, it wasn't just a loss—it was a disaster. Slaves aren't easy to come by, and it would take time and a lot of gold to replace trained mercenaries and enforcers. Worse, it would send a message to their rivals that they were weak.
Rufin, rubbing his forehead. "I don't like it. We've been in this business a long time. We've lost people before, but never like this."
Gerik clenched his fists. His brother was a fool, but he was still blood. And more than that, he was useful. "We're not sitting on our asses while our business crumbles. We send a team out to find them. If some fool thinks they can interfere with our business, they'll regret it. But we need to know what happened. If Varkas is dead, it could ruin our reputation. Clients don't pay for promises—they pay for results."
Rufin smirked, though there was a hint of unease in his eyes. "Some kind of hero wannabe? Or is it the work of demons?"
They all knew the history. The demon race had been shattered after the war. Most were weak, scattered, barely surviving. But every now and then, rumours surfaced—stories of demon warbands, rogue survivors who fought back.
Kel shook his head. "Even if it was, they wouldn't be strong enough to wipe out an entire mercenary unit."
"Agreed. We need to send a team to investigate. If Varkas is alive, we retrieve him. If he's dead... we find out who killed him and make an example of them."
Gerik's jaw tightened. "We will send a mix of mercenaries and adventurers. They will scout the area, find out what happened, and deal with any threats. Rufin, you will arrange the recruitment. Remember — We need professionals, not fools looking for quick gold. Kel, you will lead the team. I will stay here and manage this end."
Rufin raised an eyebrow. "You are not going yourself? Varkas is your brother."
Gerik's eyes darkened. "Varcus is my blood, but business comes first. If I leave now, our competitors will see it as a sign of weakness. Besides, if anything happens to me, the whole operation will collapse. Kel is more than capable of handling it."
Kel smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't worry, Gerik. I'll be back with answers—and maybe a few new slaves to make up for the delay."
Gerik breathed slowly, trying to suppress his growing frustration. He had built this business from scratch, a profitable venture in a world where power was everything. He wasn't going to let it fall apart.
♦♦♦
By morning the next day, word had already spread among the local mercenaries and adventurers.
The promise was simple: Find the missing caravan. High pay. Extra rewards for information on what happened
It wasn't long before a dozen hired swords gathered at a rundown outpost just outside the forest's edge. The mercenary leader, a grizzled veteran named Lukas Dorne, was handpicked by Rufin himself.
Lukas eyed the group—cutthroats, warriors, a couple of rogue mages—and nodded. "We head into the forest at dawn. Move quickly, and keep your eyes open. If we find survivors, we bring them back. If we find bodies, we make sure whoever did it doesn't get to walk away."
Among the hired swords was Lena Volker, a former knight who had turned to mercenary work after being dishonourably discharged. She adjusted the strap on her gauntlet, eyeing the dark treetops with unease.
"I've heard stories about this forest," she whispered to the man beside her.
Hess, one of Gerik's men, growled. "Stories won't matter when we find the bastards who did this."