Dawn in the enclave brought a different quality of light than surface daybreak. The magical illumination gradually brightened, mimicking sunlight filtering through the massive cavern ceiling. I stood outside my workshop, war frame fully assembled, as Yudron approached with heavy steps.

His expression was grim, eyes downcast. The proud elder who had guided me through the enclave's wonders now moved with reluctance, his shoulders hunched beneath his white robes.

"Are you certain you wish to see this?" he asked, one final attempt to dissuade me.

Yes, I replied simply. Lead on.

We descended through narrow passages I hadn't previously explored, moving deeper into the mountain. The air grew warmer, more sulfurous. The neat stonework of the main cavern gave way to rougher hewn tunnels until we emerged into a separate chamber entirely.

The Underside.

Where the main enclave was orderly and purposeful, this district writhed with chaotic energy. Black brick buildings lined haphazard streets, but these structures bore little resemblance to the functional architecture above. Gaudy tapestries in violent reds and purples hung from windows and doorways. Crude paintings advertised services with explicit imagery that required no translation.

A minotaur stumbled from a doorway, nearly colliding with us. The reek of fermented spirits clung to him as he mumbled an apology before lurching down the street. From a nearby building came the clatter of dice and shouts of triumph and despair: a gambling den in full operation despite the early hour.

"Some vices," Yudron murmured, "are universal across all peoples."

Three kobold females leaned from a second-story window, their scales adorned with shimmering powders, bodies draped in translucent fabrics that concealed nothing.

"Looking for company, handsome?" one called to Yudron. "Bring your strange friend too. We've never had one like that before."

Yudron quickened his pace, color rising in his weathered face. "Forgive them," he muttered. "They know not whom they address."

We wound through increasingly narrow streets. Eyes followed our progress; they were suspicious, calculating, or simply too intoxicated to focus properly. This was a different world from the industrious community above, yet clearly an integral part of the enclave's ecosystem.

Finally, we reached a large, nondescript building. Unlike its neighbors, it bore no garish decorations, no advertisements of pleasures within. Its plain façade and barred windows suggested more serious business.

"The slave house," Yudron announced, his voice flat. "Those captured or purchased are kept here until sold."

I studied the building, noting the reinforced door, the guards stationed discreetly at corners. How many humans are imprisoned here?

Yudron shrugged, the casual gesture at odds with the gravity of the question. "Less than a hundred, usually. The market isn't particularly large."

His tone suggested this number should somehow reassure me.

Who owns this establishment? I asked, already suspecting the answer.

"Elder Fargill the Third," Yudron confirmed. "Most of the businesses in the Underside belong to him. He's quite the entrepreneur."

I recalled the kobold elder's gleaming eyes when I'd mentioned the water system's profit potential. Now his enthusiasm took on a darker context.

I wish to see inside, I stated.

Yudron's face tightened. "That may prove difficult. Fargill is... protective of his investments."

I'm sure he'll make an exception, I said, the mechanical tendrils of my war frame shifting slightly. I'm curious to learn more about his business practices.

Yudron sighed heavily, shoulders slumping in resignation. "Very well. But remember, you are merely observing."

We approached the entrance where a burly orc guard straightened immediately upon recognizing Yudron. He bowed deeply, surprise evident in his yellowed eyes.

"Elder Yudron! What an unexpected honor!" The guard's gaze darted between us. "We usually see your wife here for... acquisitions."

A flicker of discomfort crossed Yudron's face. "My companion is a guest of the Prophet and wishes to see your operation." He gestured toward me. "The Prophet has taken special interest in his education about our ways."

The guard studied my war frame with undisguised suspicion, eyes lingering on the mechanical tendrils writhing around me. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped aside with another bow. "Of course, Elder. Please enter."

The heavy door swung open to reveal a cavernous hall that reeked of unwashed bodies, fear, and despair. The space was divided by iron bars into a grid of cages. Men occupied the cells to the left, women to the right, with smaller enclosures at the rear containing children. The lighting was dim, but sufficient to reveal the hollow-eyed stares of the captives.

My sensors registered elevated temperature in my core systems as rage threatened to override me. These were not criminals or combatants; they were families, traders, travelers. Ordinary people whose only crime was their humanity.

Remember, I told myself, you're here to form independent judgment. Not to blindly accept Vardin's moral framework.

Yet the distinction felt meaningless as I observed a small girl, no more than six, curled in the corner of a cage, her thin arms wrapped around her knees.

A short, corpulent lizardman waddled toward us, his scales a light brown that caught the torchlight as he moved. He wore no shirt, his distended belly swaying with each step. His snout was unusually squat, giving his face a perpetually pinched expression.

"Elder Yudron!" The lizardman performed an awkward bow, his belly limiting the depth of his genuflection. "What an extraordinary pleasure to welcome such an esteemed member of the Council to my humble establishment!"

"Balmond," Yudron acknowledged with a nod. "This is Vardiel, guest of the Voiceless Prophet."

Balmond's eyes widened, and he attempted an even deeper bow, nearly losing his balance in the process. "The Prophet's guest! In my house! What unprecedented honor!" His voice took on a fawning quality that made my ears itch. "How may this humble servant assist such an exalted visitor?"

I wish to see your operation, I stated flatly. To understand how it functions.

"Of course, of course!" Balmond clasped his clawed hands together in excitement. "You've arrived at a most fortuitous time! We've just received some excellent new stock from the northern border raids."

The term "stock" sent another surge of heat through my systems. I forced my tendrils to remain still when they instinctively began to unfurl.

"Perhaps you'd care to examine our merchandise more closely?" Balmond suggested, gesturing toward the cages. "We have several prime specimens suitable for various purposes. Strong males for labor, females for domestic work, and children who can be trained from youth to serve with absolute loyalty."

He spoke of them as one might describe livestock or furniture, objects to be evaluated solely on utility.

Yes, I managed. Show me everything.

Balmond beamed, revealing rows of pointed teeth. "Excellent! I always say a discerning customer wishes to see the full inventory before making selections."

I'm not here to purchase, I clarified. Only to observe.

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"Of course, of course," Balmond agreed quickly, though his enthusiasm dimmed noticeably. "A thorough understanding is essential before any transaction. Please, follow me."

As we moved deeper into the slave house, the prisoners watched us with a mixture of fear and resignation. Some turned away, while others stared defiantly. All bore the unmistakable weight of captivity in their posture, in the dullness of their eyes, in the careful way they moved to avoid drawing attention.

And with each step, the question grew louder in my mind: Was my revulsion truly my own, or merely Vardin's echo?

Balmond led us deeper into the warehouse, past rows of dejected captives. The stench of fear and desperation thickened with each step.

"And here," he announced with grotesque pride, "are our newest acquisitions. Just arrived yesterday."

We entered a separate section where the contrast was immediately apparent. These humans weren't dressed in rags but wore their original clothing; there were simple homespun tunics and trousers for most, though several wore the more elaborate garb of merchants or travelers. Their faces hadn't yet acquired the hollow-eyed resignation of the longer-term captives. Instead, they watched us with a mixture of defiance and terror.

Unlike the others, they weren't in cages but secured with heavy chains bolted to the stone floor. About twenty of them huddled together, instinctively seeking safety in numbers.

My attention was drawn to a small figure moving among them: a goblin barely three feet tall, wielding a whip with disturbing enthusiasm. He cracked it near a woman's feet, cackling when she flinched away.

I froze, recognition clicking through my systems.

Vom? I asked.

The goblin whirled around, nearly losing his balance. His green eyes widened to impossible proportions as he took in my war frame.

"S-scary metal lord!" he shrieked, immediately prostrating himself on the filthy floor. "Forgive Vom for running away! Vom meant no disrespect! Please don't hurt Vom!"

He looked markedly different from the emaciated, scarred creature I'd encountered in Gomka's camp. His frame had filled out, the worst of his wounds had healed, and he wore fitted leather armor instead of tattered rags. Though still thin, he no longer appeared on the brink of starvation.

What happened to you after I left? I asked, genuinely curious about his journey.

Vom rose to his knees, though he kept his head bowed. "Gomka and others, they catch Vom when Vom try to run. Beat Vom bad, very bad." He touched a fresh scar across his cheek. "But they take Vom with them when they come here. In enclave, monster not allowed to own other monster as slave." He puffed out his chest with a hint of pride. "Vom free now! Work for Mr. Balmond. Good job. Important job."

Balmond patted the goblin's head with patronizing affection. "Vom has been quite the asset. Though occasionally his enthusiasm exceeds his judgment." He chuckled indulgently. "The little fellow has a remarkable talent for intimidation despite his size."

Vom's ears perked up. "Metal lord here to take Vom back? Make Vom slave again?"

No, I answered. I'm just here to see the slave house.

Relief flooded the goblin's features, quickly replaced by eager excitement. "Vom show you how good Vom is at job! Watch how Vom tame dirty, smelly humans!"

Before I could stop him, Vom turned back to the chained captives, raising his whip with malicious glee. The leather cord whistled through the air, only to stop abruptly mid-strike.

One of the captives had caught the whip with his bare hand. Blood trickled between his fingers where the leather had cut into his palm, but his expression showed no pain. Only cold fury.

I focused my vision sensors on the man's face and felt a jolt of recognition pass through me.

Barkatus.

The swordsman's hair had grown longer, and a beard now covered his jaw, but there was no mistaking those cold, calculating eyes. He sneered and released the whip, flicking blood from his wounded hand.

"Try that again, little green shit, and I'll strangle you with your own intestines," he growled.

Vom shrieked and scuttled behind Balmond's bulk. "This human scary! Very scary!"

Balmond's face darkened with anger. "You will show proper respect, slave! Another outburst like that and-"

Barkatus ignored him completely, his gaze fixing on me instead. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.

"Well, well. Widow. It's been a while." He looked me up and down, taking in the war frame's gleaming components and writhing tendrils. "Nice new body. Suits the beast you truly are."

What are you doing here? I asked, genuinely surprised to find him in chains.

Barkatus laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Got careless. Was leveling up in the Hellzone, fighting those damn sand crabs. One got a lucky hit in." He gestured to a half-healed gash on his thigh. "Fell asleep while recovering. Next thing I know, these slaver filth had me collared and chained."

I activated Analyze, scanning him discreetly.

Name: Barkatus of Vokkheim

Level: 55

Species: Sapien [Human]

Gender: Male

Age: 33

My systems registered surprise. He'd gained thirty levels since our last encounter at the Academy. The progression was remarkable, even for a dedicated combatant.

Why haven't you broken out? I asked. With your level, these chains shouldn't hold you.

Barkatus tugged at the metal collar around his neck. "This little accessory. Enchanted to compel obedience. I can think about escaping all I want, but my body won't cooperate." His eyes narrowed. "Clever trick. I'll be sure to acquire the secret before I kill everyone involved."

The casual way he spoke of murder sent a chill through my systems. This was the man who had tried to kill me during our Academy match. His bloodthirst was apparently undiminished by captivity.

Balmond grinned, revealing rows of pointed teeth. "This one was quite the catch! Rarely do we manage to capture such high-level adventurers." He stroked the scales under his chin thoughtfully. "The collar enchantment works on any level, though the higher they are, the more expensive the materials required. This one will fetch an extraordinary price at auction."

What sort of enchantment could possibly hold a level 55 warrior? I asked, genuinely curious from a technical perspective.

"Compliance enchantment," Balmond explained, puffing up with pride at my interest. "Very rare, very expensive. Elder Fargill employs a human enchanter who specializes in such work."

A human enchanter? I repeated, my surprise genuine.

"Yes, a most talented individual. Been with us for years now." Balmond lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Between us, I believe Elder Fargill keeps him in rather comfortable captivity. Golden chains, if you understand my meaning."

My gaze returned to Barkatus, who watched our exchange with calculating eyes. I could almost see him filing away every scrap of information for future use.

"Don't waste your pity, Widow," he said, reading my posture with unnerving accuracy. "I'll be free soon enough. And when I am..." He let the threat hang unfinished.

Vom peeked out from behind Balmond, still clutching his whip but keeping a safe distance from Barkatus. "This human needs extra taming," he declared, though his voice lacked conviction.

Barkatus bared his teeth in what only the most generous observer might call a smile. "Come try it, little green. I only need one hand to end you."

Enough of this, I said, my mechanical voice cutting through the tension. Barkatus, control yourself. These displays accomplish nothing.

The mercenary's eyes narrowed, but his posture relaxed slightly. "Since when do you care about the feelings of slavers, Widow?"

I don't. But I do care about efficiency. I moved closer, my tendrils coiling behind me. If I were to secure your release, could you refrain from immediate violence?

A predatory grin spread across his face. "Why, I'm always well-behaved. Ask anyone who's survived meeting me."

I'm serious, I pressed, my whispery mental voice's tone flat and unyielding.

Barkatus laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Sure. For you, I'll be good." His eyes glittered with barely contained malice. "Relatively speaking."

I turned to Balmond, who watched our exchange with growing unease. This man is my- I paused, considering. This man is an acquaintance of mine. I'd like to arrange his release.

The lizardman's mouth fell open in shock. "Release? But... but he's exceptionally valuable merchandise! Do you have any idea what I paid to secure his capture? The enchantment materials alone-"

How much? I interrupted.

Balmond's expression transformed instantly, reptilian features rearranging into calculated avarice. "Well, for a friend of the Prophet's guest..." He stroked the scales under his chin, pretending to consider. "I couldn't possibly accept less than ten gold coins."

Barkatus whistled. "A king's ransom. I'm flattered."

Balmond ignored him, focusing entirely on me. "Unless, of course, you don't have gold available? I'd accept items of equivalent value." His tongue flicked out, tasting the air hopefully.

I nodded once. I can accommodate that.

Reaching into my Depository, I extracted several gleaming plates of platinum. The metal caught the torchlight, reflecting brilliant white across the dingy walls. These plates had once adorned the scales of the Platinum Dragon I'd slain in the Academy Hellzone, a formidable opponent whose remains had proven useful in multiple ways.

Balmond's eyes widened to comical proportions. He snatched the platinum with greedy hands, running his claws across the surface as if caressing a lover.

"Yes, yes, this will do nicely! More than fair!" His voice had risen an octave in excitement. "We have a deal! Just a moment while I fetch the control wand for his collar. You'll need it to-"

That won't be necessary, I interrupted. Simply remove the collar.

Balmond froze, clutching the platinum plates to his chest. "Remove it? Without transfer of control?" Horror crept into his expression. "Are you certain that's... wise?"

I'll ensure he behaves. My tendrils shifted meaningfully, one of the dragon heads snapping its jaws.

The lizardman swallowed hard, then approached Barkatus with visible reluctance. The mercenary remained perfectly still, watching Balmond's every move with predatory intensity. With trembling claws, Balmond produced a small key and unlocked the collar.

The metal band fell away, clattering to the stone floor.

Barkatus's entire demeanor changed in an instant. He lunged forward with shocking speed, his face contorting into a snarl.

Balmond shrieked, tumbling backward onto his ample backside. The platinum plates scattered across the floor as he raised his arms defensively.

But Barkatus simply stood there, laughing uproariously at the lizardman's terror.

Barkatus, I said sharply. You promised to behave.

He shrugged, unrepentant. "I am behaving. Notice how nobody's dead?" He stretched languidly, rolling his shoulders. "That's restraint, by my standards."

I emitted a sigh, the sound expressing my exasperation more effectively than words.

Barkatus turned to me with a mock bow. "So, shall I call you 'Mistress' now that you've purchased me? Or perhaps 'Your Ladyship'? I'm flexible."

Shut up, I replied flatly.

He grinned, seemingly delighted by my discomfort. "As you command."

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