Slave traders! (1)

Delia ran off with the girls after trapping the boys in an illusion.

As they passed by an alley, something caught the corner of Delia's eye—a gleam of long red hair. From the length and texture, it appeared to belong to a female.

However, Delia dismissed the thought as she was being pulled along by the others.

Just as they were about to move past, a desperate plea for help rang out. The cry was high-pitched, making it easy for Delia's heightened senses to pick up on it. The tone and pitch led her to believe the voice belonged to a girl.

Without warning, Delia abruptly stopped, causing the girls to halt as well.

Confused, the girls turned to Delia, wondering why she had suddenly frozen mid-run. Delia stood still, her piercing sky blue eyes were angrily fixed onto the ground.

A sudden chill ran down the girls spines as they sensed the fury radiating from Delia.

They initially thought she was angry at the boys, but as they observed her expression, they realized that wasn't the case. It was as if she hadn't even registered the boys' presence.

Instead, her anger seemed to be directed at something else—something that repulsed her to her very core.

Delia turned to her left and walked toward the alley. The girls exchanged glances before quickly following, eager to uncover what had caused such an abrupt shift in Delia's emotions.

Then they saw it.

A girl lay on the ground, blood gushing from a wound on her waist, the crimson liquid pooling beneath her.

For a brief moment, some of the girls feared she might already be dead from blood loss.

Delia rushed forward, falling to her knees beside the injured girl.

Without wasting a second, Delia activated her healing skill. It was a basic spell she had learned while in the cathedral.

Delia had acquired the skill through an ancient book—one of the few ways to learn healing magic.

The only other way was through direct instruction from a skilled healer. Fortunately, during her time at the cathedral, she had met many practitioners who specialized in healing magic.

Under their guidance, Delia had mastered the fundamental principles with ease.

Delia focused all her energy on saving the wounded girl before her.

As the girls covered their mouths in utter disgust and horror, one question echoed in their minds: What happened to this girl?

One of them couldn't hold back and voiced the question aloud, without even thinking: "Poor thing… What happened to her? Why is she bleeding so much?"

But no one had an answer.

Then, they noticed something unsettling—Delia's shoulders began to tremble. At first, it seemed as if she were crying. But she wasn't.

She was burning with rage.

It was an uncontained, bone-chilling fury that made the air around them drop in temperature.

An eerie frost crept along the ground, ice forming in delicate patterns. And yet, despite the sheer force of her anger, she hadn't touched the wounded girl.

When they stepped closer, they noticed something strange—the girl's wounds were already healed.

Then, Delia finally spoke.

Her voice was like ice, emotionless yet seething beneath the surface.

"Slave traders."

The girls gasped, horrified.

Delia tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. Her expression remained unreadable as she explained,

"When we passed by earlier, I heard something. I caught a glimpse of red hair, and then I heard someone calling for help. My heightened hearing allowed me to pick up more… The girl was struggling, fighting against someone who was trying to force her to go somewhere she didn't want to."

She exhaled a slow, controlled breath, releasing the air she had been holding in.

When she inhaled again, it was as if she were drawing in ice itself—cold mist swirling into her mouth. As she let it out once more, her tone was sharper than a blade.

"Girls, do me a favor."

They all turned to her, awaiting her next words.

Delia's voice was cold, commanding.

"Inform our guild. There are slave traders in our city. And when you go, ask for backup. I'm taking this girl with me—she's going to tell me where they are."

Eina's face filled with worry.

"You can't," she said urgently. "Even if there are slave traders, they'll be dangerous. They know what they're doing is illegal, which means they'll have strong people protecting their… goods."

Delia didn't even hesitate. She turned to Eina, her piercing gaze sending a shiver down the girl's spine. But it wasn't fear that made Eina tremble—it was something else. Something almost… intoxicating.

Her cheeks flushed pink before she even realized it.

Then, Delia spoke again, her voice low and venomous: "I promise you one thing, Eina…"

She paused for just a second, then finished,

"I will make every single one of them wish they didn't have a private part."

The weight of her words hit like a shockwave.

The girls felt their knees weaken, as if the sheer intensity of Delia's presence was enough to make them collapse.

Then, without another word, Delia stood up, lifting the unconscious girl into her arms in a graceful princess carry. She didn't look back as she strode deeper into the alley.

The girls opened their mouths to warn her that the path led to a dead end—

But before they could speak, Delia's body suddenly shattered, breaking apart like fragile ice.

And then she was gone.

All that remained were delicate snowflakes, slowly drifting down onto the cold alley ground.

Right now, Delia needed to be alone—at least until the red-haired girl woke up.

She wasn't sure why this overwhelming sense of betrayal weighed so heavily on her. Her memories, fragmented and scattered, were trying to reconnect themselves. She paused, forcing herself to reflect.

Betrayal… ? My memories…?

Suddenly, a fleeting image flashed in her mind—a man with blue hair. She couldn't see his face or his clothes, only the striking shade of his hair. Then, another vision followed: her own body being handed over to someone.

It was strange.

But when she looked closer, she realized something even more unsettling—the version of herself in the vision was younger.

If she had to guess, she was no older than nine years old.

She frowned, trying to make sense of it. What did it mean? Why was she remembering this now?

Before she could find an answer, the vision vanished. A splitting pain shot through her head, so sudden and intense that her body trembled from the force of it.

Delia instinctively reached for something to hold—her hand, anything—but then remembered she was still carrying the unconscious girl.

Instead, she rested her head lightly against the girl's stomach, hoping to soothe the pain.

The headache was unbearable, so sharp that she clenched her teeth, the pressure creating an eerie, metallic sound—like iron scraping against iron.

For what felt like an eternity, she endured it.

Then, finally, the pain began to subside. Slowly.

Delia exhaled deeply, steadying herself. The worst of it had passed, but even as her body relaxed, one thing remained unchanged—her eyes.

Her usual clear sky-blue eyes did not return. They remained the same piercing red, glowing with untamed emotion.

That's when she noticed something strange.

A stream flowed gently nearby, its clear waters glistening under the light. But this wasn't a place she recognized.

She wasn't in the town. Not in the city.

Somehow, she had ended up… somewhere else.

She didn't care. Not right now.

Silently, she walked to the stream, laid the girl down with care, then leaned back against a nearby tree.

Closing her eyes, she fought against the remnants of those fragmented visions, the pieces of a past she wasn't sure she wanted to remember.

But she couldn't remember.

Delia struggled to fight back. Her memories clawed their way to the surface, threatening to spill out.

Somewhere deep inside, she knew that if she let them come flooding back, the pain would only consume her. And she did not want to feel that pain again.

Again?

Just the thought of the pain she'd experience sent a chill down her spine.

She forced herself to refocus. She couldn't let herself get lost in the past—not now.

Time passed.

Thirty minutes had gone without Delia noticing the red-haired girl's form started to finally begin to stir.

Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing striking red eyes—the same shade as her hair.

Slowly, she became more aware of her surroundings.

As she shifted, she glanced down at herself, noticing the simple, white, tattered clothing draped over her frame—a basic slave outfit.

The girl looked young, about the same age as Delia, with delicate features and a well-proportioned figure. But there was confusion in her expression.

She hesitated, then began inspecting herself, checking for any signs of harm—any bruises, wounds, or indications that she had been assaulted.

Her heart pounded as she looked around, expecting to see metal bars enclosing her, the way she had thought slave traders handled their captives. But there was no cage.

Instead, she found herself in an unfamiliar place. A quiet, secluded area with a shimmering lake and a lone tree standing not far from the water's edge.

And then, she saw her.

A woman—an elf—lying her back against the said tree.

Her hair was raven-black, and even from a distance, it was clear she was in pain. She clutched her head, her face twisted in agony, as if she were battling something deep within her mind.

The girl hesitated, caution creeping into her movements. But she knew that if she wanted answers, she had to ask questions.

Then, something clicked in her mind.

Instinctively, she pressed her left hand against her waist—the spot where she had been attacked. Her breath caught.

There was no wound.

No blood.

No scar.

She had been completely healed.

Her heart raced as realization sank in. She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath before finally speaking, her voice soft but determined, hoping to catch Delia's attention.

"Um, excuse me, miss," the red-haired girl spoke hesitantly.

The moment Delia heard her voice, her head snapped up.

Pain twisted her features, making it look almost like she was growling. Her piercing, cat-like red eyes locked onto the girl, sending a wave of fear through her. Instinctively, the girl took a few steps back, startled by the intensity of Delia's gaze.

Delia realized what she had done and mentally scolded herself. Damn it, Delia, why are you scaring the poor girl?

She took a deep breath. Then another. And another. Slowly, she forced herself to calm down. When she finally exhaled for what felt like the hundredth time, she lifted her head, softening her expression as much as she could.

A faint, almost desolate smile crossed her lips.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," she said, her voice quieter now. "That wasn't my intention. I'm just… dealing with a splitting headache, and it's hard to keep my head straight."

Then she asked, "Are you okay? You shouldn't feel any pain—I healed your wound."

She gestured with a slightly trembling hand toward the girl's side. The girl followed her gaze, remembering the moment she had been stabbed.

Then, realization struck her—the elf before her was the one who had saved her.

A wave of gratitude washed over her, and she quickly bowed her head.

"Thank you for helping me," she said sincerely. "Without you, I would have bled out and died… I wouldn't have been able to see my friends again."

Delia waved a dismissive hand. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it. I'm sure you've already realized that you weren't captured by the slave traders. They ran away the moment they realized I had shown up."

The girl's eyes widened in shock. She looked at Delia with a mixture of awe and curiosity.

"Miss… are you an adventurer?" she asked.

Delia nodded. "Yeah. B-rank.

The girl's eyes widened even further. A B-rank adventurer?!

A thought suddenly formed in her mind. If

she's this strong… Maybe she can help.

Though she was still wary of Delia's intense red eyes, she noticed that they had softened—less predatory, more composed. But beneath that composure, she could still see something else.

Pain.

The girl hesitated, shifting her weight between her feet before finally gathering the courage to step forward. She nodded to herself, then slowly approached Delia.

Delia remained seated, so when the girl stood before her, she seemed to tower over her—but not in a threatening way.

Then, in a trembling voice, almost pleading, the girl spoke.

"Miss… could you please help us?"

Delia met her gaze.

"Don't worry," she said. "My guild and I were already planning on it. I was just waiting for you to wake up."

She let out a slow breath before continuing.

"But… Can you give me a few minutes? I need to hold on—to keep myself together. If I don't… I might do something I'll regret."

The girl nodded, sensing the weight behind those words.

"For now, just relax," Delia added. "Once I feel better, I'll ask you some questions. Okay?"