Chapter 149: [148] Every child is a world heritage (2)
Ren took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing—making peace with the fire raging inside him. "So... you’re the owner of these slaves?"
The boar beastman puffed out his chest, clenching his clawed hand. "Yeah, that’s me," he replied, his voice wavering between pride and sarcasm. He glanced left and right, challenging the looks from the gathering market crowd. "But they’re not just for sale!"
Ren raised an eyebrow slightly, as if tuning in to the arrogance in his voice. "Then..." he continued softly but with weight, "how much for them?"
A mocking laugh rang out. "What? Are you seriously asking that?"
Ren didn’t move. His gaze remained steady, holding back the blaze. "I asked: how much for them?"
In that instant, confusion and anxiety flickered across the boar’s face. He scratched his chin, trying to stifle a scoffing laugh. "Ho-ho-ho... Can’t be done. They’re not your average goods! These ones were ordered by... the Champion, Lord Trek!" he said while glancing toward the grand structure at the heart of the city—the Colosseum. His tone was filled with pride, as if uttering the name of a god.
At the word "Champion," a vein throbbed on Ren’s temple, his blood boiling. In a flash, the distance between them vanished. Ren moved fast—his hand gripping the boar’s robe collar, yanking him close. Now they stood face to face, nearly forehead to forehead—one man’s aura pushing the breath from the other.
The atmosphere tensed. The noisy market instantly fell into silence. The air split between fury and intimidation. The boar beastman froze, silenced by the sudden pressure radiating from the cold-eyed young man.
Ren inhaled deeply, his voice barely above a whisper as it cut through the market’s unnatural stillness. "Did you just say—that man puts children into the arena?"
Seconds passed. The beastman’s breath quickened—one, two. Panic seeped into the way his claws clawed at the air. Finally, a shaky voice emerged. "They’re... they’re not ordinary children. You humans... don’t understand what their ancestors did. That’s why we do this."
Ren turned his eyes to the three small figures hunched over—kitsune children, nine-tailed foxes. Their eyes were empty, their bodies trembling inside the prison of their own minds. Ren’s voice faltered, then returned—lower, colder. "Kitsune? I don’t get it. You mean nine-tailed foxes?"
A vengeful shout rang through the market chaos. Eyes from every direction began turning, whispers spreading like desert heat. People slowed their steps, forming an unspoken circle, staring at the three kitsune children now standing hunched, their small bodies trembling, ears and tails drooped in despair. Glares filled with scorn and anger fell upon them—not for what they’d done, but for the blood in their veins.