Wrath

Reinhardt reacted instantly. Sturm would never joke about something like this. The two sixth-step noble guards were caught in surprise when their escortee suddenly punched one of them in the face and kicked the other between the legs. With both immediate threats out of the way, the guard captain grabbed the stunned merchant and turned around to bolt towards the gate.

The gate was guarded, but there was no other way out. Behind and to the right of the mansion were cliffs, and to the left the mountains. If they managed to get past the guards at the gates, they could lose their pursuers in the slave camp's sea of tents.

Before Sturm could take out the guard next to him, the three already found themselves surrounded by 22 additional guards. Their tower shields formed a wall around them, and their short swords floated above the wall like a scorpion's stinger, ready to stab any approaching threat.

While one guard was still on his knees, holding his beneath in excruciating pain, the other guard had already recovered from being hit in the face. Not only did a mere commoner dare to hit him, he even did so in a surprise attack in front of more than twenty other nobles. A shortsword quickly found its way into his hands, ready to cut this tall tree of a commoner down.

"Halt! We need them alive," the captain ordered from behind the shield wall.

"I don't care. That fu**er punched me in the face! You can't order me around, and neither can the Overseer. In two months, I'm off this island anyway, so now that guy will pay…"

Before the guard could finish the sentence, a sword pierced through his head. Even the surrounding guards were shocked, with the now crouching guard visibly paling. It could have been him if not for the kick in his jewels. Nobles, even sixth-step, were rarely killed, as each of their lives was considered countless times more precious than a commoner's.

A rough but authoritative voice addressed the guards. "All of you will follow orders. I do not care which family you are from and who send you here. This is my camp, and here, I am the law. Captain, I expect you to keep your men in check. If the goods get damaged, I will throw each and every one of you off the cliff."

The shield wall split, and a tall, yellow-eyed man in a long black cloak stepped into the circle. Towering even above Reinhardt, the scars across his face spoke of experience no less than the former mercenary's. The sharp eyebrows above the yellow eyes gave the man a hawk-like appearance. It was the first time Sturm saw the man in person, but Edgar had personally negotiated Sturm's purchase with the man.

No one knew his real name, as on Dagger's Rock Island, people only knew him as the Overseer. With full authority over the slave camp, only the Mayor could match him in authority. Sweat would drip down on the guard's faces when the Overseer looked at them, their usually firm hands shaking under the penetrative gaze. Only Edgar, Reinhardt, and Sturm stood defiantly in front of the mighty figure.

This was a tenth-step noble. Someone who, with only his personal martial prowess, could go toe-to-toe with the gorilla overlord of the local maclawcos. Edgar shook off the pressure raining down on him and approached the Overseer with his head held high. Reinhardt prepared for the berserkergang and stepped next to his boss while Sturm stood still to isolate mana cells in preparation.

"What is the meaning of this? I came here offering a deal from which all of us would profit. The Mercenary Association already agreed to it. Do you dare to offend them too, Sir Overseer?" Edgar knew only the neutral and powerful Mercenary Association would be able to influence the Overseer in his decision.

Contrary to his expectations, the Overseer only huffed in response. "Edgar, oh Edgar, have you still not realized? You really thought you could expand your business undisturbedly, with only a puny three-star appraiser backing you? Oh right, you also thought that rat Tibron was on your side. Well, if I tell you he is the reason you are in this situation right now, then you will probably guess what this is about, hm?"

<<It can't be! Is Tibron mad? Does he really think I won't take him down with me?>> Edgar thought.

"Before you try to deny anything, let me tell you about a certain guest in town. His name is Arcanus Attalus Rufus, and as you can guess by the name, an imperial mage. Those mages are able to feel when magic is being used near them. 'Arcane waves,' they call it, and apparently, those waves appeared multiple times recently." The Overseer took out a pair of silver handcuffs, and before Edgar could react, they were clasped around his wrists tightly. A tenth-step nobles speed was not to be underestimated.

"Those are anti-magic cuffs." The Overseer went on. "Supposedly, they stop you from channeling your magic through your arms, which apparently is necessary for beginner magicians. Which is what you are, aren't you, my dear Edgar? A little commoner trying to learn what is reserved for only us."

Indeed, Edgar immediately tried to push some isolated mana cells through his arms, but they were stopped at the height of the handcuffs. Pushing mana cells through other parts of the body was an advanced technique and required extensive training on a level the merchant had not yet reached.

"Does Tibron think he will get away with this? The imperial mage will skin him alive as well for robbing an imperial trade ship! If he believes they will spare him by selling me out, then he is not as smart as I thought him to be." Edgar still could not believe the famous underground shark would make such a mistake.

The Overseer looked at them with disdain. "What makes you think he ever robbed a convoy? In your greed for power, you fell for it, Edgar. Mages need something called arcane potions, and only unattributed mana cells can be used for their production. They need to extract them from the blood of fresh arcane disciples, but which noble would willingly give up their noble blood? That's why they spread around those arcane tomes to commoners like you, only to collect them when they are ripe. No one will care about a few commoners missing; you live to serve us after all. Be proud of becoming a mana slave; it will be your honor to serve as the fuel to a mighty arcanist. And regarding those like that dirty little pile of sh*t over there? Which noble would ever willingly ingest something coming from an accursed slave?"

It all came together now. Edgar always questioned why he never heard about the nobles going after Tibron. He accredited it to the underworld shark's famous abilities, known to treat the Pirate Seas like his backyard, stealing from whoever he wanted. Still, there should have been more investigations, more inquiries, but it was too late for regret now. The merchant felt his whole world falling apart and looked at Sturm.

<<It seems the oppressed shall stay oppressed. I am sorry, Sturm. I never wanted children, never felt the necessity of having an heir, but my, no… our business empire; I would have left it all to you. In my heart, you are the son I never knew I always needed. Your destiny should have been incredible, but the shackles of faith tied you down, and I failed to release you from them. I am sorry. Reinhardt, forgive me for taking so long to trust you; please take care of Sturm.>>

A look is worth a thousand words, and Sturm saw the emotions deep in Edgar's eyes. The love, the affection, the regret, and the goodbye.

"Sturm," Edgar addressed the young slave he already considered his son while gathering and isolating mana cells throughout his whole body. "Who are we?"

"We are the Thunder Merchants, Sir," Sturm responded with a quavering voice.

"That we are, but don't call me Sir anymore… you are like a son to me, the heir to the Thunder Merchant Group. And as Thunder Merchants, we arrive with a boom and make you consume. Now, how do you think we should go out?"

Sturm's eyes widened. There had to be another way. Maybe they could distract the guards and jump off the cliff? If he predicted their movements accurately enough, they would have a chance. If he threw a lightning bolt at the Overseer, the man would surely be taken by surprise.

<<I won't let this happen. I can't let this happen. God, Zeus, Thor, Raijin, Leigong, Enel, I don't care who. Please give me the power to…>>

"E-EDGAR, NO!" This was the first time Sturm acknowledged his feelings toward the merchant and the last time he would ever be able to call out to him.

Edgar had managed to isolate every single one of his mana cells throughout his body. It was impossible to expel them through his hands, but he could deliberately do what he had done by accident in the forest two years ago. The merchant's skin started turning into a bright whitish-blue, illuminating the encirclement.

Those anti-magic shackles were foolproof, and no rogue arcane disciple had ever been able to circumvent them, causing the Overseer to remain calm despite the shiny spectacle.

"A futile effort. You can't cast any spells like this, Edgar. Just come with us and… "

*BOOOOM*

As Edgar's skin tore apart, charred by all of the mana cells being forcibly converted into lightning matter inside his body, the escaping lightning was akin to a nuclear explosion, tearing apart everything in its range. Arcane acolytes would never be able to expel so many mana cells out of their bodies; in fact, the amount of energy resembled an Archmage's most powerful spell.

The lightning dome spread out from the combusting merchant, incinerating the guards before they could even scream. Metal turned liquid, only to then evaporate. The ground turned black, and even the Overseer, a mighty tenth-step noble, could do nothing more than scream in agony as the wrath of a dying father unleashed its punishment upon the man. Annihilated mid-sentence, like he had done to the angry guard just moments before.

Following the display akin to divine punishment, an ear-blasting thunderclap made the world tremble. The few windows in the mansion burst from the shockwave, and all slaves, slavers, and guards in the slave camp clasped their heads as their eardrums had almost been shattered.

Most of the lightning quickly faded away, leaving behind parched earth and a few tiny lightning snakes jumping and slithering on the ground. Only two spots were left untouched in the wake of absolute destruction. Two little green areas, protected by the final will of a man, who decided to sacrifice himself for those he held dear.

If one closed their eyes and listened closely, the faint sound of something breaking could be heard from one of the two little green areas.