After Putting the Slayer of the Night to Sleep, I Ran Away - Chapter 22

I just need to run.
The chance will come eventually.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe ten days from now.
It might take a month, or even more than a year.
But if I wait and stay ready, the opportunity will come.
As long as I don’t give up before then.
So I have to hold on, no matter what happens.

Ayla held back the tears rising in her throat and focused on her breathing.
After moving steadily for a while, the carriage finally came to a stop.
She stayed silent and listened closely to the voices outside.
The coachman and the man who had joined the ride were talking.

“How much do you think she’s worth?”
“Just look at her. Definitely top grade. That’s at least a month of easy money.”
“I always hate coming here. Let’s just get this done and leave.”

Not long after, the sack she was tied in was opened, and Ayla was pulled out.
She had just promised herself not to give up, but the situation looked worse than she expected.

If there was any consolation, it was that her legs were finally untied after being taken out of the sack.

They led her forward through a thick forest to a secluded mansion.
From the entrance alone, she could see that the place was heavily guarded by men who looked like mercenaries.

Past the entrance, they took her down a staircase leading underground.
Cold damp air rose from the stone floor beneath their feet.
Only then did Ayla realize one of her shoes was missing.
She must have lost it during the struggle before she was shoved into the sack.

Down the hallway, she could see rows of iron cages stacked side by side.
Inside them were people.

This is a slave market.

Ayla’s face turned pale.
The horror of the situation hit her all at once.
Her lips tightened, pressing back a scream of despair.

She had seen articles about human trafficking in the newspapers, but she never imagined she would end up in a place like this.

She had been naive.
She had believed crimes like this only happened far away, not to someone like her.

Still, she refused to give in.
She had been watching everything carefully ever since getting out of the carriage.

What do those numbers mean?

Each cage had a number written in ink, ranging from one to five.
A cage holding a middle-aged woman had the number four.
Another with a young man had the number two.
From that, it seemed the lower the number, the higher the value.

The entire scene was so foreign and horrific that Ayla had to remind herself this was real.

“Well now, this one’s good.”

Ayla came to a stop and stared blankly as a man with a whip hanging from his belt approached, grinning.

“Gavin, you really did it this time.”
“She’s something, right?”
“More than that. This is top-class.”

The man grabbed her chin and turned her face from side to side.
Then his eyes slowly scanned her from head to toe.
He smiled with satisfaction and pulled something from his coat.

“Here. Take it.”

He handed Gavin a wooden tag marked with the number one.

Gavin let out a loud laugh and clapped his hands.

“I knew it. You’re lucky, miss. A first-class tag means you’re going to be sold somewhere nice.”

“If it’s so nice, why don’t you try it?”

Unable to stay silent, Ayla glared at Gavin and fired back.

But her words didn’t shake him in the slightest.

“Too bad. I’m on the selling side. You’re the one being sold.”

Laughing without a care in the world, Gavin turned her around and shoved her hard.

The force sent her stumbling straight into the cage marked with the number one.

The man guiding her took off the key hanging around his neck, unlocked the gate, and tilted his head, motioning for her to go in.

She said nothing.

“What are you waiting for? Get in.”

She wanted to resist, but then a strong shove pushed her forward.
The door closed behind her with a loud clank, and the lock clicked into place.

Night had fallen deeply.

Ayla guessed it was around midnight when she was taken out of the sack and brought here.

The man who had locked her up had already gone elsewhere, and only the other prisoners remained inside their cages.

At least there were no guards watching from inside. That was a small relief.

While sitting quietly, Ayla scanned her surroundings, then cautiously reached out and grabbed one of the iron bars. She pulled, testing it for any movement, but it did not budge at all.

Next, she leaned in closer to examine the lock. Maybe she could use the pin still tucked in her hair to pick it open. Relying on the dim light of a lantern hanging on the wall, she focused on the keyhole, staring at it intently. But it was too dark to see anything clearly.

Even so, maybe there was still a chance.

If she looked closely enough, perhaps she would find a weakness.

Focusing on the joints between the wooden frame and the bars, Ayla noticed a loose panel with a small gap. It was like a thin beam of hope breaking through complete darkness.

She crouched down and began pulling at the wooden plank with her fingers. She tried her best, but doing it barehanded was difficult and painful.

“Stop. It’s no use.”

The voice came from a corner of the room. It was rough and scratchy, as if someone had dragged their voice across sand. It didn’t sound like a woman at all.

Ayla paused for a moment but continued tugging at the plank. She spoke without looking back, her voice flat.

“How can you be so sure if you haven’t even tried?”

“I have tried.”

“So you’re the one who loosened this part?”

“You won’t get medical care here. If you injure yourself, no one will help. If it gets infected, your hand will rot away.”

The tone of the voice sounded too personal, too certain. Ayla’s heart sank.

Not because she feared her own hand would rot, but because it felt like the woman speaking had already lived through that pain.

“Are you alright?”

The question slipped from her lips, pulled by concern.

There was no answer.

Ayla stared into the darkened corner for a long moment, then quietly moved toward the voice. She soon saw the silhouette of someone leaning against the wall with one knee raised.

It looked like a woman with a similar build to Ayla’s.

Without realizing it, Ayla’s eyes moved to her arm. Then she gasped.

The woman’s arm was wrapped in layers of cloth, but it was clear that everything below her wrist was gone.

As Ayla stood frozen, the woman glanced down at her own arm and gave a dry chuckle.

“They cut it off.”

“What?”

“They said they had to. Said it would get worse if they didn’t.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s what they’re like. So protect yourself. Don’t end up like me.”

Reality, which had felt distant and unreal, suddenly closed in and felt terrifyingly real.

Ayla’s heart pounded. She struggled to catch her breath as the shock sank in.

Why was something like this even happening?

These people weren’t just traffickers. They weren’t just selling others. They were cruel. They hurt the weak and offered no help to the injured.

What she felt now wasn’t just fear.

It was anger.

Real, burning anger.

Ayla clenched her fists tightly and bit down on her lip.

“How can someone look like a human being and still do something so inhuman?”

“Are you angry?”

“What?”

“Are you angry because of me?”

“I… I’m not angry at you. I’m just furious. I hate that they did this to you. I hate that any of this is happening.”

“So you really are angry for me.”

The woman’s cracked voice held a faint note of joy.

“My name is Bella. What’s yours?”

“Ayla.”

“Ayla. That’s a nice name. I wish we could be friends if we ever get out of here. But I guess someone like me can’t be a friend anymore.”

Her joy faded as quickly as it had appeared, and in its place came quiet sorrow and self-doubt.

Sensing that, Ayla quickly shook her head and answered in a strong, bright voice.

“Why not? Of course we can be friends. Let’s be friends.”

“You’re such a fool. If you stay friends with someone like me, people will talk.”

“What kind of person is someone like you, Bella? I think the real fools are the ones who can’t recognize someone who refuses to give up. So let’s not give up, okay? One day, we’ll get out of here and go eat something delicious together.”

“You really are a sweet one, aren’t you?”

Just as Bella gave a soft laugh, a low scoff echoed behind them, followed by a familiar voice.

“Sweet? What part of her is sweet?”

Ayla’s eyes widened in shock.

“She doesn’t look sweet. She just looks stupid.”

She turned quickly toward the voice and froze.

Outside the iron bars stood the last person she ever expected to see again, someone she thought she would never see for the rest of her life. He stood there, leaning casually with a crooked grin on his face.

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