Erona quickly turned her face away, pretending to fix her hair as she muttered,
"Wh-what a ridiculous thing to say… Red as love? You talk like some kind of poet."
Dante chuckled softly. "Maybe. Or maybe I just say what I see."
"Tch… smooth talker," she said under her breath, her tail—if she had one—would've flicked nervously.
She crossed her arms, trying to hide her flushed cheeks. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not blushing because of you. It's just… the night breeze, that's all."
"Sure," Dante replied with a smirk. "Let's blame the breeze."
She shot him a glare, but her lips curved slightly, betraying a faint smile.
"You're impossible."
"And you're interesting," he replied without hesitation.
For a moment, silence hung between them—warm, gentle, and strangely comforting.
Then Erona broke it with a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"…You really are different from the men here, Maladeva."
"Maybe that's why I don't fit in," Dante said, turning away. "Good night, Erona."
"Good night… Dante," she whispered, watching him walk away under the moonlight, her heart still racing for reasons she refused to admit.
As Dante walked back toward the inn he had booked for three nights, the evening air was thick with the smell of smoke and metal. Then—he noticed it. A wagon creaked down the road, its wheels dragging through the dirt, cages stacked atop it. Inside them—people.
He stopped, eyes narrowing.
"Tch," Kilamahi scoffed telepathically. "Slavery still exists, even after the Great War a hundred years ago?"
"Forget it," Dante muttered under his breath. "Not my concern. I tried to be kind once… thought I could change the world. I couldn't even save Lytharis. The Ruthwilfers want me dead. I'm done playing the hero, Kila."
"Do what you think is right for you, Dante," she replied softly.
"You're not complaining?"
"No. The Alderman once wiped out slavery. Seems with their extinction, the scum of this world have grown bold again."
As he passed the wagon, a faint sound stopped him—crying. His eyes turned to one of the cages… and froze.
Inside was the same feline woman from the guild hall—the one who had attacked him earlier that day. Her once-fierce eyes were now dulled, her wrists chained, her tail limp.
"Hey!" Dante called out.
The slave merchant pulled on the reins, halting the wagon. "What? I've got deliveries to make before sunrise," he grunted.
"How much for the Sha'karr Feline?" Dante asked, voice low.
The man snickered, sizing him up. "Heh. You're a bit young to own a slave… unless it's for those reasons."
Dante's glare was cold enough to silence him. Without another word, he tossed a heavy pouch of gold—his full 200 coins from the goblin quest, plus whatever he had left.
The seller's grin widened greedily. "Pleasure doing business, young lad."
He released the feline woman but not before pressing a hot iron seal against her chest. The brand glowed briefly, etching a symbol between her collarbones.
"There. That's your ownership mark. If she ever turns on you, the seal will activate—pain that burns straight through the heart."
The merchant rode off, leaving Dante alone with her.
Dante crossed his arms. "You're that feline from the hero's party. Why were you in that cage?"
The Sha'karr looked away, ears flat, tail twitching in frustration.
"Answer me when I talk to you."
With a snap of his fingers, the brand shimmered. A pulse of light struck her chest.
"NYAA!!!" She cried out in pain, clutching her heart.
Dante stopped the mark, eyes steady. "Now. Answer."
She panted, voice trembling but filled with fury. "I was sold… after you knocked me out this morning. Thought I'd be the first beastman hero. Turns out I was just their pawn. Those filthy humans sold me off the moment I became useless."
"Humans, huh?" Dante crouched to her level, gaze sharp. "Don't blame humanity for your choices. You followed them. That was your first mistake."
She blinked, stunned by his tone.
"Never trust anyone with your dreams, your hopes, or your pain," Dante continued coldly. "You either fight for it yourself… or lose it all."
The feline lowered her head, trembling. Then she knelt fully, bowing until her forehead touched the dirt.
"I am Kaen… daughter of Rahl, of the Sha'karr Clan, Beastman Tribe," she said quietly. "From this moment, my life is yours, Master."
Dante looked at her in silence for a moment before turning away. "Don't call me that. Just… follow if you want to live."
As Dante and Kaen entered the inn, the innkeeper's eyes widened. "Sir, your… slave," she said cautiously. "Please make sure she doesn't cause any trouble. You look new around here, so I'll give you some face this time in Vidalier."
"Don't worry, old hag," Dante replied dryly. "She won't."
The innkeeper scowled but said nothing as Dante led Kaen upstairs to his rented room. Once inside, he threw his coat aside and gestured toward the small bathing area.
"Go wash up. You reek of iron and dirt."
Kaen hesitated, her ears twitching slightly. Then, without a word, she began undressing. Her movements were slow, cautious—like a wild animal unsure if it was really free. She stepped into the bath, the steam rising and washing away the grime and scent of chains.
When she returned, Kaen was about to slip back into her torn, travel-worn clothes.
"What are you doing?" Dante said, snapping his fingers. A thread of glowing light weaved through the air, shimmering like silver silk. The torn fabric mended and reshaped into a neat, form-fitting outfit—simple but elegant, designed for mobility and dignity.
"Here," he said, crossing his arms. "Those rags make you look like a street worker, not a warrior."
Kaen blinked in surprise, then muttered softly, "Nya… thank you."
She slipped into the new clothes. The fit was snug—especially around her chest—yet it felt lighter, freer, as if it had been made just for her.
Dante, meanwhile, began unbuttoning his shirt. "My turn," he said flatly, disappearing into the bath.
By the time he returned, the room was dimly lit by moonlight streaming through the window. Kaen was curled up on the far side of the bed, tail wrapped around her legs, half-asleep but alert.
Dante laid down on his side, arms folded behind his head. "Get some rest. We're leaving early."
Kaen opened one eye, studying him quietly. "Master…" she whispered.
"Don't call me that," Dante replied, eyes still closed. "Just Maladeva."
For a moment, neither spoke. The only sounds were the faint crackle of the lantern flame and the soft rhythm of their breathing.
"…Thank you," Kaen murmured before drifting off.
Dante said nothing—but his expression softened ever so slightly as he stared at the ceiling.
Flashback — Earlier That Morning,
Kaen's body hit the ground with a thunderous crash, the impact scattering dust and debris through the Adventurer Hall.
Her vision blurred, and the last thing she saw was Dante's calm figure standing firm before everything faded to black.
When Kaen awoke, the air was cold and the sound of crackling fire filled her ears. She blinked slowly, her body aching from head to toe. The scent of blood and ash lingered.
"Huh…? Where…am I…?" she whispered weakly, her voice trembling.
She turned her head slightly and saw faint silhouettes—her supposed comrades—the Hero and his party, sitting near the fire.
"About time you woke up," sneered the Hero, his golden hair gleaming under the moonlight. "You really embarrassed us back there."
Kaen struggled to sit up. "W-what are you saying? We lost because you—"
"Silence, beast!" barked the mage, kicking her in the stomach. She coughed, clutching her gut as tears welled in her eyes.
"You think we'd let a filthy Sha'karr lecture us?" said the priest with a twisted smirk. "The Hero can't be seen losing because of a cat."
"B-but… we're a team…" Kaen's voice cracked, desperate.
The Hero crossed his arms. "A team? You were just for show—our exotic mascot to earn sympathy from the guilds. But since you lost and embarrassed me in front of everyone…"
He turned toward the berserker. "Get rid of her."
The brute of a man grabbed Kaen by the hair. She struggled, her claws scraping the dirt, her heart pounding in panic. "W-wait! Don't do this! I fought for you! I bled for you!"
"Not my problem," the Hero said coldly. "You're just a beastwoman who forgot her place."
Kaen's ears flattened. "Y-you can't—!"
Before she could finish, something hard struck the back of her neck. Darkness swallowed her once again.
When she regained consciousness, she was lying in a wooden cage, wrists bound by magic seals that suppressed her strength. The wagon rocked back and forth as it moved along the dirt road.
Outside, she heard the slave trader humming a tune, counting coins that gleamed under the sun.
Kaen's eyes widened, realizing what had happened. They sold me…
A single tear slipped down her cheek, landing silently on her chained hands. Her heart filled with fury and sorrow.
"Curse you… humans…" she whispered, closing her eyes as exhaustion claimed her once more.
Present — Night at the Inn,
Kaen stirred in her sleep, her body twitching under the thin sheets. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as her ears flicked back and forth, the nightmare gripping her mind.
"N-no… stop… please…" she whimpered, clutching the blanket tightly. "I didn't… betray… anyone…"
Her tail lashed as the memories replayed — the Hero's cold eyes, the priest's laughter, the firelight glinting off gold coins, and the sting of betrayal as her so-called comrades sold her like livestock.
Suddenly, she gasped awake.
Her chest heaved as she sat up, eyes wide, her breathing ragged. The moonlight from the window cast silver streaks across her trembling form.
From across the room, a voice broke the silence.
"Nightmares, huh?"
Kaen turned sharply, spotting Dante sitting by the window, a faint blue glow from his magic circle hovering in front of him — a communication seal for Kilamahi, no doubt.
"You were talking in your sleep," he said without turning. His tone wasn't harsh — just calm, almost understanding. "Could hear it from here."
Kaen's ears lowered in embarrassment. "…Sorry, Master— I mean, Maladeva."
He glanced back at her, eyes glowing faintly red under the dim light. "Don't apologize. You've seen worse things than most people can imagine."
Kaen looked down at her hands. "I dreamed of… them. My old party. The Hero… the one who called himself a savior."
Dante said nothing for a moment, only gazing out the window toward the quiet city streets below. "Let me guess — he sold you to cover his shame."
Kaen's breath caught. "H-how did you—"
"Because that's what humans do when fear gets the better of them," he replied softly. "Blame others, hide their cowardice, and pretend it's justice."
Kaen lowered her head, tears glimmering faintly in her eyes. "Then why… why did you save me? You had no reason to."
Dante leaned back in his chair, his voice calm but resolute. "Because I don't save people for reasons. I do it because I choose to."
The words hung in the air like an unspoken vow.
"Also your a good fighter for me to spar with sometimes. Between us, i like you as a fighter's point of view."
Kaen looked at him quietly — really looked at him — and for the first time since her betrayal, she didn't see another liar or master. She saw a man who meant what he said.
She laid back down, pulling the sheet up to her shoulders. "You're strange, Maladeva…"
"Get some rest," he said, turning away. "We head out at dawn."
As the night deepened, Kaen's breathing slowed, finally easing into peaceful sleep. Dante remained by the window, eyes distant, whispering to himself.
"Strange, huh… yeah, maybe."
Kilamahi's voice echoed faintly in his mind.
"You're growing soft again, Dante."
"Maybe," he replied with a half-smile. "Or maybe I'm just remembering what it's like to feel human."
The moonlight fell across both of them — the scarred warrior and the freed slave — two broken souls bound by fate in the quiet heart of Vidalier.
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, soft golden light spilling across the wooden floor. Dante stirred awake, stretching slightly as he noticed Kaen setting the table.
"Ah, Master," Kaen said with a gentle smile. "The innkeeper handed me these platters. It's part of the breakfast package from the room you rented."
Dante rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Forget it. Call me whatever you want — Master or Maladeva, I'm too tired to care this early."
He got up, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat filled the room.
"You can have it, Kaen," he said while putting on his coat. "I've got a breakfast meeting to attend. I'll come back later and pick you up. After that, we'll head to the Adventurer's Guild for a few more quests. Once that's done, we leave Vidalier."
Kaen lowered her head slightly. "Nya… Yes, Master."
Dante shook his head with a faint smirk. "This feline girl…"
As he headed for the door, he turned back one last time. "Remember, stay here or take a short stroll. Don't cause trouble."
Kaen nodded obediently, her tail swaying slightly as he left.
The streets were alive with the rhythm of daily life. Merchants opened stalls, children ran past with baskets, and the scent of bread and herbs filled the air.
"Kid," Kilamahi's voice echoed in his mind, calm yet curious. "What's your plan? That Erona child is an Alderman."
Dante — or rather, Maladeva — walked steadily through the crowd, hands in his pockets.
"For now, nothing. She seems peaceful here. What's the point of telling her she's an Alderman?"
"But—"
"Kila," he interrupted gently, his tone steady. "Sometimes, not interfering is the best choice. She made her decision — to stay single, to live quietly with her father. If she's happy, who am I to tear that away just because of her bloodline?"
A pause followed, and Kilamahi sighed softly in his mind. "Kid… even if I respect that, you know as well as I do — an Alderman can't run from their purpose forever."
Dante stopped walking, looking up at the bright morning sky. The warmth of the sun reflected off his crimson eyes.
"Maybe not," he murmured. "But until then…"
He pressed his palms together briefly, whispering under his breath, "Om krim Kali… guide me to the right path, Kaliamma."
The air around him shimmered faintly for a moment — a subtle divine resonance only he could feel.
Then, with a calm breath, Dante continued down the cobblestone path toward Ronald's home.
Dante reached his destination and knocked on the wooden door with the metal ring that hung loosely from it.
"Ah, lad! Just in time," Ronald greeted, opening the door with his usual booming laughter before ushering him inside.
The warm scent of stew filled the small house. At the table, Dante noticed Erona — dressed in a formal outfit that, perhaps unintentionally, revealed a bit of her cleavage.
"Hahaha! Relax, Maladeva," Ronald said with a teasing grin. "She's sixteen now — a legal adult by Vidalier's laws."
Dante exhaled through his nose. "Still feels weird."
"Nahahahaha!" Ronald roared, slapping his knee.
Erona entered with a steaming pot of chicken stew, but just as she stepped forward, her foot caught on the rug.
"Ah—!"
The pot tilted, the soup spilling midair — until Dante flicked his fingers.
The liquid halted, suspended by a crimson glow before floating neatly back into the pot. At the same time, his hand shot out, steadying Erona by the waist.
Her body tensed as she felt his hand around her midriff. "U-Umm… thanks," she muttered, cheeks flaring red.
"Be careful next time," Dante said flatly.
"Yeah, yeah," she huffed, turning her head away. "As if I'd want you touching me. I'm not one of those belly dancers at the tavern."
She hurried back to the kitchen, tossing a few logs into the stove to heat the buns still baking beneath the iron lid.
When she was out of earshot, Ronald's cheerful expression faded. His posture straightened; the air around him grew heavy.
"Dante Ruthwilfer," he said suddenly.
Dante froze for a split second. "Excuse me?" he replied coolly, though his eyes sharpened.
"Don't play dumb. I know who you are — son of Will Ruthwilfer, Patriarch of the Ruthwilfer House. I remember you. Eight years old, humiliating Evan Ruthwilfer's boy in a duel — the one who wet his pants."
Dante smirked faintly. "How could I forget?"
Ronald chuckled under his breath. "Hah. Still satisfying to recall. I was a knight back then… before I retired. Left the estate when the pay dropped after the Demon invasion hit Euthwilfer Ballroom."
Dante leaned back, expression calm. "Let's skip the nostalgia. What do you really want, Ronald?"
Ronald drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed it into the wooden table between them. The sharp clang echoed through the quiet room.
"You're the rumored Alderman Child," he said grimly. "The one who slew three of the Seven Demon Generals — Wrath, Sloth, and Envy. And now… the Goddess of War, Kilamahi, resides within you."
Dante didn't flinch. "What's your point?"
Ronald clenched his fists, lowering his gaze. "Erona… is not my daughter."
"I know," Dante said quietly. "She told me."
"So you know she's Alderman blood."
"That… I guessed."
"Figures," Ronald muttered, looking up. "You both have the same eyes — red as blood."
He turned toward a framed painting hanging above the mantle — a younger version of himself, a woman with silver hair, and little Erona smiling between them.
"Her name was Sarabi," he said softly. "A commoner of the Alderman line. I found her sixteen years ago — wounded, pregnant, and on the verge of death. I took her in, gave her a home. Months later, we married. On the twelfth day of summer, Erona was born."
He ran his hand along the edge of the frame, his voice cracking slightly. "Sarabi passed away four years later… when Erona was only a child."
Dante's tone lowered. "Why tell me all this, Ronald?"
The old knight turned, his expression pleading as he stepped closer. He took Dante's hand, gripping it tightly.
"Because I'm an old man now, Dante. I can't protect her forever." His voice trembled. "Can you please… take Erona with you."
---
Chapter 40 — End.