I crouched behind a tree, feigning nervousness as I peeked at the slaver camp from about a hundred feet away. My heart raced—not from fear, but from the intensity of the moment. The slavers were trying to bait me closer, their voices sickly sweet with false promises, thinking I was just some na?ve elven boy.

  When one of them made a move toward me, I bolted. As I ran, I weaved through the trees, deliberately taking a chaotic path. The slavers, faster than expected, kept up. Of course, they had to be quick to capture elves, and while I wasn’t slow, I was by no means the fastest among my people.

  The forest became my ally. I leaped between rocks and bounced off tree trunks, letting the terrain slow my pursuers. While I played the part of prey, I wove subtle strands of wind magic. I sliced through the air ahead of me to reduce resistance and pushed myself forward with bursts of wind at my back. Simultaneously, I thickened the air around the slavers, adding resistance and tripping them up. Rocks shifted under their feet, and potholes seemed to form out of nowhere. A few of them stumbled into the swampy stretch I’d led them through, their curses filling the air.

  Despite my advantage, the mana expenditure was enormous. I burned through twice as much as I regenerated, and I could feel the strain. I was nearing the ambush point when one of the slavers surged ahead with a berserker skill, his speed and strength doubling in an instant. Nothing I threw at him even slowed him down. He tore through trees as if they were paper, his massive cleaver gleaming in the dappled sunlight.

  Panic set in as I realized I couldn’t outrun this one. Mid-leap, I used [Soul Analyze]. He was level 300, easily one of their strongest. His power was immense, and if I fought him directly, the entire plan could unravel. But I couldn’t let him reach me.

  Desperation pushed me to make a massive leap into the ambush zone. Emma, faster than a lightning strike, intercepted me mid-air. She caught me in a princess carry, her grin barely contained as I quipped, “My hero!” in an exaggerated, effeminate tone.

  Emma snorted, suppressing a laugh. “Stop watching bad television,” she said, setting me down.

  Luna, perched high in a tree, raised an eyebrow but didn’t miss a beat. Her arrows rained down, killing dozens of slavers in an instant. “Television?” she asked between shots.

  Emma replied with a smirk, “Bad women’s acting in macho movies.”

  Luna chuckled, her smile fleeting as her focus returned to the fight. Her precision was awe-inspiring, her arrows curving mid-flight to strike slavers hiding behind trees. Meanwhile, I unleashed the last of my mana in an inferno, incinerating a cluster of them.

  Emma glanced at me as I panted from the exertion. “How many did you get?” she asked, a teasing edge to her voice.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  “About a dozen, but who’s counting?” I replied.

  “Nine. I am.” She grinned, and I couldn’t help but groan.

  Emma, now level 40, was spending her stat points. I shuddered at the thought of how terrifying she’d become. All the women in my life were frighteningly powerful. I made a mental note to never find out firsthand how much force it took to rip off a man’s limbs.

  We returned to the slaver camp, where my father had already taken care of most of the remaining guards. The slaver leader knelt before him, bound but defiant. My father demanded the keys to the slave collars, his voice cold and commanding.

  The slaver sneered, refusing to comply. His inventory skill, a coveted dimensional storage ability, allowed him to hide the keys beyond our reach. Spite twisted his features as he mocked us, confident in his superiority.

  I glanced at the green elf children being freed from the cages. One girl, no older than five but with the body of a ten-year-old, caught my eye. Her vacant expression was one I’d seen before—the look of someone who had endured the unspeakable. Her gaze flicked to the slaver leader, filled with hatred and fear. My chest tightened as the pieces fell into place.

  This monster had violated her.

  A cold rage unlike any I’d felt before surged through me. It wasn’t the fiery anger that burned out quickly; it was an icy wrath, sharp and unrelenting. I no longer saw the man as a person—he was a thing, a vile blight that needed to be eradicated.

  “They say no one can steal from an inventory,” I muttered, stepping closer to the slaver. My father glanced at me, puzzled but trusting. I activated [Soul Analyze], searching the slaver’s soul. Amid the black, slimy rot, I found it—a glowing purple orb, almost camouflaged by the darkness.

  The slaver continued to spew insults, his voice dripping with arrogance. But when I reached into his soul and wrenched the inventory orb free, his bravado crumbled.

  A prompt appeared:

  You have acquired “Inventory 129876657.”

  Items can be placed inside. Currently, 40 slots available for storing.

  The slaver’s expression shifted to one of pure terror. “W-what did you do?” he stammered, his confidence shattered.

  I didn’t stop there. I reached deeper and tore out his system orb, ignoring his screams of pain and disbelief. I stored the orb in my new inventory and handed my father the keys. He looked at me, shocked but understanding.

  “This one is mine,” I said, my voice low and cold.

  My father hesitated, then nodded. He saw the fury in my eyes and knew there was no point in arguing.

  I turned back to the slaver, my wrath unyielding. Flames flickered to life in my palm. I started small, letting the fire lick at his skin. His screams echoed through the forest, but I didn’t flinch. I fed on the life force of the forest to keep him alive, ensuring his suffering was prolonged.

  By the time he was reduced to ash, I felt nothing but emptiness.

  Later, I sat in front of a polished piece of steel, staring at my reflection. The face looking back at me was familiar yet foreign.

  “Do I even know this person anymore?” I murmured.

  Emma appeared behind me, wrapping her arms around my chest. Her hands rested over my heart as she leaned her head on my shoulder.

  “I know it hurts,” she said softly.

  “I created her. Everything that happened to those children is my fault. Every fiber of my being told me to destroy that monster.” My voice wavered as I turned to face her.

  “Spoken like a true father,” Emma replied, her voice steady.

  I thought of something my father used to say in my past life: “Behind every great man is an even greater woman.”

  Emma wasn’t just my strength—she was my anchor. Without her, I knew I’d have already lost myself to the darkness.