When Ash woke up, he saw Harvey and Igula eating sandwiches.
"Aren't you worried they're poisoned?" he asked groggily.
"If you don't want yours, then I'll—"
"I mean, you should've woken me up to test them for poison!" Ash quickly grabbed the last sandwich and licked it to claim ownership, much to Igula's visible disgust.
"How long were we out?" Ash asked, checking his game interface. "It's 2 a.m. now. We've been asleep for less than an hour."
Igula muttered to himself, "Which means we're stuck in here for at least another day…"
"Why do you say that?" Ash asked, frowning.
"If the drive was less than six hours, they wouldn't bother giving us food. In our current state—injured, exhausted, and sleep-deprived—skipping another day's worth of meals could risk sudden death. That's why they're giving us food now," Igula explained.
Ash bit into his sandwich, finding the meager portion only increased his hunger. He rapped his knuckles against the padded walls, a look of despair creeping across his face. "Does this mean we're headed for another prison? At this rate, my obituary will probably read: A Comprehensive Guide to the World's Best Prisons."
"Prison might be the best-case scenario," Igula said ominously. "What I'm really worried about is if we've landed in a slave society—a world where mages rule as masters and ordinary people are enslaved. Imagine a society where advanced magical technology pushes slavery into a modernized, industrialized framework…"
"Isn't being a slave better than being a prisoner?" Harvey asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Better? Slavery is far worse," Igula snapped. "The core issue with a slave society is its reliance on personal power over the rule of law. When conflicts arise, the first instinct isn't to solve the problem but to eliminate the person causing it. Violence is glorified, bloodlines are worshipped, outsiders are shunned, and social mobility is non-existent. I'd take feudal superstitions over that any day."
Harvey chuckled. "Maybe we escaped the Blood Moon only to end up somewhere worse. To be fair, the Blood Moon wasn't all bad. If the church had allowed ordinary people to study necromancy, I might have stayed. But back then, I couldn't afford school, and without a graduate degree, there was no way to join the Blood Saints. That meant no access to necromancy…"
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Ash interjected, taking a sip of water. "For all we know, this could be a highly advanced, peaceful society. Maybe they even welcome refugees."
"Right," Igula said sarcastically, slapping the padded walls. "Harvey, how would you transport captives?"
"Why ask me?" Harvey said, feigning innocence.
"You know why."
"Well…" Harvey muttered, "I had a friend—a real friend—who would've sedated his targets with drugs and magical sleep spells before throwing them into a van. Quick, efficient."
"Would anyone in the Blood Moon Kingdom build vehicles like this?" Igula pressed.
"No way," Harvey replied. "The closest thing would be luxury RVs. But kidnapping is a low-margin business. No one's investing in custom transport."
Igula turned to Ash. "So, our dear cult leader, do you get it now? Whoever owns this vehicle specializes in capturing people. They're probably slavers. If there are slavers, then there's probably slavery…"
"Hold on," Ash interrupted. "Couldn't they just be human traffickers?"
"Sex slaves are still slaves."
"I mean child traffickers—selling kids to desperate families."
"Child traffickers?" Both Igula and Harvey looked at him blankly. "Who would buy kids? And why?"
Ash realized too late that his cultural frame of reference didn't apply. In the Blood Moon Kingdom, family structures had long since collapsed. No demand, no traffickers. He awkwardly described the grim reality of child trafficking, but his companions struggled to grasp it, as though he were explaining the joys of working out to lifelong couch potatoes.
The Blood Moon's indoctrination had shaped them in ways even they couldn't fully recognize. To them, the concept of adopting a stranger's child was utterly alien—why invest in someone else's offspring when they could never truly be "yours"? In their worldview, self-interest reigned supreme.
This fundamental divergence was why Ash always remained cautious around them. They weren't just fugitives; they were shaped by a society that had dragged their moral compass to unfathomable depths. Sometimes, Ash thought their values were only marginally better than his old project manager who called him at 3 a.m. for a PowerPoint revision.
Humans are creatures of limitation, Ash mused. Without experience, even treasures seem like stones. To truly understand value, one must witness the rise and fall of all things…
He shook his head, pushing aside the philosophical tangent. "Even if they're slavers, at least they won't kill us outright. Being enslaved could give us insight into this world's structure. Worst-case scenario, we escape. We're seasoned prison-breakers, after all."
Igula stared at him for a long moment. "You know, I've noticed something about you since our time in prison. I can't tell if it's ignorance or the overconfidence of a cult leader, but you never seem fazed by the universe's malice."
"Escaping the Blood Moon only to get caught again should be infuriating. Even I feel like screaming at the world right now. But you? It's like you're a goldfish with a seven-second memory, already strategizing how to exploit slavery."
"Do you have some ace up your sleeve?"
An ace? Did the Black-and-White Witch count?
Scratching his head, Ash replied, "Isn't this just basic mental resilience? Like when your boss dumps a last-minute project on you before heading home. Sure, you curse them out internally, but then you order takeout and get to work."
Harvey quipped, "Most people don't equate corporate overtime with being captured by slavers."
"Here," he added, tossing them each a small vial. "Snow White Moon Sugar."
"When we're unloaded, it'll be our weakest moment—and their least guarded," Harvey explained. "This stuff will give you a burst of energy, suppressing fatigue and accelerating mana recovery."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Igula said, pocketing the vial. "I'll cooperate, but I'm not risking addiction."
"Same here," Ash agreed, though he saved his vial for his decoy clone—no harm in experimenting.
After a long ride, the vehicle finally stopped. It was 6 p.m. Blood Moon time. Exhausted, the three exchanged glances, knowing the next phase would be critical. Harvey popped a Moon Sugar, his vitality instantly returning.
The side door opened. "Step out, all three of you," a voice ordered.
Ash noticed something peculiar: he could understand their language. The accent was strange—like the difference between Cantonese and Mandarin—but comprehensible.
Climbing out, they found themselves in a desolate industrial complex under a surreal sky, half aglow with a fading sun and half dotted with stars. It was a stark contrast to the Blood Moon, where the crimson orb always dominated the heavens before sunset.
Their transport, a sleek silver vehicle, was unlike anything Ash had seen. Its tireless wheels suggested impossible precision, more akin to a futuristic concept car than a practical design.
"This place is more advanced than the Blood Moon," Igula muttered, awed.
Before them stood a peculiar duo: a young butler and a striking woman with purple hair and emerald eyes. Her violet trench coat and regal demeanor screamed aristocracy, her beauty radiating an aura of dominance that even Igula couldn't rival.
And then there were the six black-robed figures, their chilling presence impossible to ignore.
"Are they the outlanders?" the robed leader asked.
"Confirmed," the butler replied, producing three control keys. A silent exchange of goods followed: the keys for a glowing, eight-sided purple crystal. The transaction was smooth, unchallenged.
The purple-haired woman inspected the crystal with satisfaction. "Transaction complete. These three are now property of the Four Pillars Church."
Four Pillars Church?!
Harvey and Igula turned to Ash, their eyes wide with alarm. Ash, equally stunned, realized the term had slipped into his hearing before he'd fallen asleep—but he'd dismissed it as his imagination.
Before he could react, chains shot out from the robed figures, binding the trio tightly. Stuffed into body bags, they were unceremoniously tossed into another vehicle.
"We'll commence the ritual immediately," the robed leader said. "Looking forward to future collaborations with your Funeral Parlor."
The woman smiled faintly. "Ranked ninth on the Azura Task List. The Funeral Parlor is always at your service."