Road To True Freedom

Chapter 02

After a long minute of silence—thick with shock, fear, and confusion—Stanley finally found his voice. He turned to the beastman, who remained seated in the creaking chair, yellow eyes fixed on him, a mocking grin curling beneath his whiskered muzzle.

“S-Sir, I don’t understand,” Stanley stammered. “Why would you ask me to take care of a—”

The beastman cut him off with a guttural growl. “I’m not asking, rat. You either do what I say, or you die right here.” He leaned forward slightly, voice low and dangerous. “Your choice.”

Stanley’s mouth clamped shut. No further questions.

He turned to Wayla and handed her the basket, his hands trembling so badly that the handles rattled. She took it reluctantly, scowling, and pulled back the cloth covering its contents.

It was a baby. A newborn—no older than three months—wrapped in dark linen, small and still, breathing softly. The child was asleep, utterly unaware of the tension pressing down on the room like a lead weight.

The couple exchanged a glance, but neither spoke. Objecting was out of the question. The panther’s presence alone silenced any hope of protest.

The beastman leaned forward, eyes gleaming like gold under firelight. “This human pup is your problem now. I don’t care how he turns out—he can grow into a drunk, a farmer, a killer, or even another rat like you.” His tone darkened. “But there is one thing that must never happen.”

He let the words hang in the air like poison.

“This child must never learn to use mana, or aura.”

He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a small leather pouch, tossing it onto the table. It landed with a solid clink.

“This will help. Mix a pinch of that into his food once a month. That’s all. Keep him weak. Keep him ordinary. This country already hates commoners with aura or mana, and this village is lawless. He’s in the right place.”

The beastman rose, tall and imposing, casting a long shadow across the floor. His helmet clinked softly as he fitted it back on.

His voice, muffled but no less menacing, came one last time. “If the pup dies before he turns fifteen, I’ll know. And if he does… I’ll cook you both. Slowly.”

Then he turned and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality.

The room fell silent, the air colder in his absence. The torchlight flickered weakly. A quiet whimper from the baby was the only sound that followed.

Wayla and Stanley stood frozen, hearts racing. They could barely afford to feed themselves. Now they were expected to raise a child? A mystery child, no less—gift-wrapped by a monster?

Wayla set the basket on the table and muttered through clenched teeth, “Shit. I hate babies. And who the hell was that freak, Stanley?”

Stanley sank onto the bed, his legs finally giving in. He stared at the floor, eyes distant, face pale. “He’s the reason I retired. The reason I came to this goddamn village.”

Wayla’s jaw tightened. She didn’t respond.

Stanley continued unprompted, his voice hollow. “One day, a merchant came to our hideout. Said he had a treasure map. Claimed if he went through noble channels, they’d take everything. So he came to us, offered a deal—thirty percent for guarding him and helping to retrieve the treasure.”

He laughed bitterly. “We accepted but of course, we planned to take it all and ditch his body in some corner for the beasts to feed on.”

Wayla crossed her arms but stayed quiet. Her feer of the beastman was slowly giving way to unease.

“We followed him into some forgotten canyon. The journey was rough—cold, wild animals, bandits, curses. But we made it. And the treasure… Gods, Wayla, I’ve never seen so much gold in my whole life.”

Stanley rubbed his hands together as if feeling phantom coins. “We waited until the merchant and his guards were distracted. Then we killed them. Quick and clean. I gutted three myself. The leader promised me a promotion. Said I’d get a double cut when we got back.”

He paused. His voice dropped. “But the moment we stepped out of the treasure chamber… a hidden door opened.”

Wayla’s brows furrowed.

Stanley’s voice trembled. “And he came out.”

“The beastman?”

He nodded. “That treasure was his. Turns out he collects it—from people he’s killed. Nobles, merchants, even kings. That room wasn’t just a hoard—it was a graveyard.”

He clasped his trembling hands. “We tried to fight. However nothing worked. It was like the air itself refused to let us hit him. He just… tore through us. Swatted us aside like we were nothing. Each person he killed differently. Like he was experimenting.”

Eventually, his voice broke. “When everyone died it came down to me and the leader. I was crying. Begging. I pissed myself.”

Wayla glanced at him, unsure whether to feel disgust or pity.

“He looked at me and smiled. Tossed me a knife and said, ‘If you want to live, kill your boss.’ That was it. One sentence.”

Stanley’s hands curled into fists. “I didn’t even think. I stabbed the leader. Again and again. Blood got in my eyes, in my mouth. I couldn’t stop. I thought if I did, the leader would wake up.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “And that thing just stood there, laughing. Like it was all a joke. Then he said, ‘One day, I’ll ask something of you.’ And left.”

Wayla was speechless. The idea of leaving the village, and running away, crossed her mind. But before she could speak it aloud, Stanley looked at her with dead, hollow eyes.

“If you’re thinking of running, don’t. He’ll kill the entire village if that kid dies. Not just us.”

The room fell into heavy silence.

Their marriage had never been about love. Stanley had wanted a woman. Wayla had wanted shelter. That was the deal. And now this baby—this strange, cursed obligation—was binding them tighter than ever before.

Stanley stood, closed the door, and locked it. “The good news? We don’t have to raise him right. Just keep him alive. I’ll figure out food tomorrow. You handle the rest—feeding, cleaning, keeping him quiet.”

Wayla gritted her teeth. “You know I hate kids. I had my womb scorched to make sure I’d never have one. And now you expect me to play mother to this… thing?”

“If it were up to me,” Stanley snapped, “I’d toss him in the river. But it’s not up to us. We’re both stuck. So deal with it.”

He walked to the bed and collapsed onto it, back to her. “If anyone asks, we were asked to look after him. That’s all they need to know.”

Wayla stood there a moment, eyes fixed on the sleeping baby. His chest rose and fell softly. His tiny fingers twitched in his sleep.

She cursed again under her breath, then turned away.

That night, Stanley drifted into a broken sleep, the beastman’s laughter echoing through his mind like a curse.

Wayla could not sleep at all.