Thick fog clung to the dark streets. Houses lay in ruins, reduced to broken bricks and shattered tiles. Charred beams stood silently amidst the rubble, whispering tales of death and fire. This town had been utterly consumed a decade ago during a rebellion—no resident survived. Even now, bleached-white bones could be found among the collapsed walls. A merciless purge had claimed every life.

Abandoned corpses had absorbed ambient magic particles over time, stirring into Undead that now wandered the ruins. Ten years on, the town stood as a forbidden wasteland. Caravans and mercenaries avoided it entirely, preferring the perilous forest edges over this cursed ground haunted by the restless dead.

The rhythmic clop of hooves cut through the mist. A two-wheeled cart emerged, pulled by a rather ugly gray mare who wore a perpetually disgruntled expression, snorting occasionally. At the reins sat Mio, silver hair streaming in the wind as she guided the cart along the crumbling road. The lightweight cart had a simple canopy. Beneath it, Aimee drooled softly in deep slumber. Unfazed by the ominous miasma, she slept soundly—even Mio driving through the eerie town showed no unease.

Gazing at the ruined streets, Mio sighed deeply. No wonder the Reaper couldn’t approach. A fusion of lingering resentment and forest-borne magic particles had birthed a Mystic Realm here. This barrier obscured the space, repelling divine entities like the Reaper and turning the ruins into a sanctuary for the Undead. Yet for Mio—still barely clinging to life—entering posed no difficulty.

The Undead caught the scent of the living. They emerged from rubble, groaning lowly as they slowly gathered. These pitiful creatures still wore tattered remnants of their former clothes, weathered by ten years of rain and wind. Necks were severed, bodies impaled; gruesome wounds remained frozen in death. Their rotting flesh reeked, stomach-churning. Mio halted the cart, watching them draw near, skeletal hands reaching out. The gray mare snorted anxiously, round eyes wide with fear.

Mio dropped the reins and leapt down. Her travel-ready dress was layered under a long cloak patterned with triangles. At her waist hung a Force Field Sword and the Punisher. She walked toward the Undead. Their hollow eyes fixed on her, drawing them closer. Yet these flesh-hungry creatures didn’t attack. Instead, they knelt around her like devout worshippers. *Let us die! End our suffering!* they pleaded. Mio slowly raised her right hand. Silvery-white Spirit Energy erupted around her, lifting her silver hair.

Mio unleashed the Reaper’s divine authority.

"I am the ferryman of the Netherworld," her voice resonated. "I open the path to the land of the dead. Lost souls, I hear your prayers. I open the gate to the next life. Be freed from undying torment. Return to the cycle."

As the brief elegy ended, a massive ritual array flared beneath the Undead. Bathed in silvery light, their bodies dissolved. Trapped souls burst free from decaying flesh, soaring skyward. The flesh-craving Undead vanished. Only crumbling skeletons remained—still and silent. Their souls had returned to the cycle.

"That’s it," Mio sighed. "First job... reasonably successful."

"All done?" Aimee poked her head from the cart, sword already in hand. She’d been ready to shatter any zombies or skeletons the moment Mio faltered.

"Yeah. Done." Mio glanced around. "Ah, the fog’s lifting."

"Naturally," Aimee said. "You destroyed the Mystic Realm’s ‘core.’ The Undead themselves became its anchors. With them gone to dust, the fog dissipates."

Within minutes, the thick mist vanished completely. Afternoon sunlight bathed the moss-covered ruins—a stark contrast to the haunted realm that existed moments before.

Job complete. Mio smoothed her wind-tousled hair, then hopped back onto the driver’s seat. With a flick of the reins, the gray mare snorted loudly and clopped forward.

A day earlier, a fragment of Deus had visited Mio. He’d asked her to guide the town’s lingering souls—a request she accepted as the Reaper’s devotee. After fulfilling it, she sensed a subtle increase in her power. A faint but undeniable blessing from the Reaper now flowed within her.

The cart rolled away from the ruined town along the road. They needed to report the Mystic Realm’s destruction to the nearest settlement quickly. Before becoming cursed ground, this town had been a vital transport hub. Merchants and travelers had been forced to detour through dangerous northern mountain passes. Now, humanity reclaimed this land—a welcome relief for nearby residents.

Nearly a month had passed since their journey to the Imperial Capital began. Aimee and Mio savored the leisurely travel. With dark mud to synthesize gold coins, expenses were no concern. Still, Mio—armed with economics knowledge—avoided flooding the market. Their monthly spending was a mere two gold coins, mostly covering Aimee’s astonishing appetite. She devoured gourmet meals at an alarming pace yet never gained an ounce. Enviable.

After reporting the Mystic Realm’s disappearance to the Imperial Army garrison in the next town, scouts were immediately dispatched to verify. With valid identification, they cleared the city gates smoothly. This small city, Annon, was a key western trade hub. Though modest in size, merchants thronged its streets. The Empire’s most vital commodity—slaves—was everywhere.

Aimee stayed at the garrison to negotiate reclaiming the liberated town. Her status as Sword Saint of Hamodia ensured smooth talks. Mio stabled the cart at an inn and headed straight for the slave market. Despite her 46-year-old soul, her curiosity burned brighter than ever in this new world.

Diverse slaves gathered here, destined for trade elsewhere: towering Highlanders, lithe Forest Folk, dark-skinned Plainspeople—and even rarer races that surprised Mio. In one iron cage sat a scaled warrior, scars on his hide marking him as a seasoned fighter. A price tag hung on the bars.

"Welcome! How may I assist you?" A portly middle-aged man approached. His meticulously groomed mustache and shifty triple-white eyes gave him a shrewd air. Dressed in a common Imperial white robe, all ten fingers glittered with gemstone rings. This slave trader eyed Mio like a predator assessing prey. Behind him, two combat slaves stood ready with chains and ropes.

"Let’s be clear," Mio stated. "I’m not here to sell myself."

"Why not?" The trader blinked in mild surprise. "With your looks, nobles from any nation would bid fiercely. Better to choose a worthy master than remain a free commoner. I can introduce you to the Empire’s most powerful men. They’d cherish you, ensure lifelong comfort."

"Thank you, but I’m not interested in selling myself."

"Should you change your mind, visit our guild. As the Empire’s largest slave consortium, we offer premium service." He handed her a card. "Western Regional Representative Commodus... sir?"

"Oh? You can read." Commodus beamed. "Remarkable! Many can’t even pronounce my name. Literate slaves are rare treasures. Combined with your beauty, high-ranking clients would fight to buy you."

"May I view the slaves?" Mio deflected. "As a customer, not merchandise, if possible, Mr. Commodus."

Commodus’s expression shifted instantly. Greed vanished, replaced by a merchant’s polished smile. The role change was seamless. He led her into a tent thick with the stench of sweat and waste. Cages held slaves sorted by gender and age. Checking prices against Seralni market rates, Mio noted a slight markup—reasonable given transport and feeding costs. Commodus’s pricing was actually fair.

Slave values hinged on condition: young males at 10 silver coins, females 5-8. Strong men and beautiful women commanded premiums. Elders and children cost 1 silver—except literate elders, priced over 40. Treatment varied accordingly. Cheap slaves crowded rusted cages; high-value ones had private enclosures. An elderly man with white hair bowed to Commodus. Mio assumed he was an accountant—until realizing he, too, was merchandise.

After dismissing the low-cost section, Mio showed no interest.

"Might I ask, young lady," Commodus inquired smoothly, "what’s your budget?"

Mio flashed two gold coins. Commodus straightened instantly, his deference deepening. Few in the Empire casually carried such wealth. Money made the world go round—Mio wielded hers with practiced ease.