Chapter 12: The test?

The hero knelt beside the girl, surrounded by burning corpses.
Breathing hurt.
Every breath he took reeked of smoke, blood, and charred flesh.
He dropped the sword.
He looked at the girl's face—half blackened, skin blistered, but she was still breathing.
The potion had worked.
It had dulled the pain.
But the wounds… the wounds were permanent.
"Damn it..." he whispered.
He buried his face in his hands and groaned quietly.
*He said alcohol wagons.*
*He said sabotage a rival's business.*
*But these...*
The hero opened his eyes and looked around.
Six wagons.
Four had burned completely. Two were still smoldering.
Some cages had been opened. Some were still locked.
Some slaves had escaped.
Some…
The hero turned his head. He couldn't look.
---
He stood up.
His legs trembled, but he forced himself.
*Think. Think, damn it.*
*He knew.*
*He definitely knew.*
The boss had told him "alcohol wagons."
But when the masked woman came, she only mentioned "the rose symbol."
She hadn't said anything about the contents.
*Was this a test?*
*"Will my dog really do anything?"*
The hero gritted his teeth.
*But why? What does he gain from this?*
No answer came.
Only the crackling of flames.
And distant screams.
---
"Is anyone alive?" he called out, his voice hoarse.
Silence.
Then—sobbing.
Crying.
A woman, elderly, curled in the corner of a cage in half-burned clothes.
A man, young, arms chained, trying to crawl on the ground.
A child, maybe eight years old, eyes wide, frozen.
The hero swallowed.
*The boss gave this as a test.*
*If I save them, I'll look weak.*
*If I leave them...*
He looked at the girl.
Still unconscious.
But alive.
*I'm already weak.*
*I'm already a dog.*
*But at least... at least I can save one person.*
---
He moved quickly.
He checked the cages—pulled out survivors from the open ones.
Three people. The old woman, the young man, the child.
"Run," he said. "Go to the city. But don't tell anyone what happened. If they ask, say 'we saw nothing.' Understand?"
The child nodded, trembling.
The hero grabbed his shoulder. "Run. NOW!"
All three began running into the darkness, stumbling, crying.
The hero watched them.
*Maybe this gives them a chance.*
*Maybe.*
---
Then he turned to the girl.
He knew he couldn't carry her. Too weak. The curse had drained his energy.
But he couldn't leave her either.
He checked one of the wagons—one of the half-burned but still usable ones.
Inside were sacks. Cloth. Supplies.
The hero cleaned the interior, laid down blankets, and placed the girl inside.
She groaned but didn't wake.
He found the horse—panicked but still alive—and hitched it to the wagon.
---
He looked at the other wagons.
Still burning.
Bodies everywhere.
The hero took a deep breath.
*The boss wanted this.*
*But why?*
*Did he want to sabotage a rival's slave trade?*
*Or is he testing me?*
He'd have to go back to find out.
---
He drove the wagon.
Slow, stumbling, but moving forward.
The girl lay in the back, breathing.
The hero didn't look back.
The flames still danced in the sky.
Smoke rose for miles.
---
An hour later, he approached the mansion.
The sun was setting.
The sky was blood red.
No one was at the gate.
The hero climbed down from the wagon and tried to carry the girl—but she was too heavy, he was too weak.
His knees buckled.
"Damn it..." he groaned.
Then the door opened.
A woman stepped out.
Her face was unfamiliar, but her walk… robotic.
Her eyes were dull.
*The mask.*
*He's controlling her right now.*
The woman approached the wagon, lifted the girl—effortlessly—and carried her inside.
The hero watched but the woman didn't speak.
She just went inside.
The door closed.
---
The hero stood there in the courtyard.
Waiting.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Then the door opened again.
This time, a different woman emerged.
She had the same vacant stare.
"Come inside. The boss is waiting for you."
The hero swallowed and followed her.
---
The boss sat in his office.
On his desk—a metal mask.
Small, covered in intricate engravings.
The hero stared at it.
The boss smiled.
"Sit."
The hero sat.
The boss stroked the mask with his hand.
"How did it go?"
The hero hesitated.
"Six wagons... destroyed."
"All of them?"
"Most. Two... were damaged but unusable."
The boss nodded.
"Good. So what was inside?"
The hero's heart raced.
*He knows.*
*He definitely knows.*
"Slaves," he said.
The boss's smile widened.
"Yes. Slaves."
Silence.
"I told you alcohol wagons," the boss continued. "But you found slaves."
The hero said nothing.
"And you... saved one."
The hero froze.
"How...?"
The boss touched the mask.
"I watched you. Start to finish. The masked woman was with you—in the trees. While you didn't see her, I saw everything."
The hero's fists clenched.
"Why?"
"A test," the boss said simply. "I've never seen someone like you before. From another world, cursed, dying... but still trying to survive."
He leaned forward.
"I wanted to see how much of a dog you really are."
"And?"
The boss laughed.
"You're not a dog. You're... something interesting."
He stood up.
"Dogs obey orders. But you... you still make choices."
He walked to the door.
"That girl is mine now. She'll be treated, chained, and sold as a slave. But you brought her here. So her fate is in your hands."
He paused.
"Now eat. Rest. We'll talk tomorrow."
He opened the door—but before leaving, he added:
"By the way... my rival wasn't a slave trader. I'm the slave trader. Those wagons were mine. And I wanted you to burn them."
The hero's world spun.
"What...?"
The boss smiled.
"Insurance. Every wagon was insured. When they burned, I'll get paid. And you'll be the culprit."
He closed the door.
---
The hero just sat there.
In the chair.
Trembling.
*He used me.*
*From start to finish.*
*I... was just a tool.*
He buried his face in his hands.
And laughed.
Madly.
Mercilessly.
Because now he understood.
Being a hero in this world wasn't possible.
Only surviving was possible.
And even that... would be difficult.