Page 44 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
“When you speak of him, just say Xhor. Now show me every inch of this rock!”
“Of course, Lord Noviosk! As you know, Vagantu is mostly aquatic—”
“Yes, I had noticed, thank you,” I cut in, irritated.
I don’t like wasting time, and I value subordinates who get to the point. Feeding me platitudes under a veil of fake respect is more likely to piss me off than anything else.
“Hmm… so the slave market is entirely located on this island. The sorting corridor is on the right, reserved for incoming merchandise, as you might expect. The corridor on the left is for buyers.”
“Let’s start with the buyers,” I say, following Banny in the direction he pointed out.
This section is actually well laid out for a fortress carved into rock. I’m immediately struck by the oppressive heat and humidity in the air. The stone walls are damp withcondensation, and a smell of sea salt and mildew hangs thick around us.
We step into a comfortable lounge. The furniture, though simple, is arranged with care. Plush cushions line the seats, and a gray composite table sits in the middle. This is where buyers would wait, likely discussing prices and the merchandise they had their eye on.
Every room we pass through tells a similar story—waiting areas for wealthy buyers willing to throw down serious credits to get what they came for.
The heat and humidity make the air nearly unbreathable.
I start forming mental notes, already designing how I plan to reshape the place. With a few modifications, we could make it more comfortable, more appealing. Anything to get our clients into a mindset that encourages profitable transactions.
I keep walking until I find a small room that opens out toward the sea.
Waves crash against the rocks below, spraying salty mist through the cleared window opening.
I like this room. It would make a perfect command office for the network.
I can already see it: a massive desk, a comfortable chair… Unlike Xhor, I fully intend to keep an eye on this business.
There’s no way I’m leaving full control to the staff.
Trust them too much, and they’ll betray you.
I know how to delegate—but I’m also obsessively vigilant when it comes to my affairs.
“Does this space meet your needs, Lord Noviosk?”
“Perfectly. If you have a maintenance crew, send them here. I’ll give them direct instructions for the changes I want made.”
“I look forward to it! I’m sure the improvements will be most welcome,” Banny replies with a syrupy smile.
For a moment, I’m tempted to snap at him—his excessive deference is starting to grate. But I hold back. After all, he hasn’t said anything false. Everything he’s told me has been accurate. Most likely, this servile attitude is just how he operates.
Still, I plan to keep an eye on this Penubian.
“I want to see the rest,” I say instead.
We make our way through the damp, shadowy corridors and come upon a large hall that seems to be a sorting station.
Composite tables are lined up in rows, covered in various tools and instruments.
This is likely where the captives were examined and sorted—by species, age, gender, and physical condition. The stench of sweat and blood hangs heavy in every corner of this grim room.
I’m not particularly moved by it.
Sorting is a necessary step.
The next room is clearly a wash station.
