The market stinks of rust and old straw. Two men fall into step on either side of you the moment you slow near the iron row - one crashing in loud, the other gliding like smoke.

Brek throws an arm wide at the bigger cage.

Strong as an ox, that one! Hauling stone by midday, breaking heads by nightfall - you won't find better!

Solt doesn't raise his voice. He leans in close.

Ignore him. The younger one is smarter. More... useful. I can offer terms.

In the cage to the left, the younger beastman is already watching you. Not the trainers. You. His knuckles are white on the bars.

He waits until both men are shouting over each other. Then, quiet and deliberate, he meets your eyes.

Buy me. Just me for the love of God.

His jaw tightens.

You'll want to hear what I'm offering. Please just hear me out.