Chapter 187: Crossroads (9)
Dusk had fallen, and night had arrived. Roscell roamed the streets while wearing his hooded robe. Two knightly guards followed him, armed with swords and tiny shields.
It was a frigid night. The season determined it. Roscell walked briskly, exhaling white breath. Their objective was a gigantic, five-story round theater that hosted plays and circus performances for the general public.
However, on the 15th of each month, the theater evolved into a place where money and power could truly be felt. Valkurtis was the largest slave auction place in the adjacent cities.
As they approached the auction house, Roscell’s face clouded. He understood exactly why he was heading to the auction house: to buy slaves.
His father was away on vital business about his advancement in central politics. Roscell naturally took on some of the responsibilities that his father should have and could have had. One of them purchased slaves.
Roscell was outraged at knowing where and how the slaves would be treated. Roscell reflected on the past.
A few months ago, a man unexpectedly emerged and proposed a relationship to his father. He was not sent away with the usual beating.
The stranger, who had immediately crippled the great knights appointed as guards, made an offer to Roscell’s terrified father.
Instead of assassination or warning, Roscell’s father, Jayvir Brasilt, expressed curiosity and acceptance after hearing the plan.
Roscell Brasilt was well aware of what transpired next.
One of the castle’s farmlands was confiscated, and curiously shaped seeds were put on the land, which was overseen by wizards.
The sprouts, grass, and fruits from the seeds underwent stringent management and preservation procedures before entering the tower and alchemy workshop. A small amount flowed into Brasilt’s back alley.
Roscell had to remain mute despite the fact that he was witnessing the heinous conduct, such as spreading drugs among the territory’s people, because the man was terrifyingly strong and had a nasty appearance that he did not want to face.
Then, that nightfall, a terrifying scream and the sound of stuff pouring out could be heard from the man’s residence. Roscell felt a headache and nausea when he heard the deployed guards’ report that they had fainted and vomited several times.
All of the slaves entrusted to the man were brutally killed, and Roscell questioned the man about what had occurred as he gazed at the scene of the dead with their insides exposed.
When he asked, the man, Livenbus, simply turned his head. Livenbus, who was coated in red blood, wore nothing. However, when the same man’s naked body was revealed, horror took precedence over revulsion.
His crumpled and contorted skin wriggled as if he had received full-body burns. Roscell had no idea what curse Livenbus had, and he didn’t want to know.
The only thing he knew about Livenbus was that he was in excruciating pain and had burns all over his body, even with his eyes open and when sleeping. If he hadn’t acquired the black magic technique of transmitting awareness to another person’s body, he would have gone insane from torture and committed suicide long ago.
Livenbus instructed Roscell to get him slaves. Count Jayvir, who did not allow him to remain in the castle but provided him with a separate residence on the castle grounds, issued directives to his son out of goodwill and convenience. This was the situation in which Roscell went to the auction house.
The gatekeeper of Valkurtis assumed that young master Roscell, who stood there without saying anything, was taking his time because he was about to give an order. However, Roscell just gestured to open the door with a grim gaze. The gatekeeper opened the door.
Roscell entered the auction house by the back door, followed by a lovely female escort who emerged unexpectedly and led him upstairs. The interior of the auction building was as bright as day. This was due to the wizards floating light bulbs linked to the ceiling, which emitted a dazzling light.
When he opened the door that the guide had opened and entered, a closed space emerged. At first glance, the only things in the limited area were a soft chair made of wool and leather that appeared to be comfortable for the buttocks and a mahogany table with refreshments.
Roscell sat in the chair, and as the blackness faded away, a picture appeared in front of him. Those seated in other rooms would have observed the same thing.
The image’s main character was a middle-aged man wearing fine clothes and sporting a mustache. The man lowered his head and turned his hat around once before opening his mouth.
“To those who have come to this place━”
Kwaaang!
Then an explosion and a deafening boom filled Valkurtis.
🔷🔷🔷🔷🔷🔷
Slaves were confined to the auction house’s basement. The severe guards opened the cage door and dragged them out in sequence, as ordered. Each time, faint cheers of appreciation ushered the slave to the stage, and the curtain fell as the light faded.
In the gloom, the slaves could only sit hopelessly. It didn’t matter if they had a big frame, muscles, or a lot of magical power and high-level spells.
The rope attached to the constraint around their necks was a magical tool that, depending on the guard’s actions, delivered powerful physical and magical shocks. It didn’t matter how powerful their muscles or magical abilities were because it targeted their nerves and magical circuits.
Of course, it was extremely expensive to manufacture and required special care in usage and management, but it was obviously effective in incapacitating someone.
Because of the extended management, slaves occasionally accepted the rest of their lives indifferently. Regardless of their personality or beliefs, the freedom of their clothing, food, and shelter was controlled by others, who arrived sooner or later.
Ironically, the amount of attention offered by the slave owner varied according to the slave’s condition.
People prefer clean and beautiful things. The principle that worked in other areas naturally applied to slaves as well. Because of the slave owner’s continual care and attention, the slaves had clean skin and nutritious food.
Maltinpus, the slave owner, was aware of the slaves’ desire for freedom. When they were provided nutritious food, clean bodies, and clean clothes, the slaves forgot they were slaves.
The bindings around their wrists, ankles, and necks took on a new form as ornaments.
‘And the look on their faces when the illusion is broken is the most valuable.’
The time a slave acknowledges his/her status as a slave. The moment his/her is tossed into an empty space with torn clothes and nothing.
The slaves understands his/her location in the midst of dozens of ravenous gazes directly in front of hhis/her, as well as invisible gazes watching the items above.
There were a few slaves left. Thinking that today was exceptionally hot, slave owner Maltinpus approached today’s produce, which was held in the deepest section.
As everyone knows, elves are a difficult race to enslave. In addition to the habit of not leaving their home until their coming-of-age ceremony, their powerful energy and magic are the most formidable impediments to catching them.
However, no merchant who deals with slaves abandons the pursuit of this merchandise, which ensures immense money once captured.
In that way, the dark elf was a blessing in disguise. A dark elf with no magical abilities and on the verge of famine. And a stunning one at that.
Gender did not matter. Elves were in high demand everywhere. The supply just could not keep up with the overwhelming demand.
The Maltinpus opened the cage door with delight. He smiled as he spoke, holding the handle of the rope hanging from the bars.
“Come out here━”
He couldn’t complete his sentence. Something with ghostly red eyes gripped his neck.
Maltinpus flailed his limbs, unable to emit a squeak. The dark elf, who had grasped his throat, refused to let him breathe.
Maltinpus could not understand. He could not exert more strength than a newborn baby while wearing the restraints, even if the guards or he operated them slightly. But how?
Maltinpus could already feel his vision becoming blurry. His brain was not receiving adequate oxygenation. His consciousness was slipping.
Then something clicked around his neck, bringing his breath back.
“Keuk! Guluk, Heueok!”
Maltinpus coughed violently and then inhaled quickly. That was all that was important to him right now. He sensed something was wrong when he noticed something familiar, but he never wanted to fill his neck with it.
He stroked his neck and felt the rough texture of the cuffs, as well as the cold, which numb his fingertips. Maltinpus glanced up.
“You, you. . . . .?”
There was just enough light in the basement to make out objects. Maltinpus understood that he should have considered the brightness of the light from the start. Originally, there should have been a light sphere floating so that the slaves’ condition could be identified immediately.
“Is this it?”
Someone who had assaulted Maltinpus talked cheerfully and pressed things.
Something ignited a blue flame in the darkness. Pop!
Then a powerful shock pierced Maltinpus’ entire body. For a few seconds, he felt his muscles contract and extend simultaneously. Those few seconds were like the 38 years of Maltinpus’s life.
Maltinpus, who showed tremors that even a person struck by lightning wouldn’t show for a long time, collapsed on the floor as soon as the manipulation of the restraint ended.
“I’ve seen it a few times, but it’s really a good tool. If you can just put it on, could you capture a dragonkin and make them work?”
“Heuk, keuk, no, that’s. . . impossible. . . because there’s a limit to the magic stone that controls the output. . .”
In a self-revealing response, Maltinpus expressed astonishment and rejection. His mouth was expressing the knowledge in his thoughts without his control.
“I see. Thank you for your answer. So, shall we go now?
When the dark elf yanked the rope, Maltinpus hurriedly followed. The thought of not wanting to move remained in his mind. His attention shifted to the end of the rope, which the dark elf was holding in his right hand as the handle that controlled the constraint.
Could he take it off? No, taking it off is impossible. Maltinpus has never done anything more strenuous than breathing exercises in 38 years. He was only competent at moving the abacus and counting money while leading others about. Naturally, he had no knowledge of swordplay.
Even if he possessed swordsmanship skills, he would not have been able to confront this dark elf. Maltinpus was unable to feel anything in the dark. The superhuman strength that is supposed to be displayed in times of crisis is uncommon; therefore, it is a source of discussion among aristocrats.
Maltinpus, who had been walking with a dog-like, dutiful attitude, understood that the direction had changed. This was not the route to the stage where the slaves were shown.
“E, Excuse me, where are we going?”
He talked in a natural honorific, but neither Maltinpus, the speaker, nor the dark elf, the listener, cared. The dark elf spoke,
“We’re going to blow up this building.”
He didn’t hear the answer to his question, but it was enough to send Maltinpus into a frenzy.
🔷🔷🔷🔷🔷🔷
“This is the auction house.”
“It’s quite noisy.”
As Russell mentioned, the area around Valkurtis was filled with people. There were essentially no other races, and they were nearly exclusively humans. Russell saw it as both weird and familiar.
Russell, Scilio, Weizen, and Calia traveled through the city districts, led by Scilio. Weizen, rubbing his trampled back, and Calia, looking suspiciously, strolled down the well-kept road.
Despite the late hour, foreigners or people from neighboring archipelagos or continents shouted from time to time.
One out of every four people hurried somewhere, while the remainder enthusiastically screamed about the value of the things they were marketing.
Across the busy market, a big, round-walled auction house could be seen. At the main gate, strict-looking gatekeepers and guards checked the attendees’ identities.
The majority of the people who revealed their identities were coachmen or servants. Behind them, four-seater or six-seater carriages with elaborate carvings stood waiting their turn.
“Today is the fifteenth, and slaves are sold at the auction house. To approach Roscell━”
At that moment, an explosion drowned out all the noise in the market.
People who had unknowingly dropped their waists and heads looked for the source of the loud boom. Even at night, the black smoke billowing from Valkurtis’ roof could be seen clearly.
“. . . . . .Something seems to have happened.”
“I guess so.”
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