by Ryota Hori
“We thank you greatly for making use of the Abdul Company,” the shopkeeper said, bowing his head as politely as he did last time they spoke. “As requested, we’ve delivered the wares. Do inspect them.”
“Must have been a struggle to gather this many.” This was how Ryoma chose to show his good nature.
He always knew to be grateful to those who did him right, no matter who they may be.
“Not at all. This is work for us, after all...” The shopkeeper waved his hand dismissively, denying Ryoma’s words. “And ones of this age don’t sell well no matter what establishment you’d check. They were actually grateful to us for taking them off their hands... Fewer mouths to feed, after all.”
Ryoma directed a cold gaze at him. He’d only given them a cursory glance, but Ryoma got the impression there were more girls than boys behind the slaver.
“Fine, then,” Ryoma said with a strong tone. “The gender ratio is equal, like I asked, right?”
“Yes... I’ve actually brought you three hundred and thirty five of them, but the girls outnumber the boys seven to three.”
“Isn’t that more than what I asked?”
“Yes...” The shopkeeper stuttered evasively, as if hesitating to answer Ryoma’s question. “Well you see, boys often get sold first as labor slaves... And so, I’ve brought more than three hundred, due to, hmm...”
“To compensate for the lack of boys?” Ryoma asked.
The shopkeeper wordlessly flashed him a business smile.
“All right... Anything else?”
“No, sir noble, the rest is all according to your request. We’ve checked to make sure they’re all healthy. None of them carry any diseases.”
Ryoma snuck a glance at Boltz and Gennou, who answered his gaze with small nods. Most of the slaves were scarred from whippings, but all their wounds would recover given treatment. Ryoma didn’t trust the slavers much and had them look into the matter.
“Understood. I’ll believe you... We’ll be taking them all, then. The rest was another seventy five golds, right?”
“Yes, good sir, indeed.”
Ryoma nodded and handed over a sack of coins he’d prepared ahead of time.
“Thank you for your patronage.” The shopkeeper didn’t even bother checking the contents of the sack before stuffing it into his bag and bowing his head.
Apparently, he was keen on getting away from there before he might say anything that would annoy Ryoma. He then presented Ryoma with two documents.
“There’s one last thing, though. If you could sign this invoice right here... Yes, with this, all the slaves here now belong to you. One copy goes to you, and the other stays with me.”
Confirming Ryoma signed his name on the document, the shopkeeper nodded and put the remaining document in the bag.
“This concludes my business, then. We hope you deal with us again in the future.”
Satisfied at having sold off useless slaves to someone, the shopkeeper once again bowed his head and left the camp with his employees.
“All right, then... Lione! Start distributing their clothes. And Laura, is the food prepared?”
It was warm at this time of the year, but the slaves would certainly get sick if they had to stand outside naked. Having seen how the slaves were treated at the storefront, Ryoma had clothes and underwear prepared for them, as well as warm meals. Ryoma thought they might at least dress them upon delivery, but apparently that wasn’t customary in this world.
So their first order of business was getting the slaves dressed. The Crimson Lion members started distributing clothes to the slaves, who stood stock still like dolls devoid of will, collars clasped around their necks.
“We gave them the clothes, boy, but...” Lione said with a disturbed expression.
The children stood there with their clothes in hand. Normally, any person forced to stand around naked would put on any clothes handed to them. Maybe they’d ask if they were allowed to put them on. But these children simply stood there silently, their gazes perplexed. They didn’t try putting the clothes on.
“Why won’t they get dressed...? Don’t tell me they don’t know how to put clothes on.”
These children weren’t three-year-old infants. They might have been slaves, but they surely knew how to get dressed.
“Master Ryoma... Allow me.”
Laura walked in front of the children and began speaking with a calm, kind voice. As she did, the children’s expressions began changing. At first they were surprised, and gradually their gazes filled with suspicion. But as Laura continued speaking to them, they began putting on the clothes they were given, albeit with a hint of fear.
The children she spoke to directly began getting dressed first, but the surrounding slaves gradually followed suit.
“What did you tell them...?” Ryoma asked, visibly surprised.
The enslaved children’s eyes were still leaden with gloom and despair, but Laura’s words apparently made them take interest in Ryoma and his group. It was only the slightest change in atmosphere. They were like expressionless dolls before Laura spoke to them, but afterwards their expressions seemed slightly more human.
“It’s a simple thing, really. I just told them those clothes they were given belonged to them now.”
“What? But isn’t that obvious?”
Ryoma was naturally taken aback. In his mind, he’d already given those clothes to the children. But Laura shook her head in denial.
“Slaves don’t think that way. They only consider things as their own the moment their master says so... That’s how Sara and I lived for the longest time...”
In truth, it was probably obvious if Ryoma were to think about it. The slaves were treated as objects, and so had to constantly mind how people looked at them and suppress their wills. Before they were bought their lives were at the mercy of the slavers, and after that they were subject to their owners.
It wasn’t that they lacked wills of their own. They were simply restraining their individuality and will, so that they didn’t make themselves seem unnecessary. Unnecessary slaves were killed and disposed of, after all.
“Oh, I see...” Ryoma realized the situation thanks to Laura’s words.
The children couldn’t do anything without explicit permission from Ryoma. Or rather, they were under the impression they couldn’t. And so Ryoma realized he had to tell them otherwise first. Tell them that they were human. Human beings with wills of their own.
He would have to say that loud and clear, and remind them of their own humanity...
On that day, Melissa’s fate underwent a radical change for the second time in her life.
Her fate first changed three years ago. She was born in a small fishing village in the Kingdom of Xarooda. Her family was poor, but the days she spent with her parents and siblings were full of happiness and peace. That life, however, would come to an abrupt end, thanks to the pirates lying in wait at the Wortenia Peninsula...
The rumors of pirate activity in the Wortenia Peninsula had abounded for some time. Even as a child, she’d heard of how pirates were attacking trade ships sailing along the coast. Still, trade ships were loaded with expensive merchandise, and her village was a poor fishing community that had nothing that warranted plundering.
And indeed, up until that day, their village was never attacked. Who would attack a village whose sole product was dried fish? But that question crumbled away all too easily in the face of cold, hard reality. Any thoughts of how unlikely an attack might be faded away when she saw the slaughter taking place.
Her parents were run through by the pirates’ spears. Her siblings and friends were all scattered during the attack, and what became of them was unknown to her. The only thing Melissa, eleven years old at that time, could do was run. The pirates set her village on fire, and Melissa fled the flames and smoke, running for her life.
She couldn’t remember what came next. She clearly remembered running out of the village, but her memory cut off there. Wh
en she came to, she was in some city she didn’t know. Apparently a man had found and sheltered her. But now she had a collar clasped around her neck. She stood in front of a store, essentially naked.
She had no idea how this fate had befallen her, but soon enough, the fact that this was real and could not be overturned dawned upon her. A life where any word she uttered was met with a blow from a whip. Crying resulted in her getting whipped. Screaming earned her another serving of the whip. And when she begged for mercy, all she was rewarded with was more whipping.
As one scar after another appeared on her body, Melissa learned how to conduct herself. She learned to act out the part of a doll, to silence her own emotions — all in order to survive. And as she did, she watched as slaves who couldn’t find any buyers were being disposed of. A sight that only tightened the shackles around her heart.
She was a girl, and not one graced with physical talent or stamina. Her facial features may have been considered cute, but she was not exceptionally beautiful. If she were a bit older, she may have been sold off as a sex slave, but she was still only fourteen years old. And years of slavery had made her body thin and emaciated, as if to cruelly ensure she would not stir a man’s lust. Had Ryoma Mikoshiba not bought her that day, she would no doubt have been disposed of and killed as undesirable, defective goods.
And yet, the whims of fate gave her a chance to live on.
What are these clothes...? What do they want me to do with this?
The slave merchants carried Melissa and the other slaves here, where she received a bundle of clothes and underwear from a bearded man. The other slaves held similar bundles of clothes, and looked just as confused as Melissa was.
What are these things? Can we wear them...?
The only things she was wearing were the same underwear she’d had on for months now and a tattered tunic torn by whipping. And that was all. She wanted to put on new clothes, of course. But that wish was beyond her reach.
She was an object, after all. Logically, one would assume the clothes she was holding were meant for her. But at the same time, Melissa’s heart was weighed down by the belief that it wasn’t possible.
No... I’m an object... Objects aren’t allowed to have clothes...
Things like this had happened before. Half-eaten meat would be thrown in front of a slave, as if to say “Go on, eat it...” But that was only a nasty trick on the part of the slavers. If the slave picked up the meat and tried to eat it, a flurry of lashes awaited them.
She’d seen it happen countless times already. A slave’s daily meal was a piece of hard bread and cold, salty soup. They wouldn’t be given meat, no matter what. She’d grown used to these eating habits. Even if a piece of meat would be thrown to the ground before her, she wouldn’t pick it up.
The slavers knew this, which was why they dangled meat in front of their slaves as bait. To etch the understanding that they were slaves into their very flesh. All of the children in this place had seen it happen time and again. And so, not one of them moved.
But the situation took an unexpected turn. A blond woman approached them, and said words they never imagined they would hear.
“Aren’t you cold? Those clothes are yours now. My master, Ryoma Mikoshiba, is giving you these clothes. Feel free to put them on... My master wishes for that.”
Melissa doubted what she’d just heard.
They’re giving us... they’re giving slaves clothes? Really? Nice clothes like these...?
Of course, they weren’t made of silk. These were the kinds of clothes one could buy in bulk at a tailor’s shop in town. Still, these linen clothes weren’t something a slave would be allowed to wear. These were clothes — and new ones at that — which a commoner in town might wear. These weren’t used hand-me-downs. They were far better than anything a slave might receive.
Melissa looked around. All the other children seemed to doubt the woman’s words, but her tone was calm and soothing. It didn’t look like she was lying.
“It’s all right... Go on, get dressed! We’ll have your meals ready in a bit!”
Spurred by her words, one of the boys put on his clothes and looked at the woman. Confirming that she nodded at him, the other slaves began putting on their own clothes. When all the slaves had put their clothes on, a man stood in front of them.
He had an imposing air to him, as if he was their king or something...
On that day, their fates — the lives they had spent as slaves up until that point — would greatly change.
Who is this man...? He’s like... a black sun...
From servitude, to a harsher life of freedom.
Now dressed, Melissa and the children looked slightly better. Of course, they hadn’t bathed in years and their hair was unkempt, overgrown and screwed into lumps at points. They looked no different from vagrants sitting in an alley. Their clean clothes only served to emphasize just how filthy they were.
This is... Embarrassing...
An emotion she’d long since forgotten lit up in Melissa’s heart. She kept her gaze fixed intently on the black-clad young man standing in front of the slaves.
“Well... I guess we should let them eat first. Bathing this many of them is gonna be a chore and a half... But no... We can’t leave them looking like this.”
Ryoma’s lament was relatable. There were over three hundred slaves standing in front of him with hollow gazes in their eyes. Getting them dressed and fed was one thing, but bathing them was a much more daunting challenge. There were bathhouses in the city that could support a large number of people, but they wouldn’t accommodate this many.
For a start, given how filthy the children were, any bathhouse would turn them away no matter how much they might promise to pay. It was easy to imagine how any normal civilian would refuse to enter the same bath as them.
But that said, they couldn’t simply rent out an entire bathhouse. Ryoma could try to use his status as a noble to forcibly do that, but Epirus was Count Salzberg’s territory. Trying to have his way in another noble’s territory wasn’t wise.
“Let’s let them eat first. It’s fresh and warm, after all...” Laura suggested. “About their baths... I think our only idea would be to boil some water and have them bathe in it... We can’t carry so many of them into town.”
Ryoma nodded and turned to Lione.
“All right... Lione! You can begin.”
There was much for them to do.
“Aye, boy! C’mon, ya lot! Line up!”
At Lione’s prompting, the children split into five rows and lined up. They weren’t exactly prompt or disciplined, but they did what they were told. They moved with confused, doubtful expressions on their faces. The pain of the whip was still fresh in their memories. Of course, Ryoma and his companions wouldn’t lay a hand on them even if they were disobedient, but the slaves couldn’t even fathom that possibility.
They did as Laura said and put on their clothes, but their eyes still visibly lacked the kind of will a free person had.
“Now be careful! It’s hot. Be careful when you eat it.”
Melissa couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. The large, deep bowl before her eyes was filled with steaming soup and handed over to her. It was full of carrots, onions, potatoes, and meat. Those squares of meat were likely beef.
This soup was more rich than what most commoners usually ate. Most commoners had simple onion or corn soups. They only had such a wide variety of vegetables or meat in their food during special occasions. If nothing else, to Melissa, who grew up in a poor fishing village, this soup looked like a luxury meal.
Why... Why are they feeding us something like this...?
Melissa couldn’t believe the warmth of the bowl she was holding. Having been a slave that remained unbought for years meant her daily meals were nothing short of terrible. She only had two meals a day, and they were both thin soup that barely had any taste to it, thanks to what little effort had been put into making it, poured into a flat bowl. And since it
was made to feed many slaves, it wasn’t served hot. It was like drinking cold water.
And the only thing they were given to eat with that soup was dry, blocky bread that was several days old. They couldn’t eat it normally without dipping it into the soup to soften it. Even when Melissa was a poor commoner, she had eaten significantly better than that. She’d had meat several times a year. That made it painfully clear just how terrible her life as a slave was.
And that was why she couldn’t believe the reality unfolding before her eyes. The nearly forgotten memories of her life before her slavery were beginning to surface in her mind.
It’s warm... It’s... It’s like the soup Mother used to make...
As poor as they were, Melissa’s mother always made sure there was hot soup on the dinner table. It was a poor commoner’s meal, of course, and wasn’t all that garnished, either. It only had a few vegetables in it, and they were most likely to have meat or fish no more than once or twice a year.
And still, to Melissa, her mother’s soup was the greatest delicacy she knew. It was always hot, and its heat seemed to soak into her heart...
“Ah, it’s hot!”
As Melissa peered into her bowl, one of the boys exclaimed loudly. He then dropped his bowl, spilling its contents over the ground. Judging from his mouth and hands, he apparently couldn’t help himself and tried to gulp down the soup without permission from their master.
The surrounding children’s expressions were dyed over with shock and fear. In their eyes, eating something without explicit permission from their owner was effectively a death sentence. And even more so when the soup he spilled was as luxurious as it was...
The boy squatted down at once, and the children surrounding him got away as fast as they could. That was their secret to survival. They knew that standing near a child that was about to be whipped meant they might get mixed up in the beating. It would be easy to look down on this act of self-defense, but it was just human nature to do so.
So when a silver-haired lady hurried to the boy’s side, everyone prayed in their heart, believing he was about to be punished severely. Not knowing that their expectations were about to be completely overturned...
