CHAPTER 2: The Black Iron Freight Corps

01

In the Endalsian capital of old, there were four main roads that branched out from the royal castle at the center, and smaller streets intersecting those roads had been developed in a pattern of concentric circles. Surrounding the castle walls was a path roughly as broad as the main roads, from which the circular streets fanned out to reach all the way to Endalsia’s outermost ramparts. The townscape had changed in two hundred years, but it looked as though the roads were still being used as before.

There was no trace of the royal castle that was once visible from any point within the Endalsian capital; nowadays, it was said to open up into the entrance to the Labyrinth. The castle walls that had once protected the royal family had been repaired and now protected the general population by preventing monsters from flooding out of the Labyrinth.

The breadbasket region to the northwest of the Labyrinth City still boasted plenty of farmland despite having shrunk as a result of the Fell Forest’s encroachment, and as such, a large part of the population lived within the City’s northwestern district. Incidentally, this region had received the most damage from the Stampede, since the monster horde encountered nothing to block its way as it engulfed the entirety of the grain-producing lands in an instant, and the outer ramparts there were the first to be breached. The buildings here had been completely destroyed when the monsters surged into the capital.

The aristocratic district to the southeast remained unchanged save for a mansion built for the family of Margrave Schutzenwald, who governed the Labyrinth City. This district was the closest to the mountain range; the road through the mountains was precipitous and unsuitable for caravan traffic or large numbers of people, but its proximity to the city itself made it easy to escape to in an emergency—hence why it became the aristocratic quarter, or so it was said.

The Black Iron Freight Corps’s carriages entered the southwest side of the city through the former Citadel’s large gate. After traveling along a main road to the city center, they turned west onto one of the circling streets near the Labyrinth and eventually reached the northeast district.

This section of the city also commanded a view of the mountain range on the other side of the forest. The mountains had mines that produced an abundance of mineral resources. The highway going through them was treacherous here as well; carriages couldn’t traverse it, but this path was safer than the one in the southeast mountains, so people used it mainly to travel to other countries without encountering monsters.

For this very reason, it was a popular spot for merchants who peddled resources from the Labyrinth and the mines, and the Labyrinth City flourished. The partially destroyed Endalsian structures were demolished, and the massive warehouses of mercantile companies lined the city’s perimeter near the mountain range. The Labyrinth side of the city center was home to a variety of thriving business establishments that catered to adventurers, such as shops, restaurants, lodging, and an Adventurers Guild.

Every single structure rebuilt after the Stampede had apparently been designed with fortresslike defenses in mind.

The cargo’s destination appeared to be in a relatively nice location near the Labyrinth, and they arrived at a rear entrance after entering a side street. The double doors at the back of the building were bigger than those in the front, enough to allow three carriages to enter and unload in the courtyard.

The structure at the front of the courtyard seemed to be some sort of commercial establishment, flanked on either side by sectioned-off animal enclosures, a carriage storehouse, and a place for washing up.

The three iron carriages were guided inside and halted next to one another.

A strapping gentleman who appeared to be the supervisor emerged from the back entrance. He was accompanied by two of his lackeys, along with several servants and male guards. With an account book in one hand, he began to talk business with Captain Dick and Lieutenant Malraux.

Five members of the Black Iron Freight Corps disembarked from the coach boxes and unhooked the raptors from the carriages. A young boy took the bit of the raptor the captain had been riding, whistled sharply, and walked toward the enclosures.

The typically temperamental raptor obediently let the boy lead it on, and the other raptors followed after them in turn.

“Yuric is an animal trainer. Amazing, right? Let’s go.”

Led by Lynx, Mariela followed the raptors and found that the building was indeed for housing livestock. A man who looked to be the caretaker was waiting there with food and water, and Lynx informed her that this was the man who tended to the raptors exhausted from darting through the Fell Forest without any rest.

“Not a whole lotta places provide food for them. Mr. Reymond is a generous man.”

Because the enclosures were for guest use, there were no other mounts inside. In a routine fashion, Yuric secured the raptors and gave them the meat and water Reymond had prepared for them.

In contrast, the caretaker appeared decidedly fearful as he made sure to push the feed trays far away from himself after filling them.

“GYARGYAR!”

“Eek!”

Water spilled onto one of the raptors, and it barked a complaint, causing the caretaker to shriek.

“There, there, why so angry? I’ll give ya some more, mkay? I know ya need it.”

Yuric spoke with a slight accent, and when he stroked the raptor’s snout, it immediately turned docile. He asked the caretaker for more water, and the flustered man held his hands over the bucket.

“Water.”

Using lifestyle magic, Reymond filled the bucket to the brim with plain water. He would have been better off pouring it straight into the raptor’s trough instead of over on the other end of the enclosure, but perhaps Yuric figured it was pointless to complain to a man staring at the ground to avoid eye contact. Instead, he silently carried the bucket to the raptors and poured it into one of the troughs.

“’Ey, Lynx, couldja give me a hand?”

“No prob.”

Yuric was about fifteen or sixteen, and Lynx was no more than a year or two older. The two young men so close in age seemed to be good friends. Lynx delivered meat to the remaining unfed raptors.

“Mariela, you want to try it? They’re greedy little rascals, but they ain’t gonna bite you.”

Lynx offered her the bowl of feed.

“’Course they won’t. My trainin’ is perfect, y’know?” boasted Yuric as he continued to stroke the raptor. His curt behavior toward the caretaker had completely changed as he now gazed tenderly at the reptilian creature.

Mariela inspected the raptors. Frightening carnivorous beasts though they may be, there was something endearing about the way they single-mindedly devoured their meat. Maybe if she made friends with one, it would let her pet its glossy skin.

The caretaker used lifestyle magic, so I guess it’s okay if I use it, too.

She held her hands over the trough of one of the raptors that hadn’t been watered yet.

“Water.”

The creature drank in a single gulp the water that appeared.

“Were you that thirsty?” she asked, and it grunted in response. “Yeah? You like it? Want some more?”

Mariela’s mood had improved a little. As she poured a second helping, the other raptors began to gurgle noisily to get her attention for water.

Once they’d all been attended to, Yuric and Lynx began to wash the raptors.

When Mariela followed suit, her raptor growled and turned away.

“It tickled ’cause you weren’t rubbin’ hard enough.”

Yuric translated to let her know the raptor didn’t like that, so she petted its head instead. Its skin was pleasantly silky to the touch, more so than she’d imagined.

She noticed the creatures chattered a lot.

Only Yuric understood what they were saying. Every one of them made a racket no matter what they were trying to communicate: The base of their neck itched; or the feed wasn’t fresh; or Yuric’s water was the best, but Mariela’s was also good. She never knew animals could be so entertaining.

“When we reach the inn, you’ll get plenty o’ rest, mkay? Just hang in there a bit longer, ’kay?”

The two young men diligently washed the raptors. The caretaker seemed to realize the creatures weren’t scary, and following Yuric’s and Lynx’s instructions, he changed their bathwater and polished their saddles and stirrups.

Having run out of things to do, Mariela casually peered into the courtyard, wondering if the others had finished unloading the cargo.

Huh…?

A large number of people stood in single file next to the iron carriages.

The Black Iron Freight Corps had been carrying human cargo. They were lined up between two of the carriages—men on one side and women on the other. The men wore only loincloths, while the women were clad in a single piece of fabric each, and their hands were tied in front of them.

They’re slaves…

There had been slaves in the Citadel City, too. All the women working in the bordello that bought Mariela’s potions wholesale were either debt laborers or former slaves.

The debt laborers Mariela knew of worked for a period of time according to how much debt they had, doing anything from shop labor to carrying an adventurer’s bags, collecting garbage, or dissecting monsters. Those they worked for were obligated to provide them with the bare minimum needed to survive so they could do their work. Although the amount was basically pocket change, there was even a wage accumulation system for times when they couldn’t get work.

This was the way of life for the slaves Mariela knew. These people didn’t seem to be getting treated so poorly that it was obvious they were slaves, but still…

The males were scrawny. Their hair and beards had grown out, and their bodies were filthy.

One of the company’s manservants used lifestyle magic to douse each of them in turn with water. The slaves were forced to wash themselves up on the spot before they were scrutinized one by one by a clerk carrying an account book, as if he was inspecting livestock.

Not only that, the servant used a pole to prod them, as if they were too filthy to touch with bare hands.

The defiant ones were restrained from behind and mercilessly pulled to the ground by guards.

If a slave showed even a bit of resistance, he was held down by several people and thoroughly scrutinized in a much more humiliating position. Even after it was over, his arms and legs were hog-tied behind his back, and he was thrown to the ground. The others who witnessed this quietly submitted themselves to the mercy of the clerk, whether he shoved his pole inside their mouths or examined under their loincloths.

The last man in line may have been injured; he wobbled unsteadily on his feet. The clerk’s prodding was enough to knock him to the ground. The guards grabbed his hair and roughly lifted his head, and his entire body was violently jostled back and forth while he was only barely conscious.

“This is awful…,” Mariela uttered despite herself.

“First time you’ve seen penal laborers or lifelong slaves?”

Lynx’s question made her jump. She hadn’t noticed him approach.

“Once they’re sent to the Labyrinth City, they stay there for life. Sometimes they die mid-transport when monsters attack their carriages. There’s always a shortage of labor here, but since the human rights of debt laborers are protected, we can’t bring proper slaves to the city.”

Penal labor was punishment for someone who had committed a serious crime such as murder or robbery, and unless they received amnesty for some sort of meritorious deed as recognized by the general public, it was a lifetime sentence.

Those who committed minor offenses such as petty theft that didn’t merit penal labor were ordered to pay a sum of money equivalent to the damages caused. If they were unable to pay, they could sell themselves off as debt laborers to obtain the needed funds. If the amount of debt was deemed too large to be repayable when considering age, ability, gender, or other circumstances, they were sentenced to a lifetime of hard labor as lifelong slaves. In either case, they lacked anything resembling human rights, and Mariela had even heard they were forced into extremely dangerous and cruel labor, such as serving on the front lines of battle as so-called meat shields or working in mines.

There were certain monsters in this world that ordinary people were no match for, and then there were the individuals with the power to oppose them. Nothing was more dangerous than a powerful person lacking in moral values. This world had no resources to spare for rehabilitating such individuals, so binding them to a contract to pay for even a little of the harm done to society was seen as the right thing to do.

That is, if you set aside the psychological revulsion from buying and selling people.

“Are you slave traders?” Mariela asked without thinking, but Lynx didn’t seem bothered.

“We transport anything we get a request for. This time it was slaves, but sometimes we carry booze and tobacco or sugar and spices. We’ve also transported stuff like fabric, books, musical instruments, that sorta thing. There’s a lot of stuff the Labyrinth City’s lacking ’cause the only ones who can transport it all are the knights on patrol or the yagu caravans that come through the mountains.”

“I hate transporting slaves the most, y’know? They stink, so the raptors hate ’em, too.”

“’Cause they soil themselves. I can’t stand cleanin’ up after ’em.”

These two were talking about the slaves as if they were mere cattle. It made Mariela a little dizzy.

Penal laborers, lifelong slaves… They’re still human beings.

Even in the Citadel City, you’d commonly hear people say things like “I got rid of that thief.” In this case, got rid of was understood to mean the thief had been killed. It was considered best to subjugate those who threatened your life or property by force. Otherwise, the number of victims would only increase.

Mariela understood as much, yet she couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable about treating people like livestock.

Only because they were never a threat to me.

Thieves targeted those with property or people in similar criminal circles. Those seeking fame and fortune who were too big for their britches were easily swayed into crime, and crime often happened around such people.

Though Mariela gave it her all, she had barely enough money to eat, so she tried to avoid dangerous areas as much as possible. She had little in the way of vanity; she just wanted to live quietly in the Fell Forest. An impoverished, tranquil, and safe life had been her daily reality. So when she looked at the slaves before her, she understood in her head, but not in her heart, that it was natural to treat them this way.

Mariela felt it was dangerous not to fully understand.

Potions…

The variety of goods that hawkers were selling in the Labyrinth City seemed expensive compared with those in the Citadel City, but even in two hundred years, prices hadn’t gone up. More importantly, she hadn’t seen any potions for sale at all; “medicines” were now being sold in their place. There was no doubt that potions were valuable. And she had already used and sold them so freely.

I need information. I have to get myself an ally, someone who won’t betray me.

These thoughts were based on the current appearance of the town. But she had no proof that was how things were now. After finally coming here, she felt incredibly impatient.

At that moment, the slave inspection ended.

Captain Dick had begun negotiations with the man—probably Reymond—who had taken the inspector’s ledger and seemed to be the business’s representative.

For some reason, they couldn’t reach an agreement, and they moved over to the end of the line of male slaves.

“Two large silver coins won’t cut it. If I don’t get ten, I won’t make a profit.”

After secretly chanting Wind’s Whispers, Mariela picked up on the conversation.

This wind-element magic let you listen to gossip downtown or hear things like the noise beasts made in the forest. However, its scope was limited, and it could be blocked by obstructions such as walls. After all, it was only as effective as lifestyle magic. But she could hear the conversation between Captain Dick and Reymond just fine.

“You say that, sir, but he can’t move either his right hand or his left leg. I would be hard-pressed to find a buyer.”

They seemed to be arguing about the man who’d been grabbed by the hair and shoved around.

“He’d be good as a meat shield in the Labyrinth or even working in the mines.”

“With that leg of his, he won’t be able to keep up with an adventurer, and that right hand isn’t capable of swinging a pickax, either.”

“He’s missing an eye, but the man’s got some nice features. There’s gotta be someone who’s into that, right?”

“You mean as a plaything, sir? Certainly, a person with exotic tastes would fancy him, but he is already well beyond twenty years old. I’m afraid he’s past his prime.”

Meat shield, the mines, a plaything… As even the worst conceivable options were deemed impossible, the man’s entire body trembled.

He was the thinnest among the slaves. Wet soil was stuck to him where he’d fallen, and with his dark-gray hair clinging to his entire face, he looked shabby and pitiful.

“This here’s the reference letter for his purchase.”

“Of course he has all his limbs as notated, but since some of them don’t work, does that not make him defective merchandise? I hesitate to say this, but perhaps the seller deliberately misrepresented his condition in order to make a sale?”

“…Be that as it may, two large silver coins is a no go. At least gimme five…”

“I’m doing my best to compromise because I cannot sell back something you brought all the way here, sir. If I find no buyer, the merchandise may end up counting as a loss.”

Geez, Captain Dick, you suck at negotiating!

Although the intimidating Captain Dick was brutal in his negotiation, the slave trader Reymond was in another league entirely. Lieutenant Malraux, apparently used to this, had a look of resignation on his face.

Hey, could this be my chance?

Any slave would obey his master’s orders because he was bound by subordination magic.

She’d heard that the strength of such magic was equivalent to the strength of its power to compel its subject to obey, and it varied based on the amount of debt or severity of the crime.

That man is either a penal laborer or a lifelong slave. He’d be my ally for life. For life…

Normally, she would have considered buying an ally to be the idea of a complete sleazebag. She would have most likely given a wide berth to the likes of penal laborers and lifelong slaves, as she thought they were crazy. And there was no doubt that she would have smugly laughed at herself now for pitying this man at his weakest in a hopeless situation.

How would she save this man at death’s doorstep? Her own course of action was uncertain, never mind supporting anyone else.

But Mariela remembered the terror of impending death from the Stampede as if it were yesterday. And the disconcerting exchanges she’d had since awakening, as well as the town’s complete transformation, were keeping her from thinking with a level head. Most of all, the soaring prices of potions had made her extremely impatient.

Even if she had information, even if things were exactly as she imagined, what could she do by herself? She wasn’t in the Kingdom of Endalsia or the Citadel City now but a place wholly unfamiliar to her. She knew nobody, and nobody knew her. Nothing remained of the cottage her master had left behind in the Fell Forest. That warm room became a mere phantom two hundred years ago and existed only in her memories now.

Before her long sleep, seemingly just a little while ago, she’d had a place to belong—and now it was gone.

So cold…

Had the deathlike slumber been a dream? Was she still unconscious in that small, dim cellar? She could still feel the chill in her hands, her feet, her very core.

Mariela had a powerful recollection of the profound loneliness and fear she’d felt before activating the magic circle.

That’s why she had to do it.

“Sell him to me!” she shouted before she realized it. Everyone—Captain Dick, Lieutenant Malraux, Reymond, his employees, even the slaves—looked toward her in astonishment. Her face flushed red-hot under their stares.

Crap, what should I do?

The thought raced around and around in her head, but Mariela noticed that the gray-haired man on the other side of Captain Dick was looking her way. Though the right side of his face was hidden by hair, she saw his left eye was deep blue.

“I need another set of hands. I don’t have much, but I can offer five large silver coins!”

Mariela had nothing if not enthusiasm. She couldn’t negotiate worth a darn, either.

Up until just a little while ago, she’d shared her cottage from two hundred years back with her master. But she’d been left all alone. She’d left her master’s room untouched, waiting for the day it would be needed again, but two hundred years had gone by. The house was now entirely gone and waited no more.

Although it was harsh and relentless, the Citadel City had been her home, too, until that day two hundred years ago. Everyone in the city had let her escape, but nobody came with her.

Bonds form between people, whether through compassion, pity, or contracts.

Mariela wanted to have someone around, and at that moment, she thought maybe this persecuted man would stay with her forever.

“Pfft.”

A snort from Lieutenant Malraux shattered Mariela’s all-out seriousness.

Huh? Did he laugh at me? Why?

“In that case, we shall sell him to Miss Mariela for two large silver coins.”

“What…?” Captain Dick shouted in surprise.

Mariela’s interjection into the negotiations and Lieutenant Malraux’s subsequent response left both Dick and the slave trader Reymond in shock. With a sidelong glance at the two dumbfounded men, Malraux made a brazen offer.

“Mr. Reymond, earlier you said the man might be a loss. This young lady has offered to take on that burden. What say you to covering the cost of the contract?”

Coming out of his stupor, Reymond was about to protest about doing his job free of charge for a girl he didn’t know when Malraux quietly approached him and whispered, “I daresay you’ll likely be doing business with her for a long while.”

Upon hearing this, Reymond closed his eyes for a moment, then put on his shrewdest of smiles and addressed Mariela.

“I am terribly sorry you had to see such an unsightly display. We’re most grateful for your offer, miss. Per Lieutenant Malraux’s wishes, we shall provide you the contract for free.”

“Huh? Two large silver coins…?”

Malraux took what appeared to be appraisal papers from Captain Dick, who still hadn’t caught up with what was going on, and looked them over.

“After that… Mm, this amount is fine. Captain, this will do, yes?”

With his inspection of the papers complete, Lieutenant Malraux promptly finalized the deal.

Captain Dick, who had snapped out of it at last, signed the papers prepared by the person in charge of accounting and began discussing the payment. Even though Malraux had barged into the conversation and closed the deal of his own accord, the captain didn’t appear to be angry with him.

After Mariela paid the two large silver coins to Lieutenant Malraux, she heard someone say, “The contract is ready.” A desk and a brazier with items resembling fire pokers inside it had been brought out when she wasn’t paying attention. The slaves whose transactions had been finalized were lined up in view of the brazier.

Reymond turned the pages of the account book and read aloud its contents.

“Now, this man’s name is Siegmund, is it? During his time as a debt laborer, he injured his master’s son and became a penal laborer.”

Siegmund, the gray-haired man who’d been hauled in front of the brazier, jerked in surprise and at last uttered, “Th-that’s not—”

“It’s what everyone says happened. And no one will question it if they see this.”

One of his staff clerks, who’d been waiting in front of the brazier, lifted a white-hot poker.

It wasn’t a poker at all but a branding iron as big as Mariela’s palm with a delicate pattern carved into it.

“Ah…!”

Siegmund gasped, and the clerk slowly brandished the iron before him—no, before the other slaves, too.

“A mark as large as this wouldn’t be necessary for an obedient slave… You, who failed to repay your debt! During your servitude, you inflicted harm! On the cherished son of your master! The one whom you were supposed to obey!”

Reymond emphasized each phrase as he spoke, and Siegmund’s lips tightened.

“It is impossible for a man with such a heart to adequately serve the kind young lady. We will increase the contract’s strength so that he may at last be a worthy servant. I think it’s the least we can do.”

Sorry to interrupt your brainwashing session, but…

Mariela trotted up to the brazier from behind the slave trader and pointed to the smallest branding iron, saying, “This one is fine.” It was roughly the size of the circle formed with a thumb and index finger, very similar to a large silver coin.

Reymond abruptly looked over his shoulder. Not even a forced smile crossed his face.

Yikes, he looks freaky! It’s like he’s saying, “I’m doing this for free, so you’d better cooperate at least this much.”

Mariela faltered a bit under his stern gaze but soon plucked up her courage and persisted.

“He’s missing an eye, and his hand and leg are impaired, so I think this is enough.”

Siegmund was already weakened. If he was stamped with a branding iron that large in his condition, he might die from the shock alone. All she wanted was for him to explain the status quo and then to keep her secret. She had no intention of giving orders he would hate so much that she needed a contract of that size and power.

Siegmund was gazing neither at Reymond nor at the branding iron but at Mariela. There was nothing to hate within that deep-blue eye of his. She couldn’t imagine anyone with such purity in their gaze to be a terrible person. Mariela returned Reymond’s gaze as if to tell him, “There’s no way in hell I’m gonna let you use that huge brand on him.”

“Ohhh, such benevolence!”

Reymond turned to face Siegmund and the other slaves and continued his speech. He knew arguing was pointless.

“Always express gratitude to merciful masters! Be joyful in obeying their commands! Know that even giving every last ounce of your flesh and blood will never be enough to repay their kindness!”

Reymond raised his voice as he began to chant.

“Your body is worth no more than dirt!”

The branding iron Mariela chose glowed dimly from the earth-element magic within it.

“Your blood runs for your master’s sake!”

The element of water gathered in a cup up to the brim before overflowing and trickling down the desk it sat upon.

“Let your feelings of devotion toward your master sweep over you!”

Wind-element magic gathered around the brazier in a spiral.

“Know that your life burns for your master!”

The brazier surged with fire-element magic, and all at once, a pillar of flame erupted.

Although the magic wasn’t as powerful as it would be if he borrowed the strength of the spirits, incorporating dramatic expressions into his chanting along with the visual effects created a truly impressive ambience. It was also a psychological technique that guided the subject’s thoughts into a shape that made them easy to bind, heightening the effect of the magic rite.

Reymond seemed to be a wily, highly capable person who understood both human nature and magic rites.

The slave trader swiftly seized the red-hot branding iron and stood before Siegmund.

It seemed like part of a religious ceremony.

The company’s servants gripped both of Siegmund’s arms and pushed him into a kneeling position.

The slave did not resist as he looked up at the branding iron.

“Hear ye, Siegmund! Resign yourself from your very soul!”

With a ffshhh, the branding iron pressed into his chest above the rib cage and released an unpleasant smell of burnt flesh into the air.

Siegmund clenched his teeth but made not a single sound.

Urged by the employees standing by, Mariela sprinkled her own blood into the cup on the desk. A water-like liquid had gushed forth into the cup from the chant a short while ago, and the blood quickly mixed with it. After Reymond picked up the cup, one of the servants restraining Siegmund opened his mouth.

“Etch your master into your very flesh!”

He emptied the contents of the cup into the slave’s mouth, then seized the man’s jaw to ensure not a drop would spill out before forcing him to swallow it.

The four magic elements united inside Siegmund’s body and bound the rite. The magic circle within the branding iron glowed faintly, and the subordination magic was etched into his entire body.

“The contract is now sealed!”

With the chanting over, the Contract of Servitude was complete. Mariela stared at Siegmund’s blue eye; he looked as if he was in a trance, maybe due to the effects of the magic.

“All right, let’s head to the inn.”

During the rite, Lynx and Yuric had brought the raptors and were now waiting.

The six raptors were already tied to the iron carriages, and Yuric passed one bridle each to Captain Dick and Lieutenant Malraux, then climbed into the coach box of the lead carriage.

“We’ll load him into the cargo hold. C’mon, get in.”

The other Corps members lifted Siegmund into the cargo hold of the lead carriage and closed the door.

After apologizing to Reymond for barging in on the negotiations and thanking him for the Contract of Servitude, Mariela hopped onto the ramp of the iron carriage Siegmund was riding in.

“Not at all, miss; in fact, it was good timing. I’m sure the other slaves who observed the contract ceremony will now do their best to serve good masters. We’ll be awaiting your next visit,” Reymond said as he saw them off. He seemed to be in a slightly good mood.

The Black Iron Freight Corps had traveled through the Fell Forest for three days straight. The slaves spent the entire time tightly packed into the dark cargo hold with nothing but a small window for ventilation. They weren’t given enough food and couldn’t lie down. Monsters had attacked the iron carriages en route many times. In the darkness of the cargo hold, they could constantly hear the roar of distant monsters. The carriages were shaken around in the attacks, and fangs and claws scratched the armor with excruciating noises.

Between their fear of death and the turbulent jostling they experienced in the cargo hold, the slaves’ minds and bodies alike were at their limit. After finally reaching the trading company and finding relief from their terror, as well as relief from the extreme sleep deprivation and malnutrition, watching that ceremony probably instilled obedience deep into their consciousness.

The value of penal laborers and lifelong slaves was low. Their fate was to live in substandard conditions where even their life wasn’t guaranteed. All of them were deeply pessimistic about their life and had no energy or passion. They did only the bare minimum to obey commands for their master’s benefit. From a buyer’s point of view, their only purpose was to be used up.

If they saw that ceremony and became more or less obedient toward their masters, they’d benefit not only Reymond as good products but themselves as well.

Lord Malraux is a shrewd man. Although I don’t understand what he meant when he said I’ll have a long-term business relationship with that girl…

After directing his subordinates to inform him of the state of the newly arrived products at a later time, Reymond began to walk toward his store.

02

The Black Iron Freight Corps’s usual inn was located along the side of the mountain range, just a short way past the main street and the slave trading company.

The sign displayed at the inn read YAGU DRAWBRIDGE PAVILION.

A yagu was a goat roughly the size of a donkey that inhabited this part of the mountains. These animals were essential for traversing the narrow mountain paths, which were too narrow for carriages to pass through. Tens of yagus at a time were loaded with cargo and led in a line through the range. Yagus could receive infrequent feedings, had a gentle disposition, and provided milk and meat, so many were bred even in the Citadel City.

Just like mountain goats, yagus were naturally inclined to scale steep cliff faces.

The nonchalant manner in which they descended cliffs, jumping from one precipitous mountain rock to another, would shock any onlooker.

The way they bounded over these cliffs was described as a “yagu drawbridge,” a phrase often used in the Citadel City as an expression that meant making it through a desperate situation.

Like others in the district, Yagu Drawbridge Pavilion was a sturdy stonework building, but its front was wider than the others, and the double doors stood open to welcome guests.

Captain Dick and Lieutenant Malraux dismounted their raptors and headed toward the entrance, followed by Mariela and Lynx.

“I want to get Siegmund out of here quickly,” said Mariela, and Lynx replied, “Once he washes up in the back.” Sieg remained in the cargo hold as the iron carriage drove behind the building.

Through the front doors was a combined restaurant and tavern, and stairs in the back right corner led up to the second floor.

It was well past lunchtime but still early evening, so the place was deserted. Mariela saw a woman with fiery-red hair working behind the counter.

“Dick! You’re early today!” the redhead called out, and she ran up to him. They seemed to be close friends.

She appeared to be a strong-willed woman—and a very well-endowed one, at that.

“Hey, we managed to dispose of the whelps quickly.” For some reason, Captain Dick puffed out his chest and looked pleased as he answered.

“Your usual room is available. Now, take off that armor; I’ve already prepared your meal. Oh, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this young lady before, have I?”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Mariela. I’d like two rooms, please.”

The beautiful redhead’s gaze turned to Lieutenant Malraux.

“We met her along the way. We’ll vouch for her reliability. Miss Mariela, slaves cannot book a room at an inn even in the Labyrinth City. There’s a sleeping quarters for slaves in the shed out back. Having said that, I suppose there’s no harm in bringing your personal property into your own room. Miss Amber, would it be acceptable to bring dirty luggage into a room at the back of the second floor?”

To prevent slaves from escaping or committing crimes, any honest establishment wouldn’t rent rooms to them. This didn’t apply just to the Labyrinth City; it was a universal truth. Although it was common sense that hadn’t changed in two hundred years, it made Mariela a little sad. They wouldn’t give Sieg a room even though he was practically at death’s door. Nevertheless, she was deeply grateful to Malraux for trying to arrange a bed for the man.

“We do have a room that would fit the bill. The extra bed might get in your way, but it’s no problem. Welcome to the Yagu Drawbridge Pavilion! I’m Amber. If you have any questions, I’m here for you.” Amber greeted Mariela warmly upon her introduction from Lieutenant Malraux. Mariela paid for three nights just for the time being and received her room key. The rate for two people was thirty copper coins per night, and breakfast was five copper coins a head. She requested two servings.

It was a steal. The Yagu Drawbridge Pavilion was a prominent building in a good location, and it even had a restaurant. It was better than a mid-grade inn, but the cost per room was just way too low.

“Whoa… That’s chea—,” she started to say without thinking.

“Ah, it’s because the Labyrinth City’s inns receive subsidies. Besides, this is practically the sticks out here, right? We’ve got the Labyrinth, but it’s tough to make it all this way, so it’s pretty deserted. We can live so cheaply thanks to the margrave, you see. Take a load off, Mariela.”

She still didn’t have a grasp on the cost of living in the Labyrinth City, but she had more than six large silver coins left from selling her potions.

It looked as if she’d be able to survive for a while.

In any case…

Mariela secretly put her hand to her chest.

…Amber’s boobs are huge…

Mariela sighed as she wondered if any potion existed that could make her chest bigger.

Captain Dick and Lieutenant Malraux ascended the stairs to their rooms on the second floor.

Lynx said he was going to give the other Corps members their room keys, so Mariela joined him.

When they went out the back door, she saw a building resembling an outhouse and a watering hole, and farther back were a carriage house and a shed for livestock. It looked as though you were free to do your laundry at the watering hole—someone had set aside a loaned washboard and tub. The watering hole also had a space for bathing in the corner, partitioned off with cloth.

“Hey, Yuric! We’re gonna go eat!”

When Lynx called out to him, four members of the Black Iron Freight Corps appeared from the carriage house.

“Yuric’s coming after he finishes up with the raptors,” answered one of them as he received his key.

“That guy reeeally likes his raptors, huh? Here’s his key. I’m off.”

With that, Lynx walked in the direction of the shed.

Mariela looked around, wondering where Siegmund was, when she spotted him coming out of the bathing area. He seemed flustered. Apparently, he was in a hurry, too; his hair was still wet, and he looked cold. The loincloth he’d put back on was also wet and clinging to him.

He used it to wipe himself up…

Mariela herself had no change of clothes, either.

The cloak she currently wore was woven from daigis fibers, and it had no visible deterioration because it automatically repaired itself by absorbing magical power from the wearer and the atmosphere. However, the clothes under it were probably tattered after two hundred years. Her pouch and the outside of her shoes were cracking everywhere and looked as if they were about to fall apart.

Once I check on Siegmund, the first thing I’ll need to do is go shopping.

After drying him with the Dehydrate lifestyle magic, Mariela went to her room.

Siegmund obediently followed her when she told him to. His left calf was swollen and discolored, and he practically dragged it along behind him. He carried Mariela’s grass skirt—er, bundle of herbs—in his right arm. It wasn’t that he couldn’t move his arm at all, but he wasn’t really carrying the herbs so much as clumsily cradling them, so his limb must have been impaired. Finally, there was his right eye, which his hair always covered. He had a pale complexion, and his breathing came in shallow, short puffs. Seeing him up close, she could tell he was in even worse shape than she’d thought.

Mariela’s room on the second floor was adequately spacious, with a bed on each side and a desk and chair in the middle. Between the door and the rest of the room itself was a closet for luggage and armor, and though small, there was also a room with a bath.

It could hardly be called a bath, though. It was a deep tub that barely one person could fit in, with a drainage hole. And it had no water-supply equipment. Water had to be formed and heated with magic or magical tools. Nevertheless, Mariela knew a room with a bath had been a feature limited to high-class inns back in the Citadel City.

A bath! That’s great. I’m gonna have myself a long soak later.

She’d assumed she would only be able to splash herself with hot water and wipe it off to get clean, so she was very grateful for the chance to take a real bath.

Though the room was much nicer than she’d anticipated, the sleeping area had a damp, moldy odor. Since there was only a small window, it probably didn’t get much sunlight. The sheets were clean, but there might be bugs in the straw mats.

It’s a room they were fine letting a grimy slave into, after all. Oh well.

Siegmund seemed to have completely washed himself, but a sour smell emanated from his person, and mud and dust and gosh knows what else were embedded in tangled mats in his hair and beard. She was just thankful they’d even let him in.

After ventilating the room with lifestyle magic, she closed the window, then latched the door shut. Since the inner door to the sleeping area was also closed, no one outside would hear them. She imbued the room’s lighting with magic to make it bright enough for a medical examination even with the window closed. Some of the herbs were missing little pieces here and there from being jostled by the carriage, but she hadn’t lost a single one. These would be enough for emergency first aid.

“Sit there.”

She indicated one of the chairs, but for some reason, Siegmund sat on the floor next to it. He must not have been able to bend his left leg, because he stretched it out behind him while tucking his right leg beneath him in a shaky kneeling position. He didn’t look up; his eye was fixated on the floor near Mariela’s feet.

Why did he sit on—? Well, whatever.

Mariela shifted a chair to face Siegmund and sat down.

“My name is Mariela. Would it be okay if I call you Sieg? Under the Contract of Servitude, you have to follow my orders. Is that right?”

“Yes. Please call me whatever name you like, Mistress. I will never forget the kindness you’ve shown in choosing someone unworthy like me. No matter what order you may give, I swear not to disobey. Please command me however you desire.” As he spoke, Sieg touched his forehead to the floor and prostrated himself before her.

Whoa…

Mariela recoiled. This large man had just groveled before her without a moment’s hesitation. She could hardly believe what he’d said. She even suspected the slave trader had used some kind of mind magic.

A-anyway, treatment! I’ve gotta heal him!

As an alchemist, Mariela knew it wasn’t just his injuries to worry about but the fact that he was near his breaking point physically. The best course of action would be to slowly address some of his mannerisms after she’d taken care of his wounds.

“Call me Mariela. Lift your head so I can get a good look at you.”

Sieg raised his head and brushed away some of the hair that clung to his face.

His cheeks were sunken, but he had handsome features. The single deep-blue eye of his was beautiful. If he shaved his beard and spruced up a little, he might make for something of a silver fox.

When Mariela raised her hand to examine his right eye, his body stiffened in surprise. Mariela once knew a child who reacted this way; one of the children in the orphanage’s care had been frequently beaten by his parents. Sieg had probably been on the receiving end of violence on a regular basis, too, given the many scars covering his body. If he was immediately groveling in front of a girl younger than he was, who knew what kind of hell he’d been through? Mariela’s heart ached.

She slowly moved her hand so as not to frighten him, and she touched his face. It was hot. As she suspected, he had a fever. Three large scratches ran down the right side of his face, probably from monster claws. The wound was old and completely closed up, but it had rendered his right eye useless.

This’ll need an elixir or a special-grade potion specifically for the eyes.

An elixir was an incredibly effective medicine. As long as the subject was still alive, it was said to heal any injury and cure any disease and even instantly restore lost body parts.

It would require rare and expensive ingredients and the most skilled alchemist to perform the complicated transmutation, so of course Mariela couldn’t make one. Rather, it was treated as a legendary medicine in the Citadel City, and Mariela had never even heard of anyone who knew the recipe, let alone was able to make one.

Instead, there existed “specialized potions” distributed as medicine to restore lost body parts. Using special-grade potions from expert alchemists as a base, specialized potions were made by honing materials corresponding to the body part in question. Mariela didn’t know how to make one of those yet, either; top-tier alchemists had researched the ingredients and production, and the original recipe they developed was hidden away.

And anyhow, Mariela’s alchemy skill level allowed her to make only high-grade potions, which were one rank below special-grade base potions.

No way I can fix his eye…

Next, she examined his right arm. The forearm was scarred from what she guessed was a monster bite. When she asked him about it, he said a black wolf had attacked him half a month ago.

These creatures were also called miasma wolves, and although they were smaller than forest wolves, their fangs contained poison that slowed the healing of wounds. They weren’t particularly powerful on their own, but because they moved in groups, they spilled their prey’s blood during the chase, weakened it, and eventually devoured it.

The wound on his arm had never completely healed. The flesh where the bite marks were was discolored and sunken; it was likely improperly treated. The poison in the monster’s fangs had entered the wound and delayed the healing process.

Finally, the left leg. Part of the calf had been gnawed on—again, courtesy of a black wolf. It looked to have been cauterized to stop the bleeding. Not only had the resulting burn not healed, but bacteria from human waste had entered the wound when he had been transported in unsanitary conditions. His calf was so massively inflamed that it was plainly obvious.

First, I need to do something about this inflammation. I think I can manage with just a mid-grade potion for the arm, but I really need a high-grade specialized potion for the leg. Even so… He looks so calm, but surely he must be in excruciating pain?

The fresh brand on his chest was reddish brown and similarly inflamed, with the engraving an even darker color than the rest.

She could heal everything in the blink of an eye with a special-grade potion, but she couldn’t make one, so that wasn’t an option. Healing with a lower-grade potion required several steps.

“First, I’m going to wash your wounds.”

With that, Mariela began the treatment.

If you showed intense pain on your face, you were deemed unusable and tossed aside. If you collapsed, you were left in the field to die.

This was how little those two large silver coins were worth.

She didn’t want Siegmund to die in this condition, maybe precisely because he was in this condition.

Mariela had no way to know this, but Siegmund was feigning calmness through sheer willpower.

After seating him in the chair, she picked up a pitcher and her last remaining vial and headed to the bathroom. She used alchemy to wash, disinfect, and dry both items, then picked up a pail as well and returned to Siegmund.

“Do not reveal to anyone the things I do from here on out. This is an order.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sieg responded robotically.

His single blue eye had a vacant look, perhaps from the fever. Mariela was able to detect a slight magical reaction in the brand on his chest.

She placed the pail on the desk and had him hold out his right arm so the wound was facing upward.

“Clean Water, Drops of Life, Anchor.”

Cleansing water materialized in the pitcher.

Mariela’s master believed inflammation was better treated using clean water imbued with Drops of Life’s power as opposed to water infused with antibacterial herbs. Per this method, she first used a liberal amount of the cleansing water to wash the scars. The black wolf’s miasma wafted up from the cuts like smoke from a pipe; she could tell the Drops of Life was drawing it out of the wound.

Next, his leg. She had him kneel on the chair so the wound on his calf was facing upward, and she made sure to clean it with the utmost care.

After repeating this process many times, she dumped out the water from the pail she was using for washing.

Since Mariela lacked a cloth to wipe up with, she tore a piece from one of the sheets and dried off his skin except where the scars remained. She left the Drops of Life on those. Since it disappeared quickly if not bound to water or herbs, only skilled alchemists could absorb it in that form. Mariela considered it convenient because it would leave the wounds dry after vanishing. This was much more hygienic than drying them with the room’s unsterilized sheets or a blast of the moldy-smelling air.

Finally, the brand on his chest. She seated him on the chair so he could lean back and washed the area under the brand with the sheet. This would have been no sweat with just a low-grade potion, but it was always best practice to cool the burn first. A potion would be more effective once the area had been cleaned. She washed it several times after wringing out the sheet again.

And now for the potion.

From the bundle of dried herbs, Mariela took out some curique; a root called calgoran, which had a strong nourishing effect; and some peshrinion, the round blue seeds of the curique plant.

Peshrinion, though rare, could occasionally be cultivated from curique plants growing in damp, shady areas. It was effective treatment for wounds that had festered from unsanitary conditions as well as for long-lasting fevers. Since curique plants liked areas with a lot of sun, peshrinion tended to be scarce in the wild unless they were deliberately planted there.

Mariela had once absentmindedly left a flowerpot for curique seeds in the shade, which then produced peshrinion. Furthermore, when she grew more curique from that peshrinion, it grew even in the shade, leading to a variety of seed from which she could easily raise peshrinion. Since then, she’d been able to regularly harvest the seeds from her herb garden. Some remained in the garden even after her long sleep—it was a good thing she’d brought it with her to sell.

She transmuted a potion in her one remaining vial with the curique, the calgoran, and a pinch of peshrinion. It was a simple heal potion that could be classified as low-grade but also as a specialized type. It ought to have about an intermediate-grade effect on Sieg’s symptoms. Mariela included as much Drops of Life into the concoction as she could since he was basically hanging by a thread. It had to help—she was sure it would.

“Drink this.”

Sieg’s jaw dropped in amazement as she handed him the potion.

He remained frozen in place, so she thrust the potion into his mouth, and he drank it down spluttering.

“You’re…an alchemist?”

It was the first time he’d said anything other than a response. He’d been incredulous when Mariela first produced the cleansing water, but after she made the potion, he appeared convinced.

“Yeah. Are there no more alchemists—no more Endalsian Pact-Bearers in this town?” she asked as she took the empty vial from Sieg. She wanted to know the answer to this question more than anything.

“There are no pact-bearing alchemists. It’s been that way for a long time…because this is the monsters’ territory.”

Mariela had expected as much.

Huh. I see. They call this place the Labyrinth City, after all. Of course that would happen after two hundred years.

“So this is an order. Don’t ever reveal to anyone that I’m a Pact-Bearer.”

She once again compelled Sieg to do as she said. The order’s effect was palpable.

“You can sleep in that bed. When you wake up, your fever will have gone down and you’ll feel much better. I’m gonna go do some shopping, so even if you wake up, just stay in bed, okay?”

She urged Sieg to lie down on the inner bed that no longer had sheets. She put the damp sheets and the vial in the pail and carried it into the bathroom.

Once she’d briefly washed them in the bathtub, she dried them with the lifestyle magic Dehydrate.

When she came back, Sieg had already fallen asleep—he must have reached the end of his rope.

Oh, there might be bugs in the bed.

She transmuted an insecticide potion and placed the vial in a corner with its lid off.

She’d also mixed in some bendan, a flower that promotes restful sleep. It replaced the moldy stench in the air with a faint, pleasant fragrance.

Hope he sleeps well.

Mariela put clean water in the pitcher and placed it on the desk along with a cup. Then she extinguished all but one of the lights in the room and quietly left.

03

Lieutenant Malraux was waiting in front of his room.

Mariela’s room was at the very back of the second floor, behind the Black Iron Freight Corps’s quarters.

“Were you able to get the information you wanted?” Malraux asked quietly.

“Were you listening to us?”

Mariela responded with a question of her own, and Malraux shrugged as if to ask, “Would I do such a thing?” He really was a cunning man.

He probably realized it from the beginning.

At Malraux’s urging, she entered his room.

The overall layout and size were the same as Mariela’s room, but this one had only one bed and a couch and table where the other bed would have been. A partition had been placed between the bed and lounge suite for simple meetings.

She sat on the couch at Malraux’s suggestion, and he sat across from her.

“I wanted to discuss business with you, Mariela.”

“You mean potions, right?”

Malraux answered with a smile that said he appreciated getting to the heart of the matter.

Two hundred years ago, the Stampede occurred, and the Labyrinth appeared where the royal castle once stood.

The Kingdom of Endalsia, which had belonged to the humans, was destroyed and became the domain of monsters.

People lived in the Labyrinth City, but just like the Fell Forest in which Mariela had once made her home, the Labyrinth City belonged not to people but to monsters.

Drops of Life, which was used to create magical potions, was drawn from ley lines by a Nexus. This Nexus bound the ley line and the alchemist together through the spirits of a particular region. Alchemic skills themselves were once said to be even more commonplace than bakeries, but not all alchemic skill holders could form a pact with a ley line and become true alchemists. Only those who trained under a master and connected to a ley line through a Nexus could claim that title. Alchemic skills drew on Drops of Life, and if you didn’t use it, you wouldn’t gain enough experience to do things like adjust temperature or pressure or form a Transmutation Vessel, let alone craft potions.

Forming a pact with a ley line was absolutely essential to becoming a full-fledged alchemist, hence why those who possessed a Nexus were also called Pact-Bearers.

The ceremony for making a pact was of great significance. The alchemist, guided by their master and the spirits, exchanged True Names with a ley line. However, the spirits spoke the language of whatever entity ruled over the region.

The former Kingdom of Endalsia was a territory ruled for many generations by the Endalsian royal family, who received the spirits’ divine protection. All the kingdom’s spirits spoke the human tongue; however, those that inhabited the Fell Forest were unintelligible, even though they were born from the same ley line.

They could not be communicated with.

The sole time Mariela had entered the Kingdom of Endalsia’s walls was to make a pact with its ley line.

Spirits don’t participate in the alchemic process itself once a Nexus has been established. As long as an alchemist is within range of the ley line they’ve formed a pact with, they can draw Drops of Life without issue, even in a region controlled by monsters. Once they become an Alchemist Pact-Bearer, they can use Drops of Life to create potions.

However, suppose there were no new Pact-Bearers over a span of two hundred years.

Those who could incorporate Drops of Life directly into their bodies generally aged slower than most and lived a long time, but not as long as two hundred years. Eighty years was considered a long life for ordinary people, and it was rare to see anyone live to a hundred and twenty.

In the two hundred years Mariela had been asleep, the alchemists who survived the Stampede had all died out without creating any new ones.

In the Labyrinth City—no, in the entire scope of the local ley line—no potions existed except those securely stored away.

“We had an intermediary merchant appraise the potions you sold us. He said they were so well-preserved that they appeared to have been freshly made. They were as effective as the mid-grade potions that rarely appear on the market. He insisted on finding out where we had obtained them. Ah, of course, we didn’t tell him. Everyone in town wants these sorts of potions, you see. If anyone discovered they were in the possession of an innocent young lady such as yourself, they would go to extreme lengths to get their hands on them.”

Lieutenant Malraux spoke slowly and quietly. He seemed to be asking if she was understanding him correctly.

“Could I safely sell them in bulk to your crew?” she asked, to which Malraux smiled in satisfaction and answered, “Of course.”

Hey, I gotta sell my potions somewhere. Whether or not I cut out the middleman, it’d be great if I could get better prices than in the Citadel City.

Mariela had no means of survival other than making potions.

It was only natural that those who had no way to compete and lacked the support would end up being exploited. Cutting out the middleman was a given even when selling potions in the Citadel City. Mariela knew she could scrape by with the minimum profit if she accepted this injustice.

Nevertheless, there were some things she wouldn’t budge on. Mariela gave Malraux her terms of service.

“First, I cannot sell potions that are special-grade and above or poisons used to harm people. Additionally, there are certain specialized potions I can’t sell, even if they’re high-grade or lower. So I’d like to have the right to decide the available items for sale.”

Mariela couldn’t sell potions she couldn’t make, and she refused to take part in any criminal involvement. She absolutely wanted to avoid people dying from the potions she made.

“Next, this depends on the potion, but there may be occasions where I will require an advance.”

She couldn’t make anything without ingredients, so he would need to accept this, too. Mariela’s herb garden was partially destroyed. She didn’t know what products the Labyrinth City had to offer, but she wanted them to obtain what she couldn’t.

“Lastly, I ask for strict confidentiality. Do not reveal in any way that I’m the supplier. This secret must be maintained even in emergencies. If you’ll accept my conditions via a magic contract, I will sell you my potions.”

Mariela, having set out her terms, fretted internally.

I wonder if adding the magic contract part was going too far…

She wasn’t willing to budge on any of her terms, but perhaps she could’ve worded things a bit better.

Lieutenant Malraux repeated the conditions back to her as if digesting them one by one.

“It’s a shame you cannot sell special-grade potions, but I acknowledge your conditions. As far as payment is concerned, would forty…no, thirty percent…”

Ugh… I piled on too many conditions, so no wonder he’s driving a hard bargain. But if I have to buy the herbs I need, can I make a profit at thirty percent? I hope the price of herbs hasn’t gone up—

“…of the market price be an acceptable commission for us?”

“Pardon?”

Wait, isn’t that, like, backward?

“I can decide what kind of potions to sell, right?” she asked in turn.

“Yes. There is available inventory to account for, so that’s reasonable.”

“And you’ll give me items I need in advance?”

“Our company stocks goods as well, and since we’re doing business based on mutual trust, we can provide that degree of service.”

“And you’ll help me out if my secret gets leaked?”

“The deal I’ve proposed comes with inherent risks. After-sales service is essential.”

“Then, isn’t a thirty percent commission too low?”

“Eh?”

“Huh?”

They were both equally puzzled.

In the end, they agreed Mariela would initially receive 60 percent of the market price. The magic contract required additional enhancements in order to provide complete confidentiality and any emergency backup procedures should the information ever be leaked.

This was exceptional service all for just a single girl who came to the Labyrinth City by herself with no support whatsoever. Such convenient, honeyed proposals were typically rescinded or flipped on their head at a moment’s notice; the likes of a sixteen-year-old girl with no combat skills could be silenced just by loud, angry shouting.

Magic contracts produce binding power through judicial authority, so those who are dishonest in their business dealings hate them. Even if Malraux had put his foot down about one thing or another and twisted the negotiations to his advantage, Mariela would still have been grateful to have a magic contract, but he accepted all her conditions without batting an eye. Confirming the contract with these details meant he considered her a business partner rather than someone to be exploited.

After all, he waited to talk to me until I’d finished up with Sieg first.

If she’d been wheeled and dealed without information or knowing which end was up, he could have formed the contract with conditions beneficial solely to him and his group. However, that wasn’t the way of the Black Iron Freight Corps. Partial though they might be to the use of force, their attitude of fairness and politeness made Mariela feel they were well worth her trust.

She was particularly pleased with how honest they were in giving her 60 percent.

They agreed she would deliver the promised goods in three days: ten each of high- and mid-grade heal potions, five each of high- and mid-grade cure potions, and twenty each of low-grade monster-warding and cure potions.

Lieutenant Malraux informed her with a friendly smile that he would prepare the document the next day.

Feels kinda like we were coming at this from two completely different angles, but… Eh, whatever.

Exhausted from her little adventure in the Fell Forest, Mariela wanted nothing more than to take it easy, so she didn’t mind if the contract was late.

She answered that she’d check the town’s shops for the items she’d need to make the potions.

Incidentally, the market price of low-grade heal and monster-warding potions seemed to be one large silver coin, which was about how much she sold hers for. Malraux told her with a bitter smile that he’d said to Captain Dick, “Start negotiations at five silver coins. The market price is one large silver coin” because the market price had suddenly jumped from the former to the latter.

I suspected as much when he was dealing with the slave trader Reymond, but Captain Dick really isn’t cut out for negotiation.

“He puts me in charge of crucial negotiations. He may not look it, but Captain Dick is a man who understands what’s important and won’t make a mess of it,” Malraux cheerfully answered as if reading her mind. She didn’t know which of the two was the real captain, but she felt she could rely on them.

04

We had a good talk, but it sure took a long time. I need to go buy some necessities and clothes for Sieg before it gets dark.

Members of the Black Iron Freight Corps were having dinner when Mariela hurried down the stairs into the restaurant-cum-tavern. They were drinking, too, even though the sun was still high in the sky.

Flanked by a large-chested woman on each side, Captain Dick was in good spirits. The rest of the members also had a lady sitting next to them and refilling their drinks.

Every single one of the women looked positively alluring, what with their revealing outfits.

“Ela, there you are. I’ll go get you your food.”

Amber addressed Mariela, who couldn’t figure out where to look. Perhaps Amber had changed into clothes more suitable for serving customers; her red dress went well with her red hair. The shoulder straps holding up her extra-large basket of fruit looked like they were barely managing. Mariela was certain they must be made of some special monster material.

“Heeey, Amber, hurry up and get over here.”

Captain Dick appeared to be the very definition of useless. There was no comparison between him and Lieutenant Malraux’s honorable speech a short while ago.

This inn seemed to satisfy the three desires of humankind—namely, food, sleep, and barrels upon barrels of beer.

While Lieutenant Malraux was negotiating, this guy was…

Looking at how skillfully Amber handled Captain Dick, Mariela felt a tiny bit of sympathy for Lieutenant Malraux.

Just as Mariela went to leave the inn after telling Amber she was first going to do some shopping, Lynx piped up.

“You’re goin’ shopping? In that case, I’ll show you around!”

He must have taken a bath; he looked refreshed and had changed into more casual attire.

Mariela wanted clothes for both herself and Sieg, so Lynx led her through a back alley onto a street near the northwestern district.

“The northwestern district’s main road is full of stuff geared toward adventurers who work in the Labyrinth, so prices are kinda high. On this street, you can find little necessities and clothes for a good price without sacrificing quality.”

The Yagu Drawbridge Pavilion was an inn on the lower end of first class, so although it received subsidies for lodging and meals, the alcohol and snacks were expensive. There was an additional cost if a young lady served your alcohol, and you could receive further “service” if you were on good terms with her. For a fee, of course.

Few people lived in the Labyrinth City, and few adventurers visited, either. To encourage people to live there, the costs of the minimum necessities needed to survive were kept to a reasonable level, and policies to attract adventurers had been enacted. Shop owners also decided to offer a variety of items and extra services in the hopes that those with deep pockets would spend as much money as possible.

“Captain Dick’s obsessed with Amber,” said Lynx. The implication was that he wanted to buy her freedom.

“She’s good at handling him, but does he have a chance?” Mariela tilted her head questioningly.

Lynx laughed as he answered with an ambiguous “Well, he is the captain!”

The shop he led her to sold only really simple, basic clothes. Didn’t look as if any crazy fashion trends had developed over the past two hundred years.

“Don’t you think these go with your cloak?”

Both the tunic and the pants the shopgirl had picked out were very short.

“Th-th-th-this shows a lotta leg.”

“Yeah, it’s cute, right? You should pair it with these leggings underneath. They’re thin, but the caterpillar thread makes them plenty strong.”

The clothes the staff recommended were much shorter than those from two hundred years ago. The fact that they showed so much perplexed Mariela, but the leggings fit her perfectly, so it wasn’t as if her legs were completely bare.

Since I’m wearing shorts over these, it only feels like my legs are exposed.

The clothes were very cute once they’d been arranged on the table to show what they’d look like when worn. The tunic had a lovely hemline decorated in a tricolor pattern, and although the pants were short, the accents along the hem matched the color of her cloak.

“A blue waist cord would make a great accent for these colors,” said the lady as she produced a decorative cord for Mariela. The addition to her ensemble instantly made the whole thing more vivid.

I’ve never worn anything this cute before… But my legs…

The employee, as if surmising why Mariela kept glancing at the leg portion, spoke up.

“These leggings are black, so they’ll make your legs look slimmer.”

“I’ll take them.”

Mariela purchased the entire set. This was her Labyrinth City debut.

All riiight. Ack, too much leg! Too much!

Since she was on a roll, she also bought three pairs of underwear and three undershirts. She didn’t know what size Sieg wore, so she let Lynx pick out his clothes, ending up with three largish shirts and three pairs of pants. She also found sewing supplies at the edge of the shop, so she bought scissors to cut Sieg’s unkempt hair. The cost of the clothes was a bit on the high side at twelve silver coins.

Her next stop was the general store.

One handkerchief, two bars of soap, two toothbrushes, a hairbrush, and a rucksack to carry them in came out to two silver coins. Even though the city was isolated, the prices of these items were the same as in the Citadel City, maybe because they were daily necessities.

Mariela still had plenty of money left, but there were also a lot of things she needed.

First, I need to get ingredients for the potions the Corps ordered. I wonder what the prices of medicinal herbs are like now? Everyday necessities haven’t changed, at least. After that, I also need to secure a place to live. Not much I can do about it right now, since Sieg’s in bad shape, but it would be awkward to share a room with him forever. Still, I’m not gonna make him sleep in a shed.

Mariela pondered while she counted what she needed on her fingers.

I’ll work hard to earn a living. I wanna make sure Sieg can eat as much as he wants.

Although she’d bought him on impulse, Mariela surprisingly found herself taking a liking to Sieg. She wanted him to have lots of food and rest so he could recover all the more quickly. Reymond had said he became a penal laborer during his time as a debt laborer when he’d gotten his former master’s son injured. However, the way Sieg recoiled in fear just from her hand near his face showed he’d routinely been a victim of violence. Above all else, she just couldn’t think of him as a miscreant.

That single blue eye is beautiful.

Mariela felt Sieg’s eye showed his true self.

It was already close to evening when she emerged from the last shop.

She could see the mountain range on the other side of the Labyrinth City’s outer wall drenched in the light of the evening sun. It was a familiar view, just like two hundred years ago. The town had gone through huge changes, yet life went on. If some things remained the same, maybe she could find a place to fit in.

After all, I’ve got Sieg with me. I even survived the Stampede. There’s gotta be a way for me to have a quiet sort of life—I’m sure of it.

After admiring the evening landscape for a while, she ran over to Lynx and apologized. “Sorry for the wait.”

“I’m staaarving.” Lynx rubbed his stomach at the delicious smell wafting through the air, probably from dinner preparations.

“Didn’t you just eat?”

“They say there’s a separate stomach only for meat. I’m a growin’ boy, y’know.”

“What? Ah-ha-ha!”

The shadows lengthened in the evening sun.

“Ha-ha, look how long my legs are. I’m as tall as Captain Dick.”

Lynx’s shadow had spindly legs and walked with enormous strides.

“I wonder if I’m still growing, too.”

“Mariela, shouldn’t you be more worried about your chest than your height?”

“The heck?! That was mean! I’m gonna get Amber to teach me her secrets later.”

The two shadows jovially hurried back side by side.

When they returned to the Yagu Drawbridge Pavilion, Captain Dick was passed out.

He lay on a table holding a cushion and talking in his sleep, his hands massaging it rather indecently as he mumbled “Amberrr,” among other things.

He really was the definition of useless.

The other Corps members seemed accustomed to this scenario. They ignored him and enjoyed their meals and chitchat with the young ladies.

Meanwhile, Amber was busy serving a group of adventurers and a number of knights who’d just started eating. Apparently, she was a favorite.

When Mariela and Lynx sat at the counter, they heard a man who appeared to be an adventurer-turned-shopkeeper place an order. Today’s menu was orc meat cutlet and hearty yagu milk stew.

“I’ll take both. You, Mariela?”

Did his growing stomach have some kind of spatial magic cast on it?

Envious that he didn’t have to worry about which one to pick, Mariela replied, “I’ll take the hearty yagu milk stew. And could I get something for my companion that’s easy to digest?” After she finished ordering, Lynx invited her to the Black Iron Freight Corps’s table.

“Mariela, you haven’t met the whole crew yet, have you? I’ll introduce ya while we’re waiting.”

Captain Dick and Lieutenant Malraux were the founders of the Black Iron Freight Corps, and their crew included Lynx, the scout, and Yuric, the animal trainer, along with four additional members for eight in total—plus eight raptors.

Donnino, whose forte was maintaining the armored carriages, appeared to be a craftsman in his late thirties and thus the oldest member of the Corps. He was talking passionately about the carriages’ armor as he chowed down on his meat, but when the alcohol came around, his true enthusiasm showed through as he went on at length about the types of steel used for armor or welding techniques.

The only one who seemed to understand what Donnino was talking about was Grandel, the shield knight. He was the next tallest after Captain Dick but slimmer than Lieutenant Malraux, and he sported a handlebar mustache. In contrast to Donnino and his carnivorous appetite, Grandel munched on a vegetable kebab.

I wonder if someone this pitiful-looking is fit to be a guard? I doubt he can even manage a shield, let alone armor.

Mariela had her doubts. Next to her sat a man named Franz, a healing magic user. Although they were indoors, he wore a hood low over his eyes and a mask that covered the upper half of his face. He seemed like a foster parent to Yuric; they did a lot together.

Then there was Edgan, a young dual wielder in his midtwenties. For some reason, he was passing envelopes to the young ladies in tow, trying his hardest to look cool. He could have just handed them over normally, but he instead grasped them between his index and middle finger while shooting the ladies a flirtatious sidelong glance. However, every one of the ladies was absorbed with her respective envelope and brushed aside his advances.

As Mariela mulled over each of the men and their distinctive personalities, Edgan tousled his short bangs as he said to her, “Feel free to hit me up if you ever want to send a letter to the imperial capital.”

Just as Mariela was wondering what he handed over to the ladies, she was told he transported letters free of charge from the Yagu Drawbridge Pavilion to as far as their regular inn in the imperial capital. According to one of the ladies, the only way to send a letter from the Labyrinth City to the capital was to either ask one of the Merchants Guild’s yagu caravans or personally request an adventurer or a private enterprise like the Black Iron Freight Corps to do it. Either way, the shipping charge would be expensive, and it wasn’t easy to afford with their allowances. Everyone who had just received a letter was reading theirs attentively, and Mariela could tell they were very grateful.

“Oh yeah, I just deliver them along the way. If you can’t come to the inn in the capital to pick it up yourself, there’s a shipping fee, y’know.”

He was attempting to be nice, but Mariela felt Edgan somehow ruined it by trying so hard to make himself look like a big shot. He was strangely proud about something that was a service from the Corps as a whole rather than something he did himself.

Some of the adventurers Mariela had known would leave a mess after finishing their meals, cause a considerable racket with their banter, and fondle the female staff before getting kicked out. However, the members of the Black Iron Freight Corps were decent, mature adults who enjoyed themselves in moderation.

“Amberrr…”

Geez, this guy’s pathetic!

What happened to the dignity he’d shown when they first met?

At a time like this, she didn’t see the reliable Lieutenant Malraux anywhere, nor Yuric.

“Hey, Lynx. Is it okay to leave the captain alone? And where are Malraux and Yuric?”

“The captain’s always like this,” Lynx replied, laughing off her concern. “Yuric can barely sleep a wink in the Fell Forest, so he’s already in bed. The lieutenant went home.”

It was a surprise to learn that Lieutenant Malraux was a married man with children and a house in the Labyrinth City.

Just then, their food was ready.

A wonderful aroma wafted from the yagu milk stew. It included a heaping amount of chicken and vegetables, both of which had been thoroughly boiled to a melt-in-your-mouth texture. The yagu milk had a gamy smell, but when she gave it a try, she found it had been blended with a lovely mixture of herbs that balanced out any gamy taste. The ingredients had been expertly condensed into a soup that boasted a depth of flavors.

The stew came with a side of fluffy white bread; a salad garnished with a thick, creamy dressing; and crunchy, thinly sliced fried potatoes.

“So good…”

As soon as the warm soup reached her stomach, she suddenly felt ravenous. So much had happened since she woke up, so she’d failed to notice she’d apparently been starving. Mariela devoured her meal in no time flat.

“Say, whatcha gonna do tomorrow?”

Although she’d eaten with gusto, Lynx had finished eating even sooner.

“Whoa, that was fast. Finished already? You had enough for two people, too…,” Mariela answered in astonishment. “The plan for tomorrow is to go buy some medicinal herbs.”

“If you’re lookin’ for herbs, I know a great place. I’ve got tomorrow off, so I’ll take ya there. ’Bout what time d’you wanna go?” Lynx asked as he rubbed his belly. Though he’d just consumed two meals’ worth of food, his stomach looked as flat as before. There just had to be some spatial magic involved.

Lynx and the rest of the Corps must have been tired from running through the Fell Forest. And Mariela hadn’t slept in a bed for two hundred years—it would be nice if she could sleep in a bit. She and Lynx agreed to head out just before noon.

With impeccable timing, the server came back carrying a tray of yagu milk risotto full of minced vegetables and meat and thick melted cheese. It was just as luscious as the stew had been. She had no doubt something with such excellent presentation was delicious.

“Whoa, that looks amazing…”

“Lynx, you just had two helpings of food…”

Even the server was astonished.

The female staff giggled, and Mariela couldn’t help but join in. She’d laughed a lot today thanks to Lynx; tomorrow would surely be lots of fun, too.

“Well, see ya tomorrow!” Lynx headed back to the table with the rest of the Corps, scratching his head in apparent embarrassment. His gaze was fixated not on the ladies nor on the glasses of liquor but on the snacks—surely she wasn’t just imagining things.

“Good night!” Mariela said, and everyone replied in kind. She took the tray of steaming, piping-hot risotto and headed for her room, a slight sense of warmth now in her heart.

05

Mariela entered her room carrying the rucksack she’d just bought, along with the tray.

Perhaps Sieg had been woken by the sound of the door opening, as he was trying to get up from the bed. His single blue eye darted restlessly around the room; he may have been slightly disoriented.

“Siegmund.”

When she called his name, the deep-blue eye focused on Mariela…and then fixated on the steaming risotto.

You too, huh…?

Lynx hadn’t been the only starving one.

“Can you get up?”

When she placed the tray on the table, Sieg got out of bed as if he’d been beckoned. His complexion looked a lot better, so maybe his fever had gone down, but his malnourished, emaciated body trembled, making him look like a newborn yagu.

“A-anyway, how about you wrap yourself in those sheets?”

It hadn’t bothered her during his medical treatment, but now it was hard to look at him with the loincloth completely exposing his legs. She wanted to get him wrapped up into the many sheets for now. Seemingly embarrassed, Sieg quickly did as she suggested.

“How about you take a seat in this chair?”

His hesitation made her wonder if he’d always been forced to sit on the floor.

Even when he did sit, he simply swallowed hard as he stared at the risotto and made no move to tuck in.

“You can go ahead and eat. It’s hot, so be careful.”

On hearing this, Sieg finally reached for the spoon. He didn’t seem to have any strength in the fingers of his right hand, so instead he gripped the handle with his left and scooped up some risotto. He brought it close to his face and took the first bite.

Sieg’s blue eye opened wide. Another bite, then another.

He must have been famished. He cradled the plate in his right arm, which he couldn’t move well, got a firm grip on the spoon in his left hand, and began to stuff his face with abandon.

“Here, have some water.”

The risotto was well cooked and soft, but even so, he was eating with ravenous gusto. She poured him a cup of water so that he wouldn’t choke, and it was when she was placing it on the table that she noticed.

He’s crying.

Tears rolled down Siegmund’s face as he ate.

Looks like he didn’t bite his tongue or burn his mouth or anything. As I thought.

He finished every last grain of the risotto. The plate looked as if he’d licked it clean. As he drank the water, she could hear muffled sobs through his tears.

“Um, use this to dry your face, okay?”

She produced the handkerchief she’d bought and placed it in his left hand. When he looked at the brand-new towel he’d just been given, he let out a sound like a moan and burst into a fresh round of tears.

Yikes, what should I do…?

She didn’t know how a hand towel could make someone cry, but the way his tears came flooding out made Sieg seem like a little boy to her.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Softly and slowly so as not to frighten him, Mariela reached out and stroked his head.

“You were scared and hurt; I know. But everything’s gonna be okay now. Your swelling’s gone down, and by tomorrow, your fever will, too.”

As if comforting a small child, she embraced Sieg’s head and continued to stroke it.

He’d probably been in constant pain ever since the black wolves had bitten him—no, maybe he’d been suffering long before that. He must have been terrified the entire time he was shut away in the dark, cramped carriage as it passed through the Fell Forest. Even after arriving in the Labyrinth City, there was no mistaking the anxiety he felt, not knowing whether the next moment would be his last.

Mariela believed the taste of the warm food must have brought him relief at last.

The medical treatment and food Mariela provided for Sieg had stirred his heart far more powerfully than she imagined.

Ever since he became a slave, Siegmund had never been treated as a human being. He was treated worse than livestock and even made to believe that it was right. His body and head were in such agony, not only from the arm and leg wounds but from the inflammation, too; he couldn’t even think clearly. All this pain and suffering steadily robbed him of his strength, but even though he was dying, he didn’t want to succumb. He couldn’t help feeling terrified of his approaching doom.

All that pain, all that suffering, went away in an instant thanks to Mariela. She washed his contaminated wounds and gave him medicine and a warm bed. The change was so drastic that he thought he was in the throes of a fever dream. The reality hit him the moment he tasted the warm food.

How long has it been since I’ve had a hot meal or sat in a chair to eat? I’d even forgotten how to use a spoon.

The warm risotto was full of meat and vegetables, grains and yagu milk. When was the last time he’d eaten a dish with so many ingredients?

As Siegmund ate the risotto, he remembered a time when he sat in chairs and ate cooked food—all things that were natural for a human being to do.

Why, why, why…?

He recalled his own lot in life, the resentment he’d carried all this time, things he’d unknowingly stopped thinking about.

His life had sunk so low. He didn’t feel he was blameless, but it was a fact that he’d been denigrated and senselessly robbed of any shred of decency.

And now a girl named Mariela had unconditionally provided him the warmth and dignity he’d lost.

All by herself, she’d healed a filthy, reeking, wretched man worth just two large silver coins, and she’d given him food—as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

Then when he’d shamefully burst into tears, she’d offered a brand-new handkerchief.

She treated him just like a human being.

This girl probably had no idea how rare that was for him.

After all, she seemed perplexed as she embraced and comforted him.

He’d lost everything, and she’d given him everything. Siegmund vowed he’d protect Mariela for the rest of his life.

“You still have a slight fever, so you should go right to bed.”

Sieg had stopped crying at last. She dried his face with a different hand towel and put him to bed.

He still clutched in his left hand the handkerchief she’d given him.

Come to think of it, there was this one kid in the orphanage who would never let go of her favorite handkerchief. Maybe Sieg’s like that, too?

She pushed the desk next to Sieg’s bed and filled the pitcher with water in case he got thirsty in the middle of the night.

“I’m gonna take a bath, so I might make a bit of noise, but be sure to get some sleep.”

Once she’d finished putting Sieg to bed, Mariela picked up her rucksack and headed for the bathroom.

For the first time in two hundred years! A baaath!

Since Sieg was sleeping, she didn’t say it aloud, but Mariela was on cloud nine.

I’ve still got some magic left, so I’m gonna treat myself!

“Water, Drops of Life, Anchor, Ignite.”

Mariela used lifestyle magic to add plenty of Drops of Life to the water in the bathtub and heated it.

Drawing up Drops of Life consumes magical energy, so normally, she couldn’t be so indulgent in its use, but somehow her magic hadn’t decreased very much today. A Drops of Life bath would relieve fatigue and make her skin soft and supple.

After removing her cloak, she noticed her clothing underneath it was worn out. The stitching was in especially bad shape; more than half of it had come loose. Unlike her cloak, which was woven from daigis fibers and repaired itself automatically, her other clothes were made of ordinary cloth, so it wasn’t a shock that they’d deteriorated. But it was a marvel the same hadn’t happened to her body.

Well, nobody has a body like this!

That wasn’t quite the case here, but Mariela nonetheless flexed her muscles as she struck a defiant pose, then shucked off the rest of her clothes and got in the bath. Since she’d been asleep with suspended animation magic, her body wasn’t full of sweat and grime, but she was extremely dusty. After rinsing with the water many times over, she washed herself thoroughly with the soap, taking extra care with her hair. Washing it just with soap alone would make it squeaky clean, but now the Drops of Life really made it shine.

After washing every last inch of her body, she refilled the tub with hot water and slowly immersed herself in it.

Ahhh, I feel alive again. I mean, I was literally just revived today, though.

It had really been a long day.

She’d met all kinds of people.

That reminds me—what Lynx said was really rude.

There was no way to avoid being reminded about it in the bath, since she could clearly see her chest. And here she’d gone to all the trouble of making a Drops of Life bath, too. She offered a prayer to the Goddess of Girth, Amber. Perhaps I oughta massage ’em a bit; that’s what the ladies in the brothels used to say. May the Goddess of Girth be generous in her blessing. Rub, rub.

Tomorrow she would cut Sieg’s hair, pick up some medicinal herbs, and browse the shops in town. She also wanted to buy Sieg shoes.

Mariela got out of the tub and changed into one of the shirts she’d just bought. If she had time, she wanted to get pajamas, too. She dried and combed her hair, and after brushing her teeth, all that was left was hitting the hay.

“G’night, Sieg,” she said as she crawled into her own bed. There was no reply, so he must have been asleep.

I wonder when the last time I said “good night” was…, Mariela thought as she gazed absentmindedly at Sieg. She hadn’t turned off the lights yet. Even though she was about to go to sleep now, it was still very bright.

She gazed at the walls and ceiling; they were so different from those of the cellar in the Fell Forest. The Stampede was a thing of the distant past. When she closed her eyes, she would wake up tomorrow morning.

You’re okay; you’re just gonna go to sleep and wake up like normal. You’re fine; Sieg will probably say “good morning” when the sun wakes you up. Everything’s okay; Sieg and Lynx and all the guys in the Black Iron Freight Corps I met today won’t disappear.

Mariela told herself over and over again that things would be fine. Yet, she couldn’t put out the lights. It made her remember the lantern’s faint, wavering flame back in the cellar. Dim light was terrifying. She vividly remembered the sound of footsteps from the monsters flooding out of the forest and the macabre tremors that reverberated all the way to the cellar.

It’s okay; it’s fine; I’m okay. I don’t hear any sounds like that. I’ll be okay—now I’m not alone anymore.

Mariela curled up into a tiny ball on the wide bed and held her knees. Despite her attempts to reassure herself, she still strained her ears for the footsteps of an approaching horde.

What reached her ears instead was the laughter of the drunkards who were still making a racket, the cries of the raptors from outside the window, and Siegmund’s slow breathing. At some point while she was listening to the sounds of life from the people and town, Mariela fell asleep.