Volume 2, Chapter 42 – The Hidden Race

“As expected of the inner district—it’s much livelier than the desolate outer streets.”

After lunch, Yisi and Mary arrived in the inner district.

Though the streets were still uneven in width, at least there were no slaves lying on the roadside waiting to die. The snow piled on rooftops and sunlight piercing through the clouds gave the place an unexpectedly refreshing atmosphere.

Another noteworthy point was that the tavern produced a large amount of leftover food every night. To improve the environment around the tavern, Yisi had Shinku and her group separate the leftovers into two types: those that still looked presentable and those that were truly scraps. The former were provided for free at the tavern’s back door to those starving and unable to afford food, while the latter were fed to livestock.

Though demand still sometimes outstripped supply, the situation had improved significantly compared to the early days when vagrants lay around the tavern like corpses. During business hours, the vagrants would quietly line up at the back door without disturbing operations, and after closing, they would jostle for the evening meal.

Yisi recalled Shinku mentioning fights breaking out over food. Perhaps some rules needed to be established—like requiring orderly queues and banning those who fought or cut in line from receiving meals.

At this thought, Yisi frowned slightly. After all, what she was offering were merely leftovers. Even if the preserved portions still looked decent, imposing strict rules on such scraps felt somewhat strange.

As Yisi wrestled with these thoughts, Mary tugged at her skirt. For this outing, Yisi wasn’t wearing her usual casual tavern attire but a purple dress with a warm woolen cloak over it. Her silver hair was still styled in twin tails—all thanks to Camilla’s efforts.

“Master?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s nothing… I just noticed you seemed preoccupied. Is our destination troubling you?”

Mary’s purple right eye was filled with concern. Like Yisi, she was no longer dressed as a tavern maid but wore a white dress that complemented her chestnut hair, along with a decorative rapier at her waist, giving her the air of a noble swordswoman.

After a brief hesitation, Yisi shared her dilemma with Mary.

“Mary, you’ve helped Shinku distribute food to the vagrants in the back alleys, right? Those leftovers.”

“Yes. Everyone is very grateful to you, Master. They even call you an angel.”

Rеаⅾ оո ΚαtReaⅾіոgСαfe

I had no idea.

Suppressing the urge to retort, Yisi continued, “I want to change the current free-for-all and establish rules—like making them queue for meals. What do you think?”

“It’s just like the church’s relief efforts. Master really is a cleric.”

“It’s hardly a relief—just scraps from customers’ plates. My initial goal was just to stop them from harassing the tavern and improve the surroundings. Setting up formal rules now feels a bit self-important.”

Mary shook her head vigorously, her chestnut hair and red scarf swaying.

“Not at all! Everyone says the food you provide is even better than the church’s relief rations. The church only distributes twice a month, and it’s usually thin porridge with barely any rice. But you offer meals daily, often with meat. To them, it’s like a dream.”

“Really?”

Now that she thought about it, the gazes from vagrants and slaves in the outer district had indeed become less predatory. Catcalls had nearly disappeared, and in narrow alleys, they would even step aside to let her pass.

If Mary hadn’t mentioned it, Yisi might never have noticed.

“Of course! Master shouldn’t feel embarrassed. When Shinku heard you wanted to give untouched food to vagrants, she was upset for a while. But the vagrants themselves said they’d be fine even with the scraps meant for livestock.”

“Ah…”

Better pretend I didn’t hear that.

Yisi smiled wryly.

“Step right up! Finest weapons and armor here—just one gold coin each!”

Passing a blacksmith’s shop, Yisi suddenly recalled something she’d seen during Mary and Shinku’s fight that morning—through Eye of God, Mary’s race was listed as Elf & □□.

Reаⅾ оո ΚαtReαԁіոgСafе

Mary was clearly a half-elf, and half-elves were typically born from unions between elves and other races. Yisi was deeply curious about what the obscured part might be.

“Mary, do you know your parents’ names or races?”

“No. Ever since I can remember, I’ve lived as a slave. I’ve never seen my parents.”

“Have you ever met anyone else with purple eyes?”

“No…”

As if ashamed of her unusual eye color, Mary instinctively lowered her head.

But to Yisi, this was crucial information.

In Ragnarøk, every race had distinct traits—elves always had pointed ears, orcs were invariably green-skinned, and beastmen had partially animalistic features with enhanced physiques.

Additionally, among the player-selectable races, there were hidden ones. Aside from dragons, the most famous were the Demonkin and Celestials, carried over from Ragnarøk’s predecessor, F.Wing.

These two were the most powerful humanoid races in the lore. The Demonkin were marked by purple eyes, while Celestials always had silver streaks in their hair. Given Mary’s purple eye, Yisi couldn’t ignore the possibility.

While studying continental history earlier, Yisi hadn’t found any records of Demonkin or Celestials—Demonkin being distinct from Demons—so she’d assumed this world didn’t include them. Now, it seemed either their existence was a coincidence or someone had deliberately erased them from history.

Maybe Mary’s a lost princess.

Yisi nearly laughed at the thought. This isn’t a novel—such coincidences don’t happen.

“By the way, Mary, it’s fine to uncover your left eye. I think heterochromia looks cute.”

“But it brings a curse…”

“As long as you don’t activate your ability, the red eye won’t turn slit-pupiled, right? I’ve seen others with heterochromia here—no one will judge you.”

Rеαⅾ оn ΚatReаdіոɡCafе

“Judge…?”

“Meaning they won’t look at you with prejudice. Living with only one eye must be inconvenient.”

Yisi had noticed Mary occasionally missing when reaching for objects.

Mary hesitated, remaining silent.

Yisi exhaled a white breath in the winter air.

“Well, it’s just a suggestion. If you’re uncomfortable, there’s no need to change. We’re almost at the slave merchant association—try to cheer up.”

“Eh? S-slave merchant association? Master is selling Mary?!”

Mary’s grip on Yisi’s skirt tightened as she froze in panic.

Yisi ruffled Mary’s chestnut hair playfully.

“Of course not. We’re just going to assess your current level and magic. There are only three places in Celtic City for ability appraisals—the city gates, the adventurer’s guild, and the slave merchant association. Since we still don’t fully understand your abilities, we need a professional evaluation.”

Learning new magic mid-battle struck Yisi as bizarre, so verification was necessary.

“I-I see…”

Placing a hand over her chest, Mary sighed in relief, though traces of fear lingered.

It seems the only way to truly reassure her is to retrieve the master-servant contract from Baron Wells.

I’ll visit him as Viel. Even if I have to beat him to a pulp, I’ll make him hand over Mary’s ownership.

Reаԁ оո ΚatRеаⅾіnɡСαfe

With such thoughts in mind, Yisi strode toward the slave merchant association under the sunlight.

Soon, they arrived at an open courtyard crowded with people. Along the walls stood rows of slaves bound by ropes, dressed in rags. Before them, customers stroked their chins, inspecting the “merchandise.” Each slave had a wooden placard displaying a number and details—name, past occupations, and how many owners they’d had.

Yisi noted a pattern: male slaves increased in value with more owners, while female slaves depreciated. The former were likely laborers, the latter playthings.

Nearly all the slaves were emaciated and lifeless, their expressions numb—the same look Yisi had seen in the tavern’s back alleys, the mark of those who’d lost all hope.

Compared to them, Mary’s innocent vibrancy seemed like a visitor from another world.

Of course, the courtyard wasn’t just filled with slaves and buyers—there were also slave traders.

One particularly scrawny trader quickly spotted Yisi and Mary, their refined attire standing out. With an ingratiating smile, he approached.

“Young lady, are you here to purchase slaves? Whether you need men for labor or women for service, I have options to suit your needs. I even have fallen noblewomen available!”

He stepped aside, revealing the slaves behind him—equally gaunt and frail. When they saw Mary’s healthy complexion, their eyes filled with envy and longing. Yisi suspected that if not for the ropes, they might have rushed forward to beg for purchase.

They must have gone hungry for a long time.

Yisi glanced at Mary, who was gazing at the slaves with deep sympathy.

Even if I bought them, the tavern doesn’t need so many people.

Gently patting Mary’s head, Yisi politely declined the trader’s offer.

“I don’t need slaves. Mary, let’s go.”

“Y-yes!”