I bought that horned girl slave for 5 gold coins—a very cheap price for a living creature's life. When the transaction was complete, I received her magical contract paper. Apparently, the Yardorh Line I had seen earlier connected to her physical body and ended directly at the magical rune on that contract paper.

  "Sir, if you're interested, I recommend buying a ticket for tonight's auction," the slave trader offered. "They're selling many exotic slaves and rare items there."

  "No, thank you. I'm not interested," I refused curtly. I had already gotten what I needed.

  However, when I returned to the inn, the peaceful atmosphere had vanished.

  The inn was in chaos. Many guards in official uniforms—the City Lord's personal soldiers—surrounded the place. What happened? Did I make a mistake? Why so many soldiers? I was really nervous. I chose to hide behind a cart across the street while observing the situation.

  "Come out!" shouted a rough guard, dragging one of my Half-Elf slaves out the front door. That Half-Elf just stood silently like a statue, accepting the rough treatment without resistance. I was really annoyed that the slave just stood still while being dragged.

  All this time, I had always given commands through voice—could commands through the heart reach them?

  'Don't just stand there! Fight that man!' I screamed in my heart.

  At first, I thought it didn't work. However, a fraction of a second later, that Half-Elf moved. Not a stiff movement, but lightning-fast movement.

  BAM!

  He delivered a spinning kick precisely aimed at the jaw of the guard dragging him. That guard was sent flying far, hitting the wall until he passed out. Why didn't that Half-Elf stop? He dashed off, attacking everyone he saw.

  I used that chaos to slip inside. The scene in the inn lobby left me speechless.

  Indescribable in words. The entire contents of the room—the innkeeper, the guests present, and over a dozen fully armed soldiers—all lay unconscious on the floor. Strangely, the room was relatively neat.

  Only my slaves still stood upright in the middle of that sea of human bodies.

  My gaze fixed on the second floor. The Half-Elf slave from outside had already dashed upstairs. Up there, that Half-Elf was beating the remaining soldiers who had tried to drag the tiger Beastwoman.

  The Beastwoman had regained consciousness, but something was wrong with her. Her left eye. The Beastwoman's left eye stared wide at me as if it had its own awareness. While the rest of her body appeared normal.

  By the time I reached upstairs, all the guards were completely down.

  I swallowed hard. Where did these Half-Elves actually come from? Aren't their race famously beautiful and gentle? On the slave data paper, their weapon skill was listed as 'Dagger,' but they had just incapacitated everyone with bare hands—was the data wrong, or were they just too strong?

  A carriage with gaudy, lavish gold decorations stopped right in front of the inn. A gaunt old man in noble attire shouted from inside the carriage. His eyes were strange—wild and unfocused.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  "Hurry! Are you snails or what?!"

  Silence. No one answered, because all his underlings were already unconscious.

  I realized I couldn't run. I chose another strategy. I quickly changed clothes using the ceremonial robe given by the Cathedral, then went down with all the slaves—both those upstairs and the one I just bought.

  When I reached the inn's front door, that old man was still sitting comfortably in his carriage, completely unconcerned about the strange silence around him.

  "Why did it take you so long to bring the 'goods' to my palace?! I had to deploy soldiers for this!" he shouted without looking at the unconscious guard bodies near the door.

  Was this man blind?

  I decided to play dumb.

  "Forgive this servant for not knowing Your Excellency's wishes," I said while bowing respectfully.

  "This servant is still a new trader. Forgive my impertinence, Your Excellency."

  That old man snorted, his eyes greedily scanning my line of slaves.

  "Bring that tiger Beastwoman, those two Warlord children, and those Half-Elf slaves to my palace TONIGHT," he ordered, pointing with the cane he carried.

  After saying that, his carriage immediately sped off, leaving behind dust and confusion. Luckily, before leaving, he tossed an official Seal Stamp. With that object, the city soldiers would automatically obey my orders.

  And I couldn't just give commands through the heart carelessly—I only ordered that one to fight the man dragging him, but why did he end up beating everyone?

  I stared at that seal, then at the soldiers who were beginning to regain consciousness.

  Several dozen minutes passed. Almost everyone beaten by the Half-Elf had awakened. Thanks to the seal that old man gave, the soldiers didn't dare arrest me. However, the innkeeper's stare at me was piercing.

  Clearly, we were no longer welcome here.

  That Night

  The city atmosphere felt eerily quiet. People's stares on the streets worsened as my group passed by. Disgust, fear, and hatred all mixed together. That crazy Baron only gave me a seal with no clear address. Were the people in this city truly insane? Luckily, upon meeting a patrol guard and showing the seal, their attitude immediately shifted—softening slightly, though their faces showed deep displeasure.

  They directed us toward the City Lord's castle.

  Upon arriving at Baron Gier's castle gate, the guards opened the door without many questions. This castle wasn't as grand as the Capital's Palace, and was even less elegant than Otsman's castle in Lahyana. Strangely, no servants guided us inside, even though we were newcomers unfamiliar with this castle. Fortunately, Yardorh's line of light appeared in my vision.

  However, something was strange. Yardorh's Line didn't lead us to the main palace entrance, but turned toward a separate, gloomy building beside the back garden.

  When I stepped inside, the stench of rusty iron and rotting blood immediately assaulted my nose.

  The room was dark, only lit by a few torches. We kept moving forward following Yardorh's Line until it stopped right in the middle of a spacious chamber.

  There, someone sat on a luxurious chair, their back facing us. Suddenly, the crystal lamps on the ceiling lit up brightly.

  I held my breath. The scene before me was a complete nightmare. That room was full of iron bars. On the walls, even hanging from the ceiling, were dozens of slaves from various races. Their condition was pitiful, and fresh blood dripped from several cages, pooling on the floor.

  The man in the chair turned around. It was that old Baron from this afternoon.

  "Ohhh... You made it here without a guide?" his voice was hoarse and heavy, different from his shrill shouting earlier. "And you call yourself a beginner? Don't joke. Who do you work for? Is it Naars? Balgog? Or Tash?"

  I chose to remain silent. I didn't recognize any of those names he mentioned.

  "You choose silence? Good. I also don't care who you work for," Baron Gier said, his eyes gleaming madly.

  "What matters is which diamonds, gems, jewels, or even crystals you've brought! So captivating! Beautiful! Elegant!" That man stood, hugging himself, his body trembling with joy, and his behavior disgusted me.

  With a strange wide smile, he walked closer toward us. He stopped right in front of my two young Warlords.

  "Look... These young Warlords are super high-quality crystals. So captivating," he whispered, his skinny fingers tracing the air before the child's face. "And look at these strong scales... Hohoho... How about I pluck their scales one by one with a hot knife? I'll erase their old contract and replace it with a new one so their emotions can run free? Just imagine how beautiful their screams would be..."

  This old man was truly insane.

  He moved to the other slaves, commenting on the Half-Elves' physiques and the Beastman's muscles in the same tone—like a butcher assessing the quality of beef.

  My stomach churned. My knees trembled, holding back disgust and fear.

  "Old man. I'm not selling them all," I cut in coldly.

  Baron Gier's pleased expression instantly vanished, replaced by a terrifying blank look.

  "Say that again? How dare you..."

  "I'M NOT SELLING THEM, OLD MAN!" I shouted loudly. Disgust overcame my fear.

  Baron Gier's eyes narrowed sharply. "Which noble supports you, huh? How dare you refuse me in my own den. Is it the Palace? Or those hypocritical Conservatives? Or could it be... the Crown Prince's faction?"

  He stepped back, returning to his chair.

  "Listen, kid. I don't care who your backer is. Sell them to me, and you'll be safe in this city. Your wealth will overflow."

  He raised three fingers.

  "I'll give you three days to think. Consider your answer carefully."

  Suddenly, a thick killing aura emanated from his gaunt body.

  "If you dare run away with my collection... I'll behead you and display your head at the city gate. As a warning to everyone, that no one can oppose me here."