Chapter 7: A Test

“Here, this is the contract. But… where are the gold coins for payment?”

The man grinned, eyes narrowing in anticipation—not with worry, but delight.
He didn’t seem the least bit concerned that Bel might not have the money.
In fact, he welcomed it.

Bel glanced down at the contract he handed her.

She couldn’t read it well. Likely because she hadn’t yet acquired the language of this era.

Languages changed over centuries—sometimes so drastically it was as though the very sky and earth had shifted.
And so, Bel tilted her head, the letters on the page unfamiliar and meaningless to her.

Seeing this, the slaver promptly offered a pen.

“Here you go. Just sign here.”

He didn’t give her enough time for even a normal person to read the document.
He was rushing her—pressuring her.

But more than that…

Bel was beginning to find everything tiresome.

And it was getting harder and harder to bear.

The reason she always needed a sacrifice upon waking was simple—if her hunger dragged on, she would lose control.
She would rampage.
She would slaughter.

There was a reason she had once been called Demon King. Cannibal.

When the offerings were insufficient and her restraint thinned, she would wander… and devour.
And right now, the only thing extending her patience was the request of the two women who had brought her here.

The women who had covered her cold, naked body when she had just crawled out from beneath the earth.

‘What on earth are they doing that’s taking so long?’

“I’m waiting for someone,” Bel said quietly, glancing at the s*ave standing behind her.

He hadn’t spoken until now. But strangely, his presence lingered like a steady heat at her back.
His lips quivered slightly, as if he wanted to say something—but in the end, he clenched his teeth and said nothing.

Yet his eyes blazed. He kept staring at her, then at the contract, then back again.

He read the contract.

Yes.

If he came from a knightly family, he would have been well-educated. He’d likely read it in full already.

There must be a trap hidden in the contract.

“Waiting for your party?” the slaver asked.

He should have noticed something was strange. The s*ave he’d just sold was now standing tall, gaze burning. But he was too greedy, too fixated on the woman in front of him to care.

“Yes,” Bel said. “I have to wait.”

“Ah, then please wait as long as you like! I’ll bring you some tea. Take your time deciding. Here, please—just sign right here.”

He gave a toothy grin and stepped out to fetch the tea, leaving the contract in her hands.

Now, only Bel and the s*ave remained in the reception room.

Bored, Bel idly fiddled with the papers.

But then, the s*ave stepped forward.

“…Don’t sign that.”

“Why?”

“There’s a clause that’s disadvantageous to you,” he said grimly. “It says that if you can’t pay, the contract isn’t voided. Instead, they gain the right to detain you.”

“Hm.”

Bel’s reaction was indifferent.
Of course it was—there wasn’t a single being alive who could restrain her.
What could a scrap of paper possibly do?

But to Lema Valkite, that calm expression only deepened his misunderstanding.

“If you sign this, they’ll treat you like a s*ave.”

His voice sharpened. Then, as if trying to break it down into simpler words, he said:

“You have no money, right?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t sign this.”

Even after that, when Bel showed no concern and casually glanced at the contract again, he stepped in closer—and snatched it from her hands.

Anyone else would’ve slapped him across the face for such impertinence.
But Bel didn’t move.

“It says—look here—it says prostitute! Right here!”

He pointed, voice rising with indignation.

“They didn’t even list you as the buyer. They listed you as the prostitute. That’s what this contract really is.”

“…Is that so?”

“It was a test,” he growled. “To see if you could read it or not.”

He took a deep breath, then spoke more quietly—calm, but bitter.

“And since you didn’t get angry after seeing it… now they know your language skills are lacking.”

The contents of the contract were utterly despicable.

Not just the word ‘prostitute’. That was only the beginning.
There were clauses that would allow the slaver to claim ownership over Bel, sell her off, or detain her indefinitely.
There was nothing simple about it. It wasn’t just about transferring ownership of a s*ave.

Bel hadn’t reacted—because she hadn’t understood.
And in this auction house, people weren’t kind enough to overlook that.
No, they thrived on that kind of ignorance.
If she’d noticed the problem and spoken up, they would have claimed it was a “mistake.”
They would’ve brought a corrected version, all smiles, pretending nothing had happened.

But Lema Valkite…

He was more furious than the person who had been insulted.

And he didn’t know why.

“You should’ve gotten angry.”

He didn’t know what had come over him.

He was someone who had already accepted the humiliation of being a s*ave. He’d stopped resisting, stopped caring.

But ever since this woman had suddenly appeared—declared an absurd price—and bought him…

His emotions had been in constant upheaval.

It was clear this woman—who lacked even the most basic understanding of the language—had mistaken him for a knight and bought him.
But perhaps… even that fleeting misunderstanding had felt sweet.

“Does it matter what other people call me?”

“…Yes, it matters.”

It mattered to Lema Valkite.
No, his entire life was built around it.
Born into a knightly family, he had been raised to live for honor, and everything he did was guided by that ideal.

When his family fell and he became a fugitive, it was safest to be called a nameless wanderer. So he lived like one.
And now, he was called a s*ave.
But it wasn’t because Lema wanted it that way.

His former glory had crumbled.
After being branded a hypocrite, his house collapsed.
His entire life changed depending on what others chose to call him.

“I have many names anyway.”

Bel gently shook her head and replied softly.
The name Belmias was just one of many.

In every era she awoke, people called her by a different name.
Sometimes, she became a god. Sometimes, a demon god.
An angel. A devil.
Salvation. Disaster.

Names were arbitrary.
And often, they meant the opposite.

“Being called a prostitute for a moment doesn’t change who I am.”

Bel smiled, her expression innocent.
She couldn’t help but feel cheerful.
The more this s*ave opened his mouth, the stronger the scent became—
The scent of a desirable sacrifice.

“Just like you are a knight.”

“…”

Lema Valkite was speechless.
He swallowed dryly.

Had this woman really mistaken him for a knight and bought him?
Or… did she know he was a s*ave—and still saw him as a knight?

“…Did you say I am a knight?”

“Yes. You looked the most delicious here.”

Bel beamed.
She looked so noble, so radiant, it was as if she truly didn’t care what the world called her.

“I like knights the most. Because they’re the most delicious.”

From earlier, she had been using strange words like eat and delicious, things Lema didn’t quite understand.

But it didn’t matter.

Lema Valkite’s heart began to race.

He had spent most of his life on the run.
He had never understood his family’s final words—Just survive.
He didn’t know why he had to go on, clinging to a life so wretched and alone.

But if… even if the world despised him—
If he could survive until the end—
If someone, just one person, would call him a knight—

“I am…”

Just as Lema Valkite opened his mouth, the reception room door suddenly burst open.

Lema immediately shut his lips and bowed his head.

Still, his eyes trembled in confusion.

“Have you been waiting long, sir?”

The slaver entered, grinning lewdly.
This time, two men who looked like servants followed on either side.

“I happened to have some good tea. The freshest leaves you can get in this place right now.”

The slaver smiled as he poured a pale green tea into a porcelain cup, keeping his eyes on Bel.

Bel looked down at the tea with disinterest.

Poison.

She could smell it clearly.
It was potent enough to render a human unconscious for a short while.

Colorless, odorless—for a human.
But it wasn’t enough to deceive her nose.

Then again, even if it had, it wouldn’t have mattered.
A poison that could paralyze or sedate a human had no effect on Bel.

Still, it was enough to be stimulating.

Hungry and growing increasingly irritable from suppressing it, Bel reached for the teacup.
Even in this situation, this could be considered an offering—an act of reverence.

Thwack!
Clang!

But almost as soon as she lifted it, the cup fell from her hand and crashed against the hard cave floor.

The fine porcelain shattered into pieces.

“A-are you crazy?!”

The slaver’s face turned crimson with rage.

The s*ave, who was supposed to be cowering quietly in the back, had reached out— and thrown the teacup.