Chapter 47: Freedom’s Price

The following day.

Elara found herself once again at the s*ave market on the west side of the city.

However, this time, she had a companion.

Though ostensibly a s*ave market, the place more closely resembled a sprawling slum teeming with illicit trades.

Black markets, prostitution, smuggling—yet the core of the area was still dominated by the entirely legal business of slavery.

The two entered through a narrow alley. After walking about ten paces, the space opened up into a wide expanse.

The moment they stepped into the s*ave market, the first scents to assail them were those of excrement, moldy straw, cheap grease, and other indistinguishable, foul odors. Carried by the wind, they hit them full force.

Elara and Hilvyn wrinkled their noses as they walked forward.

Crude wooden cages lined both sides of the path. Some cages even had broken holes, yet the slaves within made no attempt to escape. They lay sprawled on blackened straw, curled up in slumber, while the eyes of those awake held not a flicker of light.

“Beautiful ladies, look here! I have a fresh batch of slaves in my tent…”

A sharp-featured merchant, with a face like a monkey, called out to them.

Such solicitations were common, and Elara paid him no mind.

As they ventured deeper, they encountered demi-human slaves: winged folk, beastmen, and most predominantly, half-elves.

Hilvyn glanced at the half-elves—raggedly clothed, some with a notch clipped from their ears, and all wearing anti-magic collars around their necks to prevent them from using magic.

Her gaze averted, she unconsciously tightened her grip on her pendant, and the hand Elara held also clenched a little tighter.

“Don’t look,” Elara murmured softly.

The area teemed with people buying slaves. The cacophony of hawking, chatter, and haggling rose and fell, as commonplace as shopping for groceries at a market.

A faint sob drifted from nearby, but it was quickly swallowed by the surrounding conversations.

“This is the rock-bottom price for a half-elf, customer.”

“If you drop it by another ten gold, I’ll buy it.”

“I truly can’t go lower. One hundred and twenty gold is the absolute minimum.”

“Alright, alright.”

Elara cast a glance. It was clear to her that this buyer was a novice; a s*ave merchant’s ‘bottom price’ was never truly the lowest.

Further into the market, they found the more established s*ave merchants, those with superior resources and higher-quality slaves. These merchants didn’t display their wares by the entrance. Instead, they erected large, circus-like tents, awaiting customers within.

Elara led Hilvyn into a tent on their left.

The stout s*ave merchant inside was sweeping the floor. Hearing their footsteps, he greeted them politely without turning his head.

“Good morning, customers. What kind of s*ave are you looking for?”

The environment inside the tent was quite decent, free from strong odors, suggesting regular cleaning. This was why Elara had chosen this particular merchant two months prior, finding it much cleaner than the roadside stalls and other tents.

The plump s*ave merchant finished sweeping and turned around. Upon seeing Elara, his smile broadened into one of eager deference.

“Miss Black Rose, are you here to select another s*ave?”

He was quite grateful to Elara. Her previous visit, when she helped him offload that elf, not only recouped some of his capital but also boosted his reputation in the s*ave market.

As for the elf, he assumed she was likely being kept as a decorative ‘flower vase,’ her life slowly ticking away.

Elara’s return only solidified his conjecture.

“I’m here to remove a s*ave contract,” Elara said, gesturing subtly behind her.

Hilvyn, holding her hand, hid partially behind her, revealing only half her face.

When the s*ave merchant first saw Hilvyn, his immediate thought was to marvel at her exquisite quality. She was beautiful and impeccably clean, and even as a half-elf, she could fetch a top price with no shortage of buyers.

However, a troubled expression soon crossed his face. “You see, Miss…”

“You won’t do it?” Elara raised an eyebrow, puzzled by his reaction.

“It’s not that I won’t,” his face was a mix of fawning and helplessness. “Your s*ave… your companion wasn’t purchased from me. How can I remove a s*ave contract for you, right?”

His meaning was clear: it was a matter of one shop dealing with its own products. He was essentially saying Elara had brought a piece of meat to complain about his fruit stand.

Elara understood. He hadn’t recognized Hilvyn.

It wasn’t surprising. Hilvyn had transformed from a young girl into a maiden overnight, changed her hair color, and had been keeping herself hidden behind Elara.

“She’s the elf I bought here last time.”

“Please, Miss, don’t jest with me. This is clearly a perfectly healthy, normal person.”

Elara pointed to Hilvyn’s black hair. Understanding, Hilvyn waved her hand, dispelling the color-changing magic.

Her silver hair reappeared, along with her sapphire-blue eyes. The s*ave merchant’s pupils constricted, his plump face etched with disbelief.

Her features indeed bore a strong seven or eight-tenths resemblance to the terminally ill elf he remembered. Moreover, Elara had no reason to specifically come and tease him.

“You… you!” He stammered, incoherent.

Magic Blockage Disease was incurable, rendering one unable to use magic and preventing magic from accelerating physical maturation—this was common knowledge.

Yet, the person before him shattered all common understanding.

“May I be so bold as to ask a question?”

“Ask.”

“Has your companion’s illness been cured?”

“Uh, yes.”

After all, she could always use the ancient magical artifact as an excuse.

“Could you perhaps reveal a part of the method? I will offer a price that will surely satisfy you.”

“It’s nothing much. Just a magical artifact I found in an ancient ruin back in my hometown,” Elara replied casually.

“And its effect is to cure the ailments of those suffering from amnesia.”

Such matters couldn’t be kept secret; otherwise, the merchant might harbor ill intentions. Upon hearing the stringent condition of amnesia and that it was a rare relic from a ruin, the s*ave merchant’s hopes dwindled.

“And your hometown is?”

“Targaryen,” Elara answered offhandedly.

“Alright,” the s*ave merchant finally gave up. Targaryen was quite distant, but this information could still be sold to others.

He gestured towards a small, curtained-off cubicle.

“Please, both of you, come this way.”

The cubicle was meticulously kept, mostly filled with wooden barrels of black water. Elara recognized the scent; she had dripped her own blood into it when the s*ave contract was first formed.

The s*ave merchant took out a bottle of clear liquid, poured a small amount into a dish, and then brought it over.

“Miss Black Rose’s blood is also needed here. Otherwise, removing it directly would be quite painful.”

Upon hearing this, Elara decisively cut her fingertip with her knife and let a drop of blood fall.

Hilvyn immediately healed her wound.

“Please, have your companion expose the back of her neck.”

“You’d best not touch her,” Elara warned casually as she helped Hilvyn lift her hair.

“Naturally, naturally.”

The s*ave merchant took a quill pen, dipped it in the liquid, and began to trace a pattern on Hilvyn’s nape.

“It’s rare to have customers come to remove a s*ave contract,” he said as he drew. “Among those who do, half of them are later harmed to varying degrees by their former slaves.”

“What are you trying to say?” Elara’s tone was displeased.

“I have already said what I needed to, customer.”

He had merely offered the usual counsel to those seeking to dissolve s*ave contracts, but Elara, like others he had encountered, showed no sign of changing her mind.

As the quill tip traced her neck, Hilvyn felt a warmth spread across her back.

Elara also sensed it, a sudden severance of a connection within her heart.

“There,” the s*ave merchant said, setting down his pen and bowing slightly to Hilvyn. “Congratulations, you are now a free person.”

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