The Regressed Princess - Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Edge of the Storm

Slaves: a hard currency even tougher than gold.

“Come take a look, what a fine slave! Who wouldn’t need a slave?”

A cunning slave trader leans in, whispering as they grab your arm: “She is very young; she can bring you much pleasure…”

“Oh, a question of money? Then choose this one. She is very submissive especially good at making beds, handling housework, and taking care of children… She has borne two children, so of course, she can bear three more.”

“What? Afraid the slave will eat your food for nothing? You must never have such concerns. The slaves here work instinctively. No whip needed; with just a word or a look from you, they will obediently roll into the fields to plow, eating very, very little every day~”

“Haha, your joke is quite humorous~ This price won’t buy you a Noble-blood; of course she will get old.”

“Oh, no problem, disposing of them isn’t troublesome at all. You just have her dig a pit, give her a few heavy punches to the face, and she’ll fall right in. Then have your newly bought slave fill it up… Hey, how could you not afford a new one? Just let the child she bore do the burying~”

Such pestering sales tactics could happen in any city-state on the Moon-Mist Continent, yet they rarely occurred within the royal city of Nolanna.

Although the royal capital possessed a vast and prosperous market, the slave market within was split into two areas: a small inner section and a large outer section. Only the highest-end “merchandise” could enter the inner city. The bosses behind these high-end industries were unfathomable; those who appeared in person to sell were Noble-bloods, and even the slaves occasionally included fallen nobles or noble-blooded prisoners of war from foreign races.

These slave traders were often well-dressed, even organizing their businesses as “families.” It was said that at their most arrogant, they forced the slaves and their henchmen to call them “Mother.” However, this act greatly enraged the Temple of Lilia the Goddess of Love, Contracts, Marriage, and Family. The Temple Knights declared such behavior blasphemous, and for a time, heads rolled. Since then, no slave trader dared lay a finger on the title of “Mother.”

The Temple’s crackdown was an anomaly; otherwise, traders under the protection of the slave system ran this “legitimate business” with great success. Whether in large markets, small markets, back alleys, or hidden doors, they were everywhere. The profit from such trade was so immense that they built a three-story white stone complex—only slightly lower than the royal palace on the prime real estate of the Nolanna capital.

There were no whips or shouting here. Only the most submissive, intelligent, and valuable slaves would be transported here to please the nobility. The traders added all their costs to the selling price, harvesting the gold coins of the newly enriched minor nobles. Of course, facing true high officials and grand nobles, they possessed a different, softer posture.

Gold? Oh~ Gold is just a universal equivalent. But you, my lord, you are never ordinary! If a person of high status was willing to protect their industry, these people were always willing to proactively offer up their youngest and most beautiful merchandise.

However, the Great Slave Market in the suburbs of the capital was a different scene entirely.

Crack! Crack! The sound of whips echoed one after another. The shouting of merchants and the weeping of the “merchandise” added a grim sort of bustle to the place. Occasionally, a few strong thugs would carry out a bloody body and toss it into a corner with a grunt.

Don’t misunderstand; anything transported to the capital wasn’t cheap. The slaves chosen to be sold outside the city were mostly those not yet tamed or those with various flaws. The noble lords were kind-hearted; they didn’t like to watch the slaughter while eating pork, so they naturally wouldn’t allow filthy blood to be spilled on the clean, white stone roads of the city.

Thus, the traders spent their own money to build a section of wall at the city’s edge that was higher and thicker than the rest, lining the base of the wall with cages. Wood, iron, and even stone! These “exquisite” cages were always filled with cost-effective merchandise, waiting for citizens with various needs and pockets full of gold to come and browse.

“Yo, she’s certainly tall!”

In the afternoon at the slave market, a tall woman wearing a fur cloak despite the heat slapped the iron bars of a cage. This woman was very tall; if someone looked into the crowd from behind, her ginger hair would be the first thing seen bobbing above the rest. However, the exclamation in her mouth wasn’t sarcastic, for the cage before her held a massive individual who could truly be called a small giant.

The iron cage was over two meters high, yet the small giant inside couldn’t even straighten her neck. She sat on the floor, staring at the people outside with an angry gaze. She was broad-shouldered and large-framed; even her shackles were much heavier than those of other slaves, hanging from her limbs like four large scale-weights.

“Heh, how much would one like this sell for?” the ginger-haired woman asked, looking around and clicking her teeth with the other onlookers.

Faced with such a rare piece of merchandise, everyone became interested. Regardless of how much money they actually had in their pockets, they began to jeer and speculate.

“Look at that red hair and red skin a barbarian, definitely of High Mountain Barbarian blood! Ooh, she looks fierce…”

Someone reached out to touch her, only to pull back in a fright when the merchandise clenched a fist.

“Hey, what can you do besides fight? Mining? Blacksmithing?” a woman with a face full of acne tsked. “Too bad she can’t breed! Otherwise, the cubs would be worth a fortune!”

“Oh how old are you, what’s your name?” a seemingly kind old woman asked, looking at the merchandise as if inspecting vegetables. These questions weren’t for nothing; she was testing to see if the subject was a Noble-blood.

“Alright, alright, if you’re not buying, don’t touch.”

A thick-set woman with chestnut hair walked over, holding a wooden club. She didn’t swing it, just tossed it in her hand, and the crowd sullenly dispersed. Everyone knew that this kind of foreign giant—a suspected Noble-blood—wouldn’t be sold to commoners anyway, so they didn’t feel much regret.

“Hey, eat up!”

The chestnut-haired woman struck the iron door hard with her club and crudely tossed in two pieces of unleavened bread. They hit the floor with a metallic clang; it was hard to tell which was the iron and which was the bread.

“Meg,” the red-haired giant inside spoke in a raspy voice. “We fought together once… why did you… why did you betray us!”

“Pfft.” Meg turned her face away and scratched her nose. “We’ve been generous enough. Who told you lot to lose the battle in the end?”

Some onlookers nearby nodded privately: I see, she’s from a Slave War-Band.

The so-called “Slave War-Bands” were a common form of mercenary work on the Moon-Mist Continent. Since few people these days were exempt from labor, and everyone had to pay heavy taxes to their lords, only slaves “could” avoid paying any taxes. Thus, a type of battle-slave born specifically for war emerged. They only needed to train, not farm, and were frequently given meat to eat.

Unfortunately, such treatment was far from pleasant. Aside from the grueling training that made one regret being born, facing the noble lords’ cavalry on the battlefield was a pure nightmare. Weapons, armor, and warhorses were, of course, more precious than people. A battle-slave needed one or two victories just to earn a sharp spear and a shield; unless they were promoted to captain or luckily looted from an enemy, they couldn’t own armor. As for a warhorse? Dream on.

But being a battle-slave had its benefits: they possessed a hope for freedom, and a significant one at that. As long as they successfully won an entire war, the most outstanding among them would be released by their masters as free citizens on the spot. And according to unwritten custom, even those who were lazy or targeted would surely be released once they accumulated three victories.

The onlookers listened from a distance, gradually constructing a complete story in their minds. There were many countries on the Moon-Mist Continent, and even more city-states calling themselves countries. Slave Legions were divided into two types. One belonged to a specific lord, usually having political or national leanings.

The other belonged to a Great Slave Owner, fighting for whoever paid. A single slave owner usually couldn’t handle an entire war; they often traded with one another, sometimes even merging their troops into a mixed formation. Therefore, a comrade in this war could very well become an enemy in the next.

The story sounded simple. The red-haired woman’s master had picked the wrong side in the war, so she had to sell this small giant to recoup losses. And Meg was lucky; she not only gained her freedom but also found a new job becoming an underling for a slave merchant.

“Meg! I never deserted!”

They began to argue. The red-haired woman Meg called Salin knelt in the cage, shaking the iron bars desperately.

“Yes, yes.” Meg shrugged nonchalantly and looked at the elder who appeared behind her at some point.

The elder had a face that commanded respect without anger, with a vertical scar running from her right eye down to her mouth. She wasn’t a Noble-blood, yet she had a cold, haughty aura that suggested she didn’t need to answer to anyone.

Scar-eye Dony… the people listening to the story quietly left, leaving the area to this elder. She once was just Little Dony, a penniless fishmonger, but now people only dared to call her Lady Scarface or Commander… even if she was only the commander of mercenaries.

“Salin, I’m giving you one last chance.” Dony sighed as she stood before the cage. “I don’t need a stubborn slave; I want a clever general—do you understand me?”

“Pah! Don’t think I don’t know you.” Salin tightened her throat and spat without hesitation.

Snap!

A whip struck her face heavily, leaving a blurred line of blood.

“Meg, you good dog…” Salin grinned and licked the blood from the corner of her mouth.

Meg just shrugged and bowed to Dony. “Commander, this one’s bones are very hard; we’ll have to wear her down a bit longer…”

Dony nodded and left with a grim expression.

Whoosh— a gust of wind blew past.

“Careful or I’ll beat you in half, and don’t expect to eat tonight!” Meg swung the bloody whip viciously before turning and chasing after her.

The red-haired giant slowly crouched down and picked up the bread from the floor. She crushed it in her hands like a clod of dirt, grinding it finely between her palms before pouring the powder into her mouth.

She also kept a small, iron-strip key hidden in her hand.

Three hours passed. There were no screams or spreading scent of blood. But Salin knew the time had come. She used the key to open the heavy shackles and used the iron strip to quickly twist open the cage door.

Clack-shhh…

For some reason, the evening torches hadn’t been lit yet. A few scattered customers nearby were surprised to see the cage door open, but they couldn’t cry out. One by one, daggers pierced through their backs; slaves with ragged clothes were very good at killing.

It was time to escape. Salin’s tall frame seemed to become a banner at this moment; the silent merchandise the warriors of the legion gathered toward her. Some were complete strangers, but many were old acquaintances from the battlefield. Perhaps they had been comrades, perhaps enemies, perhaps both, but what did it matter? Their freedom would begin now!

She would need luck; she needed to find a way to drive this ball of flame to burn through the blockade of the lords, taking her sisters back to the deep mountains, back to everyone’s hometown—

“Commander, a group of people is coming this way! Yes, on horseback. A noble child looks like the master, and the others look like guards… I count twelve guards!” A girl in a lookout position warned the people below.

A little noble guest coming to buy slaves? A young master with noble guards, and her guards are children on horseback? Salin instinctively disliked this strange phenomenon; she had a very dangerous premonition.

“Try to hijack.” Before she could finish her sentence, a coordinated battle cry erupted outside.

“Monster! Monster!”

Companions who had survived several battles were shouting like raw recruits. Salin hurriedly grabbed a spear from nearby and rushed out. The gates of the market were rarely closed, and she immediately saw the scene outside.

A grey-haired girl drifted across the battlefield like a ghost, taking a life every so often. Such exquisite skill did not belong to an average noble… this person wasn’t the master. Then her master was…

Salin immediately locked onto the noble child in the middle of the crowd. It was a girl with flowing long hair and smooth, delicate skin. In her large amber eyes flickered surprise and sorrow.

Truly beautiful… no, she is likely.

An identification was on the tip of her tongue, but before Salin could shout “Stop,” an arrow shot out from behind her.

Whoosh.

Aimed at me… no, it was aimed at that child?!

Salin immediately dodged. The trajectory of that arrow didn’t pass through her body at all; instead, it flew straight toward the girl with tears in the corners of her eyes, sinking deep into her left shoulder.

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