Tiffany felt as if the entire space were shrouded in despair. Its silence was more oppressive than the previous clamor, intensifying her already difficult breathing into gasps.
Lance, however, was unaffected, his gaze sweeping over the Slaves—most of them commoners, and also the greatest consumables.
"Please feel free to choose, and let me know which one you like," the Slave Owner said.
"How many are here?"
"Over two hundred."
"I want a hundred healthy Slaves. What price can you offer for that many?"
A big deal! The Slave Owner's interest was immediately piqued. He pondered for a moment before stating a number.
"Two Gold Coins per person."
"Do you think I'm an idiot for you to propose such a price?" Lance retorted.
"These are select, high-quality Slaves. In normal times, they would cost three Gold Coins..."
