It wasn't so strange if you thought about it. In a world constantly facing imminent death, any method was reasonable as long as it guaranteed some kind of advantage, right? And yet Daion couldn't understand it. Everything seemed to move in slow motion before his eyes: every detail, every expression on the girl's face, and on the men about to execute her.
What's happening? was his first thought, while Aron took a sword from one of his lackeys and went on with his pompous speech. Did that girl do something? The girl struggled to break free, in vain, watching in terror as the blade rose. Should I do something? He glanced at Loryn, who looked back at him out of the corner of his eye, clearly waiting for him to act, to justify himself one way or another. What can I do?
Aron raised the sword above his head. Loryn looked at Daion and said, clear as day: "Go on, hero!" Daion clenched his teeth and grabbed his sword. It wasn't the most reasonable thing to get into trouble with dangerous people like these—but what the hell. He drew his blade and, with perfect aim, hurled it so it embedded itself in the wooden platform, making Aron stumble. The lackeys reacted instantly, raising their weapons.
Daion pushed his way through the crowd until he stood at the front of the platform. Aron raised a brow when he saw him.
"Novice, do you have a problem?" he asked, pointing the sword toward him.
"No, do you?" Daion shot back, mocking. Aron smirked to himself.
"You know, sometimes it slips out of my hands. It's almost like it has a will of its own."
Aron and his lackeys didn't buy it, but with so many Summoned watching them, it wasn't in their best interest to cause a scandal right now. Daion took a deep breath and looked at the girl. She stared at him wide-eyed, not knowing what he wanted.
What's the best way to get out of this without ending up with a sword through my skull? he asked himself as he retrieved his weapon and sheathed it again. The answer was obvious. The girl was strong, and several Summoned seemed to keep demihumans as companions. Maybe he could play on her value.
"You know, these are difficult times. I wouldn't like to see you wasting important resources," he said. The tension seemed to ease a little, Summoned nodding among themselves, villagers exchanging glances.
"And what do you propose?" Aron asked. Daion wasn't sure if it was a good idea. The frontier was less than two weeks away, but if she recovered in time, she could make up for the costs—and extra support would always be useful. He remembered how the girl had nearly split his head open.
"I propose to buy her," he said with a confident smile. The lackeys murmured among themselves, and the villagers seemed doubtful. "Well, I could use some extra help and—"
"She's troublesome," Aron cut him off. "If you want a slave, we can get you one at the headquarters."
"Well, let's say I don't have much money. And how much could the life of a demi-human who's about to be executed really cost?" Daion countered quickly, trying to placate him. "Wouldn't it make sense to ask for a fair price?"
Daion forced an expression to sell his argument, smiling and narrowing his eyes. Apparently, he overdid it, because the girl began struggling harder to escape, and Aron looked at him in mild surprise. Daion cursed under his breath and glanced at Loryn. He seemed seconds away from bursting into laughter, barely holding on to his "mysterious cool guy" façade.
Rot in hell, Daion thought.
"Well, I suppose there may be some truth in that," Aron said. He placed the sword against the girl's neck, thoughtful. Then he put on his merchant's smile, turning to Daion with a friendliness that felt revolting. "Very well, but you ruined the show."
He gestured for his lackeys to lower their weapons. They tried to protest, but a single glance from Aron silenced them. They grabbed the girl, who struggled against them. The townsfolk exchanged a few looks before dispersing, visibly disappointed. Daion wondered what the hell was wrong with them.
Both Summoned followed Aron into the church, which surprised Daion at first. They walked past the chapel, where people prayed while a man at the altar preached rites of kindness: to respect others, to keep a good attitude—words spoken by the Primordial. For some reason, it didn't feel unsettling to Daion, as if it wasn't the first time he'd witnessed such a thing. They slipped behind the priest, through a metal door.
Daion froze the moment he stepped inside. The place was nearly twenty meters tall, and from floor to ceiling it was filled with cages. Demihumans squirmed inside them, trying to break the bars, ramming doors with their heads. Some attacked anyone who passed close by, while most simply lay in their cages, staring blankly, as if they had already accepted their misery. Lackeys walked back and forth, showing off demihumans like merchandise on discount, bargaining for better prices, even offering "three for the price of one." Daion felt sick, his body trembling uncontrollably just from being in that place.
To some extent, he understood the reasoning: they were desperate, needed disposable labor, and demihumans weren't considered entirely human. But what he couldn't understand was why there were so many Summoned.
Just by glancing around, he counted at least fifteen of them.
"Many use them as low-value resources," Loryn explained, as if reading his mind. Daion noticed that his tone was much more serious—this weighed on him as well. "They're taken to carry belongings, to fulfill petty whims, or to test the difficulty of a dungeon. Some…" He pointed toward the back. The one he indicated was an ordinary-looking summoned man, with dark circles under his eyes and a strange, almost unsettling aura. He smiled with malice and lust, staring directly at a pure-looking demihuman girl with blonde hair and cat ears. She was beautiful, with a curvy figure, barely showing her demihuman traits, yet she too was locked away. "Use slaves for personal pleasure."
Daion clenched his teeth. Their options were to serve masters who treated them like trash—or to die. It was unjust, but Daion knew one thing: he could do nothing for them. He had saved that girl by pure chance, but here, if he tried anything, they would almost certainly kill him. So he swallowed his rage and kept walking, his gaze full of contempt.
They reached the back, where a row of desks stood, where buyers sat to sign papers and sip wine. The lackeys shoved the girl to the ground; she let out a whimper as she hit the floor. Aron rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a talisman.
"Her name is Aelith," Aron said, handing Daion a document. Written on it was: 'Whoever holds this paper certifies their absolute dominion over the slave Aelith'—and a collection of official seals.
"Do I need to sign anything?" Daion asked, lowering the certificate, tempted to kill everyone in that room.
"No. Our magic works with verbal agreement. You'll only need to pay the slave's price," Aron explained. Daion nodded, already thinking he might have to borrow from Loryn. "Considering she's troublesome, that we were going to execute her, that she's just entering adolescence, and that this is your first purchase… 2,500 veyls."
Daion stared at him, stunned. He squeezed the potion hidden in his pocket. Was he really saying a person's life was worth less than a single medicine? It was absurd in every sense. Grinding his teeth, he pulled out his pouch, counted the money, and paid, trying to hide the tremor in his fingers. He would be left with only a thousand veyls. Aron smiled faintly as he received the payment and stepped closer, extending his hand.
"The deal is settled, then?"
Daion felt the veins bulging on his forehead. He looked at the merchant's hand and at that not-so-innocent smile.
"Is it necessary to shake your hand?" the summoned man asked. Aron narrowed his eyes, as if saying, I know what you're thinking, bastard.
"It's a gesture of good faith to close the transaction," Aron replied, widening his smile, mocking Daion. With reluctance, Daion raised his hand and gave him the handshake. "Very well…"
"Just business, right?" Daion muttered, smirking to himself. He gripped tightly, crushing the merchant's hand until the mocking grin vanished, replaced with a groan of pain as his bones cracked in ways they shouldn't. Loryn nudged him with an elbow, and Daion finally released. "My apologies, sometimes I don't control my strength."
"You little…" Aron almost reached for his sword, but noticed the stares around them—even from the other summoned. With a sigh, he merely straightened his clothes. "A pleasure doing business with you."
He picked up the talisman and approached Aelith. She tried to lunge at him, but Aron moved with practiced precision, grabbing her forehead and slamming her head into the floor. Daion took a step forward, but Loryn stopped him with his rifle. Aron grabbed the girl's clothes, pulling up her shirt to reveal circular symbols across her abdomen. Holding the talisman, he began to chant.
"From this moment," he intoned in a low voice, "the property of this corrupted being passes into the hands of its absolute master… What was your name again?"
"Daion," he said through clenched teeth.
"…its absolute master, Daion."
The talisman glowed faintly as Aron pressed it against the mark. A blinding light filled the room, and the demihuman whimpered in pain, unable to scream through her gag. Her body went limp, her eyes turned white, and her ears drooped.
"She'll stay like this for a few minutes. You can take her now."
Daion stood frozen for a moment before lifting the girl by the waist and heading toward the door. He glanced at the other demihumans—most looked at him with contempt. He felt the same for himself. One cage caught his eye: larger than the rest, nearly double the size. Inside, something unseen panted anxiously.
"Oh, and she's packed with power," Aron added, his tone grating on Daion's nerves. "So you'd better wait until she wakes before you try anything."
The other demihumans averted their eyes, and some of the buyers chuckled. Daion simply walked out, frustrated, his head low.
Their gazes followed him, not condemning but with a twisted sense of pride in their system, as if saying, Good purchase.
Once outside the church, Loryn followed closely, watching him from the corner of his eye. At last, Daion understood what he meant by hypocritical heroism. He had saved the girl's life, but accomplished nothing worthy of pride. He struck the church's wooden facade; it cracked under his fist.
"What now? Should we stay the night here, or keep moving?" Loryn asked. "Either way, you bought her already."
But Daion couldn't bear to remain another second in that place. He felt filthy just for stepping inside, for buying a girl as if it were no more than the process of purchasing a dog—just pay, take the leash, and the birth papers.
"If I set her free, what would happen?" Daion asked.
"She's barely a child—and dangerous. A category 3 demihuman. If a summoned or someone powerful doesn't keep her under control, she'll be deemed a threat and killed within days." Loryn's reply carried a blunt weight. Clearly, it wasn't that simple, and yet, neither was it an option. Daion already felt responsible for her. "So you plan to keep her, then? Will it be like this with every slave you see? Because in that case, we'll have to borrow money from Seraphine."
"Shut it already," Daion snapped, moving forward. "We're heading into the forest. We'll continue once she wakes up."
"And how do you plan to keep her under control?" Loryn asked, skeptical. "The moment she wakes, she'll try to escape."
"I have an idea," he said, walking toward the outskirts of the city.
People watched him curiously as he carried the girl. Before leaving, Daion stepped into a clothing shop. The vendor, with a polite smile, offered cheap recommendations for slaves—simple, colorful garments, as if meant to draw attention. But what truly unsettled Daion was the display right beside them: a black-and-white outfit that would leave any slave practically naked. He remembered the Summoned he had seen earlier and, disgusted, picked the first piece of ordinary clothing that seemed to fit the girl, using the last of his spare coins. It displeased the shopkeeper and left him with barely four hundred veyls.
Once outside, they left the houses behind. Loryn guided him toward the frontier, and they walked a short distance into the forest. Daion's heavy footsteps betrayed his frustration as he tried to calm himself.
"Is there only forest in this world?" he asked, tired of seeing nothing but trees.
"Only four biomes remain unwithering in the world," Loryn replied.
They reached a partially open clearing. Daion placed the demihuman girl against a tree, took one of the ropes Selka had packed for him, and tied her arms tightly, pulling the knots firm to ensure she couldn't escape.
"Excellent method. Gag her too—what better proof of trust?" Loryn mocked, but Daion ignored him. He wasn't certain, but he thought he knew the easiest way to keep her still, to stop her from fleeing. He even felt he might have done this before, in another life… though he was fairly sure he had only ever relied on trickery.
The two of them sat to wait for her to wake. Loryn lit a temporary fire and began roasting a bit of meat for lunch. Daion studied Aelith closely: her skin was slightly tan, yet the pale marks he had glimpsed beneath her shirt showed that it wasn't her natural tone. Her hair was reddish brown, merging into her elongated feline ears. She was thin, small—almost as if malnourished. Her bare legs were covered with thick fur, ending in clawed paws.
The smell of food drifted into the air, and her nose twitched unconsciously. A hungry growl slipped from her throat, revealing sharp fangs as saliva dripped from her chin. Her green irises widened as her eyes opened.
When she lifted her gaze, Daion was crouched in front of her. She let out a sharp cry and tried to rise, but her arms caught against the ropes. She kicked violently.
"Hey, easy," Daion backed away quickly, avoiding her claws. "No need to be scared."
"Fuck you!!" she screamed. It was the first time he had heard her voice—shrill, cutting. "Let me go!!"
"I only want to help," Daion tried to explain.
"Sure, you probably want me to kneel and call you 'master,' you sick bastard! just like the rest! Let me go, you son of a bitch, or I'll tear your fucking throat out! I swear I'll rip your guts and feed them to the crows!" She writhed against the rope, spitting every word like venom, and Daion silently thanked himself for tying her down—otherwise controlling her would have been near impossible.
"What a mouth. Definitely sounds like she's entering adolescence," Loryn muttered as he moved the meat to keep it from burning.
"If you don't let me go—"
"If I let you go, you'll die." She froze, glaring at him. Daion drew a deep breath. He had a good idea of what to say. "Do you really think they'll just let a runaway slave wander free? If you run, you won't last a week alive. That's not a threat—it's a fact."
She clenched her teeth, seeming to understand what he meant, but still…
"I don't want to hurt you…"
"Bullshit," she spat back. Daion sighed.
"You have two options. Keep running and die, forcing me to drag you back… or come with us." Daion proposed.
"And what's the difference? I'd just be another guard dog!" she shouted, her eyes narrowing, her frame seeming to grow.
"The difference is, I have no intention of making you my slave." Daion's voice was steady. Aelith lowered her gaze slightly. His expression was firm; he wasn't lying. Yet something about it felt practiced, like a mask he had worn many times. "I bought you to keep you from being killed. You're skilled—I barely avoided your attack. I could use that kind of help."
For a moment, her expression softened. Both pairs of her ears twitched in surprise. Daion smiled faintly, thinking he had finally reached her. He stepped behind her and snapped the rope from the tree.
"Good. Now—" He didn't finish. He had to react in split seconds as her fist came flying. Raising his arms, he barely blocked and tumbled backward, rolling across the ground.
Loryn shot to his feet, but froze in shock. Her arms were now covered in white fur, claws extending, radiating a faint aura of Omega energy.
"A category four demihuman…" he murmured.
The girl dropped to all fours and darted across the clearing. Daion got up, dodging another strike by inches, as Aelith began circling the area, almost as if establishing a perimeter. Daion edged closer to Loryn.
"Well then, Abraham Lincoln, protector of slaves—what now?" Loryn muttered, Daion don't understand the reason for call him Abrham Lincon.
"Plan B," Daion said, watching her carefully. Loryn seemed to understand and raised his rifle. "Put that down—I didn't mean—"
The swipe seemed to tear the air apart as Daion ducked. Loryn fixed her with his gaze, his blue eye gleaming as Aelith leapt at them again. She seemed to slow down midair, making it easy to dodge, then released some kind of charge and shot forward at full speed, crashing against a tree. Yet she rose quickly and continued.
Summoned of the God of Inertia, huh? Daion thought, an interesting idea flashing through his head.
"Hey, she's my slave, isn't she?" Daion asked while watching her, already adjusting to her rhythm. Loryn understood what he meant.
"It'll hurt her."
"It's either that, or she kills us, or we kill her," Daion said with a certain confidence. Loryn sighed.
"Just order her. Use a little Omega energy in your words, that should be enough," Loryn explained. Daion thought he understood almost immediately what he meant.
Aelith leapt again, directly toward Daion. He locked his eyes on her, without flinching or showing surprise. He focused the power of the gem into his vocal cords and, when she was just a few meters away, he simply said:
"Stop." His voice escaped with serenity, a clear and direct order. Aelith tripped midair with a purple flash, passing right by Daion.
Both watched her as she twisted, struggling against the command, yet her body remained frozen. Daion breathed for a few seconds, calm. He immediately noticed that maintaining the command was actively draining his Omega energy. "Is it really this expensive to keep a slave? Or is it just because of her rank?" He crouched and looked her in the eyes—she was forcing herself not to cry. Daion gazed at her with slight sadness and released the spell with ease.
"You're improving," Loryn praised.
"It's not that complicated once you start understanding how it works," Daion replied naturally. The girl tried to stand, still trembling.
"Hey…" Daion leaned toward Loryn and whispered his plan in his ear. Loryn nodded. "Aelith…"
"I don't want to hear you! Why do I have to live like this?" She looked like she was about to cry, holding it back with all her might. "It's not fair that I—"
"Life isn't fair. For anyone." He cut her off.
"Of course it is! They don't have to be slaves to anyone!"
"That doesn't make their lives fair. Whether it's the one who eats scraps or the one who devours the main feast—it's unjust for both. The only difference is that they're on the positive side of the scales," he explained. She looked at him like anyone would—as if he were an idiot. Daion knew it, yet he smiled anyway, trying to be compassionate with her, though he didn't think it was a very effective manipulation. "I don't remember my life. I have no reason to live except to survive. I was condemned to a horrible world because a god happened to be at the place of my death. I have no intention of giving you a fair life, but at least I'll give you the chance to fight. Let's play something…"
"I'm not a child to play games."
"But you want to be free, don't you?" Daion tempted her. She nodded, albeit reluctantly. "It's simple. If you beat me in a fight, I'll set you free, because it'll mean you can defend yourself. If I win, it means that letting you go would get you killed—and I don't want that on my conscience."
"And how will we determine who wins?" She raised her head, doubtful.
"Simple, so no one gets hurt. If you knock me down, you win. But since you're much faster than me, just landing a single hit will be enough for me to win." he explained. She seemed to agree.
She stood and looked at him for a moment.
"One condition. Even if I lose, you'll never use that on me again…"
"If you keep your part and stay with us, I won't need to. That's a promise," Daion said. She nodded, then took position, spreading her arms to the sides, flexing her fingers, ready to strike. Daion only smiled to himself with quiet confidence, standing still, provoking her.
She let out a roar and lunged. Daion barely blinked before she was inches away from him, her fangs clenched and bloodshot eyes pushing her body forward. Just as he had planned, she froze—her hands unable to touch Daion. Loryn stared at her intently, and she could only struggle midair, failing to move. Daion closed his fist and drew his arm back. The girl shut her eyes, bracing for the blow—but instead, Daion mocked her, flicking her forehead with a sharp snap of his fingers.
Loryn released his power, and Aelith fell to the ground like a cat. She lifted her head only to see Daion's victorious smile. Her expression twisted in surprise and outrage.
"You didn't really think I'd hit a little girl, did you?" Daion said, bowing with mock arrogance.
"You cheated! That was the power of that Summoned!" she protested, standing up and pointing at Loryn, who looked away and walked toward the meat. "That's not—"
"Fair," Daion finished for her. She stared at him. "I told you, I won't teach you a fair world. And you lost."
"But…!"
"Don't worry, you'll get to challenge me again. But you'll have to wait until my body recovers," he said while walking past her. "Though honestly, I'm half crippled already, so maybe it was a fair fight. Come eat."
"You can't—what if I refuse?"
"Then you can leave."
"What?"
"But think about it—we beat you twice, and I've only been here a week. What do you think they'll do to you out there? At least have a full stomach first, right?" Daion said with an innocent smile, offering her a piece of roasted meat. She drooled slightly, unable to control herself.
Quickly, she snatched the meat and retreated, holding the steaming piece in her hands and devouring it as if she hadn't eaten in months. Daion chuckled softly, opened his bag, and tossed her the clothes he had bought earlier. She glanced at them—nothing special—but still looked at Daion with suspicion before taking them and climbing up a tree, curling on a branch like a cat.
"Good," Daion said, turning to Loryn, his expression hardening again. "Now, to the border. That bitch Seraphine must be waiting for us."
End of Chapter 17.