As I arrived at the slave trader's hall, I slowed my steps despite myself. The building loomed over the street—tall stone walls-stained dark with age and rain. A massive wooden sign hung above the entrance, its letters crudely carved and impossible to miss.
SLAVE TRADER
The words made my stomach twist. I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, listening to the muffled sounds of the city behind me. I told myself this was necessary. That hesitation wouldn't change anything. Then I pushed the door open.
Warm air rushed out to meet me, thick with the smell of incense and burning sage. It was overpowering—sweet, sharp, almost nauseating. The scent clung to my clothes as I stepped inside, mixing unpleasantly with something far more human beneath it.
Fear.
The interior was dimly lit, lanterns casting uneven shadows along the walls. Chains hung decoratively near the ceiling, polished more than they had any right to be. I forced myself to keep walking until I reached the counter at the far end of the room.
A woman stood behind it, older than me but not by much. Her posture was relaxed, her expression practiced and unreadable. When she looked up, her smile appeared instantly—too quick, too rehearsed.
"Welcome to Dave's Slave Trader," she said brightly. "What can I do for you?"
The words landed heavier than they should have. I nodded once, swallowing the tightness in my throat.
"I… want to buy a slave," I said. The hesitation crept into my voice despite my efforts. "A combat slave, if possible."
Her smile didn't falter. If anything, she looked relieved—like she'd heard something familiar, something easy. She leaned forward slightly.
"And your budget for this purchase?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the single gold coin. It felt heavier than it had earlier, as if it knew what it was about to be exchanged for. I placed it on the counter.
"Just one gold coin."
The woman glanced down at it, then back at me. The smile faded—not entirely, but enough to show mild disappointment.
"With that," she said flatly, "we can offer you a low-tier combat slave. Nothing special. No rare races. No trained elites."
I nodded. "That's fine."
She studied my face for a moment, as if trying to decide whether I was serious or just another foolish buyer playing soldier. Then she shrugged and stepped out from behind the counter.
"Follow me."
She led me down a narrow corridor at the side of the building. With every step, the incense faded, replaced by something far worse. The air grew thick and stale. By the time she pushed open the door at the end of the hall, the smell hit me fully—sweat, damp stone, unwashed bodies.
The room beyond was dark, illuminated only by a few flickering lanterns mounted high on the walls. Shapes shifted in the shadows. Chains rattled softly. Low murmurs echoed through the space—voices too quiet, too tired to be anything but resigned.
I stopped just inside the doorway.
My chest tightened.
This wasn't a market. It was a holding pen.
People sat or lay against the walls, some with their heads lowered, others staring blankly ahead. A few looked up as we entered. Their eyes met mine for a brief second—some wary, some empty, some burning with something that looked uncomfortably like hate.
I felt it then. Not guilt exactly—but something close enough to make my hands clench.
This is the path you chose, I reminded myself. Power has a cost.
The woman gestured toward the room casually. "Take a look. If anyone catches your eye, let me know."
I stepped forward, the sound of my boots echoing far too loudly in the silence.
And for the first time since awakening my class, I wondered—not for the last time—whether the power I sought would strip away everything human in me before I ever reached my goal.
I scanned the room slowly, forcing myself not to rush. Most of the slaves blurred together—slumped bodies, hollow stares, people already broken in ways I couldn't see. But then I noticed him.
He was a goblin.
Green-skinned, smaller than most humans, but unlike the others, he wasn't curled inward. His arms were thin yet clearly trained, cords of muscle visible beneath scarred skin. His legs were the same—lean, built for movement, not comfort. He stood apart from the wall, shoulders straight despite the chains binding him.
When our eyes met, I felt it.
He didn't look afraid.
He didn't look hopeful either.
It was as if he was looking through me—past my body, past my face—straight into whatever lay underneath. For a brief moment, it felt like he was judging me.
I broke eye contact first.
Turning away, I walked back toward the woman at the door. Up close, I noticed the faint nameplate pinned to her collar.
Jessy.
I hesitated before speaking. "That goblin," I said quietly. "The one standing near the back. Who is he?"
Her smile vanished completely.
Not faded—dropped.
"That's Slug," she said after a moment. Her tone was different now. Guarded. "That's about all we know."
I frowned slightly. "Nothing else?"
She shook her head. "No registered class. No documentation. All we know is his name and that he was a goblin warrior before he was captured. Fought well, apparently. Too well."
I glanced back toward the room. Slug hadn't moved. He was still watching.
"How much?" I asked.
Jessy's eyebrows rose. "You're serious?"
I nodded.
"It's unusual," she said carefully, "to buy a slave with an unknown class. Most people don't like surprises."
"I'll take that risk."
She studied me for a long second, then sighed. "One gold coin," she said. "That's my offer."
I didn't argue. "Deal."
She led me away from the holding room into a smaller chamber off the side hall. The walls were bare stone, the air cold and dry. A single table stood in the center, a parchment resting atop it.
"We don't accept returns," Jessy said flatly. "Once you sign, he's yours. No refunds. No complaints."
"I understand."
"Are you sure?"
I hesitated—just for a heartbeat—then nodded. "Yes."
She slid the contract toward me. I picked up the quill, my hand feeling heavier than it should have, and signed my name at the bottom.
Amos Ryder.
The moment the ink dried, the parchment flared with blinding white light. I stumbled back a step, shielding my eyes as the paper disintegrated into glowing motes that vanished into the air.
A notification appeared before me.
/New slave acquired/
Name: Slug
The system message made my stomach turn.
A man entered the room moments later, dragging Slug behind him. The goblin's shackles were removed with a dull metallic clink, and without being told, Slug dropped to one knee in front of me.
His head lowered.
Submission.
I hated how final it felt.
"Get up," I said quietly.
He hesitated, then rose to his feet. His eyes met mine again—still sharp, still unreadable.
I handed Jessy the gold coin. She weighed it in her palm, nodded once, and stepped aside as I turned toward the exit.
As I walked out into the rain-soaked street, Slug followed a step behind me, silent and steady.
With that, I had acquired my first slave.
And without knowing it—without understanding how deeply our fates would intertwine—Slug would one day become my right hand.