The familiar scenery of the territorial capital drifted past the carriage window.
Mira sat beside me, while Klaus, the Head of the Guard, sat opposite us. At Father's arrangement, I was visiting a slave trader today. It had been a long time since I had last ventured into the city; I’d been worried the trip might trigger memories of my kidnapping, but knowing we were simply taking a carriage directly to our destination helped settle my nerves.
"Allow me to explain the particulars of the slavery system while we are en route," Klaus said, breaking the silence. As always, the gaze behind his perpetually narrowed eyes was unreadable.
"Slaves are broadly categorized into three types. First are debt slaves—those who cannot repay their debts and must instead offer their bodies as payment. Second are criminal slaves, who perform forced labor as punishment for their crimes. Finally, there are war slaves—prisoners of war who fall into servitude when ransom negotiations fail."
"War slaves are treated similarly to debt slaves. Since they are released once they have provided service equivalent to their ransom, many utilize their combat skills to work as adventurers or bodyguards for merchant guilds to shorten their terms."
"Furthermore, owning a slave requires a Slave Management License. Our house naturally possesses one, so we will be using it for today's purchase."
I nodded. Every time I heard the word "slave," the depths of my body stiffened. But I was all right now.
"Every legitimate slave is subjected to contract magic."
"Contract magic?"
"A mark resembling a black ring appears on the nape of the neck. The master's name is woven into the spell. If a slave attempts to flee or rebel, the mark restrains them with intense pain or paralysis. Conversely, if a master violates the contract by through abuse or murder, the mark turns red and can never be restored. Even in death, that crimson stain remains on the corpse."
Klaus continued his explanation.
"Any citizen who discovers a discolored mark and reports it to the local Lord receives a significant reward. Additionally, because slaves are subject to a poll tax, a tax collector visits once a year to verify the number of slaves and the color of their marks. Even if a slave dies, the mark on the body must be inspected. If a violation is uncovered, the management license is revoked and the owner is held criminally liable. —The magic itself does not physically restrain the master, but the fact that a red mark remains to be eventually discovered serves as a system to protect the slaves."
So there was a system meant to protect them.
—But... I hadn't been given one.
"...Klaus. I don't believe I had contract magic cast on me."
Klaus lowered his thin eyes slightly. Beside me, Mira looked down as well. She knew the truth too.
Klaus lowered his voice.
"...Correct. You were not sold to a legitimate slave trader, Lord Rein."
"Not legitimate?"
"They were illegal traffickers specializing in the black market. They are an organization entirely separate from the legal trade; they operate without licenses or contract magic. They exist off the ledgers of the District Office. —Because there are no records of your time there, we are officially framing your return as a 'buyback through a legitimate slave trader.'"
"I didn't have contract magic. That's why—"
"If you had been branded with contract magic, the signs of abuse would have been recorded on the mark, and there is a chance a witness might have reported it. —Though, considering the buyer was a high-ranking noble, it is just as likely any witnesses would have been silenced along with the evidence."
Klaus paused for a moment.
"The establishment we are visiting today is a legitimate slave trader. Contract magic will be applied, certificates will be issued, and the purchase will be registered with the District Office. —It is a world away from the place you were taken, Lord Rein. Please, put your mind at ease."
◇◇◇
The slave trader’s shop was located on the outskirts of the territorial capital's commercial district.
It sat at the end of an alleyway just off the main thoroughfare. The sign was understated, but the stone building itself was robust and well-fortified. When Klaus presented the management license, the proprietor bowed politely and led us into the back.
"I wish to see those who are currently injured. We are considering a purchase for the purpose of recovery magic training," Klaus stated.
The proprietor nodded understandingly and led us to a large hall in the rear. Slaves lined up against the walls, their eyes turning toward us. Every one of them wore a pattern like a black choker wrapped around their neck, just as I had been told. The slave mark of the contract magic. The marks currently held the name of the slave trader; once sold, they would update to reflect their new master.
The first person we were shown was a carpenter with an injured arm. He had broken it in a workshop accident, and the swelling had yet to subside. Unable to pay his medical bills, his debt had spiraled until he fell into slavery. He had a peculiar, fawning look in his eyes.
Next was a former adventurer with a leg injury. A wound from a monster bite hadn't fully closed, leaving the area below his knee hideously swollen. He sized us up with a calculating gaze. It was hard to tell which of us was supposed to be doing the appraising.
The third was a war slave—a soldier from a rival nation captured in a border skirmish. Fresh cuts still lined his arms and cheeks. He was well-built and had a sharp intensity in his eyes, though he made little effort to hide his hostility.
Klaus leaned in and whispered into my ear.
"The first two seem to have poor character... They are the sort who squandered their earnings on drink and play, only to be ruined by a single injury."
I wondered how he knew that. Still, if that was the case, I didn't think they were right.
"As for the third, he still harbors far too much enmity toward us. It would be best to pass on him as well..."
I nodded. I could see that much for myself.
"...Could you show me the others? Without filtering by any specific conditions."
The proprietor raised an eyebrow.
"Are you sure? Some of them are... quite unsightly, to put it mildly."
"I don't mind."
He led us even deeper into the building. The air grew damp, smelling of beasts and rusted iron. The eyes of those chained against the walls here were different from the ones before. Some glared; others looked at us with predatory hunger. They looked like they would bite the moment we gave them an opening.
As we walked, I spotted a small figure in a corner. She was curled into a ball, huddled beneath a piece of tattered cloth.
From beneath the fabric, a pair of empty eyes flickered toward me for a fleeting second. They were eyes that reflected nothing. Eyes that had been hollowed out by pain, loneliness, and despair until they simply stopped feeling.
I froze.
—I knew those eyes.
I hadn't had a mirror in that room. But I knew that back then, I must have looked exactly like this.
"This child is..."
The proprietor looked at her with a grimace.
"This one... I wouldn't recommend her."
"She is an elf girl named Lina. Nine years old. She is a criminal slave charged with arson and murder. She started a forest fire that resulted in several deaths. Her sentence is twenty-eight years."
Nine years old, with twenty-eight years to serve. How could such a thing have happened?
"She suffered deep burns over her entire body and can barely move, which makes her useless for labor. To be honest, she's the sort who only sells to those looking for decoys or subjects for human experimentation. She likely won't last much longer anyway..."
The proprietor pulled back the cloth.
Her small body was laid bare.
She was covered in burn scars. Angry, reddish-black scars and puckered skin covered her face, arms, and every visible inch of her body. The tips of her long ears had been scorched away into rounded nubs.
The girl lifted her head. Her empty eyes met mine. In that moment, I felt a bone-deep intuition that this child was me.
A reflexive thought surged within me: I want to save her. I wanted to save the person I used to be.
In the depths of that dungeon, surrounded by agony and hopelessness, I had asked myself a thousand times why I was still alive. Why was the world so cruel? Why was I the one who had to suffer?
I saw those same questions in this girl's eyes. A profound distrust and hatred for the world. She was still drowning in the same abyss I had been pulled from.
Perhaps I was just projecting my own trauma onto her, but it didn't matter. I wanted to be the one to reach down and pull her out.
I studied her burns. There were old, silvered scars that looked permanent, and newer wounds that were still weeping with pus. Ordinary recovery magic only accelerated "natural self-healing," which meant it was generally useless against old scars.
But... something was clicking. A fragment of knowledge from that person’s memories.
Skin damage. Extensive burns. Grafting. Trans—
The idea hadn't fully formed yet, but the path was there. I might be able to do it. I could heal her.
◇◇◇
I pulled Klaus aside to a corner of the shop.
"I want to buy that girl."
Klaus’s perpetually closed eyes snapped open for a fraction of a second before returning to their usual state.
"Lord Rein. Can you truly heal her?"
"I don't have certain proof, but... I believe so."
"However, she is a criminal slave."
"...I know."
"The laws governing criminal slaves are entirely different from those for debt slaves. A master can manumit a debt slave at any time, but a criminal slave is another matter. Because their servitude is a legal punishment, the master does not have the legal authority to simply release them."
"Unless the sentence is completed or a royal pardon is granted, you would be legally obligated to keep her as a slave even after she is healed. Furthermore, for the House of the Count to officially own a criminal slave convicted of arson and murder would be a scandal we cannot afford."
I understood his point. I really did. But after looking into those eyes, I couldn't just walk away.
"Is there no other way...?"
Klaus fell silent for a long time. Eventually, he lowered his eyes and let out a soft sigh.
"...There is one method."
"A method?"
"For criminal slaves, the rate at which their sentence is served can change based on the nature of their labor. Standard labor counts one year for one year served. However, for more loathsome or dangerous duties, the rate increases. For instance, sexual slavery or serving as a front-line 'meat shield' in the military results in a shorter term. And for human experimentation, the rate is higher still, depending on the severity."
Human experimentation. The words carried a heavy, grim weight.
"Your recovery magic involves treating old burn scars, does it not? That is an unprecedented procedure. If you perform it across her entire body, we can legally declare it as human experimentation—specifically, a high-risk procedure where her life hangs in the balance. We would be required to report the results, of course."
Klaus stared at me intently.
"If I recall, the maximum reduction rate for human experimentation is thirtyfold. This can only be applied to criminal slaves who are expected to die otherwise. The rate is so high precisely because they aren't expected to survive long enough to finish a normal sentence. As she is now, this girl is not long for this world. The slave trader can attest to that. Therefore, the application should be possible. If you can heal her over the next year, her sentence will be considered served upon the completion of the treatment, and she will be free."
"Then let's do it that way—"
Klaus cut me off.
"I must warn you to be prepared, however. Even if it were a research institution, the news that the House of the Count is conducting human experimentation would be more than a mere blow to our reputation. It would be a catastrophe. There are only two ways this ends: you either see it through to her release, or the girl dies as a failed experiment."
"I understand."
I had been just like her. In a dark room, bound by chains, waiting for someone to come.
Waiting for a hand to reach out.
"I'll buy her."
Klaus nodded. Beside me, Mira let out a small, sharp breath.
We summoned the proprietor and the paperwork began. The transfer of the slave certificate. The declaration of labor—human experimentation. And finally, the binding of the contract magic.
The proprietor knelt before Lina and held his hand over her neck. The black mark flared with light. The old brand slowly dissolved, replaced by a new mark that shimmered into existence. As the light faded, it settled into the familiar black choker-like pattern.
Her new master's name was etched into her skin.
—Rein Werl.
Lina’s empty eyes watched the light with a hollow gaze.
They reflected nothing. And yet, for the first time, those eyes were truly looking at me.