The slave rchant followed Kael’s gaze and chuckled. "Ah, the problem lady. Na’s Seris Halwain. Used to be a knight. Noble blood, if you believe the records. House Halwain got wiped out during the Northern Purge—sothing about treason or backing the wrong side of a rebellion. Political ss."
Kael raised a brow. "And she ended up here?"
"Yeah," the rchant said, tapping his ledger. "But she’s special. Killed two previous buyers."
Kael tilted his head. "And you’re still alive?"
The rchant grinned, lifting her collar to show the thin silver rune circling her throat. "Master-brand. High-tier binding. She can’t lift a finger against without frying every nerve in her body."
"But she’s clever. First owner? She ’tripped’ and he fell on his own dagger. Second? Heart stopped during sparring. Just happened to be during a thunderstorm, with a magically conductive training sword in his hand."
Kael whistled low. "That’s not clever. That’s artistically homicidal."
Kael studied the woman. Her eyes flicked to him—cold.
"Combat rating?" Kael asked.
"Tier B," the rchant said.
"She trained in sword and shield," the rchant added. "Was an officer, if her papers are real. She’s strong. Not a virgin, though. Bit older. And her tongue—gods, her tongue’s a blade sharper than most steel."
Kael frowned. "How old is she?"
"Twenty-seven. Good years still. Bones are solid. No diseases. Tested for magical resistance—none. Just muscle and experience."
Kael glanced over the line of slaves. Most were categorized by tags. Seris’s tag glinted faintly—B1-Red. That last designation ant "High-Risk Behavior."
"’B1-Red,’ huh?"
The rchant grunted. "ans she’s combat-ready but rebellious. Still has too much pride. Won’t break, even under enchantnts. You want her, you better know what you’re doing."
Kael stepped closer. She didn’t move.
He asked, "Can you still fight?"
Her voice was dry but calm. "I’m not broken yet, if that’s what you’re asking."
The rchant laughed. "See? No manners. She’s no pleasure pet. Don’t expect her to bow and scrape."
Kael ignored him. "You’ll be working a rchant stall. Guarding goods, moving crates. Maybe swinging a sword if soone gets stabby. I don’t beat people. I also don’t tolerate freeloaders."
She blinked. "And what do I call you? Master?"
Kael exhaled through his nose. "Call Kael. Just Kael."
If I can keep her fed, treated like a person... maybe that fire doesn’t burn . Maybe it burns for .
She gave a slow nod. No smile. Just that tired acceptance.
Kael turned to the rchant. "How much?"
The slave rchant’s grin widened as he sized up Kael like a fresh-cut steak. "For her?" He rubbed his chin like a cartoon villain. "Normally, I’d say fifty gold—trained knights don’t co cheap. But since she’s defective... thirty gold, and she’s yours."
Kael nearly choked. Thirty gold? That’s thirty thousand bronze. That ans 30,000$! That was more than he’d planned. A lot more.
He did the math in his head. Yesterday’s profit was good. Today’s market would still be there. And if he had soone like her with him, things would get easier. More efficient. But still—he didn’t have that much money now.
He glanced back at the woman. She held his stare, unflinching.
Either I walk away now... or I buy a ti bomb.
"Hey man, you said she was dangerous, right? So you should sell her at a cheaper price. Reduce the price," Kael jabbed a finger at Seris. "She’s got ’future murder victim’ written all over her! Look at her! She’s eyeing your throat right now."
The rchant chuckled. "Twenty-eight."
Kael threw his hands up. "Oh, wow, a whole two gold discount for a slave who might garrote in my sleep? How generous! Tell you what—let’s play a ga called Reality Check." He leaned in. "You want her gone. Badly. She’s killed two buyers, she’s scaring off custors, and every day she’s here, you’re paying guards to watch her instead of making money. So let’s cut the ’premium product’ crap. Five gold."
The rchant’s smile froze. "Five? Are you insane?"
Kael crossed his arms. "I’m the only one dumb enough to buy her. You know she’s gonna kill again. You know no noble’s touching her. And let’s be real—if she was actually worth thirty gold, she wouldn’t be rotting in this dump." He gestured to the muddy pens and rusty cages.
The rchant’s eye twitched now. "Twenty."
Kael scoffed. "Six."
"Eighteen."
"Seven, and I don’t report you to the city watch for selling ’defective goods’ without a disclair."
The rchant gaped. "What?"
Kael pulled a folded parchnt from his coat—a fake receipt he’d scribbled while walking over. "See this? ’Slave purchased: one (1) knight. Non-homicidal guarantee.’ You didn’t provide one. That’s fraud, my dude."
The rchant turned red. "That’s not a real law!"
Kael gasped dramatically. "Ohhh, so now you’re admitting to ignoring consur protection statutes? Tsk tsk." He turned to leave. "Welp, guess I’ll take my business to a reputable slaver. One who doesn’t sell lethal surprises."
"FIFTEEN!" the rchant barked.
Kael paused. "Ten."
"Twelve."
Kael sighed. "Fine. Twelve gold. But you throw in the warranty and a free cleaning. She slls like a goblin’s armpit."
The rchant looked like he wanted to strangle him. "Deal."
"Also give her so clothes to wear."
The paperwork was disturbingly simple. A contract scroll, signed in blood—Kael’s to bind her, hers to confirm submission. The rchant unshackled her from the post but left the collar on.
Seris watched him with sothing between amusent and murderous intent.
"You haggle like a fishwife," she muttered.
Kael smirked. "And you’re welco, because now you’re my problem instead of his." He tossed the rchant the pouch. "Pleasure doing business!"
The rchant groaned. "Just take her before I change my mind."
Seris’s chains hit the ground.
Kael eyed her. "So. You gonna try to kill ?"
She tilted her head. "Maybe."
"Cool, cool." He handed her a sausage on a stick from a nearby vendor. "Eat up. We’ve got work to do."
Seris stared at the food, then at him. "...Why?"
Kael shrugged. "Can’t have you passing out mid-murder attempt. Bad form."
For the first ti, sothing almost like a laugh escaped her.
This, Kael thought, is either the best or worst decision of my life.
Probably both.
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