Clang! Clang!
"It feels like the world’s going crazy these days."
In a remote mine on the continent, a bearded man, the mine manager, grumbled as sharp sounds of tal clashed chaotically around him.
It was a common complaint anyone might have about the state of the world, and the thin man across from him nodded in agreent.
"Everyone seems to think so."
It had been about a year since strange phenona began appearing all over the continent.
A count's daughter who had escaped from slavery went missing. A specter appeared, massacring innocent people. A new mage tower master, filling a position that had been vacant for centuries, suddenly erged. A teor fell, wiping out an entire trading guild. Elves ca out of their forests and started doing business.
If it happened occasionally, it might be understandable, but such sensational events had been occurring all over the continent for the past year, making it impossible not to be concerned.
"Is that all? Recently, a large horde of magical beasts invaded the Beastfolk nation."
"And then a dark veil covered an entire city. It was big enough to be seen even from here, so you know it was serious."
The neighboring kingdoms were in an uproar. They thought a major terror attack had struck Bestia. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any damage.
"But that’s what’s even stranger. People inside don’t rember anything about what happened. Was it so kind of grand spell cast by a powerful mage?"
The thin man shook his head.
"Rumor has it that it was the work of a gumiho."
"A gumiho?"
"One of the magical creatures they call yokai in the East."
In the distant past, when magic was the exclusive domain of a rare few witches, the gumiho was revered in the East as the king and deity of yokai. It was said that wherever a gumiho walked, only dust remained in its wake.
The bearded man sighed heavily and waved his hand dismissively.
"Ah, it's the end tis, for sure. A clear sign that the world is about to end."
"I'm not done yet."
"There’s more?"
"Soone analyzed it, and it seems that all these strange events have one thing in common."
The thin man cast a serious look, his expression darkening. The bearded man swallowed nervously.
"And... what is it?"
"The Slave Reaper. That man is connected to all of these events."
"The Slave Reaper?"
He’d heard the na before. A slave trader who doesn’t sell slaves—he only buys them.
The slaves that pass through the Slave Reaper’s hands disappear shortly afterward. When asked where they went, he only looks to the sky and says he sent them to a better place.
"What was that word he always used...?"
"‘Liberation’?"
"Yes, liberation."
Liberation. The word itself has a good aning.
But coming from a slave trader, it’s one of the most unnatural words imaginable.
Buying and selling people purely for profit—and calling it liberation?
It wasn’t hard for people to catch on to the hidden aning. They guessed he was purchasing slaves for the thrill of killing them in horrific ways.
And it was always won.
A twisted pasti of the worst kind. Even among slave traders, he was the most loathso.
"Shouldn’t we catch and punish him, then? Why is he allowed to walk around freely?"
The Slave Reaper seed to be present in every abnormal event. It was as if he were causing them.
Of course, that was an unrealistic theory.
Though he bore the grand title of the Slave Reaper, he was just a human with strange desires. It was all just a coincidence; nobody seriously thought he was the cause of these events.
But the details didn’t matter.
Even without hard evidence, suspicions alone were enough. The people in power couldn’t tolerate an eyesore like him.
"Shows what you know. He’s a villain to us, sure. But most of the nobility actually likes the Slave Reaper. Seems like birds of a feather really do flock together, as the nobility with twisted personalities sohow find a connection with him."
"It really is the end tis."
The bearded man sighed so deeply it seed to shake the ground. Then, as if noticing sothing odd, he quickly turned his head.
A dwarf slave had stopped mining.
No wonder the sounds had changed at so point.
"Hey, you there! Are you slacking off?"
"N-no, sir!"
Startled, the dwarf girl began swinging her pickaxe hurriedly.
Clang! Clang!
The sharp sound of tal hitting rock echoed, and beads of sweat flew from her brow.
The dwarf girl's na was Ferka. She had been in the mine for about half a year.
Ferka wanted to go ho.
The dwarf girl, Ferka.
To her, the mine was a familiar place.
Most dwarves across the continent made their hos in the underground city of Doomheim, and Ferka’s hotown was also Doomheim.
Just as water and fish are inseparable, so too were dwarves and mines. Minerals were their bones, and veins of ore were their blood.
This underground mine might resemble her hotown environnt, but it was far from ho.
Even dwarves didn’t spend all day underground—they’d occasionally go above to bask in the sunlight. No dwarf would mine without taking ti to eat.
Or would they...?
‘Maybe...?’
Perhaps there were a few.
But that wasn’t important. For Ferka, this place wasn’t a comfortable underground city; it was a dreadful Tartarus.
Although she had spent her childhood surrounded by minerals and enjoyed mining as a hobby, it quickly lost its charm when it beca forced labor.
Right now, that was exactly the case.
Her wrists and ankles were bound in cuffs. Her hands gripped a cheap pickaxe. Her clothes, unwashed, slled foul. Her als consisted of rock-hard bread and thin, watery soup.
This was the typical life of a slave, but Ferka hadn’t grown up that way. As the daughter of one of the seven master craftsn in Doomheim, she had been treated like a lady.
She had always been a bit of a tomboy, and people often comnted on how she was more like a boy than a girl, but still...
At least she’d had so freedom in her life.
‘I miss my dad...’
He must be so worried by now. If only she’d listened, she wouldn’t be here.
The fear that she might never see her father again, that she might live trapped here forever, overwheld her, and tears filled her eyes.
"Sniff..."
Ferka wiped her nose.
Around that ti, the mine beca noisier.
"Of all the slaves, why take a dwarf? You know there’s no one more efficient at mining than a dwarf."
"What can I do? Orders are orders. If they say to bring her, then I have to bring her."
"Haa... without her, eting the quota will be tough."
The thin mine overseer, who had been conversing with his superior, scratched his head with a sigh and started walking toward Ferka.
In his hand was a nacing red whip.
If slaves were idle or stopped mining, that whip would crack against their backs.
Rumor had it that the whip had originally been brown but was stained red from the blood of the slaves.
Seeing him approach with the whip, Ferka flinched. Without ti to wipe her tears, she hastily swung her pickaxe.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
But the overseer didn’t stop, instead coming to a halt right behind her. Ferka closed her eyes tightly.
"Hey, dwarf."
"Y-yes, sir!"
"Is your na Ferka?"
"Y-yes, sir!"
"Put down your pickaxe and follow ."
The thin man turned and walked away. Not understanding why, Ferka hesitated for a mont, then quickly set down her pickaxe and followed him.
‘W-what’s going on?’
There were usually two reasons a mine overseer would call a slave.
One was to put an unruly slave in solitary confinent—a cramped cell with no room to sit, where they weren’t even fed. Those who returned from solitary were like empty shells.
The other was when a slave had beco too weak to work, in which case they were sold elsewhere. Won were sent to pleasure houses, while n beca at shields on battlefields or in hunts for magical beasts.
"Tsk. Poor thing. And where she’s going is even worse..."
The thin overseer muttered to himself as he led her away.
He was the type to whip slaves at every opportunity, venting his frustrations on them. For him to express pity ant...
‘Worse than a pleasure house?!’
Ferka’s vision went dark!
Shaking with fear, Ferka stopped at an office within the mine, a building reserved for staff or for hosting visitors.
The man opened the door.
"Go on in."
Ferka froze.
He was opening the door for her himself? And the look in his eyes, it was like a mother cow watching her calf being led to slaughter.
"Hurry up and go in. There’s an important guest waiting."
She didn’t want to go in.
Ferka hesitantly entered, taking small steps.
Inside, she saw a high-ranking woman supervisor who occasionally visited the mine, as well as a striking man she’d never seen before.
He had rare black hair and eyes, an impeccable appearance that seed out of place in the grimy mine.
Sipping coffee with a calm deanor, he was a sight one would never see among dwarves.
"Please verify before purchase. Is this dwarf girl indeed the Ferka that the Reaper requested?"
"Let’s see... Oh, yes, she matches my mory perfectly. Here, as promised."
The man placed a pouch on the table. The clinking sound suggested it contained coins.
The supervisor picked up the pouch, checked the contents, and nodded.
"It matches the agreed amount. I hereby transfer ownership of the slave to you."
The woman handed over Ferka’s ownership to the man.
Ferka felt a sudden tightness.
Her body? Her heart?
She couldn’t quite describe it, but it felt as though her soul were being constrained. The oppressive sensation was anything but pleasant.
Clink.
The man set down his coffee cup and stood up.
"It seems everything is settled, so I’ll take my leave. Let’s go, Miss Ferka."
When Ferka ca to her senses, she was already outside.
She shaded her eyes with her hand, looking up at the sky. After half a year, the sunlight was blinding. It had been warm when she’d entered the mine, but now, with winter approaching, the wind was chilly.
‘Is... is this real?’
Was she really getting out this easily?
She’d dread about escaping countless tis, thinking she’d only leave the mine as a fossil.
It still didn’t feel real.
All because of this mysterious man who had bought her.
He was studying a map.
Who exactly was he?
Why had he rescued her from that dark mine?
Unable to suppress her curiosity, Ferka cautiously spoke up.
"Um, excuse ..."
"Is sothing the matter?"
"You’re my savior, but I don’t even know your na. May I ask what you do?"
"Oh, forgive . I forgot to introduce myself."
He smiled apologetically.
Unbelievable.
Soone who spoke politely to a slave and even apologized for sothing so minor!
‘Could he be a saint?’
This wasn’t just a good person.
Ferka’s heart swelled with hope.
Maybe this person would take her back to her holand.
But her hopes lted away like molten tal at his next words.
"My na is Karami. I’m a slave trader. So call the Slave Reaper."
"W-what?"
What did he just say?
Slave... Reaper?
Karami continued with a good-natured smile.
"We won’t be together for long, but let’s make the most of our ti. I’ll be sending you deep underground soon."
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