Chapter 327: He Intended to Pay

Outside Loran City, by the riverside town, dawn was just breaking; rows of slaves were whipped onto the sides of the road, each face etched with sorrow, while even more sorrowful were the slave traders themselves.

Ang walked along the road, watching this scene with curiosity, followed by Lu Se, equally curious.

Slaves have existed since ancient times; Loran City had a slave market, with bonded slaves who sold themselves, and captured foreign races such as dwarves and elves.

Of course, elves could not be openly displayed for sale—they could only be secretly traded on black markets, as elves strictly cracked down on such trafficking.

But bold, heartless slave traders feared neither the Pope—why should they care about you elves?

The crackdown forced elf trafficking from the open to the shadows, objectively driving up elf prices, making the trade even more profitable; prices soared, pushing slave merchants to take greater risks and intensify their efforts to capture elf slaves.

Even some small mercenary bands occasionally couldn't resist grabbing a haul—after all, one elf fetched over ten thousand magic crystals; catching one meant enough to retire on a share.

Elves had once negotiated with the Pope, sending their own teams into human lands to enforce laws and eradicate slave traders.

But first, intelligence was poor—they couldn't find real traffickers, only got misled by false tips that sent them attacking legitimate merchant guilds.

Second, these enforcement elves themselves became targets of slave traders; even going to the toilet could result in one being kidnapped.

After repeated failures, elves could only avoid entering human lands altogether, delegating any necessary dealings to mercenaries.

In contrast, dwarves never cared whether dwarves became slaves—as long as they weren't abused or harmed, dwarves wouldn't intervene.

Besides, they couldn't possibly monitor everyone; some dwarves, bored stiff living in the mountains, would go down to taverns for a drink, then slap their empty pockets and say: "I've no money—sell myself. Give me daily alcohol, and I'll be your slave."

Good heavens, selling oneself as a slave and still making demands—worse than bonded slaves.

Facing dwarves like this, with huge appetites and even bigger drinking capacities, few could afford to keep them—or pay for them.

With little demand, no one bothered to capture them; sometimes, when business was bad, traders had to drive them away, preferring to lose the slave than be ruined by his eating.

Elves couldn't be like dwarves—they were simply too beautiful, even male elves; bought not to work, but for display.

Elf trading had shifted to the black market, and the riverside town was one such black market.

But recently, the riverside town wasn't just selling contraband—it was selling legal goods too, because too many had gone bankrupt and become bonded slaves or slaves.

Bonded slaves were bound by contract; once the contract was fulfilled, they could shed the "slave" status and become free commoners.

Slaves, however, had lost all personal status—they were now property, objects under ownership; the difference: one was a person, the other an object.

But when starving to death, no one cared whether they were person or object—selling to a slave trader at least meant a meal.

Yet, the sudden surge in slaves caused prices to drop and profits to shrink.

Also due to famine, many landlords and nobles no longer needed slave traders—they directly turned their tenants and small farmers into slaves, cutting out the middleman's profit.

With profits shrinking, slaves still had to be fed; unsold slaves meant losses, and these slave traders were even more miserable than the slaves themselves.

In the past, at this stage, some conscience-stricken slave traders would tear up contracts and set slaves free—but such traders were rare; if you had conscience, why become a slave trader in the first place?

More heartless traders would "destroy their goods."

But they dared not—because the Pope's deputy in the Eastern Diocese, Andong, had secretly sent word: whoever destroyed goods would have their entire family killed; if you couldn't sell them, send them to border refugee camps.

Andong's whispered threat of "kill your whole family" terrified slave traders far more than the Elf Queen ever could—who dared split the Church? What wouldn't Andong do?

Since the traders had no conscience, they'd be given conscience—so many slave traders suddenly found their conscience, grimacing as they forced themselves to sell; those who couldn't sell at all tore up contracts and sent slaves to the border.

The original black market had flooded with too many slaves, nearly turning into a vegetable market; traders outnumbered buyers. When Ang and Lu Se walked in, everyone—slaves and traders alike—stared expectantly.

Some slightly attractive female slaves threw seductive glances, tossed their hair, and contorted their bodies, trying to catch Ang's attention.

Unfortunately, the odds were too high.

Negrilis and Du Luo were whispering on Ang's shoulder: "We need to buy some dwarf brewers, to brew the kind of liquor dwarves like."

"You're stupid," Du Luo said.

"Huh?" Negrilis froze.

"Why are we brewing? To watch dwarf war-chess records. Dwarf war-chess is sacred to them—rarely open to outsiders, unless there's some temptation they can't refuse. Tell me: if a dwarf brewer makes the liquor, why wouldn't dwarves refuse it? They can brew it themselves." Du Luo asked.

"Uh… that makes sense. So what should we buy?" Negrilis asked.

"Buy everything—dwarf, elf, human—anyone who brews or drinks. We can afford it. Quality? Just brew several kinds and compare." Du Luo said.

Right—why not? We can afford it. Even if we bought every brewer in the world, Ang could pay. Why overthink this?

After touring the entire market, it was time for Lu Se to act—he slowly floated into the air, summoning his condensed aura into a visible form, and called out: "My master seeks top-tier brewers and tasters. Whoever can provide top-tier brewers, my master will pay top prices."

Everyone who saw Lu Se's figure involuntarily gasped: "High-rank Sword Saint?! Good heavens—the master of a High-rank Sword Saint? Who's this great person?"

"Brewers? Do we have any brewers?"

"Quick, quick—what's a taster? A drunkard? Do those dwarves count?"

The market erupted into chaos.

Aura-formed sword was the hallmark of a High-rank Sword Saint—rare enough, and even when found, usually only followed by powerful mages. Could this Sword Saint's master be a Truth Mage?

Du Luo and Negrilis whispered: "Having Lu Se display his power gives credibility to his words. Otherwise, if you just shout you want top-tier brewers, who knows what counts as 'top-tier'? Now, with the High-rank Sword Saint's power shown, they'll know not to shove random trash at you—otherwise these heartless merchants would drag a bunch of dwarf drunks to your feet, uh…"

Looking at the crowd of dwarves stumbling over, still drunk, Du Luo nearly choked: "Did I underestimate how heartless merchants are in this era?"

Negrilis nodded in full agreement: "Indeed, as black as silver coins."

Far away in the Abyss, Silver Coin suddenly sneezed—perhaps sensing someone was cursing him—he immediately knelt and began devoutly praying.

The news that the High-rank Sword Saint's master wanted to buy brewing slaves reached every slave trader; wave after wave of slaves connected to brewing were dragged before Lu Se.

Lu Se bought them all—including the pile of dwarf drunks. These dwarves might not brew, but after drinking so much, they could at least tell which liquor tasted better; they'd be used for tasting later.

Of course, prices couldn't be too high.

As Du Luo said, buying them all was no problem—these weren't special slaves, so they fetched low prices; even buying every slave here would cost only a few ten thousand magic crystals. As for special slaves, one could cost tens of thousands.

Seeing their lavish spending, some big-time traders got greedy. A thin, small slave trader sidled up to Lu Se and whispered: "Elves? Elves? Want young, beautiful dark elves?"

"Dark elves?" Lu Se blinked. "How much? Bring them to see."

He'd seen many elves—but what were dark elves?

"Twenty thousand magic crystals."

"That expensive?! You might as well rob!"

"Worth every coin. First, inspect the goods—delicate, soft, absolutely worth it."

Several strong slaves carried in a tent, set it up, then two hefty women dragged in a figure wrapped entirely in a cloak.

So this was how you inspected goods—professional.

Ang and Lu Se stepped inside and saw a tightly bound elf, skin pitch-black, covered in intricate tattoos, glaring fiercely at them.

Ang tilted his head—he recognized this elf. She'd been in the Loran City mercenary guild hall before. How had she become a slave?

Skin dark, hair messy, skin rough—nothing like the elves he'd seen. Lu Se sneered, glancing back at Ang.

He was ready to refuse—twenty thousand magic crystals for an elf of this quality? Better to bring Kai Lan Dai Er—she'd been begging to serve Ang.

But Ang nodded.

Hiss—Master likes this style? Perfect! Now I know what gift to send next. Lu Se was overjoyed.

Twenty thousand magic crystals paid instantly. Ang had little grain, but plenty of magic crystals—his elf reserves were emptied, Andong's treasury was drained, now he had to borrow from Silver Coin.

Plus the Black Mountain Duchy's treasury, Meishencheng's revenue, Silver Light Guild's profits—he likely had more cash flow than the Mage Guild or Mercenary Guild.

Such a quick-paying customer? The slave trader had never seen one—no haggling at all?

Money in hand, the trader pulled out a branding iron, split it in half, gave one half to Lu Se, and moved to brand the dark elf.

The dark elf's face twisted in fear, struggling to dodge.

"What's this?" Ang asked curiously—the aura from the brand felt similar to a soul imprint.

The slave trader hurried to answer: "My lord, this is a slave brand. Once branded, even the soul is bound—utterly unable to resist or defy your commands."

Ang reached out; the trader immediately handed over the brand. Ang studied it—then dismantled it.

The slave trader was now flustered: "My lord, this…"

"What? Go get another one!" Lu Se scolded, fearing Ang's embarrassment. "What's wrong with my lord playing with your brand? Playing with it is a favor—you sold a twenty-thousand-magic-crystal slave, aren't you lucky to get extra brands? Don't dither—do you want me to cut you down?!"

The trader smiled nervously: "My lord, these slave brands are custom-made—only for high-value slaves, and we only have one."

"Then what?" Lu Se growled.

The trader smiled apologetically: "This slave is too fierce—without the brand, we can't control her. If my lord adds a bit more cost, we'll keep her for a month, get the brand made, then deliver her to your estate—fully confidential, I swear."

Ang shook his head—he understood the brand the moment he dismantled it: it was a soul imprint.

But far weaker than the soul imprints on undead—couldn't even suppress thoughts, only restricted physical actions: weakness, limp limbs, etc.

"Be careful, don't release her easily—she's vicious…" The trader warned as he backed out of the tent—but before he finished, Ang cut the ropes, freeing the dark elf.

"This…" The trader turned and fled. The money was paid; the slave escaped—none of his concern. If he caught her again, maybe he could sell her once more.

Ang bought six hundred slaves total, spending less than forty thousand magic crystals—twenty thousand for the dark elf, the rest under twenty thousand. Dwarves were pricier, but averaged out to thirty-three magic crystals per slave—already a high price.

Ang's extravagance caused a sensation in the riverside town; others began scheming, gathering early on the road out of town, eager to see how Ang and Lu Se would transport six hundred slaves—and perhaps find a chance to steal something.

The next morning, many discovered corpses piled in the woods outside the riverside town; more floated down the river upstream—some recognized them as the slave-capturing squads of the town's major slave merchants.

The merchants' castles had been breached, their wealth looted, slaves freed, enforcers slaughtered. The freed slaves said the attackers were a group of armed giants and a horse that swore curses.

On the northward journey, Negrilis chuckled bitterly: "Why did you have to provoke him? He just wanted to pay properly—now he saved money and made tenfold profit. Why?"

Several major slave merchants wailed: "We only came to look—we did nothing!" Then they were dragged away and buried. Turning back, Ang's hand had vanished—he was brewing in his space.

"He really intended to pay." Negrilis shook his head.