"Hmm, looks like a few of them are still alive."
Ripah said as he squinted his eyes to see the non-human slaves behind the cells.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his heavy boots making a wet, squelching sound against the damp grime of the basement floor. He raised his torch a little higher, casting a light over the pile of bodies in the corner of the cell.
He got the torch on their way down the basement.
"Ah, forgive me for the place and the smell."
Anyway, he turned to Tatum, Bernia, and Pwyll before saying that.
He let out a short, wet chuckle, waving his hand in front of his nose as if the horrific stench of decay and neglect was nothing more than a minor inconvenience for his wealthy guests. He didn’t see the expressions on their faces beneath the deep shadows of their hoods.
"..."
The three weren’t able to reply immediately, they felt like if they did—they wouldn’t be able to hold themselves back from cursing and killing the pig bastard in front of them.
The silence in the underground corridor became incredibly heavy, suffocatingly tense.
Pwyll’s hand was hidden beneath the folds of his traveling cloak, his fingers resting firmly on the hilt of his weapon, his knuckles turning completely white from the force of his grip. Tatum’s fangs were practically biting into his lower lip to keep his composure, his instincts screaming at him to rip the fat man’s throat out and let him bleed onto the stone floor.
But Bernia, who was the most logical among the group, was able to get herself together not long—
"It’s fine."
She simply said.
Her voice was flat, completely devoid of any warmth, but it was steady enough to keep the slave trader from noticing the raw hatred vibrating through the air.
"Anyway, you already saw everything our shop have to offer. So if you liked something, I mean—someone, then just tell me."
Ripah stated, completely missing the dangerous shift in the atmosphere.
"Take your time to decide."
He followed as if he was just selling normal merchandise and not lives. There’s even a wicked, fake smile on his face.
He patted his round stomach, his greedy little eyes darting between the three cloaked figures, already calculating the profit margin he was about to make from these rich merchants.
"No need to wait, we already had decided."
Bernia then said as soon as Ripah finished speaking.
She didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second. She took a half-step forward, cutting off the trader’s view of Tatum, who was still silently struggling to suppress his murderous aura.
"Great, so what would you like to take?"
Ripah asked.
He leaned forward slightly, his mustache twitching in anticipation of a sale. And Bernia, without hesitation—
"We’ll take all the slaves."
She declared that.
The words were spoken clearly, echoing off the damp, stone walls of the basement corridor.
"...?"
Ripah was unsure whenever if he heard that right.
His smile froze entirely, his jaw dropping open slightly as he stared at the woman in front of him, trying to process the sheer scale of the statement. But following what she just said—
"Everyone, including the non-humans below here."
Bernia added that.
She gestured toward the rusted bars of the cell behind him, where the dying non-humans lay forgotten in the dark.
"We counted all of the slaves here, there are sixty-two of them. We’ll come back tomorrow for all of them."
Bernia followed.
The reason they asked Ripah for a tour of the facility even though they were going to buy all the slaves anyway, was to count them all. This way, they wouldn’t be scammed, and they would be sure to get them all.
They had carefully noted every single person in the upper tiers. They knew the exact number down to the last individual, leaving the trader absolutely no room to hide any of the slaves or manipulate the final transaction.
"A-Are you sure, dear customer?"
Ripah asked, surprised. His tone polite.
His voice stuttered slightly, his professional merchant mask slipping for a moment as the realization of a massive, bulk purchase washed over him. Buying out an entire slave house in a single day was an event that rarely happened outside the major capital cities.
"Yes. How much would it be all?"
Bernia replied without stuttering.
She stood perfectly straight, her confidence completely unshakeable as she stared directly into the trader’s eyes. She’s doing all the talk now, because Pwyll and Tatum are busy holding themselves back from rampaging and destroying this place.
"Umm, this is a first... I don’t know how much I would price them all."
Ripah was genuinely taken aback.
He rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing through the individual values of his inventory, trying to figure out a number that would maximize his profit without scaring away these obviously wealthy individuals. The non-humans were practically worthless to him, but the skilled house servants in the front tier were worth a decent sum.
Then Bernia, she remembered that Verc bought them before along with the other slaves for a whole hundred golds. There were fifty of them at that time.
And opening her mouth—
"What about 130 gold coins for all of them?"
She suggested that to Ripah.
The sum was substantial, a massive fortune that an average citizen wouldn’t see in their entire lifetime, but to their group, it was only a small fraction of the gold Verc had entrusted to them.
And the fat bastard—
"You have a deal!"
He immediately agreed with that.
His eyes practically turned into gold coins as he clapped his hands together in pure delight. He didn’t care about the logistics or why a group of merchants needed sixty-two slaves; all he cared about was the gold coins.
*****
After the agreement, Bernia and Ripah immediately signed a contract.
They moved back up to the small office near the main entrance, where the air was slightly less foul. Ripah quickly scribbled out the terms on a piece of parchment. Bernia checked every single line carefully, ensuring that the ownership rights of all sixty-two individuals were legally transferred to their party before she signed her false name.
"Here."
Pwyll, who was holding the money, handed 130 gold coins to Ripah to pay in advance. It was in a massive and sturdy pouch crafted by the gnolls back in their village. It was made with monster hides.
THUD!
Pwyll slammed the pouch onto the wooden desk. The solid, metallic clink of the gold pieces echoed sharply through the small room.
They even added 20 more gold coins to have them feed all the slaves, clothe them well, and tend their wounds.
"Make sure they are fed a proper meal tonight. Give them clean clothes, and have your men patch up the ones who are bleeding. We expect them to be standing on their own two feet when we bring the carriages tomorrow morning."
Pwyll ordered, his voice flat.
"Of course, of course! My men will get to work immediately. They will be treated like royalty until you arrive, my good customers."
Ripah chuckled greasily, sweeping the pile of gold coins into his open drawer with a swift, practiced motion.
And as soon as he said that—
"You better, or you’ll have to pay for the loses."
Tatum spoke, saying that in a cold tone.
He took a step closer to the desk, his massive frame completely blocking out the light from the small window behind him. He looked down at the fat trader, his eyes narrowing into a piercing glare that carried the weight of a true predator.
"...!"
Ripah’s whole body flinched hearing that, and this time... he felt fear.
A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, and his breath caught in his throat as the raw, oppressive aura pressed down on him. The greedy smile vanished from his face completely.
This time, he realized that his customers aren’t normal. I mean, there’s no way they would be.
They bought a lot of slaves, and it seems like the guards with them are not ordinary as well.
No regular merchant guard carried themselves with that kind of silent, lethal confidence, and no regular merchant threw around hundreds of gold coins without blinking an eye. But Ripah knows that he just better be quiet, so he could get make money in peace, and keep his life.
He nodded his head rapidly, his mustache trembling as he spoke.
"Y-Yes, naturally! Everything will be exactly as you specified. Not a single piece of merchandise will be harmed."
He stammered, backing away slightly until his chair hit the wall behind him.
... ... ...
*****
After the signing of contract—Bernia, Pwyll, and Tatum left the slave shop.
They saw Jed and Nara outside, waiting for them.
The two of them were standing near the corner of the dilapidated wall, Nara still holding tightly to the edge of Jed’s robe.
"Hmm?"
Jed didn’t even have to ask what happened. Just feeling the weak, but vicious aura erupting from the three already told him how was their experience inside.
The slight tremor in Bernia’s hands and the rigid, tense posture of Pwyll spoke volumes. Jed simply gave a quiet nod, adjusting his hood to ensure his features remained hidden as he stepped inline with the rest of the group.
Anyway, the five of them left the slums... but Pwyll and Jed didn’t return immediately to the inn.
They accompanied Bernia, Nara, and Tatum back to the main market square first to ensure they reached the safe zone safely, before splitting off into the crowded side streets.
... ... ...
... ... ...
Pwyll and Jed visited a pretty huge building in the middle of the city, and although it looks like a normal bar on the outside—it was actually the base of the leader of the underworld of the city.
The establishment was called ’The Broken Dagger’, a large, three-story tavern made of thick timber and dark stone. The windows were heavily tinted, and several rough-looking men stood near the entrance.
The leader of the underworld is called Rico, and he has the same power as the City Lord in Sven!
He controlled the smuggling routes, the illegal gambling dens, and every single thief or assassin operating within the city. In terms of true influence, his word carried just as much weight as the official decrees issued from the castle!
They got this information from a rogue adventurer that Pwyll befriended over a drink.
The man had been thoroughly drunk at the inn’s restaurant a few nights prior, and Pwyll’s easygoing nature and continuous supply of cheap ale had loosened his tongue completely. The adventurer even gave Pwyll a medal so that he could easily meet Rico if he wanted, and they decided to use it now.
It was a small, tarnished silver coin with the imprint of a wolf’s skull, a token that signaled to the guards at the door that the bearer was on official business.
Pwyll showed the medal to the bouncers at the entrance of ’The Broken Dagger’. The men immediately straightened up, their rough attitudes disappearing as they opened the hidden door behind the bar, leading the two travelers down a private corridor into a luxurious back room.
At the back room--
"Huh? New faces, huh."
They met Rico.
And without beating around the bush--they requested something—the assassination of Ripah, and the destruction of the Slave Shop, a week after they left the city!
"What?"
Rico sat behind a large mahogany desk, idly cleaning his fingernails with a small silver dagger. He listened to their proposal in silence, his expression unreadable as Pwyll laid out the terms of the request.
Rico was hesitant to take such request at first.
"Ripah pays his taxes to the City Lord on time, and his facility has official protection. Eliminating him creates a vacancy that the local guards will investigate thoroughly. It’s a lot of heat for my men to handle."
He said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.
THUD!
"...?"
But after Jed slammed a pouch with 100 gold coins on top of Rico’s table, and hearing that Ripah have more and he can just stage it as a normal robbery—
"A week after you leave, you say? Consider it done. The slave house will burn, and Ripah won’t live to see the next sunrise."
He accepted with a greedy look in his face.
Rico’s eyes widened slightly as he pulled the pouch toward himself, peeking inside at the gleaming rows of pure gold coins. The hesitation vanished completely from his face, replaced by a dark, satisfied smirk.
Verc told them to do this as well... this was what he did back in the City of Sionann as well before leaving.
Their Lord had been very clear about what to do with slave traders. They couldn’t eliminate them openly without causing a huge mess, so they should use the internal rot of the human kingdoms to do the work for them, easy as that.
Anyway--with the contract settled, Pwyll and Jed left the tavern, blending back into the evening shadows of the city streets, their preparations for the return journey finally complete.