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“Is it cold here? Should we start a fire?”

“Oh, please do.”

Only then did Sillan realize the others might be cold and hastily responded. Talkata ordered the orc slaves to start a bonfire. The slaves approached the bonfire to bask in its warmth. Elf women gathered around the fire, and the orc men, who highly valued women, naturally surrounded them from the outside. In their midst, a young elf girl was quietly crying in a woman’s embrace. It was this child who had been raped by Beret.

“Mamia, Shal’ar Del Elia Santiana…”

She was sobbing in Elvish, complaining of a stomach ache. Although Sillan’s healing magic should have already healed her body completely, that young girl was still feeling pain. The assault she had suffered was that cruel. Her mind was still wandering in that hell.

Sillan sighed as he touched the girl’s forehead with a finger, alongside a simple prayer, leading the child into a gentle slumber. An elven woman expressed her gratitude before embracing the child tightly and began to softly stroke her hair.

“El Lai Sandella Saian, Eldia di Sleinai…”

The woman sang a lullaby in a soft voice. It was a song in Elvish, unforgotten even through centuries of life in bondage. Though their great culture and history had vanished, this lullaby had survived, passed from mouth to mouth.

“Sharon de Eldia…”

A low humming resonated in the ears. Sillan had a complex expression. It was his first time hearing a song in Elvish.

The lullaby wasn’t merely a human song translated into Elvish; it contained a range of notes that only an elf’s voice could achieve, not something humans could replicate. Nor was it akin to the instinctual chirping of birds. It was proper music, with lyrics and rhythm.

‘That means this song is a creation unique to the elves…’

Music is a product of higher thought, enjoyed by those capable of emotional and rational thinking. If elves were truly born to be slaves, they wouldn’t possess such culture.

Sillan inadvertently turned to look at Siris. She was on guard with a cool demeanor, her eyes full of determination to protect them against any remaining forces that might emerge from the mansion. Talkata, too, held the same strong pride in his piercing gaze, sword in hand.

They had never explicitly received such orders. No matter how much they denied it, they had to admit that it was their own will that drove them.

-Have you ever properly talked to them even once? Have you never questioned the fact that they are slaves?

Repenhardt’s words kept swirling in his head.

‘Am I… thinking about this wrong?’

A rustling noise came from the bushes, and soon a large shadow appeared. Siris and Talkata tensed up for a moment before sheathing their swords. The figure that emerged was Repenhardt. Seeing Siris, he grinned broadly.

“Sorry, did you wait long?”

He was holding a bundle of various documents in both hands. Sillan asked curiously.

“What’s that?”

Repenhardt grinned.

“Slave documents and the seal of the head of the Rolpein Company.”

This was the reason he had returned to the mansion. As Repenhardt sorted through the papers, he continued.

“Given the importance of these documents, they were securely stored in a secret vault, which made it a bit of a hassle to find at first.”

In his previous life, he would have easily located the secret space with magic, but now he lacked such abilities.

“So how did you find it?”

“I changed my approach. Just smashed the office wall, and there was the vault.”

The vault, made of poured steel, was sturdy but not enough to withstand an aura-infused hammer. Seeing Repenhardt shrug his shoulders in self-admiration, Sillan clicked his tongue.

“Wow, that’s… crude.”

“Cough!”

Repenhardt was taken aback. In his previous fifty years of life, he had never been called crude!

It was a moment for self-reflection. It seemed to him that ever since his reincarnation, he had never properly used his head, always resorting to physical force.

‘Have I been so immersed in simple and crude training that I’ve become accustomed to it?’

Well, the results had always been good, so it wasn’t a big problem, but he was a mage. A mage’s way of thinking shouldn’t be so unsophisticated.

‘Ah, I need to pull myself together. This is serious.’

Repenhardt groaned in self-criticism, while Sillan and Siris tilted their heads in unison, sharing a moment of confusion.

“Ah, how cute. The two lovely children striking the same pose.”

Forgetting his worries, Repenhardt chuckled. His ‘simplification’ was already well underway.

“But why did you bring those?”

“Because they’re needed.”

Repenhardt approached the campfire with the slave documents in hand. He held the papers to the flames and spoke to the slaves.

“If you don’t want to continue living as slaves, I will grant you freedom. What do you say?”

“Freedom?”

The slaves murmured among themselves, looking at each other, having never considered such a proposition before.

“What do you mean by granting freedom?”

“I don’t know.”

“New master. The command is too difficult.”

Their faces showed that they didn’t even recognize what freedom was. Repenhardt grimaced bitterly.

‘As expected…’

These were not people who had lived freely before becoming slaves. They were born into slavery, so suddenly granting them freedom wouldn’t mean they could start living anew.

Moreover, the world already belonged to humans. Even if he were to burn the slave documents, it wouldn’t make them free citizens. Without documents, they would be nothing more than ‘ownerless slaves,’ unable to be treated as free people.

Repenhardt collected the slave documents again and took out the seal of Rolpein.

“If I do this…”

He added new documents to the slave papers, signed them, and stamped the Rolpein seal. It was a declaration that all ownership of the slaves was transferred to Repenhardt from Teriq.

“Legally, they are no longer Teriq’s slaves.”

This made Repenhardt their new owner. It was a forced measure, but it was completely legal under the laws of the Chatan Principality. Sillan was puzzled.

“What’s this? Are you planning to become a slave trader?”

“No, I have no intention of selling them to anyone.”

“Then, you’re not thinking of giving up being an adventurer to settle down, are you?”

Sillan frowned. He had become Repenhardt’s companion because he was a wandering adventurer across the continent. However, if Repenhardt was planning to settle down somewhere, there would be no reason for him to stay by his side.

“You’re not saying you’re going to wander the continent with all these slaves, are you?”

“Of course not. I just need this formality to provide them with a safe place.”

Having neither a homeland to return to nor the ability to survive on their own, granting these individuals ‘freedom’ and telling them to ‘do as they wish!’ is nothing but self-satisfaction. It’s akin to throwing a domestically raised pet into the wild in the name of giving it freedom.

In his previous life, Repenhardt would rescue such slaves and lead them to remote areas to establish villages where they could live. He was a great sorcerer, and magic was not just about shooting fire or lightning. Rather, it was a practical and useful discipline that could transform even the harshest lands into habitable places by creating springs and growing plants with the power of magic.

However, now, being nothing more than a martial artist, he was unable to do as he had in his past life.

‘And even if I had the ability, I shouldn’t.’

Doing so would only alarm humans and once again earn him the title of Demon King. He had no intention of walking down that failed path again. In a world where they themselves and everyone else considered them slaves, what meaning would there be in Repenhardt alone declaring ‘They are not slaves!’?

‘Change begins with perception.’

Sillan, looking utterly baffled, asked, “Provide a safe place? Do you have acquaintances here?”

Repenhardt smiled wryly.

“Not exactly, but I have a place in mind.”

* * *

Well into the evening, the city of Zeppelin was still bustling with activity despite the deep night. Street vendors moved about, and shops kept their lights on, engaging eagerly in attracting customers. In every tavern, weary travelers sipped their drinks.

Unlike other cities that closed their gates at sunset, the capital of Chatan Principality, Zeppelin, shut its gates only at midnight, hence the number of travelers entering the city late at night was significant. Moreover, with streetlamps lighting up the streets, conducting business was hardly hindered even deep into the night.

It’s no wonder this place was praised as a city of merchants. The merchant-friendly policies of the Chatan Principality provided maximum convenience to those engaged in commerce.

In a building engulfed in the nocturnal lights, on the second floor of a brick house bearing the sign ‘Taoban Trading Company,’ a man in his thirties was diligently working with papers and a pen.

“Send a hundred and fifty coins to the Rath branch… and it’ll take three hundred and twenty-five coins to block the bills of exchange coming up from the Koll region.”

Siebolt was currently allocating the budget for each branch. Fortunately, a major investor had appeared that afternoon, providing a lifeline. Thus, he had to distribute the budget as quickly as possible to minimize losses.

While Siebolt was deep in thought, an unexpected guest arrived—none other than the major investor. Surprised, he hurried to the reception room.

“Is this not Lord Repenhardt?”

Greeting him, Siebolt cautiously observed the other’s reaction. Repenhardt, looking somewhat embarrassed, returned the greeting.

“I apologize for the late-night intrusion.”

“Late night? Oh, yes… well…”

Siebolt was momentarily taken aback by Repenhardt’s greeting. To him, a citizen of Zeppelin, it was still early evening, not late night. However, there was no need to dwell on formalities. Siebolt quickly moved on to the matter at hand.

“What brings you here, if I may ask?”

Could it be that he had changed his mind and come to demand the investment back? But more than half of that money had already been spent! Siebolt felt a sudden sinking feeling. The laws of the Chatan Principality were generous to investors, allowing for contract cancellations within twenty-four hours. If not for the urgency, Siebolt would have waited at least a day before using the funds.

Fortunately, it seemed that was not the case.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

Siebolt looked puzzled at Repenhardt’s words.

Siebolt glanced around the hall with a blank expression. The hall of the Taoban Trading Company’s first floor, which should have been empty with most clerks having gone home, was bustling with people. They were all elves and orcs.

Repenhardt handed Siebolt a document of slavery.

“I was hoping you could take care of these individuals.”

Siebolt, surprised, asked after examining the document.

“Are these slaves from Teriq? How did you manage to acquire all of them?”

Repenhardt chuckled and replied.

“You’ll hear an interesting story by tomorrow morning.”

He then added in a slightly lowered voice.

“And you are the only one who knows about the protagonist of that story. So, if the secret leaks, you are the only one I would suspect.”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s just a typical threat.”

As if anyone could ignore a threat! Siebolt swallowed hard. Examining the document, he asked in a trembling voice.

“It says here the slaves were ‘transferred,’ not ‘sold’?”

It was definitely not a ‘sale,’ and the Teriq that Siebolt knew would never give anything away for free. Repenhardt smiled broadly and, instead of answering, changed the subject.

“Anyway, I would appreciate it if you could take care of them. This is certainly not a request to do it for free.”

Repenhardt pulled out a bag and emptied it onto the table. A flood of golden coins poured out.

“Here are a hundred gold coins. I believe this should cover their expenses for the time being.”