“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Auctioneer addressed the crowd on top of a small stage in the center of a large and lively city market. The stage stood in front of a large tent where all the auctioned goods were.
The Auctioneer continued to speak, “The auction will soon begin, come one, come all! We have a new batch of exciting items to exhibit to you all!”
“We have…”
As the Auctioneer begins listing out the items for auctions to be sold, the crowd intently listens as some people collectively gasp or express their awe at the rare and pricey collection of goods.
They were selling the venom of deadly monsters like Basilisks, weapons made out of rare mythril, an assortment of foreign spices, and… slaves.
While everyone outside the tent was bustling within the bright light of the sun, inside the tent was a completely different story.
A noticeable gloom hung as the tent’s shade caused everything to look bleak. Inside the tent were crates and cages stacked on top of each other.
The sounds of sobbing, beast howling, and shouts of rage came across from the area where cages were stacked. The other crates held the imported items that the traveling merchant caravan, Smiling Hands, possessed.
Among the slaves, there were mostly human slaves, yet there were also a few slaves of other races; such as trolls, orcs, and goblins from the tribes within the Vanishing Forest.
Out of all the cages, only one cage was silent. While the enraged slaves shook the bars of their cages aggressively and the crying slaves wallowed in despair, one slave was carefully watching everything.
This frail slave dressed in rags, Vow, was a regular 17 year old female human, though she had some special history that set her apart from other slaves.
Compared to the other slaves who only stayed with the caravan for the 12 day journey from Faren Town to Noxen City, she had already stayed on board the caravan for over 13 years.
There were a couple of reasons for this.
After getting sold off into slavery by her destitute parents at the age of around 4 years old, the elderly merchant caravan leader experienced an accident.
As the 63 year old merchant went to board the carriage to leave the town Vow used to live in, he tripped and crippled his legs.
Frustrated by his crippled legs, he lashed out at the slaves. Everyday he would whip all the slaves the caravan had individually for every day he was crippled.
Even a 4 year old was not spared from his whippings.
After Vow nearly died from the whip, miraculously, a lost Sacrificer Priest appeared before the traveling caravan.
The Sacrificer Priests were part of the Church of Sacrifices, who believed in the Goddess of Sacrifices, Vieanna.
The caravan leader and the lost priest quickly grew a friendly relationship after the caravan leader offered to escort the priest to the nearest city. From that, the priest offered to heal the caravan leader’s leg for free at the church.
Being a superstitious person, the caravan leader decided to keep Vow within the caravan without selling her off.
It wasn’t due to a sense of compassion that the old merchant decided to keep her, she was still a slave, albeit one that received better food than other slaves and some medicine whenever she got sick.
The old merchant kept her as a sort of living lucky charm.
And it seemed effective, judging by how successful the caravan got after over a decade of trading. Negotiations with customers were smooth, bandits were little to no trouble, and the caravan made a fortune.
However, only the old merchant believed that Vow was the reason why they could become so successful. Everyone else in the caravan just attributed their success to their skills and abundant experience.
They believed that it was their negotiation skills that allowed them to gain lucrative deals and offers in the settlements they went to.
They thought it was their skillful judgment that allowed them to pick strong mercenaries as guards and travel safe paths away from bandits.
In short, everyone in the caravan just thought everything was their own hard work.
As a result, everyone thought Vow was expendable, useless, and a deadweight. That is why they often hurled abusive words and talked down to her whenever they felt frustrated with something.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
If they could, they wished to physically relieve their stress, but the old merchant adamantly shut down those notions. No one was allowed to physically harm her unless their caravan was starting to incur losses, which never occurred.
Though the words of the old merchant prevented them from doing as they wished, they all collectively swore to get rid of her one day.
Today was that day.
The old merchant had passed away at the age of 76 years old due to natural causes.
It was finally time to kill their leech.
To them, it was unbearably annoying to have all their effort be chalked up to someone’s presence; especially when it came from the old merchant, who said that their skills as merchants was subpar at best.
Vow herself knew that today was the day that would decide her fate.
This world was dirty and she was covered in its filth. She could read the minds of the caravan merchants like she was reading an open book.
‘That wench… glad today’s her last day with us.’
‘Say your prayers, leech.’
‘Ridding ourselves of a useless slave. A joyous day.’
Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore their words.
Escape?
She had already thought about that, but the cage had a tight lock. Unless she knew how to pick locks and had lockpicking tools, there was little chance of her opening her cage.
Not to mention there were a few mercenaries stationed to patrol and watch over the slaves and goods. They certainly wouldn’t be letting her do as she pleased.
Though fortunately, her cage was left inside an especially obscure and dark corner of the tent. Due to how the cages were stacked into rows like prison cells, the mercenaries on patrol will have to turn a corner in order to see anything on her side.
If she listened carefully, she would be able to pick up the footsteps of the mercenaries.
Feeling the hay on the floor of her cage beneath her legs, she decided that it was time.
She refused to give up, she was getting out of here. Getting on her knees, she felt around a certain pile of hay quietly.
She halted when she heard a somewhat muffled voice outside the walls of the tent.
A male’s voice spoke, “Joseph, do you have a spare knife? I lost mine a while back and I haven’t found the time to buy a new one. I want to peel some potatoes.”
“Haah, fine, let me go get it. Seriously, why’d you have to lose it. It was such an expensive knife,” another man responded.
“C’mon, I’m telling you, a fairy stole it. That’s got to be it. One minute it was there, the next thing I knew, it was gone!”
“Just say you got robbed…”
“Whatever, I don’t really care. We make so much money, losing that knife really doesn’t matter.”
“That’s true.”
As the conservation ended, Vow took a sigh of relief. Then she pulled out a shiny object from the hay pile in her cage.
It was a small sharp knife.
She stole it while she was outside of her cage to engage in menial work, like moving luggage. She was called useless because she couldn’t be sold to make money, not because she couldn’t actually work.
Knowing this will be useful, she tucked it away inside her clothes.
She has never killed anyone before… but she is willing to try.
Her plan was simple: kill the patrolling mercenary, take their belongings, and break out.
However, there were still a couple problems with this plan.
She wasn’t confident in killing silently. After all, it would be her first time and it was going to be sloppy.
In addition, she knew better than to hope that the mercenaries would so happen to be carrying the keys to her cages. These mercenaries were here to make sure the slaves don’t misbehave, not to carefully inspect each slave.
The keys were with the merchants.
Yet she had no choice. It was now or never, since the Auction was going to begin soon.
Gritting her teeth, Vow listened intently for footsteps amongst the noise of the other slaves.
She hated this world.
She often wondered why, why did she have to suffer like this?
She had no choice from birth. She had to become a slave, an object to be used by others.
Vow heard footsteps approaching. She tightened her hand around the knife.
No, she did have a choice.
She had a choice to die. To refuse being degraded to an object and die as a person.
‘...but does that ever happen?’
No one in their right mind would think like that.
She chose to live as an object. Why? Because she wanted to live no matter what.
She accepted it.
The ways of the world were just like this, dirty and unforgiving. One must learn to adapt to survive.
However, aren't her actions now seeking death?
Her plans are filled with variables and holes. If she is caught holding a knife as a weapon, it was obvious something terrible would happen.
It wasn’t because she suddenly wanted freedom.
It was because she was now cornered and left with really no choice, but to take drastic measures.
She could not be sold. Never in a million years would she want to be sold off here.
Currently, the caravan is in Noxen City.
Noxen City is famed for its loose laws and freedom for those with deep pockets and great influence. One of the city’s main attractions was the brutal and thrilling deathmatches held for the public.
Recently, there has been a trend for slaves to be used to fight in deathmatches…
A figure was revealed in front of her cage after the footsteps stopped. It was a man, but he wasn’t a mercenary.
“So, the day has come. I’m glad the stubborn old man has kicked the bucket. I can finally scratch the itch on my back.”
He was a merchant Vow recognized. He was the son of the old merchant, Dawson.
Realizing the opportunity, she made sure that the knife was carefully stowed away.
She asked, “What do you want?”
The merchant looked and laughed scornfully, “Of course, it’s to see a freeloader like you get what you deserve. I saw Sir Bernard sitting in his carriage among the bidders. You know what that means?”
Obviously, as a slave, she didn’t know who Sir Bernard was.
He smirked, delighting in Vow’s ignorance, as he continued, “It means you best pray, pray that Sir Bernard isn’t the one to buy you. I heard he’s big on buying his own slaves to fight in deathmatches for amusement.”
Vow feigned distress and worry with her face, something she grew skilled at as a slave, but inside she was calculating her next move.
‘How do I get him closer?’
The bars were preventing her from reaching Dawson effectively. If she tried to stab him through the cage, it would give room for Dawson to react.
She couldn’t afford that. Any mistake will be detrimental to her.
If Dawson escapes and calls for help, she wouldn’t need to worry about getting sold off. They’d probably just chop her head off in her cage.
Looking at the foolishly arrogant merchant savoring her helpless act, an idea hatched in her mind.
She ran towards the cage and shook it desperately with her head down. Then she let out a voice filled with horror and fear.
“No! Please, don’t sell me off, I can be useful, I swear!”
Seeing her actions, Dawson was caught by surprise, yet once he processed her words his sense of superiority rose exponentially as his ego swelled.
He was a person full of pride, he believed that he was not a normal person, that he was someone destined to be for greater and better things.
Dawson always believed that he would become a great noble one day. After all, he had all the qualities to be one; his natural charisma, etiquette, and negotiation skills were all miles ahead of those of his peers.
He dreamed of one day buying his own rank into nobility or marrying into a prestigious Baron or Viscount family.
Whenever he shared his dreams, he would always hear his father berating him in front of others. He scolded him for being delusional, dimwitted, and filled with arrogance.
It filled him with rage whenever his father denied him of his dream, so that’s why he left his body on the road after he died on their way to Noxen City.
Only he knew the truth, he was special. It was his special talents that allowed the caravan to grow so successfully for 13 years. Yet, he would always hear from his father that it wasn’t the case.
This slave had been the bane of his pride for far too long. Now it was time to bury the hatchet. He had already planned to giveaway this slave for free to Sir Bernard, a free knight, who served no family.
He even thought of watching the deathmatches with this slave being torn to shreds, but decided that it would just be a waste of time in the end.
He had much more important things to do besides caring about some lowly slav-
“Is that what you wanted me to say?”
The slave stopped shaking the bars and raised her head, her voice composed and cold.
For a moment he was stunned beyond words.
She glared with fearlessness etched into the core of her being. Such ferocity contained within such a weak body was something Dawson had never seen before.
Being the target of that gaze, he couldn’t breath for a moment.
Though he quickly snapped out of it, before becoming angry and humiliated.
Was he… just intimidated by a mere slave?
It was a humiliation he would never live down unless this slave died.