Chapter 131

Translator: Willia

The magical moment sank into the depths of consciousness and passed without even being noticed.

Yet clearly, deep within the abyss, within the heart, it left something behind. No, was it calling to something beyond, like knocking on a door?

The world was full of mystery and wonder. And those things seemed to awaken something noble and great that lay dormant within the human soul.

Even so, most humans distanced themselves from such beauty and merely chased stimulation and pleasure.

As if turning their backs on the fragrant scent of flowers, the cool breeze, and the clear sunlight, only to bury their noses in piles of dung in the grass.

True magic was not about distorting reality or creating fiction. It was about reaching out toward something that lay beyond human consciousness.

That alone was certain.

“Cough! Cough! Gah! Ack!”

Ricardt, who had been lying on the ground, coughed up a little water and came to. As he turned his body over and vomited water onto the ground, saliva-mixed water trickled from his mouth.

Out of reflex, he gasped for breath, but his hands were shackled. What the hell is this?

“Once again, a journey back to the real world.”

A deep, characteristic voice came from the side. When he turned his head, it was the Wasteland Mage.

He no longer had a gag in his mouth like before, but like Ricardt, he had shackles on his hands.

Ricardt and the man were currently inside an iron cage. It was midday, and outside looked like a city street.

People were walking around. Only then did the noisy sounds reach his ears, and among those walking freely outside the cage, there were some from the Empire, but most were Salaman people.

Especially the exotic scent drifting through the air seemed to tell Ricardt that this was not his homeland but a foreign land.

“Your belongings are over there.”

The mage pointed somewhere with his finger. Next to the cage, on top of a table, Ricardt’s sword and the reliquary box were visible. The Viking gold bracelet was being worn by a slave trader sitting in front of them.

Was it a stroke of luck amidst misfortune, or did it not matter in his current situation? Ricardt had no strength in his body and leaned against the wall to rest. He sagged like a wet towel.

The mage stared quietly at Ricardt for a moment and then spoke.

“Don’t be too disheartened. After all, the outside world is just one big prison. So whether you’re in a small prison or not, being trapped is essentially the same.”

Ricardt sat against the wall, catching his breath, then let out a faint laugh.

“Do I look disheartened to you?”

“Hmm? If not, then that’s good. By the way, aren’t you uncomfortable around me?”

“Uncomfortable? Why would I be? Even if you’re a real mage, you still have arms and legs, eyes, nose, and a mouth like anyone else.”

“Hahaha, a wise answer to a foolish question.”

The mage also laughed lightly.

“I’m Ricardt. Just call me Ricky if it’s easier. And you?”

“I am Hashmid Abhazid, Ricky.”

“Which part is your title and which is your name?”

“The first is a kind of title, and the latter is my name. I have no family name. I don’t even know my father.”

Salaman names typically consisted of nicknames, their father’s name, their own given name, and their son’s name. But compared to that, the mage’s name was overly simple.

In short, it was a name with no roots. However, since Ricardt was a foreigner to begin with, he didn’t particularly care.

He even took the liberty of creating a nickname using the title.

“Then can I just call you Hashim?”

“Hmm? Would that be okay? I’ve never had a nickname. No nicknames, no friends.”

“Then I must be your first friend, Hashim.”

“Hmm... Not bad. I like it.”

“By the way, Hashim, you look like you’ve gained a bit of weight.”

When Ricardt first saw Hashim locked in a cage in Renova, he had looked nearly skeletal. Although his cheeks were still sunken now, he was clearly in better shape than before.

“I guess I ate quite a bit during the chaos, but I don’t remember exactly.”

“During the chaos? Ah... huh?”

Was there even time to eat anything then? Ricardt found it odd, but let it pass. He’s a mage, after all. Could he have eaten a rat? No way, come on.

As Ricardt was talking with Hashim, someone approached the cage. Perhaps they were looking to buy a slave, as they looked over Ricardt and Hashim as if examining livestock.

The man wore luxurious clothes and a turban and waved a stick with soft fur at the tip.

The slave trader, who had been eating something, quickly approached the customer. Pointing at Ricardt, he said,

"Just look at that one over there. Doesn’t he look healthy at a glance? Blonde hair, well-defined features, tall and muscular, a textbook Franken man. He's very strong. Whatever purpose you intend to use him for, I promise you’ll be satisfied."

"Franken man" was a term referring to people of the Empire. The term "Imperial" itself was relative, it was what the barbarians living near the Empire called them. But from the perspective of the Salaman people, who had their own established civilization, they were the true Imperials.

In other words, Ricardt, who was from the Empire, was at best a foreigner, and at worst, a barbarian.

Ricardt felt strange, as he had never expected to be treated like a barbarian. It wasn’t exactly offensive, more like a refreshing shock. So this is how it could be.

No, from the beginning, wasn’t he about to be sold as a slave? The whole situation felt extremely unfamiliar.

“But judging by his eyes, it seems he’s not tamed yet.”

“Ah... hahaha, but isn’t there a unique pleasure in taming them?”

“I agree. I used to know that pleasure too, but now it’s just a hassle.”

The customer merely looked over them, gently waved the stick with the fur tip, and walked away.

The slave trader stared after him for a moment, then muttered,

“Stupid nouveau riche bastard. Tch.”

And then he took it out on Ricardt and Hashim. He banged on the cage with a club. It wasn’t direct physical harm, but it was unpleasant in a subtle way.

“Hey, you bastards, having fun or what? What’s with all the chatting, huh?”

Ricardt and Hashim said nothing and simply looked at him calmly. There was not a trace of fear on their faces.

“When a customer comes, you should at least act sweet or stand up and show off your strength. If you don’t get sold quickly, you’re the ones who’ll suffer. Got it?”

The slave trader went on with a lecture that wasn’t really a lecture for quite a while, then returned to his seat and started spooning up some porridge-like food.

“Getting a good master is a blessing.”

Hashim said. At those words, Ricardt couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Not long ago, I sold a horse and wished it a good master. Now that I’m in the same situation, I think I can understand how animals feel. By the way, Hashim, have you ever served a master before?”

“I once taught a young noble girl. Not all slaves are worked to death in mines or sold as sex slaves. I was treated fairly well.”

“So even among slaves, there are different types. But didn’t you say that whether it’s the outside world or here, it’s all the same prison?”

“And?”

“Well, whether you’re treated well or not, a slave is still a slave. The saddest thing about being a slave is that your fate doesn’t belong to you, right?”

“Well said. By the way, are you a warrior or a scholar? Judging by that burning sword, I’d say you’re definitely one of the Jihadra.”

“Jihadra?”

“Hmm… what do your people call it again? Blade Master? Sword Master? But a more accurate term would be Holy Warrior.”

So it seemed that among the Salaman people, they had something like Sword Masters too. But something about what Hashim said grated on Ricardt’s ears.

“‘More accurate’? That sounds like you’re saying we’re wrong.”

“Hmm… as far as I know, ours came first? But that kind of thing doesn’t really matter. In the old days, both Franken people and Salaman people were part of the same Empire. That’s where it all originated from.”

“You mean the Ancient Empire?”

“You people really have such dry names for everything.”

“You folks call it something else?”

“No, we also just call it the Old Empire. An empire’s an empire, it had no name.”

What the hell. To Ricardt, Hashim seemed incredibly wise, and yet oddly careless at the same time.

Anyway, despite the slave trader's warning, the two of them kept chatting without a care. It was as if they didn’t even realize their current situation.

However, next to the cage Ricardt was locked in, there were a series of other cages, and one of the people in the next one spoke up.

“Excuse me, aren’t you two worried at all?”

Ricardt had been deep in conversation with Hashim when he turned to look at him. The man was well-built, and although he wasn’t blond, he seemed to be a Franken man like Ricardt.

“What do you mean by worry?”

“You’ve got a handsome face, so if you're lucky, you might be sold as a sex slave. But if not, you could end up getting whipped until the day you die. Aren’t you afraid of that?”

Being sold as a sex slave was considered lucky? That was hard to accept, but everyone had their own way of thinking.

“Sorry, but I’m not a slave.”

At that, the man in the next cage burst into loud laughter.

“Hahaha! That’s not for you to decide. Looks like you still haven’t been broken in yet.”

“Being broken in isn’t exactly something to be proud of, is it?”

“Well, true, but it does help ease the pain. Giving up early and accepting your fate is better for your own sake.”

“I doubt it, but if I find a reason to, I’ll consider it.”

Seeing Ricardt still refusing to accept reality, the man sneered.

“You’re an amusing one. But you’ll change your mind when the whipping starts. Here, take a look.”

As if showing off, the man turned around and lifted his shirt. His back was covered in fresh whip marks, the skin torn and healing in brutal patches, it was a gruesome sight.

But Ricardt and Hashim just blankly stared at his back.

Just then, another customer came to look at Ricardt. This time it was a noblewoman.

She wore silk draped over her head and had her nose and mouth covered with soft fabric. Her brown skin and dark eye makeup gave her a striking, exotic allure.

The slave trader, who had been gnawing on a large, meatless bone like a dog, quickly grovelled and approached the noblewoman.

“If I may speak about that one over there…”

But before he could begin his sales pitch, the noblewoman raised her hand to stop him. She merely pointed at Ricardt and motioned with her finger.

Ricardt ignored her. He simply sat back against the wall, quietly gazing at her. Then the slave trader banged on the cage with his club.

“What are you doing? Get up and come closer.”

With a soft sigh, Ricardt stood up, his heavy, shackled hands dangling down. He walked over to the noblewoman.

Standing in front of her with the cage between them, there was nearly a head's height difference. His shoulders seemed at least twice as wide as hers.

She spoke to Ricardt directly.

“Do you desire anything?”

“No. At least, not from you.”

“It’s best not to bluff. It makes you less appealing.”

“I don’t need to appear appealing to you. Can I go back and sit now?”

“Depending on what you do, I could grant you freedom.”

“I’m already free.”

At Ricardt’s reply, the noblewoman let out a short, breathy laugh and shook her head in disbelief.

“I thought you were a wild stallion, but you’re just a fool.”

But at her words, Ricardt snorted in amusement. He activated his strength, clenched his arms with force, and broke the shackles through sheer strength.

Pakang!

With a crisp snap, the shackles shattered. The noblewoman, the slave trader, and even the neighboring captives all flinched in shock. Only Hashim watched calmly, without reaction.

Ricardt grabbed the cage bars and bent them aside like sugar sticks. He stepped out and stood in front of the noblewoman. There was nothing between them now.

Like a lion thought to be caged suddenly leaping out, the noblewoman began to tremble like a leaf.

Fortunately, that lion wasn’t hungry for blood just yet.

“Do I still look like a fool to you?”

“......”

Whether from fear or something else, her eyes trembled as she looked up at Ricardt. He walked barefoot to the table as if nothing had happened.

There, he used the slave trader’s key to remove the rest of the cumbersome shackles, retrieved his sword, stuffed the reliquary box into his backpack, then walked up to the slave trader and held out his hand.

“Give it. The bracelet.”

The slave trader, shaking, reluctantly took off the gold bracelet. Ricardt snatched it from him and strapped it to his own wrist.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he said to Hashim,

“Let’s go.”

“I don’t know if we should, though. Feels a bit like thievery, doesn’t it?”

A slave is a kind of commodity, and so just walking out seemed unfamiliar to Hashim. Nevertheless, he too stepped out of the cage, and Ricardt unlocked his shackles with the key.

Ricardt then tossed the key toward the man in the next cage, the one who had earlier told him to face reality. There was a clinking sound.

“Whether you’re a slave or not, that’s for you to decide.”

With those words, Ricardt walked off barefoot with heavy steps.

The man blankly stared down at the key, then looked up at the slave trader. The slave trader wasn’t threatening him, nor was he scowling, he just had a dumbfounded expression on his face.

The man turned his head to look at Ricardt as he walked away. Soon, Ricardt disappeared into the crowd.

He looked back down at the key. A flood of thoughts rushed through his mind. If I leave…? If I leave, what would I even do with my life? It all just felt overwhelming.

So instead, he picked up the key, didn’t unlock his shackles, and quietly stuck his hand out of the cage.

In the end, what had made him a slave was not the cage, nor the shackles, but his own sense of self.

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