Chapter 16 – Slaves
George wanted to ask the adventurers for directions, but Jima stopped him, simply to avoid exposure.
She suggested following behind the main group of adventurers to find the nearest tavern and settlement, and this was agreed upon.
Now there were more adventurers in the woods than goblins. The two easily found a large group of adventurers who left in pairs, keeping a safe distance to avoid being discovered.
Some were talking among themselves:
“Why is that Bucket Helmet Knight Bartol following us?”
“Could it be he’s unhappy because he wasted today’s words and wants to see some blood?”
“Don’t scare people unnecessarily; he’s not a psycho.”
“Tsk, didn’t you hear he was punished by the gods for excessive killing? His nature doesn’t change. Besides, Bartol’s traveling knights are all those who don’t care for their lives.”
“I’ll go and test the waters; guessing is pointless.”
One adventurer turned around and walked toward Jima and George. He spread his arms wide, smiled kindly, and stopped ten steps away, asking:
“Good morning, you two. As a native of this land, I have the duty to show you the hospitality of Shalin City. I apologize for what just happened. May I have the honor of introducing you to Shalin City?”
Jima felt the man’s overly courteous demeanor indicated trouble. Furthermore, George would need to find a secluded spot to summon his mount, and having someone follow them would easily expose them.
George glanced at Jima, who understood and stepped forward. To play the role of a noble’s servant well, she didn’t hide her disdain for the lowly, raising her chin slightly and saying:
“You don’t have to trouble yourself. My master is in a bad mood and prefers solitude to avoid unnecessary conversations, saving precious words.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Jima noticed George nodding. For some reason, the smile on the man’s face instantly froze, and after a few more polite words, he broke out in a cold sweat and quickly turned to leave.
“Maybe he’s just a coward,” Jima shrugged at George.
Soon, the large group of adventurers became lively. Many suddenly remembered they had a bunch of goblin corpses yet to search. Their swords still needed sharpening. They had previously promised to meet their client.
Strangely enough, they loudly declared their reasons for leaving. The large group of adventurers disbanded, splitting into teams and heading off in all directions.
“How strange, almost all lies,” George murmured.
Jima smiled and pointed at a group of adventurers saying they were going back to the tavern to take care of the landlady. “Let’s follow them.”
The adventurers being followed quickly huddled closer to other adventuring parties. But many suddenly broke into a run, shouting, “Ah, we’re out of time!”
In just a few minutes, almost all the adventurers had disappeared.
The woods were quiet, and dawn was breaking. The early birds flew in the treetops.
It was a good place for killing and burying bodies.
The adventurers hurriedly made their way, taking a shortcut. After just an hour, Jima and George exited the woods, seeing a large campsite made of tents and simple wooden houses next to the forest. The adventurers blended into the busy camp and vanished without a trace.
In the early morning, enthusiastic vendors began to set up stalls. Diligent overseers woke up early, brandishing whips to kick the slaves awake from the straw piles.
Two stout horses pulled a cart along the rugged dirt road. The slaves trudged barefoot through the filthy mud mixed with dung, heading to load goods. A few slaves pleaded with the overseer for something to eat and received lashes to fill their stomachs.
Jima stared at a puddle on the ground, carefully stepping over it, only to bump into George’s back. She knocked her forehead against his armor. When she looked up, she realized George had stopped, staring at the slaves with an intense focus.
Jima quickly tugged at his cloak, whispering, “George?”
“Jima, do you have confidence in using lies to help me rescue these slaves?”
“None.”
Jima replied firmly, fearing that George, the virgin saint, might impulsively seek to rescue the slaves right there.
George remained silent, while Jima worried. After all, their treasure stash was surrounded by a bunch of adventurer rats, and the virgin shouldn’t get into trouble.
The ragged slaves passed by in front of them. At that moment, a skinny slave stopped, clasped his hands together, and pleaded:
“Master, please have mercy on me, do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.”
George turned his head, unbuckled the backpack behind Jima, and rummaged for food. The skinny slave hunched over, eyes wide with anticipation.
Jima sighed in relief; George still had his wits about him.
George pulled out several large pieces of beef jerky wrapped in paper and handed them to the slave, saying, “Sir, share with others.”
The slave extended his bony hands, tightly grasping the jerky. “Thank you, thank—”
“Crack!”
A whip landed on his shoulder, and the jerky fell into the filthy puddle in front of Jima, splattering a few drops of mud on her hem.
The skinny slave immediately bent down, not to save the jerky but to kneel before the overseer, pleading, “Please, have mercy on me.”
The overseer was a gaunt man with a horse-like face and puffy eye bags, his thin visage emblazoned with malice. He apparently had a bad day and was seething with pent-up anger. He shouted at the slave, “Don’t slack off! You can’t stop without my permission, nor can you speak.”
“But—”
“Crack!”
The horse-faced overseer harshly struck the slave’s back with the whip, raising a cloud of dust. “Second warning!”
The slave shut his mouth tightly, not daring to make a sound, scrambling back into the line, but he couldn’t help glancing back at the puddle, eyes filled with hunger.
The horse-faced overseer cast a sidelong glance at George, assessing him from head to toe, noticing his armor, and stifled the urge to curse. He turned away, muttering, “Mind your own business.”
After saying that, the overseer snorted coldly and walked away.
George’s hand reached toward Jima, gripping tightly onto the hilt of the great sword she carried.
Jima quickly pressed her hand on the cold sword handle, looking at George. She could feel his anger radiating from beneath the bucket helmet, which seemed overwhelmingly frightening.
Jima internally screamed, “We’re in trouble.”
Why were these lowly creatures so reckless? The holy paladins were so stubborn; how could they endure such provocations?
Especially this guy, George. Just because he had taken on thirty unique maids, he thought it was fine to march deep into the demon realm and stab himself in the chest?
His brain was both foolish and stubborn. Wouldn’t he just get enraged and “correct evil and promote good” in a fit of rage, spilling blood, attracting trouble, revealing his identity, failing the mission, and returning to the citadel in disgrace? In the end, their treasure would fall into the hands of the righteous.
She racked her brain, trying to think of how to defuse the situation but had no ideas.
George released the sword hilt, clenched his fist, and quickly caught up to the horse-faced overseer, swinging his fist toward him.
Jima’s mind went blank, unsure of what to do.
“Smack.”
George’s hand landed on the horse-faced overseer’s shoulder.
The overseer felt like he was going to be knocked apart; his shoulder burned with pain as he turned around, furious. But upon seeing George was taller than him, his anger diminished somewhat, and he asked, “What do you want?”
Nearby, a raucous adventurer shouted, “Bartol’s traveling knight wants to be a hero.”
The overseer’s expression changed as he said, “Private property is sacred and inviolable. Are you going to violate the three laws of Shalin City? You’ll be hunted by the army.”
Jima couldn’t help but say, “Doesn’t that highlight my master’s bravery?”
“You interrupted my moral education of the servant, understand?” George’s voice came from behind the bucket helmet, heavy yet undeniably persuasive.
Only then did the overseer glance at Jima and, seeing her beauty, suddenly realized she was no ordinary servant.
She must also be responsible for ensuring her master’s blankets weren’t too cold at night.
Since he realized they weren’t there for the slaves, the law wouldn’t support him. A duel would be enough for him to handle.
He replied, “Understood.”
George had unknowingly produced a gold coin, saying, “I’m willing to continue moral education. You look like you need to replenish your meat supplies.”
The golden sheen of the coin warmed the horse-faced overseer’s heart, and the sorrow of his miserable gambling loss the night before vanished without a trace. He smiled, “I’m more than happy to serve you, sir.”
He took the coin tightly in his hand, turned to call the slaves, shouting, “Hey, the one just now. The master is merciful, come back to get your beef jerky.”
Before long, the earlier skinny slave ran back, digging the soaked beef jerky from the muddy puddle. He bowed to George, thanking him: “Thank you, sir, thank you for your kindness, thank you, miss.”
Then, clutching the jerky, he returned to the line.
The horse-faced overseer displayed a toothy grin, saying, “How’s the moral education?”
“Very good.”
George nodded, leading Jima away, leaving the camp behind. Walking on the dirt road through the wilderness, there were just the two of them, with a village surrounded by wheat fields not far away.
Jima sighed in relief but felt that George’s handling of the situation was a bit too meek. If it were her, she would have long since smashed that uncouth lout’s brains out in a duel.
She said, “I thought for sure you were going to shout slogans in the name of the God of Dawn and rescue the slaves.”
“There was a moment I considered it, but then I thought of you.”
Tsk, quite clever. After all, with the slave contracts on me, it lowers your levels of competence.
George continued, “Don’t bear any psychological burden. I’m just not powerful enough to do greater good; I can only make sacrifices.”
“Uh, honestly, I was just worried you might get impulsive and mess up the task. I didn’t care about the slaves at all.”
“What do you think of the overseer?”
“He deserves to die.”
“Why?”
“He’s just a lowly fish; how dare he act tough in front of a knight clad in full armor? He deserves to die.” Jima felt nothing but disdain for the lowly scum that got in her way.
George fell silent for a moment before saying thoughtfully, “Your moral education is still lacking.”
Jima felt a headache coming on, fearing that George might assign “homework” next. She hurriedly shifted the topic:
“By the way, you could have used the duel as an excuse to teach him a lesson. Why did you end up giving him money? I bet he’ll be mocking you behind your back.”
“Because if I did, he would take his anger out on the innocent slaves.”
How ridiculous; who would want to be a paladin? It truly is a eunuch profession.
Jima smirked and said, “I get it.”
“Jima, the road to self-redemption is long; you must consider others more.”
“Uh-huh.”
Fortunately, George’s lecture only consisted of one line, and he didn’t assign any homework. Unfortunately, Jima’s stomach churned, reminding her that she was hungry.
Whether driven by biological wants or the need to grow stronger, Jima needed passion. She had to utilize her abilities more to meet leveling demands and become stronger.
Even becoming a powerful meat. tool was a thousand times better than being a lowly fish.
Jima stealthily glanced at George, licking her lips and contemplating her meat-selling plan.
