The Freed S*aves Became Obsessed

Chapter 27

Karamir was far from being a sane man, no matter how you looked at him.

Even with a knife pressed to his throat, he didn’t seem to sense the danger and just kept laughing. Normally, someone like this would have had their carotid artery severed and left to bleed out on the street.

If it hadn’t been for what came out of his mouth about Victor’s granddaughter.

Victor’s granddaughter, Emily.

Emily was born weak, needing constant care, and it was Victor who took on the role of caregiver. Despite being the leader of the organization, he was already at an age where he was thinking of retirement.

On the day the organization was destroyed, Victor had survived only because he stayed back to care for Emily. Emily’s parents had died along with the other members on that fateful day.

Unable to bear losing the last of his family, Victor hid his identity and settled in Noktar. The problem was that no matter how many doctors or priests he summoned, or how much money he spent on medicine, Emily’s condition never improved.

In that situation, the words Karamir spoke were enough to strip away all of Victor's nerves. So much so that even when Karamir stole his dagger and stabbed him, Victor couldn’t react.

“How in the world do you know...?”

The fact that Emily had a terminal illness was something only Victor knew. Ever since her parents had died.

“I believe I already mentioned who I am. But in the end, what really matters is the main point, right? Are you going to kill me and let your granddaughter die? Or will you grant my request and save her life?”

A proposal with absolutely no trust.

It was not rational to accept it. Victor knew this in his head, but he was already at the edge of a cliff. Even in moments like this, Emily was still dying.

He couldn’t bear to lose Emily too. He couldn’t even consider torturing Karamir. His heart wasn’t cruel enough to gamble on his granddaughter’s life like that.

“You’d better cure her. If you fail to keep your word, I’ll make sure your skinny body becomes a pincushion for daggers.”

‘I didn’t think he would actually cure her.’

To Victor’s astonishment, Karamir kept his word. He boiled some water with a stone he had never seen before and fed it to Emily. Miraculously, she was healed.

Even the blessing of priests couldn’t cure her, yet here she was, cured with nothing more than a stone.

“How did you know about Emily’s illness? Even the best doctors couldn’t figure out what it was.”

“That’s a trade secret.”

Of course, there was only one way he knew.

Victor was a major character in the game, one that could be used as an ally rather than a slave. If you placed him in the assistant manager slot at the store, it would increase operational efficiency.

Now that Karamir wasn’t playing the tycoon game, helping Victor seemed pointless, but that wasn’t entirely true.

Victor was the master of an assassin guild. Victor the Shadow Duke.

Karamir began to think. He planned to use Victor as an offensive card. Without combat slaves, Victor would be a very useful asset.

‘Of course, there’s a moral dilemma.’

Was it ethically right to side with someone who had killed people?

But there wasn’t really room for debate. After all, Karamir himself was a slave trader.

‘But I’m a good slave trader.’

A slave trader and an assassin. In a way, it was a fitting combination.

Of course, Karamir had his own reasons. He suddenly spoke up with a seemingly random phrase.

“When twilight falls, the Duke ceases to dance.”

“And why are you bringing that up now...?”

“......”

As Karamir silently stared at him, Victor sighed, exasperated but resigned, and played along.

The man who had saved his granddaughter, after all.

“But the shadow continues to dance.”

“In the rainy night, where does the Duke go?”

“To where the darkness is. To where there is no moonlight...”

When Karamir heard this, he let out a gleeful “Ah~” and clapped.

A nerd’s dream! A man’s dream!

‘I’ve always wanted to try this call-and-response thing!’

It reminded him of other games. How thrilling it had been to see those moments that stirred the hearts of men.

“I heard, but honestly, I find it hard to believe. I once took on a job involving an elf, and they’re not the kind of opponents mercenaries can handle.”

Karamir nodded in agreement.

“But there must be some elves, right? Ones who can’t properly use a bow or summon spirits?”

“Well, I suppose that’s possible.”

“Maybe an alcoholic elf who didn’t even notice the enemy invading because they were passed out drunk.”

“I-I guess that could happen...”

“Or maybe one with no companions, a complete loser.”

“That seems less likely...”

Karamir grinned.

“The world is vast, and there are as many strange people as there are grains of sand.”

And there was an elf here.

One who couldn’t handle a bow, couldn’t summon spirits like everyone else, and had been exiled from her kin, cast out of the great forest.

An alcoholic, who, after drinking all day, had passed out in the bushes and was captured.

“Why does this always happen to me...?”

In a small makeshift prison between Noktar and the great forest, Arpia the elf sobbed quietly. She had finally found a moment of peace, only to wake up behind bars.

All around her, rough-looking mercenaries drank and ogled her like she was a spectacle.

‘What’s going to happen to me now...?’

She had learned as a child that humans kidnapped elves to make them slaves. The moment you were captured, your life was over. Many elves had spent centuries enduring hardship before dying miserably.

Arpia now faced that same fate.

Grief poured over her like rain. Fear spread like mist.

Her emotions synchronized with malicious forces, which began to surge violently. Arpia clutched her chest, overcome by the pain.

It hurt. It hurt so much. She couldn’t bear it.

Grabbing onto the bars, Arpia called out to a passing mercenary.

“H-hey... could you give me some alcohol? Just a little?”

“What?”

“I really need a drink... please.”

“What’s going on?”

Noticing the odd exchange, the mercenary captain approached.

“Boss, this elf is asking for alcohol.”

“What?”

The captain looked down at the elf. Arpia, pale-faced, forced a stiff smile as she made her request.

“No. We’ll be in the city by tomorrow. If you stink of booze, what will our client think? They’ll think we did something inappropriate.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“There really are strange elves, though. Getting captured because of their drinking problem, and then asking for more booze. Well, at least it made our job easier.”

Laughing, the mercenaries walked away. Arpia, watching them leave, slid down to the ground, her body collapsing like a dried-out leaf in winter.

“Ugh.”

Wracked with pain, Arpia clutched her chest as her consciousness began to fade.

‘.......’

In her blurry vision, she saw something.

A man with his hands behind his back was strolling into the camp.

“Make sure there are no witnesses left.”

The man muttered to himself.

Following his command, shadows cast by the torches rose into the air, dozens of daggers soaring up as if a duke was spreading his wings.

With that final impression, Arpia quietly closed her eyes.