Chapter 116

Clang! Clang!

“Something seems off about the way the world’s been turning lately.”

Somewhere on the continent, at a mine.

In that place, where sharp metallic sounds were echoing chaotically, a bearded man, the mine supervisor, let out a string of complaints.

This kind of ordinary complaint about the state of the world is something anyone could say. However, the thin man across from him nodded in agreement.

“Everyone thinks the same thing.”

It started roughly a year ago.

Mysterious phenomena began happening all over the continent.

A baron’s daughter, freed from slavery, went missing.

The Death God appeared and slaughtered innocents.

The vacant position of Top Master of the Magic Tower was suddenly filled.

A meteor struck, eradicating an entire caravan.

Elves left their forests and began engaging in business.

If it were just one of these things, it would be understandable, but over the last year, so many incidents shook the continent, making it hard not to be nervous.

“Is that all? Recently, in the Suin Kingdom, a large number of monsters invaded, right?”

“Right after that, a pitch-black curtain completely enveloped the city. It was so big it was even visible from here. That says it all.”

The nearby kingdoms were in an uproar.

It seemed like a terrorist attack had erupted in Vestia.

“Thankfully, there was no harm done. But that’s weirder, isn’t it? The people inside apparently don’t remember a thing. Did a Great Mage cast some sort of spell?”

The thin man shook his head.

“They say it was the work of a Gumiho.”

“A Gumiho?”

“It’s one of the monsters called Yokai in the East.”

Back in the distant past, when magic was the exclusive domain of a few Witches, a Gumiho was revered as the king and god of Yokai in the East. Recently, one such creature has appeared.

It’s said that wherever the Gumiho goes, only destruction follows, leaving behind nothing but dust.

The bearded man sighed, waving his hand.

“Ah, this is surely the end of times. These are clearly signs that the world is about to end.”

“It’s not over yet.”

“More?”

“Someone analyzed it—it seems that all these mysterious phenomena have a common link.”

A heavy atmosphere surrounded the thin man as he spoke. His expression was so dark, it even made the bearded man swallow nervously.

“W-well, what is it?”

“The Slave Reaper. This man has been connected to every incident.”

“Slave Reaper?”

The name rang a bell.

A slave merchant who paradoxically doesn’t sell slaves—only buys them.

Slaves that pass through his hands vanish without a trace within a short period. When asked where they go, he merely looks to the sky and repeats that he sent them to a “good place.”

“Hmm… What was that word he always used…?”

“Release?”

“Ah, yes, ‘release.'”

“Release.”

The word itself carries a positive connotation.

But for a slave merchant to use it, there is perhaps no more ironic term.

To make matters worse, who would have thought a person making profit off buying and selling humans would talk about “release”?

People quickly figured out what it really meant: the amusing practice of buying slaves and gruesomely murdering them.

And what’s worse, he targets only women.

The epitome of cruelty among slave merchants.

“So, shouldn’t we capture him and punish him? Why let him walk free?”

The strange phenomena always involve the Slave Reaper. It seems he’s causing them.

Though this is quite an unrealistic assumption.

Sure, the title “Slave Reaper” is grand, but in reality, he’s just a regular human with some twisted desires. It’s all just coincidence; he can’t possibly be responsible for all these incidents.

But specific details don’t matter.

Even if there’s only suspicion, that’s enough. You know how those important people are—they can’t let a thorn in their side go unattended.

“What do you know? He may be bad to us, but some nobles actually like him. There’s apparently some sort of connection between him and other strange individuals.”

“Truly, the end of times.”

The bearded man sighed deeply, as if the ground itself was about to collapse.

Then suddenly, he noticed something odd and snapped his head around.

A Dwarf slave was not swinging his pickaxe.

The sound had changed at some point.

“There! You! Slacking off, are you?”

“N-No sir!”

The startled Dwarf girl immediately started swinging her pickaxe frantically.

Clang! Clang!

The sharp metallic sound pierced the eardrums.

Thick sweat dripped down her face.

The girl’s name is Perka.

She has been in the mine for about six months.

Perka misses home.

***

Dwarf girl Perka.

For Perka, the mine was familiar territory.

Most Dwarves of the continent have made their home in the underground city of Doomheim, and Perka’s hometown was Doomheim too.

Just as water and fish share an inseparable relationship, Dwarves and mines are bound together. Minerals are their bones, and veins of ore are their blood.

This underground mine felt somewhat similar to Perka’s hometown, but it was certainly no comfort.

Even Dwarves don’t stay buried underground all day; they sometimes come to the surface to bask in sunlight. They may enjoy mining but they don’t skip meals for it.

No Dwarf does.

“…Is there one?”

Seems like there are more than expected.

But that aside, for Perka, this place was not the comfortable underground city she knew. It was a terrible Tartarus.

Even though Perka grew up surrounded by metals, mining was her hobby. But when a hobby turns into forced labor, the excitement dissipates quickly.

Similarly now.

On her wrists and ankles were shackles.

In her hands, a cheap pickaxe.

Her clothes, soiled, reeking because they’ve never been washed.

For meals, she gets rock-hard bread and soup that’s barely different from water.

This was the typical life of a slave, but for Perka, it wasn’t. She was the daughter of a Meister, one of only seven in Doomheim. In her own way, she was a young lady.

Though, she was more of a tomboy with a sharp tongue, often being told she was like a boy.

Still, she led a life doing what she wanted, even if it didn’t amount to much in terms of treatment.

“My dad… I miss him…”

He must be worried sick by now.

If only she had listened earlier, this wouldn’t have happened.

The fear of never seeing her father again and being trapped here for the rest of her life overwhelmed her. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Hmph…”

Perka sniffled.

The commotion in the mine began around that time.

“Isn’t that right? Why pick on Dwarves out of all the slaves? You know better than anyone how efficient Dwarves are at mining!”

“What can I do about it? I only follow orders. If I’m told to bring them in, I have to.”

“Ah… Without her, it’ll be hard to meet our quota.”

The thin mine supervisor, who had been talking to his superior, sighed and scratched his head, then began walking towards Perka.

In his hand was a disturbing red whip.

When slaves slacked off or stopped mining, lashes often followed with this whip.

Originally brown, rumor has it the whip turned red from the blood of slaves.

The supervisor approached Perka, making her shoulders tremble involuntarily. She didn’t even have time to wipe her tears, hastily swinging her pickaxe again.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

But the supervisor kept coming and eventually stopped behind her. Perka shut her eyes tightly.

“Hey, Dwarf.”

“Y-yes, yes!”

“Is your name Perka?”

“Y-yes, that’s right!”

“Put down the pickaxe and come with me.”

The thin man turned and started walking away. Perka hesitated for a moment, unsure what was happening, then hurriedly followed after placing the pickaxe down.

‘W-What’s going on?’

A mine supervisor calling a slave usually meant one of two things:

One — Disobedient slaves are locked in solitary confinement. The cells are cramped, barely enough to sit in, and food is withheld until the slave becomes half-dead.

Two — The slave has become too weak for mining and is sold elsewhere. Women are usually sold to brothels, while men are sold as expendable shields for battlefields or monster-hunting.

“Tch. Poor kid. And she has to go there too…”

The thin supervisor muttered under his breath as he walked ahead.

A man who vented his frustrations by whipping slaves at every chance suddenly expressing pity meant something dire…

“Somewhere worse than a brothel?!”

Perka went pale!

Trembling with fear, she followed the supervisor until they reached an office located within the mine used by staff or when important guests visited.

The man opened the door.

“Go inside.”

Perka was terrified.

Would this man personally open the door for her?

His gaze reminded her of an oxen mother watching her calf being dragged to the slaughterhouse.

“Go inside quickly. A precious guest is waiting.”

She didn’t want to go in. Step by painful step, Perka reluctantly entered the room.

Inside were a high-ranking female supervisor, who occasionally visited to oversee the mine operations, and a handsome man Perka had never seen before.

Jet-black hair, pitch-black eyes.

A pristine appearance that stood out starkly from the dirty mine.

Sitting with legs crossed, lazily sipping coffee — a sight you’d never see from the Dwarven race.

“Could you confirm for me, please? Is this Dwarf girl the Perka the sir mentioned?”

“Why don’t I see… Oh, that’s her. Matches what I remember perfectly. Here’s the previously agreed payment.”

The man placed a pouch on the table.

The jingling sound indicated coins inside.

The female supervisor picked up the pouch on cue, checked the contents, then nodded.

“The amount matches what was promised. I’ll transfer ownership of the slave to you.”

The female employee handed over the ownership to the man.

Perka felt a sudden constriction, a feeling hard to describe but akin to her soul being pressured. It was not a pleasant sensation.

Thud.

The man set down his coffee mug, rising from his seat.

“It seems we’re done. Let’s go, Miss Perka.”

By the time Perka came to her senses, they were already outside.

Perka held her hands up to shade her eyes as she gazed at the sky. The sunlight, unseen for half a year, was strikingly bright. Though warm when she came in, an icy breeze hinted at winter’s approach.

‘Is this… real?’

Could it be this easy to leave?

She had only ever dreamed of leaving. She thought she’d have to become a fossil, stuck forever in the mine, to ever experience freedom.

It was hard to believe.

All thanks to a mysterious man who bought her.

He was looking at a map.

Who was he?

What kind of person was this who freed her from the dark confines of the mine?

Unable to suppress her curiosity, Perka carefully asked:

“Excuse me…?”

“Yes, is there something?”

“You’ve saved my life, but I don’t even know your name. Do you mind if I ask what you do?”

“Ah, my apologies for forgetting to introduce myself earlier. Please excuse me.”

The man smiled gently and apologized.

How peculiar.

A person who courteously respects a slave and even apologizes for such small oversights!

‘Could he be some kind of sage?’

He’s not just kind.

Perka’s heart swelled with hope.

Could this man possibly take her back to her hometown?

Her hopes melted like molten metal, however, with the man’s next words.

“My name is Carami. I’m a slave merchant. Or, as some call me, the Slave Reaper.”

“Eh?”

What did he just say?

A Slave… Reaper?

With an easygoing smile, Carami continued.

“Our time together won’t last long, but let’s make the best of it. Soon, I’ll send you off to a deep, underground place.”

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