Wyn, I, and two other slaves from our current residence, along with a few of the more established senior slaves, were led into the designated meeting room. We had been instructed to dress with the utmost care, ensuring our appearance reflected the high-end training we had received. We entered the room in a single, silent line, moving with the practiced grace that had been drilled into us for months. Once positioned, we performed an elegant, synchronized bow, our heads dipping to the exact angle required to show both humility and refinement.

  The customer was not what I had expected. Most of the men who came here were wealthy merchants in silk robes or aging nobles seeking a new ornament for their estates. This man, however, stood firmly in the center of the room, clad in functional steel plate armor. He wasn't sitting on the plush velvet chairs provided for guests; instead, he stood with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, and his arms crossed over his chest. His build was solid—perhaps a bit bulky at first glance, but I could see the underlying fitness and power of a warrior beneath the metal plates.

  What caught my eye immediately was the weapon strapped to his back. It was a long sword, its size almost imposing, but it was the craftsmanship that truly set it apart. The handle and the sheath were adorned with intricate, high-quality workmanship that whispered of wealth and status. It wasn't just a tool; it was an expensive, finely made instrument of war.

  The man had short, cropped black hair and a stern cast to his features. His face looked as though it had been weathered by harsh environments and difficult choices, giving him the air of someone who had seen more of the world than most. His dark brown eyes moved with a sharp, analytical precision, examining every little detail of our line. His skin was a light tan, suggesting a life spent under the sun rather than tucked away in a counting house.

  The slave trader remained silent for a long moment, allowing the man to complete his initial inspection before he began his pitch.

  “These are the products I mentioned to you, sir,” the trader said, his voice brimming with a greasy sort of pride. “You requested a female who is not only good-looking and obedient but also highly educated in both domestic management and, crucially, the Common language. As you can see, I have curated the best for you. Some among them even possess practical experience in combat. While a few have not technically completed the full six-month training period, they are only a couple of weeks away from the finish line. In truth, they have already mastered the curriculum ahead of schedule.”

  I felt a sharp prickle of unease when the merchant mentioned combat experience. My mind immediately went to Wyn. If this warrior was looking for a fighter, he would take her, and the fear of being separated from my sister surged through me like ice water.

  “...Good,” the customer said, his voice surprisingly leisurely despite his stern appearance. “I don’t know any other language besides Common. For my purposes, it is a non-negotiable requirement.”

  “Of course, sir. Let me introduce them properly,” the trader replied.

  He began to move down the line, advertising us as if we were nothing more than furniture or fine livestock. When he reached us, he stated our prices without a hint of hesitation: 61 gold coins for Wyn and 65 gold coins for me. Every time someone assigned a numerical value to my existence, it felt like a fresh wound, though the months in the compound had dulled the initial sting.

  The customer was decisive. He didn't linger on the girls who didn't fit his specific criteria, eliminating them one by one with a simple gesture. Soon, only four of us remained: Wyn, I, another girl who had joined our cohort at the same time, and one of the seniors.

  “So, you have combat experience, do you?” he asked, looking directly at Wyn.

  I startled. It was the first time he had addressed any of us directly rather than speaking through the merchant. My anxiety spiked. I was almost certain now that he would buy Wyn for her skills, leaving me to wait for the next, likely much more predatory, buyer.

  “Huh!?... Oh, y-yes, sir,” Wyn stammered. She was clearly caught off guard by the direct question, but she managed to find her voice, her training kicking in. “I used to participate in the village hunts where I was born. I’m used to the forest and the spear.”

  “Hmm... It’s no wonder you possess the Beast Warrior job,” he mused, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he could see beneath her skin. “You two are sisters, aren’t you? Tell me... what would you think if I were to only buy one of you?”

  The question was a direct blow. Wyn’s ears twitched nervously, and she looked down at the floor, her voice becoming timid. “I... I would be quite sad, sir. But I am a slave. If that is what you wish, I have no say in the matter.”

  The man hummed, shifting his weight. “Hmm... Hey!” He turned his attention back to the merchant. “You said the fighter is 61 gold, and the sister is 65, right? I can see why the second one is priced higher. So, what do you say to 110 gold coins for the pair?”

  He loosened his crossed arms, resting his right hand on his chin in thought. He glanced at me again, his gaze evaluative, lingering for a moment on my chest. Strangely, unlike the way I felt when the other merchants peered at me, I didn't feel a sense of disgust. His look felt less like a lecher and more like a buyer checking the quality of a fine silk.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  My heart began to hammer against my ribs. 110 gold was a massive sum, but it was less than our combined asking price. If the merchant agreed, we wouldn't have to say goodbye. I didn't dare look at Wyn—I couldn't risk a single breach of etiquette that might ruin this chance—but I could feel her excitement radiating from where she stood beside me.

  “It is wonderful to see you interested in two of our best products, sir, especially when you came intending to buy only one,” the slave merchant said, his tone dipping into a smooth, practiced politeness. “It is a testament to the quality of our training. However, I must apologize. 110 gold coins is simply too low a figure. Their combined value is 126 gold coins. As a gesture of goodwill for your first purchase at this establishment, I can offer them to you for 120 gold coins.”

  A heavy sense of disappointment crashed over me. What if he refuses? I thought desperately. What if ten gold coins are the difference between a life together and a life apart?

  The customer didn't seem deterred. “Hmm... Can’t you offer a more substantial discount?” he asked, a hint of mischief touching his voice. “I’m taking both of them off your hands at once, and they clearly have a strong desire to stay together. What do you say to 115 gold coins?”

  I held my breath. He seemed remarkably relaxed now, almost playful in his bargaining. It was a far cry from the cold, stern warrior who had first entered the room.

  “I am sorry, sir,” the merchant replied, maintaining his polite facade. “As you may know, I am recognized for the decent treatment of my slaves—especially my beastkin—which sets me apart from the other human merchants in the city. I have invested heavily in their health and education. At 115 gold, my profit margin practically vanishes. These two are premium products; I have no doubt I could sell them at full price before the week is out. I simply cannot go below 120 gold coins.”

  I knew he was right about the price. 120 gold coins were a staggering amount of money—enough to pay a free man's taxes for his entire life. The merchant was clearly holding firm because he knew the value of his "merchandise."

  “Hmm... Is that so?” the customer asked, suddenly switching topics. “Tell me, will they be coming with the maid uniforms they are wearing now?”

  The merchant looked confused. “No, sir. These uniforms are a special production used only for presentations in this shop. However, if you are interested, I can put you in contact with the tailor we use. I’m sure I could secure a discount for you.”

  “Come now, don't be so petty,” the man said with a chuckle. “Alright, I’ll agree to the 120 gold coins. But I want the outfits they’re wearing right now included in the deal. Look... don't give me that face. If I’m satisfied with their service, I intend to do a great deal more business with you in the future. Wouldn't that be a better deal in the long run?”

  The merchant looked genuinely displeased for a moment, his eyes darting between the customer and us. He was clearly weighing the immediate loss of the custom-made uniforms against the promise of future high-end sales.

  “...Sigh. Very well,” the merchant eventually agreed, sounding a bit dumbfounded. “You are a difficult man to bargain with, sir. Giving you the uniforms is practically the same as accepting 115 gold, but I will take you at your word regarding future business. I look forward to your return.”

  Joy, pure and overwhelming, flooded through me. I couldn't help it—I broke my posture and turned toward Wyn. Her face was a mask of pure surprise, her eyes wide as she processed the fact that we had been saved from separation.

  I could read her heart in that moment. We had both been so prepared for the worst that this felt like a genuine miracle. Wyn was smiling blissfully, even as tears began to spill from her eyes. It was a heartbreaking sight—to be so happy about being sold as a slave. It was a testament to how desperate our lives had become that this was our greatest victory.

  “Here is the money,” the customer said, handing over a heavy purse.

  I watched the transaction. The merchant was receiving 120 gold coins for us today. I remembered that he had only paid my father 40 gold for both of us. Even taking into account our food and the trainers, his profit was massive.

  “Thank you, sir,” the merchant said, his energy returning now that the coins were in his hand. “I am delighted with this deal. The only thing remaining is the formal transfer of ownership. If you would be so kind as to wait a moment while the paperwork and the ritual are prepared? Please, allow me to offer you some tea.”

  The merchant dismissed the other two slaves and ordered us to stand behind our new master, telling us it was time to get used to our new positions. We moved silently, taking our places behind the couch where the man sat.

  While they chattered about minor city affairs over their tea, I stared at the back of our new master’s head. He had bought us both. He had fought for a discount but had ultimately paid the full price just to keep us together. For the first time in five months, the suffocating weight of my fear felt lighter.

  Eventually, a servant returned to announce that everything was ready. We were led back to the same room where we had been branded on our first day. The merchant performed the ritual, the magic of the slave tattoos shifting to recognize the new owner.

  “It is done, sir,” the merchant said, bowing low. “The transfer is complete. Is there anything else you require today?”

  “No, thank you,” our new master said nonchalantly. “I’m satisfied. As I said, I’ll come to you first when I’m in need of more help.”

  “Yes, sir! I congratulate you on your purchase. Have a good day.”

  And just like that, the door to the slave compound closed behind us. We followed our master out into the streets of Yargan, taking the first steps of a new life.

  Note: Wyn is a level 6 beast warrior

  Woya is a level 4 villager

  [Edited]