Chapter 16: Slaves

George, in his infinite wisdom, wanted to ask the adventurers for directions. Gima, possessing an actual brain (more or less), immediately stopped him. The reason was simple: to avoid blowing their cover completely.

She suggested, with the patience of a saint, that they simply follow the main group of adventurers from a safe distance to find the nearest tavern and settlement. Her brilliant suggestion was, after some consideration, adopted.

There were now more adventurers in the forest than goblins, a testament to the allure of her lost treasure. The two of them easily found a large group leaving together. To avoid being discovered, they kept a respectable distance, trailing behind them like a pair of very conspicuous shadows.

Soon, they could hear the adventurers muttering amongst themselves.

“Hey, why is that tight-lipped, bucket-helmed knight from Barto following us?”

“Could it be that he’s unhappy because he wasted all his words for the day, and now he wants to see some blood to cheer himself up?”

“Are you trying to scare me? He’s not a murderer… right?”

“Tsk, didn’t you hear the story? They say he was punished by the gods for killing too many people. A leopard can’t change its spots. Besides, everyone knows the errant knights of Barto are all fearless, battle-crazed maniacs.”

“I’ll go sound him out. It’s pointless to just stand around guessing.”

One of the adventurers turned and walked back, crunching on the dead leaves, heading straight towards Gima and George. With his hands held open to show he was unarmed and a friendly, if somewhat strained, smile on his face, he stopped ten steps away and asked:

“Good morning to you both! In a sense, as a native of this land, I feel it is my humble duty to show the renowned friendliness of Salem City to our esteemed guests from afar. I sincerely apologize for what happened earlier. Now, I wonder if I might have the profound honor of introducing you to the many splendors of Salem City.”

Gima felt that this overly polite and ridiculously solicitous behavior could only mean trouble. Besides, George still needed to find a secluded place to summon his celestial mount. With someone following them, it would be far too easy to be exposed.

George glanced at Gima. She understood the signal and stepped forward. To properly play the part of an arrogant nobleman’s lackey, she made no effort to hide her contempt for the rabble, lifting her chin slightly.

“You needn’t trouble yourself. My master is in a foul mood and prefers to be alone to avoid unnecessary conversation and save his precious, divinely-allotted words.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Gima saw George nod in confirmation. For some reason, the smile on the adventurer’s face froze solid. He offered a few more fawning pleasantries, his forehead beaded with a sudden cold sweat, then turned and quickly scurried away.

“He’s probably just a coward,” Gima said to George with a dismissive shrug.

Before long, the large group of adventurers ahead of them became lively. Many of them suddenly remembered that they had a pile of goblin corpses to loot. That their swords desperately needed sharpening. That they had promised to meet a client at a very specific, and now very immediate, time. Strangely, they all felt the need to announce their reasons for leaving out loud. In a flash, the large group of adventurers disintegrated, splitting into smaller teams that scattered in all directions like startled cockroaches.

“How strange. Almost all of them were lies,” George said in a low, puzzled voice.

Gima just smiled and pointed at a group of adventurers who claimed they were rushing back to the hotel to take care of the owner’s very sick wife. “Let’s follow them.”

The adventurers who were being followed quickly tried to merge with other small teams. But many of them just started running, shouting things like, “Oops, running out of time! Very important business!”

In just a few minutes, almost all the adventurers had vanished.

The forest was quiet. The sky was just beginning to brighten. Early birds flew among the treetops, chirping their morning songs.

It’s a good place to kill someone and bury the body.

The remaining adventurers, the ones they were following, walked briskly, taking a shortcut. In just an hour, Gima and George had walked out of the forest and saw a large, sprawling camp of tents and simple wooden houses standing by the edge of the woods. The adventurers disappeared into the bustling camp without a trace.

Even though it was early morning, enthusiastic vendors were already setting up their stalls. Diligent, whip-wielding overseers were already up, kicking their slaves out of their lumpy haystacks.

Two short-legged horses pulled a creaking carriage along a rugged dirt road. The slaves walked barefoot through the mud, which was generously mixed with animal feces, to move the cargo. A few slaves begged the overseer for something to eat and received a few sharp lashes to fill their empty stomachs.

Gima stared at a particularly nasty puddle on the ground, carefully stepping over it. But she bumped right into George’s back with a solid thud, her forehead hitting his hard metal armor. She looked up. George had stopped at some point, the eyes under his bucket-helm fixed on the miserable slaves.

Gima quickly tugged on his cloak and asked in a low, urgent voice, “George?”

“Gima, do you have the confidence to use your lies to help me save these slaves?”

“No.”

Gima’s tone was firm, sharp, and decisive. She was terrified that the virgin’s goody-two-shoes heart would suddenly act up and he would try to save the slaves on the spot.

George was silent. Gima was worried. Her precious treasure vault was still surrounded by a bunch of adventurer rats. The last thing she needed was for this damn virgin to get into more trouble.

The ragged, emaciated slaves passed in front of them. Just then, a thin, withered slave stopped, clasped his hands together, and begged:

“Master, have pity on me. Do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.”

George turned his head, untied the backpack from Gima’s back, and began to search for rations. The thin slave bent over, his eyes wide with desperate anticipation.

Gima breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Good. George still has some sense left in him.

George took out a few large pieces of beef jerky wrapped in paper, handed them to the slave with both hands, and said in a gentle voice:

“Old man, please share this with the others.”

The slave reached out his thin, withered hands and gripped the beef jerky tightly. “Thank you, thank you so much, kind sir—”

CRACK!

A whip landed squarely on the slave’s shoulder. The jerky flew from his hands and fell into a puddle of dirty water right in front of Gima, and a few drops of muddy water splashed onto the hem of her robe.

The thin slave immediately bent down, not to rescue the precious jerky, but to kneel before the overseer and plead:

“Please, have pity on me!”

The overseer was a thin man with a long face like a horse, his eyes puffy and his gaunt face etched with a deep-seated cruelty. He seemed to be in a very bad mood, his heart filled with a simmering, pent-up anger. He roared at the slave, “Don’t be lazy! You’re not allowed to stop without my permission, and you’re not allowed to talk!”

“But—”

CRACK!

The horse-faced overseer brought the whip down hard on the slave’s back, kicking up a cloud of dust. “That’s the second time! Do you want a third?!”

The slave clamped his mouth shut, not daring to make another sound. He scrambled back to the line, but he couldn’t help looking back at the puddle, his eyes full of a raw, desperate hunger.

The horse-faced overseer shot a sidelong glance at George, his eyes sizing him up. Noticing his expensive-looking armor, he suppressed the urge to curse. He turned his head and muttered, “Meddling busybody.”

With that, the horse-faced overseer snorted and turned to leave.

George’s hand reached for Gima, gripping the hilt of the two-handed greatsword she was holding.

Gima quickly pressed her hand on the cold hilt, trying to hold it down. She looked at George. She could feel the palpable anger radiating from under his bucket-helm, making him seem absolutely terrifying.

Gima inwardly screamed, This is bad! This is very, very bad!

Why is that cannon fodder so determined to get himself killed? The Paladins of the Holy Sanctuary are all stubborn blockheads. How could he possibly tolerate this?

Especially this guy George! Just because I had thirty special, and very happy, maids, he chased me all the way to the depths of the demon realm and stabbed me in the chest without a second thought!

He’s stupid and stubborn as a mule! He’s going to get angry and “punish evil and promote good” on the spot, spill blood everywhere, get into a world of trouble, expose our identities, fail the mission, and we’ll have to scurry back to the Holy Sanctuary with our tails between our legs! And then my precious treasure vault will fall into the greedy hands of the Great Good Master!

Her little head spun wildly, trying to think of a way to resolve this impending conflict, but she was at a complete and utter loss.

George released the hilt, clenched his fists, and caught up to the horse-faced overseer in a few long strides, his fist raised high.

Gima’s mind went completely blank. She didn’t know what to do.

Slap.

George’s hand landed heavily on the horse-faced overseer’s shoulder.

The horse-faced overseer felt as if his whole body was about to be shaken apart. A fiery pain shot through his shoulder. He turned around angrily, but when he saw that George was much taller and more imposing than him, his anger immediately subsided by a considerable margin. “What do you want?”

A troublemaking adventurer nearby shouted, “The errant knight of Barto wants to be a hero, obviously!”

The horse-faced overseer’s expression changed instantly. “Private property is sacred and inviolable! Are you trying to violate the three great laws of Salem City? The army will hunt you down like a dog!”

Gima couldn’t help but chime in, “Doesn’t that just highlight my master’s incredible valor?”

“You interrupted my moral education of my squire. Do you understand?”

George’s voice came from under his bucket-helm, muffled and carrying an undeniable, almost magical conviction.

Only then did the horse-faced overseer really look at Gima and take in her otherworldly beauty. He instantly concluded that Gima was no ordinary squire. She probably also had the very important part-time job of solving the problem of her master’s bed being too cold at night.

Since the other party wasn’t here for the slaves, the law would not be on his side. A formal duel would be more trouble than it was worth.

“I understood,” he replied meekly.

A shiny gold coin had appeared in George’s hand at some point. “I wish to continue my moral education. And you look like you could use some more meat on your bones.”

The golden gleam of the coin warmed the horse-faced overseer’s cold, dead heart. The sorrow of losing badly at gambling all night yesterday vanished without a trace. He smiled, a greasy, unpleasant sight. “I would be happy to serve you, my lord.”

With that, he took the gold coin and held it tightly in his hand. He turned his head and called to the slave, “Hey, you! The one from before! The master is feeling merciful! Come back and get your beef jerky!”

Before long, the thin slave from before ran over and dug the soaked, muddy beef jerky out of the puddle. He bowed to George in gratitude. “Thank you, my lord! Thank you for your kindness, thank you, my lady.”

Then, he clutched the precious beef jerky to his chest and returned to the line.

The horse-faced overseer grinned, revealing his yellow, crooked teeth. “How was the moral education, my lord?”

“Very good.”

George nodded, took Gima, and left, leaving the wretched camp behind them. They walked on a dirt road in the wilderness, just the two of them. In the distance was a small village surrounded by lush wheat fields.

Gima breathed a sigh of relief. But she also felt that George’s handling of the situation was a bit too spineless. If it had been her, she would have used the pretext of a duel to beat the brains out of that clueless, mouth-breathing cannon fodder.

“I really thought you were going to shout a heroic slogan and save all the slaves in the name of the Dawn God,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“For a moment, I wanted to. But then I thought of you.”

Tsk, he’s got a brain in that thick skull of his after all. The slave contract on me has lowered his power by a full level, so he can’t just go picking fights.

George continued, his voice earnest, “Don’t feel burdened by it. It’s just that my strength is not yet enough to do greater good. I can only make… compromises.”

“Uh, to be honest, I was just afraid you would act impulsively and completely screw up our mission. I didn’t care about the slaves at all.”

“Then what do you think of the overseer?”

“He deserves to die.”

“Why?”

“He’s just a cannon fodder, yet he dared to be so arrogant in front of a heavily armored knight. He deserved to die for his stupidity.” Gima only felt disgust for cannon fodder who courted death and got in her way.

George was quiet for a moment, then said faintly, “Your moral education is still far, far from complete.”

Gima’s head started to ache. She was afraid George would assign her more “homework” next and quickly changed the subject.

“Right, you could have used the pretext of a duel to teach him a lesson just now. Why did you give him money in the end? I bet he’ll be laughing at you with all his friends behind your back.”

“Because if I did that, he would have taken his anger out on the innocent slaves.”

So spineless! Why would anyone ever want to be a Paladin? It’s such a eunuch profession! All talk and no action!

Gima pouted. “I see.”

“Gima, the path to self-redemption is still long. You must always try to consider others.”

“Mmhmm.”

Fortunately, George’s lecture was only one sentence long, and he didn’t assign any more homework. Unfortunately, Gima’s stomach rumbled violently, reminding her that she was, once again, very hungry.

Whether it was for basic physiological needs or for the all-consuming need to become stronger, Gima needed lust. She had to use her abilities more often to meet the upgrade requirements and become more powerful.

Even if it meant becoming a powerful, sentient s*x toy, it was still ten thousand times better than being a weak, pathetic cannon fodder.

Gima secretly glanced at George, licked her lips, and began to think about her grand, overarching plan to sell her lewd service for power.