Chapter 47: Turning the Tables

“According to the laws of Salem City, we are obligated to return you to your master.” The red-haired Strong immediately drew his sword, eager to show off. “You can also choose to resist. That would be even better, because I will plunge this shortsword into your chest.”

“I… I…” The brown-skinned girl struggled to breathe, taking a few steps back. “I was captured. I’m not a slave.”

“Sophistry. Do you think I’m blind?”

“Come on, then. I’ll kill you before I die,” the man with arrows in his back said, pushing the brown-skinned girl aside. He hunched over, holding his curved blade. “For freedom.”

“A slave bandit. How many law-abiding citizens have you killed? How much private property have you stolen?” Strong said. “Today, your sinful life ends. And you, woman, don’t even think about running. With that collar on, you can’t run fast.”

“Oh, the law, the law♪,” the poet Disha sang. “Protecting sacred private property, oh law, how great you are♪.”

The red-haired Strong held his shield in front, gripped his shortsword, and aimed at the heavily wounded slave bandit. The man was weak; he could finish him with one clean strike and put on a good show for Liz.

Strong said, “Liz, you should probably turn away. Although this slave bandit has done many evil things, he still looks like a man. His death might disgust you.”

Liz said, “No need. I want to watch how a slave bandit dies.”

“Slave bandit” was the derogatory term used by the law-abiding citizens of Salem City for a particular slave organization. Salem City practiced slavery, and where there were slaves, there were escapees. Some of the escaped slaves, burning with a desire for revenge, chose to stay behind, ambushing and robbing the people of Salem City. Their greatest crime was infringing upon the most precious private property of the Good Masters—the slaves themselves. They were always helping other slaves escape without compensation. And law-abiding citizens were obligated to report runaway slaves, for which they would receive a bounty.

Under the gaze of the woman he loved, the red-haired Strong was so excited he wanted to burst into song. He tensed his muscles, preparing to charge.

George’s face darkened. He reached out a large hand and placed it heavily on Strong’s shoulder. And for a moment, Strong couldn’t even move.

“What are you doing?”

The red-haired Strong was wary, thinking George was trying to steal his kill.

George shook his head.

He asked, “What do you mean?”

George gave Gima a look.

Gima hesitated. This was the perfect opportunity to drive a wedge between George and Liz. Their values were polar opposites. All she had to do was say a few strange things, and she could guarantee George would remain a virgin. But if George and Liz had a falling out, she would lose the chance to expand her network and find the mage named Nudelhi. The clue to her own slave contract would be lost.

Although she wasn’t in a particular hurry, if George and Liz fell out, the chances of his identity being exposed would increase. She might not get such a good opportunity again. In the end, she decided to speak normally and leave the outcome to fate.

Gima said, “My master’s code of chivalry demands that he cannot tolerate you capturing slaves who are running toward freedom and locking them back up.”

“Helping slaves escape is a serious crime. Do you want to be kicked out of Salem City?” the red-haired Strong retorted.

George nodded.

“My master means that even if it’s against the law, he has to make you let these two go.”

“Fine,” the red-haired Strong said, his tone a mix of happiness and anger. He laughed. “But don’t forget, there’s an army nearby. They won’t let you escape the punishment of the law.”

Gima looked at George again. George’s gaze was firm. He clenched his fist and swung it down.

“My master is warning you,” Gima reminded him. “Let me remind you, the army is quite far from here, and the laws of Salem City are even farther. But my master’s sword is right in front of you. We forget a thousand things every day. Why not forget this one, so we can all continue our adventure happily?”

“Are you threatening me?”

The red-haired Strong’s voice rose, a vein popping on his forehead.

“Please wait,” Liz’s soft voice sounded. “George, please let me explain. He’s a slave bandit. He shows no mercy to law-abiding citizens. They burn houses, burn ships, rob people in the middle of the night, and they’re in league with Deepwater City.”

“You swine! That’s because your kinds put shackles on our necks!” the dark-skinned man roared. “You treat men like oxen and women like bitches. You beat them with whips, feed them drugs, teach them to lick men’s balls, and force them to sell themselves.”

“You deserve it,” Liz said, righteous. “You sold yourselves willingly, but then you went back on your word, just wanting to freeload off others’ labor. Without the whip, you wouldn’t work at all.”

“Willingly? My hometown was burned down by grassland barbarians. I was sold to Salem City.”

“If it weren’t for Salem City, you’d be dead. A coward who doesn’t dare to fight back against invaders, yet you turn on Salem City, which gave you a bite to eat.” Liz put her hands on her hips, ignoring the angry man. She pointed at the brown-skinned girl and said, “As for you, you were probably sold by your parents, right?”

The brown-skinned girl nodded subconsciously.

Liz turned to George and said:

“See, we are very lawful in Salem City. Legal slaves deserve their fate, all of them. My grandfather used to say, if you’re not lazy or stupid, you won’t become a slave. That woman’s parents must have been lazy gluttons who racked up huge debts and sold her. Since she was sold, she must honor the contract. How can there be such a good thing as taking the money and still wanting freedom? Don’t you agree?”

George’s lips were pressed tight. After hearing her out, he didn’t give Gima another look. Instead, he took off his backpack. He opened it; it was full of adventuring necessities, all neatly arranged. From the depths of the pack, George took out a roll of drawing paper, a bottle of ink, and a brush.

Gima was surprised. He actually carried art supplies with him.

George spread a sheet of paper on his drawing board, dipped his brush in ink, and wrote a line of neat, sharp Common Tongue on the paper:

“Slavery is evil. No reason, no excuse, can cover the sin of enslavement.”

Liz was a little angry. She had put herself in his shoes, considered that he might not be able to accept it, and explained it to him kindly, but he wouldn’t listen. Not only did he refute her, but he also slandered Salem City!

“Evil? A sin? Without slavery, there would be no prosperity in Salem City, and the citizens of Salem City wouldn’t have enough to eat,” Liz continued. “I heard Barto is also full of serfs. Isn’t that evil?”

George wrote furiously, each word so full of anger it seemed ready to leap off the page. “Barto has no slavery. Still, I cannot tolerate enslavement, which is why I left home for ten years. It is self-evident that all men are born equal.”

“You’re going to let them go?” Liz said. “Don’t forget, I told you that slave bandit has the blood of many innocent people on his hands. He’s a robber. Are you going to ignore the crimes he’s committed just because he was once a slave?”

George hesitated at this, then wrote, “I will save that girl.”

“No,” Liz said coldly. “That woman is an accomplice of the slave bandit.”

At that moment, the dark-skinned man asked, “Are you a knight of Barto?”

George nodded.

“I’ve heard that the knights of Barto are champions of justice,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to die anyway. Save her. She’s innocent.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he raised his knife and plunged it forcefully into his chest. One thrust, two thrusts, and he fell to the ground.

Liz frowned and turned her face away.

He was a real man, using his own life to give George an excuse and the motivation to save someone—and, of course, to morally blackmail him.

Gima didn’t flinch. She watched as the brown-skinned girl ran to the man’s side, futilely trying to staunch the wound with her hands, futilely shedding tears.

“I will save her,” George wrote again, nearly breaking the brush in his hand.

“The slave bandits plunder legal slaves everywhere. If you save her, it will only make them more arrogant. I will not agree.”

“I will save her,” he wrote once more.

George walked toward the brown-skinned girl.

Liz was furious. “Don’t even think about being invited!” she snapped.

George ignored her and gestured for Gima to comfort the brown-skinned girl. She knelt down and said to her, “You’re free.”

With that, George took out a pair of pliers and snapped the iron collar from the brown-skinned girl’s neck. The iron ring fell to the ground.

Liz was even angrier. George actually ignored her. How dare he! Wasn't he brave enough to charge the bugbear for her sake just a moment ago? You manwhore.

“I will call the nearby troops to stop your illegal actions!” Liz said, pulling out a glowing gem. “You can still stop now, or else.”

George pulled the greatsword from Gima’s arms in response.

“You!”

She gritted her teeth in anger but couldn’t bring herself to call the troops. She turned and walked away quickly. The red-haired Strong was overjoyed and quickly followed.

“Thank you, thank you,” the brown-skinned girl said, covering her mouth and sobbing her thanks. “He… he was a good man. My friend asked… him, and he brought three companions to save me. They all… died… hic hic.”

George silently took out a bag of money, filled with silver, gold, and copper coins, and handed it to her.

“For travel expenses.”

“Thank you.”

George wrote on the paper, “We’ll take her to find her family first, get her some new clothes, so she won’t be caught and mistaken for a slave again.”

Gima nodded.

At that moment, the poet Disha, who had been watching all along, walked over and said to George:

“Are you from the Holy Sanctuary? Shake your head for no, nod for yes.”

George said nothing.

A great wave crashed in Gima’s heart, and the thought of killing him to silence him arose. She controlled her expression and asked, “Why do you say that?”

“Only people from the Holy Sanctuary would do something like this,” the poet Disha said with a shrug. “I suggest you report to the Holy Sanctuary. It’s close to Barto anyway. Maybe the God of Dawn will cure your speech impediment.”

After he finished speaking, George had to bury the body.

The poet Disha waved goodbye to them. “I’ll be going now. It’s a pity we won’t see each other at the banquet. But maybe we can fight side-by-side again next time.”

The other side.

On the dirt road, Liz and Strong were walking together.

Liz’s little face was red with anger, her long chestnut hair swaying behind her as she complained to Strong:

“I thought he was fighting bravely for me, but it turns out he’s slandering my homeland for a slave bandit and a vulgar slave girl! What right does he have?”

“Exactly!” the red-haired Strong agreed. “He has no respect for Salem City at all.”

“Do you think he’s been completely brainwashed by chivalry?”

“Of course not,” the red-haired Strong said. “Liz, think about it. Plenty of knights from Barto come to Salem City every year, but have any of them ever sheltered a slave bandit like he has?”

“You’re right,” Liz said. “I was going to call the army to teach him a lesson, hmph, but then I thought, he did technically save me, even though I wasn’t in any real danger. I’m not that petty.”

“He’s really lucky,” the red-haired Strong said. “If he knew your true identity, he’d probably change his tune in an instant. He seems so hypocritical.”

“Strong, you’re so smart,” Liz said, suddenly cheering up. “If I invite him to the banquet, he’ll regret it terribly.”

Strong wanted to slap himself a few times. He quickly said, “Let’s forget it, Liz. He’ll just think you’re apologizing to him, something like, he’s so charming that he’s captured your heart.”

“What? Do all men think like that?”

“Yes.”

“Disgusting. Then forget it.”

Just then, they crossed a small hill. Under the shade of a tree, the four horses they had tied to the tree earlier came into view.

Liz froze, as did Strong.

He saw George’s tall steed mounted on Liz’s chestnut mare, vigorously performing a thrusting motion. Meanwhile, Strong’s mare lay limply nearby, drenched in sweat, with a suspicious, viscous fluid trickling from under her rear.

The poet Disha’s gray stallion stood to the side, watching.

“Little Red!” Liz cried out. “Get it away from her!”

Strong drew his shortsword and charged at the celestial warhorse.

The celestial warhorse turned its head, pulled out with a great effort, its long brother trailing behind it. It didn’t hurry to escape, but waited on the spot for its long brother to retract back into its body.

As Strong raised his sword and was about to charge at the warhorse, the celestial warhorse kicked its hooves and shot out more than ten meters, leaving only a cloud of dust behind.

Liz and Strong could only watch helplessly as the celestial warhorse trotted away gracefully in the distance, leaving behind two mares drenched in sweat.

Liz’s face was dark. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to make George pay. I’ll arrange the lowest-ranking seat for him and make him regret it until his guts turn green.”