In the dark, damp dungeon, only sparse dripping sounds echoed. Not a single ray of light pierced through. Low cries for help drifted from the cells—pitiful, yet utterly unanswered.
Above, a door creaked open. A fat boss, fingers weighed down with gold rings, stubble framing his mouth as he puffed a thick cigar, turned to the cloaked figure before him. He spoke with mock deference, his tone teasing.
"What brings you here, my lord? We run a legitimate business. Doubt me? I’ll show you the permits."
He wiped his sweaty forehead with his collar, a forced smile clinging to his lips, betraying his tension.
"Nothing much. Just here to buy a slave," Kevin replied calmly. She sat on the sofa, lifting a steaming cup of black tea. Taking a small sip, she continued, unruffled. "No need to be tense. I know slave traders require permits these days. I’m well aware."
"Hahahaha! My lord, your understanding is a relief!" the boss boomed, instantly relaxing. His guard dropped as he chatted freely. "So, what type do you seek? Pay enough, and we have anything. Guaranteed satisfaction."
"Is that so? Take me downstairs. Let me see who catches my eye."
Kevin rose leisurely from the sofa. She had zero experience buying slaves. If she had capable people, she wouldn’t resort to this. But here she was—no point complaining. She’d find someone suitable.
Slave trading persisted in the empire only because she permitted it. She’d merely brought it above board. Shutting it down would shatter noble interests, sparking chaos. True reform? It’d just add unclaimed corpses to imperial streets—and silence the nobles. Yet, upon seizing ultimate power, she’d learned: some things are better left untouched. The world simply worked that way. She’d forced minor concessions, legalizing the trade to spare innocents. Probably.
Global tensions simmered. Without leaders like her maintaining order, the fragile peace could shatter into world war overnight. Unity was vital. For nobles, profit was the only true ally.
Dripping water mingled with the heavy door’s groan. Metal clanged against stone, punctuated by faint whimpers. A wave of damp, rotten stench hit Kevin. She covered her mouth, her beautiful face hidden under the hood twisting in disgust.
"Boss, this environment is harsh."
"My lord, they’re just slaves. No matter, hahaha—" He caught her displeasure instantly. Years of experience kicked in. Switching to a sincere tone, he stammered, "Sorry! We’ll fix it. Let’s find someone for you. Wouldn’t want to waste your time."
"Fine. Show me." Kevin relented. His groveling left little room to push further.
"Do you have requirements, my lord? No need to descend. My men can parade slaves upstairs. If you fall ill, I’d never forgive myself."
"It’s fine. I prefer to see for myself." Kevin paused, uncertain. She didn’t even know what she wanted. "A pretty female. Must clean, tidy, and know basic life skills. That’s all."
"Th-this... I’m not sure," the boss muttered, baffled. Clients usually demanded body types or races. Was this a maid hunt or a slave purchase? Still, he could try. "But let’s look. Follow me."
He lumbered ahead, his body glittering under the lights with countless jewels. "Trust me, my lord—only the best goods. Guaranteed clean. Your money’s safe... if the quality’s right."
Kevin recognized the greed. Easy to handle. She replied earnestly, "Money’s no issue for good goods. Your earnings depend on you."
"Hahahaha! You jest, my lord. Satisfaction guaranteed!"
They reached an understanding. Then, a faint cry snagged Kevin’s attention. Her pale blue eyes flickered toward a nearby cell. Inside, a frail woman lay sprawled on the cold ground, wounds covering her body, barely breathing.
"This one?"
"New stock. Kept escaping—we taught her a lesson. She’s obedient now."
"...Is that so."
Kevin crouched softly by the bars. Their eyes met. She spoke seriously. "Can you tie hair?"
"Yes."
"Then she’s the one." Kevin pointed without hesitation.
Silence hung heavy. The boss finally blurted, confused, "Huh? That’s it?"
