Fro the Elf had the worst day of his life. His warhorse and gear—everything he’d bankrupted himself to buy—were now ashes.

Inside the carriage, an iron cage held the culprit who’d “murdered” his steed. That morning, he’d been peacefully eating boiled beans when a silvery metal pod plummeted from the sky. It crushed the warhorse his father left him and incinerated his hard-earned equipment. Before he could process it, the pod’s door slid open. Inside lay a silver-haired maiden, asleep, delicate and breathtakingly beautiful. Fro hesitated, recalling his mother’s weary face and his ailing sister. Gritting his teeth, he hoisted the girl onto his shoulder and “introduced” her to a half-elf friend.

That friend was Durant—a moderately successful “small-time boss.” His operation employed nearly a hundred people, “introducing” girls from across the land to clients of all classes for commission fees. Durant beamed as he steadied the carriage, his grin widening the moment he saw the silver-haired maiden Fro carried. “You’re a true friend, Fro!” he boomed. Fro, new to this trade, stammered about his cut. Durant dodged the question, summoning trusted men to bring another carriage. They locked the maiden in a cage padded with quilts and draped it with coarse cloth.

“Brother, thank the stars you didn’t haul her straight to camp,” Durant lectured Fro gravely. “My rowdy crew would’ve rioted—swarmed her like wolves. Heh heh. Your commission would’ve shrunk to nothing. Hahaha!”

Durant cackled at his own crude joke. Fro turned away awkwardly. All he wanted was his fee to cover losses and leave before guilt ate him alive.

They reached the camp—a labyrinth of tents. Mismatched hide shelters crowded together, ringed by wagons and makeshift fences serving as walls. Within this tiny “city,” mercenaries cracked whips, “training” girls collared with black iron chains to obey and serve. The carriage wheels squelched through mud mixed with urine and manure as they rolled into the central clearing.

Fro finally snapped. “Durant. Pay my commission. I need to leave—I’m in a hurry.”

Durant’s laughter died. He spread five fingers. “This much?”

“Five hundred gold coins?”

“Fifty.”

“Fifty coins barely buys a warhorse!”

“Oh-ho! My dear friend,” Durant chuckled, adjusting his worn cotton cap. His nose was red from cold. Four-part lips—split by a blade that shattered his teeth years ago—twisted grotesquely. Scraggly brown beard covered his jaw and neck, but near the scar, nothing grew. Only a jagged, shiny gash tore through his flesh like a glacier’s rift. His grin stretched those four lips wider. “Aren’t you just one horse short of your knightly dreams?”

He strode to the cage, boot planted on the carriage. “Brothers! Gather ‘round! See what your leader found for you!”

Mercenaries dropped their tasks and crowded close. Durant yanked off the cloth. Instant silence fell over the camp. Huddled fearfully in one corner of the cage was a luminous maiden. Her golden eyes, faintly glowing, darted around in terror. She was unearthly beautiful—clad in a seamless white gown, every inch of her pristine as snow. Her lips glowed like warm embers. Waist-length silver hair spilled over filthy quilts, each strand shimmering like liquid moonlight. Flawless skin seemed to emit a soft radiance. She had an elegant frame: slender waist, full chest, shapely legs.

Women looked away in shame. Men stared, wide-eyed—except Fro. The silver-haired maiden, trembling in the biting wind, silently accused him of monstrous betrayal. Regret clawed at him, but what could he do now?

“Look at my treasure,” Durant rubbed his hands together. “You’re stunning enough to empty my clients’ purses—to make them trade their ugly wives for gold just to buy you. My family’s fortune rests on you, darling.” He pointed at himself. “I’m Durant. And you, my jewel—what’s your name?”

The maiden uttered strange syllables. Her voice was clear and pure, yet rushed like a priestess chanting spells.

“Haha! Fro said you fell from the sky. They didn’t believe him—but I do! Where on earth would such beauty come from?” He gestured to the Elf, who avoided the maiden’s gaze. “That’s Fro. I’m Durant.”

The maiden stared at him oddly.

“She’s a sky-drop who can’t talk!” yelled a noseless mercenary, eyes burning with lust. “Boss, let me teach her. I’m *very* good at teaching.”

“Back off!” Spittle flew from Durant’s four-part lips onto the man’s face. “None of you lay a finger on her! She stays untouched for the nobles. That’s how we get rich!”

*I’ve been sold.* Citizen X thought, glaring at Fro clutching his coin purse. *That damn Golden Ape took advantage of me!*

Durant unlocked the cage and grabbed the chain. The maiden fixed him with cold, starlit golden eyes. Durant flinched, then scowled, yanking the chain. “Stop looking at me like that! Think you’re the Elven Queen? Get down here. Now.”

She swayed, her thin white gown fluttering as she stepped slowly from the cage. Durant jerked impatiently. She stumbled, nearly falling. Icy, filthy mud splattered her pristine white boots. Her face flushed crimson. Her tender soles rubbed against the boot lining—a jolt shot up her spine, sharp as intimate caresses.

*Don’t let them discover this body’s secret!*

The Elf stared away, knuckles white around his coin purse. The maiden studied him: a young Elf, golden-haired, wrapped in a rust-speckled chainmail cloak. A long sword hung at his waist. Crucially, she sensed a vital survival tool on him. Human technology—even a trivial item—could unleash terrifying power on this primitive world. And his weak will? Easily manipulated.

As she passed him, she whispered low, “Are you satisfied with just five gold coins?”

The Elf froze, watching her vanish into a slaver’s tent.

Durant barked orders at his spellbound men. He handed the maiden to a grinning, middle-aged woman. “Lita, care for my treasure. Stab any rutting dog who touches her.”

Lita cackled. “Like last time I chopped off a man’s head with my kitchen knife?”

“Yes—but wash the blade after stabbing. Don’t use it for cooking. And teach her to speak.”

Lita gaped at the maiden’s face. “Oh, Rabbit Boss! Where’d you find such fine goods? Her skin’s smoother than a babe’s. Not human at all!”

“Keep your filthy hands off!” Durant snapped. “Teach her Nophian.”

“Right. What’s her name?”

“Call her ‘treasure’ or ‘hey.’”

The silver-haired maiden spoke suddenly. “My name. Aelina.”

Durant blinked. “You couldn’t talk before?”

“Your language is simple. Easy to deduce.”

Durant and Lita exchanged glances. Then Durant’s four-part lips split into a grin. “She’s bluffing. She knew Nophian all along.”

After Durant left, Lita chained Aelina’s collar to a tent pole. The floor was layered with stiff hides. A charcoal brazier warmed a tin kettle on the frozen ground.

“Be good, treasure,” Lita cooed. “Rabbit Mouth Boss is ruthless. Girls who try to run? He chops off their limbs. Some nobles pay extra for that. Now—off with those boots. Sit. Make yourself at home.”

Aelina didn’t move. Her boots clung tight as a second skin, shielding calves as sensitive as a virgin’s hidden glade. She wouldn’t endure that sensation again—or risk exposing her secret.

*First priority in this world: protect my virtue.*