Bound and Broken: An Isekai Adventure Dark Fantasy (Melas Book 1) Page 12

  Staring at my reflection, I felt… anger. It burned deep inside me, and it was almost like I could see the fire in my eyes. My desire for revenge.

  But along with that fury came the memory of how I got it. The pain of all the wrong that had been done to me as I was permanently scarred. As I recalled that, I… cringed.

  It hurt so much! Why couldn’t they just have given me a tattoo?! Just use ink! It’s much cheaper than using some special mana tool to do it!

  I sighed. For all I try to make light of it as a coping mechanism, it did hurt a lot. Not just internally, but externally; my physical body was scarred and burned for at least a minute straight.

  And unlike the other times I got dismembered, burned, or had all the bones in my body broken, I wasn’t numbed by adrenaline when this happened. It was neither a high stakes situation where hormones numbed the pain, nor was I anywhere near close enough to death for my body and mind to ignore the pain.

  And the memory was not a blur sitting in the back of my head like all my near death experiences. It was fresh in my head, every detail clear as day to me. And it hurt. A lot.

  I slowly put the bowl down, the soup— or sludge— lapping gently within the wooden container. I turned to Theodore— the kindly man who had been looking after me ever since I woke up— and spoke softly.

  "Thank you."

  The brown haired man paused mid bite, and turned to face me. He met my gaze for a second before flinching; after taking a second to regain his composure, he replied

  "There’s nothing to thank me for. A child like you shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place."

  Of course, this situation…

  We were slaves, being trafficked illegally into the Free Lands. Groups of men and some women were chained together by the dozens, kept in a small area at the center of the camp, as the slavers went about their work. They fed us, of course; but it was clear they gave us whatever scrap or morsel they could gather, since most of us sat around doing nothing for the whole day.

  Some men, like Theodore, were picked out to do manual labor. They were only chained by their feet, and allowed some level of free roam within the camp, while everyone else was bound to one another. Well, everyone except for me. I had freedom of movement too, if for different reasons from the middle aged man.

  It had been two weeks since I was branded by the Mancis Company. We spent most of the first week staying in that first encampment, as the slavers forged whatever documents were necessary to sell us as slaves; enslaving people from other countries was supposed to be illegal, after all.

  Since we started traveling again, we had a pretty basic daily routine: wake up and get on the wagons; wait and ride until the sun sets; stop and set up camp; eat dinner and go to sleep.

  Oh and there were the occasional beatings too; totally not something worth mentioning. It was just slavers doing slaver things— it’s to be expected of course!

  I sighed and turned my attention back to Theodore.

  "No one should be in this situation in the first place," I said.

  Unlike him and the others, I had been treated relatively well because of my status as a ‘premium product’. They had been rough with me, but I did not get any beatings. Which was not a good thing, by the way. Being treated less badly than others did not make it any better; it just made things marginally less bad. And this entire situation sucks.

  Theodore seemed to agree with me. "Yes," he said, nodding, before glancing thoughtfully up at the night sky. "I only wish it didn’t have to happen to you."

  He looked dejected. As if me being in this situation was somehow worse than him being a slave. I shook my head and smiled softly.

  "There’s no need to worry so much about me, Mr Theodore." I rested a hand on the man’s shoulder. "I’ll be fine," I said reassuringly.

  It was not a lie; I would be fine, for there was something driving me now. A reason for me to live, after my mom was gone. And it was a simple, perhaps foolish, one.

  Revenge.

  But I had nothing else to cling on to. This was all I had left. One of the three strangers— possible followers of that jerk god— told me to ‘embrace death’. That I should just roll over and die. If that was his plan for me, then I was going to spit in his face and live, holding onto whatever I possibly could.

  Theodore however, did not know the reasoning behind my words, so he misinterpreted it as a form of childlike optimism. "I see…" he trailed off. The middle aged man shook his head, now staring ahead at nothing but darkness. "Maybe you’re right. Perhaps this is all happening for a reason, and there’s no need to worry. Perhaps… the Goddess has a plan for us. A reason for everything that has happened."

  I drew my lips to a thin line, but did not respond. How could I? I did not believe in this goddess. I never did, even if my mom seemed convinced she was real.

  "May the Goddess illuminate our lives," Theodore uttered quietly to himself.

  My ears perked up, hearing the common phrase. The expression used throughout the world by all who believed in the ‘Goddess of Light’. It had various uses, but it was typically said during a prayer or when in agreement with someone else. So trying not to seem like some sort of heathen, I hurriedly repeated the words to him.

  Unfortunately however, I struggled to say it without grimacing. The fact that I had never said those words out loud before did not help, and I ended up biting my tongue mid sentence, messing it up.

  "Uh, yeah! May the Goddess il— ruminate our lives…"

  Theodore seemed to smile at that, as I brought a hand to cover my face in embarrassment.

  Oh my God, I can’t believe I did that. The fact that I was a kid did not make me feel better about it, and only embarrassed me further.

  But to be honest, I was glad I made that flub. I did not care for the goddess, nor did I believe she was a force of ‘good’. If she was, she never would have let my mom die in the first place. For all it mattered to me, the goddess could have been the same as that jerk god.

  If I was going to get through this, I was going to do it with my own abilities.

  Days and weeks passed as our caravan continued further into the Free Lands. And while we stopped by a few towns and small cities, it almost seemed as if the slavers were going out of their way to avoid most settlements— only passing through those that were necessary.

  It probably had something to do with the legality of bringing in slaves from outside of the Free Lands; the Mancis Company did not have enough contacts in whatever region this was to safely carry out any transactions. This ended up being a good thing for me, since we spent a lot more time on the road, sleeping in the wagons rather than in an enclosed room with guards watching over us. It allowed me to practice my magic.

  It was not… any kind of grand spell I was working with. I only knew one spell, and that was the simple levitation spell I used to grab the healing potion from the Inquisitors. It was not too difficult for me to recast that spell despite only having done it once; the feeling was odd— surprisingly different from using a mana tool— but the foundations were still the same.

  All I had to do was reach out into the mana in the surroundings, rather than in a mana crystal. It was more complex, since mana crystals tended to be made to accomplish a specific task like creating fire, while this seemed abstract— I had to figure out what I wanted the mana to do instead. I knew I could do a lot more, but I decided against experimentation. It was far too dangerous and if I were caught, it would also lead me down an even worse fate than being a branded slave. So I practiced in secret, and I practiced at night.

  I stayed up until I was certain everyone else was asleep, and hiding underneath my thin blanket, I would cast the same simple spell every single night. The light from the magic circle was not the brightest, so I could at least hide it from waking up the others. However, I was not sure what I could do with it; it only gave me an invisible third hand to work with, yet it also had a reach of about a hundred feet. Perhaps with it, I could steal a
key?

  I had no plan as of yet, but I had to act soon. While pranking guards and slavers by dropping rocks on them was fun, it was just not enough. All it did was help me get used to navigating this ‘Mage Hand’ (this was a tentative working term, since the word ‘mage’ did not even exist in this world and I had no idea what the spell was actually called) by feeling my way through the air. Beyond that, it was insubstantial.

  I wanted more time to think. More time to figure out how magic worked. But I did not have time.

  I glanced out of the wagon, staring past the mana powered car the owner of the Mancis Company, Julian, rode in. It looked rather primitive— almost like an antique from my world— with drapes instead of windows at the sides, however it was still a car. A car without a gas engine, but a large mana crystal at its front end instead.

  Still, I looked past it, not wondering how such a machine worked. Instead I took in the view of the city in the distance. The large sprawling metropolis surrounded by tall 40 foot walls made of brick and limestone, with 50 foot watchtowers interspaced every several hundred feet. And behind these walls, thousands of buildings of different shapes and sizes filled the city to the brim.

  It was like a balloon that was about to burst! The walls looked like it could barely contain it all; and in a sense, it could not, as farmlands and smaller buildings spilled out of the walls and into the flatland surrounding the city.

  But at the heart of the city, dwarfing over it all, stood a grand structure. A large building, standing on elevated ground, reaching high up into the sky. And at the top of it all, a single golden dome adorned with gems of all colors stood, glittering, shining, as if it were a second sun.

  I did not recognize this city, but apparently, it had to have been well known because Theodore looked over my shoulder, breath caught in his throat.

  "Boleria, the Free City of Trade," he gasped.

  I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "You’ve been here before?" I asked.

  "No," Theodore said, "but it is one of the largest cities in the Free Lands, because of its strategic location at the mouth of the region of Besha. It is one of the biggest hubs for trade in all of Vitae."

  "That includes the selling of slaves, doesn’t it?"

  The middle aged man hesitated. I read the expression on his face, and I knew the answer even without him saying it.

  "Yes, and this is where our first auction will be held."

  Chapter 13: Hunger

  "Hey, did you hear?"

  "Hear what?"

  "There have been quite a few monster attacks around Besha these past few weeks. Cities and towns have been getting harassed constantly."

  "Really? Even Bys?"

  "Nah, not in Bys. Even monsters know to stay away from such a large city. Smaller cities and towns have been getting into quite a few incursions with monsters, though. And I’m talking about dozens to hundreds of monsters at a time!"

  "Oh man, and we’ve just reached Besha too. Talk about bad luck."

  "Yeah. Hopefully we can reach Bys without any run-ins with monsters. A group our size should usually be enough to deter any monster attacks."

  "Usually."

  "Hey, look on the bright side. Once we’re in Bys, we’ll not only get paid, but we will be safe from any monster attacks."

  "Goddess grace us! Why did you have to say it like that?!"

  "Like what? I was just saying that we’ll be safe in Bys!"

  "That’s the problem! You better not have cursed us. If we don’t make it to Bys, it’ll be your fault!"

  "Hey, I didn’t—"

  I sighed. I hope that happens and a Monster eats you and all you other jerks.

  The thought of eating made my stomach rumble, and I sighed again. I was hungry— they had not fed us yet today. It had been a hectic, busy day for them, which meant no food for us. I want to eat!

  I glanced away from the two slavers talking to each other and tuned them out; they were not talking about anything I did not already know. It was the talk of the town, or… city.

  We were in the Free City of Boleria currently, a well known trading hub that served as the gateway to Besha— one of the ten regions that divide the Free Lands both geographically and culturally. And the culture that distinguished Besha from the rest of the Free Lands was how ubiquitous slavery was here.

  It was pervasive. Even in Boleria— which was a border city that supposedly was better than the rest of Besha because of its stricter slave laws— there was at least one slave in every two dozen people we passed; it might not seem like a large number at first, but it meant almost five percent of the population were slaves. And that was a lot considering a city this size probably had half a million people in it.

  I did not carry out a census, and these were just estimates based on my assumptions, but I was pretty sure I was close to the truth, which made me shudder thinking about what the rest of Besha could possibly have been like. Boleria only allowed the trade of adult men as slaves, which already drastically reduced the number of potential slaves, but it still had— if my numbers were right— 25,000 slaves. It was terrible. This city was terrible.

  Which was why I was glad to hear all the rumors going around of Monsters attacking and destroying towns throughout Besha; Boleria itself had to repel small Monster hordes in recent weeks, which made me hope that somehow our caravan might get attacked while traveling, and we could escape in the chaos. It was a fool’s hope, since a Monster would not discriminate between slave and slaver, but it would have provided an opportunity anyways, and I was willing to take whatever I could get.

  The sound of the hammer striking wood reverberated through the room, breaking me out of my wishful thoughts.

  "—and sold for 29 gold and 5 silver! You may collect him and make your payment in the back room."

  The curtains fluttered open for a moment, as the guards brought a young man— one of the slaves— back to the room I was in; I looked out past the curtains, and caught a glimpse of the auditorium once again.

  It was a huge space, filled with hundreds of seats, all of them occupied. The audience nearly completely encircled the small stage with the podium on it, and a grand chandelier hung from hundreds of feet overhead, illuminating the room.

  We were in the building at the heart of Boleria. It was called the Grand Market, for it was where most of the trading took place within the city. And it was the dome that hung over our heads now.

  The enormous dome I saw— made of gold and decorated with gems— actually housed this public hall, filled to the brim with people. This structure, that was built as a grandiose display of wealth and affluence, was actually a place to sell slaves. An auction hall.

  The curtain flickered open again, and a fancily dressed couple walked in. I turned away, as they made their payment and settled their business. And five minutes later, they, along with the young man from earlier, were gone.

  It must have been around evening when this public auction started. This was the only place slaves were allowed to be sold in the city— one of the regulations Boleria had in regards to the trading of slaves. We had only arrived in the city in the afternoon, and now, six hours later in the evening, hundreds of rich people gathered here to buy a slave. So much for being one of the ‘better’ cities, huh?

  The Bolerian officials that helped set up the auction did not even comment on the fact that myself and a few dozen young women were part of the Mancis Company’s inventory— the most I got was a look of sympathy from a brown haired woman working here. The trading of women or kids as slaves was not allowed, but the transportation of them was— as long as the company paid a higher fee. And thus, the auction continued without any issue.

  The next sale took ten minutes to finish. And the one after that took thirteen. Then the next, and the next, until finally, it was the last one for today. But the final sale was much quicker than the ones before it, taking less than a minute before someone bid 40 gold coins. That was the largest purchase anyone made so far.

&n
bsp; So when the man who made the purchase came in, naturally, everyone treated him like a king. And he dressed and acted like one too.

  He came in with a dozen servants and bodyguards following after him. Everyone I had seen so far had been wearing a suit if it was a guy, or a gown if it was a girl. But this man was dressed in robes. He wore a red cloak around his back, and a purple regalia with gold trimmings underneath it.

  He did not have a crown, but he was decorated in jewelry from head to toe. He had a different ring for every finger, and even one in his right ear. He wore three different necklaces around his neck, and had two bracelets on each hand. He dressed like trouble, and he acted like one too.

  The first thing the young blonde did was walk up to the slave he just bought. He took one glance at the slave, and waved dismissively at him.

  "Worthless," the man loudly announced to the room. Staff from the Mancis Company and the Grand Market immediately began asking him questions, but he ignored them.

  His bodyguards kept them back as he cast his gaze around the room, and stopped at the women chained to a corner; he walked up to a green haired woman and pointed at her. "Her. I’ll give you 50 gold for that woman."

  It was at this point, Marcus decided to act. The head guard for the Mancis Company stepped between his merchandise and the man. "These women are not for sale."

  "Why not?" the man asked, as if it were a surprising thing.

  "The sale of female slaves is not permitted in Boleria. If anyone were to find out—"

  "Not permitted?" he snorted. The rich man arrogantly gestured to a Bolerian official. "There’s no need to worry about them. I’ll ensure that the staff here remain quiet. Gold is a very convincing tool, after all."

  I watched as the small group of Bolerian officials glanced back at each other, uncertain what to do or say at the idea of them being bribed. This man was trouble, but the funny thing about trouble was that oftentimes, trouble brought opportunity as much as it brought hardships. And I saw an opportunity appear on the horizon, peaking over the edge, almost in view.