—————————————————————–
Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
—————————————————————–
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Renting a prisoner was a simple transaction.
Anyone who desired the services of a prisoner could pay a fee to the lord and “borrow” them.
They could then use the rented prisoner as a temporary concubine for the duration of their stay in the city.
Of course, some opted to purchase the prisoner outright if they were satisfied.
Slave trading wasn’t illegal in the Calus Empire, of which the prison city of Olpasbet was a part, so this practice wasn’t unusual.
The prisoners who propositioned travelers on the streets were eager for these rentals.
Half of the rental fee went to the lord, and the other half to the prisoner. Given that most travelers who visited Olpasbet were wealthy, it wasn’t bad pay.
Moreover, if they encountered someone suitable, they could encourage them to purchase their freedom, escaping their prisoner status and becoming a concubine.
However, the nature of this practice was clear.
It was a form of slavery sanctioned by the lord of Olpasbet.
Aslan, recalling this fact, felt a pang of discomfort at having to utter those words, but he had no other choice.
He hadn’t accomplished what he needed to in the city, and he still had no idea how to proceed with the main quest.
He couldn’t afford to kill or injure anyone in the process.
Having been practically thrown out of the inn for nearly starting a fight, Aslan knew he would have been imprisoned immediately if he had actually killed someone.
Even Olpasbet, a city steeped in pleasure and vice, wouldn’t tolerate murder so casually.
Especially not when prisoners were the city’s unique product and a valuable asset.
While Aslan had his reasons, he wasn’t sure the girl would understand.
As expected, when he turned to look at Angie, suspicion was brewing in her eyes.
“Rent me?”
Even if she hadn’t been imprisoned for long, she would know what renting a prisoner entailed.
There were plenty of examples on the streets, actively soliciting travelers.
It was natural for her expression to darken.
She seemed to think the meal he had bought her was part of that same ploy.
Aslan considered his options, watching her reaction.
He understood the need for the rental.
This city housed a nest of monsters within its depths, and prisoners had to pay tribute to survive.
Those who didn’t pay didn’t survive.
And Angie didn’t appear to have any money to offer as tribute.
While she could potentially seek protection from Harod Claw, she clearly didn’t want to.
If she had, she wouldn’t have antagonized the Dragonkin in the first place.
He needed a plan that ensured her survival.
In this situation, renting her wasn’t a terrible option.
The act of renting itself might be problematic, but as long as Aslan didn’t do anything untoward, it shouldn’t cause further resentment.
On the contrary, renting her and providing her with food, clothing, and shelter would ease her suspicion.
Furthermore, if he rented her, she would be with him, eliminating the need to worry about her safety.
He had used the word “rent” to defuse the situation with Harod, but now he intended to use it to his advantage.
Aslan simply said,
“Yes.”
But he couldn’t lie to make it happen.
It was easier to tell the truth and persuade her than to deceive her and risk being discovered.
Angie’s face, as expected, contorted in disgust. Aslan quickly added,
“But I’m not renting you to do anything to you.”
The girl, who had been regarding him with revulsion, raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The perverse acts she was imagining, the various unsavory desires, all stemmed from the assumption that the traveler renting a prisoner wanted something from them.
Aslan’s words, spoken beneath the flickering crimson lanterns, left her bewildered.
“Exactly what I said. I’m not renting you for myself. I need your help.”
“Help… with what?”
“Yes.”
Suspicion clouded the girl’s golden eyes. Aslan pressed on, seizing the opportunity.
“I’m a Great One.”
A Great One.
In reality, they were just names on the War God’s hit list. But the public perception was different.
Masters of masters.
The pinnacle of human skill.
The world’s greatest warriors, judged by a divine standard.
That was what a Great One was.
As such, Great Ones typically worked as mercenaries, highly paid problem solvers for nobles, or bodyguards, until they were hunted down and killed by War Monks.
It was unusual for a Great One to ask for help.
It implied that he needed her for a specific task, a specific reason.
The evidence supporting his claim was right before her eyes.
“…What kind of Great One?”
“The Master of Battle.”
“Battle…”
There were seven Great Ones.
Sword, Mace, Spear, Fist, Bow, Magic, and Battle.
All masters at the peak of their respective fields, but there was an unspoken understanding.
The greatest among them was the Master of Battle, proficient in all weapons, guaranteed to bring victory.
The weight of that title, coupled with her memories of Aslan’s actions, flashed through Angie’s mind.
Aslan had reached her before the Dragonkin, cutting him off and saving her.
He had stared down Harod Claw, forcing him to retreat without resorting to violence.
Angie couldn’t help but be convinced.
A brief silence hung in the air. The girl rubbed her nose, her eyes darting around.
The suspicion had vanished from her gaze.
“So what does a great and powerful Master of Battle want from me?”
Despite her gruff tone, her eyes sparkled, and her voice, laced with anticipation, was slightly higher than usual.
“I told you I saw you fight.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m the Master of Battle. I can tell someone’s potential just by watching them fight. And you… you have incredible potential. Unwavering fighting spirit, adaptability, the ruthlessness to strike vital points without hesitation. You’re exactly the kind of person I need on my team.”
Even slum dwellers weren’t immune to stories. Fantastical tales and rumors became their own kind of adventure.
And for a girl who had been willing to abandon the bleak but relatively safe life of the slums to become a mercenary, she clearly had a thirst for adventure.
That was what Aslan was aiming for.
To lure her in with the promise of becoming the apprentice and comrade of a Great One who recognized her potential. A classic adventure story trope.
And it worked perfectly.
The girl’s expression shifted from bewilderment to hope and anticipation.
Aslan extended his hand, sealing the deal.
“I need someone I can trust to watch my back. Will you be my comrade?”
A flicker of emotion, something akin to awe, crossed the girl’s face. Her lips trembled slightly.
She put on a brave face, grinning, and reached out.
With a clap, her small hand met Aslan’s larger one.
“Fine, I’ll do it. I… I needed someone to watch my back too.”
Despite her bluster, hope shone brightly in her eyes.
‘Well, considering she’s appeared in the main quest, she can’t be completely irrelevant.’
He had been worried about having a companion, but that was a problem for later.
Even if she disappeared from the quest line after they completed this one, it wouldn’t be a problem.
After witnessing what he fought against, the kinds of beings that targeted him, her fighting spirit would likely be extinguished quickly enough.
As Aslan finished his thought, the girl suddenly asked,
“But why rent? Why not just buy me out…?”
Aslan shook his head.
“Someone’s after me. They might even be in this city. It would draw too much attention if someone bought a prisoner right now. So…”
He met the girl’s questioning gaze.
“I’ll rent you, and when we’re ready, we’ll escape.”
“What?”
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. A moment later, she looked around nervously.
Fortunately, no one nearby was paying enough attention to react to his words.
“Geez, I thought someone heard you.”
She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and looked back at Aslan. He started walking.
Angie followed, asking,
“Why?”
“Because you’re not ready yet.”
It was true that someone was after him.
Probably a War Monk.
The one who had hired the mercenaries to capture him.
But he doubted the War Monk was in the city.
War Monks were rather conspicuous, even among priests.
It was also true that she wasn’t ready.
The girl’s limbs were thin.
Her hair was long and tangled, often obscuring her face.
Her clothes, though relatively clean, weren’t suitable for combat.
He would need to spend considerable time and effort preparing her to even withstand a basic fight.
The girl pouted at the implication that she wasn’t ready, but she seemed to understand and didn’t press the issue further.
“So where are we going?”
Aslan glanced at the girl following him and nodded towards the castle in the center of the city.
“To rent you, of course.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Matters concerning prisoners, such as rentals and purchases, were handled by the lord’s scribe or their assistants.
The rental process itself wasn’t complicated.
All that was required was the money and the willingness to fill out the paperwork.
Aslan felt a strange sense of familiarity as he wielded the quill before the scribe’s assistant.
He filled out the parchment with his details, or what passed for them, and his request to rent Angela Tail for one month.
The assistant barely glanced at the neatly written form, preoccupied with other documents.
When he was finished, he handed the parchment to the assistant, who scanned it briefly before speaking.
“Twenty-one silver coins.”
“…Gasp.”
The girl behind him gasped. Aslan carefully counted out the coins from his pouch and handed them over.
The assistant accepted the coins impassively, checked each one, then swept them into a wooden box and bowed his head.
“Thank you for your wise choice. We hope you enjoy your stay in Olpasbet. If you experience any problems with the rented prisoner, or if you have any complaints, please return here…”
The assistant’s smooth, rehearsed speech faltered. He was looking past Aslan’s shoulder at someone.
Confused by the sudden interruption, Aslan turned around.
A middle-aged man with a strong jawline, clad in armor, stood there, looking at him.
“The lord requests your presence. Please come with me.”
The man’s tone was polite, but firm. Aslan hesitated.
He couldn’t recall doing anything that would warrant the lord’s attention.
But he couldn’t refuse a summons from the lord. Aslan, mentally preparing himself to escape if necessary, followed the man.
The warrior led him to the third floor.
The air grew strangely humid as they climbed, and the faint scent of smoke mingled with the dim light of torches and lanterns.
“Here we are.”
The warrior stopped before a large office in the center of the third floor. He knocked lightly on the door, then stepped aside.
“Enter.”
A man’s voice, slightly high-pitched, called from within.
Aslan glanced back at Angie, then stepped inside.
Seated at a desk was a man in luxurious clothing.
A middle-aged man with a stocky build, his body a mix of muscle and fat, clad in a light blue doublet.
The man, undoubtedly Baron Olpasbet, studied Aslan for a moment, then nodded.
The warrior who had brought Aslan closed and locked the door, positioning himself in front of it.
The warrior showed no other signs of aggression, so Aslan looked at the nobleman with a puzzled expression.
“A pleasure to meet you, Master of Battle.”
The nobleman, Baron Olpasbet, greeted him directly.
Aslan frowned.
Master of Battle was a famous title. Due to both his own actions and the rumors spread by the War Monks.
But it was rare for someone to recognize him on sight and address him by that title.
“A mercenary working in Nechagni until recently. What brings you all the way here?”
It was even rarer for someone to know his recent activities.
As Aslan stared at him suspiciously, the baron smiled slyly.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
