The Freed S*aves Became Obsessed

The tavern Duke of the Night in the city of Noctar stood apart from the typical drinking establishments. Its sophisticated bar-like appearance catered only to nobles and wealthy merchants, a place reserved for the elite. It was a space where those in power could socialize and share information not meant to travel beyond its walls.

Just like now.

Men dressed in expensive attire and adorned with luxurious accessories sat at the bar, swirling their drinks while engaging in light conversation.

"Have you heard the rumor?"

"Which one?"

"About the Reaper! The Reaper that appeared in Prakshu and Agarta, killing people and stealing their souls!"

"Is that so…"

Stealing souls was no ordinary death. Those souls could neither reincarnate nor rest, and might even still be screaming in agony somewhere.

"But what's more terrifying is that all the victims were somehow involved in the witch hunts."

"Does that mean it's the work of a witch?"

"Isn't it obvious? They probably angered a witch and got cursed for it."

"Stirring up a hornet's nest for no reason. There aren't many witches around anymore, so why bother? As long as they're not causing trouble, let them be. These days, it's the wizards that are more of a problem."

The other man nodded in agreement.

Witches once wreaked havoc across the continent, massacring innocent people, but that was in the distant past. Back then, only witches knew how to wield magic.

Now, after centuries, what was once considered a miracle had been downgraded to a mere talent. Differentiating between witches and wizards had become pointless.

"And I heard all witches are supposed to be pretty?"

"What are you talking about? Aren’t they all supposed to be wrinkly old hags?"

"They’re actually really cute."

A strange voice suddenly interrupted their conversation. The men turned toward the source.

Sitting two seats away was a dark-haired man, lounging casually while savoring an ivory-colored wine.

"What did you just say?"

"Oh, just muttering to myself. This wine glass here is quite adorable, you see."

"That's just an ordinary glass."

"Ah, you simply lack the perception to appreciate its charm. It's unfortunate we can't share the same sentiment."

The man chuckled to himself.

The others exchanged looks and shrugged, dismissing him as a strange fool.

"Now, where were we?"

"Who knows? That guy made me lose my train of thought. Oh, wait, did you hear about the Desert Rose caravan? They caught an elf!"

"What? Are you serious? Roper finally did it, huh?"

Roper, who ran the Desert Rose caravan, was a notorious collector with an obsessive desire to acquire rare items, including elves.

Elves were known for their unmatched beauty, but capturing them was nearly impossible due to the magical barriers surrounding their forests. Even if one encountered an elf by chance, they were skilled warriors, making capture as difficult as plucking a star from the sky. Elves were incredibly rare, and when one appeared on the market, nobles scrambled to buy them, with auction prices starting at the equivalent of a small kingdom.

The fact that Roper had succeeded in catching one was nothing short of extraordinary.

"I'm jealous."

"Apparently, they're transporting it right now. We should at least go see it when it arrives."

"Sounds exciting."

Another voice chimed in.

The men whipped their heads around once more.

"Are you eavesdropping on our conversation?"

"Hm?"

"You've been butting in since earlier, haven't you?!"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

The dark-haired man feigned innocence, but one of the men couldn't hold back any longer and stood up abruptly.

Information like this was often more valuable than gold, and hearing it for free was infuriating. Sure, this was a public place, but the way the man blatantly inserted himself into their conversation was deeply irritating.

"Don't play dumb! Just now, you said it sounded exciting. You’re not going to deny it, are you?"

"I was referring to the bubbles in my wine. They’re much more lively than usual today, thanks to the carbonation. Look."

The man blew into his wine glass, making bubbles rise to the surface. He then looked at the others.

"Ta-da."

He spread his arms wide, as if performing some grand magic trick.

His audacity left the men speechless.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Ha, ha, ha…"

"Why are you laughing all of a sudden?!"

"I have this condition where I laugh when I see bubbles. Sorry… Ha, ha..."

The man kept repeating the same actions, laughing to himself as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

"Let’s just go. This guy seems like an idiot. There's no point in getting involved with someone like him."

As much as they disliked the situation, the advice was sound.

The tavern Duke of the Night only allowed people with significant influence to enter. Normally, you'd recognize the regulars by their faces, but this man was a complete stranger.

Picking a fight with someone unknown could lead to unforeseen consequences.

Besides, the man was now lovingly caressing the rim of his wine glass with a tender gaze, as though he were admiring a lover’s skin.

People like him were especially dangerous.

"Tsk."

The man clicked his tongue loudly and walked off.

The dark-haired man continued to stroke his wine glass even after they left, a sly smile plastered across his face.

"Free info is the best."

Karamir took a satisfied sip of his wine. The elderly bartender, who had been polishing glasses, gave him a disapproving glance.

"Why do you keep eavesdropping on people’s conversations, especially when you’re so rich?"

"Why should I pay when valuable information just falls into my lap by sitting here? Every little bit adds up."

"Why does it have to happen in my bar?"

"Come on, Master. Don’t be so stingy. I did save your granddaughter, after all."@@novelbin@@

"That's the only reason I haven’t kicked you out yet."

Karamir may have spent his days lounging idly in the bar, but there was a vast difference between his carefree appearance and his true nature.

It was also the reason why a mere slave trader like him was allowed in a place like the Duke of the Night.

Victor, the tavern's master, recalled his first meeting with Karamir.

It had been a rainy night.

The moonlight softly reflected off the damp buildings as Victor went about his routine of closing up the tavern.

Splash.

The sound of a foot pressing into a puddle on the wet street reached his ears.

Without even looking, Victor knew it was a man. The footsteps stopped just outside his tavern.

"We're closed for the night."

"Is that so? That’s a shame. I heard the drinks here are exceptional."

The voice was light and unfamiliar.

"Sorry, but we’re selective about who we let in. Even if you come back tomorrow, I can’t guarantee you’ll be allowed inside."

"Ah, the classic tactic. By making it seem exclusive, the rich flock here, eager to feel superior."

"If you don’t like it, you’re free to go elsewhere. There are plenty of other taverns in the city."

Victor wasn’t ruffled. He had dealt with plenty of provocateurs before. Without a word, he quietly shut the wooden door, the sound of the chain brushing against his fingers mixing with the rain.

Splash.

The man seemed to lose interest and began walking away, his hands behind his back.

But as he passed Victor, he muttered, “When dusk falls, the duke stops dancing.”

Boom!

In a flash, Victor moved, grabbing the man and slamming him against the wall. His forearm pressed against the man’s throat, while a dagger appeared in his other hand, aimed directly at the man’s neck.

"Who the hell are you? How do you know that code?"

For the first time, Victor looked at the man closely.

Dark hair and dark eyes—rare features—and a strikingly handsome face. Despite being pinned against the wall, the man’s expression remained calm, even amused.

"Hmm, strange. That’s not the code I remember. I must have mistaken you for someone else."

"No, I’m sure you’re thinking of the right person. Now stop dodging my questions and answer me."

"Even if you say that, it’s hard to confirm without more details…"

"……."

Victor hesitated.

“…But the shadow continues to dance."

“The duke heads into the night. Where does he go?”

"Where there is darkness, where there is no moonlight."

The man’s eyes curved slyly as he grinned.

"Ah, so it is you after all. I’ve always wanted to hear your voice in person. Consider my wish granted."

"So answer my question. Who are you? How do you know this code?"

That phrase was once used by an infamous assassin’s guild.

Victor had been the guildmaster.

But after his comrades were betrayed and slaughtered, the guild was disbanded, and Victor had hidden himself in Noctar, running a tavern.

No one alive knew his true identity. The code had been buried along with his fallen comrades.

Yet, here was a stranger reciting it.

"My name is Karamir, a slave trader. People also call me the Slave Reaper. And as for how I know about you, Victor... it’s because I’m a huge fan of yours."

"A fan? You expect me to believe that?"

"Haha, it’s the truth. It’s not like I can show you my inner thoughts."

"Don’t worry. I’ll find out if you’re telling the truth soon enough."

Victor moved his hand.

Prick.

The dagger pierced Karamir’s neck, drawing a single drop of blood that trickled down the blade.

"Hmm, if you kill me, it’ll be quite inconvenient for you, won’t it?"

"Why? It’s more of a problem for me to let someone who knows my identity live."

Karamir smirked.

And then he spoke softly.

"If you kill me, who’s going to cure your granddaughter’s illness?"