Chapter 933: Chapter 142 - Slave Market (5)
Three sacks of gold. Heavy, bulging, and tied tight. Together, they were worth two hundred gold coins.
"O-Ohhhh..." The slaver’s jaw practically dropped as his gaze locked onto the sacks. His greedy little eyes sparkled like gems, and his lips quivered as though he’d just stumbled across some long-lost treasure. He looked like a starving man who had suddenly been served a banquet fit for kings.
The longer he stared, the more obvious it became. Just the sheer sight of those sacks was enough to make him salivate. His throat bobbed as he swallowed down the drool that threatened to spill from his mouth. This had to be the very first time in his miserable life that he had seen this kind of fortune up close.
"I-If I may, dear customer... may I check the legitimacy of these?" His voice shook, words tumbling out carefully, like he was afraid I’d take the offer back in the blink of an eye.
"Well, be my guest," I replied, a faint smirk tugging at my lips.
Honestly, it was the smartest thing he could’ve done. If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t just take the gold at face value either. There were countless scams in this kind of business, after all. But I had nothing to hide—the coins were real, all of them.
At my permission, the guards stepped forward without hesitation. They had clearly done this countless times before. First, they tugged open the mouth of one of the sacks, their rough fingers spreading the fabric wide. The metallic glint immediately caught their attention, and they grabbed two neat stacks from the top. Holding them up against the light, they tilted the coins this way and that, watching the golden surface catch and throw back the shine.
The coins gleamed so brightly that the reflection almost blinded them, but instead of wincing, they studied it with a practiced eye before sliding them back neatly into place. Of course, they weren’t about to sit there and examine every single coin—that would’ve taken all day. People like them didn’t need to. Just one glance, one feel, and they could tell real gold from a forgery. They had been handling wealth like this far longer than I had.
But they weren’t careless either. Checking only the surface would have been foolish, and they knew it. With a flick of a dagger, one of them slashed open the bottom of the sack. The fabric split, and a cascade of coins tumbled out, hitting the ground with a heavy, ringing clatter. The sound of gold spilling onto stone echoed in the air, sharp and intoxicating, like a symphony of wealth.
It was the right move. Too many crooks had tried filling the top with genuine coins while stuffing the bottom with fakes. But not this time. Their efforts would be wasted. Every coin that spilled out was the real deal, solid and flawless, each one carrying that unmistakable weight and shine.
When they were done, the guards exchanged a brief glance and nodded in silent agreement before turning back to their master.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Sir Faust," the slaver finally said, his grin stretching wide. As the daylight hit his mouth, I caught sight of something glinting. One of his teeth wasn’t just polished—it was made of gold. How fitting.
I gave him one last smile, a polite little curve of the lips, then turned on my heel and walked away without another word.
We finally left the slave market.
***
It was only once we were out that Patricia seemed to find even the smallest bit of relief. She had clearly been suffering in that place for a long time, her body bearing the weight of untreated injuries. She looked frail, fragile, like someone who had been clinging onto life by a thread. Luckily, the wounds hadn’t gone deep enough to kill her. We had made it in time—any later and things might’ve turned grim.
Now, Artemis was tending to her with gentle hands. She sat close, carefully blowing on a bowl of hot soup to cool it before bringing it to Patricia’s lips. At the same time, she wrapped her in a thick towel, shielding her from the cold.
But even wrapped up like that, Patricia’s condition was painfully clear. Her body was so thin that her bones pressed against her skin. The outline of her ribs stood out starkly beneath the towel, a cruel reminder of how badly she’d been neglected. She had been starved to the point of emaciation.
And yet... her spirit wasn’t broken. Her eyes—sunken, tired, and rimmed with pain—still carried a sharp fire in them. That flame, that unyielding will, had survived where her body had withered.
"W-What are you doing here, Princess Artemis?" Her voice cracked, but there was no mistaking the surprise and disbelief behind it.
Even after years apart, Patricia had recognized her immediately. How could she not? Artemis hadn’t aged a day.
"I’m here to save you," Artemis said, her voice steady, filled with certainty. The weight in her words made it clear—this wasn’t coincidence, this wasn’t pity. She had come here for Patricia and for the other elves as well. "I’m sorry it took me this long."
Patricia’s lips trembled, her eyes glassy. "The fact that you came here at all to save someone like me is already more than I deserve, Princess. I’m truly happy... But... I can’t be completely happy knowing I was the only one taken out of there." Her weak voice carried raw honesty. "There are still so many of our people trapped inside, suffering far worse than I ever did."
The way she said it left no doubt. The situation inside was as terrible as I had feared.
Then her gaze shifted. She turned those wary eyes on me. Suspicion lingered there, sharp and piercing. Of course. To her, I was nothing more than a stranger suddenly standing at Artemis’ side. Her thoughts were written all over her expression.