Welcome to Greenhill
— Erina's Point of View —
"No... just... why?"
Sold away for the princely sum of six gold — discounted, no less, to three — the half-elf Erina Seraphina could only stare in dumbfounded silence. And then he had simply up and brought her here, without so much as a word.
She had believed that once she arrived in this place in the company of Luciel — the general merchant who was now her owner (the title still sat awkwardly on her tongue, though he had, after all, paid good money for a slave such as her) — she would finally be told, plainly and concretely, what her future held.
Not that she had ever expected a flower-strewn road to open up before her.
Things like: I've decided to keep you as my personal castle plaything until I've had my fill, then sell you off to a merchant in another region for four gold.
Or: I've decided to make you the exclusive whore for the men of Greenhill.
Or even: I'm going to kill you, fill your corpse with preservative, mount it in a glass tube, and put it on display in a museum where everyone can see.
She had overheard the rumors the other slave women traded among themselves aboard the slave ship, so none of these were entirely beyond the realm of the real — though most were the worst-case scenarios her own imagination had conjured up. If she saw even the faintest sign of any such thing coming to pass, she meant to bide her time and run at the first chance.
Truthfully, from the moment she left the auction house and the shackles came off her limbs, opportunities to flee had been everywhere.
And yet Erina had not run.
Because she had not only imagined the worst.
For some reason she couldn't name, this man did not seem the type to do such terrible things to her. He didn't seem to harbor the same foul intentions as other men, either.
Most likely, she had thought, she would be resold like the other slave women and passed on to whichever of the town's old bachelors happened to have the deepest purse. Her looks set her apart from the pureblood human women, after all — so perhaps a wealthy man with rather deeper pockets, or failing that, she would become a plaything for the noble young masters, forever hungry for a woman's body.
That was the future Erina judged most likely among all the ones she had imagined.
At any rate, she wanted to hear what he intended to do with her, what he would make her do. That was why she had followed along.
Frankly, even if she had run, she had no idea where she would go or what she would do first. All she owned in this world was her own body.
If she fled from here alone, a bad end was all but guaranteed.
"Hmm... first, I must arrange a room for you to stay in... one moment, if you please."
And then there was this goblin — a creature whose very nature was anything but ordinary.
Goblins, first of all, were monsters with hardly any intelligence to speak of. They formed tribes in dark caverns and swarmed together like vermin, feeding and breeding without discrimination — rot, filth, anything they could get their hands on. Especially fond of anything that glittered in the light, they attacked humans to plunder their metalwork.
And whenever food ran short — or females to breed with — they came down to the villages, attacked, and ate people. A woman in her childbearing years would be violated and used as a seedbed, then devoured without mercy once her value was spent. In a word: dangerous, ruthless monsters.
And yet this monster possessed such refinement and courtesy.
Could it be that Luciel had captured it, tamed it, and taught it?
Is that even possible?!
Whether or not Erina ever let her guard down, the goblin seemed to have his own duties to attend to; without so much as a glance at her, he began tidying a small room on the ground floor.
Then, from the pocket of his suit, he produced a small square paper box, drew out a tiny sliver of wood with a crimson head, and scraped it along one side of the box.
Skreek.
In an instant — far, far too easily — a small flame bloomed from the goblin's hand.
"Magic!"
The moment she saw the fire spring from the goblin's fingertip, a small flame flickered to life in Erina's own eyes as well.
She could not believe it. That Luciel — and now even this clothed, talking goblin — could both wield magic was something her common sense simply could not digest.
Perhaps her reaction amused him, because the corner of the goblin's perpetually expressionless mouth lifted, just slightly.
"This is called a match. Twenty to a box, sold for five copper."
Matches?
He sells this — at a general store?
Then anyone in this town with money to spare could cast fire magic?!
Not with flint, not with a fire-drill — an object that gives you flame this easily, just sitting there for sale?!
While the goblin lit a lantern and slipped away to see to her room, Erina turned her attention to the seat he had vacated.
On the wooden desk sat a long machine of right-angled bends, radiating some extraordinary light — no lantern, no candle. It was the same kind of light-giving object the general merchant had carried in place of a torch, and the light it poured out was perfectly steady, trimmed as precisely as if cut with a knife, illuminating only and exactly where it was wanted.
I've never seen or heard of 'object magic' like this.
Note — Object Magic: magic that grants arcane power to a physical object, or commands such an object. (= Enchant)
Beneath it, ledger books were stacked to overflowing, and even the writing implement tucked between the pages of an open volume felt like something special — no ink-dipped quill, this. That goblin has been writing letters and figures in there. Was he in charge of the store's accounts? Impossible!
On one side sat a single pouch, stuffed full. Inside, silver and copper coins brimmed to the top.
It was a house full of astonishments, one after another.
Only now did a belated thought come to Erina. Maybe... Luciel isn't a mage at all. No — more likely not. Perhaps the owner of this general store was, in truth, the owner of a magic shop — one that sold enchanted tools ordinary people could use.
Erina had deliberately played the part of someone unsurprised, but she had kept glancing around the store's interior the whole while, and there was no hiding it.
"Ahem."
Greengote had come back over, clearing his throat to claim her attention.
"It will feel somewhat cramped, but please use this room tonight. It normally serves as storage for merchandise, so it is a touch small — still, there is ample space for one lady to lie down."
"And this?"
Erina pointed at the blanket-like thing spread across the floor. Far too thick to call a blanket, it looked more like one enormous garment made to be wrapped in.
"That is called a sleeping bag. A most useful bedroll for when one must pass a night outdoors, or in some remote place that is no home at all. The price is... mm. In any case, you need only climb inside and sleep. And—"
Rrrrumble.
At once, Greengote brought something over. Or rather, he hauled it in on a small handcart.
It was a wide, transparent glass basin, half filled with water clean enough to drink. Beside it sat a portable toothbrush and toothpaste, a disposable soap, a woman's skin lotion in a little tear-open packet, and last of all, a white, clean, softly fuzzy cloth hung out for wiping down the body.
It was one of those disposable towels a fine inn keeps stocked in its guest rooms, one to a room.
Even a single towel for washing the body was different here. Different, no matter how you looked at it.
Of all the toiletries Greengote had brought, the towel was the only item whose purpose Erina could even guess at.
"You have had a long road with the Boss, and at a late hour — please, freshen up with this for now. I apologize that you arrive caked in mud and this is all I can offer. The Boss has shut off the hot water line at the moment, so warm water is in short supply. If you would like a shower, I shall have one ready first thing tomorrow, before breakfast."
"A shower? What's a shower?"
Everything here was something she had never seen before. Just what country had Luciel come from?
"While you wash, I shall bring your supper and a change of clothes."
"Excuse me — Mr. Gote...?"
In the end, Erina could hold back no longer and began to ask.
"Yes?"
"You're... a goblin, aren't you?"
"I am. And you look a little... like an elf yourself."
Greengote answered with the same blank expression, as if she had asked him something perfectly obvious.
"How are you here? And... what is this house, exactly?"
"Mm. It does serve as a residence, but properly speaking it is a shop. Open the middle door there and you will find the main storefront. We have been known to keep hours even before dawn, but the Boss has had business elsewhere since yesterday, so we have been opening only in the mornings, with the shop shut otherwise. His returning in the dead of night like this is precisely so that we may open for business tomorrow as well."
"Yes — a general store. I heard. But these goods of yours, what exactly..."
Greengote had slipped off somewhere again, so Erina looked around the little room where she was to sleep.
All four walls were lined with shelves made of thin metal, and every shelf was packed tight with boxes made of paper.
[ HANDLE WITH CARE — DO NOT THROW ]
[ ROCKET DELIVERY ]
[ FREE RETURNS FOR WOW MEMBERS ]
To think of making boxes out of paper this precious... and what writing is this supposed to be?
Even the printed letters on the boxes struck Erina as marvelous. A hope began to bloom in her — surely these boxes were packed full of marvels, things like those matches — but she did not so much as dare to pull one out.
For the time being, Erina did as the goblin had said: she washed her face with the water he had left, then shed the only garment she had — Luciel's hood.
Then she wet the towel and wiped herself down.
The water is warm.
She had assumed it would be cold, but the moment the warmth touched her skin, Erina's whole body went soft and languid.
Without thinking, her eyes fell on the inverted triangle branded into the skin above her belly.
It was still vivid, as if it had happened only moments ago. The instant the red-hot iron pressed into her flesh. Those men snickering as they hefted their iron rods, saying that for premium merchandise the mark was branded not on the rump but on the belly, over the womb.
Even now she could recall the smoke as her skin seared, cooked, and curled away.
The pain of that moment would never leave her — not then, not ever.
She had heard that once a slave's owner was decided, the new master would brand yet another mark of his own inside that inverted triangle.
Would Luciel, too, one day carve his own brand over this one?
It's the one thing I never want to live through again...
Knock knock knock.
"Pardon me. Ah—!"
The moment Greengote opened the door and stepped in, he spun sharply around.
At first Erina did not understand what that meant — then it dawned on her that she was naked, and that he meant for her to cover herself. She hastily wound the towel back around her body.
All her life she had known only being stripped bare before everyone's eyes; covering herself was something she had never had occasion to do, so even Erina found the present moment awkward.
"Forgive me. My mistake — I ought to have brought your change of clothes first."
"It's all right. More than that — food, please... I'm hungry."
In the goblin's hands was a tray, and on the tray sat several round loaves of bread, a bowl with a handle, a salad bowl, a spoon and fork — and, beside them, a mug of milk.
"Please, eat."
The goblin showed no interest whatsoever in her bare body; he spared her not a single glance, devoting himself entirely to setting the food tray down gently on the floor.
Of every male creature Erina had ever met, he was the only one who took no particular interest in her body.
Little by little, this green monster was beginning to look more human to her than humans did.
Wow...!
The meal the goblin clerk of the general store had set out was beyond reproach.
Truthfully, the food itself was not unfamiliar, the way everything else here had been. The plain wheat bread and corn soup you could find anywhere, a few leaves of fresh lettuce under a sweet-and-tangy dressing.
And yet even these looked different here — in their smell, in their very color.
"I could set before you something finer still, but if food too far removed from what you are accustomed to should suddenly fill your stomach, it may well disagree with you. I have kept it as close as I could to the meals the townsfolk here eat."
"...Thank you."
Perhaps it was the hunger, but there she was, hunkered on the floor, wolfing down bread and soup and salad.
Nutty and soft, warm and sweet, crisp and fresh. A rapture of flavor she had never once tasted even in her homeland.
There was nothing of the elf left in her manners now — nothing but a young human woman, starved half to death.
"It's so good."
Not even noticing that the towel covering her chest had slipped down and bared one breast, Erina swept the last of the soup from her plate with a scrap of bread.
Greengote cleared his throat and held out a woman's outfit, folded into a neat square.
"Your change of clothes."
"This is..."
"A dress-style nightgown for ladies. We sell it at our shop."
The gown was made of some light, airy stuff, with lace at the shoulders and a cute little ribbon at the breast.
After months of slave life, Erina found her present situation almost unbearably strange.
To a slave, clothing was a luxury.
Below decks on the slave ship, she had endured the salt wind pressed flesh to flesh against the other women, near-naked, little more than her privates covered.
Only on reaching the auction house had she been allowed a sacking to hide her body — and only later did she realize it had never been clothing at all, merely the wrapping that made the merchandise show to better advantage.
And the clothes were not all.
Beside the gown, two small pieces of white cloth lay in a tidy row. They were the same white, and at first Erina took them for scraps torn from the garment — but on closer look, they were not.
"What are these little things?"
Erina asked, picking one up.
"Those are a lady's undergarments. They are called panties."
"Panties?"
The word was foreign to her; curious, Erina spread the thin scrap of cloth between both hands and examined it. For covering the lower half of the body, a garment called panties was absurdly small. Set against the women's underclothes she had always worn, it wasn't merely small — it would barely manage to hide a woman's privates.
"You put one leg through each of the two openings and draw them up to a comfortable height. The fit may feel strange at first, but in time you will find them far more comfortable than any undergarment to be had out there."
"I know how to put them on."
"I see. My apologies."
"Just a moment... then what is... this?"
This time it was the bra Erina had picked up.
"That is... worn upon a lady's chest... each of the two cups receives one of the, ah... breasts... mm. Never mind."
"The breasts — what of them?"
"I prepared it merely as a precaution, but I hardly think you need to put it on at present!"
The goblin made to hurry away, but Erina stopped him. She had more than a hundred things she was curious about, a hundred things she wanted to ask — and the only being who could answer her was this small goblin who spoke so fluently.
Erina hesitated a moment before asking.
"These things... they're expensive, aren't they?"
"Are you asking after their price?"
"Yes."
Perhaps relieved, at last, to be handed a question well within his ken, the goblin launched into speech far more fluent than before.
"The dress-style nightgown is not a product sold to the general public; it is marketed exclusively to the daughters of the nobility, and it goes for two to three silver. Panties and bras vary with the design, but the ones I have brought you are one silver apiece."
"Then that's already five silver... never mind the clothes — this food I've just eaten is far too fine, far too delicious..."
"The butter morning rolls come twenty-one to a pack for twenty copper, and the instant soup, three to a pack for ten copper... ah. I keep slipping. I mustn't. Forgive me — whenever I speak of merchandise, the price is always the first thing out of my mouth. An old habit."
"No, it's just... I keep feeling like I owe Master Luciel so much, and it's started to weigh on me."
"I do not believe it need weigh on you at all."
"Really? Why not?"
"The Boss does engage in the occasional act of charity, as he did today — but the greater part of everything he handles he buys and sells at its proper worth. He is not a man who takes a one-sided loss."
"And what you mean by that is... he intends to charge me that price?"
At that, the goblin considered for a moment before answering.
"More than that, I would say the Boss will surely have plans of his own. Miss elf—"
"It's Erina."
"Yes — Miss Erina. I am called Greengote. A name the Boss gave me, in fact."
"You seem to know Master Luciel very well, Mr. Greengote."
"If I know one thing about him, it is that he never makes a trade that loses. I cannot say what he paid for you at the market, Miss Erina, but he will most assuredly see that your price was worth the paying."
My worth?
My worth was a full three gold?!
At the thought of her new master scheming tooth and nail to wring that three gold back out of her, Erina was already beginning to feel dizzy. But then she remembered the sight of him rifling through the belongings of the bandit he had killed — self-defense, to be fair — and decided he was more than capable of exactly that.
Her master would extract every last copper from her, without fail.
Even if he had to make her do anything for it.
"...It seems I have frightened you without meaning to. Please do not worry yourself. Forget that I said anything."
"It's all right..."
Only belatedly realizing he had put his foot in it, Greengote retied the bow tie at his throat as he spoke. His face said he wished, by any means, to turn the mood — but words failed him, and he seemed to lament his own clumsiness.
"This is a personal question, but... did anything happen on your way here with the Boss?"
"What?!"
"I had fully anticipated that the lady would arrive filthy, but the Boss carries a faint smell of sweat about him as well. Of blood, too, I believe. Though he does not appear to be hurt anywhere."
For a goblin, his perceptiveness was nothing ordinary.
Erina told Greengote about the bandits they had met on the road.
"I see. Just as I thought — I had long suspected something of the sort would happen one day. It is why I told him, time and again, not to travel in the dead of night."
"Did he keep it from you on purpose?"
"I should say he had no wish to hear me nag. He was tired, besides."
"Um... does this kind of thing happen often?"
"Not until now. But I suspect that from here on, it will happen far more often."
With those words, Greengote looked up at her for a brief moment.
Perhaps he judged that to say more on the subject would be to put his foot in it yet again — for this clever goblin, exactly as he had done all along, offered a bow of excessive, impeccable courtesy, and took his leave of the room.