Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: Villainy Is the Domain of the Clever, Not the Wicked
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The villain isn't something a bad guy does—it's something a smart guy does.
The sole purpose of buying slaves supplied by the market is one thing.
To satisfy the buyers' dark, twisted desires.
No one in their right mind shells out that kind of money to buy someone just to make them do housework or run errands.
Or to use them as bodyguards to protect themselves. That's nonsense.
It's far more profitable to leave chores to professional maids, and guards to knights and soldiers.
Entrusting such tasks to people forcibly enslaved is idiotic from the start.
'Of course, nobles who fancy that sort of thing might dress them in maid outfits or knight armor and parade them around, but their endgame is always the same.'
To turn them into living dolls made for penetration—ones who weep and wail, thrash and scream that they hate it, only to eventually give up entirely, body and soul melting into desire, reduced to panting wrecks.
That's why they buy slaves.
"For now, the goods supplied to this market are captured from the kingdom's borders or the great mountain ranges—only non-humans who won't cause issues if taken."
"So you're careful to avoid any trouble."
"Exactly."
Non-humans don't have concepts like 'nations' the way humans do.
They just gather in small tribes of their own kind and live in tiny settlements.
They rarely mingle with humans, so even the kingdom can't accurately tally how many there are scattered across its vast territory.
'The borders aren't clearly defined, and there are mountains everywhere along them and within. Compared to the kingdom's population, their numbers are laughably small, but still, there are enough to count.'
Living in such small settlements means their locations get exposed, turning them into targets for raids.
In human terms, it's like having another country plopped right next to yours—obvious what happens.
The resulting refugees become prime prey for slave traders.
Women fleeing with their children especially get caught easily, letting the traders rake in big profits.
"Sometimes customers worry about uneducated slaves getting feisty."
"A natural concern."
"That's why we demonstrate that every slave goes through this training process."
Viscount Konean was saying this with a tone full of pride in the process when he pulled open the door to a shed.
'Huh?'
A sharp yet sweet scent hit, one that stirred the body in lewd ways.
Along with it came moans that assaulted a man's heart without mercy.
"Ahhh... Ahhh..."
What the hell?
What is this shit?
Sion started suspecting if Viscount Konean had some shady ulterior motive.
But the viscount strode in casually and soon stopped at one spot.
"Once they're captured and dragged here, we temper them in places like this to soften them up.
Even the fiercest bitches break down eventually and melt away."
There stood a fairy-kin woman, bound hand and foot, stark naked.
Beneath her, two men were prodding her slit with something.
Each wet, squelching thrust drew an "Ahhh!" moan from her trembling body, but the men ignored it, tormenting her crotch relentlessly.
"By 'soften' you mean..."
"Well, as Young Lord Sion knows, everyone buying slaves wants the same end result.
Some seek virgins or untouched ones, but that means extra work to break them in, so most avoid it.
We take the goods, tame them like this first—trap them in pleasure they can never escape."
Sion glanced at the fairy-kin woman.
Her face screamed agony and shame, but instinct always wins out. Once a body tastes pleasure, it craves more.
She wouldn't hold out long before moaning sweetly, seduced into losing her mind.
"These handlers are all thoroughly trained.
If you're worried about them touching the merchandise, rest assured—it's unfounded.
They lose a hand the moment they're caught."
The viscount mistook Sion's gaze as suspicion that the men might sample the goods, like 'They wouldn't touch it, right?'
'So paranoid!
We'll handle everything, so relax!' His attitude seemed to say, leaving Sion to mutter inwardly, What kind of lunatic is this guy?
What followed was more of the same, different flavors of identical torment.
One woman, drenched in sticky fluids, writhed under endless caresses.
Another, blindfolded, squirmed from bizarre stimulations with fluffy toys like puppy tails.
Methods and body parts varied, but the goal was one: make resistance futile, so even the lightest touch ignites lust, leaving them unable to flee.
'Helen went through something like this, didn't she?'
A sigh escaped Sion unbidden.
Seeing a slave market firsthand stirred pity he couldn't shake.
Humans act on desires, and when those turn ugly and filthy, what can you do? But thinking of the cold glares non-humans would later direct at humanity over this made it all the more tragic.
Smack!
Smack!
"Ahk!
Kyaaang!
Ahhh!
Kiiing!"
Smack!
Smaaack!
"Ahh!
It hurts!
Kyaaang!
It hurts!
Kiiing!
Please, please!"
...Yeah, can't forget stuff like this.
Leaving the aphrodisiac haze behind, next came a beastkin woman bound to a frame, lashed mercilessly with a whip.
Her looks and aura marked her as a Moon Wolf tribeswoman among beastkin.
"Not all get this treatment.
Some customers want slaves already accustomed to it.
But fairies have weaker minds—they crumble fast under this.
Among beastkin, Moon Wolves hold up best, I suppose."
"..."
"If you're curious about that sort, want to give her a lash?"
The viscount grabbed a nearby whip, clearly hoping to gauge Sion's tastes, sell him the perfect fit, and build a stronger bond.
Where'd that fierce vibe from earlier go? How's he suddenly this professional slave lord?
Sion shook his head.
He wasn't innocent—plenty of vigorous desires and kinks as a young man—but beating a woman till she teared up in pain wasn't his thing.
"Once tempered and softened, do they go on sale right away?"
"No.
Body conquered, now we shatter the mind."
"How?"
"Constant indoctrination.
'Your kin abandoned you. Even if you return, no welcome awaits.
Better find a good master and live happily.'
Something like that.
Hmm. Call it brainwashing.
Not mana-based like with fairies, of course."
Immense physical pain and pleasure, hammered in with repeated messaging—cruel, effective way to drive them mad.
Nine out of ten would break.
Only the unbreakable die fighting or by suicide before capture.
'...Now I get why Kim Yoo-hyun flipped out and wrecked the place.'
He'd known it was bad, known the world was rotten.
But reading about it and experiencing it through eyes, ears, nose—worlds apart.
Anger? Pity? Sion couldn't tell.
Maybe he secretly enjoyed it all without realizing.
'But considering what's coming, this won't fly.'
Sion shook his head.
In a year, this madness ends.
Mad replica angels will rise, hellbent on burning the world to ash and starting over from scratch.
Humans, non-humans—all slaughtered. Time to unite against that, not enslave each other on the sly.
'...Oh right, even then, some assholes ran black-market ops out the back door.
Gotta lop their heads off too.'
As the author demanded—or even if not—he'd live properly.
That meant clearing out irredeemable trash blocking his path early.
"Once softening's complete, we primp them, show to customers. They pick, then we tweak training to order or add extras.
And then..."
Viscount Konean led Sion to a lavish pavilion tent, clearly for guests.
Inside, three women stood in gossamer lingerie.
"They're perfect products, awaiting a master's touch."
He stroked the thigh of the frontmost one—a cat-kin by her looks.
She shuddered violently, terror in her eyes, but couldn't shake off his hand.
Long conditioning had taught her: resist, and soft touches turn to merciless beatings, worse pains, humiliations beyond count. She'd given up.
"Haaah..."
Trembling, she endured without daring resist.
The viscount casually stroked her inner thigh, then suddenly slid up and roughly fingered her slit.
"Ahk!"
"Hm. Good reaction—this one's well-softened.
What do you think? Young Lord Sion, you could buy without worry."
"...Of course.
Why would there be issues?"
If he were some apostle of justice or novel protagonist, he'd smash the viscount's face, raze the market, free every slave.
But Sion was neither.
Freeing them brought no direct gain.
Just some honor? Gratitude from non-humans?
That's Kim Yoo-hyun's job.
His gains to claim.
If it didn't help Klauzen now, Sion saw no reason to act.
"Ahng!
Ahhh!"
"Stand straight. Legs give out, we start over from scratch."
The viscount muttered, and she shook her head frantically—no more of that—bracing her quivering legs to plant her feet firm.
Satisfied, he withdrew his hand mid-torment.
"Uuuh..."
Her face screamed humiliation, but no real resistance—just a slight step back.
"These go for around 300 kingdom gold coins."
300 gold: a commoner's yearly living.
Some would gape, call it insane; others nod, perfect price.
"How much volume moves?"
"Well, some visit every three months, others once a year if that...
But enough to get by.
Hahaha!"
Get by my ass—with 300 gold per slave, you're swimming in margins. Bullshit.
Sion swallowed the urge, smiled.
Reaching the trading floor where buyers haggled, he cut to the chase.
"Sounds profitable."
"Hm.
You could say that."
"Good.
Very good.
Enough for a deal."
Viscount Konean gasped "Ooh!", rubbing his hands.
Klauzen's reparations were massive, their wealth rivaling a marquisate. Heady with visions of the heir dropping fortunes on premium stock.
"Then name your desire.
Fairy?
Or beastkin?
Among beastkin..."
"Ah, no—not buying. Selling."
"Pardon?
Selling?
What exactly...?"
Cutting off the excited pitch,
Sion smiled lightly.
"The market's survival—and your future.
Ring any bells?"