I Bought a Broken Female Hero as a Slave
Lebion del Rosel. He had once been an ordinary commoner, yet he carved an indelible mark into the kingdom's history. The first man from humble origins to receive the ducal title of del, and he accomplished this feat in a mere five years—a legend etched forever in the annals. It was an event without precedent in the history of the Elond Kingdom, one unlikely to ever be repeated. Even Yulis, the commoner who rose to the highest rank before him, had only claimed a barony, and that after a full decade. But Rosel ascended to duke in just five years, rendering Yulis's achievements insignificant. In doing so, he became the king's most trusted confidant.
Of course, there were sound reasons he had eclipsed the established dukes to claim that position. First, he had revealed the stronghold of the Red Flag Bandit Gang, the kingdom's persistent scourge, enabling the total annihilation of the group down to its leader. Second, he foresaw the massive assault by the Dmishuka Pirates on Heila, the kingdom's vital southern port city, and aided in repelling it. Third, he predicted the plague that ravaged the Capital City, saving countless lives in the process. His name inevitably reached the king's ears, earning him recognition and the title of viscount. He was barely two years into adulthood at the time.
Rumors swirled that he was a prophet descended from the Lord God Himself. Granted an audience with the king, his stature soared with each passing day. He was even bestowed a modest territory near the Capital City, and under the king's unwavering support, he transformed it into a land of abundance. The people of the territory followed him without question. Wise and compassionate, with unerring judgment on matters of right and wrong, he earned their unwavering loyalty. Day by day, the territory grew ever more prosperous. Just two years after his viscountcy, bolstered by new immigrants, it had evolved into a formidable domain worthy of any great house. A robust system took root, heralding the dawn of a new era.
Then Rosel unveiled his epoch-making invention to the continent, proving his renown was no mere illusion. The humble pencil—a writing tool forged from graphite. It offered efficiency leagues beyond the ink-dipped quills that had long plagued scribes across the land. Before long, it became the Elond Kingdom's flagship export. What had been a backwater realm on the continent's fringes blossomed into a wealthy, mighty power. Even the emperor of the Empire journeyed personally to beseech the Elond king for imports.
Rosel's domain expanded to rival the capital itself, and the Rosel Territory claimed the crown of a prime hub for merchant caravans. Crowds thronged its streets endlessly, filled with laughter and vibrant energy. A year later, King Brikal honored the kingdom's resurgence by bestowing upon him the ducal title of del. The territory's folk marked their lord's ascension with three straight days and nights of joyous festival. His rise was beyond triumphant—it bordered on divine.
And it was this very man who now raised his hand at the slave auction in the Capital City's Central Square.
"Five hundred gold."
The Rosel Territory stood apart from other domains in one key way: it had no slaves. Commoners and nobles coexisted, but no noble exploited the lowly as chattel, and every commoner received fair treatment as a true citizen of the land. The Rosel estate was no exception. So when word spread that Rosel himself had appeared at the auction, eyebrows rose in confusion. Seeing him attend without bidding, onlookers assumed he had come merely to witness the final degradation of the hero condemned for treason. But he shattered every expectation.
He bid. A staggering five hundred gold—more than double the offer from the affluent Lubran Count. It was a sum that brooked no further challenge, a gauntlet thrown down. Unable to stomach the humiliation, Lubran snarled in fury and stormed from the hall.
"Oh, five hundred gold! Going once—any further bids?"
The auctioneer bellowed, but dead silence gripped the hall. The duke famed for shunning slavery, spending five hundred gold coins on a slave. A female traitor, no less—one who merited execution. It was a shock that set the encircling crowds murmuring.
"Even Duke Rosel turns out to be a man, after all."
"Five hundred gold... I can't even imagine it."
"She must be worth it. If I had the coin, I'd empty my coffers for her."
"Virgin hero—the words alone justify five hundred gold, don't they?"
"Or maybe he's taking her to personally punish her rebellion against the kingdom. The duke's devotion to the realm is legendary."
"Could be. It's just like him. Either way, I'm jealous as hell~"
The auctioneer snapped his fingers, sealing the deal. Rosel had claimed the female hero.
Yet even in victory, no trace of elation crossed his face. His expression hardened into something closer to anguish.
"Sold! To Duke Rosel for five hundred gold! Congratulations!"
The bigger the sale, the fatter the cut for the house, and the auctioneer beamed like a man who'd struck a vein of ore. He'd be footing a lavish round for his fellows tonight.
Rosel rose and ascended the platform.
"..."
He stood before Emilia.
Scrubbed clean for the block, her alabaster skin gleamed without a single blemish from grime. Yet her flesh hung dry and lifeless, far from healthy. Her once-lustrous golden locks, though combed, frizzed like a wild pony's mane left untended. Starved for who knew how long, the lithe yet resilient figure from her hero's banquet had withered to bare bones. One light touch might topple her—she was a husk.
Pity twisted in Rosel's gut, sharp as a blade.
"...Emilia."
Bound in coarse ropes, she trembled faintly. Her hero's majesty was utterly vanished from that pitiful form. Peering through rents in her rags were bruises and scars aplenty. Rosel stifled a bitter groan at the sight.
"..."
Emilia, eyes wide with terror, didn't even acknowledge his voice. She quaked like a cur in midsummer heat—the picture of broken slavery. The hero who felled the Demon King by heaven's mandate had crumbled under crueler fate.
"Emilia."
"..."
"H-hey! The duke is addressing you! Answer him!"
Her visible shudders wrenched the heart, but the auctioneer showed no mercy, barking until her lips finally parted.
"Y-yes... Your Grace..."
Her voice cracked, arid as a parched wasteland. That desolate timbre conjured her torments in vivid strokes, drawing a heavy, mournful sigh from Rosel.
He knew the horrors inflicted in that royal dungeon—no words needed.
"...From now on, your name is no longer Emilia. It is Chesel. Understood?"
"...Che-Chesel..."
"Emilia belongs to the hero who saved this world. Unfit for a traitorous slave. We'll shorten it to Isel."
"..."
The words tasted like ash in his mouth—cruel, ill-fitting lies. He clenched his jaw against the nausea. He knew her innocence better than most, but options were nil for now. She bore the king's brand of treason. Any public concern for her welfare would paint him her accomplice, handing ammunition to the nobles who eyed him warily. Word of his purchase would fly to the king at once, and Brikal would scrutinize every move with her. The instant the crown sensed his protection, years of painstaking salvation for Emilia would crumble to dust.
He could not allow it. To shield her, he must stand unassailable. Her vindication could wait. Urgent now: breathe life back into that dull gold mane, stitch up her shredded spirit.
Butler Demian approached from behind, bowing low.
"The carriage is ready, Your Grace."
"Good. See that slave aboard. Then straight back to the territory."
"Yes, sir."
Demian took the ropes, and Isel shuffled toward the carriage like livestock to the abattoir, shoulders slumped in defeat.
Rosel watched her retreating form with eyes brimming compassion and called out.
"I'll remit the auction fee by carriage within three days."
"With Your Grace's name as surety? No question. I'll see to it."
"Then carry on."
With that, Rosel boarded the carriage. And silently renewed the oath he'd harbored for years.
In atonement for past sins, he would devote his life to her.