Chapter 263
Chapter 263
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 263
Chapter Title: Hassan Goes to the Auction House #10
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There are prisons scattered in various places throughout the city.
For example, beneath the Mars Guild lies a prison housing prisoners for all sorts of purposes, and even the guard posts have simple holding cells.
The prison I was heading to was located underground in Sodmora's city hall, a space for detaining high-profile criminals and seized goods.
Since it housed nobles and others of considerable fame and reputation, it was far better kept than the prisons I'd mentioned earlier.
I never imagined I'd end up coming to a place like this—.
With those thoughts, I made my way underground in the city hall.
"No entry after seven in the evening."
The guards blocked my path, but when I showed them my traveler's tag, they visibly relaxed.
"Samaritan. Here to see a prisoner in person?"
"That's right. Is it this way?"
At the same time, I pulled a suitable silver coin from my pocket and placed it in the guard's hand. He pocketed it smoothly and said,
"We can give you about ten minutes."
I've always thought this, but most problems can be solved with money. And most problems arise from a lack of it.
Nothing beats shiny gold, after all.
Even the infamous arsonist Elfride, who torched the city, had been placed in this rather stately prison because of money.
You couldn't just leave merchandise worth up to 400 gold in some dingy hole, or all sorts of trouble would ensue.
"Looks good on you, Elfride."
Following the guard's directions, I turned corners and headed to the iron bars where Elfride was held.
Aside from the cold, rigid bars everywhere, the interior had carpets and plush chairs—it could rival any luxurious parlor.
Elfride, sitting primly in one of those chairs, scowled when she saw me.
"Hassan."
"Yeah, it's me."
There were no longer any bruises or tomato stains on Elfride's body. Draped in a white dress that matched her pale skin, she almost looked like a May bride.
Someone must have dressed her that way to boost her value ahead of tomorrow's trial.
"Tomorrow's finally here, Elfride."
"I didn't expect you'd come here. Are you just here to mock me?"
"Could be, or maybe not."
At my vague reply, Elfride seemed to give up on getting angry and just crossed her legs and arms while sitting in her chair.
She seemed strangely calm—probably because, cooped up in this prison for days, all she could do was think and sort out her stance. She'd likely prepared her mind in her own way.
I dragged over a chair in front of the bars and sat down. But that was the end of our conversation.
We simply felt each other's presence faintly and uncomfortably beyond the wall of bars, and that was enough—no words needed.
This distance, with a wall between us, was probably just right for me and her.
But I hadn't come here today just to gawk at her.
I said,
"I never thought you'd set fire to the clinic."
"...Me-."
"What?"
"I didn't know either."
"I see."
"...It's all because of you. While I was locked up in here, getting mocked by all sorts of people, I thought about it. If you weren't around, I wouldn't have done anything wrong."
I was about to say, What did I do—but I shut my mouth. Strictly speaking, as Elfride said, I bore a few percent of the blame for this arson.
As I fell silent for a moment, she continued.
"No, that'd be a lie. It's my fault. I was born under a curse. The more my emotions flare up, the bigger the flames inside me grow. It's the same for all elves. That's why we train from childhood to suppress our egos completely."
"Killing your emotions?"
It was a story I'd heard before, during the duel between Kallidur and Daltor. It seemed Elfride couldn't escape that fate either.
"I was the master of my life. I had perfect control over myself. But you make me angry just by existing, Hassan. I can't stand it. A slave like you, trying to ruin and destroy me. What the hell are you?"
Whoosh, whoosh—.
Elfride's hair bristled, flames like heat haze rising behind her. But they were restrained by the strange beaded choker around her neck.
She clutched her throat with a groan.
"When I'm with you, my flames grow even bigger. They'll burn everything to ash. In the end, nothing will be left."
"Yeah, you ended up setting fires here and there. Tomorrow, if this all goes well, go out and apologize to everyone, Elfride."
"Tomorrow... things will end one way or another. But I'm not sure if I'll have the freedom to do that."
"We'll see tomorrow."
Her red eyes narrowed at my casual response.
"I've heard you've been up to something at the east gate lately. You're not thinking of buying me as a slave, are you?"
Had Elfride heard about my plans?
Wondering who told her, I noticed simple jerky and rations on the table where she sat—probably brought by a visitor. The Silver Roses, no doubt. Who else?
I stood from my chair and said,
"Anyway, after tomorrow, any debt I owed you is gone. And this growling-at-each-other-when-we-see-each-other thing? Let's end it. Part on good terms. So, have you thought about what I asked you before?"
I recalled the question I'd asked her when we were separated by the wall of flames. I didn't hate Elfride—did she feel the same?
Truth was, I just wanted to hear her answer.
But Elfride furrowed her brow, as if she had no idea what I meant.
"What are you talking about?"
"Yeah, that's just like you to the end. That's enough."
"..."
Elfride looked like she had a lot to say, but she soon closed her mouth. Just then, a guard knocked on the wall from behind—tap, tap. Our ten minutes were up.
As I left the prison, I turned back toward where Elfride was. She stood at the bars, watching me until I disappeared around the corner.
*
*
*
And so, the day of the trial arrived again.
The outdoor citizen square was packed with at least twice as many people as the indoor trial. It felt like a gladiator match in an arena or coliseum. In fact, this trial was like a city event, buzzing with festival-like heat.
An albino elf.
Huge sums of money.
No wonder people's interest was piqued.
Come on, place your bets. Who'll win the bid in this auction—.
Look over there. The Dortes merchant lord is here too.
Watching this heated crowd from my position as a person involved and witness in the case made my heart race even more.
Luna must be somewhere in that throng. She'd said she wanted to attend today's trial, though I couldn't spot her.
"Hoo—."
I kept exhaling deeply to steady my quickening breath.
I'd prepared everything for this retrial. If things went according to plan, there'd be no issues.
But standing on this stage, exposed to all eyes outdoors, memories of suffering in Desros' arena bubbled up unbidden, making my fingertips tremble.
I clenched and unclenched my hands to steady myself. Warmth spreading from my cold fingertips felt pretty good.
I wished the trial would start soon.
Even though the scheduled time had passed by several minutes, the judge hadn't appeared.
As I looked around wondering when it would begin, the judge emerged, resplendent in ornate robes and crown, guided by two attendants holding his long cloak.
Cheers and applause greeted him, and he waved to the crowd and bowed like the host of a grand show.
Once seated, he said,
"Ah—."
That short voice sent ripples through the crowd of over a hundred. Maybe his strange staff had some amplification magic.
"Welcome to today's trial, citizens of Sodmora. I'm Porphyr, the judge entrusted with much of this proceeding. And first, before we begin, allow me to thank the patrons who joined us here and sponsored this event."
Swoosh.
As Judge Porphyr raised his palm, a VIP area with a shaded canopy came into view amid the crowd.
The people there lounged in cool seats, attended by servants fanning them with huge feather fans.
Nobles?
I wondered if they were the baron or count I knew, but their unfamiliar appearances suggested otherwise.
"Well then, shall we proceed with the 35th trial, the city arson case?"
Swoosh.
At Judge Porphyr's question, a man in the VIP seats gave a light gesture. Taking that as the signal, the judge banged his gavel, announcing the trial's start.
To be precise, it was more like the start of selling Elfride, stripped of her rights and fallen to slave status. Her guilt was already confirmed; all that remained was setting the slave's bid.
Proving that, both the prosecutor and defendant Elfride sat silently in their places, watching. Only the bespectacled middle-aged halfling auctioneer busily raised his voice.
"Alright, as before, we'll start the auction at a base of 200 gold."
I felt the weight of the heavy gold coins in my pocket. 150 gold. My last bit of wealth. What could I do with it?
"400 gold."
"Number 30, 400 gold!"
The price shot up right from the start. 400 gold, far beyond my 150. Number 30—the top-hatted viscount-to-be, Il Rak, from last time.
The crowd cheered at the instant doubling, and sweat glistened on the judge's bald forehead.
"Good, this heat will please His Highness."
The judge wiped his brow with a handkerchief, muttering to himself. Meanwhile, his eyes stayed on the VIP seats.
But after Il Rak viscount-to-be bid 400 gold, no one else raised a hand. The judge blinked in evident panic.
"What? No more bidders?"
His eyes seemed to search for Sodmora's countess, who'd competed with Il Rak last time. He'd hyped this retrial more than before to draw a bigger crowd—only for it to fizzle out like this?
Of course, Sodmora's countess wouldn't bid anymore. Only a few, including me, knew why.
"400 gold going once to number 30! Rights to Elfride Desmond go to viscount-to-be Il Rak of number 30! Now—."
"450 gold."
Just then, someone raised their number tag and called a higher amount.
What kind of sum is that?
Who is it?
Faces that had assumed Il Rak's victory now turned to this new competitor. He was a fairly young man lounging in the VIP seats, fanned lazily.
It's Prince Friedrich.
His Highness is joining the bidding too.
I heard the last trial was halted due to word from the palace—.
From the murmurs, this man was called "His Highness." No ordinary person got that title—he was clearly someone of immense status.
What a big shot.
No wonder he bid 450 gold, more than all my money combined. I knew a bit about him too. Only tales of virtue and good deeds preceded him—a monster in some ways.
"Number 30, 500 gold!"
"Number 302, 550 gold—!"
As time passed, the bidding grew fiercer.
Il Rak's going head-to-head with the palace heir in a money fight? What's going on?
That guy's the type who bought his noble title with cash. But why would His Highness bid so high on an elf like that?
Who knows what royals think.
As prices climbed, the crowd's excitement soared—and the pressure on me mounted.
Can I pull this off?
I asked myself.
Truth was, confidence and I were always far apart.
After falling alone into this unfamiliar world with no connections—from a pretty ordinary life in the 21st century—I'd done all sorts of ugly things just to survive.
I didn't know what to do, and nothing good came of my actions. All I gained were sleazy expedients.
Honestly, I figured if I could scrape by and return to my original world, that'd be enough. So I focused on getting through each day.
But maybe I'd just been ignoring it.
My life was ruined. Paths back to my old, comfortable normal were all blocked.
Every card I had was a dud. No matter what I did in this world, someone would call me an uneducated barbarian.
People like that wouldn't see me in a good light, no matter what—like the old men at the clinic, fixed in their biased view.
To them, I was Samaritan Hassan.
I had to accept it.
From the moment I fell through that weird manhole cover, I was a resident of this world.
Samaritan Hassan.
Barbarian Hassan.
Bronze-tier adventurer Hassan.
Was that all me?
All me, yet in a way, I'd been lying to myself too.
Every moment of excuses, running away, spinning pretty fictions to cope—they weighed on my shoulders and neck.
Stay still like this, sit quiet, and everything will sort itself out. You'll survive another day and call it good, they whispered.
At the same time, countless questions directed at me echoed in my ears.
Who are you?
Enya's voice from our last meeting rang clear in my mind, and for some reason, I couldn't answer who I was.
Today was the day to answer all those silences. Time to pay the interest on days survived by muddling through.
"600 gold! Any further bids?"
As the voices reached my ears again, I raised my number tag.
"Number 4! Bidder 4—! Number 4! Number 4!?"
All eyes turned to me. My heart pounded like it would burst, vision swimming. But I'd steeled my resolve.
"Number 4 bidder! Are you bidding!?"
At the question, I glanced around. Things were about to change.
I said,
"This isn't a bid. I object to this trial. It's been wrong from the start."
"Objection? Raising an objection? To a trial already concluded? On what grounds? Who are you?"
"I am—."
Who am I?
Recalling a fact I'd long forgotten, I said calmly,
"Actually, I have a confession to make to all of you."