Chapter 13
Episode 13
"Verification complete. Welcome to Halun."
Halun, a central territory reached after two days of hard riding from Kyle.
Here, even the outer city had thick gates erected in double layers, spaced dozens of meters apart.
Unlike in Kyle, Logan had to undergo a double inspection despite presenting his identity plate.
Halun had good reason for such stringent security.
Clamor.
The moment the inner gates opened, what greeted him was a sea of people.
The bustling crowd was chaotic and peculiar in a way entirely different from Kyle—because a significant portion of them wore shackles on their limbs.
"Move faster, you scum!"
"Quit dawdling!"
Crack!
Slaves were visible everywhere, overseers cracked whips, and between them, burly figures with menacing expressions and weapons passed by.
It was a sight utterly alien to any ordinary territory, yet here, it was nothing more than an everyday scene.
"As expected..."
Though this was his first visit in this life, the sight was all too familiar to Logan.
Halun was a royal-administered city overseeing the agricultural heart of the Grandia Plains, the central region's largest granary.
Originally intended as a simple farming city, the constant influx of slaves to work the vast plains and mercenaries to oversee them had earned it a different reputation—one far removed from its original purpose.
The city of slaves and mercenaries—or, more aptly, the "human marketplace."
'In my past life, I started my mercenary work here.'
Though the sight of Halun stirred nostalgia in Logan, much like in Kyle, he had too much to do to linger in reminiscence.
'First...'
His top priority was finding the craftsman capable of forging the weapon he had wielded in his past life.
But before that...
'I need a trainer. No, a bodyguard for now.'
The slave market where Logan hoped to find his craftsman was located within the city—yet it was dangerous enough to warrant caution even when traveling alone.
No matter how confident Logan was in his combat skills, a sudden blow to the back of the head was always a risk.
Dealing with such threats was labor in itself, so he needed a bodyguard to ease the burden.
'A trainer who can double as a bodyguard. There's someone perfect for that—but would he even be here now...?'
Lost in memories of his past life, Logan's steps carried him toward a street he had walked countless times before.
Thud.
"Hey, watch where you're going."
"What'd you say?"
This was a street where those carrying blades and weapons far outnumbered those without.
Two burly men bumped shoulders, exchanging glares.
"Watch your eyes."
"You watch the back of your head."
But after trading a few rough-edged threats, they quickly parted ways, avoiding the sharp gazes of those around them.
The mercenary district—Halun's "second landmark"—had one unwritten rule:
The first one to draw a weapon gets lynched.
Simple, but effective. This rule alone maintained order in this otherwise lawless street.
Amidst this rough yet free-spirited atmosphere, Logan made his way toward a cluster of buildings adorned with swords and shields.
The Halun branch of Teinan, the largest mercenary guild in the Grandia Kingdom.
The first floor alone was easily over 100 pyeong (330 m²), and the ringing of the doorbell was drowned out by the usual clamor.
It was packed to the brim—unbelievable that this was just one of three buildings belonging to the mercenary guild.
"Looking for an escort to the southern regions..."
"B-rank escort request to the Empire—first five to sign up!"
"Any jobs heading east?"
Bulletin boards filled with requests, urgent employers shouting beside them, and dozens of mercenaries crowding around.
Amidst them, Logan spotted his target.
'Bingo.'
Fortunately, luck was on his side—his target was in the third guild building.
Had he been away on a job, Logan would have had to look elsewhere, but he had found his top candidate.
'Kai...'
A gray-haired mercenary chatting casually with a guild employee at the counter.
His face looked younger than Logan remembered, but the rigid, square-jawed features, imposing build, emerald eyes, and scar on his cheek were unmistakable.
'Still... no, this was his prime, wasn't it?'
Though he was only an A-rank mercenary due to lacking Force Awakening, his mastery of weapons and combat prowess could rival even knights if they let their guard down.
Skilled with bows, spears, and nearly any weapon, his martial prowess was more than enough to earn him the title of the strongest A-rank mercenary.
Add to that his exceptional horsemanship, and Kaisolon—still in his mid-forties—was a mercenary who combined experience and skill in equal measure.
'But his true value lies not in being a mercenary now, but in becoming a trainer later.'
A mere year from now, he would retire from the frontlines after suffering a severe injury and form his own mercenary band.
The mercenaries he trained there would surpass all others of their rank, etching the name "Kaisolon Mercenary Band" into mercenary history.
In his past life, Logan had worked alongside them many times and witnessed their skill firsthand.
Without fail, they all credited their abilities to their leader and trainer—Kaisolon's teaching prowess was unmatched.
Though before his injury, he had always preferred fighting to teaching.
'I'll just have to pay more.'
Either way, he was the perfect fit for the mercenary band Logan envisioned.
"Kaisolon?"
Kai blinked blankly at the pale young noble who had suddenly addressed him.
After glancing at the emblem on his armor, he cautiously replied.
"...Yes, that's me?"
"I'd like to hire you on a long-term contract."
At first glance, he seemed like some spoiled young noble brat—but at least he had the sense to propose a contract inside the guild, where fraud was unlikely.
Kai's gaze softened slightly as he studied Logan.
"Oh? A long-term contract? Sounds good. So, what's the offer?"
"At least a year."
"Ah, nice. And what would the job entail?"
"I'd like you to train and drill the C-rank mercenaries I'll be hiring separately."
"Train and drill? Me?"
Kai was baffled. He was an A-rank mercenary with a hefty price tag—why would someone seek him out just to teach?
He couldn't help but sigh at the strangest job offer he'd ever received.
"...Apologies, but I'm not sure what you've heard about me. I've never formally trained anyone before?"
"I heard you often gave your comrades pointers when needed."
"Where'd you hear—ugh. Well, sure, I've given some tips to the younger ones if it helped the mission, but that's it..."
"So, are you refusing?"
"It's not that... If it were a combat role, I'd understand, but I've never been a trainer..."
A polite refusal.
But the response defied his expectations.
"I'll pay 4,000 gold a month."
Kaisolon's pupils flickered slightly.
The highest rate for an A-rank mercenary was usually 2,000 gold per month.
This young noble had just doubled it in one go.
"Like I said, I've never trained anyone before—"
"6,000 gold. Per month."
"Sorry, but I prefer fighting. No amount of money can—"
"8,000 gold. That's my final offer. Not a copper more."
The rate had quadrupled in seconds.
Kaisolon's mouth opened and closed wordlessly before he burst into hearty laughter and extended his hand.
"Hah! Better a warrior than a ghost. I'm Kaisolon—call me Kai, employer. So, what's your business?"
The young noble—no, the god of wealth—smiled and shook his hand.
Kai was briefly surprised to learn that Logan wasn't the heir of some border lord preparing for war but the eldest son of the MacLaine barony.
But that didn't affect the contract.
"Aren't you curious? Why a noble from a backwater like MacLaine is hiring mercenaries?"
"As long as the pay's solid, I've no reason to be curious, employer."
"Solid mindset."
"Naturally."
Kai answered boldly, but his expression twisted oddly upon hearing Logan's next destination.
"The slave market?"
Mercenaries and slaves. The purpose of Logan's trip from MacLaine to Halun was becoming clear—but why a noble scion would handle such matters alone was beyond him.
But true to his usual convictions, he didn't ask for reasons, and Logan likewise saw no need to explain.
"Alright. Make sure to keep a sharp eye on our surroundings—trouble could arise at any moment."
"That won't be a problem. There's no one here who wouldn't recognize me."
At Kai's bold declaration, Logan studied him anew and gave a slow nod.
Standing around 180 cm—not particularly tall for a mercenary—Kai's lean, muscular frame, the scar on his face, and the array of weapons strapped to his body made him look undeniably intimidating.
To those who knew him, he was a force to be reckoned with; to those who didn't, he was someone they instinctively wanted to avoid.
A slave market—where people were traded—was always fraught with trouble. And Kai's appearance made him the perfect bodyguard for such a place.
"Welcome~! What kind of slave are you looking for? Just tell us your requirements and—"
"Young master! Come take a look here! We offer the cheapest slaves in the market!"
Halun's central street.
Massive tents lined both sides of the thoroughfare, their entrances wide open, revealing rows of filthy, half-naked slaves under the watchful eyes of mercenaries.
Halun's most infamous attraction—the slave market.
Though not officially sanctioned, these tents had gradually multiplied under the tacit approval of the territory's rulers.
Eventually, it became the largest human marketplace in the Grandia Kingdom, so vast that it was now common knowledge: if you wanted to buy a slave, you came to Halun.
'And with that scale comes daily problems.'
The descendants of defeated enemies, the offspring of criminals, refugees caught fleeing taxes or forced labor, those crushed by insurmountable debt—each had their own tragic story.
Under the weight of their hollow gazes, Logan quickened his pace.
'I can't get used to this.'
Perhaps it was because, in his past life, he had seen so many refugees reduced to slavery after the kingdom's fall.
To Logan, the overseers and the slaves alike seemed equally pitiable.
And yet, regardless of his conflicted feelings, the bustling crowd miraculously parted before him as if by command.
All thanks to Kai trailing closely behind.
Even the thugs who had initially eyed Logan—mistaking him for some naive noble brat—immediately scattered the moment they caught sight of his shadow.
Spared any unnecessary trouble, Logan arrived at his destination without incident, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
A small red tent, its entrance closed.
In the corners of the slave market, such modest tents weren't uncommon.
And despite their size, they often had more guards and mercenaries stationed around them than the larger ones.
Before one such tent, an elderly man lounged under mercenary escort and spoke leisurely.
"Young master, do you know where you've come to...?"
"I'm here to buy a dwarf. Open up."
"Ah! So you do know. Non-human slaves are rare, so we keep them under special care. Right this way, please."
At Logan's words, the slave trader's demeanor shifted, and the red tent was opened.
Inside, behind sturdy iron bars, slaves of a different kind came into view.
The first to catch the eye were two stunning beauties with pointed ears, their radiant beauty undimmed even by their tattered clothes.
Though they sat slumped with lifeless eyes, as if they had given up on everything, their elegance remained undeniable.
"Elves—hard to come by. Ever seen any elsewhere? These two, let me tell you—"
They were elves—creatures who maintained their youth for centuries, their beauty far surpassing human standards, making them the most coveted slaves of all.
"Damn..."
Even Kai, who had spent years operating in Halun, couldn't tear his eyes away, murmuring in awe.
The old man grinned and continued his sales pitch, but his prospective buyer showed no interest.
"Enough. Bring out that slave over there."
Instead, Logan pointed to the short, stocky figure beside them.
"Ah... Yes, yes. You said you wanted a dwarf, right? Of course! Bring him out!"
The trader's expression soured when the young man showed no reaction to the elf maidens, but he quickly barked orders to his mercenaries.
Logan smirked inwardly.
'Nice try, old man. But I'm not here for impulse buys—especially not mere decorations.'
Elves might be the most sought-after slaves, but their value lay solely in their looks.
For Logan, who cared only for war, they held no appeal.
Far more valuable to him was the ugly, squat slave beside them—a dwarf.
"Tch. Damn it."
Standing no taller than a human's waist but with shoulders twice as broad, the dwarf—his long white beard reaching his navel—snapped irritably as the mercenaries tried to haul him up.
Even bound in thick shackles, his spirit remained unbroken.
"As you can see, he's unmistakably a dwarf. Take him, and you'll find plenty of uses for him. Among the dwarves—the race of master craftsmen—he's one of the few at the master-class level. Strong, durable, and—"
"Master-class?!"
Logan's eyes widened.
As the old man said, dwarves were a race born with dexterous fingers that belied their thick hands—craftsmen who spent their entire lives shaping and refining, finding meaning in creation.
'And among them, a master-class?!'
This was exactly what Logan needed—no, far beyond what he had hoped for.
There was no need to hesitate.
"Cut the pitch. How much?"
The abrupt question made the trader chuckle awkwardly before holding up two fingers.
"Haha, for a master-class, you'll need at least 200,000—"
"Tch. Do I look like a fool to you?"
Without hesitation, Logan turned on his heel.
No matter how valuable a non-human slave was, charging hundreds of times the price of a regular slave was absurd unless the buyer was a complete idiot.
And dwarves, despite their fame as master craftsmen, had a fatal flaw as slaves.
"It's not like this is the only red tent here..."
"W-Wait, young master!"
The trader hastily called him back, and the haggling began.
In the end, the dwarf's price was slashed to 50,000 gold before the deal was finally struck.
"Humans. Ruthless bastards."
The dwarf spat as he watched the trader sulk in the background.
His tone was far from submissive—unbecoming of a slave—but Logan merely shrugged, unbothered.
"Hmph. Just business."
Getting a dwarf slave to speak politely was harder than killing one.
A race that resisted oppression—so much so that enslaving them was notoriously difficult.
Even if their bodies were bound, their pride remained unbroken. That was common knowledge across the continent.
"So, where am I headed now?"
"To the MacLaine Territory in the southwest. And you'll be crafting what I ask of you."
"...Figures."
A shadow passed over the dwarf's eyes.
Most who sought dwarves as slaves wanted the same thing.
But few masters were ever satisfied with the work of a dwarf forced into slavery.
No matter how skilled the race, creations made without passion were never true masterpieces.
Still, even half-hearted dwarven work surpassed that of human blacksmiths—hence their high price.
And the dwarf Hamar, now sold to Logan, was one whose work suffered more than most when his heart wasn't in it.
At times, his craftsmanship as a master-class dwarf even fell below that of human smiths.
The fact that his previous owner had merely resold him instead of killing him was a miracle.
'Not that I want to die, but...'
Passion wasn't something he could force.
But then—as if aware of this—his new master made an offer that made his eyes widen.
"Twenty years. If you give me your absolute best for the next twenty years... I'll send you back to the mountains."
Hamar's pupils trembled.