Slave Market
Fantasy.
A word that stirs any man's heart.
Movies, dramas, novels—they all feature it without fail, that perennial staple.
Vast plains teeming with exotic races.
Unseen ecosystems, mysterious magic, enigmatic spirits.
For folks grinding away like cogs in a dense urban sprawl, it strikes a chord, fulfilling that deep-seated yearning to explore the unknown and break free.
But.
Where there's light, there's always shadow.
If there's a hopeful fantasy in the popular imagination,
then a tale of despair is inevitable too.
Outdated medieval facilities, abysmal hygiene, bandits lurking the moment you stray from civilization—a security nightmare.
And on top of that, corrupt nobles, peasants chained to the plow for life, rank-and-file soldiers dragged into war, blasted by spells, and burned alive in agony.
Just like in reality,
the fantasy world harbors tragedies too grim to witness with open eyes.
What a shame.
If we're stuck in a fantasy world anyway, couldn't we get the good stuff? Mysterious magic, heroic saviors, impossibly beautiful elves—why not just the highlights?
That'd be paradise.
No tragedy, no suffering, no starvation.
Just freedom and happiness. Wouldn't that be nice?
Right?
Tell me I'm wrong.
"Fuck..."
I lay on the hard, musty floor, staring up at the ceiling.
Cobwebs draped rickety planks that looked ready to collapse any second.
Yeah, staring at the ceiling, and what do I see? Planks.
This is a house?
If I'm reborn in a fantasy world, couldn't I have landed in a better spot?
"Honey, we don't have money for this winter."
"Yeah? Then sell one of the kids."
Not some penniless slum rat whose parents hawk their own spawn when cash runs dry, for fuck's sake.
BAM!!
"Stay quiet!"
Sold off.
Reason? "Eyes too damn cheeky."
That's just how I was born.
Can the damn manufacturer get away with this shit? Fucking bastards.
"Sniff... Mom..."
"It's cold..."
The pen around me brimmed with kids like me, all freshly sold.
Each one branded the biggest leech back home, now huddled in this corner of the slave market.
"Hey, shut it!"
The market's roughnecks glowered, spitting on them or prodding with sticks to keep them cowed.
...Your standard medieval fantasy slave pit.
What the hell happens to me now?
Huddled in the farthest corner of the iron bars, I banged my head against the wall, pondering.
Since reincarnating here, I'd only known the crumbling shack and begging for scraps—didn't know jack about the wider world.
But piecing it together from my past-life memories, this was a medieval fantasy realm, so the possibilities for where I'd end up were endless.
Worst case, some mad wizard's lab rat. Best case, even, a male brothel.
Never short on compliments about my pretty face, despite the attitude—so probably the latter.
...Fuck.
What's "best" about that?
Either way, screwed.
Not even confident I could bite my tongue and end it.
Just wallowing in this numb despair, lamenting my life.
What sin did I commit in my last life...? Plenty, actually.
Is this punishment?
Feels more fitting than plain bad luck, I thought—right around then.
"Don't worry, everyone...!"
The biggest kid here, a lanky teenager, started soothing the group.
Looked older than the rest of us runts, who lacked any real labor value.
Odd they'd auction off someone like him.
"I-in our country, slave trading like this is illegal, so rescue's coming soon."
His words perked my ears.
Child-selling's against the law? News to a beggar like me.
Guy knew the law, too—must've had some schooling.
"Th-there's a city nearby, so... probably the guards from there..."
I leaned in, listening.
Whatever, he knew more than me—might be useful.
Clang!
"Shut your trap!"
...Or not.
Guess we got too loud. A slaver yanked open the cage door and stormed in.
"You little shit, blabbering on!"
He zeroed in on the big kid—the most obvious target—and started kicking.
"Agh! Aaagh!"
"Fucking brat!"
Sturdiest in the pen, most conspicuous—they'd been itching for this.
And built solid; wouldn't snap from a few boots.
While he thrashed, I snuck a glance outside, gauging the scene.
One slaver in view, two or three laborers.
When they dragged me in earlier, this cage was on the market's outskirts....
Opportunity?
Carefully, without drawing eyes, I rose amid the trembling kids and slipped across.
Then.
Thud! Thud!
"You little—!"
"Agh! Aaagh!!"
Crept up behind the slaver pounding the boy.
Height around 170 cm—taller and bulkier than the adults I'd seen.
"What the—"
Before he could react to me,
Grab.
I lunged, clamped his ankle,
"Hey, playing hero, are ya—GYAAAAAH!!"
CRACKCRUNCH—
and twisted with every ounce of body English.
"GYAAAH!! You fucking mutt!! Aaaagh!!"
As the slaver writhed on the ground,
the open cage door was all that remained.
"If you don't wanna be slaves, run!"
I yelled, bolting out.
Most froze in terror, but the battered boy and a few quick ones followed.
"Wh-what...!"
"The brats are escaping!"
Pandemonium erupted.
"After 'em!"
"Grab 'em all!"
Laborers and nearby slavers swarmed.
"Over here!"
Before more could pile on, I shoved through desperately.
Entrance ahead, then forest—that was the layout.
Just focus on fleeing.
The others...?
Hope they make it.
Not my job to babysit.
Drawing on memories from my arrival, I sprinted for the gate.
"You bastard!"
"Where ya going!"
Dodging grabs, batting hands away.
"You little—!"
When I couldn't evade,
Whoosh.
Smack!!
"Urk!"
I hurled my low frame at their flimsy shins.
Barely staggered 'em, but enough to break free.
The market sprawled bigger than expected; laborers poured in from the noise.
"Gotcha, you shit!"
"Where do you whelps think you're going!"
Distracted by the other kids, I broke ahead—wide-open gate in sight.
Escape?
Forest out, then what—how to reach the city?
Some survival know-how from before, but this alien world chilled me.
Still, better than slavery, fuck it.
Hunting an unknown city beats waiting for some auction block.
Pray that boy's country had real laws—as I lunged for the open gate.
Drip.
My frantic dash halted dead, like a lie, right before the exit.
"Got some spirit."
One thing I'd overlooked.
This was a world of magic and Aura.
"Aigoo!"
"Where's this punk—!"
Shouts of pursuing slavers and laborers faded behind,
but I couldn't budge before this sudden newcomer.
How long had he been at the gate?
A gaunt man in a deep fedora, towering two heads over average—withered giant log come to life.
The sight froze me solid.
And he hadn't been there before.
Blinkless, yet there he stood, like always.
...Swordmaster from the novels?
Whatever—a monster on par with the wizards from slum tales.
After that.
"You little fuck!"
Thud!
Dizzying pain cracked my skull, vision blurring as I thought:
Whatever this was, I was utterly fucked.
*
Afterward.
"You fucking shit! My ankle!"
The slaver whose ankle I'd wrecked beat me black and blue for days.
Limped hard—got him good.
Still hurt like hell.
Lucky I was merchandise, maybe.
"This one's ankle too...!"
"Wanna try? Buy him first."
"Fuck!!"
No one touched my ankles, lest they match his.
One such beating day.
"Hoo... fine... no need to kill ya myself."
The slaver muttered, and I was caged, black cloth over it, carted off somewhere.
Why the shroud?
Rumbling in pitch darkness, clutching throbbing bruises for what felt like ages.
"Out!"
Cloth ripped, blinding light seared my unadjusted eyes as they dragged me out.
Then, gradually,
as my sight cleared to the long-lost glow,
what greeted me was.
"Here—your new home."
A massive colosseum.
Guess I never hit the sales block as stock.
"Twist ankles to your heart's content, whelp."
Whatever the grudge, I'd shipped direct to the arena—specialty delivery, goddamn it.