Chapter 16
Chapter 16
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Meat Stew for the Soul
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The slave was curious.
He had thought he had long since lost the emotion called curiosity,
yet before he knew it, such an extravagant thought had taken root.
And so, when their master visited the slave quarters as usual to inspect them,
the slave—truly rudely—could not hold back from asking his master a question first, as the master took his hand.
"Um... Master. Would it be all right if I asked... just one question?"
"A question?"
It was rude.
For a slave to dare ask their master something first—
it was not the act of someone in their right mind.
Unless the master offered the opportunity first,
a slave must not presume to have a self of their own.
The overseer's face twisted as he watched from behind the master.
He would surely face the whip after the master left.
Even so, the slave desperately wanted to ask.
"I heard you erected a gravestone for James."
"Did the overseer tell you?"
"Yes. I went to the overseer because I wanted to erect one for James myself, but he said there was no need to spend my talants since you had already done it."
"Lucky you saved your talants, then."
"But... I don't quite understand. Why did you erect a gravestone for him?"
To question the master's actions—
it was truly not something a lowly slave should do.
"I erected their gravestones?"
"Yes. That's what I heard."
"No. That's wrong."
"Pardon?"
...Had the overseer lied just to tease him?
The slave found himself half-convinced.
It was a nasty prank,
but far more believable than the master erecting a gravestone for a slave.
It was strange that he had believed it so readily.
Why hadn't he suspected anything?
The overseer pulling a prank on a slave wasn't exactly unthinkable.
...Perhaps he had been hoping, just a little.
He still didn't know exactly what he had hoped for,
but he had hoped for something.
"They were bought with the talants the dead slaves earned."
"Before they died... they bought them in advance? Their own gravestones?"
"No."
"Pardon?"
"They had talants left over that they didn't spend before dying. So I let them exchange those talants for their own gravestones."
"What does that...?"
"The dead have no need for bread, after all."
The slave stared blankly into his master's eyes.
His pupils dilated as understanding dawned late.
"...You exchanged the talants of the dead for gravestones?"
"Didn't I promise not to take your talants arbitrarily? A promise made in my own name. How could I break it lightly?"
"..."
"Since they were talants they earned themselves, I merely used them for their sake."
It wasn't simple mercy or whim that led him to erect gravestones for the dead.
He had kept his promise.
A promise to mere slaves,
even after those slaves had died.
"Without talants, you couldn't afford such luxuries. Without a gravestone, without even a name left behind, you'd just rot piled up with the corpses in the abandoned mine."
Those words might have seemed a bit cold.
They implied that dying without talants meant being discarded in the mine without even a stone.
But put another way,
they also meant that with enough talants, a gravestone was guaranteed.
It felt like a dream.
The slave truly felt as if he were dreaming.
"Don't expect mercy from me. Without talants, you're truly nothing."
Without talants, a slave was nothing.
Then,
if he had enough talants,
what would he become?
The slave suddenly grew curious.
The next day, the slave visited the ossuary to check James's gravestone.
It was a converted warehouse attached to the slave quarters.
Wooden gravestones bearing the slaves' names and a few lines of text sat atop shelves that looked vaguely like chicken coops.
It was spartan.
More like a warehouse stacked with goods than a place to comfort the departed souls.
But even this much was something slaves could scarcely be permitted.
There were few gravestones in the ossuary,
so the slave quickly found James's.
"This must be it..."
A few lines were carved into the small wooden stone.
Since his master had erected it, his master must have written those words too.
What did they say?
The curious slave haltingly read them aloud.
"So... how do you read this letter?"
Thanks to recently learning to read, deciphering the gravestone wasn't hard.
It read:
The slave stared blankly at the gravestone for a long while.
Thoughts flooded his mind.
How had his master known that James had shared meat stew with the other slaves?
Had he asked the overseer?
If so, why go to the trouble of making such a heartfelt gravestone?
Many questions arose,
but the strongest thought was something else.
'...Yeah. That's who James was.'
He could almost smell meat stew wafting from somewhere.
His eyes grew moist.
He had thought his tears had dried up long ago,
but apparently not.
Lemon, the slave from the Buranga outcasts,
swung her sword in the training grounds.
No matter that she could eat tofu chips and meat stew,
it was impossible to forge a sturdy body from a mere slave's nutrition alone...
But in this world, it was possible.
More precisely, a minor "trick" that Lemon had mastered made it so.
'At this point... I think I've reached the Free Disciple level.'
Secret technique.
She was practicing what was called her family's swordsmanship.
Her sword arm had grown dull from a vagabond life with no need for it,
but the memories etched into her body from brutal childhood training
allowed her to practice swordsmanship without any manual or guidance.
The techniques for handling qi within that swordsmanship strengthened her flesh.
Her body became more suited for combat.
Flexible yet firm muscles formed, her limbs grew slightly longer, and overall she took on a sleek, mature figure.
She was far healthier than the other slaves who had come with her.
'...Who would've thought I'd get a chance to practice the family swordsmanship after becoming a slave.'
Her misunderstanding of her master's peculiar fetish(?) had now been completely cleared up.
Or rather, she didn't fully understand,
but her master seemed to have a blessing that let him read a person's past by holding their hand.
'Definitely an unusual noble.'
Blessings weren't common at birth.
But they weren't so rare as to never encounter one.
You might meet one or two in a lifetime.
She just hadn't realized her master was one such "blessed individual."
'He gave me the chance to train in swordsmanship to acquire the family secret, I bet.'
Normally passed only to family members...
But with her house fallen,
she had no intention of hiding the secret.
Handing over a ruined house's secret for an easy slave life sounded like a good deal.
Better to be an armed escort slave honing swordsmanship by her master's side
than rot as a farmhand.
As she swung her sword with such thoughts,
her master—the very one on her mind—arrived at the training grounds.
"You seem quite accustomed to handling a sword now."
"...Yes."
"You'll make a fine swordswoman."
"Thank you."
The master raised his hand.
Lemon reflexively extended hers.
The master's hand, which had seemed about to rub his weary shoulder,
flinched at the sight of her proffered hand.
"Hm."
"Ah."
"...You want me to hold it?"
"S-Sorry!"
The master looked at her with an odd expression, then chuckled softly.
Lemon's face flushed red as she bowed at a perfect ninety degrees.
Truth be told, she still found it hard to look her master in the eye when recalling the "ridiculous misunderstanding" from their first meeting.
And now this blunder too—
she truly couldn't bring herself to raise her head.
"It wasn't some grave mistake, so no need to bow like that. A dog extending its paw at the sight of its master's hand—how is that a mistake? It's loyalty."
"..."
"I planned to check once anyway. Extend your hand."
"...Yes."
Perhaps because of the recent slip-up,
delusions from months ago began creeping back into Lemon's mind.
She tried desperately not to think of them,
but thoughts only grow clearer the more you try to suppress them.
Lemon's gaze drifted to her master, eyes quietly closed.
'...He can't read thoughts, right?'
She didn't know much about his blessing.
She could only guess it read past memories.
If it read memories,
maybe it could read thoughts too.
'If he catches this thought... an arrogant slave straight to the bedroom...'
"You should head to the bedroom."
"Eek?!"
"You've been swinging that sword without proper sleep for days. I see you've made progress in training, but sleep deprivation hampers work efficiency, so get some real rest. Productivity suffers. Stop training for today and return to the quarters."
"Ah! Yes!"
"You are my property, so don't misuse my property."
"I'm sorry!"
Lemon wanted to die.