Imprisonment

"When and where did you awaken your job class? Who's your benefactor? Can you really brand someone with a slave mark?"

Dragged into the interrogation room under the pointing fingers of the crowd, I answered the questions of the man seated across from me—Ronald.

"A few days ago, the goddess Kylie assigned me this job. She taught me all the slave management skills too, so if you're looking for a benefactor, it's Kylie. Which means it's completely legal—"

Bang!

Ronald slammed the desk hard enough to cut me off and roared.

"Is the goddess your buddy now?! And you're telling me the goddess herself bestowed the job of slave merchant—not a holy vocation—and taught you the skills for it?! Do you seriously expect me to believe that?!"

I just took what I was given. What's the point of grilling me about it…

I grumbled inwardly and said,

"It's the truth. I'll admit I tried to hide my job because people seem to have a bad impression of slave merchants, but what reason would I have to lie at this point? She told me to come find her if I had any questions, so if you go to the temple, everything will be proven."

Ronald stared at me long and hard after hearing the sincerity in my voice, then let out a sigh.

"Haa. Fine. But mark my words. If what you say turns out to be a lie, you'll be charged with blasphemy against the goddess as well—"

Before Ronald could finish, someone knocked on the interrogation room door.

Knock knock.

"…Who is it?"

When Ronald asked, a rather deep, resonant voice came from beyond the door.

"It's me, Sir Ronald. May I come in?"

"My lord the Count?! Of course!"

The Count? Count Hamel? All of a sudden?

While I was still puzzled by the Count's unexpected appearance, the door opened and a middle-aged man—looking to be in his late forties—walked in with his hands clasped behind his back.

Ronald rose from his seat and offered a respectful greeting.

"My lord! What brings you here…?"

"Ah, Sir Ronald. I was passing through the square and heard the whole place was in an uproar about a slave merchant appearing on the continent. So I came to take a look. I hear you were a great help in the arrest?"

"I merely did what needed to be done."

"Nonsense. Thanks to you keeping the peace in the territory, I, the House of Hamel, and all the people of this land can live in comfort."

Uh… so… that man is Count Hamel? Why?

Listening to the exchange between Ronald and the middle-aged man, I couldn't help but tilt my head in confusion.

No matter how I looked at it, the information the status window provided was a long way from anything that belonged to Count Hamel.

What's going on here? I was told the Hamel count family has ruled for generations. Shouldn't his surname be Hamel, then? He even called himself part of the House of Hamel. What the hell?

While I was struggling to reconcile what I'd heard from the village chief's son in Tran with what I was seeing—and what the status window was telling me—the Count asked,

"So that fellow is the slave merchant?"

"Yes. His identification listed his job as slave merchant, and he himself just admitted to being one. However, he claims the goddess herself bestowed the job upon him, so we were about to head to the temple to verify."

After Ronald summarized the situation so far, the Count sighed and said,

"And you believe that? You're far too soft-hearted—that's your problem. Lock him in the dungeon. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'll personally interrogate him and pass judgment on whatever's lacking. Ah, and I've already ordered that the mage who tried to kill the guards be imprisoned as well."

Hold on? Imprisoned? Selena too? Who the hell decided that?

I'd been thinking I could just go to the temple, face Kylie, and clear up all the misunderstandings. The sudden turn of events left me staring at the Count in shock.

Looking at me with a somewhat sinister expression, the Count called toward the door.

"You there. Drag this slave merchant to the dungeon."

"Yes, my lord!"

A guard answered the Count's order with a booming voice and came in to haul me away.

"Let go! The temple! Take me to the temple! I can prove everything there!"

I thrashed and shouted, trying to break free of the restraints, but neither the Count's mouth—curved in a strange smile—nor Ronald's, set in a grim expression, opened.

With a strength my F-rank power couldn't hope to match, the guard dragged me all the way down to the underground dungeon and flung me into an empty cell.

Clank!

After locking the iron bars, the guard looked down at me sprawled on the floor with contemptuous eyes.

"Ptui. Filthy slave merchant scum. How can a person even think of enslaving another person? And then you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠go and sell the goddess's name on top of it?"

Look, I know slavery isn't great, but it's not like the old days where you work people to death or mindlessly rape them until their minds break… This is something the god in charge of this world permitted…

I couldn't exactly claim that keeping slaves was the right thing to do, but receiving this kind of treatment because of a blessing—I was starting to doubt whether it even was a blessing anymore—that I'd gotten as a reward for what was, in its own way, a good deed (though I still didn't understand why I'd done it) left me feeling wronged. As I stared blankly at the iron bars, a voice came from the cell next door.

"A slave merchant, they say. Is he out of his mind? The end times are here, I tell you."

I turned my head and saw a rough-looking man through the bars. Job: Pirate B.

A pirate whose job is robbing passing ships and plundering coastal cities is badmouthing a slave merchant and fretting about the state of the world? At B-rank, how many people has he killed and robbed?

"Yaaawn… Just screw 'em once and be done with it. How do you enslave people?"

Looking across the way, a pretty-faced man was blinking his eyes, just waking up. His job: Sex Maniac A.

Wow. A guy who's probably toyed with countless women on his way to A-rank is criticizing a slave merchant? Wait—more importantly, Sex Maniac is a job class?

"Yeah. Better to just kill them cleanly. Slavery? Tsk tsk."

From the cell next to the Sex Maniac, a cold-faced man spoke of killing as if it were nothing. Job: Assassin A.

Whoa. Even a guy who sneaks around murdering people is trash-talking a slave merchant. Are you by any chance an assassin order that fights the Temple Knights or something?

I was still reeling from the absurdity of being condemned by guys with these ridiculous jobs when a man who looked twice the size of the pirate spoke up.

"More importantly. I hear he dared to invoke the goddess's name? If I hadn't been unjustly imprisoned, I would have delivered judgment upon you myself… What's wrong with tearing heretics who turn their backs on the goddess to pieces? That Count is clearly a heretic too. The moment I get out of here, I'll pass judgment."

The man spoke as if he genuinely couldn't understand what was wrong with tearing people apart. Job: Heretic Inquisitor A.

No, I really did receive the goddess's blessing… Well, I did curse a little… You know how people curse the king when things go wrong. I was wronged, so I said some things. Cut me some slack…

Looking at those bulging arm muscles that looked fully capable of actually tearing a person apart, I shrank back and made excuses inwardly. Then I swept my gaze across the cells lit by the occasional torch.

Merchant. Farmer. Fisherman. Knight. Lord. Mercenary. Thief. Unemployed. Host. Sailor. Bandit.

As I scanned the prisoners' status windows, one unusual job caught my eye.

Host? Like an escort? Guess this world isn't all that different from the other one. Well, he is pretty handsome. Must've made plenty of women cry. Lucky bastard. Anyway—is Selena okay? She's not here, so she must be locked up somewhere else…

As I looked over the man handsome enough to pass for an idol and fretted about Selena, one of the status windows I'd skimmed over earlier flashed through my mind.

Wait a second. I think I missed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠something.

Just as I was about to turn my gaze to check that status window again, two men in roughly thrown-on guard uniforms entered the dungeon and came up to my cell.

"You the slave merchant?"

When I nodded at the words of the rat-faced man named Ron, whose job was Tamer B, Hans—whose job was listed as Mercenary B—opened the iron bars and stepped inside. He was carrying a large sack and a cloth.

"Excuse me? What are you—mmph?!"

Hans stuffed the cloth into my mouth as I backed away asking questions, then yanked the sack over my head.

Wh-what the hell are you doing?! Hey! Wait—!

I thrashed in panic, but there was no escaping ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the sack that had swallowed my upper body in an instant.

Hey! What are you trying to do?! Help me! Somebody help!!! Selena!!!

While I was calling for help, Hans laid my sacked upper body down, shoved my thrashing lower half into the sack as well, and tightly bound the end.

Help me! Anybody! Goddess, what are you doing! Kylie!!! Hey!!!

Just as I, trapped in the sack, thrashed even harder in my panic—

Thud!

?!?!

A sound like something bursting rang out, and a horrific pain shot up from my lower abdomen.

"Twitch one more time and I'll make you shit blood."

Hans said it in an irritated voice to me, who couldn't even scream through the mind-numbing pain. Ron stopped him.

"Cut it out. They said he's important."

"Damn it. Business runs just fine without this crap. I don't get why they want to use this."

Hans grumbled at Ron's words as he hoisted the sack with me inside onto his shoulder.

"If it turns out he's useless, I'll be the one to dispose of him."