Slave Trader

Translator: Elizabeth

Chapter 1

Slave Trader.

A person who picks up fellow humans, sets a price on them, and sells them.

It was the first job I obtained as soon as I came to this other world, and one of the professions with a reputation stuck in the gutter.

Undertakers, mercenaries, assassins, robbers, bandits.

…No, aren’t the last two a bit much to call professions?

Anyway, for me, who was blown away to a medieval fantasy world without hearing a single word of guidance, the choices were not that many.

To be a merchant, one needs this and that kind of guarantee or credit. To be an adventurer, one naturally needs good fighting skills. To be a wizard, one needs talent; to be a pharmacist, one needs knowledge.

Then, what about me, who had just fallen into this other world? Naturally, I couldn’t do anything.

The job I was forced to choose, as if pushed off a cliff, was a Slave Trader.

“You, if you don’t listen, I’m going to tell the slave trader to take you away!” “Ahhh-! I don’t want to!”

It was also an entity frequently dragged out by parents of this world to scare their children.

Although the perception is rock bottom like this, viewing it as a single profession, being a slave trader isn’t quite so bad.

If you have money, you can open a business site without a background check, and it is—‘for now’—legal work permitted by the country. There is even something like an initial subsidy, and as long as you can take responsibility for the slaves' and your own food, maintenance costs are almost non-existent.

Ah, then where did I get the money? The answer lies in the ballpoint pen in my chest pocket and my clothes.

In a world where inkwells the size of a fist and quill pens are the norm, an item called a ballpoint pen is truly cutting-edge technology. Furthermore, the modern clothes I was wearing were treated as ‘unknown luxury goods’ and could be traded for a high price.

In essence, it was as if this world scooped up a spoonful of fate and fed it to me, saying, ‘Just be a slave trader.’

The place I arrived at after walking down the street was in front of a small house sitting forlornly on a sunny patch of land. I opened the door and entered as calmly as if it were my own home, then took a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠step toward the stairs heading to the basement as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m home—! You bundles of money!”

As I shouted loudly while stepping on the last stair, irregular and mischievous footsteps rang out haphazardly. ‘Bundles of money’ was the nickname I gave to the slaves. You know, because… the most precious thing to a merchant is money.

“It’s Mister!” “Mister! Give us breakfast!”

What followed were the whining voices of young children. It was a brightness and vitality that one could hardly associate with slaves.

“You should say, ‘Please give us,’ not just ‘Give us.’” “Please give us breakfast!”

I corrected the speech of Valen, a girl with red wavy hair who spoke in somewhat short honorifics, as I walked between the facing iron bars.

Do you remember me mentioning that the slave trade is legal? As per those words, since it is within the realm of the law, slaves receive reasonably good treatment as a type of commodity. Although it is behind iron bars, the environment—ranging from beds to bookshelves and tools to check the time—is proof of that. Seriously, compared to living as a thief, bandit, or homeless person, it has enough value to make one wish for the life of a slave.

“Sigh… Wait. Checking your condition comes first.”

Paying no mind to the kids clamoring for food, I let out a short sigh and meticulously examined the inside of each cage.

“There’s no one sick?!” “That’s for me to judge.”

A boy with clear, sparkling eyes looking from beyond the bars. Despite the shout from Shane, who had dark brown hair and red eyes, I carefully inspected the interior of the cage one by one.

First off, Shane is fine no matter who looks at him. Next is the person of interest, Haley. The girl with silver hair and blue eyes who, last time, tried to hide her illness only to end up with a raging fever and creating a huge mess. Thanks to that, I have memories of running around potion shops in broad daylight.

I stood in front of the cage where Haley was, staring at her with suspicious eyes as I asked.

“Haley, you’re really not sick today, right?” “Ah, yes… I’m really okay.”

Haley hesitated before bowing her head deeply and answering. Seeing that her voice was steady, it seemed she really was okay.

Toilet and drainage status, no problem. No infected personnel, and hygiene is no problem either. I checked everything that needed checking, and the status is good.

“Good, I’ll prepare breakfast now, so wait.”

With that, the usual first routine of every day was complete. Feeling a sense ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of accomplishment, I put my hands on my hips and spoke briefly so everyone could hear.

“Breakfaaaast—!” “Ugh.”

Then, a loud and youthful roar echoed through the basement. An echo of explosive sound that felt like it would burst eardrums, as always. I flinched unknowingly and covered my ears with my palms.

Leaving the basement as it was and heading to the kitchen, the breakfast ingredients I had bought in advance were sitting forlornly on the table. Cheap, hard bread that could be easily obtained anywhere. Added to that was a hefty chunk of meat and a vegetable that looked like lettuce.

There were ways to just buy them food appropriately or reduce food costs like other merchants, but…. Buying meals wasn’t efficient, and cutting unit costs felt like a terrible thing to do to growing kids, even if they were slaves.

The method I came up with to save money in my own way was to find ingredients myself and cook so they could eat their fill. Since the result was a three-fold difference, I couldn't help but do it this way.

I steamed the outer part of the hard bread slightly in a steamer so it could be chewed with teeth, and for the rest, I sliced the meat thinly as if shattering it, then stir-fried it. If I combined the roughly torn pseudo-lettuce with the bread, the ‘Isekai-style Moist Sandwich’ was finally complete.

You might ask why I dampen perfectly good bread…. It was better for the outside to be wet than to chew with all one's might and break a tooth. The bread of this era possessed a hardness that could be used as a hammer if one put their mind to it. As a test, I stood a piece of unsteamed bread vertically and struck the wooden table; a round mark remained, accompanied by a ‘thud’ sound, as if hit by a hammer.

‘How is this food?’

With a dumbfounded chuckle, I placed the finished bread one by one on a tray and shouted as I went down to the basement.

“Breakfast is ready.” “Waaaaah—!”

The basement became noisy at the voice announcing the meal. Following that, irregularly overlapping footsteps and the ‘clang-clang’ sound of tapping on the iron bars as if begging could be heard. Since both my hands were occupied by the tray, the damage of the shouts was delivered fully to my ears without mitigation.

I think my ears are going to bleed….

“I’ll give it to you faster if you sit quietly—!” “Heuk.”

When I shouted loudly to resist that roar, the footsteps and the boys' shouts stopped instantly. After that, I distributed the handmade sandwiches as desired, sat on a chair in the basement, and ate the same meal as the guys.

“There’s still some left, so tell me if you want more!” “Yeeees—!”

.

After taking care of the children's meals like that, I began teaching them the common sense and social skills of living here for the past three years, taking turns with each one.

Although it was a thoroughly cold relationship of merchant and merchandise, as a human being, it was inevitable that I would care about the kids. Even if it wasn’t quite a teacher-student relationship, I simply developed a desire for the kids who passed through my hands to do well.

Time flowed like that….

A few months later, the slaves who finally remained at the training center were Haley, Valen, and Shane. Before long, the three children had even forgotten that they were existences that had to be sold, running around freely like children protected in a convent. The training center wasn’t a very large space, but the three looked incredibly happy just to be out of the basement. Even Haley, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who was relatively passive when in the basement, ran around the house following Shane and Valen.

Since the three started running wild, I lacked time, and due to pocketbook issues, I rarely brought new slaves into the basement….

“Mister!” “Hmm?” “This! Us and Mister!”

Still, occasionally, when the kids brought a drawing with four unidentifiable human figures drawn in crooked lines, my worries melted away like snow.

“Right, good job, good job….” “Hehe.” “Hehee.”

While appreciating Shane and Valen’s bizarre collaboration and patting their heads half-heartedly. Next, I decided to spy on the drawing that Haley, who hadn’t finished hers yet, was drawing alone.

“What are you drawing, Haley?” “Ah…!”

Perhaps she didn’t even know I was approaching because she was focused on the drawing; Haley started in surprise and hid the picture with her arm. Anyone could see she was uncomfortable showing the drawing.

“Uh, if you don’t want to show me, you don’t have to.” “This…! I saw it in a book.”

As I stepped a pace back, treating her like a wild animal, only then did Haley grasp the paper and stand up to spread it wide, as if she wanted to show her drawing.

“What is this?” “Me.”

As expected, a human figure drawn with crooked lines. When I asked what it was, Haley pointed to the small one and said it was herself.

“And, this is… Mister.”

Following that, Haley pointed to the black thing next to it without pausing and said that it was me this time. The small white figure was wearing fluttering clothes, and the black thing was guarding its side, smiling broadly with a single curved line.

“Right, right, you drew it well.” “Later, please, do this.”

As I likewise patted Haley’s head half-heartedly, Haley said something incomprehensible, asking me to do this later.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, sure.”

As I couldn’t even recognize the drawing accurately, I just answered half-heartedly that I understood.

Since then, I often dealt with customers who came to send the kids to good places, but the quality of customers who bothered to come to a small business wasn’t that good. A couple wanting a quiet, ornamental child like a doll. A noble trying to buy a slave of the same age to handle like a toy for their mischievous only child.

The reasons for wanting to purchase slaves were varied, but cases that led to actual purchases were not many. If they were going to buy a slave for a legitimate purpose, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they could have just gone to a large business. Naturally, I told such humans to get lost as I had no intention of selling.

Ah, of course, I expressed it gently to the nobles. It would be unfair if my head got separated from my body for lèse-majesté.

Anyway, there was a demand for slaves in one form or another, and in a harsh world with monsters and adventurers, the supply of slaves was endless. Since it was even a business recognized by the country, I guessed it would be a thriving market for the next 10 years. If I put in the legwork and sent these kids to good places, at least I wouldn't have to worry about making a living in the future.

“From the coming first day, the act of directly buying and selling humans with money in any form shall never be tolerated.”

…Until suddenly, the new King announced he was enacting a law prohibiting the slave trade.

It has been a whopping seven years since that happened. At the same time, it has been seven years since I started managing the field.

My status was that of a so-called 'nimbly-bimbly' merchant whom no one had heard of. Perhaps because of that, during the process of returning my badge, I was unexpectedly able to get my identity in this other world recognized. I was merely an illegal alien, but in the process of returning the badge, I became a citizen on paper.

Not missing this opportunity, I made a pseudonym as I pleased and settled down in the outskirts of the countryside where it cost almost no money. Now, I have completely erased even my original name from my life and am living in the countryside under the name ‘Bern’.

Recently, I’ve gotten the hang of it, and the fields have been bountiful every season. The field I manage alone produces enough food to easily support about four people. When I look at the crops hanging in clusters, I feel proud as well.

Truly, as long as my body doesn't hurt, I have zero worries. There is no territoriality peculiar to the countryside, nor are there unreasonable demands for money. Even the people are so kind to a young man who returned to farming. It was truly the standard of an ideal country life.

A life where I didn't particularly wish for anything, and there was nothing to wish for. I thought today would pass by uneventfully as well.

Pak-pak-pak-pak, until the sound of hasty running was heard. The owner of the footsteps was the middle-aged man from two doors down, Mr. Droon.

“Hey, Bern! Did you hear that?” “Huh? Hear what all of a sudden?”

Mr. Droon, who slapped his palm on the fence with a thud!, spouted incomprehensible words, asking if I had heard it out of nowhere.

“Haa, haa… Did you hear that, I’m asking!” “No, you have to tell me what it is for me to know.”

Mr. Droon only repeated ‘that’ along with his ragged breathing. It was absurd, so I kept asking with a hollow laugh. There isn’t much to be surprised about in a rural backwater.

“Well, I heard a Ruby-rank adventurer came!” “Yeeeah…?!”

However, at the news Mr. Droon conveyed, I was also startled; I threw my farming tool on the ground, jumped over the fence, and followed behind Mr. Droon.

To explain a Ruby-rank adventurer: they are living war weapons. The pinnacle of fixers who take on the dirty work in this harsh world. Real monsters who single-handedly solve problems or monsters that even the nation cannot handle.

Why did a person of that level come to this rural backwater? Did something happen in this vicinity? Such anxiety did not leave a corner of my heart.

The sound of the dirt floor crunching in time with our running. After running without rest for about 10 minutes, we were able to reach the edge and entrance of the village.

“Over there, over there!” “…Whew, wow.”

Gasping for breath, I placed both palms on my knees. Spitting out a bizarre exclamation, I barely lifted my head and took in the scenery before my eyes. In addition to the sight of all the adults and children of the neighborhood gathered for the rare spectacle, a magnificent carriage was visible in glimpses between the residents.

It wasn't very visible because it was blocked by the murmuring crowd, but it seemed the protagonist of the day was beyond them. The moment I straightened my bent waist and took a few steps closer.

Next to the carriage, snow-white hair coming down to the waist caught my eye. A girl looking around, paying no mind to the residents treating her as a spectacle.

As I stared blankly at that kid due to a strangely familiar feeling, she suddenly whipped around to face this way.

Jabak-jabak, the girl walked unmistakably toward me. The girl, who had come close enough for my reflection to be seen in her blue eyes, spoke with delight on her previously emotionless face.

“Found you…!”

The girl grabbed my arm out of nowhere and shouted that she found me. The gazes of the residents, which had been focused on the carriage and the girl, instantly shifted to me.

Huh? What? I have to harvest right away tomorrow? What is this nonsense.