56 — 6 (6)

‘Hoo… is it morning?’

Louis rubbed his eyes and sat up as sunlight filtered through the window. Two bodies entangled with his slipped from his arms one by one. Judging by how they were still dozing, they must have been quite tense yesterday.

‘Who would’ve thought both were virgins…’

What surprised him even more was that the women he had enjoyed were considered the average option. In a sense, Louis, hailing from a backwater country, had reason to be astonished at Aiwood’s class. This was a fearsome city where the greatest number of slaves in the world gathered and were sold. In both quantity and quality, there was nothing lacking.

Just looking at the two virgins quietly breathing at his sides was enough to feel the city’s class.

‘This might be worth some expectations.’

What Louis wanted were slave craftsmen with the seedlings of talent to produce heavy gear to outfit his heavy cavalry. Naturally, they were not ordinary slaves; that was why he had come all this way with utmost effort.

‘Talent Insight is useful in more places than I thought.’

At first he had felt it was a frivolous investment, but now it had become an indispensable trait for restructuring his talent pool.

“Have you risen, Lord Louis?”

“…?”

Without being called, the door eased open and the banana-topknotted steward from yesterday appeared.

Behind him came a simple breakfast, clothes to wear, and water for washing. There was also a fresh sheet to replace the one marked with the symbol of lost maidenhood.

“Ah… forgive us.”

As the virgins woke one after the other and realized how much time had passed, they reflexively apologized to Louis. They waited, taut with fear, for his reply—if Louis grew angry, they would be confined to solitary. Depending on how angry he was, they might even be whipped for “insufficient service.” Both harshly blamed themselves.

‘We practiced so hard… sob sob… please… please…’

Seeing the two girls he had spent the night with look at him with pleading eyes, Louis wondered for a moment, then concluded they meant to bathe him and help him change; he extended his arms.

Watching like a hawk for Louis’s reaction, the steward seemed to judge it favorable and clapped twice.

‘Haa… haaah… we’re safe.’

The cute girl with bright, eager eyes hurried over to undress Louis, delighted that this noble seemed different from the rest. They had steeled themselves, remembering comrades who were roughly handled on the first night—and some who, besides formal use, were violated “in the back” and spent a week weeping in the privy. Compared to that, Louis had treated them with surprising gentleness, and they could not help but feel a tender attachment.

While their tangled signals crossed and recrossed, Louis’s mind had already left the room. It was filled with reviewing today’s slave auction and the tasks ahead.

As they moved to undress and bathe him, Louis stopped them. He was a noble, but he had not lived like a fool. Take only what is necessary and do the rest yourself—that was Louis.

“Enough. I’ll handle the rest.”

While Louis performed a quick wash, the marked sheet and other items were already being rotated out—apparently not just the sheet but everything they had touched, from the duvet to sundries, was being cleaned.

“Did the night please you?”

Handing Louis a towel, the steward asked. He already felt favor toward this young noble who was so unlike the usual sort. In Aiwood he had seen countless young nobles—useless, whiny fools. The capable were a tiny minority, and yet they moved everything. Though he had not yet fully introduced himself, the steward instinctively sensed Louis belonged to that type. At the very least, the trained body glimpsed when Louis undressed was not that of a common noble; such a physique came only from repeated training—no work of a day or two. The large scar of an arrow on his thigh suggested he had seen war. Slightly overstated, perhaps, but the fact of battle experience was true.

‘At that age, impressive. If the service had displeased him, these girls would have…’

Cultivating and managing connections with nobles was one of the steward’s chief duties. A free city could be seen as a peculiar form outside state control: a single city acting as an autonomous domain, moving and deciding unilaterally. Maintaining diplomatic balance in that way was Aiwood’s strategy—hence the greater importance of its stewards’ competence.

“It was fine. Both were very good.”

“I am relieved you were satisfied. I was slightly concerned—they are a bit inexperienced. Would you like us to attend you with new girls for the duration of your stay?”

The steward liked Louis enough to make an offer he usually did not; after all, men seldom disliked new virgins… He expected no refusal—but Louis thought otherwise.

‘If they’re that nervous each time, it’s a nuisance.’

“No. While I remain here, assign those two to me exclusively.”

The steward smiled broadly.

“They pleased you quite a bit. Of course.”

“More importantly, I heard the slave auction is today.”

“Yes. It begins in the late afternoon.”

“Details.”

“It starts late afternoon with the lowest-grade lots. The truly fine slaves can be seen in the evening at the banquet hall.”

“The banquet hall…”

“I will prepare formal attire.”

“Do so.”

Louis appreciated the steward’s professional service.

‘So this is the auction house.’

The surrounding buildings and roads clearly differed from the ordinary quarters. When Louis had first arrived in Aiwood, he had passed places where slaves were bought and sold like an open market—lively rather than luxurious.

Here, by contrast, the foot traffic was far thinner. Most groups were two or three at most; the ones in splendid attire were plainly scions of regional nobility or persons of similar rank.

Louis walked with only Kaiser in attendance. Interestingly, whereas the public streets were filled with hawkers shouting madly to sell slaves, here the merchandise was displayed like an exhibition—lined up in silence.

‘They’re roughly categorized as well.’

Broadly, male and female. On the right were slaves sold for sexual use. Louis had expected mostly women, but was surprised—there were more men than he thought, and bands of noblewomen prowled together to buy one of them.

‘So the girls from last night were of about this tier.’

Louis glanced at a bound woman. Eyes brimming with despair; pupils trembling with shame.

If the women seen in common streets were a “1,” these bound here were a “5.” With looks one might find once in a hundred and such youth, of course the price was steep…

‘And this isn’t even the real premium stock yet.’

“Are you interested?”

A steward ahead asked Louis. He shook his head.

“No—I want to see slaves with skills.”

“Ah, you’ve taken the wrong wing. This way.”

Louis followed his lead. One curious point: strict hierarchy divided the nobles even here, and they exchanged courtesies as they passed—naturally, those with the strongest clout were nobles from the Empire.

Just then, a noble youth of about Louis’s age approached from afar. The eagle crest marked him unmistakably as imperial; other nobles greeted him at once.

Seeing the man walking toward him, Louis wondered whether he ought to salute first.

‘Hmm… better do it.’

Stirring international trouble might earn him his father’s discipline later. Having decided, Louis strode forward confidently.

On the other side, the relaxed youth suddenly stiffened at a prickling aura.

‘What…? Don’t tell me Uncle is here… He’ll kill me!’

He mistook Louis’s presence for his uncle’s. The uncle, though a noble, was a hot-tempered Sword Expert who sometimes beat his weakly nephew for “not listening.”

Of course the aura could not truly be the same, but this practically inept noble—ignorant of swordcraft and all practical matters—lacked the sense to distinguish how Louis’s presence differed.

Flustering ahead, he finally noticed Louis coming straight toward him.

‘W-what the…’

Though clearly not imperial, the man seemed to be closing in to pick a quarrel; why come closer? Muttering that he wished the fellow wouldn’t, he lost his nerve and spoke to the attendant beside him.

“A-ahem… I fancy that one over there. Let us go at once.”

“As you wish, young master.”

Not expecting the other to veer away, Louis thought he had taken those steps for nothing and turned aside himself.

Soon he arrived at the section for skilled slaves.

“This is the place.”

The age range skewed older at a glance. The sex ratio was roughly even. Since these were craftsmen, many attendants here counted as skilled assistants—more professional valets.

‘Let’s have a look.’

Louis began inspecting slave profiles as he passed. On the way here he had raised Talent Insight to Level 3, unlocking a new view—Blacksmith Specialty, and with it, Blacksmith Talent.

‘Heavy-gear work requires at least a 5…’

He strode forward, picking one by one. The speed of selection was astonishing, and the checking process short.

The steward, nonchalant at first, found his eyes widening.

‘Good grief… he’s picking out every prime lot.’

A steward’s virtue was to nudge nobles with questions so the lower-grade slaves could be sold off first. But Louis left no such openings and swept the field.

He had set opening bids at the minimum; he was confident two-thirds would be his. Even so, none truly pleased him—the average Blacksmith Talent hovered at 3–4.

‘Then it must be here.’

The banquet hall. Music was a given; laughter rang in many places. Here and there a spread of delicacies, and beside them stood female slaves—both for display and for sale: a dual role. Their “feature” was total nudity. Bands on their arms indicated price tiers; each wore one red band—the starting bid.