After settling on an inn, Jasper rested in his room. "Power On." Jasper continued hunting two more slimes and a horned rabbit that had sneaked into the battle, claiming all the slimy goo he needed and finishing his quest.
Going back to the city, an announcement appeared on top of the screen:
"Thanks to the merchant Erling providing [Horned Rabbit Hunting Strategy (Parchment)], all horned rabbit materials witnessed a good price reduction."
"What? Am I seeing this right? Erling? Isn't that the merchant I traded with? He's making my mercenary life harder with this action."
Walking!
"Well, it doesn't matter. It's a game after all; I can hunt other monsters if the horned rabbit's price gets too low."
Entering the Mercenary Guild, he took his reward for the quest and tried to sell the horned rabbit horns and skins he'd gotten, only to find their price at rock bottom. With a deep sigh, he sold them. As he was leaving, he saw a new NPC. Curiosity led him straight to talk to him.
[Talk]
(...) "Please leave me alone."
…
I'm not in the mood to talk. Someone gave that cunning merchant Erling the [Horned Rabbit Hunting Strategy (Parchment)], ruining my sales. I was a good horned rabbit hunter. If only I'd been the one to provide the parchment—that would've probably freed me from this tiring life. But now I need to keep hunting for lower prices. Ironically, it said the fool who traded it to Erling got a medium-quality weapon. He could've gotten a hefty sum of money or Mercenary Guild contribution points, but a mid-quality weapon? Tsk. He could've gotten at least four high-quality swords with that parchment!
Jasper felt like someone had poured cold water on him while he was naked outside on a snowy day.
"Hey, Armbrace, is there any way I can kill characters here? I'm really into killing someone today."
"Argh, I feel like I'm losing my mind. I can't play anymore today." Just as Jasper was about to say "Power Off," the NPC said:
That F! Erling—not only did he get his hands on [Horned Rabbit Hunting Strategy (Parchment)], he also started crafting parchment from the horned rabbit's skins. Their quality is top-notch; he's swept the market, leaving others to go bankrupt.
Jasper's mood instantly shifted. "It's probably not that bad an idea that he scammed me. He gave me a good idea to make quick money here, and I've already taught the strategy to the mercenaries in Hope City. By now, all the mercenaries in the kingdom probably know about it. All I need to do is create parchment with rabbit skins."
"Power Off."
Jasper and the others ventured into the sprawling royal city, their eyes widening at the magnificent stone architecture that towered around them. Unlike the humble wooden structures of outlying townships, these buildings stood as monuments to power and prestige—intricate stonework carved with the precision only wealth could command. The royal city's grandeur was undeniable, but so too was the arrogance it bred in its citizens, who carried themselves with an air of superiority that seemed to flow from the very cobblestones beneath their feet.
As they navigated the bustling streets, a heart-wrenching sound pierced through the noise of the crowd—pained whimpers echoing from a shadowy alleyway.
Arrgh... sob... arrgh...
Punch!
Rounding the corner into the alley's gloom, they were met with a horrific scene. A young woman cowered against the wall, her face streaked with tears and blood, while a burly man loomed over her, fist raised for another blow. Most disturbing of all was the circle of onlookers who watched with detached curiosity, as though witnessing nothing more unusual than a street performer. They soon lost interest and left, as if it were an everyday occurrence, leaving the herbalist shocked.
Lysandra's oceanic eyes flashed with righteous fury as she turned to her companions, expecting immediate action. Yet both Jasper and Ivar stood frozen, their faces masks of resignation. Bewilderment and anger rushed through her veins as she broke the silence, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.
"Why are you just standing there like statues when someone is being beaten half to death before our very eyes? Have you no conscience? No courage to act?"
Ivar met her gaze, his weathered face revealing the calluses of a soul long hardened by reality. "And what exactly can we do?" he asked, his voice hollow.
"Obviously, help her!" Lysandra shouted, her fists clenched at her sides.
Ivar released a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of countless similar scenes witnessed throughout his life. "Lysandra, I fear Jasper's kindness has distorted your understanding of how this world truly operates. Look closer—the markings on her neck reveal she's a slave, and the law grants her owner the right to treat her as he pleases. Before you judge too harshly, remember that my existence wasn't much different from hers until recently. You should be thankful that our master possesses a compassionate heart, or we wouldn't be standing here any differently than that poor girl. But I cannot fault your reaction—this is your first glimpse into the cruel reality of slavery."
Throughout their heated exchange, Jasper remained eerily silent, his gaze fixed on the scene yet somehow distant. Deep in his consciousness , he wasn't seeing the beaten slave girl but rather his younger self, cowering as the bullies circled him like vultures whenever they had the opportunity. Their taunts and blows rained down while passersby averted their eyes.
"Let's go," he finally murmured, breaking his trance. "We don't have the luxury of wasting the entire day."
Lysandra's shoulders slumped with disappointment. She had expected more from Jasper—had believed him different from others.
Noticing her crestfallen expression, Jasper's voice softened. "Don't look so dejected, Lysandra. Despite what tales might have you believe, I'm no hero capable of righting every wrong in this broken world—I'm merely human. You've spent your life sheltered in the embrace of the forest, untouched by society's cruelest realities. You've never witnessed how women are treated in these parts, nor how a slave's existence ranks below that of a common street dog. Sigh, I wasn't any better than her, I was constantly being bullied, with others only watching from the side." Jasper felt his mood ruined, remembering his past self.
Though Lysandra's lips parted to protest, she swallowed her words, the pain in her eyes speaking volumes about her inner conflict.
"The numbness will come with time," Ivar added with grim practicality. "It's a terrible thing to grow accustomed to such sights, but we cannot rewrite the rules that govern this world with what we are now." He walked on, scratching the back of his head with one hand while resting the other on his hip. "Such beauty wasted beneath those bruises. A crime in itself to mar such a face."
At Ivar's unexpected comment, Jasper halted so abruptly that his companions nearly collided with him. He turned slowly, his penetrating gaze fixing on Ivar with sudden intensity. "Do you find her beautiful?"
Beads of nervous sweat formed on Ivar's brow as he struggled to interpret Jasper's interest. "Do you want her?" Jasper pressed, his voice unreadable.
Ivar remained silent, confusion evident in his furrowed brow. Jasper's line of questioning took an unexpected turn. "Let me ask you, Ivar, how old are you?"
The question caught Ivar off-guard. "Obviously, I don't know," he admitted, embarrassment coloring his voice.
"Hmm, yes—you mentioned being enslaved since infancy. Let me approach this differently," Jasper mused. "Were you there, thirty years ago, when the kingdom shed the heavy burden of costly foreign salt and established its own supply?"
"No?" Ivar replied, uncertainty evident in his voice.
"Perhaps you recall the jubilation when the king declared a single-year tax amnesty twenty-two years ago?"
A flicker of recognition crossed Ivar's face. "Yes! I remember that clearly—it was because of the birth of the crown prince. My master was positively ecstatic that day, though I was but a child then."
"Did you still have your milk teeth at that time?" Jasper inquired, his questioning seemingly random yet purposeful.
Ivar winced at the memory. "Please don't resurrect that particular ghost, master. I remember it as though it happened yesterday. My owner then was a cruel man who fooled me saying I would perish once all my teeth fell out. I starved myself and barely spoke for months, desperately trying to preserve each tooth. Looking back, I was probably quite the troublemaker to inspire such torment. But what does it matter now? He was merely a withered old man teetering on death's doorstep."
A small smile tugged at Jasper's lips. "Children typically begin losing their milk teeth between their fourth and sixth year—at least according to the medical texts I've studied. If we assume you were five then, you would be approximately twenty-seven now—a full-grown man in every sense. So, tell me honestly, Ivar, do you yearn for a wife? For companionship?"
Ivar's entire body seemed to flush as perspiration dampened his tunic. His mouth trembled before he drew a steadying breath and answered with surprising conviction: "I truly do. The nights grow unbearably lonely with no one to share them."
"Then answer what I asked before: Is she beautiful to your eyes? Do you desire her as your own?"
Throughout this exchange, Lysandra listened with mingled curiosity and embarrassment, her cheeks flushing crimson as she averted her gaze.
"Yes," Ivar confessed, his voice dropping to a whisper as his entire face blazed red.
"Very well," Jasper nodded decisively. "Let's return to the alley."
When they retraced their steps, the brutal scene continued unabated—the slave girl still crumpled on the ground, weeping as blows rained down. Jasper approached the aggressor with calm determination.
"Enough! Continue at this rate and you'll have a corpse rather than a slave."
The man whirled around, confronted by a hooded figure whose stature belied the commanding presence in his voice.
"And who might you be to interrupt my business?" he snarled, hand still raised in mid-strike.
"Someone with interest in the woman you're systematically destroying. She appears quite tasty. May I inquire why you're treating her so brutally?"
The man drew himself up, scanning Jasper with suspicious eyes. "Lost eight silver to that cheating bastard at the tavern," he growled.
"I see. And what connection does that have to this woman's punishment?"
"None whatsoever. Simply needed something to vent my frustrations upon."
"Such a waste, If I may ask—who is she to you?"
"You're certainly full of questions for such a small man! She belongs to my ailing father. He purchased her to tend to him in his infirmity. Now that he's on death's doorstep, I'll inherit her along with everything else. Until then, I'll do as I please with her."
A short distance behind Jasper, Ivar's knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists, restraining the impulse to intervene.
"Perhaps we could reach an arrangement," Jasper suggested smoothly. "I'll compensate you for the eight silver coins you lost if you're willing to part with her." Jasper tested the man's resolve, knowing that gamblers are often blinded by greed.
The man's laughter echoed harshly off the alley walls. "Another swindler, I see! Do you take me for a fool?" He advanced menacingly toward Jasper, aggression evident in every line of his body.
With deliberate slowness, Jasper pushed back his hood, revealing his face. The man gasped involuntarily, retreating several steps. Jasper's unsettling appearance—a feature that had brought him nothing but misery in childhood—now served as a powerful tool of intimidation.
"Young man," Jasper's voice carried a deadly calm, pretending to be an ancient monster, "you display remarkable boldness for someone so clearly outmatched. I've lost count of those who have come to regret provoking my temper. I suggest maintaining your civility while I'm still inclined to be reasonable."
Fear flickered across the man's face despite his efforts to conceal it. "You're attempting to swindle me with merely eight silver for a slave! Everyone knows slaves are valued in gold, sir." His tone wavered between defiance and newfound respect.
"Indeed they are. But judging by your enthusiastic beating, I assumed she was destined for an early grave regardless. Dead flesh commands little price on any market, wouldn't you agree?" Jasper's eyes widened unnaturally as his lips curled into a grotesque parody of a smile, never forgetting to wipe his drooling saliva. The terrifying visage proved too much, the slave girl fainted where she lay, while the man's trousers darkened with a spreading stain.
"S-Sir," he stammered, "she's more resilient than she appears. I've left her in far worse states before without causing lasting damage."
"Enlighten me—what sum did your father pay for her acquisition?"
"Ten gold coins, sir," the man replied, visibly trembling.
"I'm feeling generous today. Twelve gold seems fair..." Jasper paused, eyeing the woman's battered form. "On second thought, considering her current condition, perhaps the original price would be more appropriate."
"That would be most acceptable, sir!" The man agreed eagerly, relief evident in his voice.
"Was there formal documentation of the purchase, or merely a verbal agreement?"
"Only verbal, sir."
Behind them, Ivar and Lysandra struggled to maintain their composure, amazed at how thoroughly Jasper had transformed the towering brute into a shivering cat.
"Then let's finalize our transaction before your neighbors and family, ensuring no misunderstandings arise later. But heed this warning—speak of our private conversation to anyone or why I'm buying her for..." Jasper's voice dissolved into an inhuman laugh that sounded more like desperate inhalations than exhalations, "...and you'll discover firsthand what it means to become a meal in my table."
With the transaction completed, they returned to their inn, the unconscious woman carried carefully between them. Jasper instructed Lysandra to tend to her wounds while he and Ivar resumed their interrupted business. The anticipation radiating from Ivar was palpable as they departed.
What Jasper did wasn't out of kindness. He wanted to chain Ivar, knowing that slaves can sometimes revolt. By buying him a wife at her original price too, he aimed to secure Ivar's loyalty. After all, who was Ivar to Jasper? He was someone he had known for less than a month.
The same was true with Azm. He couldn't control a barbarian, so why not make him an ally? It was better than losing his money, along with a powerful slave, and possibly his life as well.
Even though Jasper felt the sincerity of Azm, Ivar, and Lysandra that day when they hugged him, he couldn't bring himself to trust them fully. After all, the human heart is fickle, The same happened with Maida—his stepmother.
Entering a tavern, Jasper surveyed the patrons until his gaze settled on a hollow-eyed man slumped in the corner. As Jasper approached and tossed a few gold coins onto the table—not intending to give it to him though, the stranger's lifeless eyes suddenly sparked with renewed interest.
"How may I be of service?" he inquired, eyeing the gold.
"I'll be direct," Jasper stated, sliding into the seat opposite. "I require a merchant's identity. You'll become one in name, while my associate and I handle all actual commerce. For this simple arrangement, you'll receive twenty percent of all profits without lifting a finger. The remaining eighty percent belongs to me."
The man's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why not register yourself or your companion? Why involve an unknown third party?"
Jasper leaned forward, fingers interlaced before him. "My companion bears a slave's brand and cannot legally hold such positions. As for myself, I intend to pursue a different profession, and kingdom law prohibits dual registrations. Your selection was merely circumstantial—a fortuitous encounter. This arrangement costs you nothing while potentially yielding substantial gain. Surely you recognize the opportunity before you?"
Though the stranger feigned careful deliberation, the gleam of avarice in his eyes betrayed his eagerness. "I place myself at your disposal, Mister..."
"'Mister' will suffice."
"Names matter little to me. Let's prosper together, Mister," he replied with enthusiasm.
"Indeed we shall," Jasper affirmed, smirking beneath his hood.