Slave Trade

[30 silver coins!]

Money and goods exchanged hands. Old John hitched up a donkey cart and headed straight for Green Forest City with the goods.

They drove down bustling, prosperous streets and through crowds of people.

Yin Ming finally gained a preliminary understanding of this world's superficial civilization.

It was not as backward as he had imagined, roughly comparable to Blue Star during the First Industrial Revolution. He had even seen a steam-powered automobile.

"Master John, it's been so long since you came to visit me!"

"They all said Little John had shriveled up like a dried caterpillar and couldn't do it anymore! But I—I don't believe them."

"Oh my! Why does my chest hurt so badly? Could some kindhearted person rub it for me?"

As they passed through the legendary red-light district, several women with deathly pale lead powder on their faces and vivid lipstick warmly greeted the two Johns.

Short on money, John spat out a few harsh words and hurried toward the slave market.

Yin Ming finally understood why this fellow dealt in slaves and was still both skinny and poor!

"..."

Very soon!

The cart arrived at the darkest corner of the city.

Iron cages of all sizes lined both sides of the road. Dark brown filth covered the ground, giving off a pungent, fishy stench.

Inside were beastkin girls with animal ears and tails, red-eyed merfolk covered in scales, and tiny dwarves with large red beards.

Of course, ordinary humans were the most numerous and the best-selling.

The nobles' farmlands, pastures, and mines all required massive numbers of cheap slaves to dig out glittering gold coins for them.

"Lord Singed, guess what fine goods I brought you."

Old John yanked away the tattered burlap, displaying Yin Ming, bound with hemp rope, before a bloated slave trader.

In peacetime, a healthy, sturdy serf was relatively rare merchandise.

"Just an ordinary serf. Anyone who didn't know better would think you'd caught an elf."

Singed did not waste words. The first thing he did was inspect Yin Ming's teeth. His technique was even more practiced than the old woman's, and he even pressed on his internal organs to check them, more thorough than a doctor's physical examination.

"Thirty-five silver coins. That's the highest price I can offer."

"Even ten times that price wouldn't buy a robust calf."

"Forty silver coins, for friendship's sake."

"A young man who's just come of age can be used for many years. He'd also make a fine breeding stud."

"Forty-five silver coins..."

After some bargaining, the deal was finally struck at fifty silver coins.

"..."

[50 silver coins!]

Yin Ming floated in midair like a wandering ghost.

He coldly watched his own body being bought and sold like livestock.

Anger, humiliation, the urge to draw his sword and look around in despair. He wanted to ruin the feng shui of their ancestral graves, yet he could not even find where their graves were buried.

Moreover, from the natives' perspective, these people had done nothing wrong. They were merely conducting an utterly ordinary serf transaction.

It was just unfortunate that the serf being traded happened to be him.

If he had been the former serf Eno, he would not have felt the slightest emotional stir. If he were lucky enough to be bought by a good master, he might even have been deeply grateful.

"At the end of the day, I'm still too weak!"

Modern thinking could not accept the lowly status of a serf with no human rights, yet he lacked the overwhelming strength to make the world run according to his will.

Every problem stemmed from insufficient firepower!

If he possessed strength like Zhu Bajie's—enough to ascend and become a True Immortal—then if he could not solve the problem, could he not at least solve the people who caused it?

"This world may not be in the Age of Dharma Decline."

"I lack neither Golden Core nor Qi Refining cultivation methods, but this world has no spiritual energy. In its place is a mysterious supernatural element. Even Old Pig cannot recover his magic power here, much less cultivate the immortal path."

"The known native supernatural professions include wizards, who can contend with Tribulation Realm cultivators and True Immortals. They must have no shortage of formidable methods for defending the Dao, but I don't have a single wizard cultivation method!"

Yin Ming sighed. For the first time in his life, he felt such an extreme craving for power.

In Mountain Territory, Viscount Orson's pursuit of supernatural power had led to the aftershocks of a battle between several powerful experts, leaving not a single survivor among the town's thousands of residents.

At the slave market, people were freely bought and sold like livestock. Nobles held the power of life and death over lowly serfs, and even if they were used as sacrifices to evil gods, no one thought there was anything wrong with it.

The sight was horrifying. Yin Ming was deeply shaken, and he felt an extreme lack of security in this turbulent otherworld.

"..."

With a loud clang.

Yin Ming was locked into an iron cage as well, becoming one of Singed's many items for sale.

The other slaves in the cage took the initiative to make room for him.

Their eyes were not empty. Only when they looked at the slave traders did their bodies instinctively curl up, revealing a trace of fear.

Only those with faith felt numbness and despair. Serfs had no concept of freedom at all and instead found contentment in their lives.

"How much is this slave?"

That morning, four lords pointed at Yin Ming and asked about his price, but they ultimately left because they could not agree on one.

During that time, a handsome, fair-skinned youth with defined abs was purchased at a high price by a wealthy woman weighing over two hundred pounds, round as a ball and with skin like sanded leather.

Singed thoughtfully threw in a jar of miraculous medicine. It was said to be a hereditary secret formula passed down from the royal court; after taking it, even an eighty-year-old man would dare draw his weapon against the fiercest female beast.

At noon, a man in a black jacket selected four young, strong slaves.

Singed directly quoted his lowest price: one gold coin and twenty silver coins per slave. They successfully reached an agreement.

Thus, Yin Ming and the other three slaves were transported to a manor a hundred li away and locked in a house built of black stone to await their fate.

"It's over! It's completely over!" The slightly older serf suddenly collapsed to the ground in despair.

"What's wrong? Having a master is better than starving in a slave trader's hands every day." The younger slave beside him asked with a puzzled expression.

"Did you see the lion-head crest at the entrance? This is Count Golden Lion's manor—the place where serfs die the fastest, and the slave market's biggest customer."

"Gulp! No wonder that old miser was willing to offer such a huge discount." Another slave had clearly heard Count Golden Lion's name before, and his mood became uneasy.

"..."

The effects of Drunken Dragon Grass did not last long. Yin Ming chose to wake while they were eating. He received a piece of black bread the length of his palm, a cup of not-quite-clear water, and a small dish of blackened, unidentified wild vegetables.

The black bread tasted even worse than he had imagined. It seemed to be made by grinding together tree bark, bran, and edible clay, then baking it over a fierce fire. Even with the resolve of taking medicine, he could only force down half of it.

The other three serfs spent the rest of the day in anxiety and panic, tossing and turning even in their sleep.

"Compared to having a blade at my throat and possibly becoming a sacrifice to an evil god the next second, what is there to fear about some native noble?"

After finally finding a safe place in this otherworld, he had to get a good night's sleep.

"..."

The next morning.

A sharp crack rang out.

Jeroen Hoven swung his whip, producing a resounding sonic boom.

Still bleary-eyed, Yin Ming saw a hulking man standing outside the Blackstone House, his muscles nearly bursting through his fitted butler's uniform.

Holding a finger-thick leather whip, the man wore a professional fake smile. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jeroen Hoven, butler of Tulip Manor. From now on, I will teach—no, train you into qualified serfs."