Chapter 5

The surrounding crowd dispersed under the knights' driving.

Nat Case said, "You have to know that two gold coins is already the lowest price I can give. He's someone I spent fifteen gold coins to buy back from the Gaina."

"He was once a brave lord's captain, and he's definitely the most expensive slave now."

On the Western Continent, slaves were the lowest class of people, with prices ranging from seventy copper coins to five silver coins, and sometimes they could even be exchanged for food or goods.

Choosing a slave was like choosing goods.

Aside from checking whether the slave was healthy and had sound limbs, high demands also included looking at the slave's appearance, acquired knowledge, skills, and so on.

Cyrus asked, "Fifteen gold coins is indeed very expensive. Why is he worth this price?"

Nat Case answered, "Before murdering the lord's younger brother, he had already earned enough achievements and was about to become a baron."

Cyrus could not help looking at the man still kneeling on the ground.

The man lowered his eyelids slightly, covered in blood, showing no reaction at all to the content of their conversation. If not for his chest still slowly rising and falling, he would have seemed like a completely silent dead man.

What on earth caused him to kill someone right before becoming a baron?

Nat Case clicked his tongue. "He's a very rare slave."

Cyrus asked, "Then why were you going to beat him to death?"

"He rudely talked back to me!"

Nat Case proudly raised his chin. "A noble's dignity cannot be offended. A single strand of my hair alone is worth more than fifteen gold coins."

"So do you usually pay with strands of hair?"

Cyrus slightly parted his small mouth with a "wow, I learned something" expression on his face.

He tugged at his own hair and said, "I'm a count, so my strands of hair must be even more valuable. I'll give you one, no need for change."

Seeing that he was actually going to pull out a strand of hair.

Nat Case hurriedly said, "No... that's just an exaggerated metaphor. Do you understand what a metaphor is?"

Cyrus blinked innocently and nodded to indicate that he understood.

He said, "Brother, two gold coins is still a bit expensive. After all, he has injuries on his body. What if he doesn't heal and dies?"

"Make it a bit cheaper."

"...One gold coin, the absolute lowest price."

"Deal."

Cyrus agreed simply and neatly.

One hand exchanged money while the other exchanged "goods."

After Cyrus left with the "goods."

Nat Case breathed a sigh of relief for no apparent reason. "He finally sold... Wait, why did I have to go through with this transaction?!"

And it was even a losing transaction that made him lower the price again and again?!

He clearly could have refused!

After returning to his temporary residence, Cyrus had Judas fetch a physician.

The physician originally thought he was going to treat Lord Count, and had not expected to be asked to treat a slave. He could not help showing disgust on his face as he said, "Lord Count, slaves have very cheap lives. Usually, just letting them fend for themselves and die on their own is fine. They aren't worth wasting money on..."

Cyrus said, "Shut up. I'm paying, you just do as I say."

Where did all this nonsense come from?

The physician sullenly shut his mouth and began treating the wounds.

He took out a flat iron tool and requested to burn coal in a basin.

Cyrus asked, "What are you trying to do?"

The physician replied, "To stop the bleeding, Lord Count, and also to prevent the wound from getting infected."

Cyrus somewhat overestimated the medical level on the Western Continent.

Just like if he had not woken up in time from a high fever earlier, he definitely would have been bled or had his skull opened for treatment.

He remembered a report that once evaluated the backward Middle Ages—medical science regressed back to the primitive era, doctors probably killed more people than viruses did, and they were a bunch of murderous butchers.

Turns out the report was not exaggerated.

Cyrus had no choice but to instruct, "Clean his wounds with clean water first... Are there any herbs? Painkillers? None at all?! Gauze... clean cloth will do too..."

He saw that in the box the physician brought, there were useless jars and cans, a drill, a hammer, a knife... oddly scented spices, sulfur, and so on.

He even saw a live, moving leech crawling around...

The physician bandaged all the wounds on the man's body according to Cyrus's request, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and said, "Lord Earl, do you need me to leave behind any medicine?"

The medicine he spoke of was a bottle of murky, prayed-over holy water.

"...No need, you may leave."

The physician took his leave and departed.

Cyrus looked at the man, who had remained completely silent ever since they met. "What is your name?"

"Fernandi Edward."

The man's voice was deep and hoarse.

He seemed to hold little respect or awe for nobility.

Even though Cyrus had fetched a physician to treat him, the expression on his face had never changed, lacking even the slightest hint of gratitude.

His hands and feet still wore heavy shackles. Once the bloodstains were washed away, they revealed a handsome, masculine visage, with a knife scar on his right cheek stretching from the side of his ear to his chin, about a finger's length, adding a touch of fierceness.

Cyrus said, "Can you tell me why you wanted to kill the lord's younger brother?"

Fernandi Edward replied, "You don't need to know."

Judas frowned. "Mind your attitude."

Although he did not know what Fernandi Edward had experienced to make him abandon a promising position as head of the knights and even his barony to assassinate a nobleman...

He could not tolerate such a cold and disrespectful attitude toward the Earl who had saved his life.

Fernandi Edward simply continued in a flat tone, "If you are angry, you can order someone to kill me."

Cyrus said, "But I bought you with one gold coin. Can you pay it back to me first? Or if I kill you, will your corpse spit out gold coins?"

Obviously, neither was possible.

Fernandi Edward fell silent once more.

Cyrus looked at him for a moment and instructed, "Judas, keep an eye on him. Don't let him die."

Judas said, "Yes, Lord Earl."

After the attendants delivered the signed territorial transfer documents, the grayed-out Par Mountain on the system interface instantly lit up and turned color, and the territory's range data updated.

Cyrus was in no rush to leave. He stayed in the royal capital for another three or four days before slowly setting off on the journey back to Visas.

Fernandi Edward's wounds had more or less scabbed over during this period, to the point where they wouldn't split open and bleed from movement.

He walked behind the craftsmen, guarded by knights. The shackles on his hands and feet had long since been removed, allowing him to move freely.

Passing through a mountain forest to rest.

Cyrus was curled up inside the carriage taking a nap, occasionally letting out small burps from being full.

The knights and craftsmen had also eaten their fill, each finding a place to rest or gathering in twos and threes to chat.

After confirming that Cyrus was asleep, Judas walked over to Fernandi Edward. "The Earl's original plan was to leave the royal capital the moment the documents were issued."

"The reason he delayed for another four days, and why we are traveling so slowly on the road... I believe you can sense why that is."

Fernandi Edward sat alone on a rock, raising his head to silently glance in the direction of the carriage.

He had originally harbored a desire to die.

Whether it was intentionally speaking rudely to offend that nobleman Nat Case, or letting his wounds fester...

If not for the fact that suicide would cause the devil to take his soul, he would have already discarded his life.

"What could he possibly want from me?" Fernandi Edward asked in a hoarse voice.

Judas said, "You have nothing right now."

Fernandi Edward laughed self-deprecatingly. "You're right, which is why I can't figure it out."

Judas gave him a deep look. "As for the Earl, I only hope you can harbor a grateful heart."

With that, he turned and left.

After a long while.

Fernandi Edward let out an almost imperceptible, low sigh. "The person I once felt grateful to... has already made me betray them..."