Astrin — Lower Market District

The sun had almost set, spilling long orange streaks through the narrow alleys. The deeper Liam went, the stronger the air smelled

But it wasn't the noise that drew him. It was the sign.

Carved from black wood and hung above a wide arched doorway, it read: Beast Trade Hall.

Below it, etched in smaller letters, was Registered by Royal Decree of Astrin.

So slavery here wasn't a back-alley crime. It was law.

He stood for a moment in front of the entrance, watching the people who came and went. Some wore silks and jewelry—nobles or merchants. Others wore armor, their expressions detached and cold. Every one of them carried the same air: ownership.

Liam exhaled quietly. He wasn't here out of desire. He wanted to see how this world functioned—to learn its order and hierarchy. If he was to build balance here, he needed to understand it first.

Still, as he stepped through the doors, a part of him burned. While he didn't like the concept of slaves, Liam knew that this was the culture of this world and there was nothing he could do about it, yet.

Besides, he was aware that something like this was probably being ran by a high ranking noble or a group of them. There was no way that someone like him who has no idea about this world's system, can go against them.

Inside, the atmosphere changed. The noise of the streets vanished, replaced by low murmurs and the faint clinking of chains. The air was perfumed, but the sweet scent couldn't hide the undertone of iron and sweat.

The hall was built like a marketplace and an auction house combined. Velvet curtains, chandeliers, rows of display cages lining both sides. Each cage was large enough for one or two people, with a small plaque nailed to the front listing race, age, condition, and speciality.

A man in a wine-colored vest approached. His hair was slicked back and he had a thin and practiced smile on his face. He bowed slightly when he saw Liam.

"Welcome, esteemed guest. I am Marcel, senior handler of the Hall. Are you perhaps here to sell—or to purchase?"

Liam's eyes swept the room before answering. "Purchase. I'd like to see what you have available."

Marcel's eyes flicked over Liam's clothes. The fabric was strange and the cut unfamiliar, but the quiet confidence in the young man's voice erased any doubt about his wealth. Marcel's grin widened.

"Of course, my lord. We pride ourselves on variety. This way, please."

He led Liam down a long corridor lined with cages. The farther they went, the more humid the air became, carrying a faint metallic tang.

Marcel gestured as they walked. "We have all types—rabbitkin, catkin, foxkin, wolfkin, even naga and siren, though the latter are rare these days. Prices vary depending on purity of lineage, skills and skill, naturally."

Liam nodded absently, pretending to be interested as they passed cage after cage. Inside, men and women sat silently, their gazes hollow. Most were beastkin, their ears twitching weakly when someone walked too close. Torn rags hung from their bodies.

A few human merchants were haggling nearby over a pair of young foxkin girls, arguing about which one had better fur color. The casual cruelty made Liam's hands twitch slightly but he forced his expression to remain neutral.

"Do you also deal in trained slaves?" Liam asked finally, his tone even.

"Indeed, my lord," Marcel said immediately. "We have slaves trained for service, combat, and pleasure. Is there a particular type that interests you?"

"Combat," Liam replied. "Preferably someone with dungeon experience or at least knowledge of it."

Marcel blinked, surprised. "Ah… that narrows the list considerably. Those are rare and costly, but we do have a few." He gestured with a small flourish. "If you'll follow me."

They moved deeper into the compound. The noise faded until only their footsteps remained. The cages here were spaced farther apart, each cleaner and reinforced with thick iron bars. The people inside were different too. They were stronger, alert, their eyes sharp rather than vacant.

Marcel's tone became reverent. "These are our elite stock. Former soldiers, mercenaries, adventurers. Many fell into debt or broke their guild contracts. Some were captured during raids. They fetch a high price, but they are exceptional in skill and obedience."

Liam gave a small nod, his gaze flicking from one cage to the next. A tall lizardkin with bronze scales sat cross-legged, meditating. Each cage was a reminder that strength didn't mean freedom here.

"Pick one for me," Liam said.

Marcel paused, then smiled carefully. "I believe I know exactly who might suit your needs, my lord."

He led Liam to the very end of the corridor, where a single cage stood apart from the rest. The torchlight here was dimmer, giving the space a quieter, heavier feeling.

Inside sat a woman.

Her hair was a deep chestnut brown that fell over one shoulder in uneven strands. She wore a simple linen shirt and trousers—not rags, but not finery either. Her posture was upright, composed. Her eyes, a sharp gray, lifted the moment they approached.

Liam stopped in front of the bars. There was no fear in her gaze. Only calculation.

"Human?" he asked.

Marcel nodded. "Her name is Chrises. A former B-Rank adventurer. She was sold here three months ago after failing to repay a large guild debt."

Liam frowned slightly. "Debt?"

"Yes, my lord. Her party perished during an expedition, and she took responsibility for the losses. Noble, if a bit foolish." Marcel chuckled softly, unaware that Liam's expression had cooled. "She refused to sell her sword, so here she is."

Liam turned his eyes back to Chrises. "Do you still have that sword?"

She shook her head once. "No. They took it." Her voice was low but steady. "Are you here to buy me or to ask questions?"

Marcel flinched. "Mind your tongue!" he barked, raising a hand.

Liam lifted a finger slightly, stopping him. "It's fine," he said quietly, eyes never leaving hers. "I prefer honesty."

He studied her for a moment longer. There was strength there—not the loud, boastful kind, but the quiet endurance of someone who had fought too long to care about fear anymore. Her aura reminded him faintly of himself before the System entered his life.

"What's your weapon specialty?" Liam asked.

"Dual blades and shortbows," she answered.

He nodded, satisfied. "And you know how to clear dungeons?"

Chrises gave a dry laugh. "That's what ruined me."

Marcel stepped forward quickly. "She's as skilled as they come, my lord. Even among adventurers, she's considered exceptional."

"Price?" Liam's eyes returned to the merchant.

Marcel's smile returned, sly and confident. "For a woman of her caliber? One thousand gold coins."

The number hung in the air. Around them, a few nearby handlers turned their heads. One thousand gold was more than most high rank adventurers earned in a month.

Liam raised an eyebrow. "That's steep."

"She's worth every coin," Marcel said quickly. "You won't find another like her in the entire district. If you wish, we can negotiate—"

"I'll take her."

The words dropped with the weight of a hammer. Marcel froze mid-sentence, mouth open. "P–pardon?"

"I said I'll take her," Liam repeated calmly.

Without another word, he reached into the Dimensional Space and pulled out 1,000 gold coins. The faint jingle of metal filled the hallway as he set it on the counter nearby. Gold coins spilled slightly from the top.

Marcel stared, speechless. Then, quickly regaining his composure, he bowed deeply. "A wise choice, my lord! I will prepare her release papers immediately."

He hurried off, nearly tripping over his own feet.

While he waited, Liam turned back to Chrises. She was watching him, eyes narrowed slightly.

"You paid that without even asking what I'm like," she said quietly. "You could've bought three guards for that amount."

"I don't need guards," Liam replied. "I need competence."

"Why?" She asked with her gaze was filled with curiosity and disbelief.

Liam smiled and replied, "I don't need a slave. What I want is someone who can help me to achieve what I want. I hope you're that person."

"I-I... What exactly do you want to achieve?" Chrises asked.

"You will know very soon," Liam replied.

Marcel returned a few minutes later, holding a small crystalline tablet engraved with sigils. "Place your thumb here and a drop of your blood, my lord. It will mark you as her owner."

Liam pressed his thumb lightly against the surface. The crystal pulsed once, then dimmed. A matching mark appeared faintly on Chrises's wrist—a small circle of light that faded to a pale silver.

"The contract is complete," Marcel said with satisfaction. "She is now legally yours. May your purchase serve you well."

Liam pocketed the tablet, his tone calm. "She will."

He turned to Chrises. "Let's go."

Marcel bowed again as they walked away, the sound of coins still ringing in his mind.

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