天天狠天天透天天伊人

It was a feeling similar to that of Gerard or Todd; somehow, it seemed like this boy only cared about the body in a different sense.

“Why do I feel like I’ve been cursed? Why are all these types around me?”

Ah, how he longed to meet Siris. His beloved Siris.

Regardless, there was absolutely no reason to let Sillan accompany him. Just as he was about to refuse, a thought suddenly crossed his mind.

‘Wait, this boy is a priest, isn’t he?’

A priest.

An agent of God’s will, who cares for people with miracles, leads them according to God’s teachings, and guides them towards a righteous life.

Well, that was a rough definition, but Repenhardt, who had been a magician, didn’t really believe in such teachings. To him, the word “priest” meant one thing only.

A top-tier medicine bottle.

A high-quality bandage that could heal wounds and illnesses with just a touch.

“Come to think of it, having someone to take care of Siris in case she gets hurt or sick wouldn’t be bad, would it?”

In the past, Repenhardt could heal with his magic, having mastered the healing arts. But now, that was impossible. Though, with the aura of Gym Unbreakable, he could achieve a similar effect using healing drugs, but that was too costly.

“Having a walking medicine bottle has no downside, right?”

He didn’t think much of it initially, but now that he realized how useful the boy could be, greed grew within him. Repenhardt smiled gently. His attitude changed abruptly, causing Sillan to look at him with a slight wariness. He shrugged his shoulders and gestured with his hand.

“Do as you please. Follow me or not.”

After giving his permission, Repenhardt started walking again. Delighted, Sillan clung to his side and began to chatter away.

“I want to make my abs more defined, but it seems difficult with just sit-ups. Should I separately stress the upper, middle, and lower abs to properly form a six-pack?”

“I don’t know. All I know is getting beaten to death and lifting rocks until death.”

While casually brushing off the conversation, he took this muscle-obsessed, pretty boy priest on the road with him. Now, it was time to head to the Principality of Chatan.

‘Siris, I’m on my way!’

“Come to think of it, I heard a rumor that one of the alchemists concocted a potion specifically effective for muscle enhancement. They named it ‘Protein’, didn’t they?”

“Ah, I told you I’m not interested.”

As the two grumbled, the winter sunset was slowly descending above their heads.

* * *

In a grand mansion made of massive marble, three stories high with numerous annexes, a young man was screaming in one of the bedrooms.

“Damn it! Her attitude is still the same! How exactly did you train her?”

In front of the young man, a burly man knelt, stammering out excuses.

“I’m sorry, Master Beret! I did my best, but…”

The man gritted his teeth and turned to the side. In a corner of the bedroom, a beautiful elf girl with dusky skin stood with a cold expression. She was the ‘Slayer’ that Beret had purchased two weeks ago.

Beret had already toyed with many elf slaves, but he had never managed to acquire a Slayer. Elf slaves, already eye-wateringly expensive compared to other slaves, commanded an astronomical price, and among them, Slayers were known to be incredibly expensive.

In the Duchy of Chatan, Beret was the successor to Caron, one of the top ten trading guilds. Yet, even for him, purchasing a Slayer was not a decision to be made lightly.

During this time, a Slayer appeared on the market at an unusually low price, equivalent to that of a common elf slave. Its suspiciously low cost prompted Beret to inquire about it, only to learn that the elf’s temperamental nature made her difficult to sell. Despite this, her combat abilities were undeniably fitting of a Slayer, and her beauty was sufficient for nocturnal attendance. Thus, Beret decided to take a chance and purchased her, thinking he could manage her finicky nature with proper training.

Beret, who already owned many elf slaves, was not overly concerned. After all, how troublesome could a slave’s personality be? As long as she obeyed orders, that was enough for him.

However, upon acquiring her, the reason for her low price became immediately clear. This elf girl was incredibly spirited.

“Ah, those unlucky eyes…”

Beret scowled at the unnamed Slayer girl who, wrapped in a thin blanket, stared back at him with cold eyes that somehow managed to be indifferent yet provocatively contemptuous.

The elf girl did not outright refuse to follow orders. When instructed, she complied.

Yet, each time, she would blatantly send a chill down his spine with her frosty gaze. The audacity of an elf to carry herself as if she were human! She was expected to be loyal and affectionate towards her master, offering both her body and heart. Wasn’t that the very reason he had paid a hefty sum for her?

Attempts at ‘training’ her were made. They starved her and beat her, measures that typically subdued even the most disobedient slaves.

However, such methods were futile with this girl. Despite being beaten to a pulp and starved for three days straight, she maintained her haughty demeanor. While there was the option of taking time to gently win her over, Beret had no intention of doing so. Why bother with a slave if he was to court her as one would in a romantic pursuit?

Frustrated, Beret exploded in anger.

“Damn it, can’t you do something about those eyes?”

With an indifferent tone, the elf girl responded,

“They are the eyes I was born with.”

Her manner was indifferent, but her tone was unmistakably sarcastic.

“Why is this elf so insolent?”

“It’s my natural disposition.”

Despite Beret’s fiery anger, the slave girl retorted with every rebuke. Overwhelmed with rage, Beret struck the elf girl.

Thwack!!

The slender body of the girl tumbled over the luxurious carpet. Yet, no scream escaped her lips. Blood flowed from a split in her mouth, but she merely wiped it away, not even letting out a groan. All she did was glare at Beret with her endlessly cold eyes.

“Ah…”

Beret, whose face had turned beet red, was earnestly soothed by two elf slaves by his side.

“Master, please calm down. It seems this child is too foolish to understand your mercy.”

“Yes, Master. Please don’t bother with such a defective elf and love us instead.”

Both were barely covered by thin cloth, in a provocatively scanty manner. The attitude of the two slaves, whispering in a coquettish voice, displaying a ‘desirable’ elf-like demeanor, somewhat eased his anger.

“Huff…”

Beret snorted and then shouted.

“Steward!”

A middle-aged man, who had been anxiously waiting outside, hurried into the room.

“Yes, Young Master!”

“Return that one. Damn, I bought it cheap, but it’s totally defective.”

Originally, a Slayer wasn’t of much practical use relative to its price. For nighttime services, just buying a regular elf slave would suffice. For escort purposes, gladiator-born orc warriors could be recruited. The macho fantasy of having a beautiful female swordsman who loves and cherishes the master like her own body must be fulfilled for it to have any value.

The steward helped the fallen elf girl to stand up and inwardly sighed in relief.

‘Seeing he’s asking for a return, he didn’t assault her. Thankfully, money saved.’

A Slayer, once defiled, cannot be returned. This profession, born out of men’s foolish fantasies, wouldn’t sell if not for the Slayers’ virginity. With many customers attempting to sneakily assault and then return them, the slave traders’ ability to discern has reached almost divine levels.

Therefore, Beret ultimately didn’t touch the elf girl. No matter how cheaply he had bought her, it was still a significant amount of money due to her being a Slayer.

“I should’ve added a bit more money and bought a proper one.”

“Understood, Young Master.”

The steward, after bowing his head, gestured to the elf girl.

“Follow me.”

Although her face was still streaming with coldness, the girl did not resist and quietly followed the steward.

“…”

Thus, in the Elvenheim, an elf-specialized slave auction house with deep history and tradition within the Principality of Chatan, the elf girl known as ‘Number 148’ faced her third return.

Numerous carriages carried loads back and forth in the gray city, and peddlers weaved through them in disarray. The densely packed stone buildings all had shops on the first floor, selling various goods. Even those without their own shops set up stalls and eagerly solicited customers. On bridges, squares, and streets, the noisy sounds of bargaining filled the air.

Two individuals were walking along the bustling streets, their figures cutting through the lively throngs of people. The young man, Repenhardt, donned a thick coat that accentuated his robust frame, while alongside him, a beautiful girl clad in a pristine white robe, her hair cascading down to her waist, walked. This girl, in fact, was a boy named Sillan.

“This place is truly chaotic. No wonder it’s said to be the leading commercial city on the continent…”

Sillan looked around, sticking out his tongue in disdain. The expressions on the faces of those around them seemed unfazed by the cold. Despite it being winter, the entire street was brimming with vitality.

They had arrived at the capital of the Principality of Chatan, Zeppelin.

The Principality of Chatan was a nation born of trade, situated at the junction of three kingdoms: Graim, Crovence, and the Vasily Kingdom. It had gained its independence and the status of a principality after the owner of the Chatan Commerce Guild, having made a fortune from trade among the three nations, purchased the land from the Kingdom of Graim.

As such, the Principality of Chatan offered numerous privileges to merchants. Registered merchants enjoyed lower taxes and were exempt from territorial passage fees. Zeppelin, the capital of the Principality of Chatan, stood as a dream city for merchants, embodying the nation’s commercial foundation. For many wandering traders, establishing their own commerce guild in this city represented the culmination of their dreams.

“In other words, it’s a neighborhood flushed with money.”

Repenhardt, with a nonchalant glance around, continued to walk. It had taken them about ten days to arrive here from the Hattan mountain range. Had he been alone, the journey might have taken only three days, but Sillan’s presence made a difference. Fortunately, they had managed to hitch a ride on a cargo wagon halfway through, which sped up their travel.

‘Siris is here.’

Anxious, his pace quickened. Sillan, hurrying to keep up, exclaimed, “Hey, slow down! Are you showing off how long your legs are?”

Though Repenhardt frowned briefly, he soon slowed down.

Despite the delay caused by Sillan, his company had brought more benefits. For Repenhardt, who was neither a noble nor affiliated with any mercenary guilds, crossing the border into the Vasily Kingdom was no easy task. Without a clear identity, it was unlikely that the border guards would let him pass through without question.

Initially, he had planned to secretly cross the border. However, Sillan’s simple declaration solved everything.

“I am a pilgrim serving Philanence.” Pilgrims were allowed to cross all borders freely. By healing a few chronic ailments of the border guards with simple healing spells, they warmly granted passage. The act of healing itself was proof enough of being a clergy, leaving no room for objection.

“Alright, we’ll go slowly.”

Side by side, they resumed their journey, moving steadily forward.