"I'll Be in Your Care, Miss Witch"
The words hung in the air, echoing in the enslaved woman's ears. Her eyes widened for a brief moment, a flicker of surprise breaking through her stoic expression before she quickly composed herself, her face settling into a mask of calm defiance.
"Wow, such a strong will you have," Jasper remarked, his voice tinged with admiration. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes held a curious glint as he studied her, a flicker of embarrassment causing him to look away. "Can I take your silence as confirmation?"
She remained quiet, her lips pressed together in a thin line, her gaze steady but unyielding. The market's cacophony—the shouts of merchants, the clinking of coins, and the occasional bray of animals—seemed to fade into the background as an unseen current of tension flowed between them.
Jasper chuckled, easing the tension between them. "Let me tell you something," he began, his tone shifting to something more personal, almost confessional. "Since infancy, countless doctors have examined me, forcing strange tonics down my throat in desperate attempts to keep me alive. I was poisoned, you see, and came close to death more times than I can count. My father—he spent a fortune to save me. Yet, despite all his efforts, I was left with this." He gestured vaguely toward his hood, his voice dropping to a whisper. "This monstrous face, hidden beneath my hood. People fear me, but the irony? I'm weaker than I look, fragile despite the horror my appearance suggests."
He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as his gaze drifted to the other slaves in the distance. Their hollow eyes and slumped postures spoke of lives stripped of dignity. "Thankfully, as the years pass, my body grows stronger, though not fast enough. Oh, forgive me, I've wandered off-topic." He shook his head as if clearing away the weight of his memories. "I once asked the doctors if there was any way to restore my face, but none could help. Then, one day, I overheard the maids whispering about a witch—one who had been burned at the stake. They said she was beautiful, unnaturally so. Most witches were old, but some, the younger ones, shared a peculiar trait: pristine skin, sleek hair, and charming presence. And so I began to wonder... was their beauty just a natural thing, or was it something more?"
Jasper kept quiet for a moment then continued speaking, "I'm not just speaking with uncertainty, I met a witch a year and a half ago, and all the traits I said apply to her the same as it apply to you."
The woman finally spoke, her voice calm but firm, like a steady flame in the wind. "Why do you think I'm a witch? I was simply born this way."
Her voice alone made Jasper's heart skip a beat. It was not just pleasant; it was extraordinary, carrying a melodic quality that seemed to linger in the air. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.
"I... I just..." He took a deep breath to steady himself, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his cloak. "Even noblewomen don't have hair as smooth and glossy as yours. To me, you seem like someone well-versed in herbal remedies, someone who knows exactly how to care for herself. I've never seen hair like that without deliberate effort. I notice even the smallest details because I constantly compare myself to others. When you lack something, you become painfully aware of it. You thoroughly inspect every trait you desire, trying desperately to understand and obtain it. That's also why I knew you had just been captured."
She let out a quiet sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly as if resigned to the conversation. "There is a huge difference between witches and herbalists. Calling herbalists witches is pure ignorance. We use herbs and knowledge collected over generations, meticulously testing and refining remedies. But those so-called witches—the charlatans—mix spells with herbalism, and they deserve the fate they bring upon themselves. Why should we die alongside them? Why is it always the women who take all the blame when men do the same?" Her voice held restrained frustration, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
Jasper raised a hand to halt her words, his expression softening. "Say no more. I understand your pain—being labeled as something you're not is cruel. Besides, women are generally considered subordinate to their fathers, husbands, or other male relatives. People see only what they want to see; they rarely listen, and even fewer try to understand. And now, on top of it all, you've been sold into slavery... What a harsh life. But this isn't the place for such heavy conversations. I didn't mean to unsettle you." He paused, then added softly, "Oh, and don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."
After carefully navigating the bustling market, Jasper stopped in front of a large cage where a robust young man stood chained. His broad shoulders and muscular frame spoke of strength and resilience, but his eyes held a quiet sadness, as if he had long since accepted his fate.
"I'll take him," Jasper declared, his voice firm. The ensuing negotiation was sharp and calculated, ending in his favor: 48 gold coins, a solid discount from the original price. With more than half his fortune now exchanged for slaves, Jasper set his sights on the wheelwright's workshop to buy a wagon and start anew.
The workshop was a chaotic blend of wood shavings, tools, and half-finished wagons. Jasper scanned the assortment, his lack of practical knowledge leaving him indecisive. He called out for the owner, his voice cutting through the noise. "Hello! Anyone there?"
A young boy, nearly the same age as Jasper, emerged from the workshop, wiping his hands on a stained apron. "How can I help?"
"I want to buy your best tilt wagon here."
The boy's eyes widened in shock, and he hurried inside, calling for his master. "MASTER! MASTER!"
"Stop shouting, you brat! I'm not deaf," came the gruff reply.
"There's someone outside who wants to buy our best tilt wagon."
The master, a burly man with calloused hands and a permanent scowl, left his workbench and rushed outside, pushing his apprentice aside. His eyes landed on Jasper, a hooded figure with three slaves standing silently behind him.
"How can I help you, good sir?" the master asked, rubbing his hands together with a wide, practiced smile.
"How much for your best tilt wagon here?"
"That would be 15 gold coins."
"Can you show me where it is?"
"But of course! It's this one." The master led Jasper to a sturdy wagon, its tilt made of fine leather and its wooden frame polished to a shine. "Everything about it is of the best quality. The tilt is made from leather, the wood is sturdy and durable, and there are two spare wheels inside in case of an emergency."
Jasper ran a hand along the wagon's frame, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood. "Hmm, I like how thoughtful you are. So, how about 11 gold coins? Would that be a good price?"
The master's smile faltered. "Huh? Sir, ripping off 4 gold coins at once is a bit too much, don't you think?"
Jasper shrugged, his tone casual but firm. "Yeah, I do, but I think you're profiting too much. All the materials used to build this wagon don't exceed 7 gold coins and 5 silver coins. I don't need to tell you about the bronze and copper coins, do I?"
The master hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Not at all. The materials cost me 8 gold in total."
Pft!
The third slave couldn't hold back a brief laugh that escaped his lips.
Jasper shot him a quick glance before turning back to the wheelwright. "Ahem, you were certainly cheated. Anyway, you're still making a 3-gold-coin profit. Don't be greedy; your profit isn't insignificant. Besides, I'm a new merchant and can't afford to spend too much."
The slave woman muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible, "Says the one who bought me for 400 gold coins."
Jasper ignored the comment and continued, "I'll be going to buy a horse or two, and I'll be back. Take your time to think, but I won't wait until nightfall."
The master nodded, his smile returning, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Okay. There's a horse breeder if you keep going this way. His horses are good."
"Thank you, but I already know where to buy the horses."
As they walked toward a farm outside the city walls—where peasants bred their horses at a cheaper cost—Jasper turned to the young woman. "You don't seem to know your true value, Miss Herbalist... If the slaver had kept negotiating with me, I would have gone broke to buy you, let alone for 400 gold."
The three slaves exchanged glances, waiting for Jasper to elaborate, but he remained silent. The third slave grew impatient and asked, "Ahem, Master, may I ask why you went to such lengths to buy her? Did you fall in love with her? I can understand if you did, but I think 400 gold could get you a lot of other women as charming as her"
Jasper's lips curled into a faint smile. "I don't want to blabber too much, but what she has in her mind outweighs any amount of money I can give right now. That's all. We've reached our destination."
Jasper looked at the barbarian, Azm, and handed him five gold coins. "Buy two horses—young and strong ones. I trust your judgment." He paused, then added with a wry smile, "And don't take all day. We have a wagon to hitch."
Azm nodded, his expression serious as he pocketed the coin and strode off toward the farm. Jasper watched him go, noting the man's confident gait and the way his muscles rippled beneath his tattered tunic. There was no doubt Azm knew his way around horses.
The remaining slaves—Lysandra and Ivar—stood quietly, their eyes darting between Jasper and the bustling farm ahead. The air was thick with the scent of hay and manure, and the occasional whinny of horses echoed across the fields. Peasants worked tirelessly, their faces weathered but determined, as they tended to the animals.
Lysandra broke the silence, her voice soft but curious. "Why did you send him alone? Don't you want to inspect the horses yourself?"
Jasper shrugged, his hood shifting slightly as he turned to her. "I don't know much about horses, even though I worked for a short time in a stable, and Azm does, he is a barbarian after all. Besides, I trust him to make the right choice. Sometimes, it's better to rely on others' expertise than to pretend you know everything."
Ivar, chuckled under his breath. "That's a rare quality in a master. Most would rather make a fool of themselves than admit they don't know something."
Jasper shot him a sideways glance, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Well, I'm not most masters."
It didn't take long for Azm to return, leading two sturdy horses by their reins. Their coats gleamed in the sunlight, their muscles taut and powerful. Jasper's eyes lit up with approval as he stepped forward to inspect them.
"Well, that was quick. Did you check them thoroughly?" Jasper asked, running a hand along one horse's flank.
"Yes," Azm replied simply, his deep voice carrying a note of finality.
"Are they strong and young?"
"Yes."
Jasper chuckled, sensing Azm's impatience. "Hehe. Thank you." He didn't press further, not wanting to test the barbarian's temper.
As they made their way back to the workshop, Jasper began speaking, his tone thoughtful. "You see how ironic this is? If we bought those same horses from a professional horse breeder, he'd charge at least 10 gold coins for each of them, claiming he's a professional trainer and spouting all sorts of nonsense. While it's true there's a difference between those who know how to raise horses and those who don't, but, come on—these farmers are experts too. It's just a matter of social rank. Look at the cost difference. And all we need are horses to pull the wagon we're going to buy."
The slaves listened, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amazement. Lysandra's eyes sparkled with interest, while Ivar smirked, clearly entertained by Jasper's speech. Even Azm, usually stoic, seemed to be paying attention.
When they returned to the wheelwright's workshop, the master was visibly surprised by their quick return. "That was really quick, wasn't it?"
"Time is gold. That's a merchant's motto," Jasper replied with a grin. "So, have you come to a decision?"
The master sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's a deal, though I'm reluctant to let go of my best wagon at such a price. Next time, if you need repairs or to buy wheels, come here first."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Master," Jasper said, extending a hand.
"The pleasure is mine," the wheelwright replied, shaking it firmly.
With the wagon secured, Jasper handed the two male slaves 10 silver coins. "Get some supplies for our journey. Food, water, anything we might need. And don't dawdle—we have a long road ahead."
***
On their way to the market, Ivar broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Don't you think our master is a bit strange? He doesn't seem to treat us like slaves."
Azm glanced at him but remained silent, his face unreadable.
Ivar continued, undeterred. "Hey, don't misunderstand me. It's not like I hate it. It's just strange. My whole life, I was treated like nothing. I just find it strangely refreshing."
"..."
"Can't you share a word with me, at least?" Ivar pressed, nudging Azm with his elbow.
The barbarian responded with a few gruff words before falling silent again. "Let's get the supplies. I'm not in the mood to talk."
Ivar sighed dramatically. "Sigh, you're no fun."
***
From a distance, Jasper watched the slaves return with the supplies. Azm carried a barrel of water in one hand and two sacks of vegetables in the other, his strength on full display. Ivar, meanwhile, struggled to match him, carrying two sacks, his face red with exertion.
"How shameful," Ivar muttered, glaring at Azm. "You're making me look weak. Look at all the people watching. I'll never go with you again."
Azm didn't respond, his expression as stoic as ever as he continued walking.
After loading the wagon, they all climbed in, but Jasper noticed Azm's unease. The barbarian's jaw was clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the wagon tightly. Jasper leaned closer, his voice low. "What's the matter? Is there something you want to say?"
Azm hesitated, his eyes flickering with emotion. "I'm not going to leave this city."
Jasper raised an eyebrow. "May I ask why?"
The barbarian's voice was heavy with frustration. "That slaver has my wife captive. I don't know where he's hiding her; he threatened to kill her or sell her to a perverted noble if I don't comply."
Jasper's expression darkened. "Don't you think he'll do it either way?"
Azm's grip tightened, his knuckles turning white. "I know, but I don't have any choice. I'm clinging to the faint hope that he'll keep his promise, but I can't stay away from that slaver. I'm afraid if I follow you too far, he'll do something to her."
Jasper sighed, running a hand on his polished head. "Of course, nothing is going to be easy in this life. For now, come on in. I'll think of a plan to save your wife before we leave. Just trust me."
Azm's shoulders relaxed slightly, and he nodded, his expression a mix of gratitude and determination.
As they settled into the wagon, Jasper turned to the group. "First of all, let's introduce ourselves properly. I can't keep calling you 'you.'"
Ivar was the first to speak, his tone light but with an undercurrent of bitterness. "In that case, you can call me Ivar. I've been a slave since the moment I opened my eyes in this world. Sold from one master to another, there's nothing special about my life."
Lysandra followed, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. "I'm Lysandra. My father and mother went missing five years ago, and I don't know if they're dead or alive. I've been living alone in the forest since then, until a group of bandits came to the area a week ago. When they noticed me, they started chasing me. It was then that the slaver found me being chased and bought me. I wasn't a slave, but for him to take me peacefully, he gave them 50 gold in exchange for me being handed over unharmed. If he hadn't shown up, I probably would have been…" She trailed off, her eyes distant.
Jasper reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "For those bandits to sell you for 50 gold and that stupid slaver to sell you to me for 400 gold shows nothing but their stupidity." His attempt to lighten the mood earned a small smile from Lysandra.
Finally, Azm spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "I'm Azm, son of Akizol. My wife was kidnapped when I was hunting with my clan. She went to the river to refill the water jars but never returned. I've been searching for her for two years now, and I finally found her imprisoned by that slaver. It was their fortune that they didn't touch her, or I would have massacred them as painfully as possible. But when I found her safe, I couldn't be hasty and ruin all my years of searching."
Jasper nodded, his expression serious. "May I ask what your wife's name is?"
"Arinas."
Jasper sighed, his voice heavy with resolve. "It saddens me to think of what I'm about to do, but I hope you live well with her from now on. Tomorrow is the day you finally reunite with her. Now, let's go to the nearest inn to spend the night."