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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: 100-Year Contract
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Even though things had stabilized somewhat, Hortonwork was still the frontline facing the Forbidden Zone. Monsters poured in day after day, leading to constant battles.
Naturally, the slaves gathered in Hortonwork were mostly rough around the edges and exceptional in combat, matching the demands of efficiency.
And that was probably why the elf was somewhat muscular. No, extremely muscular.
"How can I help you?"
A merchant scribbling on documents at a desk in one corner of the communal area spotted them and approached.
After exchanging a few words with the guide, he rubbed his palms together with a grin.
"Haha, looking for good slaves, eh? You've come to the right place. Shall we start with a tour?"
"No need."
Berge strode straight to the iron cage holding the elf. Up close, he liked it even more.
"An elf! You've got an eye for elves!"
The merchant flashed a greedy smile.
Elves were expensive. Ever since the war with other races ended and slavery of non-humans was officially banned, their prices had skyrocketed.
"Thorough setup."
"Ah, elves are just that capable—they snap ordinary shackles like twigs and escape. This is standard."
"Good eyes on him."
Berge's gaze remained fixed on the elf.
His once-lustrous green hair was matted and filthy from neglect. Even so, those jade-green pupils burned with the fury of a wild beast, which Berge approved of. He liked that it hadn't lost its spirit despite being bound hand and foot in iron chains.
Especially the rage toward humans.
The only flaw was the gag preventing it from speaking.
"I want to talk to him."
"He's a wild one. Removing the gag could cause trouble..."
"Even if it does?"
"Even then..."
"If the elf dies or causes issues, I'll take full responsibility and buy him anyway."
"Ah, if you're sure..."
"How much?"
"As you know, elves don't come cheap. Four gold coins—no, five."
Berge pulled out a gold coin and flicked it lightly. The merchant snatched the gleaming gold with delight and unlocked the cage.
"Enjoy your conversation!"
"You, out."
"I'll wait outside."
Bark and the merchant left. Berge entered the cage and unleashed his demonic energy.
"Mmph...!"
The elf's pupils dilated. Even with mana restraints, elves were the most sensitive to energies among all races—they couldn't miss demonic energy.
Berge removed the gag. The elf's mouth hung open, unable to close.
"You won't be able to bite your tongue. You can't move either. So give up and listen quietly."
The elf had no choice.
"I just paid a fair price to buy you. You're my slave now."
Bloodshot veins bulged in the elf's eyes. Its trembling jaws looked ready to unleash a torrent of curses.
But it couldn't.
"I imagine the humiliation of becoming a slave at human hands has filled you with rage."
"I'll give you a chance."
"Will you rot away in this cold cage as a slave?"
"Or grab my hand and seek revenge? I'll help you tear apart the limbs of those who did this to you and bring humans to ruin."
"What do you say?"
No answer. But the quivering pupils showed clear turmoil.
"If you won't bite your tongue, I'll release the spell. Nod if you agree."
The elf nodded. Berge withdrew his demonic energy, and the elf gasped for breath.
"Demon... a demon, why me?"
"Just answer."
"Demon proposals always come with horrific costs."
"I'm different. Just serve me diligently. Fifty years. Exactly fifty years as my loyal subordinate, and I'll grant you freedom afterward. How's that?"
Fifty years wasn't long for an elf—not a bad deal, Berge thought.
"You expect me to believe a demon who lies for breakfast?"
"You don't seem opposed to the offer itself."
"Five years as a human's slave. The humiliations have made me wish for death more times than I can count."
Years of pent-up malice had reached an irreversible point.
"If I could tear apart the ones who did this with my own hands, I'd sell my soul to the devil himself."
The elf growled in fury. The thick killing intent prickling his skin was razor-sharp.
"But you can't trust me because I'm a demon?"
"Elves have a saying: Better to befriend a dwarf than trust a demon."
"We have one too: Among mid-realm non-humans, humans are the hardest to trust, but elves are the most stubborn."
Elves were known to despise demons more than any race. It was somewhat true, but not out of some sacred duty to protect the world.
The World Tree they revered sustained the world. Demons sought to destroy that world.
"I won't touch the World Tree while you're under me."
"I said I can't trust your words. Why would a demon even approach an elf?"
Hitting a sore spot.
"I swear on the Demon King's Canon and the great Demon Emperor. I won't break my word."
"...!"
The Canon and Demon Emperor were life itself to demons. A mere faith, but demons upheld it like their lives.
Aren's creations knew how fanatical demons were about them.
"In return, swear to serve me faithfully—on the World Tree."
This was why Berge chose an elf over a human as his key subordinate.
Unlike humans, where coercion or trust was impossible, elves had a clear leverage: the oath to their parent tree, the World Tree.
It wasn't mere faith. It was direct bondage through mana.
Breakers lost the forest's blessings.
For an elf, losing that was worse than death.
So it was reliable.
"Well?"
"...Truly a demon."
The elf muttered.
"An offer I can't refuse."
Berge extended his hand. The elf grasped it.
"Name."
"Granada of the Maple Tribe. I'll swear before the Demon King who sent you."
"Then do it now. Because I'm that Demon King."
"...?"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The merchant gleefully pocketed the gold coins. Beside him, the guide and Bark swallowed hard.
'Kuhuhu, what a massive sucker.'
With elf slavery officially banned, their rarity drove prices up. Elves were pricey, naturally.
But it varied by individual. Females cost more than males, young more than old.
This elf's issue wasn't that. A troublemaker. Even after five years, it hadn't lost its fire, cursing humans nonstop. No one wanted it. It kept trying to bite its tongue, so they gagged it forcibly.
If it were a pretty female, someone might buy it despite that, but no such luck. They'd kept it only because tossing it would waste money—zero value as merchandise.
Yet this fool bought it for five gold coins. The merchant never dreamed he'd pay the inflated price in a huff.
"Bark, this is the guy you brought?"
"Yes."
"Some big-shot merchant? Or from a major mercenary group?"
To him, only two reasons for coming to Hortonwork for an elf: seeking one to a rich man's taste or buying for combat use.
"I'm just on a commission. Can't disclose the client's identity."
"Come on, we're not strangers. No need to be so stiff."
"..."
"Tch, fine. Anyway, I unloaded that trash. But sadly, you won't keep that elf. It'll bite its tongue the moment the gag comes off."
"You sold it knowing that?"
"He said he didn't care. I got paid upfront."
The merchant shrugged nonchalantly. He felt refreshed—the elf that tormented him was done for, and he'd made money.
"If you need other slaves later, hit me up. I'll hook you up good..."
Then the door opened. The sucker emerged slowly. The merchant rubbed his palms and approached.
"All done? How'd the talk go...?"
His eyes shifted behind the man. There it was. The elf that should be sprawled dead on the cage floor was following calmly.
"Eyes down, you pig. Before I rip you apart."
From the growl, its temper was intact.
"W-well concluded. I'll stamp the ownership."
The merchant continued with superhuman mental control, acting unfazed.
"No need."
"Pardon? But without the slave seal..."
Problems would arise.
The slave seal wasn't just a mark—it was a magic circle preventing harm to the owner, designed to inflict pain on command.
"I'll handle any issues."
"Understood."
"Let's go."
"Yes!"
Bark hurried after him. As they surfaced, all eyes turned their way.
Amazement that the elf had sold.
'How'd he tame that elf?'
Bark knew it well—he'd helped suppress it with other mercenaries when it rioted before.
A savage that couldn't be tamed—a pie in the sky, infamous among slavers.
They said it'd never sell and would only leave the cage dead...
"Your job's done here."
"Ah, yes."
Berge snapped his fingers lightly. A silver coin landed neatly in Bark's palm.
"You exceeded expectations. Tip."
"Thank you!"
"How long you staying in town?"
"Unless big trouble hits, we'll stick around."
"Perfect. I'll drop by again."
"Yes, anytime—find me Bark or the Red Hawk Mercenary Corps at the guild!"
Bark hoped this generous client returned.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The first thing the Demon King did was buy him food.
The elf, sustained on minimal rations, gorged himself for the first time in ages and patted his full belly contentedly.
"The tower's really at the Erjest Mountain peak?"
"So much suspicion."
"Consider yourself lucky my fist didn't fly when you claimed to be the Demon King."
To the elf, a Demon King personally shopping slaves was impossible.
Yet he followed, because the man promised to prove it with the tower—and swore on the Canon.
"You keep your promise too. If you're really the Demon King, it's not fifty years but double as collateral."
"Elves keep their word. Unlike demons."
'Annoying.'
Its constant sniping meant a swollen liver for sure. Maybe beat it a few times first?
The Demon King pondered briefly but shook his head. By the tower, it'd have ten tails between its legs—worth the wait, amusingly.
Meanwhile, the elf found this demon oddly unique.
'A demon trying to command another race...'
Demons trusted none but their own. Naturally—they were invaders, all Aren races victims. Incompatible foes, inevitable distrust.
"This isn't toward the mountains..."
The self-proclaimed Berge—his master for fifty years—headed elsewhere.
"Market. Tower's got zero food."
"...?"
'Market?'
A gut feeling chilled his spine.
He called himself Demon King. True or not, definitely a demon.
And Granada, elf over a century old, had never heard of demons shopping markets. They holed up in towers—why go to human markets?
"...Really the Demon King?"
"Too much doubt."
"Can't be helped!"
Despite suspicious glares, the Demon King bought over ten bundles of ingredients.
Only after stuffing them into subspace did he smile satisfied.
"Now, let's go."
They stealthily vaulted the walls, evading guards.
"Erjest Mountains crawl with monsters. How do we climb?"
He voiced his lingering doubt.
"Like a Demon King."
Simple reply. Meaning clear soon enough.
'Monsters aren't attacking.'
They fled rather than charge. What did it mean?
'The whole mountain's already his domain?'
He gulped. Maybe truly the Demon King. No, more: Erjest teemed with monsters. If all under his thumb...
'A massive disaster.'
Perhaps the strongest Demon King to descend on Aren ever.
"Here we are. My tower."
Even upon reaching the hard-to-find valley tower—mere five stories—the elf thought so. The mountain-domain shock lingered.
But opening the first-floor door.
Passing the second.
Reaching the third.
"...My god."
Shock for different reasons. He understood why the Demon King came to the slave market himself, why he bought ingredients.
"There's nothing here?"
The famed Demon King's tower was utterly empty.
"I like simplicity. The beauty of empty space."
"Do it twice more, and the tower vanishes too."
"But with a slave to serve me faithfully for a hundred years, isn't that enough?"
The sly smile made the elf shudder. Demon King proven. Empty, but the tower had gained an owner—that was proof.
Now his turn to uphold the promise.
But.
"Fraud! This is a scam!"
He couldn't accept it.
Demon King towers had a standard template in people's minds.
First floor: weak magic beasts, traps. Higher: stronger beasts, then demons greeting you, peak: Demon King on a golden throne sternly welcoming the hero.
Finally, rescue the imprisoned prince or princess.
Details varied by tower and king, but the framework held.
Granada envisioned that: cadre in the Demon King's army for revenge, despite slave status—he'd been prominent in elven society.
Not dreams crushed in emptiness.
That instant—
Kwang!
A massive hand gripped Granada's throat.
"Kk...!"
Irresistible force reddened his face. Choked, he thrashed.
He drew mana.
"My leniency ends here."
But demonic energy shredded his mana flow.
Chilling killing intent. The elf felt the foe's Demon King status with every fiber.
"Keep your promise, elf."
"S-scam! Never heard of a tower like this!"
"Never said otherwise."
"Shouldn't trust demon words after all!"
"Regret's always too late, no matter how quick."
Yes, too late. Granada was fully in the Demon King's domain, unable to escape alone. Life or hundred-year slavery—clear choice. And maybe true revenge.
The tower shock was huge, but the ascent's aftertaste lingered intensely.
"...I will serve you."
He swore on the great World Tree. Heart-mana formed a bond. Breaking it would shatter the bond, stripping all blessings.
"Good."
The Demon King smiled contentedly. Then tossed him a bundle of market-bought ingredients.
"First, make some food."
"...?"
The elf blanked momentarily. Then raged.
"I am a noble elf! Prominent even among elves...!"
"But now, just an insolent slave."
"You bought me to cook?!"
"Not exactly."
The Demon King propped his chin.
"Just shut up and do it for now."
It wasn't payback for nonstop griping on the climb.
Simply, no lifeform in the tower knew proper cooking.
Or so the Demon King thought.