Chapter 106: Too Dangerous to Offend

Seeing the sleazy gaze of the slave master, Sola's orange eyes sparkled with anger, her small fists clenched with a crackling sound.

Had she not already promised Rayan to behave, flames of true fire would have likely burst from her eyes, and she would have rushed in front of the slave master and roasted him alive, just like roasting a bristle pig.

Rayan sternly glared at his little female slave, signaling her not to make eye contact with the slave master. Sola then lowered her head, but the veins on her neck were still bulging like ropes.

Rayan could feel Sola's anger, as the slaves here were not only of her kind but perhaps even her tribespeople. As an Achisola, although she hadn't exercised her powers even for a day, she was still an Achisola, still bearing the destiny of protecting her people. Seeing her people treated this way, she had every reason to be angry.

However, Rayan could not allow her to be angry, let alone do anything outrageous. The slave trading post, like a tavern, was protected by the Mercenary Association. Any harm to the slave master would result in a continent-wide manhunt.

Moreover, killing a despicable slave master wouldn't save the slaves. They wouldn't get far before being captured by slave mercenaries. Some slaves would be executed on the spot as a warning, while the rest would be sold to even more miserable places to suffer.

Rayan had not forgotten his main purpose was to safely reach Stonerock City, kill Duncan, and retrieve the Twilight Blade. So, despite sympathizing with Sola's anger, he still did not allow her to act inappropriately.

Seeing Sola lower her head, Rayan shifted his gaze back to the fat, greasy slave master. Just as he was about to speak, the slave master rudely interrupted him, saying, "Please wait, let our slave trainer get in place, and then we can start doing business—I've been in this business for over thirty years, and I'm not comfortable unless I hear the slaves' screams."

Rayan, with a cold face, said nothing, simply standing still.

After a while, the slave trainer dragged a severely bruised female slave in front of Rayan, throwing her to the ground. A coarse whip was intentionally cracked in front of Rayan.

The tip of the whip brushed past Rayan's nose, but Rayan didn't blink an eye, his expression as impassive as if carved from stone.

Don't cause trouble, get the job done, and leave; this was his admonition to himself. Moreover, the Duke had also reminded him to control his murderous intent.

The female slave on the ground sobbed, using her trembling arms to prop herself up. The blood of the previous slave had already dyed her red—her cheeks, her breasts, her knees were all stained with fresh, sticky blood. Her body was thin, except for her large breasts, which hung like two inverted golden mountains, and her blood-stained nipples were swollen like plump grapes.

When the slave trainer raised his whip, she did not protect her face or thighs but tightly embraced her chest.

Rayan's heart stirred, immediately realizing that this beaten female slave was a young mother still in lactation. She protected her chest, simply because she did not want her child to drink blood-stained milk...

Listening to the slaves' screams, the slave master relaxed and sighed with relief, his fat fingers playfully circling around the breasts of two female slaves nearby. "I feel much better now, what about you, guest?"

As the slave trainer raised his bloody whip in front of Rayan again, Rayan could no longer contain his anger. His hand reached behind his shoulder, and the Crow Sword scraped against the scabbard, emitting a death knell-like sound. His Tenth Tier Battle Qi surged, and his sword gang power descended like black crows, plunging the entire trading post into darkness.

The slave master screamed in the sudden darkness, pushing two female slaves in front of him, fearing Rayan would strike him.

Moments later, the tallow candles regained their faint light, and Rayan still stood expressionless in the distance, Crow Sword already back in its scabbard, as if nothing had happened.

The female slave lying on the ground felt a wet and heavy object strike her bare back, falling to the filthy floor along her body. She shivered and took a quick glance, then screamed in terror.

A severed hand holding a whip was soaking in blood, its fingers still twitching slightly...

The slave trainer, as if struck by lightning, froze for a good five or six seconds before starting to howl like a slaughtered pig, collapsing on the ground and rolling in the blood.

Rayan didn't even glance at him, just coldly stared at the pale-faced, horrified slave master and said lightly, "I feel much better now."

The slave master's thick lips, like worms just dug out from the soil, trembled continuously, unable to utter a word. Several slave trainers who heard the noise and came running, weapons in hand, hesitated in the corner, not daring to step forward.

Tenth Tier Fighter—Not just any small slave trading post, even an entire slave mercenary group would have to treat him with a smile and not dare to provoke him lightly, because a Tenth Tier Fighter could become a hero at any moment, and a hero would inevitably be eagerly recruited by all major guilds. Such a person was definitely too dangerous to offend.

The slave trainer whose hand had been chopped off continued to wail in the blood; his life was ruined, and he would never think of picking up a whip to lash slaves again. After crying hoarsely for a full three minutes, he finally passed out from blood loss.

As if awakened from a dream, the slave master hurriedly waved his hand to signal others to carry away the injured slave trainer, then, leaning on the bodies of his two personal female slaves, shakily stood up and said with a forced smile to Rayan, "My apologies! It turns out to be Lord Fighter, sorry for the lack of hospitality, letting my subordinates show off in front of Lord Fighter, it's really unforgivable..."

Having achieved his intimidating purpose, Rayan didn't intend to embarrass the slave master further, so he replied indifferently, "It's nothing, let's talk business."

"Of course, of course! Someone, bring a chair for Lord Fighter, and open a bottle of Royal Grin that's been cellared for three hundred years; let Lord Fighter have a taste!"

As soon as the slave master finished speaking, someone immediately brought over a leather-covered chair for Rayan to sit. Rayan did not hesitate and took his seat directly.

The previously whipped female slave mother was also taken away by other slave trainers. Her eyes were already dim, but as she was dragged away, she still cast a grateful look at Rayan and Sola.

Rayan gestured to the distant slave master with a hook of his finger, then said coldly, "Come here and talk."

The slave master's face, full of fat, twitched a few times before he cautiously moved in front of Rayan, his arms tightly grasping his two personal female slaves, using their naked bodies to shield his corpulent frame.

One of the female slaves held a cup of blood-red Royal Grin wine, her fingers trembling with fear, nearly spilling the three-hundred-year-old fine wine—if a drop were spilled, she would definitely suffer a brutal beating.

Seeing that Rayan had no intention of taking the wine, Sola could not hold back any longer. She stepped forward, took the wine cup, and gently pinched the tan back of the girl's hand, whispering, "KaLaWu, MaSaLaWu. DeBi, HaMiSuoSiBiPuDa."

Her voice was very soft, but Rayan still understood the last phrase in the barbarian tribes' language: Don't be afraid, my master is a good person.

Rayan felt a warmth in his heart, pretending to be unaware of anything, he turned to the shocked slave master and asked, "How much does it cost to brand a slave?"

The slave master paused, his eyes finally focusing on Sola's right arm, then chuckled dryly, "So this little female slave is a recent capture by Lord Fighter, no wonder her wildness hasn't been tamed. Speaking of training slaves, it's a very professional business. There was once a young nobleman who wanted to be thrilling, using an untrained female slave for bed. Guess what happened? His manhood was cut off and stuffed in his mouth, choking him to death."

The slave master deliberately paused, allowing his fanciful story to ferment in Rayan's mind, then cleared his throat and continued, "So, training is a very important affair. If Lord Fighter esteems my skills, you might consider leaving your little female slave at our trading post. I guarantee that within a month, I'll train her to be completely submissive, making sure she dares not speak the barbarian tribes' language in front of you again—these beast-like slaves, we provide them food and drink, they are ungrateful and curse us with their vile language, really deserving of a beating."

Sola was tempted to throw the Royal Grin in her hand onto the slave master's fat face, but she ultimately clenched her teeth, held back her anger, and did not act out.

Seeing Rayan's expressionless face, the slave master thought Rayan was considering his suggestion, and so he struck while the iron was hot, saying, "Lord Fighter, rest assured, though my place is small, my training methods are among the top in the Stonerock Kingdom. Many of the dignitaries' personal female slaves are trained right here."

"Oh?" A glint of cold light flashed in Rayan's eyes.

The slave master, indifferent and spitting as he spoke, pitched: "If you like virgins, we won't touch her purity. If you want her to be skilled in bed, we'll find someone to teach her a few tricks. If you feel lonely during a month's time, don't worry, you can take these two trained female slaves with you temporarily, and return them when we deliver the goods."

"Don't—talk—to—me—with—'we'."

Rayan enunciated each word, staring at the slave master with undisguised disgust. "Say 'we' one more time, and I'll make sure you choke on your own 'down there.'"

The slave master's fat face immediately reddened as if slapped. "...Yes, my lord."

He knew that Rayan was merely threatening him and wouldn't really strike a slave master, but the vivid image of the slave trainer's severed arm made him rather believe that Rayan could indeed commit such cruel acts, and he dared not show the slightest doubt.

"Then, my lord, what kind of service would you like?" This time, he even changed his form of address to "you" in a more respectful tone.

"Just a brand," Rayan said flatly.