The biting wind swept through the East Market of Frost Halberd City, stinging like tiny blades against the skin.
The air was thick with the fishy stench of animal hides, the savory aroma of roasted meat, and the sharp clang of metal clashing from blacksmith stalls.
The marketplace was simple in construction—most stalls little more than wooden poles supporting tattered canopies, with goods piled carelessly beneath them.
Originally, it had been a modest trading hub where local farmers and hunters bartered for grain, tools, and other daily necessities.
But ever since the Northern Wasteland Reclamation Order was issued, merchant guilds—lured by the scent of gold coins—descended upon the region like wolves.
They quickly transformed this humble space into a chaotic but thriving trade center.
At the far eastern edge of the market stood a crude wooden fence enclosing an open lot. Inside, a group of ragged slaves huddled together, heads bowed.
Most wore expressions of numb acceptance, accustomed to being nothing more than a commodity on display.
Here and there, eyes filled with suppressed rage flickered—only to vanish the moment a slave merchant's whip cracked through the air, its snap echoing ten times in a row.
Resistance evaporated into silence.
Though slavery was technically a gray area under the Empire's law, in the disorder of the Northern Wasteland, it was openly tolerated.
Whether pioneering lords or back-alley smugglers, everyone understood the single most urgent need of the region—manpower.
"Come and see! Strong young laborers! Skilled in mining, logging, bricklaying, and cotton picking—twice as capable as any ox!"
"These are prisoners of war from the Snow Country! Not fully broken in, but priced cheap! Train them for a few months and they'll serve without complaint!"
"Want smarter slaves? Literate, capable of basic math, can even manage your accounts!"
The air pulsed with merchants shouting over one another, aggressively marketing their "goods."
To them, these slaves were no different from oxen or mules—beasts for rent and sale.
A particularly sharp-eyed merchant noticed Louis and his entourage approaching.
His expression shifted immediately to a fawning grin, and he stepped forward quickly, bowing with exaggerated deference.
"Sirs! Come, take a look! Finest laborers in all of the Northern Wasteland—hardworking, hardy, and cost-effective!"
The official accompanying Louis stepped forward, frowning.
"This is Baron Calvin. Mind your manners and don't even think about overstepping."
"Of course, of course!" the slave merchant replied, waving his hands as if brushing away the idea. His smile widened.
"This humble one does honest business—no tricks, fair pricing. Every one of these slaves works hard. Farming, logging, construction, cotton harvesting—they can do it all!"
He clapped his hands, and the slaves behind him straightened—or rather, some did.
Others remained slouched or motionless, expressions vacant and hollow.
"Look at these ones here!" the merchant continued, gesturing to a few dark-skinned youths and patting their shoulders.
"Don't be fooled by their thinness—they eat little and work like oxen! Feed them and they'll labor from dawn till dusk without a word of complaint!"
Then, lowering his voice and flashing an ambiguous smile, he added:
"Of course, if the lord has other... preferences... we also carry a more refined stock.
From the South. Fair-skinned. Well-trained. Guaranteed to please... in all regards."
Louis's brow furrowed.
"No need."
The merchant instantly reverted to his professional smile, bowing again.
"The lord is truly wise and discerning. In this land, strength and productivity are what count.
Practical, rugged slaves are the foundation for any territory. And these—these are obedient, hardworking stock.
No trouble, no resistance."
Louis surveyed the slaves. Their clothes were little more than rags, their skin pale with cold, and many looked barely strong enough to stand.
Despite the merchant's sales pitch, the truth was obvious—most were severely malnourished, with sunken cheeks and dull eyes.
Some even trembled just from standing still.
Still, compared to others in the same category, these were of relatively good quality.
His gaze drifted over the group until it landed on a small, fragile boy curled in the protective embrace of an older woman.
The boy shivered like a leaf in the wind, every movement drenched in fear and defenselessness.
But Louis's eyes narrowed—not in contempt, but in recognition.
This boy was not ordinary.
Weil—marked by the intelligence system—possessed the hidden potential of a Peak Knight.
No one, not even seasoned warriors, would have guessed that this terrified, skeletal child could one day become a warrior powerful enough to change the course of a war.
A little farther away, in the corner of the fenced lot, stood another figure—one who seemed even more pitiful.
A thin, hunched man kept his head lowered, hiding his face beneath a curtain of messy gray hair.
He shuffled nervously, eyes constantly darting, deliberately avoiding the gaze of those nearby.
To any onlooker, he looked like a broken man. A shadow of someone who had suffered long and hard, too weak to stand up again.
But Louis recognized him instantly.
Silco—an Alchemist Apprentice, accused of theft, who had fled south and vanished into the chaos of the Northern Wasteland.
Sensing Louis's interest, the merchant leaned forward, eager.
"Lord, I swear by my name—buy them and you will not be disappointed!"
Louis didn't answer immediately. Instead, he asked calmly:
"What's the price per slave?"
"Eight silver coins for adult men. Four silver for women and children," the merchant replied with a grin.
Louis nodded thoughtfully. It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't outrageous either.
Clearly, the merchant feared pushing the price too far, likely due to the presence of the imperial official at his side.
"How many do you have in total?" Louis asked.
"Three hundred and eighty-four. If the lord wants more, I can get additional stock from nearby."
"This will do," Louis replied.
He moved on, visiting several more merchants before finalizing his purchases.
By the end of the day, he had acquired 120 more slaves.
Altogether, 500 slaves, costing him 380 gold coins.
A single transaction had nearly cut his total assets in half.
(Currency exchange rate: 10 iron = 1 copper, 10 copper = 1 silver, 10 silver = 1 gold)
In the days that followed, Louis bought vast amounts of grain, seeds, farm tools, weapons, and other essentials to prepare for developing his new territory.
Everything in the Northern Wasteland was expensive—double the cost of goods in the South.
When all was said and done, Louis had only 68 gold coins left.
He was essentially broke.
Yet his preparations were complete.
During these two days in Frost Halberd City, Louis had also met several other nobles who had been assigned new territories.
After a few conversations, however, he lost interest in them entirely.
Some spent their time drinking in dingy taverns, using alcohol to numb their fears.
Others sat hunched in corners, their faces pale and drawn, muttering complaints about their fates.
"The emperor is a fool!"
"Our parents have abandoned us!"
"I want to go back to the South!"
Louis merely smiled and nodded politely, offering no real response. He saw no point in engaging further.
Two days later, just outside the eastern gates of the city, a grand caravan had assembled.
Nearly a thousand people—soldiers, slaves, laborers, and pack animals—were ready to set out.
Louis mounted his horse and looked toward the distant horizon.
Out there lay his domain—Red Tide Territory, in the southeast of the Northern Wasteland.
"Depart!" he commanded.
With that, the great column began to move.
A new journey had begun.