The Fist-Wielding Genius Mage - Episode 23 (20/201)
Episode 23. The Slave Trader (1)
There were about ten of them.
Their weapons were nothing more than crude blades. They weren’t professional gangsters—just local thugs working here.
“You’ll regret this. What if I’m a noble? What’ll you do then?”
“Kehkeh! You dare try to fool a merchant’s eyes? Listen, kid. Merchants survive by their wits alone.”
“So, are your wits sharp or dull?”
“Enough bluster! Nobles never travel alone. I’ve been suspicious since the moment I saw you.”
I swiftly analyzed the situation.
Not professionals. Not even large in number. Easy prey.
“Did Devito send you? What’s your goal? Trying to swallow us up now?”
“Stop the nonsense. Answer my questions if you want to avoid pain.”
“Yeah, once we catch you, we’ll squeeze the answers out slowly. Hey! Quit standing around!”
—Swish!
Rusty daggers sliced through the air.
I ducked and backed toward the wall to break their encirclement.
“Faster than expected. Slum rat, are you?”
“Catch me first, then ask.”
—Crunch!
I grabbed the arm of a charging thug and drove my fist into his face.
He collapsed instantly. The others faltered. Seizing the opening, I kicked another into the wall.
“What the—?! Shit! Who the hell are you?!”
Using my full power could end this in three seconds.
But wasting my energy on these minnows felt pointless. There was no challenge here.
“Not even worth a warm-up.”
A few casual punches later, it was over.
Even without magic, my physical stats were at 70—far beyond any ordinary human’s limits.
Such low-stakes fights bored rather than excited me. I stepped over the groaning bodies and growled:
“Kneel.”
“Ugh…”
“Shall I break something? Your neck? Spine?”
“N-no! I’ll kneel…!”
Their compliance was swift—this world’s law of the jungle at work.
The thugs lined up on their knees, eyes darting nervously.
“Answer my questions immediately. Understood?”
“Y-yes…!”
“I heard this building belonged to the Haimil Trading Company. Why are you here?”
“Ah…! The previous owner went bankrupt. We took over…”
“Who’s Devito? Another slave trader?”
“…Yes, but… weren’t you sent by him…?”
“I ask the questions here.”
“Yes, yes…”
Street rats like these only avoid slavery in two ways:
Be exceptionally talented, like Riu, and become a servant—or spend your life fleeing slavers.
If Haimil Trading collapsed, Lisa—once part of it—was likely enslaved now.
With the guild targeting minor families who buy slaves, raiding slavers might be faster.
I pressed on:
“Where are the people?”
“People…? Do you mean the merchandise display?”
Merchandise. This bastard kept treating humans as objects.
Still hadn’t learned.
Anger flared. I slapped his cheek.
—Crack!
“Ghk…!”
“Speak properly.”
“The! Merchandise! Display!”
—Crack! Crack!
His swollen face trembled as tears streamed down. Even after being beaten, he clung to those words—proof of this world’s twisted view of slaves.
“S-sorry! I’ll speak right!”
“What did you do wrong?”
“M-my pronunciation…?”
“Still don’t get it.”
—Slap! Crack! Crack!
The man finally passed out. I turned to the next thug.
“What was his mistake?”
“H-huh…?!”
“Answer.”
“S-sorry! Tell me, and I’ll burn it into my soul!”
“Slaves are people. Treating them as objects—acceptable?”
“Ah…!”
“Think strength lets you monetize lives? In a world where nobles become slaves after a few city trips… Should I do the same to you?”
“We’re sorry! Truly! It won’t happen again!”
“Follow basic decency. Is that so hard?”
“N-no!”
“Lead me.”
The thug scrambled up, trembling.
He guided me to a thick-barred cage draped in black cloth. Pulling it aside revealed huddled figures inside.
……
The stench of waste assaulted my nose. The sight reignited my fury.
“Sigh… I’ll give you one final chance to act human. Bring all the vault’s money. And the keys.”
"Huh…?"
"Why are you just standing there?"
"Ah, right! I’ll get it right now!"
I peered through the iron bars.
Not a single young person—let alone a blonde—was visible.
Only white-haired elders filled the space.
"Sigh…"
It was a bitter truth: younger slaves fetched higher prices.
Those prime specimens were likely held by someone named Deviton or Obiton.
"H-here! I brought it!"
The thug soon returned with a large crate. I ordered the cage unlocked and the door flung wide.
Yet the elders only huddled deeper into the corner, trembling.
My chest tightened.
"Come out."
"……"
"If you stay now, you’ll rot here forever."
Their eyes darted between me and the slavers. Understanding their hesitation, I forced the gang to kneel again. Only then did the elders shuffle forward.
Fourteen souls.
Bony limbs protruded from frayed rags.
Studying their hollow cheeks, I divided the slavers’ confiscated coins evenly.
"Buy new clothes and proper meals. Then meet me at the harbor’s moving gate."
"Why show us such kindness…?"
"You’re free to leave. But if you do, head toward the imperial palace. The capital’s center cracks down hardest on slavers."
"Ah…"
After sending them off, I shoved the slavers into their own cage.
"Enjoy the view. See how it feels."
Knights arriving at the moving gate gaped at the surreal scene.
Zed stood surrounded by elderly slaves—clutching his hands as tears streamed down their faces.
But the true shock wasn’t the weeping.
It was the contact.
The Arahans were the empire’s most exalted nobles. Yet here their scion let lowborn slaves touch him.
"Why is Lord Zed…?"
More jarring was his demeanor.
By imperial law, lowborn couldn’t meet nobles’ eyes. Yet Zed not only locked gazes but embraced their grimy hands.
"Zed! No—Young Master!"
The knights surged forward, abandoning protocol.
Their title made the elders recoil.
"Young Master? A true noble? But earlier you denied—"
"Don’t dwell on it."
Despite his reassurance, the elders bowed deeply. Every southern lowborn knew Bahal’s knights—if they honored this youth, he must be Bahal’s heir.
"Forgive us! We didn’t recognize your standing—"
"It’s fine."
Zed shot the knights a warning glare. To them, each moment grew more absurd.
Why would an Arahans use honorifics with slaves? The world had flipped.
"Who…are these people?"
Zed answered casually when one knight finally cracked.
"Those I rescued from slavers today."
"Rescued? Then they’re slaves! Why the respect—"
"They’re elders."
"…Yet you use informal speech with us?"
"You’re younger."
"But you’re—"
The knight stared at Zed’s boyish face, gears grinding in his head.
Is this some twisted Arahans humor?
Mages truly operated on another plane.
As the knight shuddered, Zed’s eyes lit up.
"Bahal should take them in."
"What? How—"
"Age means experience. Their stories prove they’ve survived every trial. They’ll strengthen Bahal."
"…"
His audacity was breathtaking.
Fernando, Bahal’s patriarch, studied his son with amused patience.
He’d assigned Torres a leadership task, only to receive glowing reports about an Arahans.
Annoying? Perhaps. But Fernando prized his heir’s conviction.
"The man understands honor, Father."
"A mage with honor?" Fernando chuckled. "I’ve lived to see miracles."
He trusted Torres’ judgment. Despite his youth, the boy had earned his knights’ loyalty through integrity.
"Meet him, and you’d agree."
"I’ve never doubted your sight, son. If you vouch for him, so be it."
An honorable Arahans—who’d slain a hidden beast, saved knights, and unleashed thunder magic. Each claim defied belief.
"Not all knights are noble, nor mages greedy. But remember—"
"Yes?"
"He’s Arahans. Our blood enemies."
"I know."
"Your fondness is natural. But as heir, you must lead. Our knights train daily to oppose them. What message does your camaraderie send?"
"But Zed—"
"They’re our foes. Don’t let sentiment weaken us."
"…"
Torres swallowed his protest. There was truth here.
Fernando offered a scroll to shift topics.
"An imperial decree. Handle it."
"Only for us?"
"Empire-wide. Strengthening slaver crackdowns."
"Slaver raids?"
"The emperor’s long sought this. Though nobles block abolition, kidnapping violates imperial law."
"So we hunt every slaver?"
"Use our lists. Cleanse the southern region."
Torres scanned the document. The emperor’s resolve blazed through every word.
"Rescued slaves go to the palace. His wisdom shines."
"Hence our oath. The top rescuer earns imperial favor. Claim it."
Fernando cared not for rewards—Bahal overflowed with treasures.
Only duty moved him.
"It’ll be done."
With a knight’s salute, Torres departed.
