The Freed Slaves Are Obsessed-Chapter 141: The Ruthless Merchant (3)

The snowfields of Aisengar stretched endlessly, desolate and barren, but here, like nowhere else, the earth itself seemed to open its mouth.

Descending the long staircase that followed the gaping hole, one would arrive at an underground fortress.

Frost Hollow, the maw of the icy plains. Once a den of magical beasts, it had been stained by the history of blood, steel, and slaughter, only to devolve into a sanctuary for humans.

The structure resembled an ant nest—chaotic and disorderly, a stark contrast to the meticulously organized Doomheim. It was a fitting dwelling for savages.

Even among those of the same continent and race, the forms of their societies varied wildly.

If Lake Fortress was a harmonious family home, Frost Hollow was a lair of beasts. Its inhabitants drank all day, pouncing on women without hesitation at the mere sight of them.

The northerners here didn’t know who their fathers were, nor did they care who fathered their children. Truly, “beast lair” was the only apt descriptor.

“Great Chieftain! I have urgent news to deliver!”

The one who sought this savage hideout was Bipen, the slit-eyed merchant.

Having failed to exploit Lake Fortress under the guise of trade, he had scurried to Frost Hollow like a beaten dog, now prostrated before the Great Chieftain’s quarters.

Sitting arrogantly on a throne-like chair, a burly man glowered down at Bipen as though he were a king.

Zeke Snowsvine, Great Chieftain of Frost Hollow.

Though his roots were in the honorable Nosgard, he had grown tired of its archaic traditions and chosen the path of savagery.

He swept through other tribes, unifying them under his rule. His power had snowballed, and his was now the largest tribe in all of Aisengar.

In Frost Hollow, Zeke was as good as a king. His cold, oppressive gaze bore down on the back of Bipen’s head.

“I recently visited Lake Fortress for a trade,” Bipen began, his tone ingratiating. “They somehow managed to get their hands on a significant amount of wyvern wings, not to mention exceptionally high-quality yeti pelts.”

“...Hmm.”

“I intended to present them to you, Great Chieftain, but those bastards got greedy, and the deal fell through.”

“What’s your point?”

Zeke’s low voice reverberated through the underground hall, making Bipen flinch. Forcing himself to speak despite his trembling, he continued.

“While I was there, I saw the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. She was as stunning as a goddess of winter herself...”

“Hmm.”

“But can you believe she was a slave? And not just any slave—a slave belonging to the so-called Reaper of Slaves.”

“The Reaper of Slaves? What is that?”

How could he not know about the Reaper of Slaves? Bipen cursed inwardly. Savages—they’re all the same.

Of course, voicing such thoughts would get his head smashed in, so he patiently explained, “He’s an infamous slaver known across the continent for his penchant for killing slaves.”

“And you’re telling me that woman is his slave?”

“Exactly. He’ll torment her and, in the end, surely kill her. I tried to save her, but alas, I failed...”

“Then we must bring her here.”

“That’s precisely what I wanted to suggest!”

Seeing their thoughts align, Bipen lifted his head momentarily, only to bow even deeper in gratitude.

Zeke propped his chin on his hand, scrutinizing Bipen’s demeanor.

A southern bumpkin. His frantic behavior clashed with the stoic disposition of the northerners.

Though he wasn’t exactly someone Zeke admired, their interests aligned.

The tribe provided Bipen protection, and in return, he supplied them with high-quality goods under their patronage. Occasionally, he provided information, and in turn, they would ride frost wolves to abduct beautiful women—nobles or otherwise.

In the lawless north, Zeke had the power to call himself a ruler. Border towns didn’t have the military strength to stop him.

The information Bipen had just provided about the new woman intrigued him. While Bipen lacked tact, his eye for valuable goods was unparalleled. For him to sing her praises so highly meant she was no ordinary beauty.

“Lake Fortress, was it?”

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A venerable tribe led by Chief Darka, one that valued tradition. It was also the tribe Zeke regarded most cautiously. Their warriors were exceptionally skilled.

However, after Baskal’s accidental death and Darka’s subsequent collapse, Lake Fortress had fallen into rapid decline, as though it were a sled careening down a steep slope.

Having lost its former significance, Zeke had left it to its own devices. Perhaps it was time to pay them a visit.

He would take the slave that the Reaper of Slaves held, demand regular tributes, and let them live in exchange for obedience.

“Very well. I shall go—”

Zeke had just begun to rise when a bloodcurdling scream tore through the underground fortress.

“Argh! My arm!”

“Don’t cry! You’re a man, aren’t you?”

“But my arm!”

The sudden noise soured Zeke’s mood, and the air grew heavy with his displeasure.

“...Who dares cause such a disturbance?”

“Apologies, Great Chieftain. I’ll investigate immediately.”

When Zeke was angered, he turned feral.

One of the sub-chieftains hurried off to assess the situation.

“Argh!”

“Run! That crazy woman is cutting people down!”

The commotion grew louder, an unsettling shift in the air. The sub-chief, who had gone to investigate, returned in a frantic rush.

“Great Chieftain, we have an intruder!”

Zeke’s eyebrow twitched.

“An intruder? Who dares attack us? What’s the enemy’s size?”

“I’m not sure who they are! But the visible enemy is... just one person!”

One person? Someone dared to invade Frost Hollow alone?

A fool with no regard for their own life.

Zeke grabbed his massive greatsword, which was as tall as he was, and stood up. Stepping outside, he found his tribesmen scattering in panic.

Chasing after them was a lone swordswoman.

Her presence illuminated the gloomy underground fortress like a light in the heart of winter.

Even Zeke, who was unfazed by the harshest colds, felt a chill from her beauty.

“T-that woman! That’s the slave I told you about!”

Bipen shouted hysterically.

The very woman they planned to capture had come to them of her own accord, cutting down tribesmen as she advanced.

Yet Zeke found himself captivated by her movements. Her swordplay resembled a dance, graceful and precise.

“Chieftain!”

The haziness clouding his thoughts cleared. Zeke’s shoulders shook—this was no time to stand idly and gawk.

Gripping his greatsword with both hands, Zeke slashed upward. The sharp arc of his sword energy shot toward Ashies.

She darted nimbly across the rugged terrain like a rabbit, her steps light and unburdened.

Thwack!

The sword energy struck the spot where her foot had just been.

Like a ballet dancer performing a relevé, Ashies stood on her toes and pivoted gracefully.

With a fluid spin, the sword energy barely missed the tips of her hair.

Boom!

Zeke leapt into the air and landed near Ashies with a thunderous crash.

Ashies turned her head, meeting Zeke’s gaze.

“So Bipen wasn’t exaggerating,” Zeke muttered.

For once, the merchant’s hyperbolic praises had been justified. In fact, his words didn’t do her justice—her beauty was far beyond description.

“This is no ordinary slave,” Zeke thought.

Her demeanor, appearance, and attire were worlds apart from that of a typical enslaved woman. She seemed more like a sheltered princess from a greenhouse than a possession.

Her swordsmanship was extraordinary, too. Even from a brief glance, her movements were remarkably agile.

“What brings you here?” Zeke demanded.

“Rami... told me to clean up,” Ashies replied flatly.

“Rami? Who’s that? Is he the so-called Reaper of Slaves?”

“Rami is... Rami...?”

“...?”

What was this? Was she slow?

It didn’t matter. Someone as beautiful as her could have a few flaws—it only added to her charm.

“You’ve entered Frost Hollow, but don’t think you’ll leave unscathed. Before your beauty fades, you’ll bear my child,” Zeke declared with a smirk.

Thud!

Zeke readied his black greatsword and lunged. While not particularly fast, his massive frame tore through the air with overwhelming force, like a charging buffalo.

The greatsword came crashing down diagonally.

Ashies remained unshaken, her expression unchanging. She sidestepped the attack effortlessly, then thrust her sword forward.

Squelch.

“Guh?!”

Her blade pierced Zeke’s shoulder with precision, drawing a spurt of blood.

The blood that sprayed toward Ashies froze midair, transforming into crimson ice spikes that shot back toward their source.

The spikes left shallow wounds all over Zeke’s body.

“Magic?!”

Though the injuries weren’t severe, in a battle where every moment counted, even minor distractions could turn the tide.

Shing!

A barrage of ice blades rained down like sharp rays of light.

Zeke angled his greatsword defensively and deflected the attack with a loud clang. He leapt backward, creating distance.

“A slave like that...” he muttered in disbelief.

A magical swordswoman?

He had never imagined she’d wield magic alongside her blade.

She was far too skilled to be considered a mere slave.

Though it was humiliating for a chieftain, he realized he’d need his men to join forces with him...

“Hm?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Ashies slid toward him, her movements as fluid as water.

Wherever her feet touched, the ground froze.

She glided effortlessly across the ice, closing the distance with astonishing speed.

Ashies attacked again, her sword cutting through the air with relentless precision.

Ashies was left-handed—a rare trait.

Most warriors were accustomed to fighting right-handed opponents. Even the smallest deviation in attack patterns could feel unnervingly foreign.

Zeke, unprepared for her unorthodox angles, faltered. He blocked clumsily, sweat pouring down his face, but her strikes tore through his defenses.

Each spurt of blood from his wounds froze midair, transforming into ice spikes that returned to assault him.

It wasn’t a battle but a one-sided onslaught. Zeke was no match for Ashies’ unparalleled swordsmanship.

Crack.

Her blade clashed against his greatsword, and frost spread along its surface.

With a final push, her sword shattered the greatsword into pieces.

“Argh!”

The impact sent Zeke sprawling to the ground. Ashies pointed her blade at him.

The gap in their abilities was undeniable.

Despite her dominance, a hint of puzzlement crossed Ashies’ face. She tilted her head slightly.

“Is it... over?”

It was as if she couldn’t believe the fight had ended so quickly.

Unintentionally, she smirked.