The Freed Slaves Are Obsessed

Lake Fortress’ Chief, Darka.

Darka, once a proud leader, had succumbed to dementia, forgetting not only her role but also the people around her. While age might seem the likely cause, Darka’s condition had a specific trigger.

She had a son named Baskal.

For the northern people, becoming a Northguard was the highest honor, and Baskal was no exception.

Baskal was a skilled Northguard, well-liked and respected. His abilities and character earned him the fervent support of the tribe, making him the clear successor to the role of chief.

But misfortune doesn’t need a fox spirit to strike. One day, Baskal went out to hunt monsters as usual and met his untimely end.

He returned colder than the northern winter—lifeless.

The village was plunged into grief at the death of their future leader, friend, and comrade.

The psychological blow of losing her son caused Darka to lose her mind. When she finally awoke, she was the senile elder she is today.

In short, the role I am playing is that of Baskal’s old friend, Karami.

‘Of course, an imaginary friend.’

Impersonating the person himself would have been ideal, but the difficulty of such a performance was too high. Not only was there the issue of appearance, but also intimate details that only Baskal himself could know.

No matter how much I knew as someone who had taken over this body, it was impossible to know everything. Even if Darka was a crucial NPC, memorizing every detail about a non-main character was unfeasible.

On the other hand, playing the role of a long-time friend seemed plausible. Such friends were likely to exist, and memories of them would have some resistance to distortion.

Although our first meeting was a bit rocky, that didn’t matter. Darka’s senility meant any bad feelings had already faded into the distant recesses of her memory.

Smiling warmly, I whispered to Darka as though speaking to the mother of an old friend.

My high-leveled [Master of Negotiation] skill worked its magic. Like a hypnotic suggestion, I implanted plausible memories into Darka’s mind.

“Chief, the hunters have returned from their hunt. Wouldn’t it be nice to say a word of encouragement?”

“Yes, good work. Go in and rest.”

“...Chief, why is that man here?”

“Jorn! Baskal’s friend, Karami, is here! I thought he was dead, but here he is, alive and well. Baskal, that rascal, his friend came all this way, and he’s nowhere to be found?”

Jorn looked visibly troubled but quickly composed himself.

“Chief, Baskal never had such a friend. That man is a slave trader here to steal your treasures. Please reconsider.”

“What? He’s here for my treasures?”

Darka turned her suspicious gaze to me.

Unlike with others, she paid close attention to Jorn’s words, a sign of the trust she had in him.

But who am I?

Karami, Baskal’s closest friend.

A friend closer than any subordinate could ever be.

I began recounting “our” stories—ones only “we” would know.

“It’s all coming back to me now. Every time we went hunting, Baskal always got hurt and ended up getting scolded.”

“Baskal was such a troublemaker. He never listened no matter what I said.”

“But whenever Baskal and I came back from playing, you always made us fur root soup. I’ll never forget the taste of it.”

“Yes... that’s right. Baskal loved fur root soup so much that I made it for him every day.”

Darka’s eyes softened, misty with nostalgic memories. Then, as if flipping a switch, she glared fiercely at Jorn.

“Jorn! Karami is Baskal’s dearest friend and like a son to me! How dare you accuse him of being a villain!”

“Chief, all of this is his fabrication.”

“Silence! If you continue slandering Karami, I won’t let it slide!”

“......”

Jorn clenched his jaw, ultimately falling silent.

“Now get out of here!”

“...Understood.”

“I must apologize for my inept subordinate.”

“Haha, you must have mistaken me for someone else. Mistakes happen in life.”

“How could you be so kind-hearted? If Baskal had been even half as kind as you, how wonderful that would’ve been.”

Darka gazed at me with unreserved affection, while Jorn, banished from the tent, shot me a murderous glare as he left.

I decided it was best to wait before stepping outside. If I left now, I might not survive.

In any case, my efforts to win over Darka were a resounding success. Of course, I’d need to visit regularly to reinforce these false memories, but that was a minor inconvenience.

There was, however, a small downside to this plan.

“Here, Karami. Try this. These winter potatoes are sweet.”

Darka handed me food. Again. I felt like I might explode from eating so much already.

Smiling warmly, I tried to decline.

“Haha, Chief, I’ve already eaten plenty.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t recall seeing you eat anything. The Karami I remember ate far more than this. You’re not... hiding something, are you?”

“...Now that I think about it, I am quite hungry. Thank you.”

“Good, eat this. And this. You’re so skinny—how can you survive the harsh northern climate like this?”

The combination of a grandmother who couldn’t bear to see her grandson go hungry and a senile elder created an unstoppable force of endless food offerings.

I managed to escape the tent just before my stomach reached its limit.

Back at our tent.

The space shared by Ashies and me. Despite all the precautions I’d taken to keep the place warm, snowflakes lazily drifted down around us, thanks to Ashies.

An unwelcome visitor arrived.

“I warned you before I left. Don’t cause any trouble in the village.”

It was Chief Jorn, exuding a deadly aura, as if ready to draw his tomahawk at any moment.

He clearly didn’t like how much attention I was getting from Darka. What a jealous little man.

“Trouble? I was simply reminiscing with the Chief about some good memories. Thanks to me, she laughed a lot today.”

“How did you even approach the Chief? According to the guards, you never left this tent.”

“Oh, that’s a trade secret~”

Nothing fancy. Just the invisibility cloak I purchased with points.

It’s one of the most useful items in my arsenal—highly effective and, above all, entertaining.

Who hasn’t dreamed of being invisible at least once as a kid? Walking unnoticed past people is an exhilarating thrill.

“Trade secret.”

Of course, I had no intention of revealing it. Smiling slyly, I put a finger to my lips.

Jorn’s fist twitched momentarily, his irritation palpable. If Ashies hadn’t been nearby, that fist might have landed squarely on my face.

No matter how much I provoked or schemed, there wasn’t much Jorn could do. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t destroy the village with brute force.

Not that I’d ever take it that far.

He should be grateful I’m such a “kind” slave trader.

“No need to worry. By the end, everyone will be happy.”

“How was the hunt today?”

Under Isengar’s night sky, adorned with auroras and galaxies, I spent time building rapport with Ashies. The two of us strolled along the village outskirts, casually chatting about the day.

Ashies looked up at the sky, recalling the day’s events.

“It was... interesting.”

“What did you find interesting?”

“Everything.”

Everything had been fascinating to her: the coordinated hunting, the camaraderie among the warriors, the joy of a successful hunt, and the way the villagers celebrated together.

“But... I made a mistake. People... almost got hurt.”

“Did they?”

“Yeah.”

“But everyone made it back safely, didn’t they? That’s thanks to your efforts, Miss Ashies.”

“Efforts...?”

She wasn’t sure about that.

“I just... felt like I should.”

“Hmm. I don’t know what was in your heart, but if you act with intention, that’s always a good thing.”

“Is that... so?”

“That’s so.”

If Karami said so, it must be true, Ashies thought to herself.

As they walked a little apart from each other, Ashies suddenly remembered something the warriors had said.

“Rami... is he a bad person?”

“Me?”

Ashies nodded.

“The others said... you’re a bad person.”

“Ah, I see there are people slandering me again.”

“Slandering...?”

“Of course. There’s no one kinder than me in this world.”

“Is that... true?”

“It is.”

Ashies didn’t think too deeply about it. Whether Karami was good or bad didn’t really matter to her.

“Tomorrow, we’ll spend some time talking with Darka. It’ll be a unique experience for you.”

“Okay....”

“It’s getting chillier now that it’s nighttime. Let’s head back and rest.”

“Okay.”

As they returned to the tent, Ashies followed behind Karami, observing his back. She tilted her head, pondering something that had always struck her as odd.

“Why do you walk with your hands behind your back, Rami?”

While Ashies and everyone else swung their arms as they walked, Karami always kept his hands clasped behind him.

It was a trivial habit no one else paid attention to, but it piqued Ashies’ curiosity.

“Oh, this?”

Karami seemed unaware of it himself until she mentioned it. He glanced down at his hands, realizing that they naturally fell into that position.

“I used to walk normally. This habit only developed recently.”

“...?”

“My hands feel empty.”

Back when he was always with Mirabel or Lin, Karami would often hold their hands or carry them. He’d grown accustomed to the feeling. Now, walking alone, his hands felt strangely empty.

Instead of letting his hands flail awkwardly, he found it more comfortable to clasp them behind his back.

“Empty...?”

Ashies looked at her own hands.

She thought she might understand what Karami meant. The moment he mentioned it, she too felt a vague sense of emptiness.

“How do you... fill that emptiness?”

“There are many ways. You could put your hands in your pockets or clasp them behind your back like I do. Or, if you have someone, you could hold their hand. Although, that last one isn’t something you can do alone.”

Holding hands.

Of all the options Karami listed, that one lingered in Ashies’ mind.

What does it feel like to hold hands?

For someone like Ashies, who had never been allowed even a trace of warmth, it was an impossible question to answer.

She clenched her fists tightly, as if trying to hold on to something unseen.