The Freed Slaves Are Obsessed

"Oh! Without a doubt, this is a treasure of the kingdom!"

Inside the chieftain's tent at Lake Fortress, Darka exclaimed excitedly as Karami handed him the tiara they’d obtained from the Snowfield Elves. Holding it high above his head, he shouted with joy.

"Who had this?"

"The Snowfield Elves," Karami replied.

"The Snowfield Elves! Mysterious beings, scarcely more than legends. The ancients thought they were just fairy-tale creatures, but they’re real! They’re living history! They must hold secrets about the kingdom that no one else knows!"

Darka placed the tiara carefully next to Zeke's ring.

"Well done. Very well done! This brings us one step closer to fulfilling our long-held dream!"

"Haha, I plan to find the next item just as quickly."

"Good. I’ll eagerly await its arrival."

Darka’s face lit up with an exuberant smile. Every time Karami delivered a treasure, Darka seemed like a different person. To the tribe members, it was as if his senility had been completely cured.

Of course, the change was only temporary. Soon enough, he’d return to his usual self.

Darka let out a dry cough.

"Cough, cough. I’ve been shouting so much my throat hurts. I’ll lie down for a bit—take your time before you leave."

"Darka... sleeping again?"

"And is that something you should be commenting on, Miss Ashies?"

Karami shot Ashies a cold look.

Ashies, after all, was notorious for her love of sleep. She would doze off even on the roughest sled rides and was a nightmare to wake up in the morning.

For her to criticize Darka for napping was absurd.

"You’ll understand when you’re my age, young one."

"...?"

Ashies tilted her head, not quite grasping his meaning.

As evening descended upon Lake Fortress, the tribe gathered for their communal meal.

For those living in the settlement, eating together was a daily routine. They would toss a variety of ingredients into a giant pot, creating an everlasting stew that never ran out.

This stew, capable of warming even the coldest bodies, was a northern staple. People gathered in small groups to ladle portions into their bowls, chattering around the campfires.

However, Ashies wasn’t among them. Her mere presence near the fire would exude an icy chill, snuffing out the flames.

Thus, she sat in a secluded corner of the village, far from the light of the fires, perched on a long, fallen log.

In her hands was a bowl of cold stew.

Denied even the slightest warmth, Ashies couldn’t eat hot food. She always had to wait until her meals cooled completely.

For an ordinary person, this would have been unpleasant, but not for Ashies.

She had no complaints, no dissatisfaction.

Just as someone who has never tasted an apple cannot describe its flavor, Ashies had never felt warmth. Without that experience, she had no reason to long for it.

For her, this was simply life as it had always been.

"How does it taste? Is it good?"

Karami approached, holding his own bowl of stew, and sat on the log across from her.

"..."

"It’s amazing, isn’t it? How they just throw random ingredients together, and it still turns out like this."

"...Yes."

Karami was a peculiar person.

Many had approached Ashies before, drawn by her ethereal beauty. Her presence captivated people regardless of their gender or race.

But no one ever stayed.

While her appearance attracted attention, her cold aura drove people away. Even those who initially tried to get close would eventually recoil and distance themselves.

A few, like Perka, managed to bridge some of the gap, but there was always an invisible line between them and Ashies.

The boundary where her cold could not reach.

An unbreachable barrier of absolute zero.

Yet Karami, unlike anyone else, kept crossing that line.

Where others stopped, he stepped forward.

He entered her frozen domain and asserted his presence there.

Even now, frost spread over the surface of his coat, and his legs trembled from the cold, but he showed no sign of discomfort, maintaining his ever-present smile.

Ashies tilted her head.

Why was Karami the only one who came into her space? Why did he leave ripples in her mind that refused to fade?

"Rami... why are you here?"

The question arose unbidden, one she felt she had to ask.

"Well, aren’t you here too, Miss Ashies?"

"I’m... here because I have to be."

Ashies understood. Her unique constitution didn’t allow her to live among others.

"And that’s why I’m here as well. Because you are here."

"...?"

"A master must always stay close to their slave. Who knows what kind of trouble a slave might cause without supervision?"

"Ah... I see..."

So the master was always there.

Slavery seemed like a good thing.

But people often called Karami a bad person.

Is being bad... good?

She didn’t know.

It was confusing. And Ashies didn’t like confusion. She pushed the thoughts away.

"We’ll head out to find the next treasure soon. A giant snake has it, and since magic won’t work on it, we’ll need to use blades to defeat it."

"A treasure..."

Whenever Ashies looked at treasures like the ring or the tiara, she felt something strange.

A sense of familiarity.

A vague nostalgia.

And a tightness in her chest that left her breathless.

She didn’t know why.

Maybe Karami would know?

She asked, and Karami responded with a smile and a nod.

"To some, an item might seem insignificant. But to others, it could hold cherished memories. Perhaps these treasures mean something to you, Miss Ashies."

"Cherished... memories..."

Was that it?

Was that why they felt familiar?

But her memories were still blank.

"Perhaps talking with the chieftain will help you remember something. Why not visit him tomorrow?"

"...Alright."

Ashies spooned more stew into her mouth.

The warmth was absent, as always.

The next day, Ashies set out to find Darka.

Unusually, she was alone today. When she asked Karami if he would accompany her, he mentioned having other business and told her to go on her own. She didn’t think much of it.

As she approached the chieftain’s tent, the guards stationed nearby instinctively stepped back to maintain a safe distance.

Crunch.

As Ashies drew closer, the torches outside the tent froze solid. Once she moved out of their range, the flames rekindled themselves.

This routine response had become second nature to the guards by now.

"Darka," she called out softly.

"Huh? Cough, cough. Who’s there?"

Darka, who had been lying down, struggling with his persistent cough, slowly sat up, his frail frame trembling with the effort.

He squinted at Ashies through his cloudy eyes, taking a moment to recall who she was.

"Oh! It’s you, little one! Where’ve you been all this time? You should visit your grandmother more often, you know."

"I... came yesterday."

"You did? Oh dear, my mind’s been slipping lately. Don’t just stand there; come and sit."

Darka patted the spot beside him, motioning for her to join him.

Ashies sat down gracefully, folding her legs neatly beneath her. Thanks to the protective Lazulite crystal, she was able to sit about an arm’s length away from him. That was the limit of its effectiveness without further enhancement.

"So, what brings you here? Do you want to hear an old story?"

Ashies shook her head.

"Today... something else. About the treasure... I’m curious."

"Oh, so you want to hear a story about the treasures, huh?"

"Uh... um... yeah. I think so."

"Alright! Let me tell you a story."

Darka reached under the rug and pulled out the tiara.

Ashies couldn’t help but wonder if the carpet was magical—it seemed to produce an endless array of objects.

"This tiara," Darka began, "was created to celebrate the birth of a princess. The king of the Ice Kingdom had it prepared as a gift for her."

"A king...?"

"Yes. The king of the Ice Kingdom was a warm-hearted man. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to place this tiara on the princess’s head."

"Because of... the dragon?"

"Because of a wicked dragon, indeed."

Even as she listened, Ashies felt no particular emotion. At least, she thought she didn’t.

Unknowingly, her brow furrowed slightly.

It felt as though a heavy stone was pressing on her chest. Her breathing grew uneasy.

It felt like something she needed to understand, something she couldn’t leave unresolved.

Crunch.

But the dragon’s curse wouldn’t allow it.

The curse that bound Ashies tightened its grip, strangling the budding feelings rising within her.

Invisible thorny vines reached out, smothering any trace of emotion before it could bloom.

The faint ripples at the edge of her soul faded without leaving a mark.

Unallowed emotions flickered at her fingertips before vanishing into the void.

The door to her feelings slammed shut, leaving her enveloped in cold, crystalline silence.

Ashies blinked slowly, her expression serene once again, as if nothing had happened. Her eyes held only the frozen stillness of midwinter.

"Achoo! Suddenly, it’s gotten chilly. Must be winter approaching. Are you alright, little one?"

"I’m fine."

"This blasted weather... I wonder when that rascal Baskal will return. Tsk, tsk."

"Baskal... do you miss him?"

"It’s strange, isn’t it? I used to sigh every time I looked at him, but now, his image lingers in my mind..."

A wistful look settled over Darka’s face.

Ashies silently observed him for a long while.

"I want to bring back Baskal."

It was the first thing Ashies said when she returned from her meeting with Darka.

"Darka... he misses Baskal."

"That’s true," Karami agreed.

Baskal’s absence was the root cause of Darka’s decline, and even in his current state, he still yearned to see Baskal again.

The problem, of course, was that Baskal was long dead.

Though there was an item connected to Baskal, one that Karami needed to retrieve to achieve complete liberation.

The surprise was that Ashies was the one asking for it.

"It’s not... possible?"

Karami smiled faintly. "Why wouldn’t it be? Let’s bring back Baskal."

Ashies nodded slowly, a faint exhalation escaping her lips.

What settled over her was a fragile sense of relief.

"I’m bored! I’m bored! I’m bored!"

Deep in the Mage Tower, the ancient demon Zakaryl Vermor rolled on the floor like a spoiled child.

Mirabel, the tower lord, had occasionally played with him, but ever since she left for Bestia, his days had been nothing but dull monotony.

Had he known this would happen, he /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ would’ve followed her. Instead, the witches had left without him, much to his chagrin.

"Isn’t there anything fun to do~?"

Zakaryl flapped his small wings, searching for entertainment. He didn’t want to deal with Darienor, whose temperament was far too prickly, and he was considering tormenting Edmund when—

Flutter.

"Huh?"

A letter flew in through the high window of the Mage Tower, circling Zakaryl like a bird seeking its master.

The magic imbued in the letter belonged to Morgana.

Fwoosh.

The letter burned up, its contents forming into black smoke.

The magic of the Tower Lord’s master. Might be in the north.

That was all it said.

A letter with no clear purpose.

"The Tower Lord’s master! I wonder what kind of person they are? Are they strong? Are they fun?"

But those vague words were more than enough to spark Zakaryl’s curiosity—exactly as Morgana had intended.

Flapping his small wings, Zakaryl left the Mage Tower. The magic trail was faint, making it difficult to track.

So he did as the letter suggested.

Zakaryl flew north, his tiny form darting through the skies.

If, by chance, they turned out to be uninteresting...

Well, he could always kill them.