The Freed Slaves Are Obsessed

“Where did you hide the item? And where’s the little girl?”

In the underground prison of Delofin, Myra, acting as the interrogator, was questioning Karamir.

Priests of the Church held a social status higher than most nobles, and the knights, not wanting to clash with someone like Myra or get involved without understanding the full situation, had handed over full authority to her.

“I’m not sure. I must have dropped it on the way. You were chasing me so fiercely that I lost track of things,” Karamir replied.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Well, anyone would be scared of getting torn limb from limb, wouldn’t they?”

“Such exaggeration.”

Exaggeration, my foot. She brought a literal storm with her!

It’s pointless to try to understand the way monsters think. It’ll just give you a headache.

With that thought, Karamir slumped down in the chair, letting out a deep sigh as he lamented his situation.

“That was something incredibly important to me, you know.”

Karamir put on an act, his expression so melancholic that he looked like an emperor who had just lost his entire empire. Myra almost fell for it for a second.

“What was it, exactly?”

“It was a book. A magic tome that belonged to a goblin shaman.”

“A goblin shaman’s magic tome, huh? Sometimes they do carry those.”

It was rare, but not impossible to find.

“But it’s not something worth risking your life over, is it?”

If it were a lich, maybe. But a goblin? How valuable could anything a goblin carried really be?

Magic tomes written in obscure languages were usually more trouble than they were worth. Even if you went through the effort of translating them, they were often filled with useless content. You’d be lucky to sell one for a single silver coin.

Myra found it hard to understand why someone like Karamir, who seemed so practical and calculating, would risk making an enemy of the Church over some junk.

“Well, you’d have to ask the one who made it.”

“The one who made it? The Goblin King? That’s not even a person.”

“Close enough.”

Whether it was the Goblin King or a game administrator, what’s the difference?

Karamir’s audacious attitude made Myra chuckle.

“You’re awfully calm. Most people break down and beg for forgiveness when they end up in here.”

“Usually, it’s people with something to feel guilty about who do that.”

“Are you saying that yourself, Karamir the Slave Trader?”

“How did you find that out?”

As infamous as he might be, there was no way every single person in the world knew who Karamir was. Sure, he was known in places where the slave trade thrived, but in a rural area like this, if you called him a “slave trader,” people wouldn’t even know what you meant.

Myra shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“I did some digging. You made quite a name for yourself in Libria, didn’t you? I heard you even had a run-in with the head of the mages’ guild.”

“The guildmaster was someone just like you—a person who judged others with narrow-minded assumptions and acted without considering the consequences.”

“I apologized for that, didn’t I? That’s why I’m talking to you now instead of just breaking your fingers. If it had been someone else, they would’ve already snapped a few.”

“I’m grateful.”

Yeah, right. Grateful my foot. With the strength she had, she could crack my skull open like a watermelon with a single flick.

The lack of tension in the interrogation made Myra slump onto the table, lying down in defeat.

“So, are you going to tell me what you’re really up to or not?”

“Honestly, I gave the magic tome to the slave.”

“Of course you did. But is it really worth all this trouble? Handing it over to a slave and getting yourself caught in the process?”

“It’s not that important. It’s just a tome related to soul magic.”

How did he know that? Was it his information network as a slave trader?

Every conversation with Karamir seemed to give rise to more questions than answers.

“You’re being unusually cooperative.”

“My role is to buy time until the girl learns the magic in the book. Once she’s done, I’ll give the tome back.”

“And when will that be?”

“She’s talented. It’ll only take a few days.”

Karamir’s tone was firm and confident, as if he were talking about a daughter he cherished, not a slave.

“You seem to care about her a lot. Why enslave her? Is that your thing? Some kind of sick hobby?”

“I’m not killing her. I’m setting her free. It’s not a hobby; it’s more of a... personal interest.”

“You’re a twisted freak.”

“...”

Karamir didn’t bother to respond. He’d grown tired of explaining himself, knowing full well that she wouldn’t believe him.

Instead, he turned his head and stared out beyond the iron bars.

He couldn’t help but worry about the girl who was out there, all alone.

‘I hope she’s doing okay.’

He had no choice but to believe she was.

The world was cloaked in darkness, not even moonlight piercing the thick clouds.

Inside a room with no light, Mirabel sat in silence, her face buried in her knees.

How long had she been sitting there?

She didn’t know.

Isolation had a way of distorting the passage of time.

Mirabel was no stranger to loneliness.

She had been alone in the carriage that transported her to the slave market. She had been alone in the cage where she waited for her auction.

Ever since the moment she had been abandoned, she had been alone.

In that iron cage, where time seemed to stretch into eternity, Mirabel had sworn to trust no one. She had been betrayed by her own family, after all.

But no matter how accustomed one became to loneliness, it was something you never truly got used to. Familiarity and adaptation were not the same.

Even if the person she longed for was a slave trader.

Karamir. The slave trader.

Karamir was a strange man.

From the very beginning, when he had declared her name was not to be discarded, he had wormed his way into her heart. His eccentricity left her little time to gather her thoughts, and before she knew it, she had been swayed by him.

And now, he was imprisoned for her sake. The thought alone made her want to laugh.

But the real reason Mirabel felt such affection for Karamir was because of the soul bond between them. As long as that bond remained, she was not alone.

He had told her that if she proved her worth, she wouldn’t be abandoned. As long as she did well, she could stay with him forever.

She wouldn’t be left behind.

Even if it meant death.

Colton had said as much.

What was her master doing now?

He was probably being tortured by those vile priests.

He probably wasn’t eating properly.

He probably wasn’t sleeping well, either.

She had to save him, and soon.

Only then would she find her own freedom.

Mirabel opened the magic tome. It was filled with words in a language she couldn’t understand. Yet, somehow, just by looking at it, she felt as though she knew exactly what it said.

As if the knowledge was flowing directly into her mind.

And within that torrent of knowledge, she could discern Karamir’s intent. He had told her to learn the magic in the book and come find him.

Divine Punishment.

That was Karamir’s will.

To deliver divine punishment to all those who stood in the way of his noble plan for liberation.

How long had it been since I got locked up in this cell?

It hadn’t been that long. The sun had risen twice and set three times, and I’d been served eight meals. So, it had been three days.

The treatment here wasn’t so bad.

When I first arrived in this world, working at the inn, I had to sleep on a pile of hay in a stable. Now, I had a cheap bed to sleep in.

Where else could you find a prisoner treated this well?

It was all thanks to Myra. She was still feeling guilty about what had happened at the tavern, being the devout person she was, repaying her debts fully.

Not that I minded. I was never one to turn down a favor.

She even said she’d release me soon. I’d managed to talk my way out of it again.

Sure, they’d check the magic tome, but at this point, I didn’t care if they took it. I’d bought enough time. Mirabel should have learned how to communicate with souls by now.

She was incredibly capable, after all. Who knows?

‘Maybe she’s already mastered the whole tome.’

It looked like my time with Mirabel was coming to an end. Parting ways would be sad, but I had a long road ahead of me. No time to waste.

‘The next main story slave is supposed to be an elf, right?’

Buying an elf slave? Am I out of my mind? I could already hear the criticisms.

Not that it mattered. The elf was a defective character anyway.

I’d have to make preparations in advance.

Everything had to go smoothly, just like this time.

Those were my thoughts back then.

The real trouble started when the earthquake hit.

At first, I thought it was just Myra stomping around on her way down here.

And sure enough, Myra did come downstairs. But even after she stood in front of me, the tremors didn’t stop.

So, what was this? An actual earthquake?

That’s when Myra, her face pale, spoke up in a fluster.

“That little girl of yours... she wasn’t just an ordinary mage, was she?”

“She was, as far as I know. Why?”

“The whole city’s in chaos because of her!”

Had Mirabel’s overwhelming cuteness reached critical levels and exploded?

If only that had been the case.

When I followed Myra outside, I saw lightning and thunder tearing across the sky, and at the center of it all was Mirabel.

She turned to me, her smile blooming brightly.

“I’m here to save you, Master.”

Mirabel’s state had changed.

[Abandoned Witch Mirabel]

Now read as:

[Mirabel, the Witch of Judgment, Agent of Death.]