The Freed Slaves Are Obsessed

Before stepping out of the shop, Victor dressed Arpia in a special anti-detection robe he had used during his days as an assassin.

Elves, by their very nature, attract attention wherever they go—both due to their aura and their appearance. Of course, elves aren’t mythical creatures, impossible to see. Some elves leave their forests, and others even live in human cities.

For instance, the previous owner of The Heavenly Oath, Inaxiana, a high elf, and his father had done the same.

However, now wasn’t the best time for Arpia to be noticed.

I had already warned the kids strictly—no telling anyone. And I promised to buy them whatever they wanted if they listened well.

“What brings you here?” the shopkeeper asked.

“We came to look at weapons,” I replied.

I had brought Arpia to a weapon shop.

Elf. Weapon.

Only one thing came to mind.

‘Elves and bows—it’s a classic.’

It’s a fundamental rule in this kind of story.

Arpia’s development could go in two directions.

One: She becomes a spirit mage. Two: She becomes an archer.

Both paths fit the widely accepted traits of elves.

The spirit mage route has more potential. If raised well, she could adapt her abilities to various elements in battle.

But let’s be honest—nothing beats the romantic notion of an elf archer. Swiftly climbing trees, moving through the forest like it’s their home, and shooting arrows.

‘It’s ridiculously cool.’

More importantly, archery requires a calm and focused mind—exactly what Arpia needs to settle her restless spirit.

Of course, there are cases where people pick up archery to calm themselves but end up becoming loud, competitive archers instead. Let’s just hope that doesn’t happen to Arpia.

“Have you ever shot a bow before?” I asked.

“That’s species discrimination. Just because I’m an elf, you think I’m naturally good at archery....”

“So you can’t shoot. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you can.”

Right now, Arpia was bound to me by the soul shackles. Since Mirabel had quickly picked up magic, I was confident that Arpia would also experience some improvement.

Besides, the soul shackles had grown stronger, so the effect should be even greater.

“Go ahead and take a look around. Consider it a gift to commemorate becoming my slave,” I added.

Arpia shot me a sharp glare, her eyes clearly saying, What kind of celebration is that?

However, she soon realized it was pointless to argue and let out a sigh. She started browsing the bows, but her expression remained indifferent.

“They’re all terrible,” she muttered.

“Well, of course,” I said, shrugging. “How good could the bows in a human shop look to an elf? But we’ll have to make do for now. We can’t immediately acquire something as legendary as The Heavenly Oath.”

“We’ll start small. Once your skills improve, I’ll get you something better.”

“Hmm...”

Arpia, clearly dissatisfied, continued inspecting the bows until she reached for a crossbow.

“How about an easy-to-use cross—”

“Nooo!!”

“What the—! Why are you screaming?!” Arpia jumped back, startled, clutching her chest.

But this was crossing the line.

This was worse than Mirabel asking for a maid outfit.

“Elves do not use crossbows!” I declared.

“There are elves who use crossbows!” she retorted.

“There are not!”

“I am an elf, and I say there are! Do you think you know more about elves than I do?”

“Well, no, but still—there are no elves who use crossbows!”

Elves using crossbows? That’s an abomination! Don’t ruin my fantasy!

In the end, we bought a shortbow.

Along with 30 arrows as a bonus.

Considering elves are often running through dense forests, a shortbow is more practical. It’s a standard choice.

Once Arpia held the bow in her hands and slung the quiver at her waist, her entire demeanor changed. She looked like a seasoned elf archer. I clapped enthusiastically beside her, playing it up.

“You know I’m terrible with bows...” Arpia muttered, her lips pouting as she plucked the bowstring. Her expression betrayed a clear reluctance.

I leaned in, peeking up at her face beneath the hood of her robe.

“Why pout like that? Want a kiss? Should I give you one?”

“You’re unbelievable... Never mind. What’s the point of talking to you?”

Naturally, Arpia had shot a bow before. Like most elves, she’d been introduced to it when she was young, around eight years old in human terms.

The results? Well, they were pretty much what you’d expect, given her current state.

She’d completely failed.

Those spirits of hers were to blame.

Archery requires intense concentration, but Arpia’s spirits were troublemakers, restless and constantly distracting her. She couldn’t hit anything.

Naturally, her arrows went wildly off course, and she’d even managed to put a hole in an elder’s backside.

After that, she wasn’t allowed near a bow again.

I could already see the future—I'd be disappointed in her archery, and she’d be mocked again.

Just like they had mocked her.

After leaving Noktar, the two of us found a spot in a nearby forest, the opposite direction of the great forest.

Arpia took a deep breath. The fresh, crisp air filled her lungs, and the familiar scent of the woods helped ease her anxiety.

“Today, we’ll just practice shooting the bow. Don’t worry about hitting the target—just focus on shooting the arrow. Hmm, but we should have a target, right? Let’s use that tree,” I suggested.

‘It’s not as easy as you make it sound,’ she thought, frowning.

It may seem simple, but archery requires a lot of effort. She had her reservations, but there was no point in resisting. She was a slave now, after all. Silently swallowing her complaints, she pulled out an arrow.

With slightly awkward movements, she placed the arrow on the bowstring. Her motions were a bit clumsy, but her elven instincts ensured she maintained a basic form.

Slowly, she drew the bow. Her arms trembled, either from a lack of strength or perhaps from the weight of her past failures.

Hastily, and without steadying herself, she released the bowstring.

Thwip.

The arrow barely moved, falling pathetically to the ground in front of her.

Arpia’s cheeks flushed bright red. She quickly crouched down, face hidden, and picked up the arrow, mumbling in embarrassment.

“S-see? I told you I’m bad at this. Why do you keep insisting on making me shoot...”

Sometimes, things just don’t work out.

Was he some kind of demon who fed on other people’s humiliation?

The silence dragged on.

Say something. Laugh at me if you want. Make a joke, tease me again.

Why... aren’t you saying anything?

Arpia glanced over at me, stealing a look at my expression.

And, just as she thought, I was smiling.

But it wasn’t the mocking, sneering smile she had expected. It was something else—like a soft, affectionate smile, the kind someone might wear when looking at a portrait of a loved one.

And then, out of nowhere, I said:

“It suits you well.”

“...What?”

“You really are an elf. Just holding a bow makes you look... striking.”

Arpia blinked in surprise. The last thing she expected to hear was a compliment.

She quickly scowled.

“That’s a bad habit of yours, you know. Spouting nonsense. What do you mean I look striking? The arrow barely went anywhere. I could throw it farther than that.”

Her words were sharp, like a hedgehog curling up and extending its spikes in self-defense.

But I didn’t mind. I skillfully dodged her barbs and pressed on.

“That’s just because you’re inexperienced. I’d probably shoot just as poorly.”

“It’s different for you. You’re human, but I’m an elf.”

“And?”

“Archery is like second nature to elves. It’s something we learn before we can even walk. The expectations are on a whole other level.”

If it wasn’t important, why had they mocked her so harshly? That had been the worst ridicule she’d ever faced.

“That’s species discrimination. Just because you’re an elf doesn’t mean you have to be good at archery,” I pointed out, throwing her own words back at her.

I continued, the words flowing smoothly.

“This is the first step toward a bright future—a remarkable beginning. Isn’t it wonderful? And how fortunate am I to witness the early stages of someone who will one day become a master archer?”

“......”

She couldn’t argue with me. It was as if I had the ability to make even the most mundane things sound grand. Not even a jeweler packaging a ring for a lover would take as much care with their words as I did.

How could he paint such a picture with his words? Arpia found herself growing curious.

“What makes you so sure of that?” she asked.

“A master trusting their slave is as natural as the flow of time itself. Do I really need any other reason?”

His response came without the slightest hesitation.

Her fellow elves had always said she wasn’t worth anything. They’d called her a half-baked elf, incapable of doing anything right.

She had even come to believe it herself, a habit formed after hearing it for so long.

But this man, someone she had only known for a few days, looked at her with nothing but faith.

His eyes gleamed with sincerity, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of deceit in his innocent smile.

Caught off guard by his genuine gaze, Arpia quickly looked away, her cheeks slightly flushed.

“Y-you really need to stop doing that...”

Unable to find fault with his words, she muttered to herself, low enough that he couldn’t hear her.

She remained seated, absentmindedly playing with a blade of grass, her eyes distant as if lost in thought.

Finally, she sighed and stood up, briefly glancing at the target before slowly notching another arrow.

This time, she drew the bowstring back with more focus, her green eyes locked on the target.

“Inhale... exhale...”

Her breathing flowed smoothly, like a gentle breeze through the trees.

Twang!

The bowstring snapped back once again.

Thud.

She missed.

The arrow didn’t travel far before falling to the ground.

Just because her mindset had changed didn’t mean there would be a drastic improvement. Archery wasn’t that easy.

But Arpia didn’t blush in embarrassment this time. Nor did she rush to retrieve the arrow.

‘Again.’

She silently notched another arrow.