Chapter One: Buying a Slave

“Dear Roshu, even though I’ve said it many times before, I still want to tell you—you are the best masseur I’ve ever seen.”

Mrs. Chelsea, dressed in a white silk robe, gazed tenderly at the blond youth opposite her.

Her eyes shimmered with undisguised affection.

Had it not been for a close friend’s recommendation, she would never have known that such a handsome young man existed in Wheel Town.

Just look at his golden, velvety hair, his exquisitely sculpted features, and the ivory-white skin exposed beneath his linen vest.

Except for his somewhat slender frame, he was practically perfect.

And since she considered herself a full-figured woman, his slimness actually made him all the more appealing.

If she could, she would have him stay overnight at her home, to exchange massage techniques more deeply.

But sadly, it wasn’t possible tonight—her husband was coming home.

“Thank you for your kind words, Mrs. Chelsea. You are also the most beautiful employer I’ve ever had,” Roshu bowed respectfully.

He was never stingy with compliments, especially before payment was made.

As expected, his praise worked just as well as before.

Chelsea’s smile blossomed brilliantly, and the originally agreed fee of 10 copper coins turned into 13.

Roshu accepted the payment, deftly avoiding Chelsea’s plump hand as she tried to touch his arm.

After a polite farewell, he quickly left the baron’s mansion.

Only after putting some distance between himself and the estate did Roshu breathe a sigh of relief.

Having done this kind of work many times, he naturally understood what Chelsea’s intentions were.

Chelsea was lovely, and if her weight had started with a number less than two, Roshu might have considered it.

But Chelsea was at least a three, and for his own slender frame, Roshu could only politely decline.

He placed the 13 copper coins into his money pouch, weighed it with satisfaction, and then pulled out a small notebook with a quill from his belongings.

Some notes had been checked off, while the latest pending task was “Earn 180 copper coins.”

Roshu marked a check beside it and then looked at the next item:

“Buy a slave.”

He exhaled with relief.

Finally, it had come to this.

Three months had passed since he was transported to this medieval fantasy continent in the West.

The environment had changed, his name had changed, and his identity had changed.

He could accept all of that.

But the one thing he could not accept was this:

In his previous world, he was at least a goblin, yet here, he wasn’t even as strong as a goblin.

He recalled the moment he first arrived.

Upon learning that his special ability was to gain strength by slaying monsters, he eagerly grabbed the only remaining iron shovel in his home and headed outside the town to kill some goblins and practice.

But when the town guard pointed at a group of creatures barely over a meter tall, muscular and mad-eyed, and told him those were goblins, his entire worldview collapsed.

Weren’t goblins supposed to be those small, cute creatures in comics, the kind that jump up and hit your knees?

Moreover, the guard warned him that being bitten by a goblin would cause severe infection.

Without treatment, one would be dead within days.

And treatment alone cost two silver coins—that’s 200 copper coins.

Heh, it seemed his choices were few.

Either be bitten to death by goblins or be crushed by Mrs. Chelsea.

Fortunately, after much pondering, Roshu found a way out of this desperate situation:

Buy a slave to fight the goblins in his stead, while he finished them off.

As for what to do if the slave got infected from goblin bites...

His former self possessed a Level 1 basic healing spell, but Level 1 couldn’t cure goblin bite infections—it could only treat scrapes and bruises and enhance massage comfort.

But Level 2 was different.

...

The slave market in Wheel Town was located at the far west end of town.

This area allowed people without residence permits to stay briefly for one to three days, attracting passing travelers and wandering merchants.

But lately, the number of wandering merchants had noticeably increased.

The moment Roshu appeared at the entrance of the slave market, many traveling slave merchants cast curious glances his way.

Though they doubted whether this man in a linen vest and straw sandals had enough money.

Still, calling out didn’t cost a thing, so they all began promoting their wares.

“Come see this one, sir—she’s the daughter of a minor noble from the west of the Green Mountains, her country was destroyed...”

“Over here, sir! New arrivals, no middlemen involved! He’s as strong as an ox and can do the work of three men.”

“Sir, you look like you prefer full-figured types. Lauren is our star attraction...”

The merchandisers pulled slaves from their tents, each with distinct traits—from laborers to servants.

Roshu’s eyes were dazzled, but he didn’t pause; he walked straight into the market.

Not for any other reason than he couldn’t afford any of them.

He already knew the prices and had his sights set on a particular target.

He walked almost to the very back of the market before stopping in front of a shop called White Exchange.

It was the only permanent trading post in town, run by an old resident, Mr. White.

Compared to the traveling merchants, Mr. White’s prices were much lower.

But the quality was correspondingly poorer.

After all, he couldn’t travel far and wide to get first-hand goods.

But for Roshu, that was sufficient.

Pushing open the worn wooden door, the tinkle of wind chimes announced his entrance.

“Welcome, guest! Welcome!” squawked a scruffy parrot perched on a coat rack.

Roshu looked up at the parrot in puzzlement—it hadn’t been here before.

Then, as their eyes met for a moment,

the parrot seemed to recognize Roshu’s face:

“Touch it, you must buy!! Touch it, you must buy!! Touch it~~~ you must buy!!”

What the hell?!

Roshu was furious.

Old Mr. White had quite the vindictive streak, deliberately training the parrot to annoy him.

Sure enough, before Mr. White even stepped out of the back room, his voice called out:

“Little Roshu’s here again, huh? Which one do you want to touch this time?”

“Mr. White, I think we should have more trust between us,” Roshu said.

The parrot kept up its squawking, and Roshu wished he could fly up and cover its beak.

“Trust?!” Mr. White finally emerged from the back room.

He wore an old-fashioned yet clean cashmere fitted jacket, paired with crisp gray-brown trousers, and a small goatee on his chin.

He looked every bit the old gentleman from the countryside.

“Trust means you come here every few days and touch my goods without spending a single copper!”

He adjusted his monocle, eyes sharp:

“I suspect some of my merchandise is nearly worn out from your constant handling!”

“Slander! An outright slander!” Roshu protested, lightly tapping the table.

“That’s just necessary inspection before purchase! And this time is different—I brought enough copper coins.”

Roshu jingled the money pouch at his waist.

That simple gesture made Mr. White’s attitude do a complete turnaround.

He fixed his gaze on the pouch, his old face blooming with a smile like a daisy.

“Dear little Roshu, which one do you want to buy?”

“You won’t need a male slave—you don’t have land to till.”

“The ones you always touch and look at, I still have them—Jasha? Lina? Or Angel?”

“Leila!”

Without hesitation, Roshu spoke the name he had prepared in his heart.

“Leila??”

That answer clearly surprised Mr. White.

He paused, incredulous.

“You want to buy a half-orc slave?”

“Yes.”

Roshu looked toward the door on the right side of the room.

He thought he saw a small figure curled up in the corner beyond that door.