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JL Chapter 15 The Second Slave
🕑 Added 2025-10-19 05:36:05 +0000 UTCThe gentle hum of chatter and the faint scent of linen filled the small clothing shop as Mitchell and Lovel browsed through the racks. Sunlight spilled through the dusty windows, catching in the fine threads of hanging coats and folded tunics. It was a cozy place, quiet, and warm.
Mitchell ran his hand along a brown coat hanging by the wall, the fabric soft and well-stitched. “Finally,” he muttered, half to himself. “Something that isn’t full of holes or monster blood.”
Lovel, standing beside him, tilted her head slightly as she examined a tunic folded neatly on the shelf. “Master,” she asked softly, “is it truly necessary to buy new clothes? Would it not be better to save what we have left?”
Mitchell turned to her with a grin, holding the coat up in front of him like a prize. “Lovel, this isn’t a waste. Clothes aren’t just for looks. They’ll protect us from the cold and make us comfortable. Plus,” he gestured toward the tattered hoodie still draped over his shoulder, “if we keep walking around in rags like these, we’ll end up catching something worse than a cold.”
Lovel blinked at his matter-of-fact tone, her ears twitching slightly. “I see,” she said after a pause. “So, they are part of one’s protection as well.”
“Exactly,” Mitchell said, pleased she was following his logic. “Good clothes are just another kind of armor. Besides…” He looked around, lowering his voice with a grin. “We can’t go into another town looking like we crawled out of a monster’s stomach. Gotta maintain some dignity, right?”
Lovel’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. “Then I will trust your judgment, Master.”
It didn’t take long for them to find what they needed. Mitchell swapped out his ruined clothes for a sturdy brown coat, paired with black trousers and a simple white shirt that fit comfortably beneath his new armor. Lovel chose a blue tunic, cinched neatly with a black belt, along with fitted black pants that gave her freedom to move.
When she stepped out from behind the partition, Mitchell looked up—and froze. For a moment, his brain failed to come up with anything coherent.
The color of the tunic made her silver hair seem even brighter, and the belt framed her slim figure in a way that was simple yet elegant. She turned slightly, adjusting the sleeves, unaware that she’d completely caught his attention.
“Wow,” Mitchell said finally, grinning. “You look… really good. Like, really good. That color suits you.”
Lovel blinked at him, momentarily taken aback by his straightforwardness. Then, after a heartbeat, her expression softened into a small, genuine smile. “You look good as well, Master.”
Mitchell rubbed the back of his neck, laughing a little too quickly. “Heh, thanks. Guess we clean up nicely when we’re not covered in blood and dirt.”
The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with spectacles perched on her nose, looked over at the pair and chuckled. “You two make quite the picture. Matching like proper adventurers.”
Mitchell groaned lightly, though a smile tugged at his lips. “We’re not matching,” He said, but Lovel only gave a quiet, amused glance his way.
After choosing a few extra shirts, undergarments, and spare socks, Mitchell placed the stack of clothes on the counter. The old woman rang up the total and said cheerfully, “That’ll be thirty-three copper, dear.”
Mitchell winced a little but handed over the coins without complaint. “There goes another chunk of our hard-earned fortune,” he muttered under his breath.
Lovel tilted her head as they stepped back out into the street, the late afternoon sunlight casting long shadows over the cobblestones. “How much remains, Master?”
Mitchell counted in his head. “About two silvers and fifteen copper.” He sighed. “Feels like we were rich just this morning, and now look at us. But hey—” he gestured at their new outfits, “—we’ve got proper weapons, armor, clothes, and supplies. I think we now have the basic essentials covered to continue with our adventuring. That’s what matters.”
Lovel nodded in quiet agreement, but before she could reply, the unmistakable sound of a stomach growling broke the air.
It wasn’t clear whose it was, Mitchell’s or Lovel’s, but when the second rumble followed immediately after, they both froze, then looked at each other.
Mitchell burst out laughing. “Okay, I think that’s our cue! Guess all this shopping worked up an appetite.”
Lovel’s cheeks colored faintly as she touched her stomach. “Perhaps we should find something to eat,” she admitted softly.
“Best idea I’ve heard all day,” Mitchell said with a grin. “Come on, let’s grab something before I start gnawing on my new coat.”
She gave him a look that was half amused, half exasperated, but she followed close behind as they headed down the street in search of food.
The smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spice drifted from nearby food stalls, mingling with the hum of evening chatter. For the first time since morning, Mitchell felt something close to contentment — a rare, fleeting calm between battles and burdens.
“Today’s been great, huh?” He said, glancing at Lovel as they walked.
Lovel looked up at the fading sunlight and nodded. “It has.”
Mitchell smiled at that. “Then let’s make it last as long as we can.”
And with that simple promise, the two wandered toward the nearest tavern.
—--------------------------------------
A random tavern they had chosen to eat was lively when they stepped inside, a pleasant hum of conversation filling the air. Wooden beams creaked overhead, the faint scent of roasted meat and spiced ale blending with the smoke of nearby candles.
Mitchell led Lovel to an empty table near the corner, the polished wood slightly sticky from years of use. He sighed contentedly as he sat down, stretching his sore shoulders. “Ah… this is heaven compared to dragging monster carcasses.”
Lovel took her seat across from him, ever graceful, folding her hands neatly on the table. Her golden eyes scanned the room, the busy waitresses weaving between tables, the laughter of adventurers, the clinking of mugs. “It is… lively,” she said softly.
Mitchell smiled. “Yeah, it’s nice to hear noise that isn’t something trying to eat us.”
Before long, a cheerful waitress arrived with a grin. “What’ll it be, you two?”
Mitchell leaned back, scanning the handwritten menu nailed to the wall. “Let’s see… two plates of roast chicken, bread, and—” he glanced at Lovel—“you want anything to drink besides water?”
She shook her head. “Water is fine.”
“Right. One ale, one water,” He told the waitress, handing over a few coins. “And thank you.”
Once the woman left, the two sat in a brief, comfortable silence. The glow from the lanterns reflected off their new armor, and for a moment, Mitchell found himself staring at the faint smile still lingering on Lovel’s face.
“What happens next, Master?” Lovel said suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Mitchell blinked, pulled from his thoughts. “Next?”
She nodded, curious. “Now that we have weapons, armor, and supplies. What do we do?”
He rubbed his chin, thinking. “Hmm. First thing’s first—we need to find a new inn. One with a better bed, decent walls, and hopefully one much bigger. If it’s got a bath, that’s even better.”
Lovel tilted her head slightly, her ears flicking once. “A bath?”
Mitchell grinned. “Yeah. After everything we’ve been through, I think we’ve earned a bit of comfort. Hollow Hearth’s fine for sleeping, but I’m tired of waking up with straw poking into my ribs.”
She gave a small, amused nod. “Agreed. The floorboards also creak too much.”
He laughed softly. “See? Even you’re tired of it.”
Their laughter faded into a calm stillness, the kind that came easily between them. For a moment, Mitchell simply leaned back, watching the fire crackle in the tavern hearth. Then his expression turned thoughtful.
“There’s… one more thing,” He said quietly.
Lovel looked up, her calm gaze meeting his. “Yes?”
Mitchell hesitated for a heartbeat before speaking. “I’ve been thinking… I want to buy another slave.”
Her body stiffened slightly, her golden eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Another?”
He noticed her tone right away and raised both hands quickly. “Wait, it’s not what you think.”
She didn’t speak at first, her expression carefully neutral. “Did I… do something wrong?”
Mitchell’s eyes widened, and he immediately shook his head. “No, no! Lovel, it’s nothing like that. You’ve been amazing. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”
That seemed to ease her tension—if only a little. “Then why?”
Mitchell let out a slow sigh, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “That fight with the ape… it made me realize how close we came to dying. If it weren’t for you, your skill, your speed, we’d both be dead. And that was just one monster.”
He looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly. “If something stronger comes along and it will, because the Goddess clearly isn’t done with me, I don’t want to rely on luck. We need more people. A proper team.”
Lovel’s gaze softened slightly, understanding his reasoning but clearly not fond of the idea. “You believe the Goddess will send another creature.”
Mitchell nodded grimly. “It’s just a matter of time. She’s enjoying this too much to stop now.”
Silence lingered between them for a few seconds, the din of the tavern fading into background noise.
Lovel finally lowered her eyes. “If that is your wish, Master, I will accept it. But…” She hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her cup. “I will not… enjoy sharing you.”
Mitchell blinked, then smiled faintly. “I kind of figured.”
Her ears twitched, a faint hint of color touching her cheeks. “It is not jealousy,” she said quickly, though her tone betrayed her. “It is simply… unnecessary.”
“Right,” Mitchell said with a grin. “Totally not jealousy.”
She gave him a small glare, though the corners of her mouth softened.
“Anyway,” He continued, leaning back. “That’s another reason I want a bigger room. If we do get someone new, we’ll need space. Preferably one with a proper bed for you too.”
Lovel blinked, her expression softening. “A… proper bed?”
“Yeah,” Mitchell said, a bit sheepishly. “You’ve earned it.”
She didn’t reply right away, but a small, warm smile tugged at her lips—one that she quickly hid by taking a sip of her water.
Just then, their food arrived—a large platter of roasted chicken glistening with glaze, accompanied by warm bread and roasted vegetables.
“Here you go!” the waitress said cheerfully, setting the plates down. “Eat up while it’s hot.”
“Thanks,” Mitchell said, already grabbing his fork. The smell was intoxicating—spices, herbs, and perfectly crisped skin.
He took a bite, groaned happily, and leaned back in bliss. “Oh, this… this is what I’ve been missing. Real food.”
Lovel tried a piece of her own, chewing thoughtfully before giving a small nod. “It’s good.”
Mitchell grinned at her across the table. “See? Things continue to look up.”
The two ate in silence after that, the warm glow of the tavern wrapping around them like a blanket. For the first time since arriving in Varnhelm, there were no monsters, no fear—just food, warmth, and the quiet companionship that was slowly starting to feel like something more.
—--------------------------
The streets of Varnhelm glowed in the fading light of dusk, lanterns flickering to life one by one as merchants began closing their stalls and travelers filled the taverns for the evening. The day’s energy was beginning to settle, yet Mitchell and Lovel continued walking side by side, their boots tapping lightly against the cobblestones as they moved from inn to inn.
Mitchell rubbed his neck, glancing down another street lined with signs that promised “Comfortable Beds” and “Warm Meals.” “You’d think finding a decent inn wouldn’t be this hard,” he muttered. “But no, it’s either packed, costs more than we have left, or looks like the walls are about to fall in.”
Lovel walked quietly beside him, her arms folded behind her back. “Perhaps you are too selective, Master,” she said in her calm tone. “An inn is only a place to rest.”
“Yeah, well,” Mitchell sighed, “after sleeping on that bed full of straw for a week, I think I’ve earned the right to be picky. I’m not expecting luxury, just… comfort. Maybe a decent bed, and a bath that doesn’t smell like the inside of a dungeon.”
She gave a faint smile at that. “You set high standards for one with limited funds.”
He chuckled under his breath. “You make it sound like I’m unreasonable.”
They continued their search, passing by several inns—each one seeming to have some flaw. One was full, another demanded forty copper a night, and another had a bath so small Mitchell swore a cat would have trouble fitting in. By the fourth inn, his patience was wearing thin.
“I’m starting to think my taste in inns is cursed,” He grumbled, earning a quiet laugh from Lovel.
Finally, they turned down a quieter street near the city’s western edge. A freshly painted sign hung above a tidy wooden building that looked newer than most: The Silver’s Spoon Inn. Soft light spilled from its windows, and the faint sound of a lute carried through the door.
Mitchell stopped and exhaled, reading the sign. “The Silver’s Spoon, huh? Sounds promising.”
“It looks clean,” Lovel observed. “And quiet.”
“Perfect. Let’s give it a try.”
They stepped inside, greeted immediately by the warm glow of lanterns and the scent of lavender and stew. The common room was modest but tidy, with only a handful of guests eating or chatting at the tables. Behind the counter stood a middle-aged woman with auburn hair tied back in a neat bun, her kind smile greeting them as they approached.
“Good evening,” she said pleasantly. “Looking for a room?”
“Yeah,” Mitchell replied, resting an elbow on the counter. “How much for a single?”
“Twenty copper a night,” she answered without hesitation. “Includes meals if you want them added to your tab.”
Mitchell nodded thoughtfully. “Not bad at all.” Then, lowering his voice slightly, he asked, “Do the rooms have a bath?”
The woman smiled. “They do. Nothing fancy, but you’ll have hot water and privacy. We keep them clean.”
Mitchell exchanged a glance with Lovel, who gave a small approving nod. “Sounds perfect,” he said, reaching into his pouch and counting out coins. “We’ll take it for three days for now—might extend later if it works out.”
The woman accepted the sixty copper and handed him a simple brass key with the number Four engraved on it. “Room’s upstairs on the left. You’ll find extra towels inside. Supper’s served until the ninth bell if you get hungry again.”
“Appreciate it,” Mitchell said, giving a small smile.
As they made their way upstairs, Lovel looked around the inn curiously. The air was calm, free of the smoke and noise that filled cheaper taverns. “This place is… comfortable,” she said quietly.
Mitchell unlocked their door, stepping inside and nodding in satisfaction. The room was small but clean, with a soft bed covered in white sheets, a small table and two chairs, and a wooden door leading to a small washroom. He exhaled and smiled. “Finally,” he said. “Somewhere that doesn’t smell like wet socks.”
They set their new gear down carefully, organizing supplies and weapons by the table. Lovel adjusted her bag on the chair while Mitchell looked over the room one last time, satisfied.
After a moment, he turned toward her. “Hey, Lovel,” he said, his tone soft but practical. “Can you do me a favor?”
She looked up. “Of course.”
“I need you to go back to the Hollow Hearth and grab anything we left behind. It’s not much, but I don’t want to waste it. Oh, and return the key while you’re there.”
Lovel nodded. “Understood.” Then, after a pause, she added, “You are not coming with me?”
Mitchell shook his head. “No, I’ve got somewhere else to be. I’m heading to the slave market.”
Her expression shifted slightly—something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “You wish to purchase the new companion now?”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his neck. “No point in waiting. If we’re going to take on bigger quests, I’d rather start forming a proper team sooner rather than later.”
Lovel hesitated, her tail flicking behind her. “Do you not want me to come with you?”
Mitchell gave her a gentle smile. “It’s okay. I figured you might not want to go back to a place like that. I know it probably brings back bad memories.”
Her ears lowered slightly at his words. For a brief moment, she looked down at the floor, then back up. “You are considerate, Master,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
He shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just being decent. Besides, I’ll probably be there a while, so it’s better if we split up. You get our stuff, I’ll handle the auction.”
Lovel nodded, stepping toward the door. “Very well. But…” She looked back at him, her tone taking on a rare hint of sternness. “Do not waste all our money.”
Mitchell grinned. “Hey, when have I ever done that?”
She blinked slowly. “Do you wish for me to start making a list?”
He laughed. “Okay, fair enough. I’ll be careful, promise.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile as she reached for the door. “Then I will meet you back here later. Please be safe, Master.”
“Same to you,” He replied with an easy grin.
And with that, Lovel left to handle their old lodgings while Mitchell stood in the quiet of their new room for a moment longer, exhaling slowly. He looked at the few coins remaining in his pouch and the brass key in his hand before finally straightening up and heading toward the door.
The streets of Varnhelm awaited once more, the sky deepening into twilight as lamps flickered to life. He adjusted his coat, tightened his belt, and muttered under his breath, “Alright… time to see who’s waiting for me this time.”
With that, Mitchell stepped out into the night and began making his way toward the slave market.
—--------------------------------
The streets of Varnhelm were quieter now, the usual daytime bustle replaced by the muffled chatter of merchants closing their shops and the clatter of wagons rolling back toward the trade district. Mitchell walked alone, his boots echoing faintly against the cobblestone as his breath misted in the cooling evening air.
He knew this route well, every turn, every alley, every familiar scent. It was the same path he’d taken the first time, back when he’d gone to the slave market and met Lovel. Yet, somehow, it felt heavier this time. Each step carried the weight of his thoughts, and the faint orange glow of the street lamps did little to lighten his mood.
‘What kind of person am I… really?’ Mitchell’s hand tightened slightly on the strap of his backpack. The thought had been gnawing at him since he left the inn. He had told himself that this was necessary, that if he wanted to survive, to build a real party, he had no choice. But no matter how many times he repeated it, the knot of guilt in his chest refused to loosen.
He looked down at the cobblestones, watching his own shadow stretch before him. “Buying another person,” he muttered under his breath. “Guess I’m really getting used to being part of this world.”
But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t true. He hadn’t gotten used to it. If anything, it hurt worse now than before.
Back then, he’d been desperate, half-scared, and naïve about what being an adventurer truly meant. Now, with everything he’d seen, the monsters, the blood, the constant risk of death, he understood just how cruel this world could be. And how much harder it was to stay decent in it.
His mind wandered to Lovel. He remembered the moment he’d first seen her, sick, frail, her eyes hollow as they didn’t even have the strength to open. It had been a gamble, a desperate one at that. Yet somehow, against all odds, she’d survived… and become his greatest ally.
“She was a miracle,” he said quietly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “A damn miracle.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about what he was about to do again. He could go for someone strong this time—someone trained, capable, already battle-ready. It would be easier, safer… but he knew the cost. The merchant had quoted him prices before: four, maybe five silvers for a healthy and skilled fighter. He didn’t even have half that anymore.
That left only one option.
A gamble. Just like before.
Mitchell sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “Guess it’s all or nothing again, huh?” He muttered, kicking a loose pebble down the street. “If it worked once…”
He trailed off, his tone bitter. Even if it worked again, it wouldn’t make him feel any less disgusting for doing it.
He adjusted his coat as the familiar sign came into view—the large, ornate archway leading into the Slave Market of Varnhelm. The same place he’d promised himself he’d never visit again.
The air grew colder the closer he got, the sounds of the city fading behind him. What replaced them was an eerie stillness—a silence broken only by the faint cries and the occasional bark of a trader advertising their “stock.”
Mitchell stopped for a brief moment in front of the entrance, staring at the iron gate that separated him from the dimly lit market beyond. His reflection stared back faintly in the polished metal—tired, conflicted, and worn down.
He took a deep breath. “You’re not doing this because you want to,” he told himself quietly as if the lie would make him feel beter. “You’re doing it because you have to.”
It didn’t make it easier to swallow, but it gave him the push he needed.
With one final exhale, he stepped forward and passed through the gate. The sounds of the market swallowed him instantly—the murmurs of buyers, the cold, transactional voices of merchants, and the soft clinking of chains echoing faintly through the air.
Mitchell squared his shoulders, forcing himself to move deeper inside. His mind was already at war with itself—between disgust and necessity, morality and survival.
But there was no turning back now.
“Alright,” he murmured under his breath, voice low and steady. And with that, he disappeared into the heart of the market once more, ready—or perhaps unwillingly resigned—to roll the dice on fate again.
—---------------------------------------
Mitchell moved quietly through the narrow aisles of the Slave Market, keeping his gaze fixed ahead as the sound of murmured bargaining and rattling chains surrounded him. The air was thick and stale, heavy with the scent of sweat, oil, and faint decay. Even though he had been here before, the oppressive atmosphere still made his stomach twist.
He walked deeper into the market until he spotted a familiar figure — the same woman who had handled his last purchase. She stood behind a polished oak counter, dressed in her usual dark maroon dress and gloves. Her hair, tied neatly into a bun, was streaked with gray, though her eyes were as sharp and calculating as ever.
The faintest trace of recognition crossed her face as she noticed him approaching.
“Well,” She said with a smooth, almost amused tone, “if it isn’t my unusual customer.” Her lips curled into a faint smirk. “Back again, are we? I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you here a second time.”
Mitchell stopped a few feet from the counter, giving her a hollow but polite nod. “Evening, ma’am. Yeah… looks like I’m back.” His voice was quiet, stripped of energy, like someone admitting to a bad habit.
She arched an eyebrow, studying him carefully. “I remember you clearly. You were the one who asked for… what was it again?” She tapped her chin in mock thought. “Ah, yes — ‘damaged goods.’”
Mitchell’s lips twitched faintly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “That’s right.”
The merchant folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly in intrigue. “Most men who come here want fighters, servants, or—” her tone turned wry “—companionship. But you? You asked for someone sick, someone barely clinging to life. And you actually walked out of here with that beastkin girl who was one step away from death.”
She leaned forward slightly, resting her gloved hands on the counter. “Tell me something, dear. Did she die?”
Mitchell met her gaze evenly. “No,” he said simply. “She’s alive.”
That answer seemed to genuinely surprise her. Her brow rose, and she gave a low whistle. “Alive, is she? Huh. Well, I’ll be damned. Guess you were luckier than I thought. That one wasn’t expected to last the night.”
Mitchell offered a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah… I could imagine.”
Her sharp gaze softened just slightly, curiosity flickering in her tone. “So then, what brings you back? Don’t tell me you’re trying to return her, that’d be quite the story.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m here to buy another one.”
That caught her attention immediately. She straightened up, tilting her head. “Another?”
“Same kind of request,” Mitchell said quietly. “Someone very sick. The worse the condition, the better.”
There was a beat of silence before the woman chuckled softly, the sound laced with disbelief. “You really are a strange one, aren’t you?”
Mitchell didn’t respond, his gaze steady but hollow.
“Well, I suppose business is business.” She picked up a ledger from the counter and flipped it open, running a finger down a list of names and prices. “We do have a few in critical condition at the moment, ones who won’t last the week, if the healers are right. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told you last time.”
Her tone grew firm, the professional mask slipping into place. “If you buy one of these, there are no refunds. If they die tomorrow, that’s your problem. You understand that, yes?”
Mitchell nodded without hesitation. “I understand.”
She looked at him for a long moment, studying him like a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “You know,” she said slowly, “most people who buy the sick ones do it out of pity. Or desperation. But you… I can’t quite read you.”
Mitchell’s expression didn’t change. He forced a polite smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that’s for the best.”
The merchant chuckled softly under her breath. “Mysterious as ever.” She snapped her ledger shut. “Very well. Follow me.”
She gestured for him to come around the counter, and Mitchell fell in step behind her as they walked deeper into the market. The air grew colder the further they went, the torches on the walls flickering weakly. The muffled noises from the front faded into silence, replaced by the quiet coughs and weak moans of those kept in the back.
The merchant’s voice echoed lightly in the empty hall. “You really don’t make sense to me, you know. Most buyers want the best for their coin. And yet, here you are again, asking for the worst.”
Mitchell kept his eyes forward. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.”
She glanced at him sideways, her smirk returning. “I’d love to know what those reasons are. But something tells me you won’t tell me.”
He gave a small, humorless laugh. “You’d be right.”
What he didn’t say — what he couldn’t say — was that his magic made the impossible possible. That his skill, Cure, allowed him to take what everyone else considered useless and give them a second chance at life. If she knew that, she’d never let him buy anyone cheap again.
So instead, he kept quiet, following her through the dim corridors.
Finally, they stopped before a heavy iron door at the very back of the compound. The merchant unlocked it with a large brass key, the metal grinding noisily as she pushed it open.
The air inside was cold and stale, the faint stench of illness hanging thick. Shadows clung to the corners where several figures lay on thin mats, their breathing shallow, their eyes glazed with exhaustion.
“Here we are,” The woman said softly, stepping aside. “The ones no one wants. If you’re lucky, one of them might last a few days.”
Mitchell stared into the room, his jaw tightening. His conscience twisted inside him, but he forced himself to step forward.
Done. Tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes.
