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JL Chapter 6 Lovel
🕑 Added 2025-08-12 04:20:21 +0000 UTCThe exchange was quick.
Mitchell’s fingers trembled slightly as he gave the money, each clink against Hanna’s palm sounding louder than the last. He was down Twenty coppers leaving him with only 22 coppers left. Not much to buy anything important in this city. And yet… he was able to buy a person.
That thought sat wrong in his stomach. He felt like he should say something to her to the poor girl he just bought. Apologize, maybe. But the wolf-eared girl didn’t even look at him. She was in too much pain to understand her surroundings.
Hanna, still wearing that fixed customer-service smile, gestured to the girl’s collar. “Now then, new master,” She said with a cheer that felt far too bright for the setting, “To finalize the transfer, place a drop of your blood on the collar. The binding will recognize you as the owner.”
Mitchell hesitated, his eyes flicking to the iron ring snug against the girl’s neck. The metal was dull, pitted, and covered in faint runic etchings. It looked heavy. Too heavy for someone this thin to wear comfortably.
“You’re serious? That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Hanna said with a dismissive wave. “You’re paying for damaged goods. Just claim her and be on your way. She’s taking up space.”
‘Taking up space…’ Mitchell frowned but forced his mouth shut. If he opened it, he might say something he’d regret.
He unsheathed his bronze sword and carefully nicked his fingertip. The sting was sharp, but it helped ground him in the moment. A bead of crimson welled up, bright against his skin. He crouched, lowering himself so the girl’s slack head and ears were level with him.
“Sorry about this,” He murmured, not sure if she could even hear him and let the drop fall.
The instant it touched the collar, the runes faintly glowed, a dull reddish-orange, before fading back to lifeless etching. The metal gave a faint click, like an invisible latch had locked into place.
“That’s it. She’s yours now,” Hanna said briskly, already turning away to look for her next customer. “Take her and don’t bring her back.”
Mitchell glanced down at the wolf girl again. Her breathing was shallow, her skin clammy. Her white hair was tangled around her face, strands sticking to her cheek. He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her story. He only knew she looked like she’d break if he set her down too hard.
“Alright,” He muttered to himself, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “Guess we’re doing this.”
He crouched lower and slipped an arm under her legs, the other behind her back, and lifted her in a careful, awkward bridal carry. Her body was light, alarmingly so. Starvation had stripped away any weight she might have had. He could feel her ribs pressing faintly against his forearm.
‘She’s like a bundle of sticks,’ He thought grimly. ‘And I need her to somehow help me survive.’
Her ears twitched faintly against his chest as he adjusted her, shifting her weight onto his back so he could carry her piggyback-style instead.
The smell of the back cages clung to them both as he stepped out into the main floor.
Heads turned.
A few merchants raised their brows in curiosity. A pair of armored men leaning against the wall gave him a once-over, their expressions unreadable. One woman actually smirked and whispered something to her companion.
Mitchell kept his gaze forward, cheeks hot. Every stare felt like it burned through him, branding him as the guy who just bought a slave. That he became one of them.
By the time he pushed open the heavy front doors, the fresher air outside hit him like a blessing. The noise of the market returned—hawkers calling out prices, the clatter of wagon wheels, the smell of bread from a nearby stall.
Still, those stares followed him. He could feel them. A man carrying a half-conscious wolf-girl through the streets wasn’t exactly subtle.
“Yeah, yeah, keep looking,” he muttered under his breath, shifting her slightly on his back. “Like you’ve never seen a guy making terrible life choices before.”
But under the sarcasm was something heavier.
A question he didn’t have the answer to.
‘What the hell am I supposed to do with her now?’
—-----------------------------
Mitchell closed the door to his room at the Hollow Hearth with a quiet click, pressing his back against it for a moment. His heart was pounding—not from the weight of the girl on his back, but from the tension of slipping past the innkeeper without a single question being asked.
The last thing he needed was to explain why he was suddenly bringing in an unconscious wolf-girl. Even if it was technically legal here, it didn’t mean he wanted to start that conversation.
He exhaled slowly and carried her to the bed.
The straw mattress dipped under her light frame as he gently lowered her onto it. For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath… and looking.
Her white hair was a mess, dirty, tangled, streaked with sweat and grime, but in the sunlight it still had a faint sheen, as if somewhere underneath all that neglect, it could shine brilliantly. The wolf-like ears atop her head twitched faintly, reacting to the change in position, and her bushy tail hung limp off the side of the bed.
Her skin, pale under layers of dirt, blood, and small scratches, seemed far too fragile for someone her age. She was young, about his age but malnourishment had hollowed her cheeks and sharpened the angles of her face. Her body was so thin it made his chest ache to look at her.
And yeah… she smelled. Bad.
But somehow, to Mitchell, none of that mattered.
He swallowed, a twinge of guilt twisting in his gut. He knew exactly where his brain was trying to wander. As he noticed the rising and falling of her chest, her long legs and she looked quite pretty if you ignored the dirt and smell.
‘Nope. Nope. Don’t be that guy.’
He shook his head sharply. ‘She’s unconscious. She’s in pain. She’s not here for you to gawk at like some figure in your old collection, you degenerate.’
Clearing his throat, he crouched beside the bed and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. Her skin was cool to the touch, and she didn’t react—not even a flinch.
“Alright… let’s see if this works.”
He focused on the familiar mental switch, and the Cure skill flared to life. But this time, it wasn’t the quick, warm rush he’d felt before.
Instead, it poured out of him slowly—like trying to force water through a narrow opening. His vision tinged with faint gold, and an ache began to form at the base of his skull. The warmth spread from his hand into her body, but the process felt like it was dragging something vital out of him drop by drop.
Minutes ticked by.
His breathing grew heavier. Sweat beaded at his temple. The dull headache sharpened into something insistent, almost pounding in rhythm with his heartbeat.
‘Come on… work, damn it.’
But even through the strain, he saw the difference. The tension in her face eased, her breathing became steadier, and her skin, once ashen and lifeless, took on a faint, healthy color.
Finally, the drain on his reserves just… stopped.
Mitchell sagged back on his heels, gasping softly as if he’d just run a mile.
He withdrew his hand and sat there for a moment, catching his breath. “Okay… okay, I think that’s it.”
But when he looked at her again, she still wasn’t awake.
Her breathing was normal now, and she looked less like she was one bad hour away from dying, but she was still painfully thin. Her collarbone jutted sharply under her skin, and her wrists were as thin as twigs.
‘Guess Cure doesn’t fix hunger or heal wounds’ Mitchell thought, rubbing at his aching forehead.
Standing, he glanced toward the door. He still had some bronze coin left, and she was going to need food if she had any chance of recovering further.
He pulled on his sneakers, gave one last look to the wolf girl—still sleeping soundly on the lumpy bed—and muttered, “Please get better while I’m gone.”
Then he stepped out, heading downstairs to pay for another night and find something that counted as a decent meal in this part of Varnhelm.
—---------------------------------
Mitchell shoved the door to his room open with his foot, balancing a paper-wrapped bundle of skewers in one hand and muttering under his breath.
“Thirty copper… gone. Just like that. I only have twelve left And tomorrow? Back to fighting slimes and maybe not-dying against goblins again, because apparently eating is a luxury now.”
He set the bundle on the rickety nightstand with a sigh, rubbing his temple. The room smelled faintly of damp wood and old straw, but the warm, savory aroma from the meat quickly overpowered it.
“Guess this is dinner for both of us,” He muttered, glancing toward the bed.
The wolf-girl was still lying there, exactly as he’d left her, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. For a second, he worried that she was still too weak to wake at all.
But then he noticed some movement.
A small twitch of her nose. A faint movement of her head toward the scent of the food.
Mitchell straightened. “Huh…”
Her ears flicked once. Then her eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing pale, golden eyes that blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling. She lay there, unmoving, confusion clouding her face as her gaze darted from the bed beneath her to the room’s wooden walls.
The woman quickly noticed that she wasn’t on a cold stone floor. She wasn’t in a cage or surrounded by various other sick slaves.
She shifted, trying to sit up, but her arms wobbled and gave out almost immediately.
“Whoa, hey—easy!” Mitchell stepped forward quickly, crouching beside the bed. “Are you okay?”
The wolf-girl turned her head toward him, her eyes narrowing slightly in wariness. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to speak, but instead she broke into a sharp cough that racked her thin frame.
Mitchell’s stomach knotted. Without thinking, he dug into his backpack, pulled out his battered water bottle, and unscrewed the cap.
“Here,” he said, holding it toward her. “Drink slowly.”
Her gaze flicked between the bottle and his face, hesitation in her eyes. Still, when he guided it to her lips, she didn’t resist.
As the first mouthful of cool water slid down her throat, something in her expression shifted. The suspicion faded, replaced by something… softer. Confusion, yes—but also a flicker of disbelief.
Her free hand drifted almost unconsciously to the iron collar around her neck. The realization hit her quickly. ‘This man must have bought me. But… why was he giving me water? Why was he looking at me like I wasn’t just another piece of property?’
She took another sip. Then another. The water was lukewarm but to her, it was the most delicious thing she’d tasted in years.
Mitchell propped her gently into a sitting position so she wouldn’t choke, one arm supporting her back. He could feel the thinness of her frame through the ragged fabric of her clothes.
“Better?” He asked.
She nodded, setting the bottle down with shaky hands.
“Good. Uh… are you hungry?”
At that, her ears twitched and her stomach gave a small, traitorous growl. She hesitated only a second before nodding again.
Mitchell turned, grabbed the bundle from the nightstand, and unwrapped it to reveal several skewers of grilled meat. The savory scent filled the small room instantly.
“Here,” he said, pulling one free. “Careful, it’s still warm.”
She eyed it warily before leaning forward to take a small bite. The moment the meat touched her tongue, her eyes widened. Her chewing slowed, as if her brain was still trying to believe the flavor was real.
And then… tears began to gather in the corners of her eyes.
Mitchell froze, panic spiking in his chest. “Oh crap, wait, is it bad? Did I—was it too spicy or—?”
She shook her head quickly, swallowing before speaking, her voice quiet and rough.
“…It’s delicious.”
Mitchell blinked, relief washing over him. “Oh. Uh… okay. Good. You scared me for a second there.”
He passed her another skewer, and this time, she didn’t hesitate.
As she ate, he sat back on the creaky chair by the bed, watching her in silence for a moment.
The girl devoured the last skewer like it might vanish if she didn’t finish it fast enough. Her movements were desperate at first, tearing into the meat, chewing quickly, swallowing before it was fully down—until her hunger began to loosen its grip.
When she was done, she leaned back against the thin pillow, exhaling softly. Her tail twitched once against the blanket, her golden eyes settling on the man sitting across from her.
The man wasn’t looming over her. He wasn’t barking orders. He wasn’t reaching for her collar or beating her.
He was just… watching her. Not with suspicion, not with greed—just with something she couldn’t place.
It unsettled her.
In her mind, the possibilities ran in circles. Was he waiting for her to let her guard down? Was he deciding how to use her?
She swallowed. The fear in her chest was a stubborn thing, clinging even as the memory of the last hours worked against it. This man had carried her here, given her water, fed her, and… somehow, healed her.
The ache she’d lived with for so long was gone. The gnawing sickness, the constant stabbing pain in her side was gone. She could move without flinching now, and her breathing no longer felt like dragging a knife across her ribs.
Her curiosity finally outweighed her hesitation.
“How… am I alive?” Her voice was hoarse, the words rough but clear. She searched his face for any sign of deception. “I remember… the pain. Always. But when I woke up, it was gone.”
Mitchell blinked, leaning forward a little. “Ah. That’d be my skill. It’s called Cure. Rare one, apparently. As the name suggests, it, uh… cures things. Illnesses, poisons, curses—stuff like that. I figured I’d try it on you and, well… looks like it worked.”
Her brows drew together slightly. “I see…”
He tilted his head, studying her. “How are you feeling now? When I bought you, you… weren’t doing so great.”
The woman let out a breath through her nose. “Better than before. My body is still weak… but the pain is gone.” She hesitated, then asked the question pressing most urgently on her mind. “Why did you buy me?”
Mitchell scratched the back of his neck, grimacing. “That’s… a bit of a story. I’m an adventurer. Or trying to be. The problem is, nobody wants me in their party. Guess I don’t exactly scream ‘reliable ally.’” He gave a humorless chuckle. “But I can’t keep going out there alone. The monsters will eat me alive. So… I was desperate. Buying a slave wasn’t exactly the best solution, but I figured… maybe we could help each other survive.”
For a moment, the girl just stared at him. Then she nodded once and released a faint sigh, one that held more relief than she’d expected.
At least he wasn’t going to use her for… other purposes.
Mitchell leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. “I’m Mitchell, by the way.”
Her ears flicked at the name. “Lovel.”
His face broke into a small, genuine smile. “Lovel… I like it. You don't sound very wild and a savage like that slaver Hanna made you out to be.”
Lovel’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Hanna, but she said nothing.
Mitchell continued, “So… you get why I bought you, right? I can’t promise this will be easy, but I’ll do my best to take care of you. And I’d be glad if you could help me in return.”
Lovel’s lips twitched in resignation. “As your slave, I can’t exactly refuse. But… you did save me. So, I will repay that debt.”
Mitchell grinned faintly. “I’ll take it. And… thanks.”
Her brows lifted slightly at that. Most buyers didn’t thank their property. It was strange and unexpected.
Standing, Mitchell glanced at her tattered rags and frowned. “I’m gonna go get you some clothes. Those things aren’t going to protect you from much of anything.”
Her ears perked in surprise. “It’s not necessary—”
“It is,” he cut in gently. “Tomorrow we’re heading out to take a quest, and you can’t fight like that. I wish I could give you some more time to rest, but my financial situation is bad, and we need money.”
She hesitated. “...You really think about a slave’s wellbeing that much?”
“Yeah. Well… you’re my partner now, whether the papers say so or not,” He said, heading for the door. “Just stay in bed until I get back.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Lovel staring at the empty space where he’d stood.
Strange man.
But for the first time in years, she felt the edges of her constant dread ease just a little.
‘Maybe… my life might be okay after all.’
—-------------------------------------------------------------
The streets of Varnhelm were quieter at night, but the muffled sounds of taverns, the occasional clink of armored boots, and the far-off laughter of drunk adventurers still carried through the cool air. Mitchell trudged back to The Hollow Hearth with another small wrapped bundle in one hand and a nagging weight in his gut.
When he pushed open the creaky door to his room, Lovel was already sitting up in bed, her ears pricking at the sound. Her tail swished once before settling again.
“I’m back,” he said, stepping inside and setting the bundle on the chair. “I, uh… managed to get you something.”
He unwrapped the paper to reveal a pair of simple, brown sandals. The leather straps were worn but intact. They were clearly made for someone else originally, the soles a bit wider than her feet.
“They were… six copper. Cheapest I could find,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to get you boots, but…” He gave a humorless chuckle. “I’ve got two copper left to my name after buying these and dinner.”
Lovel tilted her head, confusion flickering in her eyes. “…Why are you apologizing?”
Mitchell blinked. “Because… it’s not much?”
“You’re my master,” She said plainly, as if pointing out an obvious fact. “You don’t have to explain yourself or apologize.”
“Yeah, well,” He muttered, “I’m not exactly cut out for the whole ‘commanding overlord’ thing.”
She said nothing more, only slipping her feet into the sandals. They were loose, but with a bit of adjusting she stood and tested her balance. “They are manageable,” She said simply, and sat back down and then took them off.
Mitchell grinned faintly. “Glad to hear it. Now… food.”
They ate quietly—skewers again, the warm meat filling the room with its simple but comforting scent. Lovel’s pace was calmer this time, no longer the desperate shoveling of someone eating for survival.
When the last bite was gone, Mitchell glanced toward the small window. The sky outside was deepening from twilight into night, the faint light of lanterns casting a soft glow through the cracks in the shutters.
Lovel followed his gaze, her ears twitching slightly. Her eyes lingered on the shadows creeping in the corners of the room. She’d learned from various other slaves what night often meant when you belonged to someone.
Her muscles tensed.
But instead of approaching her, Mitchell bent down, gathered up his hoodie and shirt, and spread them out on the wooden floor beside the bed.
“Alright,” he said, lowering himself onto the makeshift bedding. “Night.”
She stared at him. “…What are you doing?”
He looked up, genuinely puzzled. “Going to sleep?”
“On the floor?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Her tail flicked. “Why aren’t you sleeping in the bed?”
“Because you’re in it,” He said, as though that explained everything.
She frowned. “You’re the master. Shouldn’t I be the one sleeping on the floor?”
Mitchell sat up halfway, looking at her like she’d just spoken an alien language. “What? No. You’re still recovering. You need a good night's sleep to do that.”
For a moment, Lovel could only blink at him. She’d never heard of an owner willingly giving up their comfort for a slave. “Then… just sleep next to me.”
His brain short-circuited. ‘Did she just—?’
A pretty girl, telling him to share her bed? His heart skipped a beat. Then another thought shoved its way in as he smelled a scent coming off of her.
‘Right. She hadn’t bathed in… who knows how long. And she was only saying this because she thought the floor was beneath him, not because she wanted him there.’
He cleared his throat and waved her off. “You need space to rest and recover. That’s more important.”
“…You’re strange,” She said softly, but not unkindly.
“Yeah,” he replied with a faint smirk as he lay back down. “Goodnight, Lovel.”
She hesitated for a moment longer, studying him in the faint light. Then she settled back into the mattress, pulling the thin blanket up over her shoulders.
As her eyes closed, the tension in her body eased just a little.
Strange or not, this master hadn’t hurt her. He’d fed her, healed her, clothed her as much as he could and now gave her the bed without question.
She wondered if she would ever get used to such an unorthodox master.
Done, tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes.
