# Chapter 1: Living Merchandise
*Splash.*
Ice-cold liquid slammed into my face, washing away the last scraps of nightmare and dragging me back into a crueler reality. The water was salt, mixed with filth.
"Wake up, garbage! Wake up, or you're fish bait!"
The voice was like stones grinding together, cutting through the crash of waves that shook the ship. I forced my eyes open even though they felt like lead. Dizziness hammered my skull immediately, making the edges of my vision ripple with strange, faint lines—just enough to catch the silhouette of a stocky man holding a wooden bucket.
He smirked.
"Still alive?"
Another voice came from somewhere beside him.
"Unfortunately, it seems so," the first man said, his grin dripping with contempt. Laughter echoed from his companions across the deck.
*Thud.*
The ship that had carried us for days had stopped—like it had struck something solid.
"Damn it! Looks like the ship can't go any closer to shore, boss. What's the plan now?"
Another man grumbled, waiting for orders. The one in charge was broad-shouldered, with a cold face buried under a thick beard. Not long after, dinghies were lowered. One by one, they moved us closer to the shore, where the current was strong enough to drag a man under.
---
The smell of beach sand filled my nose after what felt like an eternity of being caged at sea. The men bound our wrists—children included—and herded us like livestock along a cliffside path. My feet began to bleed from walking barefoot over jagged rocks.
I scanned my surroundings.
Below the path, hidden inside a shroud of sea fog, stood a large city. Nidhogg's Bay—a free port in Blackwater. Its fortress loomed, dark and heavy. I could count the individual stones in its walls, see the cracks running up its towers like veins.
*Yank.*
"Argh!"
The rope tied around my wrists jerked hard, snapping me out of my daze.
"Stay on the path, you piece of trash!" one of the smugglers shouted.
Before we entered the city, they washed us in a shallow, murky creek running off the cliffs. The cold water made the fresh cuts on my feet sting all over again.
*Creak...*
Rusted hinges screamed as the city's great wooden gate swung open.
The scene hadn't changed since the first time I'd set foot here four years ago. The same cynical, indifferent stares from the locals. The occasional spit in our direction. None of it surprised me anymore.
But today, I saw something else in their eyes. Something I'd missed before.
Not just hatred or disgust.
A strange glint. Something that twisted my stomach. Like morbid pleasure at the sight of helpless people.
---
*Crack!*
"Argh!"
The skinny, scrawny-haired boy next to me doubled over. His bare back had just kissed a leather whip. The man with the split nose—the same one who'd doused me on the ship—was the one holding it.
"Don't slow down, you maggot!" he snarled.
The boy didn't answer. But I saw the hatred burning in his gaze. Like he wanted to crack the man's skull open. The other children started whimpering but quickly choked it down, afraid of the whip. Their shoulders trembled.
I looked around.
Most of the children brought here seemed my age. Maybe ten to fifteen years old. A few faces looked familiar—villages I'd passed through with my group days ago—but I didn't remember their names.
I glanced behind me.
My attention landed on the boy tied directly in back of me. Blond hair, but dull and filthy. His face was too soft. Too pretty for a boy. And he'd been leaking tears like a cracked jug since we started walking. Constant, monotonous, grating on my ears. Though maybe I was the only one who could hear it clearly.
"Shh, Leon, quiet," whispered a brown-haired boy beside him, his voice shaking. "They'll hear you."
I caught their exchange.
*Leon? So they know each other.*
I didn't want to care. But somehow, I remembered when they'd come aboard the smugglers' ship. Both brought on the same day, a day after they'd caught me. And that skinny, scrawny-haired boy had been watching this blond kid closely ever since.
*Brrroooom.*
A metal horn blared, sharp and loud, yanking my attention away.
Warships bearing the golden lion insignia of the Veridian Kingdom were docking. Knights disembarked in gleaming armor. Behind them came nobles wrapped in furs and silks—just like my father used to describe.
But I also saw something else.
A group of priests. From that rotten fellowship—the Thymolt. I recognized them by their gold pins shaped like thorned roses. The same pins that had decorated the necks of their holy executioners when they'd visited my group.
"Tch. Hypocrites," I muttered.
---
The soft whimpering started again. Leon, behind me, was crying again—but holding it in this time. His shoulders shook violently.
"Leon! Shut up!" the skinny boy hissed, now sounding genuinely panicked.
*Crack!*
The whip landed near the foot of a crying child a few steps away from us.
"Silence that thing, or I'll use its tongue for fish bait!" the split-nose man growled.
Their leader—the Bearded One—was negotiating with some people who'd disembarked from the ships in the distance. A few moments later, the buyers began circling.
A nobleman grabbed a small girl's chin, pulling her mouth open to check her teeth. A knight-captain pinched a boy's arm like he was inspecting a horse. And now, a priest with a pig-like face was eyeing Leon with a look that made me sick. He stepped closer and began his inspection.
Leon's desperate, held-back sobs finally broke. They turned into a muffled, pitiful shriek as the priest stepped away. The sound made me sick to my stomach—even as I clenched my own bleeding wrists.
"Shut up, you brat!" I snapped, my voice hoarse and choked. "Or do you want them to cut your vocal cords and sell you as a mute slave?"
Leon stopped instantly. His eyes went wide—fear and surprise mixing together. Maybe because this was the first time he'd seen my face clearly, usually hidden behind the hair hanging over my forehead.
The brown-haired boy stared at me sharply, his eyes almost blazing. Like he couldn't accept me yelling at that crybaby.
"Don't you have a heart? He's scared!"
"Fear draws attention," I rasped back. "And attention always draws pain."
The skinny boy stared at me like he couldn't believe what I'd just said. But his eyes studied me for a long moment. Then, something clicked.
"Y-you..." His voice caught in his chest. "Devil?"
I heard that word again. Even this pathetic wretch in front of me would call me that. I clenched my teeth.
"You monster—"
*Crack! CRACK!*
"ARRGH!"
We both screamed. The whip hit both of us, splitting the air and our skin. Split-Nose stood there, breathing hard.
"ARGH!"
He grabbed my throat with one hand and lifted me off the ground.
"You talk too much. Shut up, or I'll really cut your tongue out!" He raised the whip again—but before it came down, he froze, his face flashing with panic.
In the distance, the Bearded One—his master—was staring at him. Sharp. Warning.
*Thud.*
I crashed back onto the wet wooden planks, gasping, clutching my reddening throat.
"Final warning." Before leaving, the man grabbed the brown-haired boy's chin, squeezing hard. "And you... you're a son of a bitch—hahaha."
Split-Nose walked away laughing, leaving the both of us with burning welts on our backs. I saw the brown-haired boy's jaw harden.
The whip's sting was sharp and hot, like biting embers. But it wasn't enough. Because without us realizing, the commotion had drawn attention. The knights and nobles standing nearby had turned to look at us.
Not with pity.
With cold, judgmental contempt. Disgust.
Like watching an uninteresting performance from a piece of merchandise. My chest tightened. I hated them. I hated their stares.
Among that crowd stood a boy. He seemed to belong with them—respected, from the way they treated him. He was staring intently at our group. Or more precisely, at the blond boy behind me. His servant seemed to be talking to the Bearded One.
My attention drifted back to Leon. Something inside me wanted to claw its way out and destroy him—just seeing that innocent look on his face. It added to the sick feeling in my gut, and I didn't even know why. I held it back with everything I had. I stared at him with raw hatred. I hated his eyes. They looked like *their* eyes.
The boy looked terrified. I could see it on his face. He looked guilty too. And confused.
No more words or crying came from his lips. He was silent now, trying to look as normal as possible—even though I knew he was holding everything in. His shoulders still trembled. Even when the noble boy's servant approached him. Even when the man slowly inspected his body like the rest of the children.
The boy's gaze went blank. Only his tears kept flowing.
---
The day bled into the evening. The sky above me turned gray like cast iron.
One by one, our bindings were cut.
The brown-haired boy—Max, I heard Leon whisper his name—was bought by an old knight of the kingdom and taken away with the other boys. He thrashed like a wild animal as the soldiers dragged him toward the ship.
Leon was taken by the noble boy who'd been staring earlier. I saw the boy talking to him, but Leon stayed silent. The pig-faced priest who'd inspected him earlier looked like he'd bitten into something sour.
They took him gently, as part of the noble's retinue. But one thing made me freeze.
When Leon's empty pale-blue eyes glanced back at me—just for a moment—that look said something. Maybe an insult. Maybe pity. I couldn't tell.
There was a strange feeling. A small stab in my chest as he turned away. A tightness that followed him as he disappeared behind a curtain of fur cloaks.
"Tch."
My throat was dry. Choking.
Split-Nose and his crew were already counting coins, laughing loudly. They wouldn't even look at me, much less offer water.
"Damn it! This one still won't sell!" one of the smugglers spat, pointing directly at me. "Even for a few sacks of grain, people walk away."
"It's his eyes," another one hissed. "Devil eyes. Brings bad luck. Why don't we just dump him? Better to go home without a curse."
Panic hit me suddenly. My breath turned ragged and uneven, like something clawing at me from the inside.
"Let go! I can work!" I screamed as rough hands grabbed me under the armpits.
"Enough of you! Off to the sea, you demon spawn! Hahaha!"
They dragged me toward the dark edge of the dock, where black water echoed somewhere below.
"No! I—"
I saw the Bearded One in the distance. He just stood there, watching. Silent.
"Enough."
That heavy voice belonged to the Bearded One—unexpectedly. His men stopped.
But their attention shifted to a man walking toward us. He wore a dark brown-black robe, simply cut but strange. He stopped a few paces away. His face was hidden under his hood.
The man reached into his pocket. His hand emerged and dropped something small. It glinted faintly.
A coin.
Not ordinary gold. It was dark, like iron forged in shadow, etched with a strange symbol that flickered in my vision. The coin landed perfectly in the Bearded One's open palm.
The old man examined it briefly, raising one eyebrow at the hooded figure.
"One coin. For him," the stranger said. His voice was soft but cold.
"You really want to take him?" The Bearded One's voice was still heavy as always, but now he spoke carefully.
The hooded man glanced at me for a moment—I caught a glimpse of sharp gray eyes—then turned back to the old man.
"A deal is a deal."
The Bearded One didn't ask again. He just exhaled, slightly heavy, then signaled his men. They exchanged glances. One of them—quickly, with slightly trembling hands—cut the rope binding my wrists and shoved me forward until I fell to my knees.
"Heh. Go on, demon child. Looks like some freak likes trash." The smuggler's mutter wasn't aimed at me, but at the dark coin glinting between the Bearded One's fingers.
---
I sat on the damp planks, breath still ragged, watching the black-robed figure walk away like a lengthening shadow.
My body tensed. Again, something inside me felt like it was about to burst. Like it wanted to rebel.
I held it back.
And I forced myself to process what had just happened. To accept the reality.
I had just been bought.
For one dark coin.