Chapter 04: After the Joy, Welcome to Calamity
Overd sat inside his office. He was an old man with silver hair and a meticulously trimmed beard. The office itself was crafted entirely of dark wood, where he busied himself with the monotonous task of organizing papers.
He had recently purchased several slaves from a passing trade caravan, and today they had finally arrived at his estate. Those papers belonged to the new recruits; he was adjusting them, writing each name on a separate sheet with the precision of a man long accustomed to this trade.
He was fully absorbed in his task until a knock sounded at the door. Overd looked up sharply.
"Who is it?"
The door creaked open, and a man of medium build stepped in. He had messy black hair and a single eye; the other was replaced by a jagged, prominent scar.
It was Leeward Kashin.
He closed the door behind him and took steady, measured strides until he stood perfectly upright before the desk.
"Leeward, you've returned late from the pastures," Overd whispered, his eyes returning to the documents in his hands.
Leeward's gaze was pitch black.
"Yes. I encountered some trouble with wolves on the way back. I was forced to take the valley path to get here."
"Hmph. Fine. What is it you want?"
"I'll get straight to the point," Leeward said. "Grant me my freedom."
The sentence was a shock, though Overd had sensed it coming for some time. In truth, he had been contemplating this request over the past few days.
"I have been thinking about this as well," Overd replied, leaning back. "To be blunt, you've become a burden to me. Managing you or giving you orders has become... impossible. But I won't give you your freedom for nothing. I paid a price when I bought you. What will you pay in return?"
He looked at Leeward with a steady, confident gaze, discussing the matter with absolute calm. Leeward remained silent for a moment, then took a deep breath.
"All of my sheep. And I will work in your fields for several months until the full debt is cleared."
It was a decision he had weighed carefully. At this moment, he had a hidden fortune capable of elevating him directly into the nobility. But that wealth was mysterious—its source and true owner were unknown. Possessing it openly now would be a death sentence. He decided to live quietly for a while, as an ordinary man. When the dust settled, he would take his gold and leave the country entirely.
Deep down, however, there was a second, darker option:
If Overd refused to grant his freedom...
**He would kill him.**
He would take his liberty by force, forge his papers, and flee. But now that the treasure was in his possession, this path was an unnecessary complication. Still, the thought of ending Overd's life didn't weigh on his heart in the slightest.
Yet, murder would breed more problems. Killing Overd would enrage the entire Monoth-Kantum clan, as Overd was a prominent member of that family. It would make Leeward a hunted man for the rest of his life. For now, he pushed that thought aside—but he didn't discard it.
"I see. All the sheep you possess amount to nine. Your freedom is worth about thirty sheep," Overd calculated. "So, you propose to work for me for several months to complete the amount... This complicates things, as I've just brought in new slaves for a new project I'm starting. Quite simply, I am opening the **Danick Arena**."
Overd's expression was sincere, devoid of manipulation. He was a practical man who loathed loss. Despite a hidden, underlying fear of Leeward's ego and mindset, his negotiation was sharp. Leeward was a physically strong slave, but his stubborn will made him useless in ordinary labor. Overd wanted to get rid of him, but he refused to lose the money he had invested.
"The Danick Arena... You want to start Danick sports? That's something I didn't expect from someone like you," Leeward chuckled darkly. "I will be under your command for the duration of my service. I won't refuse a single order. Just give me my freedom."
**Danick** was a blood sport where two or three warriors were pitted against a beast a level higher or equal to them. A brutal battle would ensue while spectators watched from the stands. Bets were placed on who would win, who would last the longest, and who would land the killing blow. The winners claimed massive payouts. It was immensely popular in the Sharman Clan territories—a cultural ritual of violence that everyone adored.
"Listen," Overd began, "I've bought land on the village borders. That's where the Danick Arena will be. You will work there as a warrior. But there is a condition: you must win every battle. Once the debt of your neck is paid, we can sign a new contract if you become famous and draw in more spectators."
He laid the offer out directly. Leeward reached out his hand toward Overd. He showed complete satisfaction with the deal, despite knowing the immense risk involved. Many warriors died inside the Danick Arena; it was a merciless sport, never meant for beginners.
"Agreed. First, I want you to grant me my legal freedom. Then, we will sign a contract stating that I owe you the remaining debt. This will bind me to the payment so you can be sure I won't run."
Leeward truly wanted his freedom. He would fight in the Danick Arena for a few weeks until things calmed down, then he would settle the debt from his hidden treasure and vanish forever.
A heavy silence lingered in the office for a long while. Overd was mentally cycling through the worst-case scenarios. Finally, he extended his hand and shook Leeward's firmly.
"Agreed. You start tomorrow."
Overd opened a desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of parchment. "Your name is Leeward Kashin, correct? Age 28... where were you born?"
He began scratching down the details.
"I was born in **Crossbow**, day 93 of the **Winter Realm**, the year 1424 of the **Alliance Era**," Leeward replied.
In this world, years were measured by the time passed since the founding of the Alliance between the clans, 1,424 years ago. There were no months—only four realms: Winter, Summer, Autumn, and Spring. Each realm spanned 96 days, totaling 390 days a year. The remaining six days belonged to no realm; they were called the **Transition Days**, the thin veil between the seasons.
Overd noted the information with care. He took a small knife, pricked his thumb, and pressed his print onto the parchment, signing his name as a guarantee of Leeward's liberty. Before handing over the freedom papers, he reached for another sheet and documented the debt: three kilograms of silver to be paid in full for the "value of his neck."
"Your papers are ready. To be honest, I haven't trusted you once in the five years you've spent as my slave," Overd admitted with a strange hint of respect. "The only reason I'm signing this before the debt is paid is because of your personality... you loathe being indebted to anyone."
Leeward took his freedom papers. It wasn't over yet; he still had to report to the Village Headquarters to finalize his status as a regular citizen. Overd tucked the debt contract into his drawer.
"This will bring me some peace for now," Overd muttered. "Is there anything else to sign for the sheep?"
Leeward folded his papers carefully and placed his hands behind his back. He realized that this had gone better than expected. He had anticipated a refusal, but it was clear now that he had become nothing more than a liability at the farm. He never took orders, lived almost for free, and when he did work, he took his pay by force. Overd's losses outweighed his gains.
Even selling Leeward was impossible; no one wanted a slave with the reputation of a defiant, arrogant criminal.
This deal was a win for both sides. *"I still owe three kilograms of silver... that won't be too difficult,"* Leeward thought.
"Those sheep were already mine, but since they were registered in your name, I'll credit them toward your debt," Overd whispered, sounding almost relieved.
"That is all. I'm leaving."
Leeward turned and walked out. Behind the closed door, Overd erupted into laughter. "Finally! I'm rid of him. He was nothing but a curse on this farm anyway!" He quickly returned to organizing the papers of the other, more compliant slaves.
The night passed swiftly.
Morning came, and Leeward stepped out of the Village Headquarters. The building was a massive, whitewashed wooden structure. He walked out as a free, official citizen. In his hand, he held a silver metallic identification card—his new identity. It bore his name, his birthplace, the empire he belonged to, and even his height. A simple engraving of his features was etched into the side.
At that precise moment, a sharp, piercing scream tore through the morning air.
A woman with blonde hair was running hysterically, her face a mask of pure terror. Leeward recognized her instantly.
*"That's Overd's wife... what's wrong with her?"*
Then, he heard her panicked cry:
"My husband has been murdered! My husband is dead! Oh gods, help!"
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