Chapter 20: 3 Years (3)

Perseus POV

I've learned quite a few things from my short time here, this town is a neutral location under no nation's jurisdiction in between the southern empire and Centralia, no wonder it took a while for me to get here. I've also learned that I'll be sold for quite cheap, even by the standards of cheap slaves.

It doesn't help that I'm starving and severely dehydrated, so it doesn't look like I'll be able to do anything.

I overheard these rumors from the guards and murmuring of the people in charge of this so-called weekly event. I'm also labeled a risk, with the recent rebellion/revolt, they're scared that I'll kill my own master to escape.

I'm also not that sought after when they hear that my lease is only 3 years. Most slaves were bought with the expectation of years of service, long-term investment in labor, and obedience. But I was different. My lease was short, a mere three years compared to most whose minimum lease was at least 5 years.

"Best not to bid too high on that one," I overheard one of the staff tell a bidder, "Rumor has it he's a troublemaker. Not worth the risk."

And then, as if on cue, it was my turn. As I was led to the stage or whatever, rumors swirled about me, the whispers of rebellion and revolt that had branded me a danger in the eyes of my captors.

With each step, I carried the weight of their fear, knowing that escape was not just a dream, but a dangerous possibility. I mean I won't deny it, if I see an opportunity, I won't mind escaping, my existence is already a crime as it is. Escaping won't make me any worse of a criminal.

I stepped forward onto the auction block, feeling the weight of a hundred eyes upon me. As the bidding began, I could only stand there in silence, my fate hanging in the balance.

I'm just hoping for a vulnerable one, I hope to get to this abyss dungeon or whatever, that's probably how I can help complete my next quest. However, I might need a couple of months to get a full recovery.

My body currently isn't really ideal, so I need some food, some weapons, and other supplies.

As the bidding commenced, I stood there, feeling like nothing more than a piece of merchandise on display. The auctioneer's voice rang out, calling for bids, starting me with a measly 2 copper cost.

*****

The bidding began, and I braced myself for the low offers. 

3 silver coins. That was all I was worth in the eyes of these people. 3 measly coins. The currency in this world is so stereotypical, 100 copper is equal to 1 silver, and 100 silver is 1 gold.

I found myself in possession of an elderly man who looked to be in his early 60s, had slight tan skin, was 180 cm tall, and was bald with green eyes. He regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, as if unsure of what to make of the young man he had acquired.

As I walked through the desolate streets of the town, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease.

Despite the apparent emptiness of the streets, I could feel the weight of countless eyes upon me, their gaze like a physical presence that pressed down upon me with suffocating force. It was as if the very air itself had grown heavy, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable in their midst.

I couldn't help but notice the strange looks that were cast my way as I passed, the whispered conversations that ceased abruptly as I drew near. It was as if my presence alone was enough to send a ripple of unease through the townsfolk, their curious stares following me like a shadow.

And then there were the whispers, hushed conversations that seemed to follow me wherever I went. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone of their voices spoke volumes, their murmurs filled with suspicion and fear.

 It was my appearance, the unusual combination of brown skin and white hair that marked me as a descendant of the Wyatts, a fact that seemed to set me apart from the rest of the townsfolk.

I remember asking the question about what about the people with brown skin growing old and stuff to Harold and Zenis, but they said that Sam Wyatt's descendant has been cursed to not be able to have our main features changed ever, hair color can be magically altered for others so they can't be confused for us.

*****

"Whenever you want to escape, let me know, but for now, this is home." the old man said, "I'm Reese Solan, by the way, call me whatever."

The small stone cottage stood nestled amidst a cluster of trees and its walls were draped in ivy. Inside, the cottage had two small bedrooms with individual bathrooms tucked away in each room.

The kitchen had a simple wooden table and chairs, while the living room had a worn sofa and a rug that had seen better days.

"What do you mean escape?"

"Even a dog can tell lad." he replied as he freed my restraints, sat on the sofa, and pulled out some newspaper, "A person like you would want freedom after all you've been through."

"So why buy me?"

"I bought you because I thought maybe, just maybe, I'd do something with my life for once."

"Huh?"

 "Let's just say my life hasn't exactly amounted to much. That's why I live in this forgotten town, left behind by society," he explained, "But now, I thought maybe I can help you do something different, make something of yourself. If you want to stay and serve your sentence, so be it. But if not, just tell me. I won't mind if you escape."

I don't get it.

"Whenever you want to escape, let me know," the old man continued, "But for now, this is home."

"Aren't you scared of me?"

"Why would I? You're a kid."