Dragon's Tale 39

I skidded down the mountain, the hard ground crunching under my boots as I took another step. It was not just another step, but brought me out of the mountain’s border, and its oppressing chaotic magical field. I sucked air freely, a huge weight on my shoulder had disappeared. Even after living there for months, the oppression of the mountain was hard to get used to. 

However, my sensation of freedom wasn’t just about the sudden lack of magical pressure —though it helped. The whole reason for my multi-year acting was to escape the clutches of my uncle to attain my freedom, as I could have attained security much easier, by playing another bootlicker to that pompous waste of space. 

No, I wanted freedom, and being forcefully confined, even to such a huge area like Mount Pyrenaean, with all the adventure and danger it offered. Even with the pleasant company of Lillian and Astrid, it had been challenging. Without them, I would have gone crazy. 

I sucked the air as I traveled down until the slope of the mountain disappeared into a smooth plain, decorated with trees. I wasn’t afraid of an ambush. Why would I, when I could feel everything around me with amazing clarity as soon as I expanded my magical senses without the murky feeling of the chaotic magical field? Still, only then, I realized just how lucky I was to fight a fellow Sorcerer in the mountain rather than the plains. Sorcerers were famous for their overwhelming power, but as I grew into my power, I realized just how frightening our senses were. 

Without the mountain interfering with his senses, it was impossible to ambush them, at least not with an overwhelmingly strong spell like I had used… 

As I traveled deeper into the forest, I let the past go. Whatever happened had happened, and whether through luck or planning, I was victorious, and gained precious experience from it. Add in my studies, and the weird changes my body continuing to go through, I wasn’t deathly afraid of a magical duel with another Sorcerer, even an experienced one… 

It was a good feeling to travel while wearing a full set of clothes, I surmised as I enjoyed the sensation of the leather on my body. They looked simple with a glance, no different from the primitive leather clothing of any other tribal warrior, but not many tribal warriors had the privilege of wearing clothes made from the skin of Ethereal wolves, strong enough to resist spells and sword equally. I had a bag on my shoulder, equally unassuming, carrying only a bit of food and water, despite the precious magical materials that filled several hidden compartments it to the brim, protected by several runes. 

On my back, there was also a spear, intimidating enough to scare a lone bandit, but not catchy enough to be remembered. Of course, the same wouldn’t be applied if someone had seen the great number of runes etched under the spearhead, turning it into a dangerous weapon of destruction for a limited time before the inferior materials burned under the flash of power, the best I could achieve without a dedicated smith to assist. 

“Freedom,” I murmured as I leisurely walked in the forest, enjoying the gentle caress of the wind on my skin. For a while, I let everything go, the mysterious enemy I suddenly found myself facing against, exploring the circumstances of the mysterious death of my grandfather, scary changes my body was going through, even the overwhelming task of somehow infiltrating one of the most protected locations in the City of Rome, the heart of the Republic… 

I let go of everything, enjoying the sensation of freedom… 

Even more surprisingly, nothing of significance had happened for several days as I traveled leisurely, as I slowly traveled from the Western Gaul down to Cisalpine Gaul, a geographic area that included the intimidating Alpine mountain range that protected the mainland Italy from invaders for centuries, especially during winter, when they turned into impenetrable snow fortresses that repelled any invading army —with the notable exception of Hannibal, that gave the deadliest foreign challenge to Rome during its long existence, only to be denied by one of my ancestors. 

Luckily, it was currently early spring, and the Alps weren’t fully dressed in their intimidating white armor. Unluckily, it seemed to be the end of my uneventful journey. 

A cry rung clearly, begging for help, as a woman burst into the scene, wrapped in chains, and a shirt that carried a coat of arms, that clearly denoting her as a slave. Combined with the eight mounted men that were chasing her, it didn’t take a genius to decipher her identity. A slave. 

It was an abominable concept that I hated, mostly due to my bastard birth that forced me to be more like a slave rather than a proper member of the household. When even the household guards had turned against me, the slaves were the only ones that I could talk with. Not that we created any deep bonds or anything, as the slaves that were smart enough to be employed in the noble houses were also smart enough to realize if they look too close to the bastard son of a family, it wouldn’t have ended nicely for them. My struggles had changed in nature after my grandfather had noticed my talent and started his merciless training, but the fact that for the first ten years of my life, the slaves were the only source of kindness in my life. 

Pity that I wasn’t in a position to intervene. We were just a mile away from one of the busiest mountain passes in the Alpine Mountain Range, and we were surrounded by many merchants and travelers, not to mention a troop of soldiers just a couple of hundred yards away. Intervening in any kind of dispute between a slave and their owner was strictly forbidden, unless it was an extreme condition like an owner killing a slave for absolutely no reason. And even then, it was a very tricky thing to do unless done by a proper official. 

Of course, fate didn’t allow me to take a breath, because lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed that one of the slavers had noticed me, and shouted. “You as well, you escaped maggot,” he cried gleefully as he swung his whip. “Do you think you can avoid the attention of the Ulpius Trade Company?” 

I raised my arm and let the whip wrap around my right forearm. Normally, the pain should have left me crying mindlessly, but after the transformation of my right forearm with the scales, neither pain nor injury didn’t affect that part. Not the ordinary kind, and even the magical attacks barely scratched it. Compared to that, a slaver’s whip didn’t even sting. 

Still, it was a problem. Abducting people from the streets to enslave them was certainly illegal, but like all laws, the application usually depended on the location and the relative power of the aggressor and the victim. And as a lonely traveler away from home, dressed as a simple member of an insignificant tribe, I was the prime target for such violations. It wasn’t unheard of lonely travelers being abducted by slavers only to be sold in the slave market, with fake documents that ascertained a mountain of debt to create a legal fiction. 

Retaliation, on the other hand, was the problem. I wanted nothing less than completely eviscerate those impudent slavers, and if they had dared to do so in a less crowded location, I would have loved to do so. But fighting against a group of eight was a feat to be remembered, whether done through the magic or might. If I do through magic, defeating eight men would be remembered, because there were very few mages that were capable of such a feat unless they belong to a noble family —either as a scion, or a sponsored adopted member— or a soldier. Combined with my age, it would put me into the spotlight. 

Defeating them through sheer martial might was better, but only slightly. Still, it was better than nothing. I just hoped that they wouldn’t push too far after losing one or two members. 

I made a show of crying in pain even as I pulled my attacker, using the convenient handle provided by the whip. Facing an unexpected display of force, my attacker flew in the air before finding himself skewered himself on my spear. I would have loved to stab him in the neck, ending his useless life, but doing so would have galvanized the rest, forcing them to take revenge. A serious, but not deadly, wound to the leg that avoided major veins was a perfect balance. 

“Walk away, and nobody needs to be hurt,” I said calmly as I pressed the spear on the neck of my opponent as I looked at the slaver that was dressed richly. 

It was a good plan, and for a moment, they seemed to be startled by the sudden change of pace. The eyes of the leader widened, realizing that their little game had a bigger cost than they had estimated. “Don’t you dare to hurt my man,” he called steadily, displaying his experience as he realized I didn’t have the slightest complication about killing him. 

“Just walk away, no blood needs to be spilled this day,” I said calmly, then looked at the bleeding leg of my attacker. “Well, no more, at least,” I added with a mocking smirk, underlining my confidence. I had no problem killing my attacker if they forced me, and I made them aware of it. 

Of course, it was that exact moment the Fate had decided I had been having a smooth-sailing journey, and decided to throw a wrench to my plans. The soldiers responsible for guarding the pass rode toward us quickly, and just as I prepared to explain my situation, their Decanus —the soldier responsible for leading a team of eight— spoke. “What’s happening, cousin?” he spoke. 

I barely held my desire to curse, only possible through endless days of annoyance I had struggled while I was in Halls of Saturn, or back in my family estate. “Nothing much, just a disobedient slave,” said the leader of the slavers, not even bothering to hide his wink. Why would he, after all, everyone was aware of what was going on, but no one would have risked their lives against both soldiers and sanctioned slave traders just for a random passerby. 

“Drop your weapon,” Decanus ordered, and I sighed even as I dropped my spear, despite the temptation to kill all of them together. Unfortunately, if the killing slavers were like igniting a bonfire, killing a team of soldiers under bright daylight was like setting a building on fire. The exact opposite of what I should do just as I was about to step into the most important province of the Roman Republic.  

“I surrender,” I murmured, doing my best to hide my lazy exhaustion as I dropped the spear, preparing myself for the inevitable blow. The only mystery was whether the soldiers of the slavers would act first. 

The small mystery was resolved when I felt a movement behind, and one of the soldiers hit my temple with the hilt of his sword. Idiot, I thought even as I throw myself on the ground, acting dazed. It barely hurt me due to my supernatural strength, but such a blow could have easily killed a lesser man, which would have been pointless considering the aim of the slavers. 

The leader of slavers looked annoyed, no doubt thinking the same thing, but despite my hopes, he proved smart enough to keep her mouth shut. “Thank you, cousin,” he said instead, and passed a small pouch to him, no doubt filled with a generous amount of cash. I laid there motionless as someone tied my hands behind my back, kicking my ribs a couple of times in the process. I did nothing but look at my offender’s face, memorizing it for payback. 

While one of them forced me up, the other checked my bag, and hummed in dissatisfaction. “Nothing but food and spare clothing,” he murmured dissatisfaction, and threw it on his shoulder after showing it to the leader, while another one picked my spear, making me sigh in relaxation. It was good that they had taken them, as chasing them would have been really annoying. 

We stayed in the same location for five minutes, while the leader —named Lydus— talked to his cousin, our small group moved, eight mounted men forcing us slaves on foot with a brisk pace. 

Only then, I looked at the escaped slave, who was crying endlessly, despite her lack of a wound, which was interesting, as a slave trying to escape usually received at least a few lashes, maybe even more. Even more interesting was a distinct lack of tattoo on her, unlike most slaves who were branded with a slave mark, usually directly on the forehead to prevent it from being hidden. 

Combined, it was clear that she was captured to be made a pleasure slave. The lack of a mark, combined with the relatively gentle treatment even after an attempt to escape made it obvious that she was about to be groomed as a pleasure slave. 

“I am sorry,” she whispered with a trembling voice. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t tried to escape…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” I whispered back. “It’s only natural for you to try to escape, I can hardly blame their greed to you,” I said, but before I could continue, the slaver I had wounded shouted us to be silent, punctuating his sentence by another hit from his whip, this time directly on my chest. Unlike my forearm, my chest wasn’t completely immune to damage, but the protection of my leather clothes, combined with my supernaturally strong body, blunted most of the impact. 

I still made a show of crying in pain, which made the slave girl cry even louder. I sighed, pitying her.

 Of course, I doubted I could have been magnanimous enough to pity her for her emotional distress if my capture was anything but a temporary change of arrangement. Imprisoning even an ordinary mage was a risky affair, one that required intense preparation and could still backfire.

Imprisoning a Sorcerer without even being aware of his magical gifts, however, was nothing less than a total disaster. 

It was going to be fun…