“I’ll make you a special deal today.”

“How generous of you.”

“I’m very excited about this intriguing little project you’re starting. You’re going to become a regular customer now, I presume?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Business is good thanks to the Shield Hero!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sure you’ll understand if you just think of it as the same phenomenon that occurred with the bird god.”

Ah . . . Raphtalia had played a big part in our success, after all. I’m sure the coalition army held her in high regard, too. If people knew that a slave like that had been purchased from this guy, his business was sure to benefit.

“But that’s pointless if you don’t have any slaves from Raphtalia’s village in stock.”

“Oh, no. That’s a completely different issue. Yes sir.”

“Let’s start with . . .”

I figured I would just pick several slaves that caught my eye.

“This one, this one, and that one. Also, that one over there, that one under the blanket, and that one, too.”

I picked two boys that looked relatively healthy, a couple of trembling slaves that were holding hands like they were friends, another that was wrapped up in a blanket and trembling near the back of the cage, and lastly one who was standing near the cage door, staring at Filo. Eclair already had four slaves at the territory, so that made a total of ten. That seemed just about right to kick things off.

“Oh yeah. I’ll be applying the slave curses at my territory, so we’ll need to take someone who can perform the ceremony with us. It’ll be necessary to enhance their abilities.”

“Such a seemingly random selection, and yet you choose such fine specimens—the Shield Hero has a good eye! My hat’s off to you! Yes sir!”

“Fehhh . . .”

“Mr. Naofumi? Perhaps you should choose a bit more carefully?”

“I just went back and forth between the healthy-looking ones and the ones that looked problematic. Hey, you in the blanket—come over here.”

I was sure this one would be weak and feeble. I could tell it was trembling in fear, too. The slave trader gave an order and a brawny man opened the cage and tore the blanket away from the child.

“No . . . don’t!”

“Oh?”

With the blanket gone, I could see the slave resembled a mole.

“That’s a lumo, a type of therianthrope known for its nimble hands. Their eyes are sensitive to light, which makes them a good choice for nighttime security duties. This one is a child, of course.”

“Ahh!”

The lumo slave was cowering in fear in the corner. Raphtalia looked concerned.

I took a closer look at the appearance of the lumo child. If I had to describe him in one word, I’d have to go with “mole.” He was kind of like the mole version of a werewolf or something. And he was short—only about as tall as my waist. Was that because he was a child?