Chapter 2 — The Dying Young Man Sold at the Slave Market (Part 2)
When I carried the dying man back into the inn and up to my room, even the usually cheerful landlady frowned the moment she saw him.
“What on earth is that?”
“Sorry. I’ll pay for the sheets and cleaning later. Just let me off for now.”
At that, she let out a weary sigh, as though she’d already resigned herself to it.
I asked one of the servant girls to bring up a basin of hot water, then climbed the creaking stairs and opened the door to my room.
Mansel and Crump, the two men I was sharing the room with, were still out. Both of them loved food more than anything, so they were probably still wandering around town stuffing themselves. I found myself hoping they wouldn’t come back until evening.
The smell coming off him was awful.
He probably hadn’t been allowed to bathe in days. The stench of blood, sweat, and urine clung stubbornly to him.
I laid him down carefully on the bed and opened the window.
The dying man breathed in shallow, painful gasps.
If I didn’t treat him soon, he would die.
And yet, somewhere deep inside me, a voice whispered:
Just let him die.
Do you remember what this man did to you?
He betrayed you. Took everything from you. Ruined your life.
You would be better off without mercy.
I shut my ears to that voice.
The moment I saw him, I understood.
He had already paid a terrible price.
His arms and legs were as thin as dead branches, starved for who knew how long. Deep lash marks crisscrossed his back, and there were scars around his ankles where the tendons had been cut to keep him from escaping.
But what shocked me most were his eyes.
Those sapphire-blue eyes that once looked like precious jewels had been gouged out.
Bandages were wrapped thickly around them, stained and filthy. No one had bothered caring for him properly.
Even so, it was obvious he had once been a beautiful prince. The line of his nose, the shape of his lips—traces of the man he used to be still remained.
That was why I recognized him instantly.
I lifted his head onto my lap and gently pried open his mouth.
He offered no resistance. He simply let me do as I pleased.
From my magic bag, I took out a high-grade potion and slowly poured it between his lips.
It couldn’t restore missing body parts, but it could heal wounds to the body and internal organs.
Sure enough, the injuries covering his skin gradually began to fade. The deep whip scars across his back and the ruined tendons in his legs remained. As for his gouged-out eyes… healing those would require an exceptional-grade potion.
Even I didn’t have one of those.
After making him drink two bottles, his breathing finally seemed to ease.
“Can you drink some water?”
At my question, he gave a faint nod.
I tilted a cup carefully to his lips and helped him drink little by little before quietly asking,
“Can I wipe your body down?”
He nodded again.
Then, suddenly, he began to tremble, tears slipping silently from beneath the filthy bandages.
When I asked what was wrong, he said it was the first time anyone had ever spoken to him so gently.
As a slave, he had only ever been treated with cruelty.
Never kindness.
This man had once been the crown prince.
No… perhaps it was because he had fallen so far that no one had managed to find him.
Back in his homeland, he had become an object of hatred.
