The Price of Freedom

The slave auction hall was packed to its limits.

Men and women filled the benches, leaning forward with eager eyes. Their faces were lit with greed, curiosity, and amusement—as if they had come to watch a performance rather than witness broken lives being sold away.

On the wide stone stage stood rows of slaves, chained together.

Children clung to each other in silence.

Elders stared ahead with hollow eyes.

Warriors stood with slumped shoulders, their pride long since crushed.

Villagers—ordinary people—looked lost, torn from homes that no longer existed.

Some cried.

Some begged.

Some had already given up.

To the crowd, they were not people.

They were prices.

Chains rattled as guards dragged forward the next group.

That was when Remee was shoved onto the stage.

She was smaller than the others. Too thin. Too young.

Her legs trembled as she struggled to stay upright. Her fingers clenched tightly around the cold iron chains, as if holding onto herself was the only thing keeping her from breaking apart. Her eyes darted across the crowd, fear written plainly on her face.

The bidding began at once.

“Six hundred!”

“One thousand!”

“Two thousand!”

Coins clashed loudly against tables. Some people laughed. Others argued, raising their bids without hesitation.

Remee didn’t scream.

She lowered her head and stared at the stone floor.

Then the atmosphere shifted.

From the far end of the hall, a group rose slowly from their seats. Dark robes. Strange symbols. Eyes that looked at her not with desire—but with purpose.

“One of the pure ones,” a cultist murmured openly.

“She’ll do nicely,” another said.

“For the ritual.”

The laughter in the hall grew uneasy.

“Five thousand,” the cult leader announced calmly.

Remee’s breath caught in her throat.

Her numb expression finally cracked.

High above the stage, hidden in shadow, a masked man watched.

His jaw tightened.

“Seven thousand!” someone shouted.

“Eight thousand,” the cultist replied instantly.

The number echoed through the hall.

The masked man stood.

“Ten thousand.”

The hall fell silent.

Every head turned toward him.

The cult leader slowly tilted his head.

“Interesting,” he said. “Twelve thousand.”

The masked man didn’t answer right away.

His breathing slowed. His hands trembled at his sides.

“…Ten thousand,” the auctioneer repeated. “Any higher bids?”

“Twelve thousand buys devotion,” the cult leader said softly, eyes fixed on the masked man.

“What does ten thousand buy you?”

The masked man stepped forward.

“Everything I have.”

He overturned his pouch onto the table.

Gold spilled out.

And kept spilling.

When it was done, the pouch collapsed—empty.

The auctioneer stared in disbelief.

“Ten thousand… paid in full.”

The cult leader’s smile disappeared.

The gavel slammed down.

“Sold.”

Angry murmurs spread through the cultists as guards removed Remee from the stage and led her toward the masked man. He swayed slightly when she was placed before him.

Behind the mask, his face had gone pale.

No gold left.

No safety net.

No future plan.

Only the trembling girl standing in front of him.

Remee looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“M-Mister…?”

He knelt down slowly and unlocked the chains around her wrists.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly.

She didn’t understand how.

She didn’t understand why.

But the chains were gone.

Outside the hall, Remee tugged gently at his sleeve.

“Mister… why did you buy me?”

He looked at her for a long moment before answering.

“Because I couldn’t stand watching a child be treated like property.”

Her eyes widened.

“Am I… free?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he said. “You are.”

Tears welled up.

“I don’t have a home,” she whispered.

“My family is gone. My village was burned down.”

She smiled through her tears—small, shaky, but real.

“Now… I have you, mister.”

His chest tightened.

“…Then we’ll walk together,” he said.

That Night

They left the auction district behind. The city lights faded, replaced by quiet streets and cold wind. Remee stayed close, afraid he might vanish if she let go.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Somewhere safe.”

He handed her bread. She stared at it for a moment—then ate slowly, carefully, then faster, as if afraid it might disappear. He watched without saying a word.

“Mister… are you poor now?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

She lowered her head. “I’m sorry… it’s my fault.”

He shook his head.

“No. Gold can be earned again. A life can’t.”

The Inn

Warm light spilled from the inn’s windows as they entered.

Behind the counter stood a pink-haired guild receptionist. She looked up—then froze.

Her eyes moved to Remee.

Then back to the masked man.

“…Ehh?” she said. “Since when do you walk around with a kid?”

“Luna,” he said stiffly. “It’s not what you think.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then explain.”

Remee shifted awkwardly, cheeks burning.

Suddenly—

A hand grabbed Remee’s arm and yanked her backward.

“No—!”

The man turned.

She was gone.

Dragged into the alley behind the inn.

I’ll be taken again… Remee thought desperately.

Tears filled her eyes.

Then—

A flash of steel.

The cultist collapsed without a sound.

Luna stood over him, blade lowered, her face cold.

“Tch,” she muttered. “Annoying.”

The masked man arrived seconds later and stopped.

“…Damn it.”

“You recognize him?” Luna asked.

“From the auction.”

Her eyes hardened.

“Demonic Sacrificial Cult. You can’t just ignore this.”

He pulled Remee close.

“I won’t drag her into your fights.”

And vanished into the night.

Luna watched them go.

“…Next time,” she murmured, “you won’t run.”

Remee clung tightly to his cloak.

For the first time in her life, she felt safe.

The masked man hesitated—then gently rested his hand on her head.

Behind the mask, he smiled.

The Past of an Assassin

The Last Walk Home

The bag in his hand was light.

Instant noodles. A drink he didn’t really want.

Shopping was simple. It gave him a reason to be outside without explaining himself. No one questioned a boy walking home with plastic bags and tired eyes.

The street was loud. Engines, footsteps, voices overlapping. Life moving forward without noticing him—just like always.

Then he heard it.

A small laugh. Too close to the road.

He turned.

A child stood at the edge of the street, frozen, clutching a toy with both hands. The traffic light hadn’t changed yet, but the truck didn’t slow down. Its horn screamed too late.

For a moment, everything felt familiar.

The speed.

The distance.

The certainty.

His body moved before his thoughts did.

He dropped the bag.

Noodles spilled onto the road like useless offerings.

He ran—not as an assassin, not as a weapon—but as the boy he used to be. The one who always wished someone would come for him.

He reached the child and pushed them back with all the strength he had left.

The child fell.

He didn’t.

There was no fear.

No regret.

Only a strange calm.

As the world faded, he lay there staring at the sky between buildings. Sirens were distant. People shouted. Someone cried—but it wasn’t for him yet.

His last thought was quiet.

So this is what it feels like… to matter once.

When the street finally settled, the child was alive—held tightly by trembling hands.

And he was gone.

At home, dinner waited on the table.

The television played on.

No one noticed he never came back.

Second Chance

The One Who Was Never Seen

When darkness fully swallowed him, Saburu expected nothing.

No heaven.

No hell.

No voices calling his name.

That was how his life had always been—ending the same way it was lived.

But instead of oblivion, there was light.

Soft. Endless. Quiet.

Saburu stood in a white expanse with no walls and no sky. The air itself felt warm, like it was holding him together. His body felt… whole. No pain. No weight.

Footsteps echoed gently.

A woman appeared before him, cloaked in radiance so calm it hurt to look at. Her eyes were ancient, yet kind.

A goddess.

She studied him in silence for a long moment.

“Saburu,” she said.

He flinched.

Someone remembered his name.

“You were born into a house full of people,” she continued, “yet you grew up alone.”

Images surfaced around them.

A child eating dinner in silence.

A bedroom lit only by a screen.

Hands bruised from training no one asked about.

“Your parents did not hate you,” the goddess said softly. “But they never learned how to see you.”

Saburu clenched his fists.

“They gave you shelter,” she went on, “but not warmth. Rules, but not guidance. Time passed… and you learned to survive without being held.”

Another image appeared.

Saburu older now—training at night, eyes dull, movements precise.

“You learned discipline because chaos surrounded you,” she said.

“You learned silence because no one listened.”

His throat tightened.

Then came darker images—missions, shadows, blood that vanished too quickly.

“You became a weapon not because you loved killing,” the goddess said, her voice steady, “but because being useful felt better than being forgotten.”

Saburu lowered his head.

“I never wanted praise,” he said quietly. “I just… didn’t want to be nothing.”

The goddess’s expression softened.

“And yet,” she said, “at the very end, when you finally had nothing to gain—no order, no reward—you chose to act.”

The final memory appeared.

A child.

A road.

A moment that could not be undone.

“You gave your life without expectation,” she said.

“No one commanded you. No one promised you thanks.”

She stepped closer.

“That choice erased the weight of everything before it.”

Saburu looked up, eyes shaking.

“So… was my life meaningless?”

The goddess shook her head.

“No,” she said firmly.

“It was unfinished.”

She raised her hand.

“I will grant you reincarnation—not as compensation, but as opportunity.”

A translucent screen unfolded before him.

“You will be given an Assassin Skill Set, not to kill—but because it matches who you already are: observant, restrained, decisive.”

Another symbol appeared.

“You will also receive a World Interface—a system to help you understand this world, its rules, and yourself.”

Saburu hesitated.

“…Will I still be alone?”

The goddess smiled—gentle, but honest.

“That depends,” she said, “on whether you believe you deserve to stay.”

Light surged forward.

The World Beyond

Saburu woke with a sharp breath.

Grass pressed against his palms. The scent of soil and wind filled his lungs. Above him stretched a sky impossibly blue—clear in a way his old world never was.

“…So it’s real.”

His body felt light. Strong. Responsive. No scars. No fatigue.

He stood slowly. His clothes were simple—travel-worn, practical. Comfortable.

My kind of outfit, he thought.

In the distance, a forest stretched endlessly, its trees thick with shadow and life.

Then—

A scream.

Saburu froze.

It came from deep within the woods.

His body moved before doubt could rise.

The First Choice

Between shattered branches, he saw them.

A girl—bleeding, barely standing.

Two companions collapsed behind her.

A goblin corpse nearby.

She had fought. Poorly. Desperately.

A low growl echoed.

A wolf burst from the trees.

The girl squeezed her eyes shut.

Steel flashed.

The wolf collapsed mid-leap.

Saburu appeared like a shadow, dagger clean and precise. Another wolf lunged—then another.

Three movements. Three strikes.

Silence returned.

The girl stared at him, stunned, breathing hard.

Saburu knelt beside the injured companions and reached into his bag.

“Healing potion,” he said, holding it out.

She hesitated—but took it.

As the potion worked, color returned to their faces.

Tears welled in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, bowing deeply. “My name is Serena.”

Saburu nodded once.

Then he turned away.

“…Wait!” she called.

He didn’t stop.

Because staying felt dangerous.

Because being remembered still scared him.

Behind him, Serena clenched her fists.

She hadn’t even learned his name.

Status Window

Saburu sat beneath a tree and exhaled.

“Alright… show me.”

A blue screen appeared.

Name: Saburu

Level: 20

HP: 200

Mana: 100

Defense: 25

Agility: 19

Magic: 30

Unassigned Points: 20

“…A system,” he murmured. “Figures.”

Another window followed.

Inventory

Iron Dagger (Attack +20)

Healing Potion ×3

Mana Potion ×2

Dried Boar Meat ×2 stacks

Silver Coins ×20

Gold Coins ×2

Copper Coins ×30

Eye of Orc ×1

He closed the window.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll walk this world… my way.”

And for the first time—

He didn’t feel like running because he was unwanted.

He walked because he chose to move forward.

3 months later he earn 10,000 and buy a slave

The story continues

Night settled quietly over the outskirts of the city.

Inside the small inn room, Remee slept curled on the bed, her hands gripping the blanket like it might vanish. Her breathing was shallow at first, then slowly steadied.

Saburu sat beside her, mask on, unmoving.

He did not sleep.

He listened.

When Remee shifted in her sleep, he adjusted the cloak around her shoulders without waking her. Only when she relaxed again did he lean back slightly.

A soft knock came at the window.

Saburu turned.

Luna slipped inside with practiced ease, landing silently on the floor.

“She’s asleep?” Luna whispered.

“Yes.”

Luna glanced at the child, then at Saburu. “You really bought her from that place.”

“I freed her.”

Luna exhaled slowly. “Idiot.”

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing—not with suspicion, but with focus.

“…Let me see her status.”

Saburu stiffened. “No questions.”

“Relax,” Luna muttered. “I won’t wake her.”

She placed two fingers in the air. A faint blue interface shimmered into view—hidden from Remee’s sight.

At first, Luna’s face was calm.

Then—

Her pupils shrank.

Her breath caught.

“…No way.”

Saburu noticed instantly. “What did you see?”

Luna didn’t answer.

Her eyes scanned again. And again.

Her hand started to tremble.

“This isn’t possible,” she whispered.

Saburu stood. “Luna.”

She looked up at him—fear and disbelief mixed together.

“There is nothing,” she said slowly, “nothing normal about this child.”

He didn’t move. “Explain.”

Luna swallowed. “Her status is… sealed. Completely. But even sealed, it’s overflowing.”

“Overflowing with what.”

She hesitated, then spoke quietly.

“Every element.”

Saburu’s fingers tightened.

“Fire. Water. Wind. Earth. Nature. Lightning. Light. Dark.”

Her voice dropped even lower.

“And something else.”

“…Forbidden?”

Luna nodded.

“But that kind of existence doesn’t survive,” she said sharply. “Not in this world. Not ever. Even demons lose their minds trying to touch it.”

Saburu glanced at Remee.

She slept peacefully, unaware.

“She doesn’t know,” he said.

“I know,” Luna replied. “And she must never talk about herself. Not her past. Not her dreams. Not what she feels inside. Nothing.”

Saburu’s voice was cold. “No one touches her.”

“They won’t,” Luna said. “Because they don’t know.”

He looked back at her. “The higher ranks?”

Luna shook her head. “They believe the bloodline is extinct. Even they were lied to. Whoever erased the records did it perfectly.”

Silence filled the room.

Luna straightened. “Saburu… this isn’t just a child you saved.”

“I know.”

“She’s something the world would kill just for existing.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Then the world will fail.”

Luna stared at him, then laughed quietly—shaky, impressed, terrified.

“You really are insane.”

She turned toward the window, then paused.

“I’ll cover for you,” she said. “Erase traces. Delay questions.”

Saburu nodded once. “Thank you.”

She glanced back at Remee one last time. “If she ever finds out…”

“She won’t,” Saburu said.

Not yet.

Morning

They left before sunrise.

Remee walked quietly beside Saburu, holding onto his sleeve. She wanted to ask questions—about Luna, about the night, about why everyone looked so serious.

But she didn’t.

Something told her not to.

“Mister,” she said softly, after a long silence.

“Yes.”

“…I won’t talk about myself,” she said, unsure why she felt the need to promise.

Saburu stopped walking.

He knelt beside her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.

“That’s good,” he said. “You don’t need to explain yourself to anyone.”

She nodded, relieved.

From far above the city walls, unseen eyes watched the road they took.

Not the higher ranks.

Not the kingdom.

Something older.

Something patient.

And far, far away from the truth by the gods

Night settled quietly over the outskirts of the city.

Inside the small inn room, Remee slept curled on the bed, her hands gripping the blanket like it might vanish. Her breathing was shallow at first, then slowly steadied.

Saburu sat beside her, mask on, unmoving.

He did not sleep.

He listened.

When Remee shifted in her sleep, he adjusted the cloak around her shoulders without waking her. Only when she relaxed again did he lean back slightly.

A soft knock came at the window.

Saburu turned.

Luna slipped inside with practiced ease, landing silently on the floor.

“She’s asleep?” Luna whispered.

“Yes.”

Luna glanced at the child, then at Saburu. “You really bought her from that place.”

“I freed her.”

Luna exhaled slowly. “Idiot.”

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing—not with suspicion, but with focus.

“…Let me see her status.”

Saburu stiffened. “No questions.”

“Relax,” Luna muttered. “I won’t wake her.”

She placed two fingers in the air. A faint blue interface shimmered into view—hidden from Remee’s sight.

At first, Luna’s face was calm.

Then—

Her pupils shrank.

Her breath caught.

“…No way.”

Saburu noticed instantly. “What did you see?”

Luna didn’t answer.

Her eyes scanned again. And again.

Her hand started to tremble.

“This isn’t possible,” she whispered.

Saburu stood. “Luna.”

She looked up at him—fear and disbelief mixed together.

“There is nothing,” she said slowly, “nothing normal about this child.”

He didn’t move. “Explain.”

Luna swallowed. “Her status is… sealed. Completely. But even sealed, it’s overflowing.”

“Overflowing with what.”

She hesitated, then spoke quietly.

“Every element.”

Saburu’s fingers tightened.

“Fire. Water. Wind. Earth. Nature. Lightning. Light. Dark.”

Her voice dropped even lower.

“And something else.”

“…Forbidden?”

Luna nodded.

“But that kind of existence doesn’t survive,” she said sharply. “Not in this world. Not ever. Even demons lose their minds trying to touch it.”

Saburu glanced at Remee.

She slept peacefully, unaware.

“She doesn’t know,” he said.

“I know,” Luna replied. “And she must never talk about herself. Not her past. Not her dreams. Not what she feels inside. Nothing.”

Saburu’s voice was cold. “No one touches her.”

“They won’t,” Luna said. “Because they don’t know.”

He looked back at her. “The higher ranks?”

Luna shook her head. “They believe the bloodline is extinct. Even they were lied to. Whoever erased the records did it perfectly.”

Silence filled the room.

Luna straightened. “Saburu… this isn’t just a child you saved.”

“I know.”

“She’s something the world would kill just for existing.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Then the world will become my enemy.”

Luna stared at him, then laughed quietly—shaky, impressed, terrified.

“You really are insane.”

She turned toward the window, then paused.

“I’ll cover for you,” she said. “Erase traces. Delay questions.”

Saburu nodded once. “Thank you.”

She glanced back at Remee one last time. “If anyone ever finds out…”

“She won’t,” Saburu said.

To be continued

.