Reincarnated as Assassin In the Another World

The journey of them

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.”