Clunk.

The carriage rattled as it rolled along the road.

Another carriage trip, but this time, we didn’t opt for a carriage with an anti-shake enchantment to save money. What was different, though, was that instead of sitting across from me staring at the ground, Mirabel was perched right on my lap.

No matter how many times I told her to sit comfortably, she stubbornly stuck to this position. Maybe this was what she found comfortable. Not that I minded, since I could hold her like a stuffed toy.

With my arms wrapped around her slim waist, I hugged her like a teddy bear, while Mirabel made the most of the time by studying the Soul Magic Spellbook.

I couldn’t help but wonder how she was learning these spells.

“Can you actually understand it just by looking?”

“Yeah, as I read, the knowledge just flows into my mind. It’s like when you see an apple and just know, ‘Oh, that’s an apple.’ When I see magic, I just know, ‘Oh, this is how that magic works.’”

“That’s all it takes to learn magic?”

“Well, just like you can draw an apple after seeing one, I can visualize the magic in my mind, and then the magic happens.”

Even though I didn’t know the first thing about magic, I could tell that wasn’t normal.

Not all apple drawings are the same. If I drew one, it would just be a red circle with a stem, but someone else might add shading and dimension.

Learning how to do that takes effort, but Mirabel skipped the process and produced something as perfect as a photograph.

‘How is that even possible?’

I supposed, in a way, it was consistent with the game. In the game, you learned spells instantly by clicking a skill book. Here, it just took a little time.

“But, Master, what does this have to do with getting revenge on that man?”

“Soul magic means you can interfere with someone’s soul, granting them endless suffering even after death.”

“Ah, I see. As expected of you, Master.”

Mirabel nodded, fully convinced by my simple explanation. She immediately turned back to her book, now more enthusiastic about mastering the magic.

She was really serious about tormenting her father.

Well, it’s good to have a goal, I guess.

“Sir, we’ve arrived!”

The carriage stopped, and the driver announced our arrival. I lifted Mirabel in my arms and stepped out of the carriage.

“Here we are, welcome to Praxu.”

With exaggerated motions, I presented the view of the city to Mirabel.

At that moment, Mirabel’s lips parted slightly, and her eyes flickered in confusion. Her grip on the Celestial Oath tightened.

It wasn’t awe on her face; it was closer to shock.

Her lips trembled as she stammered out a few words.

“Master, th-this place…”

“I’ve received information that your father is somewhere in this city. Why the long face?”

I feigned ignorance, but I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from twitching in satisfaction.

‘Of course, she’s shocked. Who wouldn’t be?’

This is the place where her father abandoned her.

We entered Praxu together.

At first, Mirabel had simply held my hand, but now she clung to me like a koala, turning her head at every small sound, showing signs of anxiety.

The trauma of that day was in full effect. It was so intense that I bought her a brown robe from a clothing shop to help her blend in. Even that wasn’t enough, as Mirabel begged me to carry her, and I had no choice but to oblige. She wrapped her arms and legs tightly around my neck and waist.

As we passed through the bustling plaza, we walked by two decayed skulls on display. They must’ve belonged to high criminals.

We moved past them and headed to the slave market.

Cries echoed from behind iron bars, where slaves were imprisoned.

Chains rattled as slaves in shackles were lined up and marched through the streets.

Others were being beaten for resisting, and some were being hosed down while naked.

It was a scene straight out of an imagined slave market, unpleasant to modern eyes. I, however, felt oddly at home, probably because I was so synced with my character, a slave trader.

As I took it all in, a woman approached.

“What brings you to the slave market today?”

“I have some business to attend to.”

Our eyes met.

I’d never met this woman before, yet her face felt familiar.

Oh, right. This woman was Camilla, an NPC from the game who gave detailed backstory in the Mirabel’s Freedom storyline.

“Ah, a fellow trader, I see~”

Despite having no prior knowledge of me, Camilla immediately recognized my profession.

Slave traders can recognize one another with just a glance. There’s a certain hunger in our eyes that gives us away.

“So, what are you here for? Buying or selling?”

She gave Mirabel, still clinging to me like a koala, a greedy once-over but held her tongue.

“Haha, she’s more like a beloved toy, so I’m not selling. I just need some information. Oh, pardon me, I’m this person.”

I handed Camilla my identification from the Slave Traders’ Guild, and her pupils dilated in shock.

“You’re the Slave Reaper from the rumors! I’ve heard so much about you. I’m a huge fan.”

“Haha, thank you.”

I was pretty popular in places like this.

“I loved that story about the Tower of Beasts. You know, the one where you stacked a hundred beastfolk and set the tower on fire. They say the flames reached the moon.”

What the hell?

Who comes up with this stuff?

“And what was it recently? Oh, right. You stole the daughter of Count Brian, didn’t you?”

“Huh?”

“You pretended to return her but only stole their family treasure. That’s amazing. It’s not easy pulling one over on a noble.”

Uh, that’s not true.

I left after witnessing their heartfelt reunion, I swear.

“Anyway, Count Brian’s been raising hell, putting a bounty on your head. You should be careful. Most would’ve called the knights on you by now, but I won’t. We traders have to stick together.”

Camilla rambled on, completely unaware that her information was wildly off base. I wanted to set the record straight, but I had more pressing matters to deal with.

“Thanks for the heads-up, but I’m actually here for something else.”

I handed her a silver coin. In this business, information always comes at a price.

“What do you want to know? I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Do you recall a big event in Praxu a few months ago?”

“There’s always something happening in Praxu. What are you referring to?”

“Say, for example, a man who sold his daughter, a witch, into slavery?”

The moment those words left my mouth, the playful glint in Camilla’s eyes disappeared, replaced by a cold, calculating gaze. Her voice dropped.

“How do you know about that? That’s classified info, known only to a select few in Praxu.”

I didn’t answer. I simply smiled enigmatically.

Realizing what I was implying, Camilla handed the silver coin back to me. Only then did I give her a proper answer.

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous for a slave trader to not know something like that? Especially when it could cost me my neck?”

“...You’ve got a point. Damn, I just lost my coin.”

Camilla clicked her tongue in frustration, annoyed at being played.

It was my coin to begin with, lady.

“But why bring it up? That’s not exactly a pleasant topic.”

“Something happened, didn’t it?”

“Don’t even get me started. Someone tipped off the knights that a witch had been sold to a slave trader, so they raided the market and took all the female slaves. You know how it is. Young girls fetch a higher price.”

“Of course.”

“They threatened to execute us if we resisted, saying we were protecting witches. We couldn’t stop them, and when we got the slaves back, none of them were in their right mind. Do you have any idea how much that cost us?”

Camilla shuddered, as if reliving a nightmare.

“So, what happened in the end? Did they find her?”

“They found her, all right. They publicly executed her in the plaza. You probably saw the remains on your way here.”

After that, Camilla fell silent.

I tossed her a gold coin this time, and she caught it with ease.

“Oh, gold this time? What’s this for?”

“For the information you’re hiding.”

“Hiding something? That’s all there is.”

I didn’t respond, simply smiled and locked eyes with her. She tried to match my smile, but it didn’t last long.

“Wow... you really are the Slave Reaper, aren’t you? I’m impressed. How do you always know?”

Camilla whispered, glancing around before leaning in close to my ear.

“This is top-secret info... The truth is, they didn’t actually find her. One of the girls the knights took never came back.”

“Was she the witch?”

Camilla shook her head vigorously.

“No. Her parents were adventurers who died while exploring. She got caught stealing bread and ended up as a slave. There’s no way she was a witch.”

“A cover-up, then?”

“Pretty much. If word got out that they lost a witch, it would cause panic, and the knights’ reputation would be ruined.”

So, they staged a show, executing an innocent girl in her place.

“And the real witch?”

“No idea. She could be hiding in the city, or she might’ve escaped. That’s all I know. Honestly, that information was worth more than that gold coin.”

She turned to leave, but I tossed her another coin. Despite standing in her blind spot, she caught it like a pro.

“One more thing.”

“Man, you’re a big spender. What is it?”

“Do you know where the witch’s father is?”

Camilla let out a chuckle.

It was almost mocking.

“Seriously? You’re spending money on that?”

She turned her head to look at the path we’d walked earlier.

“There’s only ever one fate for those who harbor witches.”

This was the end of the Mirabel’s Freedom storyline as it was commonly known.

We’d already passed the critical point. Despite knowing everything, I deliberately led Mirabel through the slave market to piece the story together.

‘Spending a single coin for live narration... isn’t bad, huh?’

There weren’t any voiced lines for side characters in the game.

Full voice acting was expensive, after all.

By paying a bit, I got to hear the story from the source. How could I resist?

That, and I wanted to make sure Mirabel, who was likely listening, caught up on the story.

‘She needs to know the truth.’

It was now dusk, and the plaza’s lamps had long since gone out.

I stood in the central square with Mirabel, who had climbed down from my arms. The once lively plaza was now eerily silent.

In the middle of the square, on a tall pillar, were two skulls on display.

One belonged to the girl who had been executed in place of the witch.

Next to that skull…

A second skull, its empty eye sockets filled with endless darkness, its mouth tightly sealed, as if guarding a terrible secret.

A small plaque beneath it read:

-Executed for harboring a witch-