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Chapter 11
“You’ll be held responsible for the words that came out of your mouth, Ian Blake!”
A man in his mid-thirties with long, curly blond hair glared with unmistakable displeasure. His golden eyes belonged to Arka Jerdin, the deputy manager of Amilreur.
About fifteen minutes earlier, he’d experienced something for the first time in his life—
The sensation of blood rushing straight to his head in pure rage.
All because a certain pig-like bastard had suddenly kicked open the door to the Central Administration Office.
“Hey. I got scammed.”
“…Pardon?”
“What, your ears not working either? I. Got. Scammed.”
For a moment, Arka seriously wondered whether something was actually wrong with his hearing.
Scammed?
At Amilreur?
That’s so ridiculous even a stray dog would laugh.
But the outrageous remarks from the infamous Ian Blake didn’t stop there.
“Sigh… So this is the famous Amilreur? Is this really the best you’ve got? Watching it was embarrassing. This is what happens when pride turns into arrogance.”
“…”
“Fine, I’ll overlook the fact that your host was incompetent. Bad employees exist everywhere. But when even your appraisers are this terrible? How is anyone supposed to trust this place with their business?”
The name Amilreur should be crying.
Ian smiled.
That infuriating smile was enough to make Arka crush the expensive Tamper crystal wineglass in his hand into powder.
His pride in the auction house where he’d been born and raised simply wouldn’t allow him to ignore such insults.
“…What did you just say?”
His clenched fist trembled with rage.
Still, no matter how unreasonable the customer was…
A customer was still a customer.
He forced himself to exercise almost superhuman patience.
Unfortunately, keeping his voice calm was another matter entirely.
That, at least, was impossible.
Just as the atmosphere was about to explode, Ian pulled out a single document.
And instantly, the tension cooled as though someone had dumped cold water over everyone.
“…Ten thousand gold?”
“There you go. Finally awake? I trusted your auction house enough to make a deal here, and this is what I get. Good thing I had it appraised elsewhere just in case. Imagine what would’ve happened otherwise.”
“…My… apologies.”
Arka forced himself to bow.
His lips refused to move, but he made them.
Who on earth had approved such an insane transaction?
He couldn’t believe it.
But with undeniable proof laid out before him, he had no choice but to admit fault.
“I’ll have the host responsible punished immediately—”
“No, wait. That’s not the issue.”
“…Excuse me?”
“I already told you. Forget the host. Your appraisers are the real problem.”
“…I’m afraid that’s not a statement I can simply overlook.”
“Really? Then…”
Ian’s lips curled upward.
“Why don’t we prove it?”
“You sound awfully confident.”
“Pfft. ‘Confident?'”
A short while later…
The appraisers and Ian had moved to the slave appraisal chamber on the lowest floor of Amilreur.
They sat in a straight line along one side of a long table.
The arrangement looked almost like an interview panel.
On the far right sat Tulang, a First-Class Appraiser.
Next to him was Ben Bennett.
Beside him sat Maalx Jackson, a Special-Class Appraiser.
Ian occupied the far left seat.
At that moment, a servant approached to announce that all preparations had been completed.
After confirming everything was ready, Arka raised his voice.
“No need to waste any more time. Let’s begin.”
As soon as he finished speaking, servants in simple tuxedos hurried over and placed stacks of documents in front of each participant.
Each file contained information on a slave scheduled to be auctioned that day.
Near the top-right corner of every document was a blank square.
That space was reserved for writing the slave’s appraised value.
After a brief explanation for Ian’s benefit, the curtain was drawn aside.
A gaunt man stepped out from behind it.
Every eye in the room immediately fixed upon him.
Heavy restraints bound his neck and wrists.
His chest and forearms were covered with numerous scratch-like scars.
Though thin, his body carried lean, well-developed muscles that gave him a nimble, athletic appearance rather than a frail one.
Too bad.
Arka smiled to himself.
If they hadn’t handed out the documents beforehand, Ian Blake would’ve certainly failed this round.
Anyone lacking proper appraisal knowledge would simply assume the slave was an ordinary citizen of the Empire.
In reality, he was a sailor from the Pelanx Sea.
The Pelanx waters were notorious for their murderous waves.
Working atop towering ship decks while hauling heavy fishing nets naturally left countless scars on a sailor’s forearms.
The water there was also freezing cold.
Its razor-sharp waves had earned it the nickname “Blade Waves.”
That explained the scars covering the man’s chest as well.
Without knowing that, it’s impossible to estimate his value correctly.
Such a shame…
Just then—
“…What’s he doing?”
Arka frowned.
Ian hadn’t looked at the documents even once.
Not from beginning to end.
What exactly are you trying to pull, Ian Blake?
Even the First-Class Appraiser—
No, even the Special-Class Appraiser—
Continued comparing the documents with the slave over and over again.
Ian, meanwhile, glanced at the slave a few times…
Then calmly picked up his pen.
Did he give up?
Or was this whole thing just an excuse to cause trouble?
Thought after thought raced through Arka’s mind.
But…
…No.
Ian looked far too relaxed.
Unless…
What if he’s actually serious…?
Arka immediately shook the thought away.
Impossible.
A scoundrel is just acting like a scoundrel.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
