Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

Another muted silence ensued as she measured me up. I could see some semblance of hope emerging in her features. <Is she slow in the head, extremely careful, or is this natural for elves?!> I asked Ayame because the fact that every time she was asked a question she would hold a lengthy internal debate made me question her intelligence levels.

<Quinlan, she is the equivalent of an 18-year-old human girl who is about to be used as a sex slave for the next 1000 years of her life, because she will remain youthful for that long, longer if she keeps leveling up. This is the hardest conversation of her life to conduct.

As far as she knows, we might just throw her into a brothel to service customers from dusk to dawn every single day for a millennium straight. So, please, let her be. And no, she is not stupid, her eyes are incredibly intelligent, and the elven race isn't slow either. They would've long since gone extinct otherwise.>

Good to know. I was starting to get worried that she was mentally challenged. Maybe I'm still lacking in the empathy department even though I always try to be as accommodating with the women I wanna woo as possible.

"I understand. Please buy me." Another short answer, but this time she nodded her head as well. A good sign, I suppose.

That's all I wanted to hear, to be honest. We got to know that she isn't inherently racist and is willing to function as a party member. I will learn more about her as time goes on, and make her warm up to us as well.

Getting such a high-level Healer will boost our chances of success at the Trials greatly, so I highly wish to take her, even if her motivation levels are questionable at best and we've not had time to polish our teamwork, since the Trials are starting in three days.

We called Marcus and co back after I put the mask back on. They bowed respectfully once they entered their own room. "Did the esteemed lord and lady have a satisfactory talk with the slave?" The mother asked nervously. They were obviously worried that she would say some nonsense or act like a retard so we would be less inclined to buy her.

That didn't happen, she was elegant and graceful throughout our discussion, even if not very talkative.

"Yes. Seraphiel will be part of our household from now on." I decreed, eliciting relieved sighs from all three.

"Bring the papers and materials for the contract magic!" Marcus shouted to the servant who was waiting outside the room.

"Before that, I want to get her a trendy collar that doesn't look as ugly as this iron monstrosity. Also, do you have her weapon and armor? I imagine she wasn't captured in this dress."

My question made them frown, as if they were surprised that I actually want her to be a combatant and not my slave slut. "Hehe, we do have those, my lord." Marcus responded while laughing uncomfortably.

"Let's start with the collar." I commanded, and we left for the inventory room. Once inside, we were allowed to look around.

"Seraphiel, go and choose one that you like. This is the only comfort I can provide you for the time being."

My words elicited a snap of her head towards me, and she stared at me as if she were stupefied. "You're letting me choose?"

"Yes. I don't like bulky iron collars strapped around my teammates throats. I want you to be comfortable with your new life. You can choose any as long as their price is below three gold coins."

After examining me for a few seconds, searching for signs of deception, she had an incredibly minuscule smile tug at her lips, which disappeared as soon as it came, then the elf went to the displays.

Me letting her choose a collar is a nice gesture on my part, but at the end of the day she is still choosing a slave collar for herself. It's a bittersweet moment for Seraphiel at best.

"Ohh! Textbook example of a well done bait. She will not even suspect it when he visits her in the middle of the night. Her betrayed expression will be absolutely glorious. I would pay a silver coin just to see that sight." Marcus' father whispered into his son's ear, thinking I won't hear him.

"Yeah… I'm so damn jealous. Ayame was the most beautiful human I've seen and she was taken from us for basically free by a runt due to her stupid contract clauses, and now I have to say goodbye to the most beautiful demi-human I've ever seen… Wish I had this much gold to splurge. The life of a slave merchant is taxing on my poor heart." Marcus grumbled dejectedly.

"Men…" The mother sighed.

I ignored their talk and instead focused on Seraphiel. She was reserved, composed, and expressionless as she slowly examined each collar one by one.

<So she gets to choose, huh?> Ayame whined cutely.

<I thought you would appreciate the present I got for you back then. If you want, we can get you a new one. Go ahead and choose.> My response elicited a flinch from her as she protectively brought her hand to her neck as if she were worried I would take her choker away. How adorable.

Naturally, she was wearing a dress that hid her collar.

<I was just saying…>

I just laughed straight into her mind telepathically while examining my new slave. "This one." She said, pointing at a collar that was made of wood and leaves.

Upon closer examination, I could see that it was crafted from the sturdiest wooden material in existence- aside from what you can get from a Geim- that is collected from ancient Elderwood trees, giant plants that grow for thousands of years continously. The leaves were supposedly magically enhanced and are similarly hard to damage.

The leaves are tastefully hugging the wooden part as if they were its outer layer.

Although it didn't fit Seraphiel's belly dancer getup, I imagine it will go well with her combat one. I nodded at her with a supportive smile, happy that she found one she likes. Well, as much as one can like their own slave collar.