Chapter 4: The Human Trafficker

Full and satisfied, the children collapsed one by one into their chairs, patting their round bellies with expressions of pure bliss. This was the first time in their lives they had ever known what it felt like to be “full.”

“Alright, now that you’ve finished eating, go rest,” Ryan closed his book and stood up. “The rooms at the far end of the first floor are the former servants’ quarters. Find a place to sleep. Remember, don’t make too much noise, and don’t cause me any trouble.”

Servants’ rooms?

Following Treya, the children fumbled their way to those few rooms.

Pushing the doors open, they were stunned once again.

The rooms were not big, even a bit old, with spiderwebs still in the corners. But inside, there were actually beds! Not wooden boards covered with rotting straw, but real beds in the true sense! On them were mattresses and quilts, yellowed but clean!

For Ryan, this was the most dilapidated part of his home, a place he himself couldn’t even be bothered to set foot in.

But for this group of children who spent their years sleeping on cold stone floors and in damp alleys, this place was simply paradise.

They cautiously climbed onto the beds, feeling the soft touch beneath them, each too excited to speak.

Amy buried her face in the quilt, taking a deep breath; it smelled of the sun.

“Sister Treya…” she said softly, “Are we… are we dreaming?”

Treya did not answer. She lay on the bed, her body feeling unprecedentedly relaxed and warm, but her mind was clearer than ever before.

A warm bed, a hearty dinner, a magical potion, and that moody man who gave them a place to shelter.

All of this was too unreal.

She remembered the words the man had said: “Whether it’s worth it or not isn’t for you to decide; it’s for me to decide.”

What kind of “worth” did he actually… want us to become?

The night grew deep, and the other children soon fell into a heavy sleep amidst their exhaustion and fullness, their breathing becoming even.

Only Treya remained, her hollow eyes open, completely devoid of sleep.

She thought for a long time, until her head ached, and still couldn’t figure out why Ryan was being so good to them. This unknown filled her with a bone-deep unease, even more intense than when she was hiding from the Black Wolf Gang in the back alleys.

She was no three-year-old child. The brutal survival environment of the Lower District had long since taught her not to trust any “unprovoked kindness.” Every person who smiled at you might hide a knife behind their back. Every piece of bread handed to your lips might be coated in deadly poison.

She had seen too much.

There were priests from the church who, under the guise of adopting orphans, sold pretty girls to the city’s perverted nobles.

There were stewards of wealthy merchants who hypocritically offered scraps of leftovers, only to select the cleverest children and train them into thieves and spies.

And then there were the human traffickers. Their favorite trick was to use a little food and false warmth to deceive homeless children into trusting them, then lock them in cages and transport them to unknown distant lands.

What made this man named Ryan any different from them?

He was more willing to invest.

A lavish dinner, warm beds, even healing potions… Did a bunch of unwanted orphans like them deserve such treatment?

With such a massive investment, what kind of astonishing return was he expecting?

Treya turned over and listened intently.

She could hear Pippin’s snoring, Amy’s sleep-talking, and the wind howling through the gaps in the window. Her hearing and perception had become exceptionally keen due to her blindness. She could distinguish every subtle sound in the mansion.

On the second floor, in the room that belonged to Ryan, there was absolute silence.

Was he asleep?

Or was he, in the darkness, like a patient hunter, observing them, the prey that had just fallen into his trap?

No, this can’t go on.

For her own sake, and for the sake of the five “younger brothers and sisters” who already considered this place a paradise…

Treya quietly climbed out of bed. She wanted to have a proper talk with Ryan while the other children were still asleep; otherwise, she truly wouldn’t be able to rest easy.

The night was very deep.

There was no moonlight, and it was pitch-black—though, of course, for a blind girl, this was no different from daytime.

Barefoot, relying on her memory from entering the house that afternoon and her superhuman spatial perception, she began to move through the darkness.

First, she felt the door. The hinges were a bit old, so she didn’t dare push it open directly. Instead, she used her fingers to slowly lift the latch, then pushed the door open just a tiny crack and squeezed herself out sideways.

The hallway was darker and colder than the room.

The air was filled with a mixture of old wood and dust.

Treya paused for a moment, listening carefully.

In the entire building, there was nothing but the sound of the children’s breathing.

Her mind raced, constructing the layout of this three-story small building. The first floor contained the hall, the kitchen, and the servants’ room where they now lived. The second floor, Ryan had said, was his domain.

His room should be in the most prominent position after going up the stairs.

Treya hugged the wall, moving extremely slowly, step by step, toward the hall. The soles of her feet could clearly feel every subtle grain and bump on the wooden floor.

As she passed the hall, she could “see” the outline of the long table, and even smell the faint aroma of meat lingering in the air. This scent brought a wave of warmth to her stomach, but it also strengthened her resolve.

The stairs to the second floor were on the other side of the hall.

Treya felt the stair railing. The railing was smooth wood, carved with patterns she couldn’t see, and felt icy cool to the touch.

She began to go upstairs.

With every step up, she would pause for several seconds, carefully listening for any sounds from above.

The stairs seemed very long, and each step felt like stepping on her own heartbeat. Her heart hammered in her chest, almost drowning out all the other sounds.

She was afraid of being discovered.

She didn’t know what she would face if she were discovered. A brutal beating? Or being thrown directly back onto the streets of the Lower District? Or… an even worse fate?

But she did not retreat; curiosity and the survival instinct intertwined, driving her to keep going up.

Finally, she stepped onto the second-floor floorboards.

The air on the second floor seemed different from the first, with less of the dusty smell and more of a faint, plant-like fragrance. Was it the scent of that healing potion?

Judging by the direction Ryan had gone downstairs that afternoon, his room should be at the end of the hallway.

Treya lightened her breathing, floating like a ghost toward the depths of the hallway.

The closer she got, the more obvious that fresh, herbal fragrance became.

Soon, her hand touched a door.

The door was heavy solid wood, and the doorknob was cold metal.

This was the place.

She gently pressed her ear against the door panel, holding her breath and concentrating all her attention on her hearing.

At first, there was dead silence behind the door.

Could he really be sleeping deeply?

Treya found it hard to believe. She focused her attention, staring intently at the Soul Fire sensed by her talent.

This was an innate ability; as long as she concentrated, she could vaguely hear other people’s inner thoughts.

Sure enough… Ryan was not asleep. She heard the fluctuations in his mind.

Treya’s heart leaped into her throat.

She pressed her ear even tighter, afraid of missing a single word.

“…A-grade potential, I really wasn’t mistaken. I’ve truly found a treasure this time…”

A-grade potential? What was that?

Treya didn’t understand, but she could feel that the “treasure” Ryan spoke of was referring to her. Because in the back alley that afternoon, the emotional fluctuation Ryan had when he looked at her was completely different from when he looked at the other children.

“…Her value has already reached 10 silver coins, and it hasn’t even been a full day… As long as she is ‘cultivated’ well, never mind a hundred gold coins, a thousand gold coins are even possible…”

Gold coins!

Treya’s breath stopped.

One gold coin was a hundred silver coins! A thousand gold coins… that was an astronomical figure she didn’t even dare to imagine!

What right did he have to think she was worth so much money?

Immediately after, she heard the most hair-raising sentence.

“After raising them for a while, improving their appearance and condition, I’ll find a good buyer to sell them to… By then, I’ll make a massive profit in points! Hahaha…”

Ryan’s inner thoughts were filled with anticipation and joy for the future, the kind of excitement only a merchant would have when seeing a perfect business opportunity.

Yet these words, for Treya outside the door, were no less than a thunderclap from a clear sky.

Sell… sell them out?

That guy named Ryan was thinking of selling them out!

Sure enough, experience was right; there was never such a thing as a free lunch falling from the sky.

That well-off treatment was like candied dates coated in poison. Only after the prey let down their guard would the fangs be revealed, rounding up all of them who had fallen into the trap.

Fear gripped Treya’s heart. She turned and fled in a panic, wanting to wake the other orphans and escape this place, treating it as if they’d just gotten a free meal before continuing their wandering.

But she was blind. In her panicked state, her heightened senses became useless. Treya accidentally tripped over a cardboard box and fell to the ground with a thud.

Thump—

The sound echoed exceptionally clearly in the silent night.

*****

A/N:

[ Although no one is saying it now, I feel like someone will definitely bring this up later, so I’ll preemptively explain it. ]

[ The boys and girls bathe separately and sleep in separate rooms. For the sake of the story’s flow, the text might not spend much ink on such explanations. You just need to know that I will definitely not write any nonsensical cuckolding plots. ]