But just as she was about to open her mouth to ask a question—perhaps about the Holy Kingdom or what the hell the Lorena Federation was—a sharp sound cut through the murmur of the market.
"Please, stop! I'm getting up already!" a young voice cried out, thick with panic and pain.
"Shut up!" another voice roared—but unlike the first, this one was harsh and domineering.
The shout had come from what appeared to be the main intersection of the avenue.
When Mara and Alice approached the source of the commotion, the general bustle of the market parted to reveal it.The scene lay exposed in all its rawness, right at the main intersection where streams of people crossed paths.
It was impossible not to see.
There, partially blocking the flow of traffic, stood an improvised caravan. Several sturdy wagons with worn tarps were parked in a semicircle.Around them, a dozen guards wearing functional but well-worn armor—unpolished steel plates, dented helmets, cloaks coated in road dust—kept a distracted yet visible watch.
And in the open space between the wagons, chained together by heavy shackles around their ankles, stood a group of slaves.
Men and women, mostly young, their gazes fixed on the ground or filled with resigned fear.Their clothes were little more than rags, and the dull metallic clink of chains at even the slightest movement blended into the market's noise.
One of the guards, taller and broader than the rest, had pulled a young woman away from the group.She looked to be around twenty, struggling weakly as the shackles on her wrists scraped against those on her ankles.
The guard, his voice deepened and distorted by the closed helmet that left only a dark slit visible, raised a braided leather whip.
"Stop screaming, scum! Can't you see you're drawing everyone's attention?" he roared, his voice hollow and booming, as if echoing from inside a metal pot—before the whip snapped down hard across her back.
"I'm sorry!" the girl whimpered, recoiling and collapsing to her knees. Around her, the other slaves lowered their heads even further, some holding their breath.
Mara watched the scene with a mix of discomfort and detachment.
Slavery? Well, I'm in another world. I guess this kind of thing is normal here, she thought, even though the logic didn't fully ease the tight knot forming in her stomach.
The practical part of her mind—the part that had learned to prioritize survival above all else—argued coldly:
I don't know her.
It's not my problem.
I'm not the one in that situation.
So, with a small effort, she tried to look away, to reduce the spectacle to nothing more than background noise in the market.
But then she felt the change in Alice.
There was no dramatic gesture, yet the arm Alice had offered as steady support tensed slightly beneath Mara's hand.
Her breathing, barely audible, grew slower—more controlled.Though the blindfold hid her eyes, the subtle tilt of her head toward the caravan, the faint tightening of her jaw, all conveyed deep discomfort—a silent but unmistakable disapproval.
Seeing it affected Alice.
That mute but eloquent reaction—more than the whip or the cries—was what pushed Mara to act.
Without saying a word, she gently squeezed Alice's arm and quickened her pace, guiding her firmly but without force away from the intersection, leaving behind the circle of onlookers and the metallic echo of oppression.
As they moved deeper into the market, immersed once more in the scents of spices and the lively sound of haggling, the tension in Alice's body began to ease.
Mara felt the silence between them grow heavy, charged.
"So… where exactly are we heading?" she asked in a deliberately light tone, trying to wedge a sense of normalcy into the thick air.
Alice, for her part, took a deep breath, as if clearing something from her chest as well.
"Umm… we're going to buy some meat and a few vegetables," she replied at last, her voice regaining some of its usual, practical calm.
"Sounds good," Mara said, offering a forced but well-meaning smile.
Reassured by the change of subject, Alice took the lead again, guiding Mara confidently through a maze of stalls until they reached one where the aromas of fresh herbs and cured meats grew stronger.
The owner was an older woman, her face a map of deep wrinkles carved by years of sun and wind. Her tired gray eyes lit up with genuine affection when she recognized Alice.
"Alice, dear! What a joy to see you here!" she exclaimed, her wide smile multiplying the wrinkles around her eyes. Then her gaze shifted to Mara with open curiosity. "Oh my. And who's this lovely thing?"
By pure reflex, Mara turned her head, scanning the crowd behind her for the beauty the woman must be referring to.
She saw only a dwarf arguing over the price of a ham and a half-elf child playing nearby. When she looked back, the shopkeeper's sharp gray eyes were fixed on her, a spark of amusement in them.
"Hahaha, I was obviously talking about you, dear!" the woman clarified, pointing at her.
Mara immediately felt exposed. An uncomfortable heat crept up her neck.Pointing at herself with an awkward, hesitant gesture—Me? Are you talking to me?—was an automatic act of denial.
The gap between how she felt inside—an ordinary man in an absurd situation—and what the world saw—a young woman with striking orange hair and delicate features—was still a chasm.
And having someone point it out so openly made her uneasy. Even if she wasn't entirely uncomfortable with her body anymore, subconsciously she still saw herself as Logan.
"This is Mara, my new employee," Alice introduced, her tone carrying a hint of something almost maternal.
"Nice to meet you," Mara responded immediately, offering a polite smile.
Acting like this makes us look like mother and daughter, Mara thought as she glanced, almost out of the corner of her eye, at Alice's soft, dark red hair beside her own vivid orange locks.
The contrast in color was striking, but the scene itself—Alice presenting her with that protective air, Mara responding with a docile smile—painted such a convincing familial picture that even she could believe it for a second.
The woman watching them let out a low chuckle, as if she'd picked up on the curious dynamic between the two.
Heh. If they knew what happened that night in bed, no one in their right mind would think I'm her "daughter," Mara thought cynically, all while keeping the smile fixed on her face.