012
A few hours later.
The two slaves before Rod had been thoroughly cleaned and were now dressed in new, corsetted gowns.
"Not bad at all!"
Rod's eyes lit up, and he felt a surge of unexpected admiration.
Her chestnut hair cascaded in loose waves over her ample chest.
The low-cut gown accentuated the plunging depths of her cleavage, at least an F-cup by any measure.
Her slender waist, cinched by the corset, seemed almost impossibly fragile.
Below the waistline, her hips flared out in a full, rounded curve, even wider than her shoulders.
"What's your name?"
Rod stroked his chin, his curiosity piqued.
"Euphemia," the woman replied timidly, her gaze filled with apprehension.
"Do you know a man named Leon?"
"Leon?"
Euphemia paused, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Have you seen him? He's my son!"
"Is that so?"
Rod was taken aback by the unexpected coincidence.
While wandering through the town, he had unwittingly purchased the mother of his enemy as a slave.
This was... exhilarating!
Rod felt a rush of relief, like drinking a glass of ice-cold Coke on a sweltering summer day.
"Since you've seen him, you must know how Leon is doing now,"
Euphemia pleaded, her eyes filled with hope, "I don't know how he's doing. I'm actually looking for him myself,"
Rod replied casually, shaking his head, "The guy swindled me out of fifteen gold coins. I never expected his mother to end up as my slave."
Euphemia's face turned pale.
Her new master was actually the man her son owed money to?
"Don't worry, it's not a big deal,".Rod said, flashing a reassuring smile. "Since your son's gone, you, as his mother, can repay the debt."
Rod reached out and gently lifted Euphemia's chin, "From now on, remember to call me Master," he said softly.
"Understood?"
Euphemia nodded fearfully, sensing a hint of danger in the man before her.
He was more terrifying than any demon.
"I asked you, understood?"
Rod repeated his question, his expression turning cold.
"Understood, Master!"
Euphemia finally understood his meaning and blurted out the words "Master" with a hint of shame.
The man, who was barely older than her son, was now her master.
Rod nodded in satisfaction.
He turned his attention to the other girl.
She was fourteen or fifteen years old, with soft brown hair and violet eyes that exuded an air of coldness.
"What's your name?"
"Freya,"
the girl replied.
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Do you know who I am?"
"Master!"
Rod asked one question, and the girl answered another.
She behaved like a robot, never initiating a conversation or expressing her emotions.
"You're so young, but you seem a bit... withdrawn,"
Rod said, feeling a pang of sympathy for the girl.
He had no experience dealing with troubled teenagers.
Suddenly, he noticed bruises and injuries on her shoulders and arms.
They looked like the marks of a blunt instrument.
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