Chapter 372

Chapter 372: Lowly Identity

This wasn’t the outcome Midi wanted.

Being a slave meant low status and zero freedom, making most plans impossible. Worse, given Midi’s current standing and pride, how could he stomach such a role?

Slavery had been abolished in Arad centuries ago—even the mighty Dross Empire followed this. Yet here he was, expected to become a dark elf’s slave. Unthinkable.

The old mage narrowed his eyes warily at Midi’s reaction, while the priestess snorted. “Human, this is dark elf tradition. You’d die out here alone. By taking you in, I’m saving your life. That makes you mine.”

“Tradition? Slavery?” Midi kept his voice steady.

“Yes. Refuse, and I’ll kill you here. You’ve got no choices.” She gripped her snake-headed whip. “I’m being generous. Left in the wilderness, you’d beg for death. Wolfspider priestesses don’t lie.”

Midi could fight his way out. The Level 60 priestess and Level 62 old mage were troublesome, but not lethal. Yet walking away meant wasting the hard-won chance to infiltrate dark elf society.

“One question,” Midi finally said.

“Speak.” The priestess leaned forward, curiosity cutting through her arrogance.

“Can a slave earn freedom, or is it permanent?”

A compromise. If advancement was possible, he’d endure. But if slavery meant eternal servitude, he’d rather risk fighting now.

Every breath carried the sulfuric aura in his veins—a ticking clock. Death stalked him, Fina, and Alice. Time mattered more than pride.

The priestess laughed. “Wolfspider honors true warriors. Prove your worth, and freedom’s possible. Fail? Stay a slave.”

“Mostly true. Some lies mixed in.” Rot’s voice echoed via high-level mind-related abilities. The Eighth Apostle had read her thoughts.

Midi guessed the path to freedom would be brutal. But the priestess’s threats were hollow—her curiosity about keeping him alive was obvious.

“Then I’ll… tolerate this.” Midi’s tone dripped defiance.

The priestess scowled but shrugged. A human slave in the Shaded Realm was too rare to waste. “Smart. Strength rules here, not soft surface ideals.” She tossed a black diamond to the lizard knight captain. “Hasan. Your payment.”

The captain was the one who found Midi. By the so-called traditions of dark elves, Midi should’ve become his slave.

Since the priestess had snatched him away, she needed to smooth things over with the captain later.

But the captain, who’d wanted to curry favor with higher-ups anyway, didn’t truly mind. Getting a black diamond made him ecstatic.

“Come, human. Stay close and follow me,” the priestess said, smiling.

The calm old mage signaled, and the merchant caravans resumed their steady pace through the lightless maze after the brief delay.

“Don’t call me ‘human.’ My name is Midi,” Midi replied evenly.

“Hmph. Stubborn human.” The priestess snorted coldly, though excitement glittered in her gem-like eyes. “Remember your master’s name—Galantis, Black Dragon Priestess of the Wolfspider Tribe. Now, tell me stories of the surface world!”

Did this dark elf enslave me just to hear tales?

The thought flickered helplessly through Midi’s mind.

He was right.

Humans were rare in the Shaded Realm. That rarity made the caravan halt, and why the lizard knight captain spared his life.

Galantis’s curiosity drove her—a priestess who usually enforced obedience with her snake-headed whip—to coax Midi into submission through words alone.

But that was all.

Even the old mage who’d visited Arad didn’t believe humans could achieve anything here. What could a frail, untrained race do in this ruthless land? Surviving magical creatures was miracle enough.

So as a slave, Midi only had to tell stories.

Dark elves were warriors, not nobility. They didn’t need servants. Instead, treating Midi as Galantis’s property, they placed him safely at the caravan’s center.

First a slave, now a decorative trophy—the absurdity left Midi torn between laughter and frustration.

He accepted this while probing Galantis about escaping slavery.

But the lying priestess dodged his questions. She grilled him about the surface yet answered his own queries with: “You’ll learn when we reach the tribe.”

“Of course. Silver-tongued priestesses never speak straight,” Midi grumbled.

“Watch your mouth, human,” barked lizard knight captain Hasan nearby. “Mention the Black Dragon God again, and Galantis might rip out your tongue.”

The threat meant nothing to Midi, weathered by greater storms.

A slave in name only, he refused to act like one. He constantly reminded dark elves he wasn’t ordinary.

“Rip my tongue? Then she’ll miss her stories.” Midi shrugged at Hasan. “Why not tell me how to shed this slave status?”

“You…” Hasan glared.

Any other slave would’ve been beaten or killed. Slaves were worthless. But Midi was different—Galantis’s property, spending hours in her tent, sparking rumors. The old mage Xinda claimed Midi might be human “nobility,” akin to tribal elders.

Unable to strike or outwit him, Hasan fumed. Crushing Midi’s hopes now seemed satisfying.

“Listen,” Hasan sneered. “With your weak body and talent, escaping slavery’s impossible. Here, status comes from power. Only true fighters earn the tribe’s favor. A useless talker like you? Forget it.”

“Fighter?” Midi echoed.

The term mirrored “gladiator,” bringing arenas to mind—and the legendary Black Dragon Conference at Dragon Tooth Arena. Maybe there was a link.

Connecting clues gathered these days, Midi pieced together a hazy theory.

Two days later, when the caravan reached Wolfspider Tribe, he got his answer.