The Jilted Noble Lady's Windfall

Chapter 9

The protector of the Drow is a fallen goddess banished alongside the Dark Lord. In this rare matriarchal society, female Drow are granted the privilege to worship her by the fallen goddess. Relying on violent threats and the privileges bestowed upon them by the fallen goddess, they rule over and oppress all male Drow.

Through the fallen goddess's b****y rituals, female drow established a rigid social hierarchy. Yet over time, the goddess's insatiable thirst for blood and chaos shattered the once-stable order. This not only intensified the drow society's treachery and fratricide but also gave birth to a new dogma.

“Your Highness, you understand far more than I do. You surely grasp how rare a Drow elf is—especially a young, handsome male like him.” The slave trader wasn't sure if Marianne still harbored any desire to marry after being rejected three times. But in his crude estimation, a wealthy, independent noblewoman like her would surely crave the same kind of spice to enliven her dull, affluent existence—much like the noble widows or wealthy merchants' wives he'd dealt with before.

At this thought, the slave trader couldn't help but flash another suggestive grin: You know, Drow males train from childhood not only in combat skills but also in serving their mistresses. From daily chores to intimate duties, there's nothing they don't master."

"If you seek tender pleasures, Drow males are undoubtedly the finest choice—even the gentlest wood elves can't compare. Moreover, their endurance rivals that of orcs. Every pleasure you can imagine can be realized with them."

Lucius felt thoroughly uncomfortable at the slave trader's words, yet he couldn't think of a rebuttal. He lowered his gaze to study Marianne's expression, wondering how she would react.

“He's already been trained? So I'd be getting secondhand goods discarded by a Drow mistress?” Marianne's brief excitement quickly faded into cold scrutiny. “Besides, any Drow captured wouldn't be of noble birth anyway.”

“It's just how things are!” the slave trader explained, sounding somewhat uneasy, sighing at how their trade grew harder each year. “Noble Drow males, after mission failures or capture in the wild, have their souls claimed directly by the Fallen Goddess. Surely you wouldn't want your expensive purchase to be a soulless inflatable doll.”

“That's true enough.” Marianne seemed to reluctantly accept the explanation. “Does he have any injuries?”

“Rest assured, my goods are always fully healed—unless it's a congenital defect.” The slave trader led Marianne back to the half-wood elf nailed to the wall. The creature's face bore none of the typical elf's gentle restraint, instead radiating a savage ferocity like a young half-orc freshly released from its cage.

“So fierce?” Marianne instinctively took a step back.

The slave trader, however, remained even more composed than when introducing the Drow elf earlier. He even tightened the shackles binding the half-elf. "He's half-goblin. You know how proud the Grey Elves are. A race that cloaks contempt and arrogance in humility, even going to great lengths to avoid other humanoids to preserve their pure bloodline."

At this point, the slave trader used an ill-advised analogy: “Much like how we avoid a drowning dog.”

“That does bear some resemblance to human behavior.” Marianne, of course, understood the peculiar nature of the Grey Elves. After all, she was one of the most fortunate women in this world, granted access to the Grand Duchess Archique's private collection. Even in her youth, Marianne's fascination with humanoid cultures led her to secretly learn the elven language from a household slave. When her human brother Henry discovered this, Count Calda had the slave hanged on the city walls for “teaching the princess a base tongue.”

It was at that moment Marianne fully grasped the risks her social standing entailed.

After being granted a second life and reborn into a royal family in another world, Marianne lived a pampered existence amidst countless human and humanoid corpses. Yet precisely because she possessed so much to lose, the first piece of jewelry Grand Duchess Archique gave her upon reaching maturity bore this inscription:

“Prepare for the worst.”

“Can he be trained?” Marianne had already decided how to handle the first two slaves, but for this untamable “beast,” she needed more time to observe.

“If you wish to experience the joy of taming, he is the finest choice. After all, capturing a Grey Elf is impossible, and a mixed-blood Wood Elf—even rarer than a Grey Elf—is a commodity beyond price in the market.” The slave dealer paused here, whispering something into Marianne's ear.

Lucius had keen hearing, but the dealer's tongue was enchanted with anti-eavesdropping magic, so no one present knew what he'd said to Marianne.

“Add them to the order, and select a few more female slaves for me.” Marianne raised an eyebrow, shooting the slave trader a knowing glance before casually adding as she left the warehouse, “Obedient ones, with nimble hands and feet—preferably young.”

As if remembering something, she added, “And preferably ones I can resell if I'm dissatisfied.”

“Yes, ma'am.” The slave trader glanced at the dark elf on the wall before having someone escort Marianne and Lucius to the reception room to sign the purchase agreement.

To prevent slave traders from using “business” as a cover for raising private armies, every slave's branding and death contract was stamped by the Adventurers' Guild and state departments. This arrangement also partially offset the slave traders' tax liabilities.

“I truly don't understand why you'd spend such a wasteful sum,” Lucius remarked as he watched Marianne sign document after document without blinking. She was then ushered into the VIP lounge by a beaming staff, where she would await the completion of the transfer procedures for the slaves she had selected.

“I have the money—why shouldn't I indulge myself?” Marianne shrugged dismissively. “Besides, I squeezed a hefty sum out of Odin's little emperor. Spending it within Odin's borders might even make the young emperor feel a bit better.”

“Are you that considerate?”

“Of course not,” Marianne replied sternly. “Three years can change a lot. I'm not sure what Henry has prepared for me back home, so Lucius, you'd better step up your game.”

Marianne glanced at her half-brother leaning against the corner, her meaning clear. “This quarter's payment has already been transferred to your account. I wouldn't want my investment in you to go down the drain.”