The Freed S*aves Became Obsessed

ROOOAARR!

The enormous crystal cavern of Aisengar echoed with the enraged roar of its master.
As the creature opened its maw wide, its glimmering throat was revealed—a cascade of glittering crystals lined not only its exterior but its interior as well.
The anomaly of the glacier that had swallowed a treasure:

The Crystal Serpent.
The guardian of the second treasure. A massive, two-headed snake, its colossal body glittering like a frozen jewel.
In this region, it was the unquestioned overlord—a boss monster in gaming terms.

One head possessed magic nullification, while the other had physical nullification, creating a frustratingly unfair passive ability. Beating it required a balanced team with both magical and physical attackers.
But Ashies was a hybrid—a magical swordswoman capable of wielding both magic and physical attacks.
In essence, the Crystal Serpent was tailor-made to complement her skill set.

"The blue-eyed head is immune to magic, while the red-eyed head is immune to physical attacks. Go get ’em."
"Good luck, sister! We’re rooting for you."
"…"

Sitting snugly inside an ice bunker created by Ashies, Karami and Perka peeled steaming potatoes, chatting idly as they watched her.
Ashies stared at them blankly.
She couldn’t think deeply, nor could she feel vivid emotions.

Still, she’d recently begun to experience faint fragments of feelings. And now, she identified a new one—irritation.
If this was part of some grand scheme by Karami to awaken her emotions, it was an astounding success. The problem was, it wasn’t a scheme.
The dragon’s curse activated once more, suppressing her burgeoning emotions. The irritation froze solid and slipped away into the background of her awareness.

Ashies closed her eyes.
For a brief moment, she found comfort in the curse.
With serenity restored, she drew her sword—not her usual ice-forged blade but a steel sword.
In the game, ice weapons counted as physical attacks, but here, she couldn’t be sure. This steel blade had been prepared by Karami just in case.

Sword in hand, Ashies leapt toward the Crystal Serpent with light, effortless movements.
 
Thunk!

ROOOAARR…
Ashies drove her sword into the forehead of the serpent’s blue-eyed head.
Its skin, resistant to magical attacks, offered no defense against the mundane steel blade, sinking smoothly into its flesh. Meanwhile, the red-eyed head, resistant to physical attacks, had been encased in ice at the very start of the battle.

The serpent thrashed violently in a futile attempt to free itself before finally going still. The once-luminous crystal body began to crumble, unable to maintain its form in death.
The light faded, leaving behind nothing more than inert rubble.
From within the pile of debris, a faint shimmer emerged.

Ashies carefully sifted through the stones and retrieved the treasure—a music box adorned with harmonious shades of blue, white, and gold.
As she gazed at it, a sense of déjà vu washed over her, much like it had with the tiara.
The battle concluded, Karami and Perka emerged from their hiding spot to join her.

"Well done, Miss Ashies. That was a flawless performance."
"No matter how many times I watch you fight, it’s always breathtaking, sister. My dad may craft fine jewelry, but even his work can’t compare to you."
Ashies’s battles were a spectacle.

Not only her stunning appearance but also her graceful movements, combined with her mastery of magic, created a mesmerizing display.
Perka, already captivated, was completely enamored.
"Rami… this…"

"A music box, it seems. Likely the treasure the chieftain mentioned. It must have been inside the serpent’s stomach."
"A music… box?"
"When you wind it, it plays a melody. Shall we try it?"

Ashies nodded, winding the key and releasing it.
…
But no beautiful melody played. Instead, harsh, grating metallic sounds echoed out—screeching dissonance.

"Hm, it seems to be broken. May I take a look?"
Ashies handed the music box to Perka. His demeanor shifted, adopting the seriousness of a seasoned blacksmith. He examined the music box with careful precision.
"It seems there’s an issue with the internal components. Honestly, for something said to be centuries old, it’s surprising it’s even intact. Especially after being inside a monster."

"Does that mean… it can’t… play?"
"Hard to say, sister. It’s incredibly intricate—repairing something like this won’t be easy. I can’t promise anything."
"…"

Ashies lowered her head slightly.
She had hoped the music box’s song might awaken some lost memory.
The mood grew somber.

"What kind of blacksmith gives such a pessimistic answer? Can’t you see Miss Ashies is upset?"
"Uh—huh?! I-I mean, of course it can be fixed! No problem at all! But I’ll need proper equipment, which means taking it back to Doomheim."
"You hear that? It can be fixed. Don’t be too discouraged. Trust in Perka."

"…Yes. Perka is… a talented blacksmith…"
"Thanks for the trust, but don’t make it too much pressure, sister…"
Even damaged, the music box was undoubtedly a treasure.

Returning to the village, they presented it to Darka as always. The chieftain eagerly attempted to wind it, but the result was the same—grating noise instead of a melody.
"Such a shame! If only it weren’t broken, it would’ve been wonderful! Still, it’s lucky it survived at all."
"I’m sure you know the story behind this music box, Chieftain."

"Of course I do! This music box is—uh…"
Darka paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Despite his confidence, his memory failed him.
Age had dulled his recollection, and no matter how hard he tried, the details wouldn’t come.

Ashies’s face showed a faint shadow of disappointment.
"Well, what matters is that the music box has returned to us. You’ve done well! I’ll keep it safe."
"Actually, Chieftain, may I take it with me?" Karami interjected.

"Hm?"
"I know a skilled blacksmith. If we entrust it to him, he might be able to repair the music box."
Darka clutched the music box protectively and turned away.

"No! This is my responsibility, entrusted to me by our ancestors. I must keep it safe!"
"You don’t even remember what it is. Hearing its song might jog your memory, Chieftain."
"Doesn’t matter! I won’t hand it over to anyone. Get lost, you thieves!"

Elderly chieftains, particularly those with dementia, often developed habits of hoarding. Darka’s sense of duty as a chieftain only reinforced his reluctance to part with the music box.
Karami sighed softly, showing a hint of contemplation before a sly smile crossed his face.
"How about this? I’ll bring back Baskal."

"Baskal…?"
"Yes. My friend and your son, Baskal. I’ll bring him here in exchange for the music box."
"…"

"You do miss him, don’t you?"
Darka roared angrily.
"Miss him? Who said I miss that good-for-nothing who never listened to his mother?! I don’t need to see him!"

"Really? You may never get another chance. Won’t you regret it?"
"That’s…"
As Darka hesitated, Karami rose to his feet.

"Keep in mind, time is running out—for both of us. I hope you’ll make the right choice, Chieftain."
 
After handing the music box to Darka and leaving the tent, Karami found himself stopped by Yorn, whose face was twisted in anger.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Yorn growled, gripping Karami’s arm tightly.
"What might you be referring to?" Karami replied smoothly.
"This talk of bringing back Baskal! Baskal is dead. His death dealt a terrible blow to the chieftain’s mind. And yet, you dare lie about it and even try to strike a deal with him? You must have a death wish."

Crack.
Ice crept up from the ground, wrapping around Yorn’s feet. He stumbled back hastily, eyes darting to Ashies, who stood with her hand outstretched toward him.
Her face was expressionless, but the magic radiating from her made it clear: don’t touch Karami.

If she’d been serious, Yorn wouldn’t have had a chance to react before being turned into an ice statue.
Karami casually brushed the wrinkles from his sleeve.
"And now, you’re making a fuss? It’s not as if you didn’t know this about me."

"What?"
"I’m a slave trader," Karami said, his tone calm but cutting. "If there’s profit to be made, even a ghost can be negotiated with."
"You bastard..."

"I’m not sure what you expected from me. But let me make this clear—my slaves come first. My slave wants the music box, so I’ll get it for her, whatever it takes."
Having straightened his clothes, Karami turned and began walking toward his tent with Ashies at his side.
"I’ll be bringing back the final treasure soon. Until then, take good care of the chieftain."

Yorn could do nothing but watch as the two disappeared into the distance.
 
Yorn returned to the chieftain’s tent, only to hear a strange sound repeating from within.

"This... This is mine. I can’t give it to anyone. It’s mine."
The voice belonged to Darka, who clutched the music box tightly, muttering like a man possessed.
It was as though he had fallen under some dark enchantment.

Yorn stood frozen, listening to the chieftain’s incoherent murmurs. Darka’s dementia seemed to be worsening by the day, and with it, his health.
In the harsh, unforgiving lands of Aisengar, mercy was a rarity, especially for the weak. Darka, an elderly and sick man, now looked every bit like someone nearing the end of his life.
Death, it seemed, had come to Lake Fortress, brought here by the Reaper’s hands.

Letting Karami in had been a mistake.
But it was too late for regrets.