A thick leather glove roughly lifted Arisa's chin. What leaped into her vision was bare cobblestone, and the feet of men standing in a circle around her. Sandals, leather boots, worn-out lace-up shoes. Every one of them was scuffed, mud caked onto the toes. "[serious]Next, number eighteen. Female, age eighteen. A virgin." The manager, Dominique Farese, announced it in a lazy drawl. Arisa kept her head down and took one deep breath. What filled her lungs was the smell of sweat, earth, and musty wood. (So this is the auction block...) Patricia's pleasure quarter, the southern edge of the Rossa district. Arisa was standing in the slave market there—the Cava Auction Block. Even though it was still an hour when the morning mist hung thin, roughly thirty people had already gathered in the square. All of them, with appraising eyes, stared at the slaves made to stand on the platform. Arisa possesses memories of a past life. In that past life, she was a high school girl you could find anywhere in Japan. Her name was, if she recalled correctly, Yumi Sato. It was an utterly ordinary seventeen-year life, without any particular accomplishments. But one day, suddenly, she died in a traffic accident. When she came to, she was here. Another world. A world of swords and sorcery—and slavery. In this city of Patricia, managing slaves through carvings etched into the body using a magical power called "Branding Art" is legally recognized. Even if you try to run, apparently the brand, once carved, makes your body refuse to obey. (...I've ended up in a seriously messed-up world.) Even as Arisa thought that, some part of her heart remained cold. Panicking wouldn't help. She never imagined the light novel knowledge from her past life would prove useful in a place like this—but at the very least, she could intellectually grasp how this world worked. The problem was whether her body would move, even if she understood. "[cold]Now, as you can see. Glossy black hair, brown eyes. Her skin is lovely too, isn't it?" Dominique grabbed the shoulder of Arisa's blouse. With a rough yank, the fabric was pulled open. "—!" A voiceless sound leaked from her throat. The cold morning air stabbed at her skin. The murmuring voices of the men seemed to grow louder. Gazes pierced her. Appraising eyes, eyes filled with lust, eyes of mere curiosity. All kinds of gazes were stabbing into Arisa's body right now. (Calm down.) Arisa told herself. Nothing has started yet. This is just appraisal. Nothing's been decided yet. She tried to think that. But—. "[cold]Spread your legs." A creaking sound echoed in her heart, as if something was warping. She couldn't escape. Slowly, Arisa obeyed the command. She could feel it herself—the inside of her thighs trembling. Dominique's rough fingers reached for her lower body without a moment's hesitation. (Stop it.) She was screaming in her head, but nothing came out of her mouth. A part of her understood that even if she did, it would be meaningless. This was the "normal" of this world. The fingers entered her. "—ah... nn..." Arisa's vision blurred. There was almost no pain. But in a place far deeper than that, there was a sensation as if something had been decisively broken. (This is my reality now.) It was the moment she was made to realize it. Dominique continued the inspection dispassionately. Behind, inside her mouth—every corner was examined. All the while, Arisa clenched her teeth and endured. She resolved not to let out a single sob. That was the only resistance she could offer right now. Before long, the auction began. "Twenty silver coins!" "Twenty-five!" "Five gold coins!" Voices flew one after another. Arisa stood there naked on the platform. She listened absently as her own price was bid higher and higher. (Five gold coins... about a hundred thousand yen, huh.) Converting it to the monetary sense of her past life, she almost laughed. One human being for a hundred thousand yen. She couldn't quite tell if that was cheap or expensive. "Thirty gold coins." A quiet, yet clear and carrying voice brought the murmuring to an abrupt halt. Arisa raised her face. Weaving through the crowd, a single woman approached. She was tall, her silver-gray hair tied high at the crown of her head. Narrow, gray eyes. A black dress trailed along the ground, and the faint rustle of fabric reached Arisa's ears. She knew at a glance. This person is the most dangerous one here. The woman—Cassandra Yurinska—looked down at Arisa as if appraising her. Her eyes were cold, yet harbored a light that seemed somehow amused. "[cold]Lady Cassandra... we are still in the midst of appraisal—" "[cold]That's quite enough, I should think." With that single phrase, Dominique fell silent. Cassandra placed her fingers on Arisa's chin and lifted her face. The gray eyes peered intently into Arisa's own. (This woman—she sees right through me.) Arisa felt a chill run down her spine. Not crying and screaming, not begging for her life, just silently enduring—Arisa's demeanor. Cassandra seemed to have understood at a glance that calmness, something an ordinary slave would never show. And that fact—she found it amusing. "[cold]You have good eyes. Take her to the Moonset Pavilion." And so, in exchange for thirty gold coins, Arisa became Cassandra's property. *** The cobblestones were cold against the soles of her feet. Dressed in a rough hemp garment, Arisa was made to walk half a step behind Cassandra. Rope around her wrists. Rope around her neck, too. It's just like walking a dog, Arisa thought. (...The Moonset Pavilion.) It stood facing Vespa Square, the heart of Patricia's pleasure quarter, the Rossa district. A three-story stone building. Even though it was daytime, thick curtains were drawn over the windows, and the presence of people leaked from within. Just looking from the outside, she could tell this was no ordinary brothel. The walls were densely carved with fine lines, which glowed faintly. Soundproofing brands. No matter what happened inside, no sound would leak out. (I wonder how many courtesans there are.) Counting the number of windows on the building, Arisa let her imagination run. Twelve windows on the second floor. If it was one per room, that meant twelve. But there were rooms on the third floor, too. "[cold]You're thinking unnecessary thoughts." Suddenly addressed, Arisa flinched, her shoulders trembling. Without even turning around, Cassandra chuckled softly. "[cold]Your eyes are the eyes of a beast searching for prey. Far more interesting than a slave who just cowers and wails. However—" Cutting her words off there, Cassandra turned back to look at Arisa for the first time. Her gray eyes pierced through Arisa. "[cold]Don't think you'll remain interesting for long. Let's go." The heavy door of the Moonset Pavilion swung open. From inside came the cloying scent of perfume, and faint moans leaking from beyond the walls. Arisa took one step inside. *** The third floor. The Branding Chamber. The room was dim, its walls lined with shelves. On the shelves sat numerous small bottles and boxes packed with instruments. In the center of the room, a table fitted with leather belts. "[cold]Lie down." Arisa lay down on the table as instructed. Cassandra casually stripped off Arisa's hemp garment and secured her limbs with the belts. The cold sensation of the table spread across her back. The brands carved into the ceiling beams glowed faintly with a pale blue light. (She's going to carve a brand into my body here.) In her head, Arisa mobilized all the knowledge of Branding Art she possessed. Branding Art—a technique that borrows the power of this world's magic, the ley lines, to directly engrave magical effects onto a human body. No incantation is needed. All that's required is special ink, a needle, and the caster's magical power. What was about to be carved was the "Brand of Pleasure." A curse of domination that forcibly generates pleasure in a slave's body at the will of the caster. (...I absolutely will not lose.) Arisa told herself. Cassandra took a small bottle and a long, slender needle from the shelf. The tip of the needle was heated until it glowed a searing red. The ink in the bottle was thick, blacker than darkness. "[cold]It will hurt. Whether you cry or scream, I will not rest my hand." That was the sole pronouncement before the procedure. And then—the needle touched her lower abdomen. "—!!" The heat, the pain, pierced through her spine from the depths of her belly. Every time the needle tore through her skin, a searing, intense pain shot through her. That wasn't all. Along with the ink, she could feel some unknown force—magical power—being forced into her body. (Ah... aah...!) It hurts. It's hot. And yet—. "...ah." A sound Arisa herself couldn't believe leaked from her mouth. Beyond the pain, there was a different sensation. A warmth was gradually spreading deep in her abdomen. It was as if her body was reacting completely independently of her will—. (So this is... the power of the brand...) Arisa desperately tried to hold onto her consciousness. She tried to burn the sensation of the brand being carved into her memory, as much as she could. The movement of the needle, the flow of magical power, the shape of the pattern. Amidst the agony, she resolved to observe everything she possibly could. But—. "—Hyaah!" The moment an especially strong surge of magical power was poured in, Arisa's hips bucked violently. It wasn't pain. It was unmistakably pleasure. Deep inside her body clenched tight, and the area around the pit of her stomach grew gently warm. She didn't know this sensation. She never wanted to know it. "[cold]Hmph... you have good compatibility, as I thought. The brand is adapting quickly." Cassandra smiled with satisfaction. The hand moving the needle was precise, without hesitation. The hellish procedure continued for an entire hour. All the while, Arisa was toyed with by pain, and by something other than pain. Tears spilled, distorting her vision. She clenched her teeth, yet still, sounds escaped her mouth. "—It is done." Cassandra set down the needle. On Arisa's lower abdomen, a pattern had been carved—complex, beautiful, and yet chilling to behold. The black ink glowed pale blue, pulsing as if it were a living thing. "[cold]This is your new chain. It will never come off, for the rest of your life." Arisa gasped for breath, ragged and rough. Her body was still hot, as if it didn't belong to her. Deep in her abdomen, a throbbing ache persisted. "[cold]Tonight, you will take your first client. Lord Gaspard of the Nachtigal House of Nobles. Consider it an honor." Leaving those words behind, Cassandra exited the room. Left alone, Arisa stared blankly at the light of the brands on the ceiling. (It's only just begun... I can't afford to be broken by something like this.) Even as she thought that, her body was still trembling. *** Night. On the first floor of the Moonset Pavilion, in the grand hall, countless candle flames flickered. The space was perhaps a hundred and twenty square meters. In the center was a raised stage, and surrounding it in a semicircle were fifty viewing seats. Every seat was filled; by a rough estimate, over fifty nobles had gathered. (So this is the stage for my public first night.) Arisa was led out onto the stage and made to stand before the audience. Her body was clad in a single thin cloth, practically naked. Gazes stabbed at her. The whispers of men, suggestive laughter, looks of desire. Amidst them, an elderly man seated in the best spot—Gaspard Nachtigal—slowly rose to his feet. Hair mixed with white, a portly build. But his eyes were sharp, observing Arisa intently. (This man is a high-ranking noble of the House of Nobles...) Arisa continued her observations in her mind. The family crests lining the audience seats. The hierarchy. The faces of the nobl