Reborn As A Beastman With A System

Logan spoke with a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. "It's no longer sustainable to accommodate the unwilling beastmen and quilboars, especially the wargs. Feeding over fifty wargs is akin to feeding a small army of orcs, draining our resources by the day."

Logan shook his head, his gaze distant yet determined. "Bringing back the tribe to replenish the ranks of the Second Wolf Cavalry Brigade is the only viable solution. It's time to reclaim our strength and resources for the greater good."

Following a modest morning meal, Corvinas Road directed Cardia and Tyton to lead a formidable party of ten beastmen mounted on fearsome wargs towards the bustling slave market situated in the Beicheng District.

Navigating through a labyrinth of streets, the journey took nearly an hour before they finally reached the northern reaches of the city. Upon inquiring, they located the notorious slave market.

The market itself was expansive and permeated with an overwhelming stench.

As Corvinas and his companions entered, they instantly drew the gazes of numerous slave traders. To these merchants, a figure like Corvinas, exuding an aura of unusual distinction, was nothing short of a deity.

The term 'slave' echoed ominously, a grim outcome to a history steeped in bloodshed and oppression. Here, the fates of slaves were mercilessly tethered to the whims of their masters. Even in regions bound by laws, the plight of these souls often remained unchecked.

Inside, Corvinas observed the despairing figures locked in cages, representative of various races, all emaciated and forlorn. "Damn these savages!" Tyton exclaimed in disgust.

Cardia's expression contorted with revulsion, particularly at the sight of a beastmen slaves, its life seemingly hanging by a thread.

Though Corvinas maintained a composed exterior, beneath it simmered a torrent of rage. His intellect, however, counseled patience.

Beastmen were disproportionately victimized in this vile trade, often sourced as slaves due to their abundance and the disarray within their governance. The corrupt beastmen royal court further exacerbated the issue, leaving their lands prey to unchecked slaver raids.

With the current famine, many smaller tribes had begun to scatter, presenting slavers with a cruel opportunity and inter tribal conflict would also most time result in winning side selling the lost tribes people to slavery if they harboured any ill will towards them.

As they delved deeper into the heart of the market, a keen-eyed slave owner approached them. "Sir, are you interested in purchasing?" he inquired, seizing the chance to engage Corvinas and his entourage.

Logan shot the slave owner a look tinged with revulsion.

This slave owner was a fox-man, rotund as a barrel, his vulpine scent mingling unpleasantly with the stench of the market. Tyton and Cardia instinctively rested their hands on the wolf-scimitars at their waists, their grips tight with warning.

Noticing their readiness, the obese fox-man's demeanor shifted from smugness to fear, and he hastily retreated a few steps.

Logan raised his hand slightly, signaling his companions to ease their stance. "Enough," he said calmly. "Lead the way. Show me what you have."

Reluctantly, the fox-man obliged, his voice slick with obsequiousness. "Right this way, sir, please!"

"And what might you be in need of, sir? Perhaps a young female to keep you company, or a robust male to work as labour?" he simpered, trying to regain his composure.

Logan dismounted from Fenrir with a fluid grace and stared coldly at the lined cages. "Female? I haven't seen a single one. And these males, do you call this robust, they look like they'll collapse at any moment?" His voice was icy, slicing through the market's clamor.

Tyton chimed in sharply, "And what's this, not a single strong specimen among them?"

Caught off guard, the fox-man stumbled over his words. "Uh... my lord, if it's females you need, I could reserve some for you on their next arrival."

"As for the males, don't be deceived by their current state. Give them just ten days with proper food, and they'll be as formidable as you please," he quickly added, trying to salvage the situation.

Logan scanned the cages again, his gaze piercing. "Are any of these beastmen that are strong right now?" he demanded, his tone unyielding.

He noticed they were all common orc races, no women or children among them, mostly young males. While he was not an expert in the slave trade, he knew from past human lives that beastwomen, especially those deemed attractive, fetched high prices among the nobility for all the wrong reasons.

"And children?" he inquired, his voice hardening. "I've heard they're also sought after in the human realms, either to serve or be raised as servants."

The fox-man nodded, his earlier bravado dissolving under Logan's stern gaze. "Yes, beastmen children are valued for their simplicity and loyalty once broken in."

Logan's disgust deepened, the reality of the market's cruelty weighing heavily upon him as he followed the fox-man deeper into the den of despair.

As the conversation turned to the potential of training death warriors and assassins, the dialogue revealed a somber reality of the conflict between orcs and humans. "Often, beastmen death warriors and assassins, skilled in the dark arts of warfare, are trained by humans to target and are the ones that eliminate beastmen leaders during conflicts," Logan explained.

"Strong ones?" Logan inquired, his interest piqued by the prospect of acquiring formidable allies for the Silver Mane Tribe.

Regrettably, the fat fox slave owner shook his head, his expression downcast. "No, the strongest we have here are only of the second level."

Disappointed, Logan waved dismissively. "Let's move on," he stated, his interest waning swiftly. He had not ventured to this market merely to acquire ordinary slaves; he sought exceptional warriors who could bolster the ranks of the Silver Mane Tribe, even if achieving the highest levels was improbable, a level 3 or 4 could suffice.

Upon hearing the limited offerings were merely second level, Logan's enthusiasm vanished completely.

"Oh, sir, please don't go!" the slave owner implored, desperation creeping into his voice. Business had been slow, and opportunities to make a substantial sale were rare. Yet, Logan was unmoved.

As Logan turned to leave, the slave owner hastened to intercept him again. "Sir, the powerful slaves you seek, those of the third level or higher, they are not to be found in this entire market."

Logan halted, his gaze sharp as he turned to face the corpulent fox-man. "Are you certain of this?" he asked, his voice cool and measured.

"To be honest, we operate at the lowest tier of slave trading here," the fox-man confessed. "Powerful slaves, particularly those third level and above, are swiftly acquired by larger slave owners who have direct ties with various mercenary groups."

"These mercenary groups are always the first to claim the strongest slaves, ensuring that none remain for smaller markets like ours."

"So, even if you searched this entire market, you wouldn't find a third-level slave. If you truly need such individuals, I'd advise dealing directly with a major slave owner," the slave owner added, hoping to guide the formidable customer effectively.

Logan nearly cursed out loud, frustrated by the intricacies and the monopolization by mercenary groups.

"How are slaves priced here?" he asked, shifting the conversation, partly to conceal his frustration.

The fox-man's eyes lit up at the shift back to business. "Ten silver coins per slave, regardless of their race," he responded eagerly, sensing a potential sale despite the earlier disappointment.

"Ten silver coins per head!" exclaimed the rotund slave owner, his voice echoing with greedy anticipation.

Jason furrowed his brow, the dim lantern light casting shadows across his stern features. "One life, priced the same as two kilograms of wine? Absurd," he muttered under his breath.

The Jason, sensing his subordinates unease said to them in hushed tone "Listen, if the Silvermane tribe vows to eradicate these parasitic slave-traders and tyrannical owners when you rise in power, perhaps we can negotiate more... favorably."

As Jason continued to shake his head, the plump man, known among his less savory peers as 'the Fat Fox,' misread the gesture as hesitation. "Alright, let's make a deal, sir. If you're buying in bulk, how about eight silver coins each?"

"Cut the charade. I'm here for a hundred slaves," Jason stated icily, his gaze unwavering.

"A hundred?" The Fat Fox's eyes widened, the prospect of such a sale sparking a newfound eagerness in his tone. "Six silver coins each, that's as low as I can go."

"Deal!" Jason snapped, sealing their grim transaction.

...

Upon his return to the Casha Hotel, Jason entered the lobby, a hundred weary werewolves in tow. It was important to him that his tribe future members were freed, for he too was a wolf beastmen and felt their plight deeply.

"Who are all these beastmen?" a soft, surprised voice floated towards him as he stepped through the doorway.

"Why are you here?" Jason's eyes narrowed slightly as he spotted Jean, the elusive woman who had left that morning without a word, only to reappear now.

But it wasn't just Jean; his brother-in-law Fisher was there as well.