Chapter 110: Stand Up

Wade didn’t know what the dragonkin was thinking, but her expression softened.  

She was no longer filled with hostility. Perhaps she believed Wade’s words as she introduced herself to him,  

“My name is Igna Flamescale.” The dragonkin said, “At the end of summer, my clan was invaded by humans. I was captured by the slave merchants of the Dragon Lizard faction. They transported me along with other demi-humans from Eastern Tia to the northern territories by sea.”  

“I have lost track of day and night, unaware of how many days I have been locked in this prison. They have tried to break me, to crush my will, using magical scrolls to imprint controlling slave marks on me. Because they failed multiple times, they whipped me, bound me, torturing my spirit day after day.”  

“I have no intention of becoming your enemy. As you see, I am just a dragonborn captured by them. I have no connection with those soldiers or the slave merchants. I beg you to spare my life and release me.”  

Igna Flamescale’s voice was weak and powerless. She had suffered greatly but had not given up on survival.  

She recounted her plight, trying to persuade Wade to free her.  

The information she revealed matched Wade’s deductions exactly. Wade knew the slave mark was a spiritual control magic. Once marked, a slave could never disobey their master. If they dared to resist, their head would split in unbearable pain, rolling agonizingly on the ground.  

Wade had seen people in the streets punishing their slaves with slave marks. Their pleas and screams were more pitiful than the slaughtering of pigs.  

This magic could only be successfully cast on those mentally weak and utterly submissive. It was almost useless on normal people, and it would fail if used on livestock.  

Some lords used slave marks to test the loyalty of their subordinates, but this practice was officially forbidden because slave marks were the stigma of the lowly. Once branded, the mark left a magical scar.  

Those people would lose their citizenship and become outcasts without civil rights. According to Nidran’s law, if a citizen accidentally killed a lowly marked person, they only had to compensate the slave’s owner about five silver coins, roughly the price of a sheep. If the owner themselves killed the slave, no compensation was required.  

In most countries, slaves were not considered “people” but property, no different from cattle or sheep.  

However, only a small number of slaves received the mark, because it was a spell, and any magic involved greatly increased the price.  

Slaves who did manual labor were not eligible for marking since their own productivity was worth less than the price of a single spell. Only rare, valuable slaves like Igna would receive slave marks.  

To increase the success rate of imprinting, the marked usually endured inhumane torture.  

Like the dragonkin before him, those slave merchants must have trained countless marked slaves. Just imagining their methods was terrifying. But it was unexpected that a dragonborn could have such unyielding will and had never submitted.  

Perhaps because dragonborn were so rare and valuable, the merchants were reluctant to force Igna to submit with physical punishment.  

In any case, Wade admired the dragonkin’s strong spirit.  

How many people could, after suffering the same fate, still hold on to their true selves like she did?  

Since she had not given up on life, still yearning for survival and freedom, Wade was willing to help her.  

Wade nodded. He looked at the chains on the prison and raised his Viking sword.  

A faint glow appeared along the blade. He reinforced his weapon and forcefully swung down.  

Bang—  

Sparks flew as the black iron chains were cleaved apart by his brute strength.  

Igna sensed the aura on the sword, pure and free of negative energy. She even felt a refreshing relaxation, like a spring breeze. As a dragonborn, her senses surpassed ordinary people’s.  

She recognized the skeleton before her as a Spirit of Valor.  

Usually, Spirits of Valor slumbered in lost temples or graveyards, places forgotten over time.  

But the awakening of Spirits of Valor was rarely good news.  

People often mistook them for “harbingers of disaster,” unable to distinguish between Spirits of Valor and evil undead, since their appearances often coincided with calamities and the presence of powerful evils.  

In truth, disasters caused Spirits of Valor to awaken; they did not bring disaster themselves.  

Igna had been locked in the cave for so long that she knew nothing of the outside world.  

But she had overheard the slave merchants talking. Recently, they patrolled the cave daily with weapons, mentioning words like “Iceland,” “war,” and “demons.” They said they planned to wait until the icy sea melted before quickly going to the port to leave.  

The outside situation was likely chaotic; otherwise, the Spirits of Valor would not have awakened.  

She was a weak dragonborn. Even if freed by the Spirits of Valor, how could she survive in such a cold, strange, and turbulent land?  

But she had to survive. She could not die yet.  

She firmly believed her clan still lived in the world. Although she was alone now, she thought of a distant future.  

Igna believed few in this world had knowledge and ability like hers.  

The Spirits of Valor were harmless. Though their appearances were skeletal, they were far kinder than those slave merchants who looked human.  

She felt she could seek help from the Spirits of Valor—not free help, but she could repay them in many ways.  

While the dragonkin was lost in thought, Wade raised his sword and cut through the heavy chains binding her hands and feet.  

The sudden snapping caused the dragonkin to fall to the ground. The chains, which had been nailed to the stone wall like slings, had been holding her body taut.  

Igna found herself weaker than she had imagined, unable even to stand up again.  

The iron was still fixed on her limbs and required keys to remove the black iron.  

She wanted to stand and find the keys, but her limbs were too weak and she felt dizzy.  

Wade saw her predicament. He didn’t know where the slave merchants had hidden the keys. Luckily, inside this cave was better than if they were buried on bodies in the snow.  

He didn’t want to linger here long. This base had long been exposed, and others might come soon.  

He called Mia over.  

The little ghost floated to the dragonkin’s side. Igna looked at the small girl-like spirit in disbelief. The tiny ghost wasn’t scary at all, but rather cute and lively.  

After the skeleton touched the little ghost’s forehead, Igna saw the ghost move to her hands and feet.  

Frost formed on her limbs. The icy key slid into the lock. The skeleton seemed to communicate with the little ghost without words. He squatted and observed with the ghost.  

Then, the frost inside the lock shifted shape, and the skeleton turned the key.  

Click—  

With the sound of the lock snapping, the chains on Igna’s left hand were released. Three large iron rings that had tightly bound her forearm came loose.  

Now the three iron bands fell to the ground with a loud clang. All the locks on her hands and feet were undone, leaving obvious ring marks on her scales.  

Igna hadn’t felt so relieved in a long time. The skeleton reached out his hand to her. She grabbed it and, with his help, stood up.  

She felt an urge to cry. So many times, after cursing the slave merchants, she had wished for freedom.  

So many times, she dreamed in the dark of raging fires and the corpses of her clan.  

Now that she was truly free, she even worried it was a dream. When she woke up, she might find herself still locked in that dark prison.  

But she had finally stood up. Once again, she stood on her own two feet.  

“Thank you for your help.” Igna sincerely expressed her gratitude. Though weak, she bowed deeply.  

Wade accepted her thanks and nodded in response.