🐙 Planet Aberat, Kingdom of Selya-Mira 🐙

Another woman in her place might have been consumed by shame, reduced to nothing but ashes like a witch burned by the inquisitors, but modesty was foreign to her, and the feeling of shame was solely associated with dissatisfaction with her performance on the battlefield.
- Eh-eh-hey, - before speaking, the loser looked around and twitched her limbs, assessing the strength of her shackles, - is anyone alive?
Saki was as far from humor as Aberat was from Reima, so this form of address to her captors was not a joke, but merely a simple unwillingness to talk to the undead that had defeated her, since they lacked their own will.

The shackles were even too strong for a prisoner like Saki.

- Well, we were all alive this morning, - one of the knights unexpectedly replied.

- Oh, she reminded us of herself. What should we do with her, brothers? - another one perked up.

- But what good is she, really, even less than a necromancer... She's not a priestess, Osgold Ron won't praise us. He needs other conquests, - the third noted.

- And who brought her here? Not to the camp, I remember that, but to the dungeon, - the leader of the knights asked.

An awkward pause hung in the air.

- A necromancer, sir.

- I see... - the leader of the knights grunted. - So, it was his gift to us. And he's polite. I thought it was one of you who took this girl from the rebels.

The captain stood up from his chair and took a few steps towards Saki. She finally managed to get a more or less good look at him. Life had definitely taken its toll on this knight.



The knight raised a glass of wine in front of him, and then tilted it slightly forward. The crimson liquid poured through the bars of the grate onto Saki's body. The drops of wine on her pale skin strangely resembled blood, and this evoked a certain feeling in the knight, akin to nostalgia. He smiled. He smiled sadly.

- There are three ways. The first is that we have a new, not very useful slave. The second is that we let you go, but with some conditions. And the third... We need centaurs, don't we? - the captain turned to his comrades.

- We could use some. We have little money left.

- The third is that we sell you to the fanatics of the Lord of Vice. And then, whatever happens: maybe you'll become an respected person among them, maybe you'll die. Who knows. Which option do you prefer, stranger? - the captain of the Brown Banner knights asked mockingly.