"What the fuck?" Vito's eyes nearly popped out of his skull the second he heard Tiberius's idea.
"Slaves? Tiberius, have you lost your damn mind? You want to turn slaves into soldiers? Are you shitting me right now?"
"Vito, I'm dead serious!" Tiberius said impatiently.
"I don't want those slippery city free men. They've got too many schemes, they've seen too much of the world—how the hell are they going to obey orders from a kid like me? On the battlefield, the second you've got too many soldiers with their own ideas, they'll scatter like rats, every one trying to save his own skin. Training them would be a nightmare—they're not going to listen to a little shit like me."
"As for your idea of just throwing money around and buying one or two ready-made small-to-medium companies… that's possible, but Vito, have you thought about one thing?"
"What thing?" Vito asked, curious.
"You think of it, Lysaro will think of it too. He can buy a whole mercenary company himself if he wants," Tiberius explained, sounding genuinely pained.
"What we need to do is make Lysaro see our real value! Anyone can throw money around. Training a proper fighting force from scratch in a short time? That's what proves the strength of the White Company!"
[More accurately, proves my strength—so please don't throw me onto the Volantis front lines, I'm begging you!] Tiberius added silently.
"Besides, I'm definitely not picking old, weak, sick, or crippled ones. I've decided—we're going to the slave market specifically for slaves from defeated tribes or former free men."
"Why?" Vito still looked confused.
"Vito, remember what you told me? How Braavos gave three thousand mercenaries land deeds and profit shares, and they punched straight through the Pentoshi lines? I'm doing the exact same thing now! Only instead of land and steady gold, I'm offering them freedom!"
Vito stayed silent for a long moment. Finally he let out a long breath, shook his head like he was accepting his fate, and looked at Tiberius with a mix of helplessness and admiration.
"Fuck me… Kid, the shit that comes out of your head is always so… unexpected. Fine! We'll do it your way! I'll go crazy with you this time! But you better have a sharp eye when picking slaves—don't bring back any real troublemakers!"
---
In the Lysene slave market.
Tiberius studied the dark-skinned slave in front of him, who was holding a quill and parchment.
"Brother, you work here?" Tiberius asked in a friendly tone.
He had picked this one because he needed literate, quick-witted assistants to handle the growing paperwork and logistics of the company.
Considering cost and control, he had turned his eyes to slaves.
He planned to test the waters by hinting to this seemingly clever slave that if they performed well, freedom might be on the table.
But… their answer left Tiberius stunned.
"Why don't you want to come with me?" Tiberius felt like his entire worldview had been slapped.
[Brother, even though joining a mercenary company is a shitty option, staying a slave… are you serious?]
The slave looked up, somewhat confused.
"You're a slave. You get ordered around every day, working like cattle or sheep. If you join us, no one will dare order you anymore. You'll have mutton soup and bread every day. As long as you're not afraid to die, I promise you a free life."
"Besides, you can read and keep accounts, and you have military experience. Come with me and you'll at least be a ten-man leader. Work as my company clerk or even become a hundred-captain someday! And if we win battles, gold and silver will be everywhere, with loyal men under you. Why wouldn't you want that?" Tiberius asked, genuinely puzzled.
The slave lowered his head, still gripping the quill, and after a long pause mumbled:
"My master treats me very well. I don't feel like a slave. Why would I leave?"
"Besides, mercenary life isn't easy either. Sometimes employers don't pay. What do you do then? I've seen many mercenaries—when there's no work, they have to hire out as caravan guards or dock overseers. The unlucky ones even end up shoveling shit. No stable employment…"
Tiberius was only half-convinced.
How could a master treat slaves well?
And what the hell did he mean by "stable employment"?
Is that something a slave should even say?
At that moment, an older, well-dressed middle-aged clerk from the shop—clearly a former slave himself—looked at Tiberius seriously and said:
"I was a slave once too. I grew up in my master's house. He treated me like family. Decades ago Lys passed a law allowing masters to pay a fee at the city hall to free their slaves. My master paid out of his own pocket to make me a freedman. A few years later, when I qualified, he applied again to make me a full citizen of Lys—"
He straightened his chest with pride. "After that, my master made me the head clerk and accountant of this shop. The pay is good. I got married, had five sons and several daughters, and now I even have grandchildren. And these two—"
The old man pointed at two more plainly dressed men. "They were slaves too—debt slaves. But they're hardworking, clever young men. Not long ago, with our master's permission, they paid off their debts and gained freedom. They chose to keep working here. Young man, tell me—why would we throw all this away to join you and live the life of sellswords, with our heads hanging from our belts every day?"
"They will be like me in the future. As long as they work hard, stay loyal, good days will come!"
"And the old master often had the young master come help in the shop. The young master even calls me 'teacher'!" The former slave, now a respectable clerk, said proudly with his hands on his hips. "Our master is good to us, and the young master is smart and kind-hearted. Here, everyone matters…"
"If I left, who would keep the books for the young master? Let some slippery outsider do it? Hmph! Those types would swap good coins for bad and cook the books before the Lord of Light even blinked! If they cheated the young master, how could I face the old master in the afterlife?"
Tiberius couldn't hold back. "You're a former slave and you're still worrying about your master?"
"Why not?" The clerk said indignantly. "When I fell sick and thought I'd be thrown into the mass graves outside the city, it was my master who paid for my medicine. My wife was introduced by my master. Now I have two children and a comfortable, happy life."
"Freedmen? Do freedmen care if you live or die? The ones hauling cargo on the docks, pulling ropes at sea, fighting to the death in fighting pits—they're all real freedmen. Do they have lives like mine? They trade their lives for every copper!"
He then turned to the young slave and said earnestly, "Think carefully, boy. For some vague idea of 'freedom,' you want to throw away a kind master's treatment? I've heard…" He glanced at Tiberius and Vito behind him.
"I've heard that when those mercenaries have no contracts for a few months… hmph, they end up doing whatever dirty work they can find just to buy bread. Your life right now is good! You have wine, olive oil, all the barley and wheat bread you can eat, and often salted meat and fresh fish as rewards from the master! Why trade that for a life where you bet your neck on death and fate every single day?"
"You…" Vito rolled up his sleeves, ready to teach the man a lesson, but Tiberius stopped him.
"Elder, since this brother doesn't want to join us, we won't force him. May the Lord of Light bless you and your master!" Tiberius bowed politely, said a few auspicious words, and walked out of the market.
"That old bastard was straight-up sabotaging us!" Vito grumbled as soon as they were outside. "I should've punched him right in the nose so he'd understand why flowers are red!"
"Vito, fists don't solve problems," Tiberius said, but there was a dark cloud in his eyes.
"Let's try other people. Since the literate ones don't want to come, the illiterate ones who are just laborers can't possibly refuse too, right?"
But the results were equally embarrassing.
The slaves in the market, upon hearing Tiberius was recruiting for a mercenary company, all shook their heads like rattles.
"Mercenary company… No, no thanks," said one slave overseer.
"I may be a slave, but I'm a slave who manages other slaves. Join a mercenary company? Forget it. I'm afraid of dying."
"Brother, please don't drag me into this. Look, today my master's sugar workshop is releasing new sugar. I'll give you a free taste—just go find someone else, okay?" A workshop slave hurriedly refused, then stuffed a handful of sugar cubes into Tiberius's hand. "Young master, spare me!"
"Get lost!"
After being chased away by a slave waving a shit-stirring stick, Tiberius stood there completely stunned.
Wait… where the hell had he transmigrated to?
Where was the sharp class contradiction? Where were the evil masters and oppressed slaves?
What kind of backwards place was this?
He had been certain that these slaves—who worked outside and had tasted the air of "freedom"—would crave it more than those still locked in cages. Reality had just slapped him hard across the face.
Vito, with the worldly wisdom of an old campaigner, said, "Kid, now you see? Sometimes a guaranteed steamed bun is more real than a meat bun you might or might not get."
"Indeed. In their eyes, we sellswords are just a bunch of rootless gamblers—drunk today, dead tomorrow. They may be slaves, but as long as their master isn't especially cruel, they at least have steady meals and a roof over their heads. They don't have to worry every day about whether they'll be alive tomorrow. Especially those who've been with the same master for a long time—if the master gives them even a little sweetness, they'll defend him more fiercely than any freedman! It's ridiculous! Don't they know destiny should be in their own hands?" Tiberius said angrily, then popped the sugar cube the slave had given him into his mouth.
"Ptooey! This tastes like shit!"