In the square, more than a hundred foreign slaves imprisoned in the dungeon were divided into three groups based on their races.
The largest group, consisting of around seventy to eighty individuals, was made up of half-orcs dressed in tattered animal pelts.
Half-orcs are a rare tribe that inhabits the southern side of the hidden highlands, in the Devouring Valley. They are strong in build, with a fearsome and ugly appearance, resembling beasts in their evil nature. However, if one understands this tribe, they will find that beneath their ugly exterior, half-orcs possess a comically simple personality. They are very straightforward and do not think things through, often acting without considering the consequences.
In the northern regions, this characteristic results in them being easily provoked and quick to anger, making them ideal candidates for battle slaves, and they are often targeted by slave-hunting groups in the North.
Beside the half-orcs stood forty or so barbarian slaves. While fewer in number than the half-orcs, the large and powerful physiques of these barbarians made them appear imposing.
The barbarians come from the far western end of the Red Soil Continent, from the Fierce Blade Hills along the lower reaches of the Torrent River. This is a fertile yet dangerous jungle-hill area where the barbarians live by hunting and plundering.
On the Red Soil Continent, barbarians are the most sought-after mercenary warriors. This inherently warlike tribe possesses strength and size comparable to that of giants and values the strength of warriors. To barbarians, endless battles and adventures are more appealing than hunting or agriculture. The low-cost plundering leads to many barbarians coming to the northern lands, a wilderness dominated by adventure.
However, while the barbarians excel in combat, they are terrible at teamwork. Additionally, the low birth rate of their tribe means that even the largest barbarian adventuring bands consist of only a few dozen people, which makes them easy prey for human adventuring parties. The forty-odd barbarian slaves here were the spoils of several human slave-hunting parties.
Aside from the half-orcs and barbarians, the last group of slaves was the smallest, with only seven individuals.
But Kent immediately noticed them.
The Tiger Tribe.
The seven members of the Tiger Tribe stood in a peculiar formation. The one at the front was large and muscular, with a bear-like posture. He had ugly tusks and deep-set eyes. He appeared very old, with wrinkles carved deeply into his face.
Behind him stood four or five others, similarly strong in stature, yet they arranged themselves in such a way that a young individual was positioned in the center. Kent focused on this young tiger tribesman. His body wasn't as muscular as the others, but he had solid muscle, and a tiger-skin pattern ran from his shoulder down his right arm. On his face, two tusks barely peeked from his lips, while half of his face bore the pattern of a roaring tiger's head.
Sensing Kent's gaze, the elder tiger tribesman casually shifted his shoulder, blocking Kent's view.
Kent calmly shifted his gaze and nodded toward Ray.
Upon seeing his signal, one of Ray's barbarian warriors stepped forward into the square.
"Hey, you guys, how was life in the dungeon?" the barbarian warrior shouted, waving his axe. "Want to leave that hellhole?"
Outsiders frequently interacting with humans in the North had become quite proficient in the common tongue.
The provoking shout immediately stirred the slaves. The hot-tempered half-orcs began cursing and howling, while the barbarians, though silent, showed their displeasure through their haughty and arrogant gazes, as well as their tense muscles.
The six or seven tiger tribesmen, however, did not react at all.
"My name is Black Axe, and I'm a fierce warrior serving Lord Kent!" the barbarian shouted, pointing at Kent, who was wearing black armor, and then banging the blunt side of his axe on his chest armor, making loud noises. "Do you think I'm acting too cocky for someone who was once a slave?"
"No! You're wrong!" He paced back and forth, swinging his other arm. "I'm no longer a slave! Lord Kent freed me, and now I'm a free man. I can choose whether to stay or leave..."
Low growls rose from the slave crowd as the half-orcs and barbarians voiced their confusion.
"Blood Hammer… was killed by Lord Kent!" Black Axe roared.
The barbarians among the slaves let out deep, angry growls. Anger and regret showed on their faces. Not witnessing Blood Hammer's death in person was a major grievance for them.
"Now, Lord Kent offers you a choice," Black Axe said. "Everyone has the chance to free themselves from the slave status, but there's one condition. Defeat me or any of Lord Kent's subordinates. If we lose, you'll gain freedom, but if we win, you'll serve Lord Kent for a year before gaining your freedom!"
As soon as the words fell, a half-orc stepped forward from his companions.
"Barbarian, do you speak the truth? Do you swear by the name of the Ancestor of the Fierce Blade?" the half-orc shouted.
"Shut up! How dare you doubt me? When have barbarians ever lied!" Black Axe growled. The Ancestor of the Fierce Blade was a legendary barbarian warrior from the Fierce Blade Hills, and to swear by this name was a clear declaration of truth.
"Fine, I believe you. I'll fight you," the half-orc declared.
"Are you representing yourself, or all of your ugly kin?" Black Axe asked.
At the mention of their ugliness, the half-orc slave group erupted into loud shouting.
"Quiet!" the half-orc shouted, and the group fell silent. He took a deep breath and continued, "I am Stone Fist, the bravest warrior of the Thorns Tribe. If I lose, none of them will win. If I win, can they be granted freedom?"
"You want to represent them all?" Black Axe turned to look at Kent, who nodded his approval. Black Axe smirked and threw his axe aside, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, let me see if this little lamb's horns are sharp."
The half-orc charged at Black Axe with a furious roar and threw a punch straight at his chest.
Boom, boom, boom...
Black Axe didn't dodge; instead, he tightened his muscles and endured the half-orc's heavy blows. The punches rained down like a storm on his iron armor and exposed shoulders, and even his head took several hard hits.
Despite the thundering noise, Black Axe continued to laugh.
The half-orc slaves were silent now, and even the barbarian slaves widened their eyes. Some of them recognized Black Axe and knew that, like them, he possessed level-eight combat strength. Though strong, it seemed impossible that he could withstand such a one-sided assault without faltering.
Only Kent and the pioneers knew that Black Axe wore rune-forged iron armor enhanced with basic Strength and Defense runes. The runes had boosted his combat power by nearly fifty percent, bringing his strength to almost that of a level-twelve warrior.
A level-twelve warrior was like a towering iron fortress.
How could the punches of a level-seven or eight half-orc hope to shake him?