Ultimate Spin System: Ero Spin?-Chapter 134: Isekai’s Racism

they weren’t happy about it.

Sylmira’s expression twisted with fury and disgust. Her emerald eyes locked onto Lucas, her grip on the dagger tightening until her knuckles turned white.

"You...," she hissed. "Do you even realize what you’ve done?"

Lucas exhaled slowly, keeping his expression neutral. "I freed the prisoners."

"You freed monsters," she spat, stepping closer, voice seething with barely contained rage. "These creatures—these barbarians—were caged for a reason. You think they deserve our mercy? They were born without mana. The Spirits did not bless them, Lucas. They are filth—savages. Their existence is a mistake."

A heavy silence followed her words.

The kneeling orcs and beastmen flinched but didn’t rise. Some clenched their fists, but none spoke against her.

Lucas’s stomach twisted. He had seen prejudice before, but hearing it so plainly spoken, with such utter conviction, made his skin crawl.

"That’s bullshit," he said flatly.

Sylmira crossed her arms, looking down at the freed prisoners with a sneer of absolute contempt. Her emerald eyes gleamed with disdain as she took a step toward Lucas, her voice sharp and unwavering.

"You don’t actually intend to bring them with us, do you?" she scoffed, gesturing at the beastmen, reptilian humanoids, and orcs still adjusting to their newfound freedom. "They don’t belong in our society. They are inferior—born without mana, born without blessings. Nature itself has rejected them."

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Inferior? You’re seriously going with that?"

Sylmira raised her chin, looking at him as if he were a fool. "It’s the truth. Look at them, Lucas. Look." She gestured toward the beastmen, some with matted fur and ragged clothes. "Their forms are twisted—half-man, half-beast. A mistake of nature."

Her gaze shifted to the reptilian humanoids, her lips curling in disgust. "Scales, claws, cold-blooded like the creatures of the wild. They are not one of us, and they never will be."

Finally, she turned her attention to the orcs. Their massive frames, green skin, and rough features were clearly repulsive to her. "And them," she practically spat. "Lumbering, brutish things. No grace, no elegance. Just hunks of flesh built for labor, nothing more."

Lucas clenched his jaw, fists tightening. "That’s your argument? That they look different?"

"They are different," Sylmira snapped. "Do you know why elves are superior, Lucas? It’s not just our magic. It’s our form. We are nature’s perfect creation—refined, beautiful, and blessed. They are flawed. Ugly. Crude."

The air felt thick with tension. The freed prisoners listened in silence, some lowering their heads, others gripping their fists, their expressions hardening.

Lucas exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm. "You’re basing an entire race’s worth on how they look? You think that makes you better?"

Sylmira smirked, as if the answer was obvious. "Yes."

Lucas shook his head, laughing humorlessly. "That’s insane."

"It’s reality," she countered. "And reality doesn’t care about your misplaced compassion. Do you think these creatures will ever be anything more than beasts in the eyes of our kind? They were never meant to rise. They were never meant to stand beside us."

Lucas exhaled sharply, then turned to the freed prisoners.

He wasn’t sure what he expected—rage, sorrow, maybe even an outburst.

Instead, there was silence.

The orc from before, the one who had begged for his child’s life, simply stood there. His golden eyes were deep with something heavy, something that Lucas couldn’t quite name.

It wasn’t anger.

It was something colder.

Acceptance.

Like he’d heard it all before. Like it wasn’t even worth arguing anymore.

Lucas felt something in his chest tighten.

He turned back to Sylmira. "You’re disgusting."

She rolled her eyes. "And you’re naïve."

Lucas let out a slow breath. "No, I just have eyes. You talk about superiority, but all I see is arrogance. You claim they’re worthless, but you’ve never given them a chance. You think beauty makes you better?" He scoffed. "That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard."

Sylmira’s expression darkened. "You’ll regret this, Lucas."

"Maybe," he muttered. "But at least I won’t regret being human."

Sylmira turned sharply and walked away, her posture stiff with fury. The other elves followed her lead, though their expressions varied—some shared her contempt, others seemed uneasy.

Lucas exhaled, rubbing his temple. "This just got a lot worse."

The orc father approached him, his steps slow but deliberate. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm.

"We are used to their words."

Lucas looked up, meeting the orc’s gaze.

"But it is the first time someone stood against them," the orc continued. He looked down at his child, still clutching the rags of his former prison. "For that, we will not forget."

Lucas swallowed, feeling the weight of their trust settle on his shoulders.

His slime wobbled on his shoulder. "Lucas! I think she really hates you now!"

"Yeah, buddy," he muttered. "I got that."

Lucas exhaled sharply, glancing at the freed prisoners. The elves weren’t going to back down from their stance, and neither was he.

Sylamara, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. "We will allow them to travel with us."

The declaration made Sylmira whirl toward her, eyes wide. "What?!"

Sylamara’s expression was unreadable, her voice calm. "We will not oppose Lucas. However, we refuse to share a carriage with them." She turned toward the freed beastmen and orcs. "If they are coming, they ride separately."

Lucas didn’t respond immediately. He could see the smug satisfaction in Sylmira’s expression—she thought it was a victory. He didn’t care.

"Fine," he said.

Just as the tension seemed to ease slightly, a distant rumble of hooves echoed through the air.

Everyone turned toward the sound. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

More slavers.

The freed prisoners stiffened, their instincts screaming danger.

A beastman with feline features narrowed his eyes at the approaching dust cloud. Then, suddenly, a slow grin spread across his face.

"No need to worry," he said. "That’s our carriage."

Lucas blinked. "What?"

The beastman nodded. "The ones coming... they are slavers. But they’re the ones we were waiting for."

A ripple of realization went through the freed prisoners. Murmurs spread.

And then, the slavers arrived.

A convoy of wagons rolled into view, each filled with armed men. The moment the lead slaver saw the freed prisoners, his face twisted in shock.

"What the—?!"

Before he could finish his sentence, the beastmen moved.

Like a switch had flipped, the former captives launched forward. They tore into the slavers with raw, unrestrained fury.

Lucas barely had time to process it.

Blades flashed. Fangs ripped into flesh. The reptilian humanoids struck with clawed hands, disemboweling slavers in seconds. Orcs swung heavy fists, shattering bones with ease.

It was over in moments.

The slavers didn’t stand a chance.

The last man tried to flee, but a beastman tackled him, sinking his teeth into the slaver’s throat.

Silence fell.

The freed prisoners stood among the corpses, breathing heavily. Some were covered in blood, their eyes still burning with anger.

Sylamara watched it all with a cold expression.

"See?" she said, voice laced with disdain. "Barbarians."

Lucas ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.

The hypocrisy was suffocating.

The elves had slaughtered slavers just as brutally. Just as efficiently.

But somehow, when the beastmen did it, it was barbaric?

He glanced at the bodies on the ground.

He didn’t pity the slavers. They deserved worse.

But what he saw wasn’t savagery.

It was survival.

The beastmen hadn’t killed for pleasure. They had killed because they refused to be slaves ever again.

Lucas turned back to Sylamara, his expression unreadable. "And when your people killed them earlier? That wasn’t barbaric?"

Sylamara met his gaze, unfazed. "There is a difference."

Lucas snorted. "No. There isn’t."

The elf said nothing.

Lucas shook his head and looked at the beastmen. "This carriage you mentioned...?"

One of them nodded, stepping toward the slaver’s wagons. "These belonged to the ones who captured us. Now, they’re ours."

Lucas sighed. "Fine. You ride separately."

He didn’t miss the way Sylmira smirked, as if she had won something.

He didn’t care.

What mattered was that no one was left behind.

He turned toward the road ahead.

They still had a long journey to go.

The orc who had spoken earlier stepped forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow under the dimming light. His golden eyes met Lucas’s, filled with something unreadable—respect, perhaps, or simply acknowledgment.

"My name is M’baku," he rumbled. His voice was deep, steady, carrying the weight of someone who had endured much yet refused to break. "I was once a warrior. Now, I am only a survivor."

Lucas nodded. "Lucas."

M’baku glanced at his people, then stepped aside.

A beastman with wolf-like features took his place. His fur was dark gray, almost black, with streaks of silver running along his arms. His piercing yellow eyes reflected the dying light like a predator in the wild.

"I am Ka’thar," he said, his voice gravelly. "Before capture, I was a hunter. My pack is gone, but my fangs remain."

He bared his sharp canines slightly, as if to emphasize his words, before stepping back.

Then, another group came forward—humanoids with dark gray skin, lean builds, and glowing violet eyes. They lacked the distinct features of beastmen or elves, but there was an air of mystery about them.

One of them, a woman with long silver-white hair, stepped forward. She studied Lucas for a moment before speaking.

"I am Nyemba," she said calmly. "We are what remains of our people."

Lucas frowned slightly. "Your people?"

She nodded. "We were once human. At least, that is what we believed. But because we can speak to dragons, because we understand the tongues of the beasts, they call us demons."

Lucas felt a flicker of curiosity. "So you’re not actually demons?"

Nyemba gave him a wry smile. "If we were, the slavers would not have caught us so easily."

Lucas exhaled. That made sense. He had seen actual demons—beings of pure chaos and destruction. These people were nothing like that.

Another figure stepped forward—a towering beastman with a physique that could rival an orc’s. His skin was tanned, his body covered in scars, and most notably, a pair of massive wings folded against his back. They were feathered, dark brown with streaks of gold, like those of a great eagle.

"I am Za’kiel," he said, voice booming. "A warrior of the sky. My wings carried me far... but even I could not escape the chains."

Lucas’s gaze flickered toward his wings. "You can fly?"

Za’kiel’s expression darkened slightly. "Not anymore. The slavers made sure of that."

Lucas didn’t need to ask how. He could see the faint remnants of wounds near the joints where Za’kiel’s wings connected to his back—signs of deliberate injury.

There was a long silence as the freed prisoners introduced themselves one by one.

Each name carried weight. Each story was a thread woven into the same cruel fate.

Lucas exhaled and looked at them all. "Well... we have a long way to go."

M’baku crossed his arms. "And much to repay."

Lucas arched a brow. "I didn’t do this for repayment."

The orc’s lips curled into something resembling a smile. "That is why it will be repaid."