What to do with the slaves?

In Oliver’s room, the air was warmer, filled with the smell of wine and leather. There were carpets, piles of luxury clothes that I knew were paid for with the money of lives sold. Oliver closed the door with a soft thud, as if sealing the cell was an intimate custom. He pushed me toward a chair and sat next to a table, resting his chin in his hands.

— I thought you were brave, or are you just a madman? Why did you come to me, Araya? Do you want to be useful? Do you want to redeem yourself from your supposed heroic sins? — said Oliver.

I stayed completely silent. He extended a glass of wine as if offering kindness. A slave who accepts wine from his master is an obedient slave. But a slave who refuses receives the leather. I took the glass, every gesture calculated to appear submissive.

Oliver spoke trivialities about market prices, about which races were more “valuable” that month, about demanding certain work attributes. I poured the wine slowly, keeping my gaze low, pretending to be the broken man he wanted me to be. I needed to stay handy. I needed to stay close. When he leaned closer, laughing at a joke only he understood, I saw the opening.

The touch was quick, almost imperceptible. My hands touched Oliver’s forehead, and in that instant I felt the energy flow through my body like a cold wave. His ability merged with mine, and immediately I touched his forehead again to use his own ability against him. A blue glow flashed in my eyes for a second.

Oliver’s eyes widened.

— What are you…?! — Oliver screamed in pain.

I didn’t give him time. I immediately activated the newly copied power. My hands were covered in blue energy, and without hesitation I pressed my palm against his forehead.

— Enslave! — I shouted, feeling the current of power flow.

Oliver’s eyes dilated. He shuddered, staggering back, and tried to counterattack. His hands were also wrapped in blue energy as he stretched his fingers toward my head.

— You think you can defeat me with my own ability?! — Oliver growled, trying to dominate me.

The two forces collided. For a moment, it felt like the whole room vibrated, as if the air itself was being crushed between us. My veins burned, the mark on my forehead pulsed like living fire, trying to resist. But my level and willpower were far greater than his.

And then… he yielded.

The glow in his hands faded. His knees buckled. Oliver’s breathing grew heavy, and his eyes, once full of arrogance, now widened in shock.

— N-no… impossible… — he murmured, gasping.

I smiled, a crooked smile full of scorn.

— Looks like your ability isn’t so perfect after all. — I mocked.

Oliver tried to retreat, but he was already under my control. I pointed to the blue mark on my own forehead.

— Remove it now! — Oliver screamed, completely desperate.

His lips trembled. He tried to resist, but his hand rose against his will, touching my mark. A bright blue glow illuminated the room. The sensation was like chains shattering inside my chest. I gasped, dropping to my knees for a moment, but I was free. The mark on my forehead disappeared.

— N-no… this can’t… — Oliver murmured, staring at his own hand as if it had betrayed him.

I slowly raised my head, my gaze full of mockery.

— I discovered your flaws, Oliver. Your ability doesn’t prevent someone from touching you, as long as the intent isn’t to kill. And it only truly works when your hands are covered by blue energy. You are powerful… but predictable. — I said with a cruel smile.

Oliver clenched his teeth, sweat dripping from his forehead.

— Damn you…! — Oliver shouted in fear.

— Shhh. Now I’m the one in charge here. — I put my finger to my lips.

The silence in the room was crushing. For the first time since I fell into the quarters, I wasn’t the one kneeling before Oliver. It was him who now bowed before me, even if against his will.

The flame of vengeance burned in my chest.

This is just the beginning. Yukiko, Ayano, Masahiko, Margarida… all of you will pay. But you, Oliver… you will be the first.

Oliver trembled under my command. His hands, once so firm on the whip, now rose only because I ordered it.

— Let’s go. To the cells — My voice sounded firm, carrying the weight of three months of pain.

Oliver obeyed.

The dark corridor of the quarters echoed with our footsteps. Guards averted their eyes, confused, not daring to intervene. The power I had taken from him seemed to radiate over us, like an invisible crown. I felt it, and so did the others.

We reached the cells. The slaves rose when they saw us. Their eyes followed every gesture. I knew a spark there could ignite everything.

— Open the cell. — I ordered.

Oliver clenched his teeth but had no choice. He turned the key and opened the iron gate. Inside, dozens of huddled slaves rose. Among them, the old elf Ryn and the young feline Kaela. Both stared at me in astonishment.

— Remove their marks. — I ordered.

Oliver extended his hands with blue energy and touched each forehead. First Ryn, whose mark glowed and disappeared in seconds. Then Kaela, who fell to her knees, silently crying as the sensation of freedom overwhelmed her.

As soon as the second mark vanished, Oliver freed them and closed the cell. The metallic sound of the gate echoed like thunder.

The silence was broken by furious cries.

— Why only them?! —

— And us?! —

— This is unfair! —

The revolt grew, hands banging on the bars, voices mixing in despair and anger. But before the turmoil could explode, a deep and firm voice rose above the others.

— It’s obvious.

The silence returned almost immediately. Everyone quieted to look at the owner of that voice. At the back of the cell, standing against the wall, was a wolf-man. His body was tall and muscular, covered in gray fur, and his yellow eyes reflected sharp intelligence. He advanced to the front of the bars, staring at the others.

— The reason is simple. Araya defeated Oliver. Now Araya is the one who commands this place. — the wolf-man bared his teeth in a sharp smile as he spoke.

My heart stopped for a second. The gazes turned to me. I almost felt my legs give way. How did he know?

The wolf-man’s name is Wobo. He raised his chin.

— Araya is the Hero of Copy. He copied Oliver’s own ability and defeated him with it. — said Wobo.

My stomach froze. I had never revealed my title to anyone. Yet that wolf spoke as if he read my soul.

Inside, a storm of fear and doubt almost swallowed me. If I confirmed it, I would lose the veil of anonymity. But if I denied it, I could be seen as weak. I took a deep breath, forcing calm. Straightened my back, lifted my chin, and let my gaze sweep across every face behind the bars.

— He is right. I am Araya. The Hero of Copy. — my voice rang firm, authoritative.

The words echoed like thunder in the corridor. I saw eyes shine with hope, others with fear. Ryn and Kaela stared at me silently, absorbing every word. Oliver, head bowed, trembled with hatred for not being able to rebel.

I stepped forward.

— I defeated Oliver. And now, I am the master of this place. — I told them all.

The silence was crushing for a moment. Then, a collective roar rose from the cell, voices of slaves shouting, some crying, others laughing as if they couldn’t believe what they heard.

Wobo crossed his arms, his golden eyes fixed on me.

— So, Hero of Copy… what will you do with this power now?

The question hung in the air, like both a challenge and a promise.

And for the first time in months, I felt not only hatred… but also hope.

I turned and gave short, sharp orders, like someone who admits no hesitation.

— Ryn and Kalea. Take Oliver to his room. Tie him to a chair and wait there until I call you. Don’t ask anything, just obey.

Ryn opened his mouth as if to respond, but I silenced him with a look. Kalea, young and hesitant, tried to ask something with a trembling voice, but Ryn placed a hand on her shoulder and made a silent gesture, shaking his head firmly. She closed her lips and nodded.

They crossed the cell with Oliver still under my command, shackled and dazed, and dragged him almost step by step. The sight of Oliver being taken, unable to issue commands, had something almost ritualistic; the reversal of roles gave me chills, a mix of power and responsibility.

With the cell once again filled with gazes, I stood still for a moment in front of the prisoners’ bars. The voices and sounds around formed a confusing background, but inside, every thought followed a fixed line: the time of the copied ability, the mark on Oliver’s forehead, and the brutal consequence of a final decision.

If I killed Oliver now, I would gain the ability permanently, but at the same time all the marks he had placed on the slaves would disappear. The prisoners whose obedience depended on those marks would become wild for a second, angry, confused, and free. With no time to explain, no immediate control. A chaotic revolt could destroy everything I could still manipulate. Many hated Oliver, and so did I, but the cruel truth was that I still needed control to turn that hatred into something ordered, into a real chance to overthrow those who betrayed me.

I counted the risks in a single breath. The alternative was to keep Oliver alive, as a puppet, extract from him information, resources, structure the change. Slower, dangerous, but strategically viable.

I decided not to kill him yet.

As I walked down the corridor, my steps sounded long. The cold of the torches accompanied me; my mind was already drawing the first orders. When I opened the door to Oliver’s room, the air felt denser, heavy with the smell of wine and leather. Ryn and Kalea were there, motionless, like watchful sentinels. Oliver lay tied to a reinforced chair, chains dragging on the floor. His eyes burned with hatred and helplessness.

Kalea took a step forward, fingers entwined, but Ryn raised his hand as if marking the boundary between question and command. They stepped back and kept watch, exactly as I had asked.

I closed the door behind me and stood before him. The sensation of power still vibrated on my skin, and I was aware of the weight of every word I spoke. I crossed my arms and looked at him coldly.

— Oliver. Do you want to bargain with me? — I said calmly.

He laughed at first, a short and bitter sound, convinced it was mockery. Then, when he realized I wasn’t joking, his smile turned tense. He spat.

— You… think you can negotiate? Come, dog — said Oliver arrogantly, still trying to regain some control.

His voice wavered. I approached slowly, measuring each step, keeping my face close enough for him to realize I wasn’t joking.

— I want to know how far you are willing to humiliate yourself to stay alive — I replied, without raising my tone. I want you to be useful to me. I want you to keep placing the marks when I order, to inform me about shipments, routes, buyers. I want access to the vaults, to the records. In return, you live. If you are loyal, your life will be… tolerable. If you betray me, you will die without mercy. — I told him.

Oliver’s eyes shifted from anger to economic calculation. He knew how to weigh risks. At that moment, I became what he had always been, a trader of possibilities.

— And if I refuse? — he asked, still trying to keep his posture.

I stepped closer. My voice turned into a blade.

— Then I’ll end you here and now. But know that by dying, your marks on others will also vanish. And your death could destroy everything I want to build. Think about it. — I replied.

A heavy silence fell between us. Ryn and Kalea, from outside the slightly open door, heard every syllable and raised their chins slightly. Oliver swallowed hard, his pride lashing him inside.