Visit to the Zairos' house

Finally Oliver cleared his throat, defeated by my calculation.

"Okay. I'll cooperate. But know that I won't humiliate myself any more than necessary," said Oliver, his pride gone.

I smiled. It wasn't confidence, but relief that I'd managed to make the deal.

"Then get to work. You will obey my orders," I told him.

I ordered the first two.

"You will maintain discipline among the guards and start opening small safes that only you knew where they were. And one more thing: leave Ryn and Kalea free for now, and keep quiet about how this happened," I ordered him.

Oliver nodded sheepishly, his face still burning with embarrassment. I stood there for a few more seconds, testing his reaction with my gaze, then turned and walked to the door. Before leaving, I whispered, so only he could hear:

"Remember, you are valuable as long as you are useful. If you try to betray me, you will be the first to pay, and not just you. Whoever raises a sword against me will be treated as a traitor. Understand?" I told him authoritatively.

— Yes. — Oliver murmured brokenly.

As I closed the door, I felt the corridor sigh. Outside, the cell teemed with a mixture of hope and distrust. I was no longer just the wounded slave; now I was someone who could dictate the course. And the first piece on that board had just been placed.

That night, after the bargain, Oliver lost more than just his freedom: he lost his right to be lord. From that moment on, he was nothing more than a puppet tied to the throne I was building with my own hands.

I didn't free all the slaves immediately, as that would have been unwise. A confused, angry mass could have swallowed me in seconds. Instead, I decided to use Oliver. He knew every corner of the barracks, every guard, every patrol route, every shipment that entered and left the plantation. He was a living encyclopedia of the slave trade, and now that encyclopedia was at my command.

The next day, I called Ryn and Kaela to Oliver's room. Oliver was still tied up, but under my command, he was forced to speak.

"Who controls the coffers?" I asked.

“Me.” Oliver replied, his voice thick with swallowed anger.

“Where are they?” I asked again.

"There are three. One under the records room. Another hidden in the barn. The last one… in my room, " Oliver replied.

I smiled. It was a start.

I sent Kaela to guard the entrance while Ryn , discreet as only an elf could be, helped me remove the chest hidden in the room's floor. Inside were silver coins, small gemstones, and a list of merchants, buyers, and routes. It was worth more than gold.

"Good job. Keep cooperating and maybe you'll keep breathing," I said, looking at Oliver with a sneer.

The following days revealed a new routine for me. I was no longer the slave carrying sacks of wheat under whipping. Now the guards who had once mocked me looked away as I passed. Ryn and Kaela were my right and left hands; Ryn advised me silently with her cool wisdom, while Kaela kept the other slaves calm, spreading whispers that " Araya had defeated Oliver" and that "change was near."

Oliver, for his part, remained tied to me. In the morning, I forced him to dictate records of buyers' names, meeting places, and supply caches. In the afternoon, I dragged him to the guards so they could give orders on his behalf, always monitored by me. He spoke, but it was my will that guided his words.

At night, I would review everything with Ryn . The old elf patiently helped me make plans—who should be freed first, which races were most likely to unite under my rule, which merchants could be tricked or used.

In the main cell, the mood changed. The looks that had previously been of pity or contempt now became mixed, some of respect, others of fear. Wobo , the wolf man, watched me constantly, as if evaluating every gesture. Sometimes he smiled, as if approving. Other times, he simply raised an eyebrow, silent. I didn't know if he would be an ally or a threat, but I knew his sharp mind would be worth as much as an army if conquered.

The days of being a dirty, broken slave were over. I still slept in the same barracks, still shared the air with chains and damp straw, but there was a difference now: everyone knew I could boss Oliver around.

But being a chief wasn't just about command. It was about constant vigilance. I had to maintain balance, free a few slaves at a time, ensure Oliver remained obedient, and above all, hide from Argarill that the barracks were no longer under Oliver's rightful control.

Every night, when silence fell and the others slept, I sat alone, staring at my hands that glowed faintly blue as I activated the copy of Oliver's ability. I knew that sooner or later this copy would vanish. If I wanted to use it permanently , I would have to kill him. And then I would lose the chains that held me as leader.

It was a dilemma that consumed me, but it also kept me sharp.

On the outside, I was the new slave leader. On the inside, I was a contained volcano, ready to explode.

And each new day brought me closer to revenge against Yukiko , Ayano , Masahiko and Margarida.

I then decided to visit the Zairos family , but I had trouble doing so, as the barracks creaked under the pent-up breathing of many bodies simultaneously; it was an organism with the discipline I had imposed. If I left now, I needed to ensure that the slaves would transform into a wild beast that would devour me within hours. I thought of everything: advantages, risks, and small details.

First, who could maintain the appearance of order while I left? Ryn was wisdom in the flesh, Kaela was stealth and information. Wobo had the presence to hold the masses. Oliver was still useful as a face of authority.

I devised a three-point plan. The first was a replacement of the chain of command. I would order Oliver, in a soft but firm voice, to maintain routines, timekeeping, distribution of meager food, worker reports, and dispatching teams to the field. But I would leave coded instructions to Wobo and Ryn : "If during my absence things get out of hand, close the gates, do not kill, focus on protecting those on the blue mark, and await my return." For this to work, Ryn had to be visible in a leadership position alongside the guards; his posture and age would confer authority. Wobo would be in charge of internal security, the strongest, physical control. Kaela would maintain the information network, signaling me when I was ready to return. The second point was that I ordered Oliver to remain tied up in plain sight, but to carry out "fake inspections" ordered by me through Ryn . Oliver would be the image of the master who failed, but who was still the link to the buyers. The idea was that no one would suspect the orders were coming from me. Ryn and Wobo knew how to feign enough fear and respect to fool most. Third, to get through the city without attracting attention, we would use Ryn and Kalea 's abilities . Ryn would transform (a skill called Transform) into a common figure, like a street vendor or a low-ranking guard, while Kaela would use her stealth ( with her skill called Stealth ) to walk beside me, disappear into the shadows, and watch the back. I would emerge dressed in simple clothes that Oliver would "lend" (fake worker's attire). Ryn 's presence would "sell" credibility, while Kaela 's would cover our backs.

Before leaving, I approached the guards, and with Oliver following a script I'd whispered, I ensured the patrols were diverted to other routes that night. I instructed Ryn to station a few men at the main entrance just to feign security. I gave Kaela a small bag of coins from the chest—not many, just enough to buy a drink and the silence of a watchman in an alley we'd need to pass through. I told Wobo to close the gate if things got heated and to maintain discipline with a firm hand. Their trust in me was tenuous, but it was there.

As I crossed the threshold and closed the door behind me, I felt a different weight, that of a commander going off to war and leaving the garrison under orders of his own making.

Ryn He used Transform and assumed the appearance of a herb vendor, a figure of little consequence whose sunbathing was constant and believable. Kaela never seemed a friend in sight; with light movements she would disappear into the crowd, return, signal with a simple snap of her fingers. I blended in among merchants, porters, and soldiers, the blue mark on my face finally erased bringing a strange relief and dread at the same time.

We avoided the nobles' quarters. We entered the commoners' quarters without a fuss. Ryn was a salesman, Kaela his assistant. That alone was enough to keep us from being noticed.

We walked to the old block where the Zairos family lived. My heart raced when I saw the alley that led to Sabrina and Sairo 's house . It was poorer than I remembered. I was quite excited to see the Zairos family again .

The door to the small home was wide open. There was a sickening silence in the air. Visiting letters and small pieces of furniture were overturned; there were marks of struggle, overturned chairs, and shards of glass scattered about. On the floor was a burnt note bearing the palace seal, an emblem I recognized instinctively. It was the same pattern used on official court documents, and very similar to the seals a princess used here and there.

I entered the house with short steps. Ryn stood in the doorway, hands clasped in prayer, and Kaela sniffed the air, her whiskers trembling. I ran upstairs and found the bodies of Clarice and Beltrond . There was no doubt they had been killed.

On Clarice and Beltrond 's chests were signs of military orders, an emblem stamped on burnt paper. This could only be that wretched Margarida's doing.

The possibility that she had ordered the Zairos ' execution was too horrifying to swallow. But there was evidence: guards with insignia, burned official papers bearing the same handwriting, and, in the family's letter tray, a letter bearing the partial crown seal that was used on royal orders.

I looked for Sabrina and Sairo . Nothing. Signs of struggle, signs of escape, but no bodies. Kaela fell to her knees before an intact family portrait on the wall, her hands trembling. "They… they should be home," she murmured.

My chest tightened so much it felt like my lungs would burst. Anger rose like lava, and with it, an icy pain and an ancient guilt. In the short time I'd known them, I'd grown to like them immensely.

As we left, Kaela whispered that she heard merchants say they saw troops at night leading people out of the city… with a symbol I didn't recognize, but there was a crest, perhaps a unit linked to the princess.

The thought struck me: it wasn't just a local execution—it was a clean, well-thought-out operation. Margarida had expanded her shadow into the suburbs. And the Zairos were just one family among others.

I left the house with a dry throat. Ryn and Kaela knew what wasn't right to say out loud; this wasn't the time to cry, but to plan. There were routes to follow, names to try to track down buyers that Oliver had noted, routes I knew from the safes. The way to find out where Sabrina and Sairo had gone involved me retrieving information, using Oliver and his contacts. But inside, I was dying of rage.

We returned under the cover of night. My heart still ached from what I'd seen, but my head remained cool. If I released the slaves without a plan, if I killed Oliver on impulse, I would lose everything. I needed resources to pursue Margarida: men, routes, money, and all of this still depended on the structure of the plantation. Revenge couldn't be mere fury; it had to be a calculation of power.

I arrived at the barracks with a firm step. Ryn and Kaela assumed their positions as if nothing had happened, Wobo growled something about "the new owner's face," and the other slaves looked at me with renewed anticipation and reverent fear. Oliver watched me with eyes bloodshot with anger and hunger, not crying, not pleading, just waiting for a turnaround.

I kept the fragments of the seal in my pocket, like a seed of a lie I wouldn't tell yet. I needed to know where they were leading, and then I would ruin the princess for her bones. But I also knew that if I acted too soon, I wouldn't have the foundation to pursue the noble target. Then I smiled, outwardly a man who had achieved something; inwardly, a man whose world had begun to burn.

"Stick to the routine. Don't make any sudden movements. Meet tomorrow night. We have work to do," I said in a voice no one dared challenge.

Wobo gave a brief nod. Ryn and Kaela exchanged glances. Kaela held my hand for a second, her eyes filled with something that wasn't just fear, but respect and a promise to help. The longing for Sabrina passed like a blade. I swore silently that I would learn where Marga Rida hides her secrets, and that I would find Sabrina and Sairo . Whether alive or not, I would make the princess pay.