"Well... I can't remain passive."
His eyes darkened with resolve.
"The system's mission isn't just about surviving."
"It's about capturing the Duchy."
Suddenly, the door creaked open.
Renold stepped in, composed as always—followed by ten maids, each more polished and elegant than the last.
Kael straightened, smoothing his expression, hiding any trace of the cold plotting he'd been doing just moments earlier.
Renold bowed. "Young Master. It has been a full day. A noble of your standing should not remain unattended."
He gestured with a gloved hand toward the line of maids.
"Please select one from these. They are loyal to the House, Master."
Kael looked them over, slowly.
They were beautiful, yes. Graceful, yes. And completely forgettable.
'Loyal to the House', he repeated in his mind, lips curving in the faintest of smirks.
'Of course they are,' he thought. 'Loyal to the House. Not to me.'
Kael turned to Renold and said, quite plainly,
"I don't want any of them."
Renold blinked, caught mid-thought. "You… don't?"
He glanced at the carefully arranged group before them—elegant, poised, practically glowing in candlelight. The finest selection he could muster, and Kael dismissed them like overripe fruit at market.
"They'll remind me of Lana," Kael continued, voice distant. "And her promise."
The moment Kael said promise, Renold went quiet. Completely quiet.
Last night's memory rushed back. He hadn't slept at all. Not because of Lana's death—but because of what he had said.
'I'll give it to you myself, if I have to.'
That line kept repeating in Renold's head like a curse.
He had made a fool of himself yesterday, and the maids and butlers now cast him wary, curious glances.
Their silent judgment weighed heavily on him, making each step feel more burdensome than the last.
His life was far from easy.
Still, he pressed on, striving to maintain composure.
"Master," he began cautiously, "The Duke will be displeased upon his return from the hunt—especially if your second brother accompanies him."
Kael sighed, the sound slow and heavy, betraying his weariness more than his words ever could.
"Then take me to the slave market."
Renold's breath caught. "Master, but—"
Kael snapped sharply, "Do you dare defy me?"
The sudden sharpness in his tone stunned everyone.
For the first time, Renold saw the Third Young Master differently. The usual reserved, distant Kaelion—who never met anyone's gaze—was gone. Instead, a new presence stood before them: steady, unyielding, and strangely unfamiliar.
The maids exchanged uncertain looks, sensing the change too.
A flicker of doubt crossed Renold's mind. Was this really Kael? Or someone else wearing his face?
But he quickly dismissed the thought. People change after loss. Lana's death must have altered him—changed him in ways none of them could yet understand.
Kael, blissfully unaware that he was in the midst of an identity crisis, thought to himself,
'Come on, let's just go bastard'
At least the magic contract would be signed with him—and the slaves would be bound to him only, not the House.
Soon, Renold nodded quickly.
"Yes, Master. I will prepare the carriage right away."
***
The carriage rolled to a halt with a soft whine of mana gears winding down. Outside, the city's hum dimmed into a different rhythm—a murmur low and muffled, the kind that clung to places with more shadows than sun.
Renold stepped out first, coat brushed, gloves precise, ever the efficient steward. He turned back to the open door.
"Master."
Kael descended slowly, boots tapping against the stone as his eyes adjusted.
The slave market sprawled before him like an open wound in the belly of the city. Gone were the polished towers and gentle enchantments.
Here, the magic was thin, stretched, utilitarian. Not for show. Not for comfort.
Rows of iron cages lined the walkways, stacked like crates of meat.
Some enchanted to mute noise, others locked tight with sealing runes that flickered weakly—half-spent, barely holding together.
The scent in the air was a cocktail of sweat, smoke, and something sourer—like the ghost of fear that never quite left.
Kael walked slowly, hands in his pockets, as if strolling through a market square and not a parade of human misery.
The stone beneath his boots was worn smooth from traffic, but stained dark in places he didn't want to look too closely at.
The first vendor spotted him immediately—a stout man with too many rings and too few teeth. He stood behind a rusted cage, its bars humming faintly with a containment ward that had seen better days.
"Looking for muscle, my lord?" the vendor croaked with a grin too eager.
"Got a half-ogre lad in the back—bit of a temper, but that's nothing a collar won't fix. Strong as an ox. Dumber than one, too."
Kael tilted his head.
"Tempting. If I ever need someone to throw rocks at my enemies while drooling, I'll come right back."
The vendor's grin faltered. Renold gave a polite cough behind him, which Kael took as a silent plea not to antagonize everyone.
He gave a theatrical sigh and moved on.