The damp, earthy scent of the tent filled my nostrils as I held Raphtalia and Rifana close. Their small bodies still trembled slightly against me, but the raw terror was slowly giving way to the quiet relief of my return.
"I promise," I repeated, my voice firm, the word echoing in the small space. "I won't leave you two... alone." The internal caveat – alone – was for me. I knew I'd have to leave them again for the God's tasks, maybe even Fitoria's, but never again would I simply vanish without ensuring their safety, or without a plan for their care.
Raphtalia nodded, her face pressed into my chest, her small hand clutching the fabric of my clothes. Rifana sniffled, burying her face deeper into my side. The questions were still there, hovering unspoken in the air, but for now, the need for reassurance outweighed the need for answers.
The rest of the night was quiet, a fragile peace settling over our makeshift home. I didn't sleep, instead watching over them, the weight of the last day's events – the cosmic games, the brutal task, the disturbing encounter with the Goddess – settling heavy in my mind. But seeing them here, safe and breathing, was a potent anchor to reality. This was why I was fighting. This was what mattered.
Dawn arrived, grey and muted. Despite the exhaustion, the training couldn't stop. I roused them gently, offering them some of the healing potions I'd concocted, using them less for injury now and more for rapid muscle recovery from the intense regimen.
"Master... my legs hurt," Rifana whimpered, rubbing her small thighs.
"Good," I replied, my tone flat. "That means they're getting stronger."
We moved through the familiar routine: endless push-ups, sit-ups, squats, sprints across the grassy field. Hand-to-hand drills where I carefully blocked their clumsy, tired blows, teaching them stances and movement. Then, the relentless balloon slaying – Raphtalia with her dagger, working on finding vital points, Rifana with her bow, practicing accuracy on the bobbing targets.
"Master, how can you not be tired?" Raphtalia asked, panting, wiping sweat from her brow.
Because I spent yesterday being manhandled by a Goddess and beating someone up across dimensions under divine compulsion, and honestly, this feels like a vacation by comparison.
"Experience," I said, offering a small, almost imperceptible smirk. "Keep going. You'll get there."
I kept them going until midday, pushing them hard but monitoring them closely, administering nourishing beverages the moment their energy flagged. They complained, they whined, they pleaded, but they didn't stop. They were resilient. They were theirs. And they were getting stronger.
By afternoon, my supply of potions and beverages was dwindling. I needed more ingredients, and I needed money. Specifically, I needed money for a very special purchase.
"Alright," I announced, wiping my hands on my trousers. "Training's done for today.
The scent of Seyaette at dusk was a familiar one, a blend of salt from the nearby ocean, woodsmoke, and the general, slightly unsettling smell of a port town marketplace winding down. We blended into the shadows at the outskirts, the last rays of sunlight painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. I found a thicket to leave the horse, a silent promise to myself to figure out its fate later. Maybe Alna would show up and retrieve her borrowed transport. I hoped she wouldn't show up for any other reason, though.
Raphtalia and Rifana stayed close, their small hands gripping my clothes like anchors. After the shock and fear of yesterday, they were quiet, watchful. My disappearance, followed by Alna's dramatic (and, I now knew, theatrically planned) frame-up and the subsequent duel spectacle, had shaken them. But enduring the night, and the relentless training that morning, seemed to have solidified something else: their reliance on me.
We walked towards the town center, the noise of the market growing louder. The training had been brutal, even with the potions. Push-ups until their small arms shook, sprints until their lungs burned, hand-to-hand drills that left them aching in muscles they didn't know they had. And the balloon slaying, drilling reflexes until it was instinct. They were pushing themselves, enduring the pain without giving up, fueled by my potions and their own nascent determination.
But something was off.
They were getting stronger, yes. Their movements were less clumsy, their reactions a fraction faster. But compared to how Raphtalia had grown in the original timeline, this felt… slow. Stagnant, almost. Like a game progress bar stuck at 80%.
My mind, annoyingly efficient at accessing traumatic memories and game mechanics, whirred. What was the key difference? What had changed between then and now that would affect their fundamental growth rate?
Myne? No, she slowed things down. Equipment? Better now. Training method? Miles better. Waves? Haven't hit yet. My level? Low, same as before.
Then it hit me, a cold, uncomfortable splash of realization. The slave mark.
Back then, Raphtalia was my slave. She had the mark.
It wasn't just a symbol of ownership. In that godforsaken game world logic, being a hero's slave wasn't just debasement; it was a mechanic. A boost. An accelerated growth rate linked directly to the Hero's presence and power. It was twisted, horrific game design, but it had been effective. Raphtalia's growth had been exponential.
A wave of cynicism washed over me. Of course. Of course, in this world, the most efficient way for my companions to grow strong enough to survive was through a system of literal magical servitude. The universe, or the sick minds that designed it, just loved kicking the Shield Hero when he was down.
"Master?" Raphtalia's voice, soft and hesitant, pulled me out of my thoughts. She looked up at me, her eyes large and questioning in the dim light.
Rifana, walking just behind her, echoed her concern with a small frown.
I stopped walking, finding a relatively quiet alcove away from the main flow of foot traffic. This wasn't going to be easy. How did you explain that the best way for the two children you just rescued from literal slavery to become strong was for them to voluntarily become slaves again? And not just slaves, but my slaves, the hero who had just been publicly framed for attempted enslavement and rape. The irony was bitter enough to curdle milk.
I knelt down, bringing myself closer to their level. Their faces, upturned and trusting, made the words catch in my throat.
"Raphtalia. Rifana." I started, my voice carefully neutral. "Your training is going well. You're getting stronger."
They nodded, a flicker of pride on their faces despite the obvious exhaustion etched there.
"But," I continued, bracing myself, "there's something… something that could make you grow faster. Much, much faster."
They waited, their expressions open and curious.
"It's about… being my slave."
Their eyes widened, their small bodies stiffening. Rifana flinched, pulling back slightly. Raphtalia's hand tightened on my clothes. I could see the memory of the mansion, of the cruel noble, flash across their faces.
"why?" Rifana said, her voice trembling.
"Master… we… we don't understand," Raphtalia said, her voice small and shaky.
I took a deep breath. "What I'm talking about… is different. It's… a way for the Shield Hero's companions to grow strong quickly. It's a… a bond. A contract."
I chose the words carefully. Bond. Contract. Anything but ownership. Though, fundamentally, that's exactly what it was in game terms.
My hand, calloused from combat and shield absorption, reached out hesitantly, stopping just short of touching Raphtalia's cheek. "If… if you were linked to my shield like that… your growth would accelerate. You'd learn faster, become stronger faster. Strong enough to… to really defend yourselves. To survive anything."
"But… the mark?" Raphtalia whispered, her voice barely audible.
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. "Yes. There would be a mark. But I would put it there. And I would be your master. Not like that noble."
Silence stretched, thick and heavy with their fear and confusion. Every cynical bone in my body screamed at the absurdity and horror of what I was asking. But every memory of the Waves, of Raphtalia's suffering, of Rifana's death… screamed louder. This was the fastest way. Maybe the only way they'd be strong enough in time.
Raphtalia's eyes searched mine, a long, agonizing moment of silent communication. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"If… if it makes us stronger, Master," she whispered, her voice still trembling, "and… and you promise… that you will be our master… and no one else…"
Hope flared in my chest, quickly followed by a fresh wave of guilt. "I promise," I said
"How about you Rifana?" I asked
"If it's you, Shield Hero, then fine by me too." She said
They trusted me. After everything, they trusted me enough to agree to become slaves again, with me as their master. It was a horrifying testament to the bond we'd forged in just a few days.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Okay," I said, standing up. "Then… we need to go to the slave trader."
We walked towards the shadiest part of the marketplace, the place where humans did their worst to demi-humans. My stomach twisted, but my resolve hardened. This wasn't about comfort. This was about survival. About power. About ensuring that the future I remembered – the one where Raphtalia suffered and Rifana died – would never come to pass.
The slave trader's shop was just as I remembered it: a dark, unassuming building tucked away in a grimy alley, the air thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and despair. A heavy wooden sign with faded lettering hung above the door. Beloukas. I recognized the name, the face, the calculating eyes from the future I'd lived.
We pushed open the door, the chime above the entrance announcing our arrival. The air inside was stuffy and dim. Cages lined the walls, mostly empty tonight, thank god. A few miserable-looking demi-humans huddled in corners. And behind a cluttered counter sat the man himself, a portly figure with sharp, intelligent eyes that assessed us the moment we entered. Beloukas.
His eyes landed on me, then flickered to the two small demi-humans behind me. A look of surprise, quickly masked, crossed his face. The Shield Hero, publicly shamed, framed for enslavement, walking into his shop with two recently "rescued" demi-humans? This was probably the juiciest rumor he'd heard in days.
"Welcome," Beloukas said, his voice oily smooth, yet with an undercurrent of curiosity. "The esteemed... Shield Hero. To what do I owe this... unexpected visit?"
I ignored the thinly veiled sarcasm and the assessing gaze. No time for posturing.
"I need to purchase these two," I stated, stepping slightly aside to reveal Raphtalia and Rifana fully.
Beloukas's eyebrows shot up. "Indeed? And they are... willing?" His eyes narrowed, flicking between the girls and me. He probably expected coercion, or me trying to sell them.
Raphtalia, sensing the need, stepped forward slightly, her small chin tilted up. "Yes," she said clearly, her voice surprisingly steady despite her earlier tears. "We wish to become the Shield Hero's... companions."
Beloukas studied her for a long moment, then Rifana. His gaze returned to me, a calculating glint in his eyes. This wasn't a typical transaction.
"Very well," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "A... unique request. I assume you require the standard contract?"
"Standard," I confirmed. "And I need to see your stock of monster eggs. Specifically, Filolial eggs."
Now that surprised him. His smooth facade cracked for a moment. Filolial eggs weren't common knowledge, certainly not something a newly summoned hero should know about, especially not the Shield Hero. And asking for them by name?
"Monster eggs?" he repeated slowly, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And you know of... Filolials? The Hero is well-informed."
"Let's just say I have... reliable sources," I said, allowing myself a small, humorless smile. The God, in his infinite, annoying power, was the most reliable source I'd ever had. "Show me what you have. I'm particularly interested in any... rare specimens." Like one guaranteed by divine intervention.
Beloukas hesitated, assessing me. The public pariah Shield Hero, capable of paying (I had Sadeena's 100 gold coins, minus what I'd spent on potions, plus the 50 I'd left with a note for Alna... I had enough for this, at least), asking for specific, rare monster eggs? The potential profit, coupled with the sheer weirdness of the situation, seemed to outweigh his caution.
"Very well," he said, rising from his seat. "Follow me."
He led us to a back room, temperature-controlled and lined with shelves holding various eggs. Different sizes, colors, textures. Reptilian, avian, furry. He pointed to a few. "Griffon, Wyvern... high-grade stock. Expensive, of course."
"Filolial," I prompted, my gaze scanning the shelves.
He sighed, as if conceding. "Down here," he said, leading us to a lower shelf. There were several large, plain white eggs, indistinguishable to the untrained eye. "Filolial eggs. Excellent potential for speed and power in their adult forms."
My eyes fell on them. They looked identical. But I knew, thanks to divine foresight, that one of them was special. A guaranteed drop. My future companion.
I scanned them, not with my eyes, but with a different sense. A faint warmth, a subtle resonance that the others lacked. There. A specific egg, nestled among the others. It pulsed with a quiet energy only I could feel.
This is it. The God had kept his word.
"These are all standard, yes?" I asked, looking back at Beloukas.
He nodded, puffing out his chest slightly. "The finest selection in Seyaette, Hero. Guaranteed healthy hatchlings."
"I'll take this one," I said, reaching for the specific egg that resonated with that faint, special warmth.
Beloukas's eyes followed my hand, then rested on my face, a flicker of something unreadable there. "An excellent choice, Hero," he said, though his tone suggested he had no idea why it was an excellent choice. "And the children?"
"Yes," I said, turning back to Raphtalia and Rifana. They stood close together, small figures in a large, dark room filled with potential life and cold business. "The contract. The marks."
Beloukas nodded, his smile returning, predatory now. "A simple procedure. They must simply agree... under the magic." He gestured towards a small, ornate device on a nearby table.
Raphtalia and Rifana looked at the device, then back at me. Their faces were pale, but their eyes were firm. They trusted me.
"We agree," Raphtalia said, her voice clear. Rifana echoed her, a quiet "Agree."
Beloukas guided them, one by one, to the device. There was a brief flash of light, a low hum of magic. Their small bodies flinched, then relaxed. The marks appeared: small, intricate symbols etched onto their collarbones. Not the ugly, crude noble's mark. These were different, cleaner, but undeniably slave crests.
Seeing those marks appear, even knowing they were "voluntary" and for power, sent a cold shiver down my spine. It was a necessary evil, a means to an end, but it still felt wrong. Yet, looking at the faint, special warmth radiating from the Filolial egg in my arms, and the determined, trusting faces of the girls, I pushed the feeling down.
"Payment," Beloukas prompted, his hand extended.
I paid him the gold. For Raphtalia, for Rifana, and for the special egg. It was a transaction steeped in the darkest realities of this world, framed by divine intervention and desperate pragmatism.
We walked out of the shop, leaving the stuffy air and the cages behind. The cooler night air hit us, carrying the distant sound of the ocean. Raphtalia and Rifana stood on either side of me, no longer just rescued children, but now magically bound to me, marked as mine.
"Master," Raphtalia said softly, reaching up to touch the symbol on her collarbone. It wasn't burning, wasn't hurting. "It feels... strange."
Rifana nodded, looking at her own mark with a mix of trepidation and curiosity.
"It's working," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "You'll feel the difference soon. You'll get stronger."
I looked down at the egg cradled in my arms. My future companion. The guaranteed drop. Filo. This strange, dark path was leading somewhere. Somewhere, hopefully, better than the future I remembered. We had power now. Purchased at a grim price, marked on our skin, but power nonetheless. And power was what we needed to survive. To make sure there would be... no regrets.