Wasserkrone Keep's gates closed behind Clarence with a finality that echoed through the city.
The Keep's rulers had been… uncooperative. Their eyes lingered too long on his pendant—the crest of Liberty.
No matter. He'd learned enough: Eberhard's 'pet' was no ordinary slave.
The carriage rolled away from Wasserkrone Keep, its shadow stretching like a blade across Heilen's cobbled streets.
Clarence watched the spires shrink behind them, his fingers drumming against his knee.
"You're quiet," Arlen remarked. "Still thinking about the slave?"
Clarence didn't answer. Instead, he leaned toward the driver. "Take us to Eberhard Blaze's estate."
Dawn whistled. "Oho? Straight to the lion's den?"
"No," Clarence said softly. "To the cage."
Wasserkrone Keep had been… disappointing. Clarence expected grandeur, but instead found a mausoleum of dead ideals.
The steward's words echoed as he left: "The boy you seek belongs to Eberhard Blaze. Tread carefully, Lord Clarence."
Meanwhile, Lucian knelt in Eberhard's villa, blood drying on his tunic. The guild's complaint scroll lay unrolled before
him—a list of crimes he'd committed by surviving
Anxiousness.
Helplessness.
Fear.
Perhaps these three things could describe a fraction of what Lucian was feeling in that moment.
"A broken nose, irreparable damage to the kingdom's relic entrusted to the guild leader,
distortion of atmospheric balance,
psychological trauma… your slave has caused quite a stir this time, Lord Blaze."
The contractor's voice was even, clinical. He read from the parchment as if reciting an expense report.
With a practiced motion, he adjusted his thin-framed spectacles. "What now?" he added, tone dry and expectant.
Eberhard leaned forward from his cushioned chair, lacing his fingers slowly. He glanced at Lucian —
a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth — then looked back at the contractor.
"He did all that?" he said with mock surprise. "Mm… I see. I didn't want it to come to this, but…"
He gave a soft chuckle, the kind that made Lucian's stomach tighten.
"Given how severe the case is, I may have no choice but to strengthen the control contract. For everyone's safety,
of course."
"B-but I… I was just trying… to protect your guest," Lucian spoke up, voice low and trembling.
"You told me to protect the guest. This… this doesn't seem fai—"
"It doesn't seem what, Lucian?"
Eberhard's tone turned sharp — like a whip.
Lucian faltered. His fingers twitched.
"…It doesn't seem too… unfair," he muttered, gaze dropping.
A moment passed. Silence thickened.
"This is unjust!"
The doors to the chamber swung open with a crash. Rayen strode inside, his voice heated with indignation.
"He was only following your orders — he protected me, just like you told him to! This isn't justice, it's punishment!"
Eberhard didn't rise. He didn't flinch. He merely shifted his gaze toward Rayen, the way one might glance at a barking dog.
"I told him to protect you," he said calmly, "not to hospitalize the aggressor while destroying a national relic.
It's clear he needs more… discipline. More control." His smile returned, slow and theatrical.
"Believe me, it breaks my heart to restrict him further…"
"It doesn't!" Rayen snapped. "Stop pretending you're some benevolent lord. You orchestrated this.
You lent Lucian to them knowing this would happen… didn't you?"
Eberhard didn't deny it. He only smiled.
"I'll remind you, boy," he said, voice dropping to a frigid murmur,
"that the only reason you stand here in Heilen is because I allow it.
You'd still be rotting in the Lesser World if not for me. So don't speak unless you're spoken to."
Rayen froze. Words caught in his throat, lodged behind clenched teeth.
This wasn't just a room. It was a stage — and every move here would echo beyond its walls.
He could scream, shout, stand for Lucian… and accomplish nothing. Or he could stay quiet, bide his time,
and preserve his place in Heilen — one of the Five Greater Kingdoms.
His knuckles turned white at his sides. His eyes flicked to Lucian — who stood silently, head lowered,
the weight of invisible chains dragging his posture into submission.
Rayen made his decision.
The decision was made in silence.
And silence, in that room, was louder than any verdict.
Eberhard smirked.
Everything according to plan.
Slowly… surely…
Until—
"Wooow… This place's no less grand than Wasserkrone Keep itself!
Though honestly, the Keep's librarian was way scarier. Dude glared at us like we'd kicked his dog."
A bright, playful voice rang out — slicing through the tension like a blade of sunlight. Heads turned, surprised.
Standing at the threshold was a girl with radiant yellow hair, twirling slightly as she took in
the villa's elaborate interiors.
Vaulted ceilings lined with gold-trimmed moldings. Wide arched windows spilling sunlight onto obsidian-tiled floors.
Gilded columns inlaid with swirling runes. Chained paintings that looked more like imprisoned memories than art.
It was a house of prestige — and control.
But the girl didn't seem awed.
She tilted her head, reconsidering.
"Actually… never mind. It's okay-ish. Still not quite at Wasserkrone Keep's level just yet."
She chuckled to herself, brushing the corner of her red cape off her shoulder.
Her attire screamed nobility: a deep crimson jacket embroidered with sigils, worn over a cream-colored ruffled shirt,
tucked into light brown high-waisted pants laced with subtle golden patterns. Boots polished to perfection.
Every inch of her said important, except for the way she carried herself — carefree, casual,
like royalty who'd gotten tired of court etiquette.
Everyone turned to stare.
The contractor narrowed his eyes. "And… you are?"
"Me?" She pointed at herself, eyes widening playfully. "I'm Dawn. Dawn Vance."
She said it like it should've meant something — and to anyone with the right education, it probably did.
Before the weight of her name could fully settle, another voice followed from behind — calm, commanding, charismatic.
"What did I tell you about politeness, Dawn?"
All heads turned again.
The man who stepped into the room was striking: white hair falling in loose layers,
a long red overcoat flaring behind him — reminiscent of old warrior-commanders —
with a silver pendant bearing a sun-crest hanging around his neck.
His black pants carried intricate embroidery along the sides, and behind him hung a sword sheath,
plain but purposefully worn.
Clarence.
Dawn scratched the back of her head, feigning sheepishness. "Uhh… sorry."
Behind them came a third figure — quieter, composed. Arlen.
He had wavy black hair swept neatly, and his sharp features were framed by a black coat over a crisp white shirt,
matched with tailored black trousers. He said nothing, but his presence was the kind that made people straighten
their backs without realizing it.
Eberhard's eyes flicked from face to face.
He didn't recognize the girl — not fully — but the white-haired man?
That, he recognized instantly.
"Ah… Lord Clarence."
Eberhard rose from his seat, suddenly gracious. "I wasn't informed of your arrival.
It seems my servants… mistook the time."
He turned ever so slightly — just enough to cast a cold glance at a nearby servant.
The servant flinched, lowering their head in terror.
Eberhard smiled again. Smooth. Silken. Poisoned with courtesy.
"Oh, don't worry about it. We don't mind much," Arlen said, voice smooth and composed, showing no trace of offense.
Eberhard turned his gaze to Rayen and Lucian. "You two… you may leave for now. I'll summon you later."
His voice held reluctant grace, but Lucian could sense the sharpness buried beneath it.
Clarence remained still, hands behind his back, as Rayen and Lucian quietly exited the corridor.
And as Lucian stepped past the ornate archway — framed in red-gold vines and marble spires — his eyes lifted.
For a moment, just a moment, his gaze met Clarence's.
What Clarence saw wasn't the dull, broken stare one might expect from a slave.
He saw pain — yes — but pain weathered by defiance.
Eyes that had suffered in silence for years, yet held something deeper behind them.
Something not yet born. But stirring.
A moment passed. Then Clarence blinked, and the boy was gone.
Eberhard cleared his throat. "Shall we head inside? Allow me the honor of a proper welcome, Lord Clarence,"
he said, gesturing toward the villa's inner hall.
They began to walk.
"You're looking at him again," Arlen muttered under his breath.
"You dragged us from the Keep's library for this?" he grumbled
"You needn't point it out every time," Clarence replied, eyes forward.
"The child who has never known the warmth of kindness will burn down the village just to feel its heat."
Arlen sighed. "There you go again… with these random quotes that just so happen to match the situation perfectly.
What are you, a prophet?"
"Just say you want the slave," Dawn chimed in, strolling ahead of them. "It's not that deep."
The two men froze.
Both turned to glare at her with synchronized expressions that screamed:
"What are you saying?! Shut up!"
They quickly checked if Eberhard had heard — thankfully, he was far ahead, already making his way through the
next corridor.
"...Or maybe not?" Dawn grinned nervously. "Hehe…?"
Clarence and Arlen sighed in unison. The three continued walking.
The interior of the villa was breathtaking — a palace hidden beneath civility.
Crystal chandeliers hovered like sunlit ghosts, glowing softly above the checkerboard obsidian-and-pearl flooring.
Stained glass windows spilled color across the halls — red, gold, and violet hues dancing across carved
statues of forgotten heroes.
Portraits adorned the walls, each more lavish than the last — though none dared outshine the central one:
Eberhard himself, painted like a saint with flames and chains curling around his feet.
As the trio reached the main hall, Eberhard returned, flanked by servants and butlers dressed in immaculate monochrome
attire.
"These servants will show you to your rooms," Eberhard announced. "In about an hour, lunch will be prepared — a delicacy,
I assure you."
"This really wasn't necessary," Clarence replied politely, "but we appreciate it."
"No need for formalities, Lord Clarence. You are my honored guest," Eberhard smiled.
"I assume you visited Wasserkrone Keep before arriving here?"
"That's correct," Clarence answered calmly. "It was a remarkable sight."
"Ah, such a grand structure, isn't it?" Eberhard chuckled. "Still, I hope your stay here proves… equally memorable.
I shall meet with you after an hour or so."
"Don't be so considerate. Go finish your 'unfinished business,'" Arlen replied with a flat stare.
"Kinda rude to leave your guests unattended, if you ask me," Dawn added — only to get elbowed sharply by Arlen.
"Ow—okay, okay!"
With that, the servants began leading the three down separate wings of the villa, and Eberhard, bowing with just
enough flourish, turned to vanish down a dark hallway.
Back to his plans.
In his guest room, Clarence sat silently by the shelf, eyes distant. The silence wrapped around him like an old habit.
After a moment, he stood up, picked up the cup of coffee cooling on the table, and stepped out onto the balcony.
He sipped it slowly.
Below him, the illusion of opulence shattered.
Beyond the villa's gilded edges, reality clawed through. The streets were lined with the
forgotten — beggars huddled in ragged cloth,
scavenging whatever scraps they could find. Some chewed at rotting meat with vacant eyes.
And among them… sat Lucian.
Not apart. Among.
Despite being a slave, Lucian had earned at least one piece of bread from Eberhard. He ate slowly,
savoring each crumb like it was a gift from the heavens. Not out of gluttony, but because he had learned never
to waste what little he was given.
A little further off sat Rayen.
He was no stranger to poverty — he came from the Lesser World, after all — but even he had grown up with enough to eat.
This… this level of destitution was new.
Eberhard's hospitality, it seemed, had clear boundaries.
Rayen's stomach growled, echoing louder than he'd expected. He winced. But he couldn't bring himself to beg — not here.
Not like this.
Then… a shadow fell over him.
"Hey, here. Take this."
Rayen looked up.
Lucian stood before him, holding out half of his bread.
Rayen blinked, uncertain. "But… aren't you more hungry than I am?"
Lucian's response was soft. "It's fine. I'm used to hunger."
Rayen hesitated only a second longer before the gnawing in his gut won out. He took the bread and devoured it in moments.
Lucian sat beside him. They talked — nothing serious, just casual chatter. The kind two boys might share if
they weren't forced to exist on opposite sides of a system built to crush them.
Up on the balcony, Clarence smiled faintly to himself.
"Strong… and morally straight."
An hour later, everyone gathered around the grand dining table.
Polished silverware glinted under floating crystal lights. Plates were laden with dishes that
cost more than some families made in a month.
And across the table — nobles, emissaries, warriors… and slavers.
The real conversation began.
"So," Eberhard said smoothly, resting his chin on his hand. "May I ask the purpose of your visit, Lord Clarence?"
Clarence gently placed his fork down. "Our presence in Heilen is tied to an expedition organized by
The Liberation Front — the central faction safeguarding the Concept of Liberty."
"I've heard of it. Who hasn't?" Eberhard replied with a tight smile. "Everyone knows how far your Lord once went
in the name of absolute freedom… Shame it led to his downfall."
He chuckled faintly, but there was a tension in his voice now. A curiosity, sharpened.
"Well," Eberhard continued, "I suppose what I'm truly asking is: what drew someone like you to my estate?
I can't imagine a man of your stature visiting without a deeper motive."
Clarence's reply was simple.
Unblinking.
Direct.
"The truth?" he said, voice steady. "One of your slaves has caught my eye."
The table went quiet.
Clarence's gaze was calm as ever.
"What I saw in the Keep's records intrigued me, Lord Blaze. A slave with multipe Behavioural Abilities… unheard of.
Im talking about....Lucian Verlain"