“Stay inside,” Burn said as he opened the carriage door. He glared at Yvain when the boy was about to follow him out, but he deflated back to his seat instead.
“Sir Sator, this is nothing. Please return inside,” the coachman urged.
Ever since he’d taken up the job of Wilderwood Mansion’s coachman, he had never encountered a man with such a commanding presence. Not even the Marquis who employed him bore the sa air that Morgante di Sator exuded. Not to ntion his wife and son—
Burn walked toward the man who had jumped in front of the carriage, the horses nearly trampling him had the coachman not been so adept. He looked down at the figure, seemingly uninjured but radiating confusion and pain.
The man suddenly lunged at him, clutching his ankle.
“Good sir…! Please! Please help—please!”
He was dirty—filthy, really. His skin was sared with the remnants of hardship, a canvas of gri etched upon his frail fra. He was young, but the harshness of life had aged him prematurely, turning his boyish features into a mask of desperation.
At a glance, it was painfully obvious he was a slave, bound not just by chains but by the weight of despair that clung to him like a second skin.
His clothes hung off him as though they were borrowed from a more fortunate soul, tattered and threadbare, doing little to shield him from the elents or the world’s judgnt.
His hair, matted and unkempt, frad a face that looked as if it had forgotten what joy felt like—a reminder that innocence often fades in the light of cruel realities.
The way he clutched his ankle spoke volus; it wasn’t just physical pain, but a plea for acknowledgnt in a world that had long since chosen to ignore his existence.
“Ah, just what I needed today,” Burn thought, “a young rebel appealing for a hero's rescue. How quaint.”
He kicked him away, and the slave’s desperate clutch on his ankle was gone. Glancing at Wilderwood Mansion, he unleashed a twisted sneer; a loose slave impeding his return ho was just the delightful inconvenience he needed.
He hadn’t had the pleasure of eting this pitiful creature before because he left much earlier from the academy.
“Master Sator,” Finn appeared briskly from the mansion gates, his gait almost frenzied, his guards in tow. “What’s this?”
Burn shrugged. “Just a random slave?” he replied. “What brought you out here?”
Finn’s expression soured slightly. “I heard the Madam collapsed during the entrance ceremony buffet. You took your sweet ti returning, and I started to worry sothing dire had transpired. So, I patiently waited for your arrival, and…” His gaze drifted to the slave, writhing on the ground like a fish out of water.
“My Madam is perfectly fine,” Burn declared.
Finn waved his guards forward to remove the slave, concern plastered across his face. “Well, that’s a relief—”
“No! W-wait! Please help! Help!” The young slave scrambled past the guards, his plea a frantic echo. “Save —my… my… soone…! There’s soone I need to save! Please…!”
Confused and desperate, he was nonetheless relentless, the kind of unwavering determination you’d expect from a poorly scripted play with an overly enthusiastic actor.
Burn couldn’t help but smirk. The irony of it all was delicious—a slave imploring assistance from soone like him, as if he were so sort of knight in shining armor, rather than just a master in dull, tal heeled shoes.
The day had turned delightfully ridiculous.
“This one is clearly an illegal slave. Look at the state he’s in,” Finn declared, a mix of disdain and pity in his voice. “I’ll handle him from here. You were leaving today, right? No need to delay anymore.”
Knowing Burn, Finn didn’t want him to cast more bad luck on this already unfortunate soul of a slave. After all, Burn had a reputation for turning prisoners of war into slaves—a delightful pasti he’d practically mandated for the nobility of the Elysian Kingdom.
Finn couldn’t even begin to imagine what Burn would do to this poor soul for the cri of inconveniencing his travel plans.
“Just… please… I’m going to die… they’re going to die…!” the young slave pleaded, his bloodied palms scraping against the pavent in desperation. “They forced us… they… they tortured us…! Those people…!”
Finn clicked his tongue, grumbling softly, grimacing. “Why do we still endorse this whole slavery thing…?”
“Would he die just because he’s a slave?” Burn asked, an eyebrow raised, irritation simring beneath the surface.
“Well,” Finn nearly stuttered, “Yes, he would die at this point.”
“No,” Burn retorted. “He won’t die simply because of his status as a slave. He'll die because his owner decided it was a good afternoon for an execution.”
Finn narrowed his eyes. “That’s because he’s a slave in the first place. Isn’t that how people treat slaves? That’s why slavery is—”
“Slavery is good,” Burn shrugged. “Clearly, so people don’t have a right to an opinion or voice. I know you’ve t people like them.”
Finn widened his eyes. So nobles, criminals, and horrible people’s faces flashed in his mind.
“Anyway, as long as slavery is perfectly regulated with precisely maintained rules, nothing like this would happen,” Burn said. “My Empire’s slaves had chances to prove themselves useful and free themselves from their lowly status too.”
“Except those who were only suitable for nial work, the unambitious ones, or the turned-inside-out-asshole criminals, everyone had the sa chance to prove themselves,” Burn shrugged.
Galahad was a slave, yet he beca the strongest knight of Soulnaught.
“There are slaves walking among us, living decorated and rich lives under their generous masters, their lives better than most free people, pampered and loved. And when you put it another way, you can call anyone a slave,” Burn signaled the guards to pull the young slave to his feet.
“Like I am a slave to my wife, and my wife a slave to ,” Burn looked closer at the young slave. anwhile, Finn was stunned. Now his view of Burn completely changed.
Burn had promised Morgan to explain himself more now. And even though his view was twisted and cruel, there were reasons behind it. He stood firm in his opinion that so people just fit to be slaves.
So people needed to be made into slaves.
Most people were already slaves anyway, even though they thought they were free. They were usually slaves to money, slaves to their own desires, or slaves to what they thought were where their happiness lay.
If one thought about it, extre slavery like this would still happen nevertheless, hidden under the shadow of the underground world. So why not entirely make it legal and keep a keen eye on it? Enforce order.
This truth about humanity—he might be one of the small community of people who dared to face it and fix it.
Of course, if it were Morgan, she would try to fix it so other way—since she was also part of this small community.
After observing the young slave, Burn frowned. He ordered—
“Bring him inside.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
---------------------------------------------
Join my discord? :'v
Here
Consider supporting this novel by giving it ratings, reviews, and comnts, and if you want to, check out my Patreon! You can be notified for important announcents by becoming a free mber too! Link down below.
For only $5/month, you can get 7 advanced chapters and bonuses!
(The other tiers are $3/month for 4 chapters in advance, and $10/month for every chapters in advance I had, usually 20, and could be more when I'm planning a mass release!)
Reviews
All reviews (0)