Chapter 27: New Servants IV

"All contracts sealed," the elf woman said, her voice smooth and professional. "Each of them is now tied to Your Highness alone. You may issue orders, recall them at will, or even enforce loyalty through the geas marks, should the situation demand it." Fenric flexed his fingers, watching the glowing contracts fade into his skin until only faint traces remained—like tattoos of ownership, visible only to him. "Perfect," he muttered.f r\eeNovelFire.c(o)(m) The elf bowed. "Would Your Highness prefer we deliver them to your estate, or will you escort them back personally?" "Just escort them back," Fenric replied without hesitation. She nodded, then paused, tilting her head slightly in thought. "Would Your Highness care to see the rest of our stock? You might find others suited to more specific roles... perhaps ones tailored for your future needs?" Her voice carried a hopeful lilt, a subtle pitch from a merchant who knew she was standing before a high-value client. Fenric gave her a brief sideways glance, then a single nod. "Lead the way." "Of course," she said, turning with a practiced smile and gesturing for him to follow. She led him down a separate corridor. The stone beneath their feet transitioned from polished marble to enchanted black basalt, absorbing sound with each step. Arcane lights flickered to life overhead as they descended deeper. Soon, they arrived at a reinforced door made of mana-hardened steelwood. The elf woman placed her hand on a glowing glyph. With a soft hiss, the door opened to reveal a vast underground complex. Fenric stepped inside—and the scale struck him at once. The showroom was enormous. Slaves of various races were divided into distinct sections: one group undergoing martial drills with spears and swords; another being taught noble etiquette and estate maintenance; yet another rehearsing fine courtesan art—elegant movement, soft speaking, seductive poise. Everything was categorized and arranged with military efficiency. It was less a slave house and more like a carefully managed personnel depot. Fenric stood at the threshold, arms folded behind his back, silver eyes calmly scanning the operation in front of him. "Please, Your Highness, take your time. You may find individuals tailored to your future strategies," the elf woman said courteously, then stepped aside to let him explore freely. Fenric gave a silent nod and began moving forward at a measured pace. Roman and Myria followed close behind—calm, disciplined, unreadable. The butler, however, trailed behind them with a pale face, sweat glistening under the enchanted lights. As Fenric walked through the facility, he observed its sheer size with silent approval. This place could house over ten thousand people comfortably, and it was so well designed that no one even needed to share a bed or training space. Everything—from combat arenas to dormitory wings—was organized like a miniature fortress. He passed through one section after another: combat pits where weapons clashed against shields; household wings where trainees practiced folding sheets with precision and reciting etiquette lines—all methodical and efficient. Then he entered the courtesan wing. The air shifted. It was thicker here—sweetened with perfume and filled with ambient music. Warm lighting and velvet drapes softened the environment. Boys and girls were arranged in refined stances, walking, reclining, or posing. Their expressions were blank, but their eyes followed him—discreetly, calculatingly. Fenric moved silently through the ranks—until he stopped mid-step. She was standing among the new recruits. Younger than most. Ash-grey hair, loosely tied. Amber eyes. Not the prettiest. Not the most graceful. But it was her face that made him freeze. Though still immature and awkward, it bore an uncanny resemblance to a face he remembered all too well from the original novel. "...It can’t be," Fenric murmured under his breath. The name hit him like a blade: The Merciless Butcher. The infamous villainess from the original story. A woman who would eventually become not just the Empire’s, but the entire world’s most feared assassin—loathed by nobles, dreaded by generals, and oddly respected by commoners for her unflinching execution of the corrupt. She had never been a main character, yet her shadow loomed across the story’s events. Time and again, she had stepped from the dark to tip the scales—at times even saving the protagonist’s life, though her name was rarely spoken. She wasn’t just a killer; she was the killer. Cold, calculating, efficient. A legend born of blood. One of her most infamous feats was assassinating over ten thousand people within a single month—dismantling a minor kingdom from within. That was the moment she stepped into legend.NovelFire Fenric racked his memory, trying to recall her origin. She was an orphan, caught stealing, and eventually sold to a slave merchant. Then adopted—strangely enough—by a minor noble family on the Empire’s western border, not as a plaything or maid, but as a nanny. They’d asked her to look after their young daughter, no more than five years old. And for the first time in her life, she had known warmth, something close to family. Until it was all stolen. The family was wiped out in a brutal power grab by a corrupt noble house, eager for land. And when that small girl died in her arms—her first taste of love, laughter, and safety—that’s when it happened. She didn’t break into grief. She was reborn in wrath: cold, absolute, merciless wrath. That day, the Merciless Butcher came into being. Fenric’s eyes narrowed as he studied the girl. She was trying to blend in with the others—shoulders stiff, posture too controlled. She wasn’t failing for lack of trying. She was failing because everything about her screamed wrong environment. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen. But she already had the eyes of a woman—sharp, haunted, and calculating. "That girl," Fenric said quietly to the elf beside him, "the grey-haired one." The elf blinked, then scanned her ledger. "Ah, yes. Sharp eyes, Your Highness. Shall I include her in your acquisition list?" Fenric gave a slow nod. The elf raised a curious brow but bowed low. "As you command." Behind him, the butler’s face paled even further—yet another silent reminder that his replacement was not just a possibility, but a countdown.