Chapter 30: Return and Planing

The rest of the journey was uneventful. They reached the estate without any further trouble. As soon as the carriage pulled into the manor grounds, Fenric stepped out. He headed inside without a word. The old maids and butlers—those who had served him for years—were already waiting at the entrance, their belongings packed. Silent. Heads bowed. A few of the older ones had tears in their eyes. But Fenric didn’t stop. He didn’t speak to them. He simply walked past without a glance. The message had already been sent. Loyalty to the Third Prince was no longer optional—it was a requirement. And betrayal had consequences. The last thing he saw from the corner of his eye was the older head maid giving a deep bow, her shoulders shaking. But he didn’t turn back. Not even once. Instead, he shifted his gaze to the group now lined up at the side of the courtyard. The slaves. No longer in chains. They stood upright—dressed in clean training clothes, with their hair trimmed and eyes clear. Silent, but steady. And when Fenric passed by, one of them stepped forward, lowered his head, and said calmly: "Welcome home, Master." Fenric gave a simple nod. And with that, he walked inside the mansion—his mansion—while gesturing for the others to follow. All nineteen entered behind him. Twelve of them had been bought earlier, back at the slave-trading house. At the time, he had selected them randomly, under the recommendation from manager based on his choice. He hadn’t evaluated their potential—only their price and general condition. It was a blind acquisition. It wasn’t until after the encounter with the so-called Merciless Butcher that Duserdis explained the utility of his Soul Projection ability. Through it, Fenric realized he could evaluate a person’s hidden aptitudes—magic, aura compatibility, affinity paths, and more. So, he returned and made another selection. This time, he chose with purpose. From across the different sections of the slave estate, he handpicked seven more: the Butcher herself, two from courtesans section, one from household section , and three from combat slaves section. Seven in total. These were the ones he now considered his investment. As he stepped into the main hall, his silver-white hair catching the chandelier light, Fenric cast Soul Projection once more. The spectral mist rolled silently across the group of nineteen. One glance was all it took. Twelve of them—his original buys—had no noteworthy talents. Some barely registered mana presence at all. As expected. He faced them briefly. "You’ll be assigned to housework," he said plainly. "Kitchen, cleaning, inventory, logistics. No special treatment. You were bought for that purpose, and nothing’s changed." There was no resistance—only quiet nods. Turning to the remaining seven, all between the ages of fifteen and sixteen, he paused. They were untrained. Blank slates. But with the right guidance, they could become far more than that. "These seven will stay with me," he announced to the new Head Maid and head Butler. "No chores. No interruptions. Prepare quarters close to the training yard." "Yes, Master," the Head Maid said immediately. Fenric looked over the seven once more. Some showed signs of fear. Others curiosity. But none looked away. "From now on," he said calmly, "I’ll teach you techniques... give you structure... and if you endure—true power." He let that sink in before adding: "If any of you reach a designated threshold... you’ll earn the right to buy back your freedom." The room went silent. Some eyes widened. One clenched their fists. Fenric didn’t smile. He simply turned and began walking toward the eastern wing of the mansion—where the training courtyard and old war hall lay unused. The seven followed closely behind. There was a new energy in their steps—silent, but eager—as they moved through the corridors behind Fenric. He walked calmly, hands behind his back, his eyes forward. Without turning, he asked, "By the way... what crimes did you all commit?" The question hit like a ripple through the group. They exchanged glances before answering one by one, hesitantly at first. "We stole," one admitted quietly. "Caught taking food," said another. "Pickpocketing." "Bread from a merchant’s stall..." "From a noble kitchen..." "All of us... just tried to eat." Fenric didn’t respond immediately. He kept walking. But in his mind, the answer was clear—and simple, about thier parents. They were all orphans. And all once free adventurers Children. In the Vareldis Empire, or whole world, except few ones, being a free adventurer sounded like a badge of pride. You weren’t tied to any noble house. You didn’t pay tax. You could move between borders and claim your own fortune, unaffiliated with kingdoms or empires. But that same freedom came with its own cruel curse. When a free adventurer died, their children had no claim to title or inheritance. No clan. No protection. No guaranteed future. And the Empire? It bore no obligation to help them. That was the cost of "freedom" in the wilds. So when these kids stole—just to survive—they weren’t judged in court. They were sold like tools. Fenric glanced back at them now. None of them looked guilty. Just worn. "Why did you steal?" Fenric asked, his voice level as he walked ahead of them through the polished stone corridor. "You could have offered to help at an inn or a tavern for coin." The group paused behind him, shuffling slightly, unsure how to respond. A few lowered their heads in shame. But then, the ashen-haired girl—silent until now—answered coldly. "Hmph. We were framed, actually." Her voice was flat, like a blade dulled from use yet still capable of cutting. Fenric glanced at her, then looked to the others as they hung their heads in quiet agreement. "I see," he murmured, tone unreadable. He stopped before the large arched doors leading to the inner courtyard and turned slightly to face them. "Was it the slave trading house I bought you all from?" The seven exchanged glances before slowly shaking their heads. "They were kind to us," one of the younger boys admitted. "Better than most."