[Coachman: Get down.]
[Slaves: …]
Silence.
[Coachman: Hey. Get down.]
[Slaves: …]
No one responds.
[Coachman: …]
[Slaves: …]
Stares fixed ahead. No one has the strength to move.
[Coachman: Mhm…]
[Lior: …]
The carriage has stopped. It's no longer moving.
We passed through a massive gate—ornate and beautiful. The path beyond it was far too long to belong to an ordinary mansion.
From here, I managed to glimpse a few things. The road is fully paved, its bricks clean yet worn—gray, some cracked with age. On both sides, trimmed hedges line the edges as decoration. Off to one side, there's a small wooden shed, and an older man sweeping.
The ones who closed the gate after the coach and carriage entered were none other than a pair of maids—wearing uniforms quite different from the one I used to wear. I watched them from here as they pushed shut the great metal gate, black and polished. Each iron bar was anchored to the ground by thick stone foundations.
Alchemy, most likely.
Glorious. Impeccable.
That entrance is nothing like the gate at the Eidoriku mansion. The subtle care in every detail, the construction as a whole—the entrance carries an aura of restrained yet imposing nobility. So different from that white-painted gate with a forest in front of it, lacking solemnity.
The difference in status is obvious.
The carriage has stopped.
We are already inside this estate—Helmet's land.
This is where Lior, as a slave, will fulfill his duty.
The beginning of a new cycle.
Isn't it?
[Coachman: GET OUT, YOU FUCKING BITCHES!]
[Slaves: …]
But back to reality.
[Slaves: …]
"…"
Lior snapped out of his delirium.
His mind resurfaced from somewhere deep within him—a sensation he hasn't forgotten. Being in a foreign place, once again, under the same premise as last year.
Heavy.
His eyes were dark and sunken. Even though he's been awake this entire time, the fatigue hasn't faded. Is it the lack of sanity? Or the lack of food?
He only knows they're yelling at him to get off the carriage. He's sitting right beside the door and can clearly hear the coachman's constant shouts.
Right now, he's sitting next to the noise.
Sitting in front of the exit.
And—
The coachman is standing right in front of him.
Now.
Right now.
He's in front of him.
"… "
Oh—
[Lior: AH!]
HE'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM!
[Coachman: !]
The coachman grabbed Lior by the arm—just like he had several times during this journey. Only this time, he applied so much force it felt as though the blood stopped flowing.
[Lior: Gyah! Nyahg—]
[Coachman: Ah!]
With a violent motion, he squeezed the demihuman's arm even tighter, forcing him to writhe in pain. He yanked him forward and, without care, turned around—dragging him across the wooden planks lined with poorly hammered nails.
Lior was dragged across the floor, scraping and tearing parts of his skin—not deeply, but enough to draw blood through the abrasions.
The demihuman groaned in pain and grabbed at the hand crushing his arm. He tried to pry it off but lost his balance in the process.
Near the exit, he could see outside—hard, dry stones covering the ground. Exposed to the sunlight, his body was pulled completely out of the carriage.
That's when the coachman let go.
[Lior: Gyahg— ahg!]
Crack!
[Lior: AHYG—]
Lior hit the stones, injuring the entire right side of his body. Tears of pain immediately streamed down his face.
It was so sudden.
Lior lay sprawled on the ground in broad daylight, thrown down from the carriage. His skin was lacerated. He twisted agonizingly on the ground, clutching his arm.
He looked ahead—toward the place he had fallen from. The other slaves were treated with the same roughness, but since they weren't in Lior's position, they didn't suffer significant injuries.
[Lior: Nyagh! Mhmmmghg!]
Groping through his thoughts to endure the pain, he began to cry, repeating to himself that it would pass.
Swallowing the pain from within, tears still falling, he felt his body screaming.
He tried to calm down.
He felt it—he kept feeling it—
But then he looked to the sides and saw the slaves beginning to step out, forming into a line.
[Lior: Ghg—]
He bit his lower lip with such force that his senses returned to him. He tried to breathe more steadily, accepting the pain and swallowing his constant suffering from within. Quickly, he repositioned himself and stood up with a simple surge of adrenaline.
His legs trembled under his weight, and his fingernails dug into the ground, serving as a source of balance. Forcing himself up like that, he moved to follow the masses.
He ran and ran, with small dried tears in his eyes—but also with drops that didn't fall, yet wouldn't cease. Holding himself through sheer will, he ran, shivering and slightly hunched over. He hurried toward the line of slaves, arranged horizontally and facing the structure ahead.
Lior had no time to look at or admire it. He had to calm himself first.
He reached the end of the line. He looked to one side—Lylia was near the front. Despite being close during this journey, Lylia reacted on instinct and went straight to line up. She was holding her right arm, the one they had apparently grabbed. She looked at Lior, her eyes cracked by anguish.
The demihuman saw her from afar. His head lowered along with his gaze. He felt a slight ache because of it—but in truth, his mind was more focused on the pain the adrenaline had left behind.
The cat's leg had cuts from some of the nails. Blood wasn't pouring out—just small but irritating open wounds. The worst damage was on his arm. When it struck the stone ground, it had scraped completely, leaving his skin exposed and bloodied.
The wounds burned intensely, even more with the wind brushing against them, creating friction that stung like fire. His breathing was uneven. His gaze drifted inward.
[Lior: Mhm… nyah…]
Groans of pain slipped from his mouth. It was bearable—but it hurt a lot. He wasn't used to this kind of suffering. The only place where he truly had it bad was in the dungeon, under constant lashings.
There—and when his master took advantage of him.
Nothing more. Eidoriku behaved well in that regard.
[Coachman: Good. I suppose that's it.]
The cat boy heard a sound near him, in front of all the slaves. The coachman was there, satisfied with what had happened. Stroking his chin while smiling with smugness.
[Don: HEY! DAMN IT, WHAT DID I TELL YOU, RAMÍREZ?!]
[Coachman: Oh? Uh? W-what happened, sir?! I've unloaded the slaves!]
[Don: Damn it! I told you they're special merchandise! Do you know how many gold coins those girls cost me?!]
[Coachman: Huh?]
[Don: Damn it! Look at that one! You've left her whole arm covered in blood!]
From a distance—now, after everything had happened so quickly—Mr. Helmet approached with a far from friendly expression. Furious, with clear intentions.
[Don: For God's sake! Why do you disobey me, you piece of shit? I pay you to do the job properly. You've been careless the entire trip, but now you've gone too far.]
[Coachman: I-I… S-sir, I can explain—]
Helmet, who had come from the side of the mansion's entrance, stood in front of the coachman. His name was Ramírez. He looked confused, not fully understanding what was happening. They were arguing in front of the slaves. Meanwhile, Petra was literally standing between the two large entrance doors, watching everything intently.
The master was scolding his subordinate—that's what it looked like.
Lior only limited himself to watching the scene. A few tears remained on his cheeks. He held his wound with his hand so the blood would stop flowing. His cat ears lay flat, his tail as well. His eyes had no shine left—just a spark that wouldn't ignite. The pain was too much; he couldn't think about anything else.
He was slightly hunched, his back not quite straight, almost shielding his abdomen so no one would hurt him. Trembling a little, mucus ran from his nose, which he kept trying to sniff back and wipe away. He stared ahead improperly—at the front, where everything was happening.
"…"
[Coachman: Ah…]
[Don: This is as far as you go, idiot. Petra! Call Antón!]
[Coachman: Aeh… Sir, please.]
[Don: Ahh… Let's see.]
Helmet pulled a small leather pouch from his left pocket. A coin purse.
[Don: One, two… three. There.]
[Coachman: W-what?]
[Don: Well then! Antón!]
[Coachman: …]
Receiving the coins, the coachman seemed lost. He still didn't fully understand what was happening, but he knew it was something bad. When he heard Helmet say Antón's name, Ramírez felt a stab in his chest.
He had just been dismissed.
[Coachman: W-what…?]
Even though everything happened so fast, leaving no time to react, he never believed he would be fired like this. He only mistreated the merchandise a little. It wasn't so bad as to deserve this treatment… right?
[Coachman: Sir, please!]
When he reacted, it was already too late. He looked ahead, watching Helmet walk away, leaving him behind without the slightest concern. Ramírez lowered his gaze again, as if searching for an excuse—or simply a word to say.
He didn't want this. Not now, after sacrificing so much for a stupid journey. He wasn't supposed to be dismissed—much less so soon after getting this job. It was so sudden, so easy. It was too simple to dispose of a nuisance.
His severance amounted to only three gold coins. It wasn't worth the effort he had made.
Then, when a kind of desperation settled in, he looked up.
"…"
It was too late. A bald, tall, muscular man in a white shirt had appeared.
[Antón: Sorry, Ramírez. But you already know how things work.]
[Ramírez: I—I… no…]
[Antón: Yeah… What a shame, right?]
[Ramírez: Wait… Antón, wait. Don't do anything.]
[Antón: Uff… I don't think I can ignore this, brother.]
[Ramírez: Ah… no… no… sir…]
Ramírez looked toward Helmet, who was already walking away and entering his home. Heading toward the mansion's entrance.
[Ramírez: No! You can't! Sir, you can't do this to me! I accompanied you during the entire journey! You can't just fire me like this! Sir, I—!]
"…"
The Don heard that and frowned beneath the shadow covering his face.
Helmet turned around.
[Don: Uhg! Shut up! Be grateful I'm not charging you for the damages! If that were the case, you'd already be like them!]
[Ramírez: No! NO! WAIT!]
[Antón: Up you go!]
Struggling within the strong man's arms—Antón had already grabbed Ramírez, who was now a former coachman of the Helmet family. He was lifted and thrown over Antón's shoulder, while he kicked and tried to break free. Held firmly around the abdomen, overpowered by Antón's size and strength.
[Ramírez: NOOO—! DON'T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS! I PROMISE I'LL BE USEFUL TO YOU! DON'T FIRE ME! PLEASE! THIS JOB FEEDS MY FAMILY!]
[Antón: Ghg… stop moving. Don't make it harder.]
[Ramírez: NOOO! ANTÓN, PLEASE, LET ME GO!]
[Antón: Mhm…]
[Ramírez: NOOOO! MY FAMILY DEPENDS ON ME! I CAN'T GO BACK LIKE THIS—ANYTHING BUT THIS! I PROMISE I'LL BE LOYAL AND USEFUL IN ANYTHING YOU ASK! I'M GOOD FOR EVERYTHING! I CAN HELP WITH ANYTHING!]
Thrashing violently in Antón's grip, the desperation in Ramírez's soul could be felt even from afar. Helmet only gave him a brief sideways glance before turning away and continuing his walk.
Ramírez didn't want this. He couldn't be dismissed like this. Anything but this way. Not for this reason. What would he tell his wife now? He didn't want it. He couldn't. Not now. Not like this. He wouldn't accept it. Please, no.
[Ramírez: Ahg— Let me go, please!]
[Antón: Ahhh… shut up, man. You're making a scene.]
[Ramírez: Ghg… ahg… Let me go, damn it. DON'T FIRE ME, I'M STILL VERY USEFUL! I'M TRUSTWORTHY—MY FATHER IS AN ACQUAINTANCE OF HIS! PLEASE, SIR, DON'T ABANDON ME!]
[Antón: Damn… Ramírez, you look like a child throwing a tantrum.]
[Ramírez: LET ME GO, DAMN IT! LET ME GO—I HAVE TO GO BACK!]
He moved and moved—struggle after struggle. All useless.
[Antón: Ghg…]
[Ramírez: Let me go… Damn it!]
[Antón: Tch… that's enough. I'm going to have to do this, bastard.]
[Ramírez: Ahg… For fuck's sake, let me go already, you bastard!]
Antón looked Ramírez in the face and stopped a few meters from the exit gate. Around halfway between the fountain and the roundabout, and the massive gate—several times larger than them.
[Antón: Ahh… God…]
Antón lowered Ramírez from his shoulder. Ramírez kept struggling, moving violently. He shook, twisted from side to side, thrashing and thrashing.
Antón just looked at him—
—and dropped him onto the ground.
[Ramírez: Gahh! What the hell do you think you're doing?!]
[Antón: …]
[Ramírez: Let me go, you bastard!]
He placed two fingers on his neck and—
[Antón: Hm.]
[Ramírez: A—]
"…"
…
"…"
…
"…"
…
"…"
…
"…"
…
"…"
[Antón: Get some rest… bastard.]
"…"
Two fingers, placed on his neck. Two fingers, pressed on a precise spot. A simple movement, a slight pulse against the carotid. A faint sound—followed by sepulchral silence.
"…"
[Lior: Hah…]
From afar, at the other end of the entrance gate—near the doors and the recently arrived carriages—the demihuman watched the now former coachman.
His gaze paled. He remained frozen in shock.
The sounds, the shouts, the insults—they had ceased. Nothing more was heard. They had stopped.
Lior, his vision slightly blurred, swallowed. His body trembled. He was stupefied. He breathed carefully, trying not to be heard. From that distance, he had seen everything that happened. His gaze was lost, trying to understand what had just occurred.
But he understood.
He simply didn't want to picture it.
He kept looking—at a distance.
Antón lifted the ex-coachman's body again, the same way as before—but now it was dead weight. Like a rag doll, he was carried off, wherever they were taking him.
Lior turned away the moment he saw that.
[Lior: Ah…]
With his mouth slightly open, he stared at the stone ground. It was stained with blood—his blood—dripping from the arm he was holding. He breathed, sometimes holding his breath between shaky sobs that escaped in sudden pulls of air. His eyes had droplets clinging to their edges, and his cheeks were sticky from dried tears.
His diamond-like eyes flickered in reaction to everything he had seen, felt, lived.
He stood still.
Watching.
Living.
Breathing.
Knowing.
Analyzing.
Understanding.
"…"
That man—even though he threw him and treated him so badly—has a family… one he must feed.
The desperation could still be felt, even now in silence. Everything happened so fast that he still didn't fully grasp what had taken place. It was something no one is ever prepared for.
Everything is so, so fleeting.
It's something you feel passing by.
There was nothing else that could be done.
[Lior: Nyah…]
It's…
Terrifying…
"…"
Very…
Terrifying…
"…"
For all of that to happen when you don't even realize it—when you're only worried about yourself and nothing else. These instants, these feelings, these moments… they are truly horrible. Nothing can be said now. It has already happened.
For his own good—or for everyone's good—someone who wasn't very good was removed.
But at what cost?
He's still a person. He also has to survive. He has to live with his family somehow.
How will he return now? After a very long journey—almost two weeks going and coming back—only to arrive home and say: I've been dismissed.
The fear that everything can end so easily—including one's own life and everything around it—that is truly frightening. I don't want to imagine it, because it has already happened to me.
But what if it happens again?
I always ask myself that question. And I never answer it—because I simply can't.
So fragile. So weak and delicate.
They threw me from a carriage, and now my arm—the one I fell on—is completely bloodied. It would have been so easy to hit my head and die just like that. Everything I did this year just to survive would have been wasted.
I can't—I don't want to think about something like that. I've already thought about it too much, and it only makes me sicker than I already am inside.
Damn it.
I really didn't want to see this scene. To feel this scene. To remember old things.
What a curse. What a fate.
Isn't it?
[Lior: …]
Lift your head…
There it is—a mansion. Another one, different but similar to the previous one. Only this one is gray and less flashy. It's made of brick. Not as refined as Eidoriku's, but much larger. From here, I can see it has more rooms and a better design.
It's not a mini castle or anything like that. Just a luxurious mansion. Large—spanning several good blocks in size.
The entrance is glorious. Decorated with hedges and a roundabout with a fountain in the middle, so the carriage can stop right in front of it. It's different from what I usually see—but there's no strong reaction from me. It's more or less what I expected.
It suits Helmet perfectly.
All that's left is to see the inside. I suppose it will be something completely special—and very new—for me.
[Lior: …]
He looked back down at the ground…
Looking at the ground…
The ground is made of stone. Look at that…
[???: …]
"…"
…
"…"
[???: …]
[Lior: …]
The cat boy felt a presence—someone standing in front of him. It entered from the edge of his vision, which had been fixed on the ground.
A dress. An apron covering the entire front. Long—a white, long apron, with a pocket in the middle and floral decorative fabric along the hem. Polished open shoes. A complete black uniform beneath it.
He couldn't see the shoulders—but he could see the chest.
The person standing before him was a maid, taller than he was.
"…"
[Lior: …]
Lior's head was grabbed by the cheeks once again. His cheeks, soft and plush despite being a malnourished young man. His gaze lifted along with the movement of his head, which was guided upward to look forward.
That was when he met the gaze of a female.
An elf—she had to be. There was a slight resemblance to Lylia.
Crimson eyes and a serious expression. White hair, forehead uncovered. Tied back in a ponytail. And a uniform that, in detail, was very different and far more simplistic than the one he used to wear. A decent chest and a pretty face.
Very much Helmet's taste. It shows in the slaves he purchased.
And—
"Yes… she's definitely taller than me…"
The girl carefully examined both sides of his cheeks, then touched his forehead gently. After that, she stepped out of Lior's central field of vision, moving to the side—near the curb that separated the road from the entrance.
She seemed to be waiting for something.
Lior lowered his gaze again. The pain in his arm had not ceased. It continued bleeding despite him pressing on the wounds in an attempt to make them clot. His tail did not move—it hung low, just like his ears.
He didn't want to look forward.
Not now.
"…"
Footsteps beside him.
He caught sight of a man inspecting and touching the slave next to him. It was Haru—the blue-haired cat girl. She was being examined from head to toe, extending her arms and then complying with the silent orders the butler conveyed through gestures.
The man resembled the butler Lior had known at the Eidoriku mansion, but with more muscle and slightly older. He had short hair—one of those military cuts—and a beard separated from his mustache, the mustache streaked with gray.
He stepped in front of the cat boy and positioned himself properly before him, after giving Haru one last look. She was observed from the front—his final glance more detailed than the rest.
The man looked at Lior directly, first analyzing his overall physical impression. From bottom to top, in a way that felt somewhat invasive.
This was quite normal. Just like last year, slaves were given a physical inspection to properly assess the merchandise. All of this was for economic and evaluative purposes. This time, they weren't determining roles, since all the slaves had been purchased for the same purpose.
The man stroked his chin, something in mind, and proceeded.
He stepped closer to the cat boy and made him extend his injured arm. With delicacy and subtlety, he took it and moved it slightly to check whether any muscle had been damaged. He made Lior release the arm he had been holding with his opposite hand, allowing the blood to flow freely again.
Touching the affected area carefully, Lior complained softly. The butler continued testing the joint for issues. Then he stretched the arm fully, making Lior keep it extended in the air.
He placed both hands over the cat boy's arm—slightly elevated to avoid direct contact—and a light appeared.
A faint yellow glow, bright and flickering, formed around Lior's thin and fragile arm. It could be interpreted as healing magic, given everything he was doing.
Except—
instead of making the boy feel better, the magic caused a slight discomfort.
[Lior: Nyhg… Mhm…]
It hurt a little.
When Chiyo used healing magic on him, she would recite a spell. But this man hadn't said anything. Could that make a difference? Chiyo had mentioned something about a blessing—there was nothing like that here.
The pain was bearable, just uncomfortable. Not as horrible as alcohol or hydrogen peroxide—just irritating enough to bother him.
The light faded when Lior felt his pain lessen slightly, and when the wound seemed to have been cleaned. The butler then asked something of the maid behind him. From her pocket, she pulled out bandages.
Apparently, this healing magic wasn't as effective as Chiyo's. A bandage was still needed for the wound to close properly. Most likely, the magic only served the previously mentioned purpose—that is, cleaning the area and the wound itself.
A type of disinfecting magic.
[Butler: …]
Carefully, the butler placed the bandage over the demihuman's soft, lacerated skin. Mindful of the shape and the pressure he applied to the damaged area, making sure everything was properly set. He wrapped and wrapped the roll of bandage around that part, covering a large portion of the cat boy's arm.
At this point, Lior no longer felt much pain in his arm. It could be said that, besides disinfecting the area, the magic had also numbed it.
His arm felt slightly asleep—but honestly, that was better than feeling his skin raw and bleeding. He watched that area being carefully wrapped. It was a little comforting, truth be told, to have a gentleman treat him like this.
The entire lower part of Lior's arm was bandaged. Finally, the butler finished the task in front of him, covering the damaged area from his elbow down to his wrist.
"…"
He handed the remaining bandage back to the elven maid at his side.
And, just like a year ago, the butler began the task of examining the slave's entire body.
[Butler: …]
He placed his hands on the cat boy's hips and carefully moved downward along his legs—touching waist, abdomen, chest, and pelvis. Then he reached lower, checking thighs, glutes, knees, legs, and ankles.
Noticing some nail scratches in that area, and without giving them much importance, he simply applied a bit of disinfecting magic.
He looked at the demihuman's face, who was slightly uncomfortable with all of this, and then straightened up completely.
To examine him properly, the butler had to bend down as well, since Lior was quite short. He looked at him from the front with a somewhat questionable gaze—as if he had noticed something, though apparently not important enough to dwell on.
His eyes shifted toward the rest of his limbs.
Shoulders, arms, elbows, forearms, wrists, and hands—everything was examined. Each limb he touched felt weak and delicate. Silky, soft skin—easy to damage, yet outwardly flawless.
The man dressed as a butler inspected the demihuman's hands more closely, making him even more nervous than he already was. Lior was nothing more than a spectator while an older man examined his body with an air of superiority, leaving him no room to even think about speaking.
Then he reached a rather common area—his neck.
Everything was normal. Fine.
Until Lior felt a weight there again.
The cat boy stiffened. He had forgotten something very important—his collar. It was still there. It hadn't fallen off. He had simply grown so used to it that he forgot it was there at all.
It was strange. During all these days, he hadn't worried about it. He hadn't even noticed his own carelessness. It was like a blow of reality—this was still here.
By his own choice.
The butler simply took a thick cloth from an inner pocket of his suit and wiped the small golden plate of the collar, then put the cloth away. It was quick, but noticeable. Something simple, nothing to comment on.
Noticing the cat boy's expression, the man straightened fully. He held the right side of Lior's cheek and examined his eyes—pupils, cornea, checking for any sign of infection. He lowered his eyelid, and as part of the process, Lior lifted his diamond pupil upward.
Finding nothing unusual, the man released him and moved down to inspect his mouth. He examined it from the front, parted his lips, and checked his teeth, palate, and tongue. He lifted the tongue to see underneath, then pulled it slightly outward to inspect his throat.
He closed Lior's jaw and stared at his face for a few seconds.
Lior opened his eyes wide and simply waited for something to happen.
When the gentleman reacted, he merely gave the cat demihuman a few pats on the head.
That made Lior blush slightly, his ears lowering in a somewhat submissive manner.
Then the butler shifted his gaze to his right—to the crimson-eyed elven maid.
[Butler: Take them to the dressing room.]
[Maid: Yes, sir.]
A quick and direct order. Without delay or hesitation, the maid obeyed her superior.
After giving the command, the butler adjusted the sleeves of his suit. It was a typical butler's attire—shirt and bow tie, a tailcoat that covered the back, and a gray vest beneath the tuxedo. Black trousers and perfectly polished shoes.
Clean appearance. No imperfections. Well-groomed from head to toe.
He stepped away from the slaves, who remained with the crimson-eyed elven maid. She had received the order to take the girls to the dressing room—something Lior had never seen before.
At the Eidoriku mansion, he used to change in his own room.
That was why Lior lifted his gaze, slightly lost. He didn't understand the layout of the place they were about to enter. It seemed far larger than it appeared at first glance, which only made navigating the property more complicated.
For now, he would need to carefully observe the estate.
The moment he stepped inside, that would be his only objective.
[Elven Maid: Boy, do you know Imperium?]
[Lior: Nyah… uh… y-yes… m-miss.]
[Elven Maid: Oh… Well then, follow me. Tell the others to follow as well.]
[Haru: Miss, we all know Imperium here. Nyo need to worry about the language, nya.]
[Elven Maid: …]
The white-haired elf stared at the cat girl, clearly surprised—almost impressed.
[Elven Maid: Ah… r-right… W-well then… follow me, if that's the case.]
[Slaves: …]
The maid positioned herself to walk, stepping up the small rise between the street and the walkway. Each slave followed in a line, with Lior as the first one directly behind the elven girl.
They approached the door—about to enter the mansion itself.
That was when Lior admired the entrance, bracing himself to see the interior in its entirety.
A vast space…
A new space…
"…"