With a determined frown, Arthur used his potential sight skill, an ability he had honed to assess the true nature of people's potential. He focused his gaze on the boy, trying to decipher the meaning of the dark aura that surrounded him.
He was familiar with three different aura colours: yellow meaning low potential, green for an average level and red for a high aptitude. Even the two female slaves he acquired were of high aptitude.
However, the aura surrounding the boy was black—a colour Arthur had not encountered before. Intrigued and somewhat unsettled, he continued to analyze the boy through his skill.
The black aura seemed to absorb light, casting an almost palpable shadow that defied the normal spectrum of his sight. It was as if the boy's very presence was a void that consumed the ambient energy around him. This anomaly was disconcerting.
"Bring him along and keep him tightly sealed. Even more sealed than the other slaves." Arthur's command echoed through the chamber with an air of finality, and then thought to himself 'I want to understand what this black aura means and if there's any hidden potential within him.'
The trader's eyes widened in shock, but he quickly masked his surprise with a bow. "As you command, your grace." He turned to the guards standing at the far corner of the room, issuing urgent orders. Female guards were summoned, their expressions a mix of professionalism and unease as they prepared to handle the two captives. The female slave, still bound in chains, struggled fiercely against her captors, her angry cries echoing through the corridors as she was dragged away like an animal. Her defiance only seemed to fuel the cold determination of her captors.
In stark contrast, the boy rose from his seated position with a calm, almost mechanical grace. His eyes were distant, his movements fluid and obedient as he followed the female guards without protest. His demeanour was unsettlingly composed Despite their professional appearance, the female guards were evidently moved by the presence of the kid.
The soldiers escorted the child down a succession of small, barely lighted passageways until they arrived at a basic lavatory. The chamber was austere, its utilitarian design in sharp contrast to the market's splendour. A few sad, sleep-deprived female slaves awaited them, their looks a mix of resignation and deliberate indifference.
Slaves wore immaculate, white garments that clung to their bodies, exposing every curve and leaving little to the imagination. The gowns were intended to be both functional and attractive, emphasising their duties as cleaners and, if necessary, purveyors of pleasure. Their appearance was meticulously maintained, reflecting the demands of their positions in the wealthy households they served.
The female guards ushered the young man into the bathroom. The boy's gaze was remote, his eyes sweeping the room with eerie calm.
Despite their tired and sad faces, the female slaves were intrigued and concerned by the boy's presence. They have seen many captives come and go, but the boy's aura and the unique manner of his transfer made them uneasy.
The bathroom included minimal conveniences, including a wide stone basin, a couple of scrub brushes, and a rack of fresh, white towels. The environment was frigid and antiseptic.
The soldiers began to secure the young man in the lavatory, moving precisely and deliberately. Heavy chains were tied around his wrists and ankles, and a series of enchanted seals were set on the walls to keep him confined.
The girls had been prepared for a different reaction. They had anticipated that, like many other slaves, the boy might become aroused or aggressive, attempting to harass them as they worked. Instead, he responded to their calm instructions with an almost eerie obedience, his body remaining relaxed and passive.
As they worked, the girls found themselves growing more comfortable with the boy. His compliance and serene attitude made him the easiest slave they had ever dealt with. They exchanged relieved smiles as they carefully scrubbed away the grime, their hands moving with gentle precision. The task, though mundane, felt almost therapeutic in contrast to the dark undertones of their roles. Fifteen minutes later, the boy was thoroughly cleaned, his skin now pristine and glowing with an ethereal bronze sheen. The girls, satisfied with their work, gently guided him out of the bathtub. They dressed him in simple, clean black combat wear.
The boy was then escorted to the slaver's appraising room, a cold and imposing chamber designed to evaluate and control. The room was sparsely furnished, with the fat trader seated in the middle, flanked by two hefty male guards wielding long, rod-shaped weapons.
The slaver looked up as the boy was brought before him. He tapped his fingers together, a sinister smile curling at the corners of his lips. "You've been good, kid," he said, his voice dripping with disdain masked as praise. "But now the general himself has taken an interest in you. If you dare soil our company's name, I promise you that I'll make your life a living hell."
He gestured to the male guards, who stood ready with their glowing rods. The rods were activated, their tips shimmering with a gold celestial light. The men approached the boy, their faces set in stern, unfeeling masks.
With deliberate movements, the guards pressed the heated tips of the rods into the boy's back. The celestial glow seared into his skin, marking him with a painful, yet precise, pattern. The marks formed a coiled serpent that began at his shoulders and wound its way around his neck, the design an intricate and haunting brand.
The boy remained stoic as the marks were branded into his flesh, his expression unchanged despite the pain. The celestial glow left a burn that would be both a physical and symbolic reminder of his status and the expectations placed upon him. The guards finished their task with clinical efficiency, stepping back to allow the slaver to inspect their work.
The fat man scrutinised the boy's new marks with a satisfied nod. "Perfect. Now, remember, you're under strict orders. Fail us, and you'll face consequences beyond imagination."
The fat man's words echoed with a sinister clarity as he turned to one of the female guards stationed by the door. "As long as that mark is on you, you will never be able to cause harm to your master," he said, his tone dripping with cold authority. He turned to a female guard. "You, summon the general."
The female guard nodded and left to summon the general. Moments later, the middle-aged man entered the room, his demeanour reflecting a barely contained impatience. His eyes scanned the scene with a critical gaze, barely acknowledging the trader as he focused on the boy.
"Is it done?" the general asked tersely, his voice betraying no emotion as he took in the boy's presence. The trader, flustered by the general's directness, nodded vigorously.
"Of course, grace. "All that remains is to connect the imprint, sir," he said, his smile cracking under the pressure of the general's gaze.
The general's gaze lingered on the boy for a minute longer, a faint spark of appreciation in his eyes before he hardened his countenance. "Very well."
With a curt nod, the general signalled for the process to continue. One of the hefty men, still holding the celestial rods, approached the general with a practised air. The glow of the rods shifted from gold to a bar of pure, unblemished silver. They each pressed the rod lightly on the back of each of the general's hands. Two coiling serpent imprints appeared immediately.
As the trader continued his attempts at conversation, the general's attention was elsewhere. He turned his gaze toward the boy, his eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and authority. "What's your name, boy?"
The trader, caught off guard by the question, opened his mouth to remind the general that the boy had not spoken a single word since his capture. But before he could utter a sound, a calm and composed voice interrupted.
"My name…" The boy began, his tone steady and clear. He looked at the general with an insidious smile. "Is Omen."