They were all taken aback upon hearing his voice; it was calm and deep, a tone so unfamiliar for someone who appeared to be so young. After all, he didn't seem to be more than seventeen years old. He was lean and tall, undeniably handsome, with a muscular build that suggested strength and resilience. At that moment, he looked less like a mere slave and more like a trained noble, someone who had been groomed for a higher status… or was he truly just a slave?
They never knew his background afterall, as every means of torture fell short.
"You're surprisingly calm for a young battle slave," the general remarked, his voice steady yet laced with authority. "Come on, let's move. We still have a long day ahead of us." He recalled the impatience that had plagued him moments before. With a final glance at the slave trader, he added, "And one more thing, slave trader: I'd prefer that nothing is said about this transaction."
"Of course, milord, secrets are the foundation of war" The fat man nodded eagerly, his eyes gleaming with greed as a massive bag of gold coins landed heavily in his palms, the weight of it signifying a deal sealed in silence.
Omen followed the tall man, stepping out of the dim confines of the building. For the very first time in an entire month, he felt the comforting warmth of sunlight on his skin, an experience he had not realised he craved throughout his captivity. As they emerged, they found themselves in a sprawling property teeming with excitement. The area was densely populated, filled with low-level slaves—both human and non-human—trapped in multiple cages, their eyes reflecting a mix of despair and resignation. Wealthy merchants and buyers moved about, their laughter and chatter creating a stark contrast to the sombre atmosphere surrounding the enslaved individuals.
"Come on, boy," the general said, his tone calm yet firm. He wasn't shouting, but Omen could sense the undercurrent of impatience growing within him. Omen quickened his pace as they navigated through the throngs of people, weaving their way past merchants haggling over prices and buyers inspecting their potential acquisitions. Soon, they reached a group of horses, their powerful forms waiting patiently, ready to carry them away from this place filled with sorrow and confinement.
…..
Rachael's words sliced through the air, cutting through the low hum of the bustling market. Her eyes, sharp with frustration, scanned the chaotic scene before her. The dense crowd, a sea of shifting bodies, seemed to mock her impatience. Vendors chanted, peddling their wares, while the sound of bartering resonated from every direction.
"What's taking Father so long?" She exploded, her voice full of fury and disgust. Her attention dropped to her sibling, Richard, who stood a few feet away, staring at a pair of slave females.
Richard's glare was fierce, almost cruel, as he observed the girls gathered close. The slaves were a stark contrast to the usual drudgery associated with their status. Dressed in sleek black wool battle gowns that clung to their figures, their presence was magnetic. The gowns accentuated their curves with a fluid grace that seemed almost otherworldly.
Rachael's eyes narrowed as she noticed her brother's fixation, she turned to him with a scowl. "Stop looking so hungrily at those slaves, you fool!" she snapped.
Richard's response was a cold glare, his anger evident in the way his jaw clenched. "Shut up," he growled, the bitterness in his tone unmistakable. He didn't bother to hide his disdain for her interference. His attention returned to the slave girls, his eyes lingering on their every movement with an almost obsessive intensity.
The slave girls seemed unaffected by the gaze of the onlookers. Even the general's daughter, Rachael, who was known for her striking appearance—her light blonde hair, flawless black eyes, and smooth, unscarred skin—found herself envious. Her allure was overshadowed by the striking presence of the slaves...mere slaves! Though she had a stunning figure with a prominent cleavage, the slaves' seamless elegance and the mystique of their beauty set them apart in a way that left her feeling inadequate.
Rachael leaned against the carriage as she peered out at the edges of the town. The disguise they wore was a necessary inconvenience; the king's general and his entourage could not be seen mingling with the common folk, especially five days away from the capital. Even their carriages were rented. The five knights, clad as adventurers, waited patiently on their horses, their eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of disturbance.
The general's imposing figure emerged from the dense throng of people, his authoritative presence cutting through the bustling market. Rachael's irritation flared as she watched him navigate through the crowd. As the general approached, she straightened, her impatience barely contained.
"What took you so long, father?" she demanded, her voice edged with frustration. Her glare was sharp, If it had been anyone else who spoke to the king's fifth general, the consequences would have been dire.
The general, unruffled by his daughter's sharp tone, responded with nonchalant air. "Securing my last slave, of course," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.
Rachael's disdain for the answer was immediate, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight that followed. As the general stepped aside, a figure emerged from behind him—a boy who seemed to defy all expectations of what a slave should be.
Rachael's mouth fell open in shock as she took in the boy's appearance. His face, a flawless bronze, was set in an expression of cold calm that seemed to radiate an unsettling serenity. His dark hair and eyes, as black as the void, contrasted starkly with his strikingly perfect features. His physique was lean but muscular, a testament to rigorous training or natural grace.
The boy's presence was so arresting that Rachael momentarily forgot her irritation. This was no ordinary slave; he was a paragon of physical perfection, his very being a stark contrast to the grimy, downtrodden image typically associated with slaves.
Richard's mocking voice shattered her stunned silence. "Now look who's dazed," he said, his tone dripping with amusement. "Now you know why I can't turn my eyes away. Father got the best of the best."
Rachael blinked, trying to shake off her surprise, but her gaze kept returning to the boy. Richard's words stung with their truth; the boy was indeed extraordinary. She could see now why her brother had been so transfixed by the female slaves. The boy's presence was magnetic, an unsettling mix of beauty and power that drew eyes and held them captive.
The general's voice cut through the air, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Enough, Richard. You can praise me once we're back in the kingdom," he commanded as he mounted his horse with practised ease. The knights, obedient as always, fell into their roles. Two of them each took hold of a slave girl, their expressions showing a mix of satisfaction and professional detachment. Another knight took charge of Omen, while the remaining two flanked the formation, ensuring no one could approach from the sides.
The general's children, Rachael and Richard, mounted their horses, their figures silhouetted against the fading light as they began their departure All eight horses, now forming a menacing parade, galloped out of the marketplace in unison, their hooves striking the ground as they left the congested streets behind.
The ride was quick, requiring less than thirty minutes to get to the town's boundaries. As they neared a plain valley, the scene changed from a crowded bazaar to an open plain. A modest convoy welcomed them.
The convoy was a striking sight. Six carriages, all built to seat up to four travellers, were precisely queued up, their glossy surfaces mirroring the fading sunlight. In addition to the eight horses they were riding, four more horses roamed contentedly on the plains, watched over by a carriage operator who maintained a close eye on them.
A group of servants, their faces alight with joyful anticipation, stood ready to greet the arrival. Their smiles were broad, their expressions full of welcome as they prepared to assist with the unloading and organization.
Among the waiting staff, a female guard stood out. Clad in dark armour that seemed to absorb the last rays of sunlight, she was a striking figure. Her armour was sleek and practical, designed for both protection and mobility. Her calm demeanour and smooth face were at odds with the sternness of her attire, but her smile was serene and welcoming as she watched the procession approach. She exuded an air of quiet authority.
The female guard, Haelkrie, regarded the three newly acquired slaves with a critical eye as they dismounted the horses. Her gaze lingered on the imprints visible on their bodies, each marking them unmistakably as battle slaves. The boy's snake, intricately coiled around his neck, was a symbol of his fierce, yet controlled nature. The dark, tall girl's wolf, inked onto her bare back, conveyed an aura of predatory strength. The medium-height girl's fox, prominently displayed across her bosom, hinted at a cunning and agile demeanour.
Haelkrie's eyes flickered with interest as she took in the details. "I see the transaction was successful," she remarked, her voice smooth and measured.
Arthur, having dismounted his horse, turned to face her. His expression was a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. "Yes, Haelkrie, the trader had quite an interesting bunch. I was quite impressed, you outdid yourself delivering this location to me" he said, his tone carrying a hint of admiration. He paused for a moment, assessing the situation before continuing. "You can interrogate them while we move in order to save time. Come on."
…..
Two horses were hoisted to each carriage, their presence adding to the caravan's already formidable appearance. The first carriage was occupied by four of the general's strongest guards. The second carriage held Arthur and his guard, Haelkrie, ensuring the safety and oversight of the caravan's leader. The third carriage was reserved for the general's children, Rachael and Richard, along with one of their guards, their relative status afforded them a measure of comfort and security. The fourth carriage, designated for the slaves and one additional guard, was where Omen and the female slaves were housed. The fifth carriage was set aside for the remaining servants, their duties crucial but less prominent. The final carriage served as the rear guard, manned by the remaining guards to ensure no surprises from behind.
Inside the fourth carriage, the air was thick with a heavy, almost oppressive atmosphere. The single window on the left side was ajar, allowing a meagre flow of air that did little to alleviate the stuffiness inside. The space was cramped, its interior dominated by the hard wooden benches and the scant, bare furnishings.
Omen sat calmly on one of the benches, his posture relaxed but alert. His gaze was fixed on the female guard across from him. Her dark armour gleamed faintly in the dim light filtering through the window.
"Good day to you three," she began, her tone both reassuring and authoritative. "I am Colonel Haelkrie." Her gaze swept over each person in the carriage, her eyes briefly meeting those of the slaves, who regarded her with a mix of curiosity and scepticism. "I know you're all confused and angry right now, and I do not hold it against you."
She paused, allowing her words to sink in, before she deliberately removed one of her gauntlets. As she peeled it off, she revealed a tattoo on her forearm—a detailed and striking image of a scorpion, its design almost identical to the imprints seen on the slaves. The tattoo was a symbol of her past, a mark of her former status.
"As you can see," she continued, her voice steady as she displayed the tattoo, "I was once a slave myself, fifteen years ago. Before Arthur was a General, I was bought from this very town and sold to him." Her expression softened slightly as she recounted her past. "I regained my freedom after advancing to a king's guard… and you can do the same as well."
"I'm aware of your abilities," she began, her voice smooth and confident. "And I'm impressed." She then shifted her gaze towards the female slaves, her eyes briefly assessing them. "We can also find ways to satiate your drawbacks as well."
Turning back to Omen, her forced smile betrayed a hint of strained politeness. "To be honest, I don't know what Arthur saw in you, but considering his skill found you interesting, I can only assume so as well." Her tone was dismissive yet curious as if she were both evaluating and acknowledging Omen's presence.
"We are heading to the kingdom's capital," she continued, her voice taking on a more authoritative edge. "There, you will be trained as battleslave knights for the King's army. General Arthur is the fifth general in the king's army. He already commands three battalions, each numbering over a thousand soldiers. However, to advance further in rank and avoid demotion, he needs a trump card—a powerful company specially created for exogene builds… and that is where you come in."
"He needs a special unit with overwhelming power, you may be battleslaves but you're our last hope of winning this war"