The carriage was quiet for a moment, the oppressive atmosphere punctuated only by the steady rumble of wheels on the road. The tall dark slave leaned back with an air of defiance, her gaze lingering on Haelkrie with a smirk of disdain.
"I refuse to fight for some blonde brat who can't even control his urges," she declared, her voice dripping with contempt. Her eyes flicked to Omen, the smirk widening slightly. "Your general should be more like this kid, having sense and control."
The female guard, Haelkrie, remained silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on her lap as if contemplating the best response. The silence stretched, charged with tension before she looked up with a calm, measured expression. "What's your name again?" she asked, her tone neutral but edged with an underlying menace.
Dahlia's smile was arrogant, her confidence unshaken. "I'm Dahlia," she replied, her tone challenging.
Haelkrie gave a slight nod before responding, her voice unwavering. "There are some things you ought to understand, Dahlia." She stated before peering squarely at her, every word bearing an impact that was not initially obvious.
Before Dahlia was able to react, she became overwhelmed with intense anguish. She felt an invisible, vice-like grip tightening around her neck, as if some unseen power was steadily consuming her life from her. Her breathing came in ragged gasps as the pupils burned and her blood vessels swelled. She clawed wildly at her throat, letting blood rush as she fought to release herself from the constant pressure. Panic poured through her, and her struggles became more frenzied as the hold tightened even more.
Afterwards, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pressure ceased. Dahlia sank on the bench, struggling for oxygen and shivering from the shock of the encounter. Her senses raced about in search of the origin of the violent assault, but all she encountered was Haelkrie's stony gaze.
"Let that be a warning, Dahlia," Haelkrie said, her voice calm and even as she looked away, her expression unreadable. "General Arthur is a wise and kind man. The other generals have slaves as well, but none of them are as well-treated and fed as you three will be." She paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "I'd advise you to enjoy the grace he's currently bestowing on you for now… because once this journey ends, you may as well just meet your doom."
Omen sat in silence, his face a mask of controlled calm despite the turmoil within. Though he wasn't one easily frightened, the harsh reality of the power wielded by Haelkrie made a shiver run down his spine. His recent near-death experience with the entity's creations had left him on edge, the lingering fear still gnawing at him despite his best efforts to appear composed.
As Haelkrie's eyes swept over them, her gaze sharp and unyielding, she delivered her final warning with an icy detachment. "Do not assume you're overly special," she said, her tone firm and unrelenting. "The only reason the general came here himself is because we have a good relationship. You would do well to remember that."
"From now on," Haelkrie continued, her gaze piercing through them, "you fight in the general's name. I do not care about your stories. If you gather enough battle merits, you might have a chance at freedom."
After that she left the carriage and shut the door behind her, leaving the three slaves alone. The carriage continued its steady rumble, the dark landscape outside barely visible through the small window.
Dahlia broke the silence with a fierce hiss, her frustration palpable. "That human pisses me off," she spat, her voice thick with anger. Her gaze turned sharply to Omen. "You're taking all this pretty well, boy."
Omen, still staring out of the open window, remained silent. He took a moment before responding, his voice steady but distant. "Why not?"
Before Dahlia could retort, the other girl—who had been silent up until now—spoke in a voice that was both serene and unexpectedly alluring. "Her proposal is good; we can regain our freedom."
"Are you simply going to accept this?" Dahlia's expression was stern and filled with incredulity.
The second girl maintained a steady stare and a serene demeanour. "Acceptance does not imply surrender," she remarked calmly, "It means understanding the situation and working within it to achieve our goals. We have a chance, however slim, to earn our freedom. It's worth considering."
Omen turned his attention from the window, meeting the other girl's gaze. Her calm and rational approach contrasted starkly with Dahlia's volatile frustration.
Dahlia, still simmering with anger, crossed her arms and looked away, clearly not ready to concede. "Fine. But I'm not going to just roll over and accept whatever they throw at us."
The other girl nodded, her expression thoughtful. "None of us should."
Dahlia's sarcasm lingered in the atmosphere, her words dripping with venom as she crossed her arms, emphasizing her breasts in an almost sexual manner. "It is not going to be so easy, princess."
Her eyes, previously serene, darkened with a tinge of sadness. "My name is Virgo. And I am no longer a princess," she said quietly, her voice carrying a weight of melancholy.
Dahlia's expression shifted from derision to surprise. She had used the term 'princess' sarcastically, never expecting it to resonate with Virgo. The realization of Virgo's true background and the gravity of her statement hit Dahlia hard, leaving her momentarily at a loss for words.
"Well, alright Virgo," Dahlia said finally, her tone softening slightly but still carrying a note of defiance. "Suit yourself. I don't intend to remain a slave for long." Her gaze then turned to Omen; curiosity piqued. "What about you, boy?"
Omen's response was measured, his calm demeanour masking the turbulent thoughts churning beneath the surface. He turned slowly to face Dahlia, his expression inscrutable. "Once my seal is undone, I'd be a slave no longer."
Dahlia raised an eyebrow, the challenge in Omen's words not lost on her. "You think you'll just waltz out of here once that seal is gone?"
Omen smiled with a steady gaze as he replied, " Just give me half a year, you'll see." Omen had his reason for saying that. He could sense all his abilities within him, some were greyed out with the seal but all his passive skills could easily be activated at will without the need for exogene. This was simply an opportunity for him to increase his strength. He suspected it was his [instant healing] that had saved his life but he needed powers capable of dealing appropriate damages to any embodiment that dared challenge him.
As the evening settled into twilight, the camp's preparations continued unabated. Servants moved briskly, setting up tents and preparing meals, while the knights remained focused on their training. The general's children, despite their apparent boredom, kept a watchful eye on the proceedings.
Omen, Dahlia, and Virgo stood at the periphery of the field. Richard's voice cut through the din of the training field with an arrogant edge. "Hey, hurry up, you three!" he called out, his tone demanding and condescending. His gaze was fixed on Omen, Virgo, and Dahlia with a mix of curiosity and disdain.
Virgo and Omen exchanged glances before moving toward Richard, their expressions guarded. Dahlia followed reluctantly; her steps marked by visible irritation. The contempt she felt for Richard was deep, her dislike for him compounded by his lecherous gaze. She did her best to ignore him, but his hungry, roving eyes made her skin crawl. The only thing keeping her in check was the knowledge that her master, General Arthur, was just a short distance away in the carriage.
Omen, meanwhile, faced a different kind of scrutiny. Rachael waited nearby, gazing at him with a mix of interest and longing. Despite her efforts to conceal it, the desire in her eyes was undeniable. She would cast furtive looks in his direction, anticipating their gazes might contact, but Omen's attention remained outwards, purposefully avoiding hers.
Richard, oblivious to Rachael's interest or perhaps revelling in the attention he was receiving, smirked at Omen. "So, you're the one everyone's so curious about," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "Tell me, what makes you so special that even my father has to keep you around?" Richard's eyes wandered back to Dahlia, his smirk widening. "Well, I'm eager to see what my father's interest in you three is all about. Don't keep me waiting too long."
With that, Richard turned away, his attention shifting to the ongoing training. Virgo, Omen, and Dahlia stood where they were.
Richard walked over to the spot where Rachel sat and retrieved three black batons that looked extremely plain and ordinary. Richard, with an air of practised arrogance, began juggling three small batons with effortless precision. As he performed the display, his smirk widened, a mix of sadistic pleasure and casual contempt evident in his expression. He turned back to the trio.
"I believe you know what these are," Richard said, his voice laced with malice. "They grant me the authority to cause pain and release ten percent of your maximum abilities. But I enjoy the pain they cause more."
His words were punctuated by a cruel smile as he pushed his exogene into the batons. The effect was immediate and brutal. A rush of agonising energy burst through the batons, causing the three slaves—Omen, Dahlia, and Virgo—to collapse to their knees, their bodies convulsing in response to the severe and abrupt pain. The sensation was horrific, a raw, burning agony that appeared to engulf every nerve ending. Omen, normally resilient to such suffering, found himself grappling with an intensity that pushed his limits. His natural mental fortitude, while capable of dulling some of the pain, was barely sufficient to reduce the agony that surged through him. The seal on him, which suppressed his mental abilities, prevented him from fully harnessing his capacity to mitigate the suffering.
Dahlia and Virgo fared no better. Their faces were distorted in misery as blood proceeded to flow from their eyes, nostrils, and ears. Dahlia's normal bravado was dampened, her pride and rage eclipsed by the agonising pain. Virgo, with her calm demeanour, was visibly struggling, her serene facade cracking under the relentless assault.
Richard's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched the trio writhe on the ground. The cacophony of their groans and the sight of their suffering were pleasing to him. He continued to juggle the batons with casual grace, his enjoyment of their pain clear.
"Ah, the sweet sound of torment," he mused aloud, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "It's always a pleasure to remind people of their place…now let us begin."