The air inside was thick with smoke and burned metal. Some doors led to other rooms, but Henry and the others went straight down the floor into the cellar.
They took then some more corners and arrived in an dark room.
There stood a old men, his old remaining fingers were polishing an machine, clearly built for torture. He looked up and the one remaining eye lighted up as he saw the new ware.
„Boss! You brought new flesh!"
Henry nodded and signaled the guards to let the slave knee in a row. „I hope you are finished with the preparations!"
„Haha…of course! I already waited for you!" he turned around and went to the middle.
A brazier stood in the center of the room. Inside it, a branding iron rested, its sigil glowing a dull red: the Golden snake crest, twisted and ornate, designed to scar deeply and never truly fade.
Henry removed his gloves Slowly and Carefully.
He hated getting blood on fine leather.
"Strip them," he said casually.
The guards obeyed. Clothes were torn away, exposing thin bodies, old scars, ribs pressing against skin. One man resisted—just for a second.
Henry sighed.
A guard slammed the man face-first into the stone floor. Teeth cracked. Blood spread.
Henry crouched beside him, studying the damage with interest. "That's unfortunate," he murmured. "I thought you knew your place."
The man whimpered.
Henry stood and nodded toward the brazier.
The iron was lifted. And the old men overhand him the hot iron.
The first slave was dragged forward—a woman, early twenties, shaking so hard her knees barely held her. She tried to speak, tried to beg.
Henry didn't listen. He licked his lips and scanned her body. He pressed a finger on her lips and whispered in her ear; „You know… you are turning me on with your begging and crying! I have no time for that right now, so stop it! I don't want to kill a slave right after buying!"
Her eyes full of fear closed and she shut up. Henry smiled and pressed two fingers against her shoulder blade, choosing the spot with the care of an artist selecting canvas.
"Hold her still."
The iron came down.
The sound wasn't a scream at first.
It was a wet, animal noise—raw and broken—followed by the sharp hiss of burning flesh. The smell filled the room instantly.
The woman convulsed, then went limp.
Henry watched closely, eyes bright.
"Hmm…Good depth." He said and gave the branding iron back into the fire. Then he picked with a needle his pinky fingers. „Ouch" and let the blood drip into the stone bowl of the old man.
He swirled the inside - some powder and the blood - and brushed the paste into the fresh branding. It hissed and glowed slightly as a small mana string connected to Henry.
„First done!" smiled the old men, and got the second bowl.
One by one, they were branded.
Some screamed.
Some passed out.
One bit through his own tongue trying not to cry.
Henry noticed that one.
He smiled.
When it was done, the slaves lay scattered across the stone floor, twitching, breathing shallowly, the Golden snake crest burned into their backs like a curse.
Henry wiped his hands with a cloth and sighed contentedly.
„Status"
────────────────────────────────
STATUS – HENRY TARAKAN
────────────────────────────────
Race: Human
Age: 23
Condition: Healthy
Level: 18/100
HP: 420 / 420
Mana: 865 / 865
Strength: 18
Agility: 21
Endurance: 24
Dexterity: 22
Magic: 82
Willpower: 9
──────── Skills ────────
• Slave Contract Magic (B) [Level 14/50] {46/100} —*12 new
• Branding Ritual (C) [Level 12/50]
• Mana Control (C) [Level 11/40]
• Earth magic (C) [Level 3/40]
• Swordsmanship (E) [Level 4/20]
──────────────────────────────
"See?" he said to no one in particular. "Efficient. Clean. Necessary." Then he talked to the slave wizard; „When they wake up, bring them to the mines!
Without further ado he turned toward the exit, already at his edge. Saliva dripping from his mouth.
„I need a woman!" he said to his guard nodding towards the exit, „bring her to my room!"
Then he walked towards outdoor, the same way like he entered. Let his guard check the way infront and followed.
Stepping out he adjusted his coat, straightened his posture, and smiled like a noble son returning from honest work. Behind him, the door closed. And he walked down the streets back towards the lords castle.
One of the guards split off in the Inner District, tasked with finding a woman that suited Henry's tastes.
Around midday, shortly after Henry had finished eating, the guard returned.
Beside him stood a beautiful woman dressed in fine, well-washed clothes. Her long orange hair fell to the middle of her back, and her green eyes—wide with fear—positioned in a nice face dotted with faint freckles. She kept her gaze lowered, hands clenched tightly in front of her, trembling.
"Oh! Perfect timing," Henry said, stuffing the last piece of meat into his mouth and smacking his lips loudly.
He rose from his seat and walked toward her at an unhurried pace, savoring the way she shrank under his presence. When he reached her, he slid his fingers slowly through her hair.
"Hiek!"
She flinched.
Henry grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head toward his ear. He licked the grease and spice from his lips and whispered, voice low and amused,
"We're going to have some fun."
One of the guards looked away uneasily, then cleared his throat.
"Boss. Just a quick notice—we caught the rat that tried to follow us. He's in the dungeon. Alive. Like you ordered."
Henry gave a brief nod, not even turning his head.
With that, he dragged the woman up the stairs toward his room.
…
Henry straightened his clothes and brushed the dust from his sleeves. He took one last look at the unconscious woman on the bed, then nodded in satisfaction, running thin fingers through his ash-black, oily hair.
He opened the door to the corridor and gestured toward the waiting guard, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Good job," Henry said pleasantly. "She was fabulous. As a reward… I'll leave her to you."
The guard froze for half a heartbeat, then nodded deeply in gratitude. As Henry turned and walked down the stairs, the guard slipped into the room behind him.
Henry Tarakan moved through the castle with slow, lazy steps, whistling softly to himself. He felt light, relieved. The day had been productive. And it promised to get even better.
After all, a slum rat—someone no one would miss, not that he cared—was waiting for him in the dungeon. He liked to see who dares to follow the great him.
Henry wandered through the vast, shadowed halls of the fortress, walls adorned with the Tarakan crest and the mounted heads of slain monsters. Passing through a narrow stone path beneath the open sky, he reached a heavy door — guarded by tow guards — that descended beneath the castle.
The air grew colder.
He walked past rows of empty cells until he stopped before an old wooden door reinforced with rusted iron bars. With a slow pull, the door opened, its hinges screaming in protest.
Inside stood a familiar figure.
A small body, caked in dirt and dried blood. Bare feet hardened by months of wilderness. Wolf-pelt shorts clung to a frame far too lean for its strength—yet coiled with unnatural tension, like a blade hidden in a child's sheath.
The boy hung suspended, arms spread wide, bound by rune-etched iron chains that shimmered faintly with suppressive magic. His head lolled forward, dark hair plastered to his face.
Henry stepped closer.
With two fingers, he lifted the boy's chin.
Ghostly brown eyes stared back at him—focused, burning, filled with raw hatred.
Henry smiled.
"Sam."
The boy reacted instantly, snarling as he tried to lunge forward—CLANG.
The chains rattled violently, magical restraints flaring as they snapped him back into place.
Henry laughed softly.
"I thought you were dead," he said, tilting his head in mock curiosity. "You scared me, you know. I even thought I killed my precious slave."
His smile widened.
"And now look at you. I'm going to have my fun with you!" he chuckled a little and rubbed his hands; „But! I'm an important figure! And need to restrain myself for important work, so wait for me here till I finished!"
„Not that you can run anyway! Hahaha!"