Areth arrived at the merchant manor he had rented together with his new slave and went straight to his room.
The so-called merchant manors were, in truth, extremely luxurious inns operated by the Merchant Guild. Calling them palaces was somewhat of an exaggeration. They were closer to large mansions or hotel-like buildings. They were heavily guarded and served as excellent places to stay for a fee, with discounts offered to members of the Merchant Guild.
After several weeks of effort, Areth had finally succeeded in joining the guild, and the treasure of Landerbern had proven very helpful in that regard. His reason for doing so was simple.
Protection.
Perhaps not in other cities, but in Olnalend, the city of slave traders, this was the safest place one could stay. With a resident mage and dozens of guards, it was likely the second most secure location in the city after the fortress where the city's ruler resided.
During his first few days in the city, Areth had realized an important truth: in Olnalend, money alone did not open doors. Money only allowed you to approach the door. What actually opened it was trust and references.
The Merchant Guild was especially paranoid in cities where the slave trade thrived. The reason was simple. A merchant's true identity was often not the person they appeared to be. Smugglers, swindlers, fake nobles, and sometimes even assassins disguised themselves as merchants.
That was why three things were required to enter the guild.
Money.
References.
And patience.
The first two were already beyond the reach of most people.
When Areth first visited the guild on the first day, he had been greeted with nothing more than a polite smile. On the second day, the same smile had become slightly more formal. By the third day, they recognized him, yet they still did not let him inside.
The doors of the guild building were not opened with gold, but with trust.
Areth learned that lesson quickly.
He carefully spent a small portion of the money he had brought from the Landerbern treasury. He offered small gifts to the right people. He sat at the right tables. He made sure the right rumors reached the right ears.
He never rushed. People who rushed usually had something to hide. After one week, one of the guild officials spoke with him for a little longer than before. After two weeks, they began asking him questions.
By the end of the third week, Areth was no longer a suspicious outsider in the eyes of the guild. He was not yet considered a trustworthy merchant either, but at least he was no longer treated like a beggar waiting outside the gate.
In the end, during a small ceremony, he was given a bronze guild insignia. He was not a true member. But he was now someone who was allowed to approach the door. And in a city like Olnalend, that alone was more than enough to survive.
When Areth entered his room, he locked the door behind him.
The room was spacious.
Thick stone walls, a heavy oak door, and an iron locking mechanism that could be barred from the inside. The windows were narrow, making it nearly impossible to enter from outside. Guards patrolled the corridor day and night.
It was a terrible place for an assassin.
But for a fugitive, it was a perfect refuge.
The thing Areth feared most at the moment was the possibility that the underground lord of this city might take action against him. In the novel, the man who had originally owned Rosavelle might decide to target him. That possibility was very real. In fact, that had been the primary reason Areth had worked so hard to enter the Merchant Guild in the first place.
Areth glanced behind him and looked at Rosavelle, who was standing there shyly.
The girl stood near the door. She seemed cautious, as if stepping too far into the room would violate some invisible boundary. The thin chains had already been removed from her wrists, yet she still kept her hands clasped in front of her.
Sometimes habits were stronger than chains.
Her long pink hair fell over her shoulders. It had become slightly disheveled during the journey, but she still looked strangely well-kept. The heavy, sharp odor common among most slaves was nowhere to be found. She was still clean. Still orderly.
That was one of the things that had set her apart in the slave market.
"Sit. Make yourself comfortable."
Rosavelle hesitated.
She looked as if she was weighing whether she had truly heard him correctly. For most slaves, sitting in their master's room was unthinkable. At least, that was what the other slaves had told her. Though, according to one experienced slave, masters tended to be gentler toward beautiful women.
But there was no lust or desire on Areth's face.
Only a calm expression.
Rosavelle slowly lowered her head.
"Thank you… Master."
There was still a trace of hesitation in her voice.
She walked toward one of the chairs in the corner of the room and sat down carefully. Even the way she sat was unusual. Her knees were together, her back straight. That was not how slaves sat. That was how people with etiquette training sat.
Areth noticed it, but made no comment.
Instead, he walked slowly to the table and poured wine into two glasses from a small bottle. He took one for himself and placed the other on the opposite side of the table.
Rosavelle looked at the glass but did not reach for it.
Areth raised an eyebrow slightly when he noticed.
"Afraid it's poisoned?"
Rosavelle immediately shook her head.
"No, Master… it's just…"
She paused briefly.
"I thought it would be improper for a slave to drink at the same table as her master."
Areth took a small sip from his glass.
"I'm not someone who cares about things like that."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Besides, you cost me quite a lot when I bought you. After paying that much, I'm hardly going to leave you thirsty."
The remark was half a joke, but Rosavelle still carefully picked up the glass. Even the way she held it was graceful.
Areth pondered what kind of woman she would have become in the years to come if he had never entered her life, piecing together the information he remembered from the novel. In the novel, she turned into a ruthless tyrant who took pleasure in bloodshed and death, but she likely would never have become such a person if she had not gone through everything she did.
But, knowing that the elegant, beautiful, and gentle-looking woman sitting in front of him had the potential to become someone like that felt absurd to him.
Now he had two problems.
The first was turning the woman sitting before him into someone loyal to him, someone who trusted him, and if possible, someone who loved him.
The second problem was how to awaken her powers.
In the novel, she had discovered those powers only after enduring immense suffering and torment. Areth silently prayed that torture was not necessary for her to awaken them. Because if that were the case, he would never be able to earn her loyalty.
In the novel, despite having an advanced slave seal, she had eventually killed her master. As far as Areth could remember, she had taken advantage of the fact that he was drunk. But she had still killed him.
Which meant that once she could use her powers, she could kill Areth as well. Of course, Areth would never drink enough to get drunk. But a single careless mistake could end everything. Which meant torturing her would be utterly foolish.
So how should he approach her?
And how could he bring out her power?
This is what Areth had been thinking about for a while.
Areth took another sip of wine. He slowly set the glass down on the table, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the crystal. His eyes lingered on Rosavelle's graceful posture. She was still holding the glass, but she had not drunk from it yet.
It was as if she was afraid of being punished if she drank it.
"Rosavelle," Areth said, his voice echoing faintly against the stone walls of the room. "Look. Do you know why I went to such lengths to buy you?"
Rosavelle raised her head.
For the first time, her blue eyes met Areth's directly.
Even that was a small act of courage for a slave.
"…I don't know, Master."
Areth remained silent for a few seconds. He studied her. Not just her face. Her breathing. The tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers held the glass.
She was afraid.
But she was not panicking.
That was a good sign.
"I bought you because I know how great your potential is. I also know how much you've suffered. But now you are with me… you can finally use your potential. And when you do, I won't allow you to suffer for it."