u/Ok-Dimension1043

"Our salvation is here"

The slaves of Sugarwood Manor clustered around the kitchen windows. Dressed in oily aprons and dusted in flour, they clambered over one another for the best view of the new arrivals. Veris watched from a distance, ice melting on his palm.

"Fools," he muttered to himself. He winced as his grease burn spiked in pain. Heading for the cooler, he tried his best to ignore the excited conversations.

"Do you think they've really failed this time?"

"There's no way they've conquered the Mountaineers,"

"I pray to Asherah, please."

At this rate, he'd need ice for a headache as well.

"You don't seem overly optimistic." Veris turned to see who had spoken. Old lady Remi sat on a stool at the chopping station, her sightless, white eyes staring into nothingness.

"Optimistic for what? New prisoners that I have to teach?" replied Veris with a groan.

"Stop that sour talk. A young man should have some anticipation in life. Leave the worrying to the old folks," Said Remi, flashing a toothless smile.

"Anticipation for what? Eating the dog's scraps? Miss Remi, there's nothing to be had here but misery." Said Veris, gesturing to the kitchen that trapped them. The floor was made of ancient darkwood that creaked at every step. A new coat of blue paint was slathered on the walls, its glossy finish gleaming under the floating light orbs. It was as if the Sugarwoods had reached up and stolen a part of the sky to decorate their house. Veris wouldn't put it past them.

His thoughts were drowned out by a swell of noise from the gathering of hopefuls.

"They’re unloading," shouted Anwar, the boy's voice cracking at the last syllable. The only way slaves like them got news of the war was from the arrivals of new slaves. Veris rubbed the metal-studded collar around his neck. *What would it be like to be free?*

"*Status*," he thought, and in his vision flashed the summary of his existence. Covering the space where his skills and resonances should be was a black block of plain white text.

SLAVE CONTRACT
Signatory: Veris
Contract holder: Madam Thoerwight of the Sugarwood estate.

Terms

The holder of this pact must follow the direct orders of any member of the Sugarwood household.

The holder of this pact forfeits any control over skills, mana cores, or potenisha as long as the pact stands.

The holder of this pact will not harm themselves.

The holder of this pact is forbidden from having, using, or making weapons unless expressly permitted by a member of the Sugarwood household."

After he turned fifteen and gained access to the world spirit system, the slave rearers that had raised him had forced him into a collar at the threat of death. He still remembered the embrace of the world spirit for the few seconds he was unbound. It felt like he could do anything, could be anything.

Veris climbed onto the table, angling his head to see through the press of people and out the window. On the yard strode a group of enforcers. The bastards wore their grey uniforms, hands on the hilt of their swords. The railcar at the manor’s entrance let out a puff of steam, its door sliding open. A ramp slid out from the car’s interior onto the yard. The enforcers drew their weapons and approached in a crouch.

“Come out,” shouted a female enforcer. Slowly, a line of people chained together at the neck shambled out. Cries of dismay rose from around him. Whatever hope that flickered in his chest died. They were just like the legends said. The chained men and women looked as if they were carved from marble. Skin as white as snow, hair as pale as bone, with eyes the color of blood. Veris noted that even through their coarse wool tunics, their muscles were prominent. Mountaineer warriors, one of the last strongholds against the empire. Captured with their heads bowed.

Veris stumbled off the table and sat down opposite Remi. " Told you. New day, same day.”

The crowd backed away from the window as if the sight burned them. The cookboys began to cry. Davi paced back and forth like he always did, mumbling under his breath and spitting on the ground.

"No," sobbed mother Kersal, clutching her wailing infant to her chest. Over the hysteria, Familiar footsteps sounded in the corridor.

Veris jolted to his feet, nearly knocking over his stool. "The Steward is coming. To your places. Now,"

With the ease of people used to disappointment, the slaves smothered their heartache and turned back to preparing evening lunch. Veris rounded the table to reset the heat on the grease that had burned him. The heavy footsteps grew closer and closer until Steward Lamar Sugarwood stood in the kitchen doorway. The man was as stout and ugly as a rotten tree stump, with thin hair stuck to his sweaty head, bloated pig lips, and a bulk that stretched his tacky blue suit. His beady eyes roamed over the working slaves. Veris stifled a scuff as he noticed the man leering at Kersal.

“At attention, chattel, a new delivery has been brought to the compound. Headboy, pick some men and have them bring up supplies,” Lamar scowled at Veris, as if he would object. *Want to feel every inch of power you have over us, huh, you ugly lump.*

"Of course, sir," replied Veris with a bow.

"Sir?" growled out Lamar, his red face becoming redder.

"Apologies. Master Lamar. With the excitement, propriety must have slipped my mind. Forgive this fool, master."

"Don't allow yourself to forget again. I'm a steward with a stern hand, boy," Lamar flexed his fingers in a silent threat. With that, the man turned back, his polished shoes echoing on the polished floor.

“His ass seems harder than usual,” whispered Davi inches from his ear. Veris flinched away, surprised by the other man's closeness.

“How many times do I have to tell you, don't get in my ear. You saltlicker," chortled Veris, pushing his friend's shoulder.

"Yeah. Yeah. The reading slave needs his space. Wouldn't want to upset your sensitivities. Anyway, who you picking?" Davi gave a wide smile, wiggling his eyebrows. "Please, I want to be the first to ogle the new merchandise."

Veris sighed at his red-headed companion.

“Anyone interested in carrying up some crates, come with me. ” Veris didn’t have to turn back to know his men followed behind him. They left through the slave entrance at the back of the walk-in pantry. The bowels of the manor were as cramped as ever. The smell of body odor was so strong, he could taste it. They traverse the creaking stairs in a single file line, ducking under wooden support beams and swatting away bugs and webs. Their drudgery ended at the broad oaken doors of the delivery room.

He turned to his companions, eight men in all. "If any of Madam's brood is in there, try not to make eye contact. Do not speak unless spoken to. And stay close to me. The enforcers get jumpy at new arrivals," his fellow slaves nodded in understanding.

Veris stepped forward and rapped on the door. The heavy doors opened only a crack, and they shuffled in.

Immediately, Veris noted the Mountaineers. They stood in the middle of the room, fifteen new slaves in total. Nine males and six females. Physically, they seemed to be in their early to mid twenties, but with the slowed aging achievable with the system, Veris was unsure.

The collars restricted system access and the use of mana, but couldn’t do anything for the strength gained by body refinement. Enforcers lined the walls of the receiving hall, their dull uniforms contrasting starkly with the ornate white-gold wallpaper. Veris strode over to the corner shelves and lifted a stock of fresh vegetables.

Lamar prowled back and forth in front of the Mountaineers, rhythmically thumping a shock rod against his palm. A shudder ran down his spine, and he set the stock down to watch.

Last time he got shocked, Veris was left with spasms for hours. Barely able to stand. It was a cruel joke that a man so unintimidating yielded so much fear.

" The honorable eternals granted you the honor of servitude in lieu of death. I expect you all to show your gratefulness. No matter how savage you were before, here at the manor of the merchant house of Sugarwood, you will obey." Lamar stopped at a man who stood with his eyes closed. Veris heart quickened at the sight of the deep, purple bruises on the man. His injuries were worse than those of others. *Don't resist, make it easy on yourself.*

"Open your eyes when I am addressing you. Chattle," Lamar placed his thumb on the button of the shock rod, his flushed complexion becoming redder.

"My name is Zaire Artag of the clan Segicula. If I have to hear your voice, I will not see a man such as yourself. A king over slaves is not worthy of being in my sight," his words were mumbled by his swollen lips, but Veris still heard his unshakable pride. The man was ripped out of a slave-tale.

Veris bit his lip in worry. There was only one way a tyrant like Lamar would respond.

The steward delivered a heavy fist to the side of the man's face. The bound warrior crumbled to the floor, curling into a defensive ball. Lamar jabbed the rod between the man's ribs and, with a disgusted "How dear you," he pressed the button. A heat built in Veris's chest.

The mountaineer howled at the sparks leaping across his body, arching his back and flinging his arms. He wrenched his eyes away, unwilling to see more of the man's pain.

His wandering gaze met with another. A mountaineer woman stared at him, her wide red eyes meeting his blue ones in a silent battle. She was unmoved by the brutality happening feet away. As serene as a rose and as sharp as thorns. Just staring. What did she want from him?

A memory floated to the forefront of his mind. Asher, the man who was once his brother.

"I'll escape, Ver. Then return to burn this place to the ground. Me, you, and everyone else can go live somewhere real without," the foolish boy had whispered every night like a bedtime story.

The last time Veris saw him, Asher was hanging dead from the madam's giant apple tree. His blood puddled beneath him in a red that stained Veris's dreams into nightmares. That same red peered back at him in this strange woman's gaze. Whatever she sought from him, she didn't find. She turned without a word.

Veris crunched his fist so hard that his nails dug into his palm. Lamar was raining blows down on the now motionless man, puffing in exhaustion. If this didn't stop, he'd kill the man. Veris lurched forward; his friends tried to grab hold of him, but he shoved them off.

" That's enough," shouted Veris. Enforcers peeled themselves off the wall and made their way towards him, but he was close enough to reach out and lay a hand on Lamar's shoulder.

The steward whirled around, pupils wide and blackened teeth bared in a sneer. Before Veris could take back his actions, Lamar issued a command.

"Stop breathing."

The slave contract, curled in the back of his head like a slumbering beast, awoke with a vengeance. His throat tightened. No matter how much he told himself to breathe, his body refused to obey. A great weight pressed down on his chest. He felt the contract, its serrated tentacles burrowing in his mind, turning up into down, scraping against his soul.

"No, please," he tried to wheeze out. Spots filled his vision. His ears were filled with the thrashing of his own heartbeat. He fell, clawing at the collar around his throat. *This can't be the end.*

Suddenly, the sensation stopped, the contract slinking back to its corner.

Veris heaved for air. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision. Strong hands lifted from the ground. Sweat soaked through his black overalls.

Once his vision cleared, he was met with a handsome face looming over him. The man's face was pierced with a dozen loops of silver along his eyebrows. Diamond studs gleamed in his ears. Ames Sugarwood, first son of the Madam.

"Now, cousin, Lamar. I don't recall permitting you to kill any of my mother's slaves, yes?" Said Ames, his voice smooth with a high Iharian accent. Veris avoided the main family of the Sugarwoods as best as he could. He heard rumors of their odd taste and saw their cruelty firsthand.

Lamar rubbed his hands together like a dejected child caught stealing sweets from the pantry. For a moment, Veris considered rushing the sick bastard. To wrap his hands around his fat throat and squeeze his worthless life out. But the solid grips of his companions brought him back down.

"I'm sorry," said Veris in a cracked voice. They depended on him to make decisions, and he threw a tantrum for a stranger's sake.

"Yes, master Ames," said Lamar, unwilling to look his higher-ranked cousin in the eyes.

"Let's not injure the property before they can even work. Yes?" Ames turned his attention towards Veris with a dip of his chin, "You, attend to this one."

He stumbled out of his friend's grasp. He knelt over Zaire, wiping spit foam from his mouth with a sleeve.

"Thank you," Zaire said weakly. Veris pretended he didn't hear him, gently placing a hand over the man's swollen forehead.

"He's a bit singed and has some bad swelling. My lord. If it is permissible, I'd like to move him to the slave ward," said Veris, keeping his contempt out of his voice.

"Let it be so. Be so," Ames waved his hand dismissively. T

Before Veris began to lift the injured man, Lamar grabbed his shoulder.

“You're on mine duty for the next month. Chattle," the steward hissed in his ear.