We drove through the open gate of Aegis, and the wave of cheerfulness was almost a physical force. The air, which I expected to be thick with the usual city smells of sweat and refuse, was instead filled with the aroma of roasting nuts and freshly baked bread. People were genuinely friendly, calling out greetings to Orin, who ignored them, and waving at me as we passed. Pip, of course, was an absolute hit with the children, her sleek black form and confident posture drawing delighted squeals and pointed fingers wherever she looked. The citizens here seemed well-off, their clothes clean and well-made, their faces free from the gaunt look of poverty and despair. Either they were all under some mass enchantment, thoroughly indoctrinated, or maybe… they were simply happy.

  Apparently, that wasn’t Orin’s cup of tea. His face was a thundercloud in a sea of sunshine, his hands clenched so tightly on the reins that his knuckles were white. He looked so grim that I thought he might actually murder the next person who smiled at him. It was a deeply unsettling thought that soured the beautiful atmosphere.

  We drove deeper into the city, passing market stalls buzzing with commerce, their vendors loudly hawking their wares. We passed workshops ringing with the rhythmic sound of hammers on steel, and even a spacious, green park where families were picnicking on wide blankets. The city was well-organized, immaculately clean, and above all, felt safe. It was all simply… picture-perfect. After a short time, we turned off the lively main street. The road we entered now was a service alley, narrow and shadowed by the backs of tall buildings. The cheerful noise of the main thoroughfare faded, replaced by the rumbling of other carts and the terse shouts of laborers. There were no pedestrians here, only workers loading or unloading goods. I saw crates of produce, sacks of grain, barrels of ale… and stranger things, too. Racks of gleaming, newly-forged swords and, in one heavily guarded wagon, a crate filled with softly glowing blue crystals. My brows furrowed. In a world with magic, there were bound to be magic crystals, but seeing them treated as mundane cargo alongside swords and sacks of flour spoke to a level of normalization that was both fascinating and a little intimidating.

  The rest of the drive was uneventful until we reached another gate, this one of a more normal size, set into what looked like a thick inner wall separating one district from another. This time, however, no one shouted for us to stop. Instead, a single, stern-faced guard walked out to meet us, and Orin halted the cart beside him. Wordlessly, Orin handed the guard a rolled-up scroll tied with a ribbon. The guard promptly unfurled it, his eyes scanning the contents quickly. He glanced at Orin, then at me, then back towards the gate, and raised his hand. The gate slowly swung open, and he waved us through without a word.

  I didn’t even bother asking. It was clear that in Aegis, proper documentation or a heavy purse opened doors that were closed to others.

  As we drove through, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The outer city had been idyllic, with its charming cobblestone streets and quaint flower boxes. But this? This was a different world entirely. It was a gigantic, private park. Away from the single paved road we were on, there was nothing but vast, emerald-green lawns, perfectly spaced trees, and manicured flowerbeds bursting with more colors than I could name. Dotted throughout this pristine landscape were enormous villas—mansions, really, each one a unique statement of immense wealth and power.

  This wasn't a shortcut; we had landed smack-dab in the nobles’ quarter. You didn’t see ordinary people wandering around here. What you did see were servants, dozens of them, diligently watering plants, sweeping paths, and carrying parcels between estates. The people who weren’t working were dressed in luxurious robes and gowns of silk and velvet, occasionally fanning themselves languidly. They looked at our simple wooden cart and my ragged clothes with open curiosity, an expression mixed with a barely veiled disapproval that was universal to the rich in any world. A noblewoman walking a small, fluffy dog wrinkled her nose delicately as we passed.

  A few elegantly dressed ladies, however, seemed utterly enchanted by Pip, especially when she sat up and meowed at them, eliciting soft giggles and coos of "Oh, how precious!" That reassured me slightly; at least they didn't view all animals as dirty livestock.

  Orin paid none of it any attention, his eyes fixed forward as if the opulent surroundings were invisible to him. We passed more imposing buildings—huge, brightly painted half-timbered houses that screamed ‘rich merchant’ and graceful manors built of pale stone that looked ancient and powerful. The sheer concentration of wealth was staggering. It made me wonder again what a simple farmer like Orin was doing here.

  After a short while, we approached a manor that looked newer than the others, built of pristine white stone with large, glimmering glass windows. To my complete surprise, Orin turned the horse and cart directly into its heavily guarded rear courtyard. The guards here didn’t just have swords; they wore full, polished plate armor and carried massive halberds, standing as motionless and impassive as deadly metal statues. Yet, they let us pass without a word, merely nodding curtly at Orin as if they were expecting him.

  The courtyard was paved with smooth flagstones, meticulously clean. A small stable, a barn, and a covered woodshed were tucked neatly to one side. As soon as we rolled to a stop in the center of the yard, a servant emerged from a side door of the manor. He wore a crisp black uniform, had short, neat brown hair, and a well-trimmed mustache, and he waited at a respectful distance, his posture ramrod straight.

  Orin immediately dumped the reins into my hands again. “Wait here,” he said, his voice low and tight. “Might take a few minutes.” He climbed down and walked over to the servant. The two exchanged a few quiet words I couldn’t catch, and then the servant looked over at me. He wasn't just glancing; he was sizing me up, his gaze analytical and cold. I instinctively shifted on the bench. Did I have dirt on my face? Or was it just my clothes, which were, admittedly, looking pretty damn rough?

  Glancing down, I saw my simple shirt and pants had acquired several new rips over the past few days. They were stained with mud and who-knows-what else. I sighed. There hadn't exactly been time for laundry. Still, I looked like a street urchin who’d been dragged through a hedge backward.

  After their short conversation, Orin and the servant disappeared inside the manor, leaving me alone. The minutes began to crawl by. "A few minutes" stretched into ten, then twenty. I watched the guards at the gate. They didn't move, didn't speak. They were like statues, their discipline unnerving. The sun beat down on my head, and I shifted on the hard wooden bench. What kind of business could Orin possibly have in a place like this? Was he selling his crops directly to the nobility? It seemed unlikely. Maybe he was delivering a special order?

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  An hour passed. Pip, growing bored, stirred on my lap, stretched languidly with a soft groan, and hopped down from the cart. She trotted over to a thick bush near the stable wall and vanished into its leaves. Probably taking care of cat business. Or maybe she was hungry or thirsty? Shit. A sharp pang of guilt stabbed me. In all the chaos and confusion of arriving, I hadn't even thought to give her food or water. Vana must have given her something this morning, right? I scanned the courtyard for a trough or a bucket of water, but saw nothing I could easily get to without disobeying Orin’s order to wait. I watched the bush, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a quiet voice spoke my name from directly behind me. “Grim?”

  I turned on the bench, expecting to see Orin or the servant—

  WHAM!

  A sharp blow connected with the side of my head. An explosion of white-hot stars flashed across my vision. The world tilted violently, plunged into darkness, and I knew nothing more.

  Pain. A deep, throbbing, relentless pain was the first thing that greeted me as I groggily returned to consciousness. My skull felt like it had been used for batting practice. I didn’t dare open my eyes at first, fearing the wave of agony and nausea that simple act might unleash. After what felt like an eternity, the relentless pounding lessened just enough that I felt I could risk it. Carefully, I peeled my eyelids open.

  Blinking against a surprisingly bright light, my vision slowly focused on an ornately decorated ceiling high above me, complete with intricate white stucco work and what looked like a faded, ancient mural. A multi-tiered crystal chandelier hung from the center, a ridiculously expensive-looking touch.

  Okay. This definitely wasn’t the marketplace.

  Panic, sharp and cold, jolted me fully awake. I scrambled to sit up, a gasp escaping my lips as the room spun violently. Squeezing my eyes shut until the vertigo passed, I took stock. I was lying on a ridiculously soft bed with sheets that felt like silk. The room screamed old money. The walls were a warm cream-yellow, contrasting with the dark, polished wood of the furniture: the massive four-poster bed itself, a matching nightstand, a small table with two plush chairs near a window, and an imposing wardrobe.

  But there was no sign of Pip. No sign of Orin.

  My gut screamed caution. Bolting from the room seemed like a terrible idea. Instead, I decided checking the window was the smarter move. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet sinking into a rug so thick and soft it felt like moss. My head protested with another vicious throb, and I staggered slightly as I made my way to the large window and peered out cautiously.

  My stomach dropped like a stone. I recognized the view immediately. The paved courtyard, the small stable, the covered woodshed… I was still inside the same damn manor, just in an upstairs room.

  Okay… maybe it was a misunderstanding? Maybe they thought I was a thief when Pip jumped off, knocked me out as a precaution, and brought me inside? It was a flimsy, desperate hope, but—

  That flicker of hope was instantly, brutally extinguished. Below, I watched Orin—that same Orin, driving his cart hastily out of the manor gates. He didn't pause. He didn't hesitate. He turned onto the path leading back towards the main road without a single backward glance.

  Are you fucking kidding me?! That absolute bastard!

  He just… left me? After everything? After I saved his daughter? After I watered his damn fields?

  I leaned heavily against the window frame, pressing my hand against the cool wood to steady myself, taking deep, shaky breaths to control the surge of white-hot rage and betrayal. Something was fundamentally wrong. As my gaze drifted down to my own wrist resting on the frame, I saw why.

  There was a bracelet clasped around it—one that definitely hadn’t been there before. It was made of some dark, unfamiliar metal, smooth and cold against my skin. Set into its surface was a single, perfectly cut crystal that pulsed with a faint, internal, blood-red light.

  What the hell is this thing?

  I turned my wrist over, examining the seamless clasp I couldn't find a way to open, the strange metal, the unsettlingly pulsing gem. It looked… expensive. And deeply, deeply ominous.

  Then I remembered. The goblin knife by the lake. I’d focused on it, and information just… appeared. The Appraisal skill. It was a long shot, but it was all I had.

  Focusing all my attention on the strange bracelet, channeling that same intense need to know, I whispered the word, "Appraisal."

  Suddenly, information flooded my awareness, sharp and clear:

  ========== APPRAISAL ==========

  Name: Bracelet of Servitude

  Category: Bracelet (Binding Artefact?)

  ------------------------------------------------------

  (Further analysis requires higher rank)

  ===============================

  Bracelet of WHAT?! Servitude?! My blood ran ice-cold. Servitude? As in… a slave? That would mean… Orin didn’t just abandon me. He sold me.

  Helpless, impotent rage surged through me, so fierce it made my vision swim. If I ever see that bald piece of shit again, I will personally turn him into goblin fucking food! That lying, backstabbing—

  In my blinding fury, I almost missed the second notification that flashed through my mind:

  < Forced Magical Binding Resisted. Effect Negated by [Echo of Life] >

  Wait. What? Resisted? So, straight-up slave magic… and it didn't work? Because of Echo of Life? The blessing I still knew nothing about?

  A wave of dizzying relief washed over me, so potent it nearly buckled my knees. It pushed back the burning rage, leaving a hollow, shaky feeling in its wake. Whatever Echo of Life was, it had just saved my ass. I was profoundly grateful.

  I took another shaky breath and offered a quick, silent, incredibly awkward prayer. ‘Uh… Honored gods? Sorry if I don’t know the proper etiquette, but… seriously, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Best regards, Grim.’

  Click.

  The sound of the door opening cut me off. I spun around, heart pounding. Standing in the doorway was the same servant from the courtyard—the one in the neat black uniform. He surveyed me coolly, his expression unreadable, then gave a slight, formal bow.

  “My name is Conrad,” he stated, his voice crisp and professional. “Majordomo under Lord Victor Ainsworth and Lady Genevieve Ainsworth.” His eyes flickered to the bracelet on my wrist, a glance so quick I might have imagined it, then back to my face. “The master of the house wishes to see you now.” His tone sharpened. “Speak only when requested. You will address Baron Ainsworth as 'Lord Ainsworth' and his wife as 'Lady Ainsworth'. Understood?”

  Panic seized me again. Shit. They tried to enslave me and it failed… but did they know? Or would they assume it worked? What would they do if they found out? Kill me? The image of the guards with their halberds flashed in my mind. I stood zero chance.

  I had to play along. I had to find Pip. That was priority one.

  So, even though every fiber of my being screamed in protest, I forced myself to lower my head, mimicking a subservient posture that felt like poison.

  “Yes, Majordomo,” I said, my voice carefully neutral, hoping against hope it sounded convincingly broken. Convincingly enslaved.