Chapter 105: Flancia Mansion (1)

“Don’t be nervous. It’s okay.”

Ever since entering the capital, my face had turned completely white. I tried to play it cool, telling myself not to be nervous, but I still couldn’t shake off the pressure of coming to the capital. The capital held various meanings for me.

For me, who was about to be sold as a slave, it was a place of dreams, and also the place I had promised to visit with my master and my friends. It was also a place that gave me a sense of emptiness, having stepped foot there so easily in a place I thought I’d never be able to visit in my lifetime.

“What’s wrong, Evan? Are you sick? Are you carsick?”

Isabel asked with a worried look if I was okay, and I shook my head.

“A long time ago, when I was a slave, my master once mentioned he’d send me to the capital with some friends. There was this one girl who saw a travel book with the capital drawn in it and said she wanted to go. Hearing that, my master, who happened to be planning a trip to the capital anyway, decided to take me, that girl, and my friend-the three of us-to the capital.”

The Flancia family’s carriage wasn’t even stopped for inspection. The guards, who should have been loyal to the king, bowed their heads at the carriage’s crest and rubbed their hands together like flies. A servant snorted, and the coachman whistled, reaffirming the Flancia family’s authority once again.

“But then, my master got arrested for being a devil worshipper. I don’t know who snitched, but my master was thrown straight into the fiery abyss, and all of them scattered. The girl was apparently bought by some noble… and the others were all sold off here and there. They’re probably all dead, right?”

What are the odds that a slave could survive like me and walk around so confidently? Isabel looked at me with sad eyes, and I opened my arms towards her. Isabel hugged me tightly, patting my back, and I said with an awkward smile,

“Just, you know. Coming to the capital reminded me of that first. Those bastards. They would have loved it if they came along.”

“Cheer up, Evan.”

People who have lived through extreme hardship don’t know how to comfort others. Isabel, looking flustered, grabbed my collar and spoke, tightening her grip. I couldn’t help but smile, feeling the awkwardness of her clumsy attempt at comfort and her unsure hand.

“With you here, of course, I have to cheer up. Right? Why would I just be sad when I have such a beautiful wife?”

In a way, the past was just the past. Riding proudly down the middle of the main street in the carriage, dwelling only on the past felt incredibly pathetic. I lifted my head, trying hard to shake off the past. If I came to the capital alone in place of my friends, shouldn’t I enjoy it enough for all of them?

“Over there, that is the Flancia Mansion. Please tidy your attire.”

With the servant’s haughty tone, the Flancia family crest appeared among the tall buildings. The high spire roofs and stained glass windows seemed to mimic a temple, while the ornate paintings on the walls and the statues erected all around hinted that their purpose wasn’t religious achievement, but rather this extravagant display of wealth to boast about the family’s glory.

“What a fucking display.”

I muttered to myself as I got out of the carriage. The entrance, which had clearly been cleaned more diligently than usual, and the gleaming iron gate were elements I envied. The old house where Isabel and I lived had creaking iron bars whenever we opened the door, and dead ivy vines rolled around the floor.

“Let’s clean up when we get back. Seeing this, I definitely prefer things neat and tidy.”

“Shall we?”

Crossing the iron gate, nobles peered out from the second and third-floor balconies. They watched me walk towards them with their chins held high haughtily, like spectators attending a gladiatorial match. Facing the gazes pouring down from the tall, grand building made me feel strangely tense.

“Ah, I’m nervous because people are watching. What do you call this? Exhibitionism?”

“…..I don’t think that’s it.”

Isabel shook her head at my words and walked forward with a stiff posture. Just as nervous as I was, she took a deep breath and linked arms with me. The ladies covered their faces with fans, whispering as they looked at us, while the nobles stood with their hands clasped behind their backs, tutting or shaking their heads solemnly.

Instead of making eye contact and showing a defiant attitude towards the nobles, we decided to just look straight ahead and walk forward confidently. The nobles, who had been chattering incessantly until about halfway down the path, scattered like insects and went inside by the time we reached the entrance.

“W-Welcome. Lord Evan. Lady Isabel.”

The door opened, and a slave wearing a collar greeted us. He wore cleaner attire than expected for a slave, but it was shabby to the point where one couldn’t believe he was a servant in a noble household.

“Ha, fuck.”

I swore out of sheer disbelief. Isn’t the intention obvious? Weren’t those pitiful clothes, contrasting so starkly with the servants’ fancy attire, embarrassing for both him and me? The slave bowed his head subserviently and said,

“This way, please.”

He brushed past the other servants and started climbing the stairs. Isabel looked at me with an apologetic expression, and I shook my head as if it were nothing. The slave said as he ascended the stairs.

“More importantly, I heard that you, Lord Evan, are also from a slave background like me.”

This was probably orchestrated by the Flancia family too. Servants don’t usually make small talk during tours. Especially since a slave, whose life is as fragile as a fly’s, would have no reason to bring up sensitive issues like someone’s background just to satisfy personal curiosity.

“You truly are amazing. I wish I could meet a beautiful wife like Lady Isabel and turn my life around.”

There was only one reason for him to provoke me using that angle. It was a childish ploy to make me snap upon hearing his subtly insulting words, thereby revealing the vulgar and violent nature of a slave.

“What’s your name?”

“Huh?”

But there was no reason for me to play along with such games. It was hard to watch him, sweating nervously and uttering provocative words half willingly, half unwillingly, and there was no reason for Isabel to be insulted by him.

“I asked what your name is. I lived without a name for quite a long time. The name Evan was given to me by the slave trader before I came to Isabel’s mansion, saying it was better to have a name if I was going to be sold to a noble house. Evan. Before that, the name they called me was No. 17.”

The slave nodded. The envy in his eyes was half genuine.

“My name is Saliman.”

“Right, Saliman. I consider myself lucky too. All my friends were sold elsewhere, and I don’t know if they’re alive or dead. Don’t you have a past like that too? A past where you were treated like a dog somewhere else before you luckily landed a spot at the Flancia Mansion to make a living?”

Saliman rolled his eyes. Before he could say anything, I continued,

“I never dreamed of a future like this either. All I dreamed of was meeting a good master and living well. You wanted that too, didn’t you? You wouldn’t want to meet a master who orders you to insult fellow slaves who’ve had a change of fortune, would you? If my wife gets hurt because of this, do you think you’ll get rewarded? Huh?”

Saliman said no more. He stood still, looking at the floor. I asked again,

“There’s no need for us to tear each other down. Neither of us chose to be slaves willingly.”

“……I will guide you.”

Saliman started walking again. As we climbed the stairs, Saliman didn’t say another word. Isabel held my hand tightly, and I leaned closer to her. Isabel whispered,

“I could have gotten angry. You wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it then.”

“Then he would have died. Nobles use slaves like arrows. They shoot them once, and if something goes wrong, they discard them without mercy.”

There’s a saying that slaves stick together. Even though we met for the first time today, neither he nor I would have wanted this kind of encounter. Saliman silently opened the banquet hall door and gave us a slight bow. The nobles seated in the banquet hall nodded as we entered quietly without causing a disturbance.

I could hear a noblewoman sitting in the corner whispering,

“How annoying. Why is she walking around with her head held so high when she’s from a slave background?”

“Just bear with it a little longer. It’ll be over soon.”

Isabel might not have heard it, but my hearing, enhanced by demonic power, relayed their whispers in detail.

This murmur wasn’t befitting nobles. A chaotic atmosphere, like a marketplace brawl, filled the banquet hall. Isabel and I took our assigned seats, and the nobles deliberately ignored us, continuing their own conversations.

At the head of the long table stood a man with a stylishly grown mustache. He surveyed the surroundings like a scout, nodded, and spoke.

“Quiet down. We have esteemed guests today. The third daughter of our family. Flancia Isabel and her husband, Evan.”

The nobles fell silent and looked at us simultaneously. I wore an awkward expression, and Isabel gripped my hand tightly under the table. I could see smug smiles forming on the nobles’ faces, and behind them, I noticed maids lined up.

And among them, there was one maid with exceptionally beautiful features, standing with an air of nobility.

She stood in a posture more suited to an assassin or bodyguard than a maid, but glancing around, she subtly shifted her stance.

“Oh.”

That’s hot.