<Chapter 4>

The Fraikan Empire, its western edge kissing the coastline, thrived as a powerhouse of trade and commerce. Where commerce flourished, shadowy dealings and rampant slave trafficking inevitably followed. Thanks to the slave caravans lurking in every city, the brow of the man buried in paperwork furrowed deeply.

“Lord Kar, the Teferon slave caravan issue is currently the most pressing. The recent disappearance of a viscount’s daughter has caused a stir, and it seems the slave traders’ machinations are behind it.”

Gail, stroking his neatly trimmed mustache, lifted his gaze from the documents. Across from him, his lord lounged carelessly on a sofa, offering no response. Not that Gail expected one. With a slight quiver of his mustache, he buried his head back in the papers.

“Therefore, we plan to start suppressing the slave caravan issue with the Teferon case, where Lady Herr Helian was abducted. Since illicit transactions are typically conducted with masks to conceal identities, we’ll first infiltrate with two operatives—”

“Enough.”

“…Pardon?”

“I’ll go myself.”

“In that form? Surely you don’t mean… infiltrating as a slave? Please tell me that’s not what you mean.”

The man’s calm expression crumbled into a grimace as he awaited a reply. None came. His lord’s silence was as good as confirmation. The prospect of revising the entire infiltration plan cast a shadow under Gail’s eyes.

“What a fine fragrance.”

“Isn’t it? It’s the herbal tea I’ve been enjoying lately.”

“Your taste is impeccable, as always.”

The blatant flattery deepened the smile on the Duchess of Mercantia’s lips. The young man seated across from her mirrored her radiant smile. His golden eyes sparkled with a playful chuckle, his blonde hair swaying with the motion—a scene straight out of a painting.

‘Good heavens…’

The maids’ ears flushed crimson, and they hastily bowed their heads. The Duchess let out an airy laugh at their flustered movements.

It felt like only yesterday that Ensis was tearing through the gardens like a mischievous sprite, barely reaching her waist. Now, he’d grown into a handsome youth who effortlessly charmed his peers. The swift passage of time struck her anew.

“If Laren heard that, she’d be appalled.”

“She’d probably scold me for flattery. By the way, the atmosphere in Mercantia seems rather heavy.”

Though he spoke lightly, the Duchess’s blue eyes sharpened. With a wry smile, she tapped the table softly.

“What makes you say that?”

“The maids seemed oddly subdued.”

“…You don’t miss a thing, En.”

Ensis had sought out the Duchess, the head of the household, the moment he stepped into Mercantia. His encounter with the maids had been fleeting, yet his keen observation drew genuine admiration from the Duchess.

Ensis Tatio. At first glance, he might seem like a frivolous rake, but he was the legitimate heir of the Tatio ducal family, one of the three great ducal houses of the Fraikan Empire. The Tatio family, the empire’s preeminent magical lineage, had produced the most archmages in history. Ironically, Ensis, the eldest son, was far more interested in the sword than magic.

“You still call me by my childhood nickname,” Ensis said, running a hand through his hair with a pleased grin. Another gasp echoed from the maids, and the Duchess couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Laren doesn’t let me call her that anymore. Is she off researching magic again today? Or perhaps she’s slipped away somewhere?”

At the leisurely question, the Duchess’s hand, reaching for her teacup, trembled slightly. The sudden shift in mood brought a flicker of confusion to Ensis’s face. The Duchess, calmly sipping her herbal tea, set the cup down and clenched her fist.

“…En.”

“Yes?”

“Laren…”

“…?”

“Laren ran away.”

“…What?”

For the first time since entering the Mercantia estate, Ensis’s expression froze. His mouth hung open, unable to close—a comical sight, but the Duchess couldn’t laugh. She’d worn the same expression since receiving the letter.

“Magical. Training.”

The Duchess’s face darkened, her teeth grinding as she spat out each word. Rubbing her temples as a headache flared, she continued.

“She left a letter saying she was leaving for magical training and vanished.”

After the meeting, Ensis dismissed the attendants and stepped out of the parlor. The maids, wary of the suddenly chilly atmosphere, scurried away to avoid any fallout. Letting out a deep sigh, Ensis covered his face with one hand and hunched over.

“…Haa.”

He clamped his mouth shut, but the laughter escaping through his teeth was unstoppable. Despite his best efforts to hold it in out of respect for the Duchess’s indignation, it finally burst forth.

He’d always thought Laren was remarkable, but to run away from home—what could have driven her to such lengths? After laughing until his sides ached, Ensis reined in his amusement and began to think coolly.

“She’s not the type to run away, though.”

Laren was brash and impulsive, but even her mischief stayed within manageable bounds. Well, with plenty of exceptions—because it was Laren, after all.

To run away under the flimsy excuse of magical training? Even if she grumbled, Laren cherished the Mercantia family and the Duchess deeply. She’d sooner value time with her loved ones than hurt the Duchess’s feelings for the sake of magic.

“It must be something serious…”

Ensis strolled through the corridors of the Mercantia estate, mulling over various theories. The bustling maids paused their tasks, staring blankly as he passed by.

Witnessing this, Head Maid Cesir wavered between scolding them or letting it slide. Recalling the recent gloom that had settled over Mercantia, she shook her head and let it go.

“Greetings, Lord Ensis,” she said.

“Kan.”

Ensis’s face lit up at the sight of the Mercantia butler, a rare figure who still used his childhood nickname. The deepened wrinkles around Kan’s eyes spoke of time’s passage. To Ensis, Kan was someone he wished to see more often.

“Even your face is clouded with worry, Kan.”

“Is it now?”

Kan responded to the playful question with his usual kind smile. But as Ensis studied him, he sensed something off. Though Kan’s face was as gentle as ever, his eyes subtly avoided Ensis’s gaze, hiding something behind the smile.

‘Shall I test him?’

Kan’s heart stirred with unease as their eyes met. Ensis, wearing a faint smile, stepped closer. He gave Kan’s stiff shoulder a couple of light pats and leaned in, whispering low.

“You know where Laren is, don’t you?”

For a fleeting moment, Kan’s lips twitched downward before returning to their usual curve. It was a subtle shift, but Ensis, watching keenly, was certain.

“We have some matters to discuss privately, it seems.”

“L-Lord Ensis…”

The once-welcome Ensis had suddenly become someone Kan wished to avoid. He knew instinctively that Ensis would press him until he spilled the truth. True worry now etched itself across Kan’s face.

Laren twisted in discomfort, lost in a dream of savoring a sweet crepe. Thanks to a deep sleep, her body felt stiff and achy.

‘No, not just achy—throbbing.’

Startled by the strange pain coursing through her, Laren’s eyes snapped open, her face paling with panic. She tried to sit up, only to find her hands bound with rope.

‘What… what’s going on?’

Still lying down, she turned her gaze. Her blurry vision cleared to reveal a shocking scene.

“Hic, sob…”

“Mommy…”

“Oh, Gatmiel…”

A tremor ran through Laren’s blue eyes, as if an earthquake had struck. By the gods, she was the one who needed Gatmiel’s help now.

She’d been in a carriage headed for Reditern, drifting off for what she thought was a brief nap. But upon waking, she found herself tossed into a dingy warehouse, hands tied.

The air was thick with dampness, and a musty stench wafted from rotting wood. Worse, she wasn’t alone. The warehouse held others—children, a young noblewoman in a dress, and even a young elf, the kind rarely seen outside deep forests. The more Laren surveyed the scene, the heavier her expression grew.

‘Judging by their refined appearances, young ages, and even an elf… a slave caravan?’

Damn it, curses nearly slipped from her lips. Shaking her short hair with a jerk of her head, Laren pieced together the situation. It was clear the driver had sold her to a slave caravan.

Despite the Fraikan Empire’s claims of eradicating such practices, illegal sales through drivers persisted in the shadows. She hadn’t touched the drink the driver offered, yet sleep had overwhelmed her.

‘Did they use a sleeping incense or something?’

Laren’s brow furrowed as she scanned her surroundings. Her bag, slung over her back, was gone.

‘Damn it, they’re no amateurs.’

Her funds and homemade cookies were stolen. The enrollment fee for Reditern City Academy! The cookies lovingly baked by the head chef! Even setting the cookies aside, without funds, enrolling at the academy was impossible.

Laren’s blue eyes blazed with vengeful fire. As she ground her teeth, a commotion stirred outside the tightly shut door.

“This new one’s appearance is exceptionally rare—a real gem.”

“Oh? If you’re praising it that much, I’m intrigued.”

With a grating scrape, the door swung open. A harsh light flooded the dim warehouse, making Laren wince.

“Well, well, truly rare. I’ve never seen pure white hair before.”

“It’s a boy, but with androgynous features—perfect for those with peculiar tastes. It’ll fetch a high price.”

‘Peculiar tastes?’

The phrase sent a chill down Laren’s spine. She’d heard of nobles who indulged in such proclivities—could that be what they meant?

Her eyes adjusted to the light, revealing two figures sizing her up like merchandise. A corpulent man wore a greasy smile, his jowls quivering as his lips curled.

‘Good gods, that’s…’

By all accounts, he looked every bit the villain. The gaunt man beside him fawned obsequiously, suggesting the heavier one was the caravan’s leader. The leader, arms crossed, looked down at Laren with dissatisfaction.

“Those eyes are too fierce. Doesn’t it need some training?”

‘Training? What kind of training?’

“No need to worry, sir. These days, slaves with untamed, fiery eyes are more popular than those with dead gazes. Heh heh.”

Every word from their mouths was a gem of vileness. Laren’s stomach churned with disgust as she glared, her eyes flashing. The leader’s face soured, buried in his fleshy cheeks.

“Still, it’s too wild. Like the eyes of a beast. It won’t keep looking like that, will it?”

Laren’s piercing blue gaze bored into him. Displeased by her defiant stare, the leader lumbered forward and stomped on her foot.

“Ugh!”

It wasn’t a hard stamp, but his sheer weight made it feel crushing. Laren fought the urge to spit on his filthy boot, but not wanting to invite more trouble, she settled for a scowl. As the leader raised his hand, the gaunt man waved frantically to stop him.

“Whoa, hold on, sir! The auction’s tonight—any marks will lower its value. We’ll give it some light training before it goes on the block!”

The leader, meeting Laren’s gaze, felt an eerie presence. He wanted to thrash her soundly, but the thought of losing profit stayed his hand. Smacking his lips, he stroked his mustache and stepped back.

‘…If I escape, I’m yanking that mustache out first. This is infuriating.’

“I don’t like it. Let’s go.”