Amoria leaned in, her sharp gaze trailing over the boy’s body, scrutinizing every detail. Marcy stood silently by the doorway, her arms crossed, a shadow in the dim light of the guild’s room. On the bed, Anne and Lizzy lay side by side, their breathing soft, steady. But Michael's was not.
Sweat gathered on his brow, trickling down as he held her gaze.
He’d always thought Amoria was a beautiful woman — captivating, even.
But now, under her unyielding stare, he felt like a chick caught in a python’s coils, the serpent’s fangs hovering just above his throat, waiting to strike.
And he knew she had every reason to strike.
Marcy shared Amoria’s look — unblinking, cold, watching him with that same, chilling focus.
Michael couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.
Amoria’s fingers hovered over him for a moment longer before she straightened, her expression unreadable, her eyes narrowing as she looked him in the face.
A pause stretched between them — heavy, suffocating.
Then, finally, she spoke.
"You seem to be clean," Amoria said, her voice calm, measured. "You're not branded like Lizzy and Anne." Her gaze sharpened, pinning him in place. "You should be grateful you weren’t dragged into this."
Her words lingered — cold and deliberate.
Her gaze lingered longer.
"Alright. You can go, Michael."
Michael swallowed hard and nodded, his movements stiff, mechanical.
Without a word, he inched toward the door — his heart pounding louder with every step.
"...To think both Lizzy and Anne got branded—" Marcy's voice trembled, but then her expression twisted with rage. Her eyes flared as she clenched her fists, grinding her teeth as she looked at her daughter as she squirmed in her sleep; unable to fully catch a shut-eye.
"When I catch the fucker... When I catch the fucker who did this to her, I'll—"
"Relax, Marcy," Amoria cut in coldly.
"RELAX!? YOU TELL ME TO RELAX AFTER—"
Amoria turned to her with unyielding intensity, her gaze piercing through Marcy's rage like a blade.
"Save your rage for when we find whoever did this," Amoria said quietly, her voice even; causing Michael to twitch with yet another hard swallow; his face draining of colour when he thought of the implications.
"Right now, neither of them can reply to us truthfully. Whoever did this was meticulous."
She glanced down at Lizzy, her expression softening for a fleeting moment.
"Luckily, Lizzy was smart enough to bypass the mark with her roundabout questions," Amoria murmured, unable to hide a trace of pride in her voice.
Marcy's breathing slowed, but her fists remained clenched.
"But we can't push them further," Amoria continued, her voice hardening again. "Whoever left that mark could've given them commands to harm themselves if they're pressed too hard. If we prod too deep, we risk triggering it."
Her gaze flickered toward Anne, who squirmed on the bed. Unlike Lizzy, Anne appeared to be in visible pain.
Amoria's eyes narrowed.
"...This is a problem," she muttered. "She's resisting the sleeping spell. The owner must've instructed her not to be able to sleep."
Marcy’s eyes widened in horror.
“What…?”
Michael mirrored her reaction, his eyes widening in disbelief.
‘What…!? No. No way. I… I didn’t give her that kind of order. I’d NEVER do that to her!’
His heart thundered in his chest as he spun toward Anne, watching her squirm restlessly on the bed.
Amoria’s gaze darkened as she traced the mark, her fingers hovering over it like it was something cursed.
“That mark… it’s high-grade,” she murmured, her voice cold and steady.
Marcy staggered back, her expression twisting into fury.
“Fuck…” The word hissed through clenched teeth. Her voice rose to a growl.
“FUCK! HOW DID I NOT NOTICE THIS?! HOW DID I LET THIS HAPPEN?!”
Michael’s mind spiraled into chaos, pieces snapping together in realization.
‘But… that’s… that’s a sleeping spell. Amoria Veil’s spell. There’s no way Anne could resist it… unless she was compelled to.’
‘No… no. But I didn’t… I NEVER gave her such an order!’
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if it might erase the memory clawing its way to the surface.
And then it hit him — the exact moment.
His breath caught in his throat.
‘I told her… “Don’t collapse.”’
His stomach twisted.
She hadn’t slept for over a day and still isn't fully able to.
Because of him.
His lips pressed into a thin line, trembling as he glanced back at Anne. She shifted again, her face pale, her body restless. He swallowed hard, forcing down the tears that burned in his eyes.
Marcy shook her head, trembling with rage, cursing herself under her breath.
“How… how the hell did I miss this?”
Michael’s thoughts raced.
‘I’ll… I’ll fix it later. I’ll order her to sleep.’
But even as he thought it, panic tightened its grip around his throat.
‘But right now; I need to leave. I HAVE to leave.’
His gaze flicked to Amoria, then to Marcy, both of them lost in their own torment.
‘If they find out it was me… I’m done for.’
His face paled. His hands trembled.
Step by step, he edged toward the door, his movements slow, deliberate.
Inching closer to escape.
He was almost out of the room when—
"Michael."
Amoria's voice cut through the air.
The boy froze in place, his heart pounding in his chest.
Amoria's gaze locked onto him with surgical precision. There was no warmth in her tone—only cold, calculated control.
"Come back," Amoria said softly.
Michael froze, his hand hovering near the doorframe. His fingers trembled slightly before he lowered them to his side and turned around; stepping closer to Amoria.
Amoria turned to him, her eyes cold and unwavering.
"Lizzy mentioned she felt the ache during the break—with you and Anne. Interpretation: She was branded around then."
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Michael swallowed hard as both Amoria and Marcy stared him down.
"Tell us," Amoria demanded, her tone leaving no room for hesitation. Her eyes locked onto his, unyielding.
Michael took a shaky breath.
"T-Tell... you...?" He struggled to speak, his words barely audible.
Amoria took another step forward, her presence bearing down on him like a weight.
"Tell us everything. What did you see when you stepped out of the guild? Which place did you go? What did you order? Who was the server? How many times did Anne or Lizzy take a break? Were they ever out of your sight? For how long? Where?"
The questions came fast, relentless. Michael's gaze darted around the room, searching for an escape, his mind spiraling in panic.
"I... I..." His voice cracked.
'This… This is madness… I need to tell them!' Michael thought frantically, his chest tightening with fear. His lips parted as if to speak, but he hesitated.
'W-what was I even thinking?! I need to end this while I still can!'
But then his thoughts flickered to Marcy's enraged glare. To Anne and Lizzy's frightened, confused expressions when he'd branded them.
He shivered.
'I'll die. If they find out, I'll definitely die.'
The guilt crushed him like a stone in his chest.
'I have to tell them it was from Bernard… Yeah, I'll say it came from him…'
But his thoughts twisted again, turning darker.
'No. No, he didn't make me take it. He didn't force me to do anything. I… I was the one who decided. It's all my fault.'
Michael's knees buckled slightly as his mind spiraled.
Amoria narrowed her eyes, ready to press further when Marcy suddenly stepped in, cutting through the tension.
"Chill, Amoria," Marcy sighed, placing a hand on Amoria's arm.
Amoria didn't move, her gaze still locked on Michael.
Marcy shook her head. "He's practically shittin' bricks with you like that. We need him functioning, not falling apart."
Michael blinked, his frantic breathing easing slightly.
Marcy knelt in front of him, her tone softer but still firm.
"I don't have to tell you how urgent this is, right?" she said quietly, meeting his wide, terrified eyes.
Michael swallowed again, nodding slowly.
"Good," Marcy whispered, her voice low and deliberate. "Then start talking."
Michael exhaled before he started talking; looking at the ground; as if seeing the past unfold by his feet.
"I... We went outside, then to the nearest tavern right outside. Everything was... normal. The server was a blonde orc, chef... I didn't see. We ate today's special roast and drank grape juice. Neither of them took a bathroom break. After that, I told them I had to return home to my father… and that they should come back here without me." His voice trembled as he spoke, his words stumbling over themselves.
"Other than that… I... I don't know anything."
He gulped, his hands trembling at his sides.
Amoria hummed thoughtfully, while Marcy looked down at the floor as though arranging Michael’s story across the wooden planks.
Michael’s fingers fidgeted, his breath quickening slightly as the two women processed his words.
"Hm… Then it must've happened after you left them. A slave mark requires physical contact—and it's never not painful."
Marcy took a thoughtful gaze at Amoria after her statement.
Michael exhaled in relief.
Amoria continued, "Where exactly did you part ways with them?"
"Right outside the tavern," Michael replied timidly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Amoria nodded, standing up straight as she turned to Marcy.
"Alright… Let's go. We'll question everyone there." She cast a brief glance over her shoulder at Michael. "Michael. Go home, or stay here so Misa can keep you safe."
Marcy crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing on Michael.
"Funny how he wasn't branded," she commented coldly.
Michael visibly flinched, his shoulders tensing as he shifted uncomfortably.
Amoria's expression remained impassive.
"...Well, as much as I hate to admit it," she said, her gaze fixed on the door ahead, "Lizzy and Anne are much bigger targets… being our daughters."
Marcy snorted softly. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to brand him too on the way, you know? Less loose ends."
Amoria sighed as they stepped past Michael. "Time and efficiency, I suppose," she muttered.
Michael's jaw tightened as he stood frozen in place, watching them leave.
Behind them, Marcy chuckled internally.
'Hmph… What a nice way to say he's useless even as a slave.'
They left the room. Leaving Michael alone with Lizzy and Anne.
"Say," Marcy began, her gaze fixed on Amoria.
"You seem to know quite a bit about the slave mark."
Amoria remained quiet for a moment, her footsteps echoing softly as they descended the stairs.
"...Can we talk about it later?" she finally said, her voice measured, almost weary.
Marcy glanced at her but said nothing more.
As they reached the main hall, Marcy’s eyes settled on a familiar figure.
"Misa," she called out.
The maid approached swiftly, bowing her head.
"Yes, Marcy?"
"Close the guild for today," Marcy instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"And keep an eye on the girls upstairs."
Misa nodded without hesitation.
"Understood."
Michael stood over them in silence. His gaze lingered on the two girls, the marks on their abdomen and back clearly visible. His expression darkened as a distant memory surfaced.
------------------------------
"What if I want to stop it?" Michael had asked.
Bernard shot him a hard look.
"Why? You know what’ll happen if you get caught, right?"
Michael nodded, resolute.
"I won’t say you had anything to do with it. I know the risks... But please. Just tell me how."
Bernard let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over the mark he was holding.
"Wait here," he said, taking it to the next room. "I’ll have one of our mages enchant it with a counter-spell."
Minutes passed before Bernard returned, holding the enchanted crest.
"Here," Bernard said, handing it back.
"To undo the mark’s influence, say: 'Rellales, Re [their names].' That’ll release them from its control."
He paused, narrowing his gaze.
"But remember—this only works if you have the slave crest with you. Keep it on you at all times. And make sure no one hears you when you say the words. If someone finds out…" He trailed off, leaving the warning unspoken.
----------------------------------
Michael blinked, the memory fading as he looked down at Anne.
Her face was twisted with pain, dark circles under her eyes. She looked utterly exhausted. His chest tightened with guilt.
"I'm so sorry, Anne," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
He clenched his fists. 'I left the crest at home,' he realized, cursing himself.
'I’ll get it. But until I do...'
Lowering himself to her level, he gently cupped his hand near her ear, whispering softly.
"I order you to sleep," he said, his voice trembling with regret. Then, after a pause, realizing how absolute the slave mark’s commands were, he added:
"Sleep until your mind and body are fully rested. Then wake up. After that…" His voice softened even further.
"Sleep whenever you need to… or whenever you want to."
Anne's face started to soften, and she fell into a deep peaceful sleep.
Amidst the swirling regret and guilt, watching Anne fall into a peaceful slumber became Michael’s eye of the storm.
A brief, fleeting moment of calm.
But then, a thought struck him.
‘Wait…’
‘I just ordered her to sleep — and she did. Even though I didn’t have the crest on me… or anywhere near me.’
His heart skipped a beat.
‘Does it work without it?’ he wondered, the realization sending a jolt through him.
‘Bernard said I had to have the crest on me to issue the release command. But… maybe he was wrong. Maybe it’s worth a try.’
Michael took a shaky breath, his resolve hardening as he straightened his posture.
‘They’re still under Amoria Veil’s spell. I still have time, even if I free them now. Time to decide whether to run or… accept whatever punishment they’ll give me.’
He clenched his fists, looking down at Anne and Lizzy.
‘Neither of you deserve this. You don’t deserve to be slaves. I’m… sorry.’
With a deep breath, he spoke the words.
"Rellales, Re Anne Veil. Rellales, Re Elizabeth Veil."
Elsewhere…
Bernard stood in a dimly lit room, the faint glow of the mark on his palm flickering like a dying ember.
A cruel smile tugged at his lips as he watched the mark pulse weakly.
"Oh, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey…" he whispered, shaking his head.
"Let this be a lesson for your naive, moronic self."
He flexed his hand, watching the mark fade in and out.
"You do not half-ass things," Bernard muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.
"And more than that… you do not spit in my face."
The mark flickered once more before fading completely.
Bernard sighed, almost disappointed.
"Oh well." He shrugged.
"This is goodbye, then. You won’t be missed."
And at that very moment, the faintest rumble of an explosion echoed in the distance.
Michael’s head snapped toward the window.
His eyes widened as he saw smoke billowing in the direction of his house.
‘No… no, no, no!’ His pulse skyrocketed as he bolted to the window.
Flames licked at the sky, dark smoke rising higher with each passing second.
‘What the hell just happened?!’
His mind raced.
‘That’s… that’s the direction of my house!’
‘Dad!!’
His chest tightened with dread as he stumbled back from the window.
Then, the door creaked open behind him.
"Michael?" Misa called, stepping inside the room.
But he barely registered her voice.
‘No… no, that can’t be my house!’
His breath came in shallow gasps. His face paled, and without a second thought, he sprinted past Misa, nearly colliding with her in his wake.
"Michael!" Misa called after him, startled by his sudden dash.
She turned toward the window and froze.
Her eyes widened at the sight of smoke and fire rising in the distance.
"That direction is…!" she whispered, her voice trailing off as Michael bolted down the stairs.
‘Dad…! Dad…!’ The thought pounded in Michael’s mind, over and over, as he sprinted out of the guild.
Meanwhile, Misa walked over to the bed and gently sat beside the sleeping Anne and Lizzy.
‘As much as this worries me… I need to stay with them. They’re still in danger,’ she thought, her frown deepening with concern. ‘I’m sorry, Michael.’
Her gaze flickered between the two girls, lingering on their peaceful faces.
‘Anne looks better… I guess Amoria’s sleeping spell is stronger than the mark’s influence. She really is amazing, huh?’ she thought, gently brushing a hand over Anne’s hair.
But as her eyes shifted toward their exposed abdomens; her gaze darkened as she looked closely...
... At the slave marks still etched onto them.
A tremor ran through her hand as she pulled the blanket up, covering the girls and hiding the marks from view.
‘Miss Amoria, Miss Marcy… please, please catch whoever did this…’ she prayed silently, her expression hardening with quiet resolve as she stayed by their side.