Ricket cursed inwardly, adamant that he wouldn't become a slave to anyone. Who did this guy think he was, an elf? Everyone knew that only elves kept human slaves, as per the law. Determined to break free, Ricket began to plot his escape; as soon as the young man fell asleep or let his guard down, the bandit would make a run for it.
“Then let me greet you as your master,” the young man decreed as if he were a king, “My first servant here in this new land, Ricket. You will now be serving under me, Zane Grinus.”
“Of course, my lord…” Ricket accepted as he humbly bowed his head, hiding the anger on his face.
He stiffened feeling a hand being pressed on his head. He made a move to look what was happening but he stopped hearing the young man, Zane, speak.
“Don’t move,” Zane warned, “I haven’t done this in a while so I am a bit rusty. I don’t want to kill you if I can help it…”
Ricket began to feel his armpits fill with sweat.
Novice psychic spell: “Slave Imprint”.
A surge of mana poured out of Zane’s outstretched hand and into Ricket's mind. The bandit's body convulsed uncontrollably as an unknown presence invaded his consciousness, shaking his very being. Blood trickled from Ricket's nose, ears, and eyes, a sure sign of the spell’s instability.
I really am rusty with this kind of spell, Zane thought, disappointed.
Enslavement spells were never his forte to begin with. He was a master of magic, but that didn’t mean he could use all his spells at the same level of skill. "Slave Imprint" was not of his own creation but rather magic he had acquired during his youth, while indulging in fantasies of a harem filled with women. He had learned it from a dubious slave merchant with a less than savory reputation.
This is actually the first time I’m using it, Zane realized, after I learned it, I never bothered trying it on anyone. He looked closely at Ricket's trembling form, which was dripping blood, and shook his head, disappointed. Maybe I should’ve practiced this spell on an animal before trying it on a human…
Zane withdrew his hand, satisfied that his spell had taken effect, and observed the bound bandit who continued to thrash about like a fish out of water.
Beginner holy spell: “Prayer Hand”.
Zane placed a hand on the bandit’s head once more and released a cooling light through his mana into the man’s shaking body. Ricket soon calmed as his injuries disappeared. He became conscious after a few minutes under the healing light and saw Zane standing above him in an opposing manner. But Zane was no longer in the same state as when Ricket saw him last. Zane was sweating, and his complexion was paler as if he had gotten sick.
Also, the wood holding Ricket's body had begun to crack, he noticed, and it felt as if it could break apart at any moment.
This bandit saw an opportunity.
His muscles flexed as he tore his arms free, breaking the wood entrapping him. He unsheathed a dagger from his boot and struck out at Zane.
Foolish boy, Ricket thought triumphantly, you didn’t bother checking my body for any hidden daggers. You will pay for your mistake with your life!
Right when the blade was about to touch Zane’s flesh, it stopped. Ricket looked at his blade curiously, then back at Zane, who was staring at him without a hint of distress.
Ricket tried stabbing another time, but once again, the blade stopped before piercing the youth’s skin. It wasn’t just the blade. The bandit’s whole body locked up as soon as he came close enough to harm Zane.
Again and again, Ricket stabbed. He tried different places on Zane’s body and even tried to throw his blade at Zane, but even then his dagger would just miss, as if he wasn’t aiming at Zane at all.
“What under the gods’ blue skies...?” Ricket mumbled with trembling lips, unable to grasp if he were dreaming or had gone mad.
“Ricket,” Zane commanded, “Stab yourself.”
Ricket cocked his head sideways in confusion as he thought, why would I do that?
A sudden pain appeared in his abdomen. His grizzled head turned downward, and he saw his dagger piercing through his leather jerkin and into his stomach, the dagger still in his hand.
“Why did I stab my own stomach…?” Ricket asked weakly as his body began to lose strength.
“Ricket,” Zane commanded, “Take that dagger out of your body. You look like an idiot with that thing sticking out of you.”
Faster than he’s ever seen himself move before, Ricket grabbed the blade with no concern of the pain and took the blade out of his body.
I’m under his control…but how? Ricket thought in disbelief.
“Alright, enough games” Zane ordered, “Lie down. You’re about to die.”
Ricket felt the cold feeling of death creep into his body as he followed Zane’s order involuntarily. Death was truly about to be upon him soon.
Beginner holy spell: “Prayer Hand”.
Zane placed a hand onto Ricket’s injured stomach and shrouded it with holy light and magic. The self-inflicted stab wound started to sew itself shut, new flesh appearing to replace torn ones.
“Magic…” Ricket breathed out.
“Yes,” Zane replied dryly, “It is magic.”
Zane got back to his feet and stretched his sore muscles, feeling drained. A mage's body couldn't handle excessive use of mana, and Zane was no exception, especially now with his current lackluster form. He knew that overusing his magical powers would cause him to develop a headache and feel groggy, just like when someone lacked sleep.
“Ricket, stand guard,” Zane commanded, “I’m going to replenish my spent mana.”
Zane sat down under the cover of the tree Ricket was once chained to, and Ricket leaped up and assumed a position guarding him.
“What is happening to me right now…?” Ricket mumbled as his body moved from one side of Zane to the other to check each direction for signs of danger.
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Novice mage stance: “Meditation”.
The mage stance, Meditation, was not a stance but a posture that the mage had to sit in to recover mana. Every class of fighter, from warrior to mage, had stances. Mages in particular used the Meditation Stance the most frequently. It used magic to shut down all systems in the body but one: the bodily function that processes mana.
With the stance of Mediation, a mage was able to use their natural body’s capability to absorb mana from their surroundings and process it in order to fill their mana pool, which was where mana was kept in reserve. With the body solely focused on absorbing mana, it helped with recovery speed. It was typically a slow process, even with Meditation, but Zane was a master of the arcane at one point in his life, so his processing of mana was quicker than most.
After a few minutes, Zane felt his mana pool fill to the greatest amount that it could reach.
That isn’t much, Zane noticed, unable to keep from feeling disappointed as he looked at his miniscule mana pool. It was like a king seeing his throne turn into a wooden outhouse without a door, a stark reminder of his lost power. He had once been an Archmage, a master of the arcane, and now his mana reserves were meager puddles in comparison to what they once were.
“Alright, Ricket,” Zane called out to the bandit, “Let’s go ahead and move out.”
Ricket’s body moved on its own to stand next to Zane.
“Um, before that, my lord,” Ricket said, his respectful tone returning, “Could you tell me what is happening to my body?”
“You are now my servant, Ricket,” Zane explained, “I implanted within you a slave imprint. It robs you of your free will and bestows rule over your body to me.”
Ricket became placid and gulped hard.
“My lord,” Ricket entreated, “I do not wish to become a slave.”
Zane let out an exasperated breath before speaking, “That is not up to you any longer, Ricket. You are of the sort of lowly scum that robs. Not only do you rob, you also murder. Enslavement is a better fate than most of your kind deserves. Be grateful that you are put under my rule other than falling under someone else’s.”
Ricket couldn’t see how becoming a slave to any man was good, no matter who it was. If Zane was an elf, Ricket would understand, but Zane wasn’t even that!
“Now, don’t ever bring up the fact that you are enslaved to me again,” Zane commanded, “It is bothersome hearing a murderer’s complaints.”
With that, Ricket’s thoughts about being freed could no longer be formed into words. He felt a deep urge to murder Zane at that moment, but he knew he couldn’t. He was now a slave, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Thinking back to how his blade could not even reach Zane unsettled him further. He was in far worse shape than a slave. He was now an extension of Zane—a tool made to do his master’s bidding without a second of hesitation.
“I understand…” Ricket said in a weak voice.
Zane eyed Ricket with derision. He held the same urge to kill this lowly bandit in the same way Ricket was thinking of killing him. Zane hated humans who killed humans the most. As a species, humans were being set upon by all manner of magical beasts and demons, yet these low-lives still had the audacity to attack their own kind. It sickened him to be near a man like Ricket, but the once Archmage needed the bandit to help him return to his former glory.
“Let us make haste to the nearest town, Ricket,” Zane commanded. Without a word, Ricket started down a path through the forest, leading his new master to town.
Zane and Ricket emerged from the dense forest, arriving in Olsten Town, a small settlement on the edge of civilization. The town was modest, with simple structures built from rough-hewn timber, but it had a bustling market area filled with vendors selling meat, furs, and other goods harvested from the surrounding wilderness. The air was thick with the smell of tanned hides and the sounds of animal calls echoing through the trees. It was clear that this town was built on the frontier, a place where hunters and trappers made their living off the land. Despite its lack of extravagance, Olsten Town had a charm all its own, with a rugged beauty that spoke of the harsh realities of life on the fringes of civilization.
As Zane and Ricket moved through the small crowds on the street, people around them gave them odd looks and gave them wide berths.
"What is with their stares?" Zane asked his new slave.
"We’re covered in blood," Ricket explained. He had dropped the honorifics he was giving Zane. It was a passive rebellion he was showing. If he had to be a slave, it didn’t mean he had to act like it. He was a strong willed person, even if he did murder for coin.
Zane examined their clothes and became aware that both of them still had blood stains on them from when they were stabbed.
“Follow me,” Zane commanded and led Ricket to a side alley with no one around.
“Punch yourself. Hard,” Zane commanded when they were alone.
Ricket didn’t have enough time to even express confusion when he felt his own fist hit the side of his face. Stars started spinning in his sight.
“Criminal,” Zane spoke vindictively, “Don’t play games with me. Your emotions are transmitted to me through your slave imprint. Your rebellious nature is going to get you crippled soon, maybe even killed if I feel the need.”
Ricket’s eyes widened with fright. Even his inner thoughts were being watched?
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Ricket groveled, “I will not speak to you again in such a tone.”
Zane wanted nothing more than to have the bandit rip out his own innards, but he let those feelings subside. He’s dealt with worse people in his life. Such trivialities weren’t worth getting upset over.
Zane held both his hands out toward their clothes.
Beginner water spell: “Dispersing Liquid”.
Water created from the moisture around them formed around his hands then seeped into their clothing. The blood spots on their clothes exploded out along with the water and dissolved into the air leaving their clothes free of blood.
Ricket stood dumbfounded seeing the magic. He couldn’t help but think impressed; this young man is certainly something else…
Zane conjured another spell, novice modification spell: “Restoration”.
Mana soon surrounded them both and was then absorbed into their clothes. The cloth and leather they wore were stitched together, repairing tears, holes, and shreds, turning their raggedy garments back into proper clothing.
“Amazing…” Ricket breathed out. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore new clothes, but he knew by feeling around his clothing that they were just as good as the day they were made. To his astonishment, they even fit better than before, like they had been custom made for him.
“Let’s go,” Zane called out to the middle-aged bandit as he exited the alleyway.
“O-of course, my lord,” Ricket stuttered, hurrying to Zane’s side.
Ricket led Zane to an inn, its entrance hidden behind the shadows of dark trees. The air inside was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and sweat, and the tables were filled with rugged patrons dressed in thick leather and wool clothing meant for the harsh outdoors. Some carried weapons, their blades glinting in the dim light, while others displayed their tools of the trade—pickaxes, saws, and axes. Heads of ferocious beasts adorned the walls, the proud trophies of hunters who had dared to venture beyond the safety of the town.
Taking a seat at the bar, Ricket offered Zane a drink, but the latter declined. The last thing Zane needed was the drunken ramblings of a bandit worming their way into his mind through the slave imprint. They ate in silence, surrounded by the low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of mugs on tables. Zane waited until they were halfway through their meal before speaking up.
“Are any of your friends here?” Zane asked.
“Um, I beg your pardon, my lord?” Ricket replied with food still in his mouth.
“The same kind of murderous filth like you, are they around?”
Taking in the room, Ricket immediately noticed a man sitting alone at the back wall, clad in iron armor.
“There’s one,” Ricket whispered as he nodded his head toward the man.
“Good,” Zane acknowledged, “Go rile him up then take him outside.”
Ricket felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. Was he going to be replaced? Did that mean his life was forfeit? His eyes flicked back to the man he had singled out and he saw that the man was a formidable figure with a height almost twice his own. The man even carried an iron claymore, a two-handed sword that could cleave a horse in two if enough strength was put behind it. The middle-aged bandit had pointed out the man as a killer, recognizing him as a member of a group of local forest bandits.
Ricket himself wasn’t a part of such groups because he didn’t fancy his chances within a hierarchy. Compared to the common man, he was weak and even shorter than Zane by a head. Ricket depended on ambushes or luring his victims into a false sense of security before plunging his knife into their backs. But if he joined a bandit gang, he would be forced to act as a human shield during raids, and inevitably, he would meet his end.
Against his own will, Ricket got out of his seat and walked up to the large man sitting alone.
The burly man had scars on his face and a bear's fur hanging from his shoulders. The cut-up nature of his face gave the man a gruesome and threatening appearance. The man’s hair was long and went out wildly in every direction. His two-handed claymore sat on the seat beside him as if it were his guest at the table. He wore rusted iron armor, but it still looked like it had a few years’ worth of use left.
His cold dark eyes looked up at Ricket with a predator’s gaze.