The young mistress remained neutral on the surface, her beautiful pair of lapiz blue eyes remained unshaken by the nobleman's words. Her expression—was as though still as a sea unaffected by the raging thunderstorms swept across the entire ocean. She was ‘fine’ in a physical sense, and based on her outward appearance, one would perhaps even misjudge the lady to be in a state of serenity.
However, deep down—beneath the ethereal appearance she was blessed with—beneath her fair skin—her emotions were in a turmoil, her mental state seemed as if it had been struck by a rain of arrows cascading onto her from the sky, blocking out any form of light and extinguishing even a sliver of hope for her.
The nobleman, noticing her indifferent expression—unconsciously smiled. “Hehe, it seems even a commoner, once getting a taste of power, will see others as below you. Make no mistakes, however. I'd never associate myself with your kind. But I'm frankly, in a peculiar sense, satisfied to see that you now understand what it means to be a noble, the kind of power we possess over common folks, people with filthy blood flowing through their bodies, like you.
“I still remember that day you boldly declared to me that you would never treat those trash ‘unequally’, yet here you are, showing no signs of hesitation, or even any resemblance of any ‘pitiful’ emotions over that maid. I'll be expecting for her to arrive in about a month or so, young lady. The amount I can give you for her can be discussed on a later date. But for now, farewell, Mistress.”
The nobleman then bowed slightly at the noblewoman, before promptly exiting the room—his two guards following behind him unhurriedly, their hands respectively on their swords in the chance that even a single bug might approach him. Meanwhile, the noblewoman gazed at the old, dusty wooden floor with a heavy heart. Her hands trembled as she clutched her golden hair. A few seconds passed by, yet the weight imposed upon her only grew heavier.
Then, she corrected her posture, taking a few deep breaths before murmuring in a despondent, hopeless tone. “You heard him, didn't you, Florin?” Amidst the darkness from the decaying wardrobe, a figure emerged—her once jubilant, energetic disposition seemingly replaced by dread and despair. The figure was none other than Florin, and her expression, too, was laced with hopelessness.
“Yes…I did.” Florin responded quietly, her heart visibly stirred by the events that had transpired. All this time—through the usage of obvious witchcraft—Florin had hidden herself in the shadows, eavesdropping on their conversation. She knew that the nobleman did not come here, to her mistress’s humble manor, out of the generosity of his heart or even in an attempt to mend their relationship.
Still, for him to be bold, and daring to ‘have’ her for his daughter's collection—it made Florin furious, incredibly so. But there was nothing she could do. She was a witch—yes, but a lowly maid by status. If it was discovered that all this time, she was a witch, she—along with all of her friends, even if they were or were not witches—would face the death sentence without a doubt. The empire's finest army would come marching towards them—toward the small, barely noticeable manor that expressed the status of a lower-rank noble house, not the once mighty, flourishing House of Lapis— brandishing their weapons, stomping their feet as they made their way towards the ‘criminals’, and most importantly, making sure their entrance was grand, as if proclaiming themselves as ‘justice’.
Florin gazed at the mistress with pity, sorrow and grief. If it meant to protect the people she could proudly call friends—if it's to protect the individuals that would gladly give up their own happiness and safety, just for her sake—why would she not do the same, to repay them a thousand times more, even? Her lips trembled, pupils dilating with hesitation, words stuck at her throat—seemingly refusing to come out, to let Florin express her desire—her willingness to be sold in order to protect her beloved home.
She knew she will miss them, she knew he will come to regret her decision eventually, she knew that her days would no longer be filled with joy, perhaps replaced by anguish instead—but she would rather endure all that suffering, than to allow the people she saw as family to suffer an ever worse fte than death. She took a deep breath, the burden placed on her chest being lifted as she gazed at the young lady with clear eyes filled with conviction.
Soon, her sealed, hesitant lips finally parted. “Mistress. It's alright…I'll probably miss you and…everyone else for that matter…Aiala, Fredrick, Chesty, Guinevere…” Florin listed all the names of those she had befriended, every single individual that she considered as family—every servant working for the House of Lapiz—all of them, she had memorized each, individual names, each of their unique characteristics, each of their preferences—she was essentially a walking Wikipedia that contained the knowledge of every single friends she had. That habit of hers, to be extremely grateful, to cherish, and to not take the existence of her peers for granted, but to be extremely thankful to each of them—it was such an obvious, blatant trait that made her extremely beloved amongst them all.
Florin continued listing the names, seconds passing by slowly as though time stood still, frozen at the very moment—just to allow Florin finish her words. “And… Sungah.” She muttered at last, the final servant to have been taken under the young lady's wings. Then, she continued, albeit her eyes slightly red as tears dripped from the side of her cheeks.
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“I…I'm afraid…very much so. I…really don't want to be separated from them…from all of you…but if it's to protect everyone, if it's to ensure everyone's safety…Mistress, please…sell me to him.”
A long, deafening and eerie silence ensued as those letters left Florin’s mouth. She stared down at the creaky, old, wooden floor with resignation, bracing herself for the worst of the worst, cherishing the little time left she had before her inevitable departure. However, the young lady's next choice of words stunned her.
“No.” She uttered frankly. Florin raised her head slightly, noticing the mistress’s unreadable gaze falling onto her.
“P-pardon me…but I didn't—”
“No, you didn't hear me misspeak.” She interjected, straightening her posture, looking at Florin eyes to eyes momentarily, before she continued.
“I'm tired of losing others. I'm tired of being helpless. I'm tired of constantly having to rely on others. And most of it all…I'm done with accepting my predetermined ‘fate’ imposed by those bastards. Who are they to claim, to be shaping my future, my path, my destiny and my eventual end, when they don't know what kind I've life I had led?
“Who are they to take away my precious, to insult me without suffering any consequences, to play god and dismiss me, reject me, outcast me, all because, since birth, I was born with ‘lowly blood’ flowing through my veins, all because I didn't agree with their notion? I'm done cowering, acting like a damsel in distress that can do nothing but accept my fate or wait for a knight in shining armour to come and rescue me.
“Florin, you can resent me all you want. What I'm doing will be putting your life, the others, and mine at stake, all because I'm refusing to follow the standard rule of nobility, of that damn, bullshit hierarchy. But like I said…I've had enough of accepting every outcome, as if it was meant to be. Maybe this might be the most foolish decision of mine, maybe it'll cost me the most gruesome death one can experience, but it doesn't matter. I'd rather die a life of which I was in control, even if it's a short one, than endure a life with an all-accepting attitude. This is my belief. I won't force you to join me in this one-sided, frankly, unbeatable war. But if you still insists…than please, guide me like you used to…not as my maid, not as my servant, but as my teacher.”
…
Somewhere, presented deep in a lush, verdant jungle filled with natural amenities—ranging from fruits, hopefully edible fungi to animals running amok—a place that was the epitome of every survival experts’ dream, a place still untouched by human hands but was still survivable without too many hindrance for one to live off of such a mythical—perhaps impossible to exist spot. Yet here, in this world—it exists.
A figure—a massive African, none other than Kafil Okafor—was conscious, living despite the injuries that marred his muscular yet slightly malnourished figure. He was situated in front of an old tree, underneath the canopies that blocked the sun's gaze from him—leaning on the tree for support as he took slow, steady breaths.
He gazed at his surroundings, noticing a pair of small, magnificent horn beetles in a fight, caterpillars that had undergone metamorphosis emerging from their cocoons—now reborn as butterflies, a colony of worker bees hovering above a patch of flowers and droplets of water falling from the tree's leaves due to transpiration. Kafil let out a low, exhausted sigh as his eyes gradually closed—his energy diminishing quickly as he took another quick ‘nap’ that his body required.
A few meters away from him, located behind a thick, vibrant bush—a certain Japanese man was crouching, his behind facing the bush—his pants down, and in his left hand, he held a few of nature's toilet paper—leaves. Takashi caressed the leaves with weariness and caution, feeling its smooth, frictionless surface that seemed cold and a bit wet. He lets out an audible gulp, gazing down at the leaves in his hands—already regretting his decision to answer nature's call here, of all places. Although it was not as worse than the time he spent at his previous master's place, the difference between the modern bathroom and this era’s bathroom leaving him bewildered beyond common sense—to be forced to use the leaves of an unknown plant could perhaps leave his behind forever devastated.
‘You fucking idiot! You're not a botanist, you are a guard!’ He cursed inwardly, gripping the leaves tighter. Then, he turned to face the sky—a teardrop fell from his left eye as he prayed, desperately, genuinely—in hopes that everything will turn out as he intended, without any major issues.
“神様...イエス様...仏様...どうか、誰か、たった一人でも...私のこの哀れな祈りに応えてください...どうか...どうか私のお尻を守ってください...!” Takashi screamed with sincerity in his native tongue, taking one final look at the leaves before he promptly used them.
At the same time, situated about 2 meters away from him, a on top of a neat slab of tone a gradually deteriorating apple—Mr. Ringo—was facing away from Takashi’s predicament, gazing at the surroundings as if it was tasked to protect him from any interruptions that might come at any given moment.
In the direction it was facing, an individual reindeer meticulously approached it—taking small, light steps as it tried to conceal its footsteps. Then, as it got close to Mr. Ringo, it lowered its mouth deliberated—licking the somehow, still freshly-looking piece of fruit curiously, attempting to determine whether it was edible or not.
Just before the reindeer could take even the slightest nibble—out of the blue, Takashi jumped onto the reindeer’s back, still without any pants as he had just finished his business, and started tackling the animal with great effort. The reindeer, naturally startled—shook its body wildly, while simultaneously hopping from one place to another—endeavouring to get rid of the human on top of it.
However, Takashi persisted, discreetly guiding it to the tree Kafil was resting, albeit him barely having control over the reindeer's range of motions. Still, with patience—the reindeer was eventually near the tree. Quickly, Takashi leaped onto the tree, allowing the reindeer to take a breather—or at least that's what it thought, when Takashi, all of a sudden—using makeshift rope composed of tall grass clumped up and twisted together—wrapped it around the creature's neck and began strangling it—using the tree as a medium to ensure the deer would not be able to escape so easily.
It struggled immensely—kicking the ground and screeching for help, but its efforts were met with futility. The deer continued to thrash around while shrieking for help, and once again—only silence answered it. After two minutes, the creature eventually caved in—fully unconscious and dead.
Takashi stumbled onto the ground, wiping off the beads of sweat forming on his forehead and letting out a tired yet contented sigh. “Huff…so damn tough…Still, I guess I can eat something else other than fruits and vegetables, finally. It's about time…I was already getting sick of eating too much healthy food.”
After his grumbling, he stood up and grabbed his pants, putting them in as usual. Then, he took the dead creature, carried it to his temporary camping spot—located in front of Kafil, and started preparing to butcher and cook the unfortunate deer.
…