The day was bright at the training grounds. A little boy of about five practiced swordsmanship under the watchful eye of mans in soldier's attire. The child had black hair and black eyes. He was the young lord of the Duke's house: GREVEVEMIT.
"Master, it's time for your history lesson," a maid in livery called.
"I'm almost done," Grevevemit answered, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel.
"Thanks for sparring with me," he told the soldiers. He had been training with them for a year. In this world, everyone could use magic; weapons—spear, sword, bow, axe—were often enhanced with elemental power.
He sighed. Five years had passed since his reincarnation, and the main plot would begin in ten more.
Tomorrow he planned to visit the slave market. He had convinced his parents he needed personal maids and servants. Beyond assembling a harem, he intended to start a small business before entering the academy.
His adoptive mother was pregnant with his brother, and the dukedom would ultimately pass to that child. Learning he wasn't their biological son had darkened him in original work. He believed his mother favored the unborn sibling—though in the original timeline she had loved both equally—but that belief about his mother's favouritism ate away at him in original work.
— — —
That evening the family dined together.
"Darling, our child is growing up. He's already searching for maids, and he doesn't want me to come with him," Celina pouted; usually she carried herself with the grace of a duchess, she only behaved like this around those she trusted.
"Don't worry, Celina. He must learn about the market; it's part of his education. As for maids, he wants them loyal only to him," Robert said. He spoke with the quiet authority of a man who'd earned his rank—how else could he be the first-rank Duke?
Grevevemit gave his father a grateful look, then turned to his mother. "Don't worry, Mother. I'm your cute child. I want to learn so I can protect my future sibling." He added a puppy-eyed smile.
Only he knew how draining it was to keep up the pretence of childhood and survive these years.
After dinner he went straight to his room and slept.
— — —
"Finally, we've reached the slave market. I'm still not used to carriages," Grevevemit thought as the carriage rolled to a halt.
The market was tidy, with well-dressed people moving about; it seemed peaceful, if you ignored what it traded. Heads turned when the duke's carriage pulled in. The black-haired boy stepped down; his appearance made him unmistakable.
A middle-aged man approached and bowed. "Young Duke, it's our honor. I'm Drake Carter, manager of the market. May I ask the purpose of your visit?"
"I'm here to purchase slaves to serve as my maids."
"Thank you, Young Duke. Do you have any preferences?"
"No—I want to see them all for myself."
"Of course. Please follow me." Drake led him through the stalls with careful deference.
They passed many cases: some were criminals sold by the courts, others had been sold to repay debts, and some had sold themselves out of desperation. After an hour Grevevemit had yet to find a suitable candidate.
Another hour later they stopped before a barred cell.
"This one is from the beast tribe—fox lineage," Drake said with a tired sigh. "She's fierce. The shopkeeper sold her after she wrecked his shop. She's an orphan, about fifteen."
(A/N: Beastkin can't use mana but wield aura; their berserk mode is devastating.)
She was young and muscular. Literacy could be taught. Grevevemit studied her; she glared back with wary hostility.
"All right. I choose her. Prepare the contract," he said.
"Yes, sir. Please wait." Drake hurried off, relieved the appointment would conclude.
Grevevemit leaned in. "Hello. What's your name? I'm here to buy you."
"Hmph. Why should I tell you?" she snapped.
"Hehe. Don't worry. I'll take care of you. If you want to leave later, I'll set you free, and i promise on the name of Duke, that no one will bully you in my house" he replied. He did not want an unwilling servant at his side.
She regarded him for a long beat, eyes sharp and untrusting. She was still Distrustful but instead of getting sold to any old man she preffered this Kid. Then she spat the name. "Hmph… Veronica."
He paused, not reacting immediately—he hadn't expected such bluntness. "Veronica," he repeated softly, filing the name away. A beautiful Cheeky smirk formed at his lips. He chuckled a little.
"Welcome To Family Miss Veronica"