Negotiations with the Ashen Hand had gone far smoother than expected.
The information I'd aggressively pushed—even going so far as to chew and swallow Adam and Eve's red fruit—must have seemed worth verifying, at least in her eyes.
Of course, her gaze had still said this:
A bastard desperate for the family's acknowledgment, putting on a death-defying show?
That kind of look.
But my boldness had evidently caught her interest.
"In three days, we'll hit the Versailles Barony. Come back for the blue fruit in four."
A single chance.
The princess had tested me, and I'd seized it.
For a first contact, it was pretty successful.
On the way back, I'd slipped Karen the antidote fruit from the teahouse manager.
Since that organization was the source of the sleeping drug in the first place, they naturally had the antidote on hand.
And now, on the road back to the estate.
"...Karen, you okay? Your face looks a bit—"
"Ah, please don't talk to me. My head's been pounding since morning, and hearing your voice on top of that might just kill me."
She was downright vicious.
Having been forcibly put to sleep and woken up, a headache was only natural.
But even so, this attitude was something else.
She might be a maid in name only, but the way she clicked her tongue made it blatantly clear who served whom.
Half a curse rose in my throat, but I barely held it back.
'...Fine, hold it in. She's someone I'll replace soon enough anyway.'
That was when the shadow of the Argent estate came into view.
And that was the moment.
A whip crack echoed from the front gate.
Snap!
"Hurry up and move! Want me to beat you till you crawl? Or should I break an arm or leg as an example?"
It was an ice-cold voice.
A line of merchant wagons stood before the estate's front gate.
But these weren't carriages announcing a noble visit.
Iron railings, hardened stains of blood and mud, cloth scraps crawling with maggots.
"Human transport carts" was the more accurate term.
Clunk.
As the wagon doors opened, chains clinked against each other in a grim metallic symphony.
And one by one, faces drained of all hope were shoved to the ground.
Ropes hardened around their necks.
Wrists swollen with scabs in iron manacles.
They were less living people than half-dead organic matter.
A mother clutching her child, an elder barely standing while gripping whip scars, a woman curled up tight since even rags were denied her.
Despair marched in a procession into the estate.
"Ah, so today was the day."
Karen let out a mocking chuckle.
"New slave intake. Those poor things can't even imagine the hell awaiting them."
She spoke as if sightseeing a familiar scene.
It should have sent chills down my spine, but she seemed to enjoy it.
Eyes that saw this hell as normal.
In Vengeful Goddesses, slaves fell into two broad categories.
The first were contract slaves like Karen, nominally paid wages to serve the household.
The second were those like the ones now being dragged in chains—lifelong commodities bought and sold, treated like beasts.
And once a month, the Argent Family brought in droves of the latter.
They purchased people like expensive goods.
Used without a penny in pay, discarded when bones ground to dust and breath gave out, all as family assets.
The reason the Argent Family reigned as one of the kingdom's four great houses.
A filthy truth no one dared voice on the continent, yet everyone knew.
Wealth built on slaves' blood and suffering.
This vile, grotesque foundation was the house bearing my name.
Lucas Argent.
The family this possessed body belonged to.
'...Fuck.'
A scene I'd seen countless times in the original story.
But witnessing it firsthand made it utterly different, despite the familiarity.
Revulsion.
My head throbbed hotly.
Stomach churning, vision narrowing.
The instinctive human gag reflex to filth-like malice.
But—
I swallowed it down.
Right now, I was a whelp with claws and fangs pulled.
A newborn tiger cub could die bitten by a pig.
If I charged in now, the outcome was obvious.
So... I endured.
As I ground my teeth and moved to enter the estate, passing the line of dead-eyed slaves, a voice pierced my ears.
"Ugh, why's this one so broken?"
"Sorry... It's a beastkin, so it runs fast... Got damaged a lot catching it..."
"You bastard! Even so, this is scrap! Think the Argents will buy this crap?! Fuck—"
Thud! Thud!
The sound of kicking a lump of meat.
At the slave hunter's toe, a small orange shadow tumbled across the dirt.
For a split second, my pupils shook violently.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
No one hesitated naming the biggest buyer at the illegal slave markets.
The Argent Family.
Other nobles traded discreetly in back alleys, but this mad house took it further.
They didn't just buy and use—they bred their own.
Sponsoring, arming, and training slave hunters.
The industrialization of "hunting," literally.
Farms raising humans as livestock.
And once a month, the captured slaves dropped into underground training grounds.
Survive, become toys for perverted nobles. Fail, get discarded.
If both were hell... was choosing worth it?
Nine in ten went straight to the training grounds.
The remaining one in ten was for internal Argent Family use—
Specifically, toys for the heirs.
The future kings and monster candidates who would devour them.
And some of the newly arrived slaves were that select tenth.
Chains scraping the floor.
Trembling clusters of slaves.
Opposite them, atop stairs carpeted in lavish gold, stood the four heirs.
"Good. Plenty of usable ones this time."
"This is why the start of each month is fun."
"Enough chit-chat. Let's divide them quick."
"Agreed. Time is money. Brother, sisters."
The slaves couldn't lift their heads.
No—they dared not.
These four before them were the future rulers inheriting this nation's worst evils.
And they would soon realize.
How they'd been dragged here, and how they'd be crushed from now on.
Torture called training.
Treatment denying them humanity.
And ultimately, gruesome death.
But these slaves didn't yet know one fact.
The Argent heirs had a special rule.
"Alright, I'll introduce myself first."
The first to step down from the stairs was the eldest.
First Heir of the Argent Family.
Wolfram Argent.
His skin was corpse-pale, eyes like lifeless glass shards.
Even standing still, he exuded the weight of a massive boulder.
And per the family's ancient rule, he first declared the slaves' fates.
"I am the first heir of the Argent Family, Wolfram Argent. And I seek the strong."
"The strong...?"
"Strength... from a slave...?"
Wolfram's voice continued steadily.
"Upright, loyal, one who lives and dies by my command. Slaves under me will face days crueler than hell."
The slaves' breaths halted.
"But I promise this."
His voice dipped slightly.
"Endure that hell and grow into my knight, and I guarantee you boundless honor."
"!!"
A faint stir rippled through the slaves.
No one had expected it.
They'd assumed the Argent eldest was a monster breaking slaves for pleasure and cruelty.
Yet he demanded knighthood from his own slaves.
As some slaves' eyes wavered following his words, a clear voice rang from the stairs.
"My turn next. I'm Seratina Argent."
Second Heir, Seratina.
Skin clear as a white lily.
A gentle smile evoking a saint.
A face least fitting the cruel Argent name.
And her offer defied expectations too.
"Slaves. I want the lovely and beautiful."
"L-Love...?"
"Hehe, no need to fear."
Seratina raised her fingertips gracefully.
"Simply put, I value beauty. Slaves by my side will groom themselves and strive to be beautiful."
She smiled with utmost tenderness.
"And I promise: stay beautifully by my side to the end, and we'll stroll the gardens together."
Some slaves flushed even amid deathly terror.
Love?
Gardens?
Using such words for slaves.
But Seratina was utterly sincere.
She extended her hand like sharing friendship with slaves.
Next came the Third Heir down the stairs.
"...Walter Argent."
Frail build, deep dark circles, eyes of a mage who'd pulled all-nighters for a month.
Unlike the others, he spoke curtly, emotionless.
"I want companions to research my magic with."
"Companions...?"
Walter scanned the slaves.
"If any of you have knowledge of scholarship or magic, join me. That's the condition."
Slaves inhaled sharply, glancing at each other.
"Those with knowledge will get generous support."
Not extravagant rewards.
But in this hellish world, knowledge meant breathing room.
In a status society where birth decided all, the knowledgeable were beasts if they met the wrong master—or reborn scholars if lucky.
An irresistible offer for those qualified.
And the final voice followed.
"Hehe~ Hi, slaves."
Hopping down the stair railing was the youngest heir.
Syl Argent.
Glittering tiara, fluffy dress, a princess smile mixed with sugar and cream.
"I'm Syl! And what I want... hmm~ just play with me when I'm bored! That's it!"
"Play... with you?"
"A playmate...?"
The girl truly sought a simple play friend.
No cruel terms, no painful costs.
Just a childminder role.
Some slaves thought: Serving that child might mean survival.
And this was the Argent Family's selection rule.
Heirs didn't pick slaves.
They waited for slaves to kneel by choice.
Letting desire, fear, hope drive the slaves' own selections.
The longstanding Argent way.
So the four heirs merely stated conditions, forcing nothing more.
Moments later.
As selection time arrived, slaves began moving.
Strength-seekers to Wolfram.
Beauty-smitten to Seratina.
Knowledge-holders to Walter.
Survival-wanters to Syl.
Footsteps seeming born of their own wills.
And then.
Thud.
Amid the selection fervor, one small fox beastkin with orange fur collapsed to the floor.
Without grasping even one chance.
Truly, the image of discard—unable even to hold the bare minimum shot at selection.