The transition from "Human" to "Livestock" was a process of cold water and rough bristles.
In the outer courtyard of the Sterling Estate, beneath the shadow of high stone walls that blocked out the dying sun, Silas Vane was stripped naked.
He wasn't alone. The two other slaves—the old man and the weeping girl—shivered beside him. A team of servants, wearing heavy rubber aprons and expressions of utter boredom, sprayed them down with freezing water from high-pressure hoses.
The water hit Silas's skin like a physical blow, stinging the bruises left by the guards.
"Scrub!" a supervisor shouted, tossing a block of gray, caustic lye soap at Silas's feet. "If I see a speck of market filth on you, I'll have your skin peeled off with the dirt."
Silas picked up the soap. It smelled of chemicals and burnt fat. He began to scrub. He washed away the mud of the Iron Plaza. He washed away the blood from his lip. He washed away the lingering scent of the lavender perfume Elena had left on his chin.
As he scrubbed, he watched the servants through the violet filter of the System.
NPC: Servant #4 Current Emotion: Indifference. Primary Sin: SLOTH (Moderate) Note: He is rushing the job because he wants to finish his shift and get drunk.
They weren't evil masterminds. They were just gears in a machine, indifferent to the suffering in front of them. That indifference, Silas realized, was worse than hatred. Hatred acknowledged your existence. Indifference erased it.
Once they were raw and red from the scrubbing, they were tossed rough, gray tunics made of burlap. No shoes. Slaves in the Sterling household earned shoes only after a year of service.
"You," the supervisor pointed a thick finger at the old man. "Kitchen scullery. You," he pointed to the crying girl, "Laundry."
Then, his eyes landed on Silas. A cruel smirk tugged at his lips.
"And you... 'My Lord'," he mocked the title, spitting on the ground. "You go to the Pit. Master Gareth is waiting."
The "Pit" was not a dungeon. It was something far more dangerous.
Located at the eastern edge of the estate, separated from the manicured gardens by a heavy iron fence, were the Silver Wing Kennels.
Silas walked barefoot across the sharp gravel, the anti-magic collar weighing heavily on his neck. As he approached the massive stone structure, a smell hit him—a primal mix of musk, raw meat, and high-concentration mana.
These were not dogs.
Silas stepped into the main hall of the kennel. It was a cavernous space, lined with reinforced steel cages. Inside them paced creatures that looked like wolves, but were the size of small horses. Their fur was a shimmering metallic silver, and their eyes glowed with a predatory blue light.
[ CREATURE ANALYSIS ] [ SPECIES: Silver-Fanged Direhound (Mana Beast) ] [ RANK: Tier-3 ] [ DANGER LEVEL: HIGH ] [ NOTE: These beasts are bred for war. They feed on mana and fresh meat. They can smell fear. ]
A low growl rumbled through the hall as Silas entered. Dozens of blue eyes locked onto him.
"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."
A man stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the hall. He was massive, his arms as thick as tree trunks, covered in scars. He wore a leather apron stained with dark, dried blood. In one hand, he held a heavy shock-baton crackling with electricity.
Gareth. The Kennel Master.
Silas's eyes narrowed as the System interface flickered over the man's head.
TARGET: Gareth (Head Beastmaster) CLASS: Warrior (Tier 4) PRIMARY SIN: WRATH [75%] SECONDARY SIN: ENVY [60%] Analysis: He enjoys inflicting pain on beasts because he cannot inflict it on his superiors. He hates nobles. Seeing a fallen noble like you excites his sadistic tendencies.
"You're the Vane boy," Gareth grunted, walking closer. He circled Silas like a shark, the shock-baton humming menacingly. "I remember seeing your father ride through the city in his gold carriage. He looked at me once. Like I was shit on his shoe."
Gareth stopped in front of Silas, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. His breath smelled of stale ale and onions.
"Now look at us," Gareth whispered. "I'm the master. You're the shit."
Silas didn't blink. He kept his expression perfectly neutral. "What are my orders, Master Gareth?"
Gareth scowled, disappointed by the lack of fear. He gestured with the baton toward the largest cage at the end of the row.
"That one," Gareth said. "That's Titan. The Lady Elena's personal war-hound. He hasn't eaten in two days because he's in a bad mood. He bit the arm off the last feeder."
Gareth grinned, revealing yellow teeth.
"Go in there. Clean the cage. Feed him. If you die... well, I'll just tell the Lady you were clumsy."
[ SYSTEM WARNING ] [ HOSTILE INTENT DETECTED. ] [ CHANCE OF SURVIVAL: 15% ]
Silas looked at the cage. Titan was a monster of a wolf, easily standing five feet tall at the shoulder. It was lying in the corner, gnawing on a bone that looked suspiciously human.
"Understood," Silas said calmly.
He walked toward the cage. He could feel Gareth watching him, waiting for the screams.
Silas stopped at the heavy iron door. He took a breath. He had no mana. He had no weapon. If the beast attacked, he was dead.
But I am not just Silas Vane anymore, he thought. I am a Sovereign.
He reached out and slid the bolt back. The metal screeched.
Inside the cage, Titan's head snapped up. The beast rose, its lips curling back to reveal rows of razor-sharp, metallic teeth. A low, vibrating growl shook Silas's chest.
Silas stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
The beast lunged—but stopped halfway.
It sniffed the air. Its ears twitched.
Silas stood his ground. He activated his [Eyes of the Sovereign].
TARGET: Titan (Alpha Male) STATE: Aggressive / Hungry PRIMARY INSTINCT: DOMINANCE SECRET: The beast respects only absolute authority. It smells the 'Sovereign's Aura' within your soul, confusing it with the presence of an Alpha.
Silas didn't show fear. Animals, unlike humans, didn't care about titles or money. They cared about the energy you projected. And right now, Silas's soul was projecting a void so dark and commanding that even a Tier-3 mana beast hesitated.
"Sit," Silas said. His voice wasn't loud, but he infused it with every ounce of willpower he had left.
Titan paused. The beast tilted its massive head. It growled again, but it didn't attack. It backed away slowly, watching Silas with intelligent, wary eyes.
Outside the cage, Gareth's jaw dropped. "What the..."
Silas picked up the shovel leaning against the wall and began to clean the filth from the corner of the cage, moving deliberately, never turning his back on the monster, but never showing panic.
He survived the first hour. Then the second.
By the time night fell, Silas was exhausted, his body screaming in agony, but he was alive.
Night at the Sterling Estate was quiet, save for the distant chiming of the clock tower.
Silas sat on a pile of straw in the corner of the kennel hall. He hadn't been given a room. Gareth had told him to "sleep with the dogs."
The only light came from the moonlight filtering through the high windows, illuminating the sleeping forms of the direwolves.
Silas was chewing on a piece of stale bread—his only meal for the day—when the heavy oak doors of the kennel creaked open.
Silas froze. He melded into the shadows, pulling his burlap tunic tight around him.
A figure stepped in.
It wasn't Gareth.
The moonlight caught the shimmer of a silver silk nightgown. Long, dark hair flowed freely down her back, no longer confined by the strict braids of the Commander.
Elena.
She walked silently, her bare feet making no sound on the stone floor. She looked different. The armor was gone. The 'Holy Commander' persona was left at the door.
She looked... tired.
Silas held his breath. His System interface flared to life automatically.
TARGET: Elena Sterling CURRENT STATE: Vulnerable / Melancholic PRIDE: [ 88% ] (Slightly Lower) HIDDEN DESIRE: [ SOLACE ] Analysis: She seeks comfort in beasts because they do not judge her. She feels the weight of her lies.
Elena walked straight to Titan's cage. The massive wolf, who had wanted to kill Silas hours ago, whined softly and pressed its muzzle against the bars.
"Hello, boy," Elena whispered. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, trembling slightly. She reached through the bars, burying her hands in the beast's thick fur.
"They're so loud," she murmured to the wolf, resting her forehead against the cold iron. "The nobles... the Emperor... they never stop talking. They all want something from me."
Silas watched from the darkness, his heart pounding. He was witnessing something no one in the Empire knew. The Iron Lady was cracking.
"I'm so tired, Titan," she sighed, closing her eyes. "I just want..."
She didn't finish the sentence.
Suddenly, Titan growled low in his throat. Not at her. At the shadows.
Elena stiffened instantly. The melancholy vanished, replaced in a nanosecond by the sharp, lethal instinct of a warrior.
"Who's there?" she demanded, her voice snapping like a whip. "Show yourself, or I'll burn you to ash where you stand."
Silas knew he was dead if he hesitated.
He stepped out of the shadows, falling to his knees and pressing his forehead to the stone floor in a perfect, submissive bow.
"Forgive me, Lady Sterling," Silas said, his voice steady. "The Kennel Master ordered me to sleep here. I did not mean to intrude."
Elena stared at him. The moonlight illuminated her silhouette through the thin silk of her gown. For a moment, Silas saw the [LUST: 25%] bar spike—not for him, but a general spike of adrenaline and physical awareness.
She walked over to him. She didn't have a weapon, but she didn't need one.
"The Vane boy," she said, looking down at his prostrate form. "I forgot you were down here."
She nudged his shoulder with her bare foot. "Look at me."
Silas raised his head.
This close, without the armor, she was devastatingly beautiful. The plunging neckline of her nightgown revealed the pale skin of her chest, rising and falling with her breathing.
But Silas wasn't looking at her skin. He was looking at the text floating next to her heart.
OPPORTUNITY DETECTED. TARGET EMOTION: CONFUSION / SUPERIORITY. PRIDE LEVEL: 91% (RISING). CONDITION: She is barefoot. Skin contact is possible.
"You sleep with the dogs," Elena said, a hint of her usual arrogance returning, acting as a shield for her vulnerability. "It suits you."
"It is an honor to serve the Lady's beasts," Silas lied smoothly. "They are... majestic. Like their mistress."
Elena paused. She wasn't used to compliments from slaves that sounded so... composed. Most slaves begged or cried. Silas's voice was dark, calm, and oddly hypnotic.
She took a step closer. The distance between them was now less than a foot.
"Do you hate me, Silas?" she asked suddenly. It was a test. A trap.
Silas looked into her eyes. The violet hue deep in his pupils swirled.
"Hate is a strong word, My Lady," he replied softly. "I envy you."
[ SYSTEM: CRITICAL HIT. ] [ Target's PRIDE has spiked to 98%. ] [ REASON: Hearing a former Duke say he 'envies' her validates her entire existence. ]
Elena smiled. It was a genuine, intoxicated smile. She was drunk on his submission.
"Good," she whispered. She reached out, placing her hand on his head, as if he were one of her dogs. "Keep envying me. That is your place."
[ CONTACT CONFIRMED. ] [ INITIATING HARVEST? ] [ YES / NO ]
Silas felt the warmth of her hand on his hair. He could feel the pulse of her mana. He could drain her right now. He could take a massive chunk of her Pride.
But if he did, she would notice the drain. She would kill him.
Patience, he told himself. Not yet. I need to hook her deeper.
He selected [NO].
Instead, he leaned into her touch slightly, like a loyal hound.
"As you wish, My Lady."
Elena withdrew her hand, looking satisfied. The cracks in her soul had been plastered over by his submission. She felt powerful again.
"Clean Titan's cage properly tomorrow," she commanded, turning around. "If I smell filth, I'll have you whipped."
She walked out of the kennel, the silk of her gown trailing behind her.
Silas remained kneeling until the heavy doors clicked shut.
Only then did he raise his head. He looked at the spot where she had stood. He looked at his own status screen.
QUEST COMPLETE: Survive the Night. REWARD: 50 EXP. BONUS: [Blueprint of the Saint's Routine] acquired.
Silas stood up, dusting the straw off his burlap tunic. The hunger in his gut was gone, replaced by a different kind of hunger.
"Sleep well, Elena," he whispered to the empty darkness. "You have no idea what you just let into your house."