Elena spent the afternoon exploring the library in the east wing of the manor.
It was a wing she had yet to explore in any of her previous play-throughs, as the villainess was illiterate in any field of study save make-up tutorials.
The shelves were lined with leather-bound ledgers, not poetry and romance.
Elena needed to understand how slavery functioned in the current world.
Not the morality, not the ethics, just cold, hard facts.
How were the documents drawn up, and how was the property transferred from one owner to another?
How could a noble heiress go about purchasing a slave without the knowledge of her father or the scullery maids?
What she discovered in her research made her smile for the first time that day.
According to the empire’s law, slaves were the personal property of their owner.
Unlike inherited lands or positions held by the nobility, slaves did not come with the estate upon the death of the master.
A slave purchased outright with the master’s private funds belonged to said master, and not their father, despite the old man’s unwanted “guidance”.
The quarterlies were official payments deposited into the owner’s name, and were considered personal property under the law.
Elena accessed her account.
The villainess was not particularly known for being financially savvy, and her personal expenditures were always extravagant, if somewhat tasteless.
Still, the young noble had managed to squirrel away a decent sum in the wake of her recent dismissal.
The quarterly payment had been made just three days ago, a princely sum of five hundred gold crowns.
A tidy sum for any commoner, and a pittance for a noble of her standing.
More than enough, in Elena’s estimation, to acquire a broken slave from the grooms.
A slave that the grooms considered a waste of space.
She found the steward at work in the stables at dusk, a broad-shouldered man named Borin with the scent of cheap wine and cheaper soap clinging to his person.
The man worked by lantern-light, counting out sacks of grain, his fingers stained with ink and horse-plop.
“Lady Vance”, Borin drawled, not bothering to rise as she came to a halt beside him.
The staff had already been informed of her morning ‘indiscretion’, and they had certainly heard the rumors from the scullery.
“Here to look over the horses?
your father said he had a prospective buyer for the gray mare.” “I’m looking over a slave”, Elena declared, allowing the proper inflection to creep into her voice.
Distant, almost bored aristocratic disdain, the kind that implied a great many unpleasant things to those who knew what to read between.
“The silver-haired one in the last stall, the one Garret kicked half-to-death this morning.
I need a punching bag for my Golden Touch, and my father’s decided that I need to improve my marksman’s skill before the Academy demonstration, and I doubt I’ll find suitable targets in the furniture.” It was a magnificent excuse.
It was an excuse that the villainess would use, with a self-congratulatory sneer, to justify her every cruelty and selfishness.
Borin’s expression swiftly shifted from mild disdain to avarice.
He would have taken the young noble’s word against his own life.
The rumors of the mistress’s unpleasant nature had long since filtered down to the stables – and no one wanted to be the one who’d cross her.
Not when her reputation was blacker than the deepest well.
“He’s a poor trade”, Borin said, eyeing the young woman with renewed interest.
“Might not survive the week.
But if you want the cripple, I’ll throw the collar in for free.” Ten gold crowns was quite the sum, enough to pay for a fit laborer and keep him in food and drink for a month.
House Vance and her father were rich beyond measures of worth, but the price was too high for a crippled slave.
Elena bit back a smile.
“Fifteen”, she said.
“And the collar, naturally.
I want the privilege of removing it.” Borin hesitated.
The collar was worth little more than the scrap of iron it was made of, but the noble family of Vance had it registered to them.
Removing the slave collar would be an act of an official transfer of property, a transaction of value.
“Fifteen is a steal”, the young noble said, her smile widening.
“You’ve got a bad reputation, Borin.
I would never consider buying something that could die in a week, but you’re not selling a slave, are you?” The steward’s face had gone pale.
He had heard the rumors, he had seen the girl from the east wing wandering the manor grounds with the staff, and he most certainly knew that the young noble had access to the ledgers.
A very dangerous thing to know, in the wrong hands.
“Twenty.” “Bribing me won’t save him if the fever takes him”, Elena said softly.
“The ledgers don’t lie, Borin.
I’m terrible at magic, but I’ve got a very keen head for arithmetic” She didn’t really know if the man was guilty or not, but the ledgers had shown discrepancies, and she could see the sweat on the man’s brow.
With a wave of her hand Elena sent the young man away.
“Fifteen”, she said, “or I tell my father you sold the eastern grain reserve to the black-market last winter”.
“Fifteen”, Borin muttered, “and you remove the collar yourself, Lady Vance.
I’ve no part in this” Elena gathered the coins from her purse – fifteen heavy gold pieces, a year’s wages for a commoner, or a slave’s life in this kingdom.
She did not feel guilty about the bartering, the haggling back and forth, the way she had manipulated the man by threatening to expose things that could ruin him.
She felt…
detached.
Removed, somehow.
It was all very strange, this new turn of events, Elena thought, and the young noble was already calculating the odds of survival.
The transaction was simple.
A handful of parchment, a quill and some ink, and the erasing of the registration number on the collar to replace it with her own name.
It was a quick process, brutal and ugly in its simplicity.
No ceremony, no magic, just the sheer nastiness of it all.
As she entered the last stall, the young boy was awake.
Elena noted the way he regarded her, the calculating, assessing expression on his face as he sat up slowly, his back pressed against the straw.
His amber eyes did not leave her, and she thought, for the briefest heartbeat, that he was trying to memorize her.
His fingers tightened around the damaged arm, and he let out a small, almost imperceptible sound of pain.
“I’m buying you”, Elena said, her voice was devoid of sympathy.
It was the system, not her, that had recognized the value in him, the potential; not her.
“Not because I like you, or care for you, but because you interest me and I want to waste time and gold on you” He stared at her unblinking, then nodded.
Elena crouched down, pulling the key from the pouch at her belt.
The collar was stiff and rusty, and it took her three tries to work it loose.
As she opened it, the young slave let out a short, pained grunt as Elena removed the metal band from his neck, revealing the damaged tissue.
Elena flung the collar on the straw.
“Can you walk?” He gave her a long, appraising look.
Then he nodded.
“Good”, Elena said.
“Come with me.
Now.
I need to show you where you’ll be staying” He stood, wobbling slightly as his muscles protested at the movement.
His expression was not unkind, nor was it anything but curiosity.
He was assessing her, just as she was doing the same to him, and Elena felt something twist unpleasantly in her gut.
A hunter and his prey, she decided.
One was a predator, the other the hunted, and neither was likely to befriend the other.
Elena led him out of the stables and into the manor through the service entrance.
A pair of maids gasped in horror and crossed themselves as they hurried past, followed by a footman who looked as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
The kitchen staff merely stared, wide-eyed and silent.
Elena took him to the west wing, past the servants quarters, to a set of rooms long abandoned by the household staff.
The dust was thick, but the bed was made, the windows intact.
There was a connecting bathroom with a working tub.
She pointed to the bed.
“You’ll stay here.
I’ll bring food, and there’s water, if you need to wash”.
He looked over his shoulder at the bed, then at Elena.
A sound, like a strangled sob, escaped his parched throat.
“Why?” Elena smiled, a slow, satisfied expression curling her lips.
She took a step closer and looked him in the eye.
“Because you’re an investment, and I intend to make a killing.” She turned on her heel and disappeared into the hallway before he could respond.
Leaning against the wall, Elena exhaled shakily.
The text overlay appeared over her vision; [ASSET #1 ACQUIRED] [NAME: KAEL VORTIGERN (SEALED)] [STATUS: PERSONAL GUARD – HOUSE VANCE (PRIVATE)] [LOYALTY: 3/100] [GROWTH RATE: 0.03% → 0.04%] [ESTIMATED RETURN: 10,000x+] Three points, less than a pet.
Barely more than a prisoner.
But it was three more than this morning, and the rate had gone up by a fraction of a percent.
Elena allowed herself a genuine smile for the first time today.
“Compound interest”, she whispered to the empty corridor.
“It all starts with a drop of blood.” [TICK: First asset acquired.
Private contract established.
Growth monitoring active.]