A soft knock stirred Klaus from sleep.
It came again—careful, almost rehearsed—followed by a small, hesitant voice on the other side of the door.
"Big brother… dinner's ready."
Klaus groaned softly, one arm flopping over his face. "I'm coming," he muttered, voice thick with sleep. "Give me a minute."
He cracked one eye open. Dusk light seeped through the wooden shutters, painting the room in tired orange. He stretched one arm upward, bones popping, and froze.
The scar on his wrist caught the light.
Klaus stared at it, pale, jagged, ugly. A brand rather than a wound—proof of who he once was.
Two years had passed since the battle of Aegulus, a barren land between the province Hallosbel and Crowvale.
The battle that the world called Hallosbel's greatest failure.
Not because of casualties. Soldiers were replaceable numbers. What shattered confidence was simpler and far uglier. Two Keepers had died.
Hevert Alkantel.
Arnold Ironfire.
People in the province became discontent, especially with Duke Sebas Warhog.
The King wanted an answer.
The Keepers' council fractured almost overnight, each faction scrambling to protect its own name. Reports were rewritten. Orders quietly denied. Decisions once made "for the greater good" suddenly had no author. Fingers pointed everywhere and nowhere at once.
And the Duke? He had moved faster.
He needed an explanation that didn't compromise his authority. A sacrifice that would make the public swallow the loss and ease the King's fury.
Illumi had been perfect.
A useless priestess, he declared. A failure of support. A burden on the battlefield. He said her judgment flawed, her presence meaningless. Convenient lies, repeated often enough to sound like the truth.
The Keepers didn't defend her.
They stripped her title in silence, erased her name from their ranks, and let her vanish. No trial. No farewell. Just absence.
Klaus sighed—memories of the battle were the oldest memories he could remember. His nineteen years of existence remain unknown to him, except for the book fully imprinted in his brain—the very foundation of his mindforger.
He stood up and pulled on his long-sleeved shirt, hiding the scar, then lifted the Subjugator tag from the bedside table. A small plain silver plate carved a name, 'Klaus Shaw.'
He slipped it over his neck.
For two years, Hevert's gold—resting quietly in Klaus's storage ring—had purchased him new life. A new identity.
He bribed an officer of the Subjugator's Alliance to falsify his name and registered as a Subjugator. His job was simple—complete a mission, to hunt, scout, gather materials, anything that a subjugator can offer.
He'd also bought land. A small farmhouse on the outskirts of Pe'cha, a town at the edge of Crowvale. Beneath the towering town wall, the place was neither close to civilization nor wilderness.
The smell of stew met him as he entered the dining room. The house was small—two bedrooms, a kitchen, a main hall, enough to accommodate a few visitors.
Klaus sat and began eating without ceremony.
Across from him, a young woman waited, posture straight, eyes flicking to him before lifting her spoon. Beside her, a six-year-old child mirrored the motion, careful and deliberate.
They only ate once he did.
To an outsider, it would have looked ordinary. A man, a woman, a child at dusk. Like a family.
It wasn't.
The two were slaves.
He'd bought them last year with five gold coins and a punch that had left a merchant sprawled in the dirt. Klaus still didn't know why he'd done it. He'd never been soft. Never bothered by cruelty of the society.
But seeing them beaten—truly broken—had triggered something sharp and inconvenient.
The woman had tried to repay him in the only way she believed had value.
Klaus had stopped her with a look.
"You cook. You clean. You live," he'd said. "That's it. Don't try anything else and I'll throw you away."
Afraid of getting thrown out, the woman avoided crossing any boundaries after that.
The girl smiled at Klaus, then immediately seemed to remember herself and stiffened, fingers twisting the hem of her dress. She glanced at her mother, then back at him, clearly weighing whether courage or fear would win.
Klaus noticed and leaned back in his chair. "If you have something to say, say it. I don't bite."
She swallowed. "U-uhm… big brother," she began, voice barely louder than a whisper. "Can we… can we plant flowers in the front yard?"
Silence settled over the table.
Klaus raised an eyebrow. "Flowers?"
She nodded quickly, words tumbling out now that she'd started. "The yard is really big, but it's empty. Just grass. If we plant flowers, it would look… nicer. Happier."
Her mother stood so abruptly her chair scraped the floor. "I'm sorry—Master," she corrected herself in a rush. "She spoke out of turn. She didn't mean to ask for anything—"
Klaus looked up at her, eyes sharp despite his relaxed posture. "What did you call me?"
The woman froze. Her lips trembled. "M-master—" She bit the word back. "I'm sorry. Klaus. I won't say it again."
He exhaled slowly. "Good. I've told you already—I'm not a master. Those words make my skin crawl. You're not here to serve me. You're here to take care of this house. That's all."
The girl tilted her head, clearly processing this in her own way. Then she suddenly climbed onto her chair and declared loudly, "Then—Master House! Will you allow your servant to plant flowers in the yard?"
Klaus stared at her.
Then he laughed, short and surprised. "That's dangerous, you know that?"
He waved his hand lazily over the table. Three gold coins clinked into existence, rolling to a stop near the girl's plate.
Her eyes widened. "Wah—! Is that magic?!"
"Something like that," Klaus said. "Looks like the house approved your request. Build a proper flower bed. Tomorrow morning, you two go to town. Buy tools. Buy seeds."
He glanced at the woman. "If there's extra, buy food you actually like. Or clothes. I don't care."
The woman stared at the coins as if they might vanish. "Th-thank you, Klaus. Truly."
"Thank you, big brother!" the girl said, nearly bouncing off her chair.
Klaus reached out and patted her head, awkward but gentle.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the doorway.
Klaus turned toward the sound and paused. A young woman stood there in a teal dress, the fabric simple yet refined, giving her an air that was both elegant and deceptively innocent. For a heartbeat, he didn't recognize her—then the posture, the eyes, the unmistakable attitude settled into place.