At the kingdom's edge lay a city reminiscent of medieval European capitals; an unceasing clamor where life pulsated through alleys choked with the cries of vendors and the rumble of caravans. In this place, no foot fell without echoing the rhythm of trade and travel. This scene remained constant until a dilapidated transport wagon appeared on the horizon—a rickety frame, empty save for a thirteen-year-old boy. The boy was of a strange appearance, with hair the color of dying embers' ash, and most peculiar of all: the ears and tail of a cat. He lay upon the wooden planks, his hollow eyes harboring a deep-seated misery and an ancient pain. The driver was a man of grim countenance, one-eyed and barrel-chested as if hewn from rock, leading a horse as pitch-black as a moonless night.
As the wagon entered the heart of the city, the bustle turned to a heavy silence. A forced stillness settled over the streets, and the faces of passersby masked themselves in hatred and caution. Whispers floated in the shadows: "It's the slave trader... it's The One-Eyed." Those murmurs struck the driver's ears, but he met them with arrogant indifference, pushing forward. Inside the wagon, the boy's eyes scanned the city's landmarks—not out of admiration, but searching for a breach through which to escape. Yet, his gaze would soon return to his scarred body, bitterly tracing the marks left by past attempts at flight. With every jolt of the disintegrating wagon, he felt the impossibility of salvation and sank back, surrendered to his fate.
The wagon finally halted before a towering white wall that hid a magnificent palace. In the center of its lush garden stood a statue of a majestic knight, thrusting a sword toward the sky in defiance. The brutish driver dismounted, went to the rear of the wagon, and unlocked it with keys dangling from his waist. He hauled the boy out with excessive force, muttering, "Finally, I shall be rid of the trouble you cause!"
At the gate, they were met by a man in his forties wearing the somber livery of a manservant. The One-Eyed threw the boy at the servant's feet, demanding the rest of his payment. The servant tossed him a pouch of coins; the driver inspected it and vanished without a word. The servant then led the boy to the palace annex, descending into a dark cellar where the morning sun died away. The only remaining light came from the dim glow of torches mounted on walls, revealing the ugly face of this marble monument: dungeons reeking of rot and blood—a scent so familiar to the boy it had become part of his memory.
He was tossed into one of those cells. Before leaving, the servant spoke in a dry, detached voice: "From this day forth, you are a slave of the Osagi family. You get one meal a day, no more."
Hours passed in isolation until another boy arrived in servant's clothes. He was slender, with tied-back black hair, appearing to be twelve years old. He set down a plate of food and asked kindly, "What is your name, lad?"
The boy replied hesitantly, "Ken... my name is Ken."
The servant smiled. "And I am Zen. It is a pleasure to meet you."
Ken replied with biting sarcasm, "The pleasure is all mine... to meet a fellow slave!"
Zen swallowed the frustration in silence but did not retreat. Instead, he leaned against the wall opposite the cell. "Let's talk for a bit; my break has just begun." Zen spoke at length about himself and his experiences until he suddenly checked his watch, a look of surprise crossing his face. "It seems time flies when one is enjoying oneself. I shall return tomorrow at the same time."
True to his word, Zen returned every day with food and conversation. Then came a day when Zen prepared to leave as usual, but Ken's words stopped him like a bolt of lightning: "I know you are not a servant."
Zen's features stiffened for a moment, his playful gaze shifting into something deeper and more dangerous before he regained his smiling mask. "Whatever are you talking about?"
Ken repeated firmly, "You are not a servant."
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Zen sat opposite him and asked, "What gave me away?"
Ken replied coldly, "Three reasons. First: I am a slave purchased a month ago, yet no one but you has entered this room. This defies logic, as a slave is typically 'broken' through discipline immediately upon arrival. Second: the other cells are empty. The Great Osagi family would not settle for a single slave, meaning my presence here serves a specific purpose. Third: your friendliness and refined speech do not match the common tongue of servants; they befit a personal valet to a high lord, yet your clothes are of poorer quality than the man who brought me here. All of this proves you are not a servant passing time, but someone with a calculated goal."
Zen's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and shock. "Brilliant! I thought you might catch a thread or two, but you've unraveled the entire plot. Tell me, how long have you known?"
"For two months," Ken said.
Zen was astonished. "And why did you stay silent all this time?"
Ken paused, then said, "I had to be certain. Claiming a false identity in the Osagi house is no small thing. Besides... talking to someone my own age was pleasant."
Zen's tone turned resolute. "Then it is time for the truth. I am Zen Osagi. Without further ado: how would you like to work for me?"
Ken replied bitterly, "Does a slave's opinion carry weight? If I refuse, you can simply kill me."
"Only if death were the easiest option," Zen remarked.
Ken asked, "And what work could be more taxing than death?"
Zen answered, "Spying on the nobility. The Osagi family is responsible for protecting the noble circle, and we have detected corrupt elements moving skillfully in the shadows. I need an eye to watch them from where they least expect... a spy in the form of a slave."
When Ken asked why he wouldn't just hire a professional, Zen explained, "I am the sole heir, and our previous attempts failed because hired spies are easily uncovered. Slaves have official records in the Merchant's Guild that cannot be forged, and nobles, in their arrogance, will never suspect a 'lowly' slave. I need a real slave with a sharp mind. Do you understand?"
Ken sank into deep thought for ten minutes, then asked, "And what is the price for braving such danger?"
"One wish," Zen said. "I will grant you anything within my power if we catch them."
Ken smiled mockingly. "And how can I trust the word of a noble? Where is your proof?"
Zen looked at the wall and said calmly, "A Magic Contract."
Ken was stunned. "Are they so dangerous that a scion of Osagi would risk his life with a Magic Contract?"
"The danger only lies in breaking the promise," Zen replied.
Ken added cryptically, "And aren't masters accustomed to doing just that?"
Zen concluded with grim finality, "What is your decision?"
Ken went silent for a moment before saying, "I'll do it. As for the wish..."
Zen interrupted, "Decide tomorrow. I will bring the Magic Contract and prepare a room befitting you so we may continue our discussion."