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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Jjescus]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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Chapter 17: Slave and Master (1)
The day Zenri became aware of Ram was one morning during his childhood, when he was summoned by his father.
To be precise, he had undoubtedly seen him countless times as a slave, but this was the day Zenri truly recognized his existence.
It was around the time Zenri was fourteen.
Or was it thirteen?
‘The exact year didn’t matter.
Zenri entered the room where his father awaited him.
“Did you call for me?”
His father just stared at him in silence.
“Father?”
Finally, his father spoke.
“Do you feel anything strange?”
“No, not really.”
“There’s another person in this room. Can’t you see them?”
Thinking this was some sort of hide-and-seek game, Zenri began searching around the room.
He checked behind the curtains, under the table—there was no one.
“I don’t see anyone.”
His father chuckled, a laugh that felt unsettling.
“What’s going on?”
Zenri asked irritably.
Then his father said,
“Enough fooling around. Go ahead and strike.”
“What am I supposed to strike?”
Zenri thought the words were directed at him.
But in fact, they were meant for someone behind him.
At that moment, something cold and hard touched his neck.
Zenri thought it was a blade.
His father had many enemies.
As his only son, Zenri was an obvious target for his father’s rivals, and he was always careful.
So, when he felt the touch on his neck, he thought the long-dreaded assassin had finally come.
Terrified, Zenri fell to the floor.
Looking up, he saw a young slave holding what turned out not to be a blade, but a paperweight.
The slave folded the paperweight and bowed in apology.
But Zenri didn’t notice the slave’s apologetic demeanor.
All he could think was, This lunatic dared to threaten the son of a baron?
This is an offense deserving immediate execution!
Yet, his father, who should have ordered the execution, was laughing heartily at Zenri’s fall, the most amused he’d been in ages.
“Since you entered this room, that boy has been following you and pressing that rod against your neck. Did you truly not notice?”
Zenri hadn’t noticed at all—hadn’t even been aware of his presence.
Refusing to admit this, he lashed out in anger.
“How can you laugh at me being threatened by that lowly slave?”
“It’s hard not to laugh when you find such a gem among the trash.”
His father didn’t apologize.
Instead, he fixed Zenri with a cold glare, a silent warning not to argue further.
Against such a look, there was nothing Zenri could do but turn his anger toward the slave.
The boy’s name was Ram.
Regardless of his father’s orders, the slave had dared to threaten the master’s son!
Zenri never forgot the humiliation.
From that day, he began tormenting Ram.
But Ram never reacted the way Zenri hoped.
No matter how much work Zenri doubled, Ram silently completed it.
Even when made to repeat the same task dozens of times, such as moving 100 sacks of flour back and forth between rooms, Ram responded only with,
“Yes, young master.”
After a week of this, Zenri was the one who ended up scolded by the butler.
Eventually, even his father found out, and Zenri was forbidden from assigning tasks to the slaves.
So he turned to constant verbal jabs instead, criticizing Ram’s appearance, smell, and general unpleasantness.
But Ram simply endured it all with his usual responses:
“Yes, young master. Understood, young master. My apologies, young master.”
Ultimately, Zenri grew tired.
But he didn’t give up.
The humiliation was indelible, deepening with time.
Eventually, Zenri found his opportunity.
He discovered that a slave girl, Ran, had feelings for Ram.
The next time Zenri opened his eyes, he was lying on a patch of grass.
He didn’t know the plain was called Skara.
His arms were bound behind him, and he was precariously slung over the back of a horse.
With every step the horse took, its movements jostled him, making him feel nauseous.
Though he didn’t vomit due to his awkward position, saliva dripped uncontrollably from his mouth, swinging in rhythm with the horse’s gait.
At first, Zenri walked on his own.
Though his arms were tied and bound further with rope, he managed.
But his frail body, weakened from over a week of captivity, soon gave out.
He collapsed shortly after setting out.
The barbarian escorting him cursed and pulled him up, only for him to collapse again.
Frustrated, the barbarian slung him over the horse like a sack.
‘Damn barbarians. Just wait until I’m free. I’ll bring my father’s army and slaughter every last one of you. The men will be beheaded, the women enslaved, and the children burned in their homes until no trace of you remains!’
Born a noble, Zenri had learned to be proud and unyielding.
He didn’t forget a single humiliation.
When the horse finally stopped, Zenri was forcibly hauled off and made to stand in the grass, though his hands remained bound.
‘Cowards, tying me up like this!’
He glared at the barbarian chieftain standing before him.
His muscular back seemed impenetrable, like steel.
‘Of course they’d keep me tied. If they untied me, I’d grab his sword and kill him instantly before escaping!’
The chieftain turned to face him, and Zenri flinched, worried his thoughts had been read.
But the chieftain merely shoved him forward, barking incomprehensible commands.
Guessing he was supposed to move, Zenri walked cautiously.
The chieftain grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to stop.
His voice was heavy, oppressive.
Zenri stumbled like a puppet, swayed by the man’s commands.
Whenever the pressure eased slightly, he pretended to groan in pain, hoping to elicit sympathy.
‘This isn’t groveling; it’s strategy. Soon my groans will be replaced by your screams!’
Zenri looked up at the chieftain and vowed silently.
The chieftain, with his ornate attire and the deference of his people, was clearly the leader of the barbarian tribe.
His name sounded something like Ikaum or Ikarum, though Zenri wasn’t sure.
To be honest, Zenri was afraid of him.
He had confidently denied accusations of killing Mantum when interrogated by another barbarian, knowing the man was the only one who spoke his language.
But if the chieftain had questioned him directly, he doubted he could have maintained his composure.
‘Not that I’m really scared. I’m just pretending to be, so they’ll let their guard down!’
Zenri shrank back, feigning vulnerability.
‘Go ahead, posture all you want. My father is far scarier than you. This will be the last time you try to act tough in front of me. Soon you’ll kneel before a Selken noble and expose all your weaknesses.’
Zenri knew why he’d been brought to this plain.
According to the barbarian who spoke his language, the Triton army had requested a prisoner exchange, arranged hastily at dawn.
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Jjescus]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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‘So they finally accepted my terms? These brutes must’ve taken ages to understand my proposition.’
Though unsure whether the translator had conveyed his words correctly, Zenri had heard the word “exchange.”
It meant someone would be given in return for his freedom.
‘Ram will be taken, and I’ll be set free. That slave will inherit my suffering—no, it must be worse. Mantum was a god to these people! Killing their god means Ram won’t get an easy death.’
Zenri eagerly anticipated who might have come to fetch him.
‘Of course, it must be General Terdin. Or maybe... maybe Father himself has come! For a noble of my stature, they must have been informed long ago.’
But it wasn’t a knight of Triton who came to negotiate.
Instead, another barbarian arrived—this one dressed even more impressively than the tribal leader, indicating a higher rank.
The man brought with him a massive axe.
It wasn’t Ram.
When the man held out the axe with both hands, the tribal leader carefully took it with equal reverence.
The solid axe, which looked capable of smashing rocks, was handled as delicately as a basket of eggs.
It wasn’t just its weight that made him cautious—his actions conveyed deep respect.
The expression on the leader’s face transformed, his previously fearsome demeanor replaced with a mixture of awe and sorrow.
In stark contrast, Zenri was treated roughly.
The tribal leader said something and shoved Zenri in the back.
With his arms bound in front, Zenri stumbled forward and fell face-first to the ground, his nose bleeding.
Unable to stand on his own, he could only rub his face in the dirt where his blood pooled.
Suddenly, the spot where the wolf had bitten him flared with excruciating pain.
Though it had oddly not hurt until now, the fall seemed to have triggered the agony.
Zenri couldn’t remember the exact moment he was bitten by the wolf.
He remembered the wolf charging, the night sky above him, and then... nothing.
When he woke, he was surrounded by barbarians looking down at him.
All he could recall were the feverish, delirious days that followed.
The barbarian who had brought the axe helped Zenri to his feet but didn’t untie him.
Mounting his horse, the man spoke to Zenri.
“Follow me.”
He spoke in the southern common tongue.
Though Zenri had never seen him before and the man was clearly a barbarian, he had no choice but to obey.
The man rode off on horseback alone.
Zenri was forced to walk.
He had expected at least a cart to carry him, if not a proper carriage.
He had thought he was free, but he wasn’t.
The surrounding darkness made it impossible to tell where he was.
Surely, they were heading toward the Triton army—weren’t they?
Zenri stumbled after the horse, struggling to keep up.
Though the horse walked slowly, Zenri had to move at almost a jog to match its pace.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
‘Why the hell is he just riding off? Couldn’t he let me ride too?’
Zenri wanted to stop and yell at him but was too afraid of what might happen if he did.
He still feared the barbarians might change their minds and drag him back.
He glanced back.
About a hundred paces behind, the barbarians who had been watching him turned and left.
Looking the other way, he saw two Triton soldiers waiting in the distance.
Relief washed over Zenri.
‘I’m saved. It’s over. I survived.’
Throughout his captivity, Zenri had been haunted by the words of the so-called “kind witch” of the village near the Selken estate.
‘Looking at you, young master, Selken’s future doesn’t seem very bright.’
The witch had said this when Zenri, drunk and seeking entertainment, had ordered a village girl to sing for him.
The girl had refused, even bursting into tears.
It was absurd.
All he had done was ask for a song.
He had even tossed her a 1-flin coin as payment.
Sure, he had lifted her skirt a little when he handed her the coin, and stroked her leg with the back of his hand, but that was hardly offensive.
Girls liked being touched like that.
He had maintained his noble dignity the entire time.
Yet, she had begged for forgiveness while sobbing.
Forgiveness for what?
He had done nothing wrong.
Zenri hadn’t even gotten angry at her.
For a lord’s son to show such restraint with a commoner should have made him a hero among the villagers.
But that crazy old crone had gone on to warn him.
You can’t go on living like this, young master of Selken.’
Zenri, drunk and bold, had retorted,
‘If you’re a witch, speak like one. Give me a prophecy, and I’ll pretend to listen.’
‘Very well. Let me put it this way. When the cold mist of the north surrounds you, darkness will descend. And at the end of that darkness lies only a cold death. Change your ways before it’s too late, young master.’
Not wanting to admit he was scared, Zenri had thrown the coin meant for the village girl at the witch.
‘Take this as your payment, you old hag!’
He had laughed it off with his friends, but once home, he was both terrified and furious.
He begged his father to kill the witch.
The old woman had been burned to ashes, leaving no trace.
His father had made sure of that.
‘How’s that, you wicked hag! You’re dead, and I’m alive! Your prophecy was wrong!’
At the end of the plain, the two Triton soldiers waiting turned out to be none other than General Terdin and Ram.
Though they wore helmets and scarves, Zenri recognized them instantly.
‘That slave is standing next to the grand general? Ha! Of course.’
Zenri immediately pieced everything together.
‘That slave stole my glory. He must have taken Mantum’s head to the general and claimed credit. And that’s how he earned his place there.’
What he had feared most had come to pass.
‘I knew it!’
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Jjescus]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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