Giotto hated the word slave.

Well, to be fair, no one would actually like it, considering every bad thing was involved with that word. The man hailed from the land of Umbria fell into a blank state. The solution he was given was not what he expected. Yet the warm blood of Rohan woke him from his daze.

“What do you mean, milord?” Giotto asked, hoping he misheard.

“You need . . . To trust me on this,” Rohan said, barely getting out his words. “Please…”

Giotto pressed his lips together, conflicted over what Rohan said. And the gradual tightness in his chest was not making it any better. He was released from the anguish of being a slave by this young man and now that young man himself asked him to accept that status once more.

It was not a small matter for Giotto. He remembered the days when he was treated like a dog, beaten to the ground by the slave owner when he failed to be sold. Bruises and pain riddled his scrawny body with tears dropping to the ground. Never once did he like those days. Unending days that seemed more like hell to him. To make it worse, he was a slave long before Herakles was caught near Greco Island, and you could not imagine how much torment he had experienced. Thus freedom was something he cherished close to his heart.

Blood trickled down Giotto’s lips as he pressed it too hard to the point of bitting through them. His quivering eyes stared at Rohan’s paling complexion and it was not a good sign. Another man was about to die in his arm even after he was given an ability worthy of an angel.

At first, he thought that it would be fine if he just left Rohan to die. Like the people he saw every day in his life as a slave trapped in a cramped space with dozens of others. Comrades fell one after another, from illness to starvation, and some beaten to death. Dying was a normal occurrence and despite that, he still feared it. He ran for his life back then out of fear, but deep down he felt ashamed when he left Rohan. And now the result spoke for itself. If it wasn’t for him, Rohan would probably not land in this state.

Then he made his decision.

He lightly sighed followed by a light smile as if he had given up over everything that he had. To think he would make this choice baffled him. But he remembered those old stories of angels willingly saving humanity at the cost of their own lives. It was for the sake of others and for once he would do the same.

“I accept, milord,” Giotto said with melancholy hiding in his tone.

As if Rohan heard his answer. The dying man clasped Giotto by the hand as he uttered these words, “Mark of Thraldom.”

For a slight second, Giotto felt an intense burn behind his hand. He quickly retracted his hand and by chance saw the insignia etched to his skin. Then a new message greeted him.

[You are now Master Rohan Prynne’s slave.]

Seeing the word slave ached his heart and knowing he had returned to be one made it even more painful. Yet, out of nowhere, a new brand of energy coursed in his veins as another message greeted him.

[The Master has used Amplify.]

[The Master has used Amplify.]

[Stack limit reached.]

Giotto’s body was swelling with strength that baffled him that he could feel this great. He glanced at the one responsible and Rohan was now too weak to even open his eyes. Immediately, he spammed Small Heal and surely color was returning to Rohan’s face. The evidence of improvement made Giotto smile and the man in his mid-thirties used his ability to the utmost. This time he would not let another person die, not again.

* * *

What felt like years, Rohan’s heavy eyelids finally opened. He squinted as the bright sunlight weaved through the leaves and fell upon his face. His hand rose and blocked it, by then he realized he was still alive.

“I’m alive,” Rohan said. He looked at his palms then he touched the bite wound over his neck. It felt sticky. But as he looked at his palm again, there was no more blood leaking through his veins. He turned his sight downward and noticed a partially healed calf with a grotesque-looking scar. It seemed the healing spell was not that omnipotent like he thought.

Rohan opened his status window.

[Rohan Prynne][Lv.1]

[Race: Human]

[Class: Slavemancer]

[HP: 15/34]

[EP: 10/14]

[MP: 8/12]

[Strength: 6]

[Endurance: 7]

[Defense: 2]

[Dexterity: 5]

[Arcane: 6]

[Willpower: 4]

[Perception: 5]

[Charisma: 13]

[Points available: 0]

The ‘bleeding’ condition was gone and his health points were now stabilized. At least for now, he still lived to see another day. He looked around and saw the back of a man standing a few meters away from him. From the way he saw the man holding the sword, it must be the cleric that left him for dead.

“Hey,” Rohan said as he stood behind Giotto.

Giotto quickly turned and immediately brightened with a smile. “Milord, you—”

Yet before he could end his words, a fist smacked him right on the face. The pain made him slip and his ass met the ground. He glanced at Rohan in confusion.

“That’s for leaving me alone,” Rohan said in an icy tone.

Again Rohan’s arm extended, and by instinct, Giotto put his hands up and closed his eyes. Remembering those days when he was used to getting beaten up. It seemed his life would never change and would remain as a slave until the day he died.

Yet he did not feel any pain.

“Hey,” Rohan called.

Giotto nervously opened his eyes and peeked through his guard. To his surprise, it wasn’t a fist waiting for him, but an open palm waiting for an answer.

“Are you going to leave me hanging here? Cause my arm is getting tired of waiting,” Rohan said.

Giotto hesitated at first. But in the end, he grabbed Rohan’s hand. The young noble pulled him up from the ground as he stared at Rohan with more confusion plastered across his face.

“Are you not mad, milord?” Giotto nervously asked.

“Of course I’m mad. You left me to die against a bunch of smelly murderous goblins,” Rohan answered. “The least I deserve is a punch on that face of yours.”

Giotto had a look of hesitation on his face. “Is that it?” he asked.

“What? You want another smack on your face?” Rohan asked.

“No, milord!” Giotto vehemently rejected, shaking his head side to side. “That’s not what I meant. I-I…” Giotto did not know what to say. With his status returning back as a slave he thought he would get the short end of the stick like he always did.

Rohan approached the flustered man with a serious gaze. Both his hands grabbed Giotto by the shoulders, his strong eye met with Giotto’s eyes.

It lasted less than a second as the cleric did not dare to look Rohan in the eye. Scattering on the ground and anywhere else except for Rohan’s face. Yet the words that came out from Rohan’s mouth made Giotto look at Rohan straight in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” Rohan said. “It was a desperate time, and I have to do it.”

Giotto could not say a word with his jaw left hanging. Never before had he heard a noble apologizing to their own slave.

“But you don’t have to worry,” Rohan continued. “I’ll erase the mark and you won’t be a slave anymore.” He flashed a grin, along with his eyes smiling.

Rohan’s words were like thunder, striking at Giotto’s eardrums. The cleric’s eyes went wide, staring at Rohan in disbelief. His speechlessness prolonged even longer as no right word came to mind.

“But I need to figure things out first,” Rohan said. “I’m not exactly used to this kind of thing unless it’s straightforward like those strategy games I used to play.”

The foreign words did not quite register in Giotto’s mind, but the prospect of getting his freedom back was enough of a gift that transcended everything else.

In the meantime, Rohan searched through the different text windows for a way of removing the ‘slave’ mark. From his status window to his skill windows, he could not see anything that was related to a ‘slave’. Unless it had its own set of windows.

He tried a bunch of things and found new windows except anything about a slave. ‘I do not want to say this word even in my mind, but I guess I’ve no choice in the matter . . . Slave window,’ Rohan thought.

A new window opened, revealing a list of slots numbered up to six. The first one was occupied by Giotto, and at first glance, he deduced that it must be his current limit of slaves. Not like that he wanted to. His finger hovered over Giotto’s slot and as he pressed it like it was a touchscreen tablet, the slot blew up, revealing Giotto’s status window.

[Giotto][Lv.2][Mark of Thraldom]

[Race: Human]

[Class: Cleric]

[HP: 16/16]

[EP: 6/6]

[MP: 0/10]

[Strength: 3]

[Endurance: 3]

[Defense: 1]

[Dexterity: 5]

[Arcane: 5]

[Willpower: 9]

[Perception: 6]

[Charisma: 2]

[Points available: 10]

He could not hide his surprise after seeing Giotto’s level. His widened eyes immediately found Giotto as the latter shuddered in worry.

“How did you get to level two?” Rohan asked.

Giotto stuttered a few times. There was a look of anxiousness plastered all across his face as the sudden question caught him off guard. And along with Rohan’s serious look he thought he got into trouble.

Rohan calmed him down and said it was nothing serious.

In return, the man in his mid-thirties finally found his breath to say his words. “After I finish healing you, milord, these floating words told me I’d reached level two,” Giotto said.

“I see,” Rohan replied. So they were other ways in leveling oneself up besides killing monsters, or it might be an exclusive thing for a cleric. Then his sight brought him back to Giotto’s status window. ‘His physical stats are pretty weak and looking at his magical-based stats, I reckon the bonus points went to either arcane or willpower. But damn his willpower is really high.’

‘I better advise him in putting some points in endurance and defense. He won’t survive with that kind of health points,’ Rohan thought. ‘But first thing first.’

He pressed the gear-like button at the top right-hand corner and a dropdown menu unveiled itself.

[Status]

[Skill]

[Trait]

[Equipment]

[Release]

‘Release? Isn’t that sounds like pokemon when using the storage box?’ Rohan thought. The nostalgia when he was back on his original earth came back again for a visit. It lasted a few seconds as he then decided to push the ‘release’ button.

A single touch was all he needed. But then something else greeted him.

[Insufficient Monster Core ]

[Requirement: G-rank Monster Core x 2]

Rohan was left speechless. It did not cross his mind that to undo his bidding would be this difficult. He did not even know where to find a G-rank Monster Core much less two of them. Harboring bad news, Rohan was clueless on how to break it up to Giotto with minimal impact.

“Um, Giotto,” Rohan called. His body barely faced Giotto who ran after him the moment he was called.

“Yes, milord,” Giotto said, smiling.

Seeing that expecting look on Giotto only made it worse for Rohan. He knew better what freedom meant for a slave like Giotto. Then he lightly sighed. “Giotto,” he said, patting the cleric by the shoulder. “I’ve bad news.”

He broke the news and Giotto reacted immediately. The cleric’s head slumped down, hiding his disappointed eyes.

“Hey,” Rohan said. “You don’t have to worry, okay? Once we get those two monster cores, I’ll immediately erase that mark . . . I promise.”

Giotto looked up. Staring at Rohan as never once a person spoke such good things to him in his life. His expression softened with a little smile hanging on his face. For once in his life, he thought it might be good to be a slave.

“To have the promise of a young noble is enough for me, milord,” Giotto said, bowing his head. “I’ll do my best to serve you as a slave.”

“Hold up,” Rohan said. Grabbing Giotto by the shoulders, making sure he stood with his back straight. “Let’s do something with the ‘slave’ thing.”

“Did I say something wrong, milord?” Giotto asked.

“I don’t actually like the word slave, so let’s make this whole ‘slave’ thing to something else,” Rohan said. His words made Giotto even more confused.

“I-I don’t understand,” Giotto said with a bit of anxiousness in his voice.

“Let’s do it like this. Think of this as a work contract, I’m your employer and you’re my employee. So until we get those monster cores, you’re kinda working under me, okay? You get the picture?” Rohan said.

Giotto took his time processing this roundabout way of calling someone a slave.

“So I’m not a slave?” Giotto asked.

“Well, technically you are since you have that mark on the back of your hand, and it was desperate times, and I’m really sorry about that. But hey, let’s not call yourself a slave, okay?” Rohan said. “And it’s not like I’m restricting you from doing anything you want, so you’re free . . . I mean partially free, but let’s not go over there and complicate things.”

Silence reigned for a while. And Rohan who was standing there waiting felt the need to say something more.

“Oh yea, since you’re my employee, you’ll be getting a wage. Would you like it monthly or weekly? But if you ask me, monthly would be easier to deal with since I’m more accustomed to—”

“Do you mean coins, milord?!” Giotto said. Out of a sudden, Giotto sprang up and brought his face closer to Rohan.

The young noble slowly backed away a bit. “Yes, wages are paid with coins. I’m not that of a bastard paying people with grains and...”

His words stopped as he witnessed Giotto crying his eyes out. The man in his mid-thirties was mumbling something indiscernible with tears and snots raining down his face. But at least Rohan heard one thing clear from him.

“Thank . . . You.”