BCPSM 07

Chapter 7: The Slave’s Thoughts – A New Master

A new master… turned out to be a young woman.

She had two young men under her command as well.

The tone she used when issuing orders carried an effortless authority. Just listening to it made something inside me shrink with unease.

There had once been a female master before her—one who admired my appearance, yet swung her whip without hesitation.

I still hadn’t forgotten the pain that had carved itself into my back.

That was why, when night came, I found myself wondering if I would be expected to “serve” her in the same way as that previous mistress. I gathered my courage and spoke up.

But she rejected the idea.

Coldly. Utterly without warmth.

And in that instant, I understood—she had noticed that her words had hurt me.

The woman who had purchased me treated me far more carefully than any master before her.

She used healing potions without hesitation to mend my injuries.

She never forced me to work beyond my limits, allowed me to rest at inns, and even in the carriage she left me alone to recover in peace.

And yet… at times, I could feel her gaze on my skin.

Strangely, I found myself feeling a faint sense of joy from it.

She needs me.

But alongside that feeling, there was also unease.

The two young men who traveled with her often spoke about me.

“Useless.”
“Bringing him along is pointless.”
“Should just send him back to the slave traders.”

Every word tightened something cold inside my chest.

I was afraid again.

I never wanted to return to that slave market.

Never again did I want to be left there like discarded meat, rotting in that stench.

I would do anything to avoid that fate.

When we arrived at her estate, the young woman gave instructions to the staff:

“Seth has mana. Quite a lot of it, actually. For a human, it’s unusually high. Have him make potions, and infuse mana into magical tools.”

I found that strange.

How did she know I possessed mana?

She was… an odd woman.

Then she took my hand and led me toward her private room.

I followed, dragging my injured leg, my steps unsteady. She matched my pace, deliberately slowing hers so I wouldn’t be strained.

Even so, she continued speaking.

“The room is on the second floor. Be careful on the stairs.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think a staff might help? The handrail is there.”

I reached out, my fingers brushing the wall until I found the smooth wooden banister. Her other hand was still holding mine.

“For now, you’ll stay in my room. Eventually, we’ll prepare a room for you downstairs. Until then, you’ll have to manage the stairs.”

“Yes.”

By the time I reached the top, I was breathing hard.

My strength had clearly diminished. One of my tendons had been severed, and I had to drag my leg just to walk.

She waited quietly until my breathing steadied, then gently pulled me forward again.

“This is the last room at the end of the hall.”

“Yes.”

I was tired of walking already—but I didn’t let it show.

I simply followed her, dragging my weakened body forward.

The door to the room opened.

A breeze rushed in from somewhere—probably an open window—tossing my hair lightly.

She had carefully combed it earlier and tied it back with a ribbon.

When she touched my hair, her movements were always gentle.

She must like it, I thought.

There was a time when I was called the Crown Prince.

My hair had shone like gold in the light, earning praise from everyone who saw it.

Beautiful. A magnificent prince.

Remembering that distant past left a bitter taste in my chest.

That “beautiful, magnificent crown prince” felt like someone from another life entirely.

Here… I must not let anyone realize it.

If they discovered the truth, they would surely try to cut off my head.

I had done enough to deserve that much.