The White Fox
In the alley beside the auction house, the silence hung thick. The auction was still underway, so this narrow strip of shadow remained empty. Perfect for what I needed. I stripped off the lavish clothes without ceremony, trading them for the threadbare garb of a common laborer. A smear of soot across my face to sell the look, then a battered hat pulled low over my eyes.
"Put this on."
I handed the fox beastperson a plain hooded robe—well-worn, like everything else I could afford. She was smaller than I'd anticipated, so I adjusted the excess fabric, cinching and tying it until it looked like something a poor girl might piece together out of necessity. There. Much more convincing now. The iron collar came off her neck next. The imprint had taken; the choker-style restraint would be enough to control her. These heavy chains were unnecessary.
They clattered to the ground. Her crimson eyes fixed on me, unblinking.
"Keep the hood down. Eyes on the ground whenever you can."
Preparations complete, we slipped away from the auction house. As we reached the street, thunderous applause erupted from inside. What was that about? Ah. The Thunder God's Bracelet must have sold. They wouldn't clap like that for anything cheap. Good for them. It had nothing to do with me anymore.
I focused on getting us back to the lodging. The moment the door shut behind us, the tension in my shoulders finally eased. At least the immediate threats were gone—no one was going to kill me or rob me tonight. One hundred eighty thousand marcas wasn't pocket change. For people with nothing to lose, even selling at half price would be worth dozens of attempts.
Only then did I really look at her. She stood perfectly still, as if rooted to the floor, watching me with those red eyes that held no warmth. Slave instincts, probably.
"Yeah. I don't expect you to feel good about this. I get it. Listen—you're my slave on paper, but I won't treat you like one. The work I have in mind needs your help, so relax. Make yourself at home."
I didn't expect much from the speech. A beastperson taken as a slave would have witnessed horrors beyond counting. Burning villages, massacres of the elderly—those would be the least of it. The one small mercy was that she was an attractive female. Buyers of pleasure slaves tended to be particular. They wouldn't have risked damaging her directly; it would have slashed her value in half.
But was that really something to be grateful for? Her mind had probably been shattered long ago.
I changed back into my mercenary gear and scrubbed the soot from my face. Theo the sellsword had returned. At least I still had money left—thirty-five thousand marcas. Enough to try a few more things.
She was still standing there in that awkward, half-ready stance. I'd told her to make herself comfortable. Was this her version of defiance? Hard to tell.
"What's your name?"
No answer. Just that blunt, expressionless stare. Apparently it didn't register as resistance; the restraint stayed quiet.
"If you don't give me a name, I'll call you Crow Shit. Or Rat Claw. Maybe Rotten Potato. Your choice. Keep silent if you like any of those."
Her face twisted into something complicated. Finally, reluctantly, she spoke.
"Ar."
Ar? Nickname? Fake name? In the beastpeople's tongue, Ar meant "white." No way that was her real name. She simply didn't want to give the human who bought her anything that mattered. Understandable.
"Fine. Ar. I know you hate humans. I'm not going to demand obedience or loyalty. Whatever face you show me won't be real anyway."
She watched me with those red eyes, seemingly indifferent. But I could tell she was listening to every word.
"Like I said before, I need you for something. I'd rather you didn't make it harder than it has to be."
Still nothing. Peak stoicism. I'd never expected her to warm up right away.
"I don't like watching you suffer from that restraint. Understand? This isn't a threat. It's a request. I'd prefer it if you didn't force my hand."
At the word request, her eyebrows twitched. A reaction. Interesting. She wasn't completely broken, then.
I knew this whole approach was ridiculous. Slaves were meant to be ordered around. The restraint would punish disobedience automatically. But I didn't want to do it that way. Efficiency mattered more to me than control. Coercion had limits—I'd learned that the hard way as a mercenary. The difference between someone who wanted to act and someone forced into it was the difference between heaven and earth.
Anyway, there was still plenty of daylight left. Time to handle other business. The sooner I finished and left the capital, the better. No reason to linger.
"I'm going out. Stay here quietly. Don't even think about leaving."
I stepped outside. No farewell, of course. Expecting one from a slave would be ridiculous.
Now that I had my combat partner, it was time to address my own weaknesses. I couldn't increase my mana capacity—not without efforts far beyond what even the Imperial Magic Division leader could manage. So I needed another path: boosting mana regeneration.
Luckily, my regen wasn't nearly as pathetic as my capacity. Right now I could barely cast one support spell before having to wait. Half a torch's burn time, roughly. Improve that, and I could squeeze in another cast. More importantly, once I put Berserker on Ar, I'd have nothing left. At minimum I wanted Strength active too. Going around completely dry made me uneasy.
Fortunately, regeneration could be fixed with money. Magicians valued it highly, so the market was full of solutions.
The magic supply shop in the bustling district was crowded with mages from across the empire, each wearing different expressions. Most looked eager. Others wore exhaustion like a second skin. I went straight to the counter.
"Mana regeneration elixir. And a grade measurement."
"This way, please."
The male attendant led me aside. In front of the orb, he smiled.
"Grade measurement is one thousand marcas, paid upfront."
Greedy bastards. A thousand marcas just to touch an orb.
I paid in copper and stepped up. The result hadn't changed—still Grade 4. About average for a novice magician. The attendant's posture relaxed immediately.
"How many elixirs?"
"Two."
He looked surprised. Understandable. The Grade 4 to 5 elixir cost ten thousand marcas. Grade 5 to 6 was twenty thousand. He fetched them quickly. I paid with imperial bonds and drank both on the spot.
A fuzzy, slightly dreamy sensation spread through me.
"May I verify?"
"Ah, yes. Of course, sir."
Buying the elixir apparently included verification. Or rather, it was a quality check. Faulty product was always a risk.
I touched the orb. Grade 6 appeared. Good enough. A reputable shop wouldn't risk outright fraud.
I turned to leave—and froze. Damn it. I'd known this might happen. This was exactly why I'd been reluctant to come here.
The empire's busiest district. A premier magic supply store. Running into Magic Tower affiliates wasn't strange. I'd planned to drink and disappear quickly for that very reason. Still, even if we crossed paths, it shouldn't matter. I looked very different from the broken failure they'd expelled years ago. No reason to overreact.
I walked out with my head high, avoiding eye contact. Thankfully, none of them seemed to notice me.
But just outside the shop, I saw another face I would never forget.
The man I would seek first if I ever succeeded as a magician. The one who had dragged me into the Magic Tower, experimented on me for three brutal years, then thrown me away like garbage.
Iscar. Leader of the Imperial Magic Division.
Not now. I couldn't face him yet. Not yet.
I buried the surge of rage and hatred deep, turning away quickly. He was sensitive. He might sense my pathetic mana signature and remember. But no shout came. No footsteps followed. Even after I'd put some distance between us, the street remained quiet.
A sigh slipped out before I could stop it. Only then did I notice my back was drenched in cold sweat and my fists were clenched so tightly the nails had left crescents in my palms.
I still had a long way to go. Just seeing his face had rattled me this badly.
I took several deep breaths, steadying myself, then headed back to the lodging.
I would succeed. I had to succeed. As a magician.
That meant there was still so much to do.
But for now, I just wanted to rest.