Red Evil Mercenary Corps
…….
Late at night. In the dark room, Regina quietly stroked the head of the little girl lying on the bed. The girl had the same round animal ears as her, but her small body was covered in scars here and there, and around her neck hung a collar symbolizing her enslavement—one that would inflict excruciating pain if a slave tried to flee their master.
The Durumil Kingdom was one of the few nations on the continent that still practiced slavery. It was a land rife with those who had amassed wealth and drowned in vanity, corruption festering everywhere. Perhaps because of this, among the nobility, it had become a fashionable pastime to flaunt the finest, most expensive slaves as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The highest prizes, of course, were the rare ones. Not ordinary humans, but special slaves.
These special slaves referred to the countless non-human races scattered across the continent. Dwarves from the Mage Kingdom. Elves, now all but extinct. Dragonkin from the Empire, or beastkin from the Beastman Kingdom. Each was more than enough to stoke the nobles' vanity and collector's greed…
But upon closer inspection, the story changed.
Dwarves could provoke the wrath of the Mage Kingdom if mishandled, potentially sparking war. Their temperament was like that of large herbivores—docile by nature, but ferocious as an elephant defending its young if provoked. Extinct elves were simply nonexistent, impossible to procure. And the Empire's dragonkin? They were nobility themselves. No noble had the guts to touch them.
Beastkin, however, were different.
For one, their appearances tended to be strikingly beautiful on average. They were incredibly strong, and once imprinted on a master, they offered unwavering loyalty until death. Both aesthetically and temperamentally, it was only natural they'd be favored as slaves. Even betrayal was rare among them. There was a Beast King ruling their kingdom, but beastkin fundamentally revered the law of the jungle. To them, if one was captured as a slave, it meant they were weak—and the strong simply didn't get caught. Unless it involved full-scale war between kingdoms, they paid little mind to the weak being enslaved or killed. They died more often in clashes among themselves over territory anyway.
As a result, Durumil nobles lusted after beastkin slaves with bloodshot eyes, drawing hordes of opportunists south to the Beastman Kingdom in hopes of striking it rich. Capturing them wasn't easy, though—their physical prowess and mana utilization far surpassed humans', and even with their survival-of-the-fittest ethos, they often aided family or kin.
Yet there was one exception to their ruthless creed: children.
An instinct ingrained in all beastkin since ancient times—paternal and maternal love for their young. Wild beastkin would protect cubs of their own kind above all else, no matter the cost. And Regina, exiled and wandering from the Beastman Kingdom, was no different. Despite her banishment, she was still a beastkin at heart.
Normally, a child beastkin from the Beastman Kingdom would never end up enslaved. But this girl was tragically born to a black panther beastkin already captured and brought to Durumil—a slave from birth. And that was why Regina was here, aiding Soboro Baekjak.
Her master was none other than the count himself.
When the master dies, so does the slave. Beastkin instinctively protect their young kin. Thus, Regina had no choice but to serve the count's orders for the sake of this little one.
"Nngh… Sis, when'd you get back?"
The girl stirred, blinking sleepily at the warmth of Regina's hand. Regina flinched, her face apologetic.
"Nnh… Nyah?"
"No, I dozed off earlier after sleeping a ton. It's about time to wake up anyway."
How could they converse like this? Despite Regina's vocal cords being too scarred for proper speech—limited to beastly growls—the girl responded as if understanding perfectly. Regina showed no surprise, continuing casually.
"Nyaah…?"
"Yeah, really."
"…Nng. Nyah?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary today."
"Nnuh…."
Good, then. Regina nodded with a smile. The girl beamed back in kind.
Yes, for this smile. For this child…
"…Ua."
I'll protect you, no matter what. Regina's resolve.
"Thanks, sis."
The girl hugged her. Her body was chillingly cold against the room's warmth, but Regina's heart swelled with heat regardless.
…
……
……
The next morning. Regina's eyes snapped open at the faint presence approaching her door. With a soft creak of wood, it began to open. Until moments ago, she'd been curled up with the girl on the plush bed—now her form dissolved in a blur, reappearing stuck to the ceiling above the door like a spider, dagger pressed to the intruder's throat.
"…Hik."
The intruder froze, realizing any twitch would mean instant death by that blade. Squeezing her eyes shut in terror, she whispered desperately—barely audible, just for Regina's ears, lest a louder sound seal her fate.
"I-it's me. Regina. Carol."
"…."
Carol? Who—? A beat later, she recalled: the maid working in the castle, the one who watched the girl in her absence.
"…Nnuh."
Regina nodded, swiftly sheathing the dagger in her thigh holster. Still, Carol remained petrified, the brush with death lingering. Only when Regina landed lightly back on the bed, turning away to lie down, did she slump to the floor.
"H-hah…."
Like she'd clawed back from the grave. Looking a decade older, she panted blankly for a moment. Then, noticing Regina's tail thwacking the bedsheets in irritation, she snapped to and approached, explaining her early intrusion.
"L-Lady Regina."
Whispering low to avoid waking the girl—another outburst could be fatal.
Regina's eyes flicked open, sharp gaze pinning her.
Hnnngh….
That stare alone could kill. But Carol swallowed her scream.
A beastkin mother in protective mode was fiercely savage. Any perceived threat to her child brought claws out in full.
So she proceeded with utmost caution.
"Th-the lord summoned you urgently. He's waiting in his study… Said to come quick."
"…Nnuh."
Tch, another kill order? Grumbling low, she rose languidly from bed. Yet her movements were utterly silent, betraying no tremor—explaining why she was hailed as the pinnacle of assassins.
"…Nnuh."
Knowing Carol couldn't understand her words anyway, Regina gestured toward the beastkin girl with her chin. Quick on the uptake, Carol nodded.
"Yes, I'll take good care of her."
"Ah."
I trust you.
With that, Regina left for the lord's study.
§
In the room after Regina departed, Carol exhaled heavily, ruffling her hair in frustration.
"Argh… That psycho bitch. Thought I was done for!"
A far cry from her earlier tiptoeing caution. Venting freely, she flopped onto the bed, sneering at the beastkin girl lying motionless like the dead.
"Hah, not 'like the dead'—she is dead."
Giggle.
"Stupid beastkin slut can't even tell a corpse. Tch, their instincts. Such primitives."
What was this? Words incomprehensible to Regina spilled from Carol's lips.
"Sigh, this is such a pain. Why am I stuck playing maid in this getup? Right, little one?"
She prodded and shook the girl's body. No response.
"Yeah, not like you'd answer."
Snickering, Carol drew a small staff from her bosom.
"Alright, time for today's mana dose."
Thick, dark purple mana flowed from the staff into the beastkin girl—necromantic power.
At once, the "corpse" blinked her eyes open.
"…."
Utterly still.
"Now, move."
Clap.
At the command and clap, focus returned to the girl's vacant eyes. She slid off the bed, bowing deeply before Carol.
"No, stop that. If that cat bitch sees, we're screwed."
"Yes."
She straightened mid-bow. Answering in a flat, soulless voice, she nodded.
"Anyway, work hard today. Got it?"
"Yes."
"…Tch. Fine, whatever. Keep pretending to sleep for now. That cat thinks you need your rest."
"Yes."
Carol clicked her tongue, lay on the bed. The beastkin girl settled beside her, eyes closed, perfectly still—as if asleep.