Daring to Kidnap Orphans Right in Front of Me?
Kidnapping an orphan right in front of me? "Heh heh heh…."
Meylin sat in the corner, kneeling with her hands raised.
No matter that she was a traitor—she'd spat out some useful info, after all. And from what I'd heard, she hadn't done it willingly.
After a few meetings, we decided to just repurpose her from spy to double agent.
Whoa! Double the spies! Info dispenser!
Just tap her a few times, and out comes the intel, nice and smooth.
Of course, the hand tapping her held a map with her home village marked on it.
"……Heh."
Didn't matter—Meylin was smiling, after all!
It was all voluntary cooperation on her part!
Even so, she'd betrayed a duke's household. Letting her off without purging her was mercy enough, according to Ailin.
"Oh, right."
But no matter how much we prepared, people betray as easily as they eat. We could get stabbed in the back when we least expected it.
"Send a few trustworthy knights to Duren Village to keep an eye on a kid named Meyron."
I made sure to tighten the leash.
Calling it a hostage felt off.
It was just protection—the Hilton bastards would target her first if they sniffed out the betrayal.
After squeezing a few more batches of info from her and repelling about five assassin crews…
"Just as you said, assassins showed up at night trying to snatch the kid, so I brought her to the mansion."
Unfortunately, word came that Meylin was retiring.
They'd caught on to her double-cross, cut off the intel, and tried to kidnap her sister for leverage—but failed.
Without intel, Meylin was useless, so they were about to toss her like, 'Oh no, Meylin's broken! She lasted a good while though.' Ailin's pity sealed the deal: Meylin got hired as a mansion maid.
"Meh heh heh…."
Her main job: managing the annex library.
Spare time: serving as my personal maid.
To avoid any escape hassle, I assigned her where I could keep an eye on her.
Pay: room and board for her sister, plus meds. No loss for Meylin.
Swish.
Whatever made her so happy, she spun in her maid outfit with a beaming grin—whoosh!
Suddenly, like she'd made up her mind, she looked at me.
Clop!
She leaped forward and bowed deeply.
What? Some beastkin grand salute?
"Thank you for helping me!"
"Huh?"
"I almost killed you, young master, but you ended up saving me…."
"…Hmm."
I scratched the back of my head awkwardly.
Truth be told, I never planned to help.
I just used her while she was useful.
Hired her to keep Hilton intel from leaking.
But Meylin thought it was all thanks to me—tears welled up.
No need to ruin the touching vibe.
"…You've been through a lot."
"Meeeeng…!"
I gave a vague reply, and she plopped down, sobbing outright.
I got it, though.
I waited 'til she calmed.
A few minutes later.
I glanced at Meylin steadying her breath and rising, timing my words carefully.
"…So from now on, you're my personal maid, right?"
"Sniff, yes… Tell me anytime if there's anything you need!"
"…Shall we start with your first task?"
"……?"
I slowly stood from the chair.
Approached Meylin.
"…B-but only maid duties! Nothing weird!"
"It's fine—this counts as maid work."
"……!!!"
She cringed, imagining who-knows-what.
I reached out slowly and…
1. Picked her up.
2. Shoved her out.
"…Huh?"
Squish.
I pushed Meylin out the door, yelling just loud enough for her.
"Fuck, get out…! I can't read with your damn hooves clopping!"
"Mehheek!"
"I told you, beastkin are out of my strike zone. If you're expecting that, swap out those legs first…!"
"H-how can you say that…! That's like telling you to chop off what's dangling down there right now! Discrimination…!"
"You fucking retard!"
"Eek…!"
With urgent business done.
I decided to enjoy some rare downtime.
***
Sparring done safely.
Favor coupon used—feeling solid.
Spy caught.
So.
"Now what?"
"…Shall I swing a sword or something?"
The usual afternoon in the mansion's back garden.
I sat on my designated grass patch, suffering another dopamine drought.
Magic? No talent—given up.
Now what?
Crash knight training grounds yelling 'I'm a wizard!' and moving dirt?
Joking, I tossed it at Ailin.
"…The knights wouldn't care much."
"Huh?"
"A real mage, maybe. But you're a spirit arts user, young master."
"They're different?"
"Spirits are folk faith—more welcomed than shunned, if anything."
Shocking answer.
No way.
I'd been practicing stealthily with Woong-i for that pumped-up dopamine hit.
And it was all fake hype?
I didn't wanna know this truth….
Pinching my brow in despair, Elena sidled up—her sword swings done.
"Come play with me."
"Where?"
"Clothes shopping."
"…So, outside the mansion?"
"Yeah."
Hmm, shopping.
Probably Bellmere Village, right in front—saw it from the carriage.
Bored as hell, I was tempted for a sec.
Then an inner voice screamed.
Girl shopping? That's hell ahead.
One step in, and you're trapped for hours.
About to say I'd stay home.
"……."
…Elena's silent pressure hit. Exaggerating a bit, it felt like don't come and you're dead.
At this rate, Elena'd be Hilton's rising assassin star.
I reluctantly nodded. "…I'll ask at least."
"Good."
She smiled faintly—already set on me going.
Too bad, impossible.
Why? Duke won't allow it, even if I beg!
I said it before: no mansion exit unless essential.
Let him reject it.
I picked up a fallen wooden sword, swung it, pondering tomorrow's plans.
***
…Fuck this.
Rattling carriage interior.
Bellmere streets scrolled past the window.
Chopped foot by trusted axe, huh?
Duke, who I figured'd refuse, nodded at two words.
'Clothes shopping' and 'I'll take him.'
Hearing Elena's magic words, he nodded naturally.
And I was carriage-jailed.
Fuck! You said you'd raise me!
No dirt on my feet, mansion-bound!
Rattle.
Small mercy: unlike my junk wagon, Elena's had magic cushions—comfy seats.
No back-breaking this time.
"Oh."
Bellmere was busier than expected.
Village handling two port cities' trade—seafood, goods everywhere.
Infrastructure meant adventurers too.
Robelen rakes in big coin, huh.
"Allowance" they gave me, housebound—no wonder it felt worthless.
Peanuts anyway.
Gazing at streets, carriage stopped at a shop.
"We're here."
"Yeah."
"Young master, as discussed…."
"Got it."
Pulled a ring from my pocket, slipped it on.
My trademark black hair shifted—dark brown in seconds.
"That should do."
"Pretty neat."
"…I hate it."
Disguise magic tool for blending. Borrowed clothes too.
Butler fit, my size—like Dort's.
Looked like a shopping miss and her servants.
Not 100% safe, but whatever.
Wanna kill me? Break the twin turrets beside me first.
Empire's elite only.
"Miss! Why not summon us to the mansion as always—visiting this humble shop…."
Stepping down with Elena into the shop, a blonde middle-aged woman greeted us.
Casual clothes, but refined.
Round glasses, tape measure on hip—artisan vibe.
"Well, you see…."
"…Oh my! I see!"
Elena explained; woman covered her mouth, beaming.
Glancing my way oddly, but whatever.
I was the servant—stood quietly aside.
"Understood! This way…."
Elena and Ailin headed back.
Ailin doubled as my guard, but priority followed the VIP.
Sensing everything around anyway—no worry.
Killing time eyeing clothes.
A apprentice seamstress nearby approached.
"…How much?"
"Pardon?"
"You—how much?"
Straight-up price tag? What?
Philosophical—my market value?
Damn, never thought.
"Sigh…."
I blanked; she reached, lifted my brown hair.
"Well-kept, good looks, but manners awkward—rushed training, huh."
"Hm…."
"Ex-commoner recently? No need hiding—hired servant or slave's obvious."
Orphanage buy-out, yeah.
She meant my price.
First so blunt—lost on reaction.
"Just curious 'bout top merch like you. Planning to buy a cute slave later."
"Is that so?"
"So, how much?"
Hmm, my price.
Humans ain't priced.
Dignity ain't for sale.
But I'd been sold past that.
"Around 50 gold coins, I hear."
Told her truth.
Dort's pouch to Teresa—if all gold, about that.
Her eyes widened.
"What? For real?"
"…Problem?"
"No, too cheap…."
Huh, 50 ain't cheap?
Dunno market. Never spent.
Only paid Arwen hush money.
"You got scammed."
"Really?"
"Duh, top-tier. Haggled down somewhere."
"Doesn't matter—happy with life now."
Her merch gaze annoyed—brushed off.
She pondered, then whispered.
"…If you change mind, letter here. Our house could…."
Thud!
Thick mana flooded shop.
Turned—Elena approaching.
We backed to wall quick.
"What're you doing?"
"…Chatting with her."
"That close?"
"……."
Corner of eye: apprentice pale.
Elena disliked me talking others?
Made sense.
Even I'd feel left out if close friend chatted happily elsewhere.
Or….
…Later.
Brain full throttle for right line.
Deepity! Help!
Beep.
Soon, answer.
"Dust on your clothes—she helped."
"…Yeah?"
"Yes—won't happen again, forgive me."
"…Fine."
Crisis averted.
Timing her calm, slipped prepared line.
"That dress suits you."
"……."
"…Miss."
"Yeah."
She nodded, faint satisfied smile.
Success.
Sighs of relief from fitting rooms. Yeah, novel/game options don't lie. Butler role—nailed it.
Mana dispersed; I relaxed.
"…Huh?"
Wait—that was spread mana. Familiar from spars with Elena—I endured.
Others? Artisan grit.
"……."
I eyed Elena slowly.
Prepared line, but half-true.
Blue dress highlighted her unlike training gear.
This level? Pretty….
"…No."
"Pardon?"
What now? She gripped hem tight.
Stomped back—pointing to wardrobe, trying another.
Elena gone; apprentice muttered.
"Attachment slave, huh…."
"……?"
"Promise lover spot, luxury—pay off. Not bad…."
…Ignore.
Leaving, quash weird rumors.
***
Repeating praise for Elena's dress swaps.
Nearing evening, odd vibe hit.
Street view through window.
Little street experience, but.
Bellmere's city-scale—back alleys exist.
Who am I? Ex-orphan.
Expert level.
But.
"…Hmm."
Far off, alley between buildings—no orphans.
Carriage ride too—barely any….
"…Ailin, be right back. Leaving trail."
Whispered, slipped out quietly.
She heard.
Not my usual interest.
But Hilton scheming maybe.
Ah, hate moving here.
Ignore? Boomerangs to me.
"Hmm…."
Plus, experience: delays complicate. Act fast.
Walked quiet alley, lifting dirt trails.
For followers later.
Unlike Arbent, but this deep—should see one….
"…None."
Not a single one.
Bellmere livable, but orphans inevitable.
Monsters, beasts, accidents—deaths happen.
Unless Duke pitied ex-orphan me, built tons of new orphanages….
Clop.
Dashed alleys.
Mental map, deeper in.
Corner: dirty cloth-covered box.
Approached silent, yanked cloth.
"…Eek!"
"Ah…."
Orphan spotted, as expected!
Yeah, no way they'd ditch prime box.
"……."
Waited silent. Orphans pure—spill if you stay still.
"I-I'm not tasty… Don't take me…."
"Spare me…."
Thus.
Seems someone's rounding up back-alley orphans….
Kidnapping orphans right in front of me?
Cheeky.
With Teresa Orphanage hope, success story me here?
This orphan snatch case.
Needed solving.