The Slave's Life
Philia stared at Rai in silence.
Her eyes, frozen in shock at the revelation that all the legendary commanders who had once guarded the Keilen Kingdom had been fabricated, no longer moved.
“It’s weird how your empire doesn’t even suspect a thing,” she said. “I first went to the battlefield when I was thirteen. My first battle was a disaster because I believed the books too much and got crushed, but after that I didn’t lose again. Can a toddler who just learned to walk think they can fight like that?”
Rai shrugged casually, a faint, melancholic smile on his lips. “I thought it was just one of those legendary tales from the Era of Strife. But thinking back, it really is strange. Even a genius can’t be that young.”
He glanced at Edelian. The man was ten years older than Rai when they first clashed, already a seasoned commander in his thirties.
“Why didn’t the Keilen Kingdom expand its territory?” Philia asked.
If ten commanders with the same overwhelming experience and knowledge as the Devil of All Nations existed, the kingdom shouldn’t have fallen—it should have ruled the continent.
Rai gave a small laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There is no such thing as omnipotence. The Knowledge of the Grave had a fatal flaw.”
His gaze drifted as if recalling distant memories, then he continued after a pause. “The human brain isn’t that good. When you compare Aslan and you, the differences are obvious.”
Philia didn’t laugh. She simply waited.
“Crier the Dragon overlooked it,” Rai said. “The Knowledge of the Grave transfers memories from one generation to the next. Then the next generation receives memories from two generations. What happens if that continues?”
He leaned back against the bed. “Ten people transmit ten memories, which become ten more in the next generation. Every cycle, the information doubles. The brain eventually breaks under the weight.”
Philia’s stomach twisted. Lying comfortably on the bed suddenly felt far too uneasy.
“How did you survive?”
“It’s recorded in the histories. In other countries, it was called the Curse of Aracant.”
“The Punishment of Aracant,” Philia corrected softly.
A plague that struck only Keilen. It drove people mad and killed them, yet no priest or mage could cure it. Philia remembered the legend from her books. But it wasn’t a plague—it was the Knowledge of the Grave itself that drove the survivors insane.
The project had been created to protect the kingdom, yet over time it became a curse that tormented Keilen instead. The only survivor was the Devil of All Nations. One of the many reasons he had earned that name was because he had beaten the Punishment of Aracant’s 100% fatality rate.
“I was ten when I swore to the king that I would protect my father no matter what, after he was falsely accused of treason. That’s how I became one of the Children of the Grave. I lived as a madman for three years.”
“And you won,” Philia said, her voice full of admiration.
“I became the commander who protected the kingdom,” Rai replied, his tone dry. “It wasn’t the ending I wanted, but… yeah.”
Philia’s eyes shone with genuine respect. Rai simply looked bitter.
“When I came to my senses, my father was already ash on the gallows and my mother had passed. My little brother… I killed him with my own hands. I don’t remember doing it.”
Philia’s breath caught. She couldn’t speak.
“I lost everything too. The first person I saw when I recovered was Head Butler Tepes. You know what I asked him first?”
Rai smiled gently at the helpless look on Philia’s face.
“Do you have any cigarettes?”
“At the time, my family didn’t even smoke, so I’d never seen one before.”
Philia stared at him, speechless.
“Those memories were transferred with the Knowledge of the Grave,” she said quietly.
“Correct. The habit of a toddler was passed on. Or rather, the phrase ‘passed on’ doesn’t fit. Philabani became Elliot Trayer, and Elliot Trayer became Philabani.”
Rai’s identity had been overwritten by accumulated memories. At ten years old, when he first became a Child of the Grave, he hadn’t even formed a solid sense of self yet. Hundreds, thousands of conflicting memories had swallowed him whole. He was no longer Elliot Trayer.
Philia’s face paled. She had only suspected madness; the Knowledge of the Grave was far more terrifying.
Losing one’s life versus losing one’s self. Either choice was unbearable.
“Margos hid something from the little Elliot,” Rai continued. “Or maybe he didn’t even tell him about the danger of the Knowledge of the Grave—either way, two things. Anyway, when Margos saw that I was now a Child of the Grave, he laughed until his mouth split. He’d finally obtained a perfect slave who wouldn’t run away or rebel.”
“A slave?” Philia’s face twisted in disgust. She sat up abruptly.
She had expected bedtime stories, but Rai’s words kept delivering one shocking revelation after another.
“The Children of the Grave had their souls sealed by the Control Seal. Margos never told me that. What if he had? I would have accepted it to save my father.”
Rai waved it off, completely unconcerned. “The Devil of All Nations serving as a slave sounds ridiculous, but that’s the truth.”
Philia stared at him in stunned silence. A knight’s loyalty to the king and a slave’s obedience to the master were two completely different things.
“Does the Headmistress still possess the Control Seal?”
“No. The fox or Edelian tore the palace apart looking for it, but never found it. I don’t know where it is.”
“If someone finds it…” Philia’s voice trembled.
“Nothing would happen,” Rai replied. “I’m contracted with something far above even Crier. The seal has no power over me anymore.”
Philia’s expression hardened. “You signed a Subordination Contract.”
She had deduced it perfectly from the limited information she had been given. Rai looked genuinely surprised.
“I know you’re smart, but you still manage to surprise me sometimes.”
“Only beings above dragons are gods, right? Strong restraints are necessary for safety. The gods gave the priests their oaths, yet you used a profane Subordination Contract meant only for high-class slaves.”
Rai stared at her in open admiration. “You really are something, Philia.”
“Who is the contract owner? The Headmistress?”
“I can’t say.”
“The Headmistress, then.” Philia’s eyes softened with sorrow.
Despite appearing carefree and untouchable, Rai’s past was scarred beyond repair. He had been a commander, yet a slave. His father, who had thrown himself on the sword to save him, had been executed. His mother had died trying to maintain the crumbling kingdom. And his little brother… had become a madman and taken his own life.
The past was only half the story. Even now, Rai remained a slave. The years he had lived as a slave far outnumbered the years of freedom.
The more Philia mulled it over, the heavier her heart grew. She forced her expression into a tight smile.
Rai noticed the way she bit her lip and squeezed her thigh. He chuckled. “All of that is in the past. I can laugh about it now. It’s just a story for bar snacks.”
Philia’s face crumpled again.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re not in love with me, are you?”
“Would you like a hug?”
Rai stopped mid-sentence and stared at her. “I didn’t book this room with that intention…”
“I didn’t plan to hug you either.”
Philia stood, crossed the room, and climbed onto the bed. Her eyes narrowed at the strangely sleepy-looking Rai as she settled beside him.
“No need for pity,” she said firmly.
“I can’t say I don’t feel any pity,” Philia replied. “But even Iron Man needs the warmth of human affection.”
She quoted Cesset’s words and pressed herself against Rai’s shoulder, pulling him into a gentle embrace.
The soft warmth of her chest, the sweet scent of her hair, enveloped him. Rai didn’t feel any stirrings of desire. Instead, he slowly closed his eyes, savoring the comfort.
“You’re so soft.”
“What do you mean?”
“Good soft.”
Philia smiled at the innocent question and ran her fingers through his hair. For a moment, the ordinary brown strands she saw every day weren’t there. Instead, she felt the burning crimson of the real Elliot Trayer, the Devil of All Nations.
“Tell me more stories,” she whispered.
“Bedtime stories are short. It’s time to sleep.”
“You never told a single bedtime story the whole time. You only told me stories that kept me awake. Tell me about good memories. Like your stories with your subordinates, or the funny battles against monsters and strong foes.”
Philia tugged his hair gently. Rai sighed and rested his head on her chest. “If you do anything weird, I won’t hug you.”
“Okay, I’ll behave.”
“Tell me quickly.”
Rai’s voice came out thick with drowsiness. “I first met Edelian at Rudella. The moment I saw him, I knew the guy was rotten to the core.”
“Commander Edelian’s face is intimidating, isn’t it? Handsome, but oppressive. Everyone trembles under his pressure.”
“The handsome part I don’t care about. He just always looks like he’s holding back tears. One day he might actually explode.”
Philia laughed softly, listening to the stories as if they were ordinary conversation. Tales of meeting wicked lichs, burning barracks with his subordinates, or fighting strong opponents spilled out one after another.
As the night grew late and Rai’s voice began to fade, Philia’s hand kept stroking his hair. Her eyelids grew heavy. Soon, her own eyes fluttered shut.
***
The morning light and the cheerful chirping of birds woke Philia. Rai was already gone.
“Eat up. It’s not great, but don’t expect much.”
“Thank you.”
Philia watched Rai prepare for departure, then take the breakfast tray down and bring it back. She ate with sleepy eyes, smoothing her disheveled clothes.
“There’s a magic scroll that changes hair and eye color. I’ll use it with a bit of makeup to disguise myself before I leave.”
As Rai stepped out, Philia quickly cleaned up, changed, and headed downstairs. She swung herself onto Black Horse’s back.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Honestly, I stayed up too late.”
“That’s why I said bedtime stories should be short.”
Philia yawned softly. Rai flicked her forehead lightly. “You’re going to tell me more another time, right?”
“If the chance comes.”
With golden hair now dyed brown, Philia wrapped both arms around Rai’s waist. Even though it felt a little too close, Rai simply guided Black Horse forward without comment.
Unlike last night, the road was wide open. Black Horse galloped without restraint. By midday, they reached the village of Baran.
Philia had heard yesterday that the mercenary band used this place as a base. She looked around. The village was ordinary—perfectly ordinary, with plenty of inns lining the main street, as any stopover on the way to Legandia would be.
It wasn’t the kind of village mercenaries would use for a hunt.
Rai and Philia found an inn that served both meals and lodging. They sat at a table and waited for food.
“What should we do from here?” Philia asked.
“Nothing much. There has to be some paying job somewhere in a village like this.”
The locals gave them curious glances, but Rai and Philia ignored them, chatting about some previous bounty as if they were old friends. Philia played her part well, and Rai’s arrogant demeanor fit perfectly. The townspeople watched them with interest but didn’t think they would stay long.
“How will we catch the criminal?” Philia asked.
“Catching isn’t hard. Just confirm the face, then I’ll drop him.”
Rai casually renamed the target to the mercenary captain as Philia watched him with concern.
“Even if he’s disguised, if he’s out to kill on sight…”
The door suddenly burst open. Several mercenaries entered.
“Hey, Suleiman! What’s the special today?”
“I thought you weren’t coming. Hope you’re ready to eat. Yesterday a hunter sold us fresh wild boar meat. It’ll be delicious.”
“Finally, thick-cut steaks. Cook them perfectly.”
“Don’t you trust my skills? Sit down and shut up. It’ll be ready soon.”
Captain Haxen, the target, greeted the innkeeper warmly and took a seat. His rough movements contrasted with the others, but the entire group behaved politely, chatting without disturbing the other guests.
“Uncle Haxen! Teach me how to wield a sword!”
“Let me see… have you been practicing slashes a lot?”
“Yes! I’ve practiced so much!”
A little boy rushed in waving a stick, trying to interrupt the meal. Haxen didn’t even notice the food growing cold. He kept teaching enthusiastically.
“Swinging here will disturb the others. Go practice outside. Here—try this piece. It’s delicious.”
The boy snatched the steak, ate it in a hurry, and bolted outside.
Rai and Philia watched everything while eating. Haxen was genuinely kind, friendly with everyone, and well-liked by the villagers. He looked like the kind of person who should have lived a long, peaceful life rather than dying as a pawn in political games.
“Let’s go,” Philia said brightly. “We don’t need to stay for lodging. We’ll head to the next village right away.”
There would be no next village. Philia stood, smiled sweetly at Haxen, and followed Rai out into the open road.