Chapter 30
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: Pick One If You Can
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Pick one if you can.
This month was no different from any other.
Dozens of wagons lined up in a long row before the main gate of the Argent Family estate.
Iron bars.
Sealing runes.
The stench of blood and fear seeping from within.
They were the "merchandise" scraped together by illegal slave hunters from every corner of the continent.
This place was a den of evil.
Anyone could see that.
But the ones who could make an issue of it weren't the constables or the Imperial Family.
It was the Argent Family.
The name that gripped the continent's underworld.
To the slave hunters, this wasn't just a trading post.
The Argent Family was more than a "big spender"—they were the god who raised the hunters from behind the scenes.
So slave intake day was a festival for them.
Closer to a holy day of prayer.
Like devotees entering a church, the hunters passed through the main gate with bowed heads.
—Normally.
But today was different.
"Is that... the fifth heir we've only heard about?"
Someone whispered, swallowing hard.
"Idiot, don't make eye contact."
"If you draw the wrong attention, forget the deal—you'll vanish without a trace."
The festive air had noticeably chilled.
Before the Argent Family's main gate.
For the first time, the hunters felt not anticipation, but fear.
There was one reason.
On this monthly slave intake day, a figure who had never once shown himself was unmistakably "there" today.
The illegitimate child treated like a taboo in the Argent Family.
He wasn't standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the official heirs, but he was clearly in a spot visible to all, watching from the back.
And there was something even more conspicuous.
The four heirs who always "selected" the slaves.
Their expressions were twisted beyond mere anger.
As if they had chewed shit.
"Lucas Argent."
Seratina's sharp voice echoed down the corridor.
"You know this already, but you pick slaves after we've all made our choices. Until then, shut your mouth and don't say a word."
"Haha. Of course."
Lucas, standing in the back corner, nodded obediently with a smile.
"If that's what you say, sister, I'll do just that."
As the slaves were dragged one by one into the mansion's corridor, Seratina shot him another glance.
A blatant warning to shrink even smaller, despite him already being huddled in the corner.
The other three heirs gave the same look, while Syl, watching the scene, wore a strange "victor's smile" on her lips.
A face convinced that, starting today, Lucas Argent would never get another slave.
The event proceeded no differently from usual.
The heirs introduced themselves in turn, and the format of giving the slaves the "right to choose their master" was the same as always.
Slave intake day.
A familiar sight.
The air was heavier than usual, but even the slave hunters were starting to exhale in relief, knowing it would ultimately play out as normal—
That's when it happened.
"Then..."
One of them spoke up.
"Before you decide on one of us as your master, allow me to add one more thing here."
Normally, speeches went from the eldest heir down, ending with the youngest, Syl Argent.
But today was different.
Syl spoke first, and the one at the end was the most influential of the four heirs: the eldest, Wolfram Argent.
Wolfram paused for a moment, gazing down at the slaves lined up before him.
Trembling gazes.
Wounds, amputations, deformities.
Bodies that would be classified as "scrap" by Argent standards.
To them, he spoke as if it were a mere afterthought.
"In our Argent garden grows a being with healing powers comparable to the Imperial Family's 'Water of Life,' if not quite equal."
The air stirred in an instant.
"Healing...?"
"Even the broken slaves—?"
"The Argent Family? The ones who obsess over perfection?"
For the first time, it wasn't the slaves who stirred—it was the hunters watching from afar.
The Argent Family demanded the continent's finest slaves.
Obedience was baseline; they ruthlessly screened for talent, skill, and origin.
Defective slaves didn't even cross the threshold—that was common sense.
And yet—
Starting with Wolfram, the other heirs nodded as if in agreement.
They wouldn't discard the broken slaves.
They'd fix them and use them.
To the hunters, it didn't look like mercy.
It was the gates of hell opening: wring every last drop out of them as long as they breathed.
But the slaves reacted differently.
"You'll... heal us?"
"So... we won't be thrown away?"
To a slave, having no master meant death.
Fail to be chosen here, and you'd be sent to a brutal auction or fed to monsters.
For the defective ones, this was salvation—and a double-edged sword leading to deeper misery.
Then Wolfram paused again, casually raising one hand to point toward that corner as if it were nothing.
The very back.
A liminal spot in the heirs' space, but never quite beside them.
Lucas Argent.
"And one more thing."
His voice remained calm.
"Which heir's slave you become signifies which side you'll take in the future family head decision."
The air froze solid.
"That means..."
"Exactly."
Wolfram smiled.
"What you should be worrying about now isn't how to live."
His gaze flicked toward Lucas once more.
"It's how to survive."
The implication was crystal clear.
Already mighty powers.
Choose one of the four heirs whose selection guaranteed survival.
Or—
Stay until the end and risk becoming the slave of that ambiguous heir, turning the four against you.
It wasn't a choice; it was coercion bordering on threat.
And the effect was immediate.
"I-I'll serve the First Young Master!"
"What?! You don't even have an arm...!"
"S-Still, better than catching that young master's eye over there! You'd really die!"
Fear overrode fear.
The sweet bait of healing, paired with the unspoken warning that going to "that corner" meant the end.
In the end, the slaves—even the broken ones—began moving toward the four heirs one by one.
Wolfram.
No, all four heirs had orchestrated exactly this outcome.
And the result.
"Looks like all the slaves have chosen their masters."
Syl spoke first.
Her tone was calm, but satisfaction oozed unapologetically from her lips.
"So we can wrap this up now, right, big brother Wolfram?"
"Yes."
Wolfram nodded.
Then, deliberately a beat late, he shifted his gaze.
"Your turn now, Lucas Argent."
A single short phrase.
But it dripped with blatant mockery.
The hall was empty.
The spots where slaves had trembled in line moments ago were spotless, as if no one had ever been there.
Nothing remained.
Watching that scene, not just the two of them, but Walter and Seratina's lips curled in similar sneers.
Family Head Agram's permission had been clear.
"Pick from what's left."
In other words, no leftovers meant no choice.
"To think they'd go that far just to keep one bastard in check..."
"Only possible because they have money to burn."
"Still, same blood, and so ruthless."
Only the slave hunters clicked their tongues softly, watching Lucas at the corridor's end.
But they didn't want to catch the other four heirs' eyes either.
So most turned away.
Ah, that young master is done for. He'll live his whole life without a single slave.
As even the mustached merchant let out a small sigh—
Pfft.
"...Huh?"
For a split second, the bastard young master at the corridor's end seemed to look this way and smile.
Very briefly.
Really just a moment.
That it wasn't just his imagination dawned on him after the slave selection was fully over.
As wagons loaded with unchained, contracted slaves began rolling out of the Argent estate one by one.
The mustached merchant tugged the reins, about to climb onto his wagon, when he felt a gaze crawl down his spine.
"Your wagon's quite worn. Looks like it needs repairs."
A low, calm voice.
"Y-You...!"
Turning, the merchant reflexively bowed at the waist.
A being he must never encounter inside the Argent main gate.
A name he'd only heard of—and hoped never to meet in his lifetime.
"I'm Lucas Argent. Are you the slave hunter who owns this wagon?"
The rumor of bastard flashed through his mind, but his body reacted first.
One fact alone—Argent blood—made rudeness equal to death.
"Young Master... please step back. I can't stay here any longer."
The merchant's words were polite, but his gesture subtly pointed outside.
Move. Or better yet, scram.
"Something urgent?"
"I have to go hunt slaves. That way I can bring better goods next time, right?"
Adding that, the merchant forced a grin.
"Maybe even catch one for you to use, Young Master Lucas."
But at that moment, Lucas's gaze wasn't on the merchant—it was fixed on the wagon's rear.
Iron bars.
Iron chains.
The dank stench of blood wafting from inside.
A structure not unfit for a prison.
"By the way."
Lucas continued innocently.
"Isn't there still a slave inside?"
"......Pardon?"
The merchant's face stiffened.
Why's he eyeing the wagon? Was this his goal all along?
But that thing inside wasn't merchandise.
It fell short of even common noble standards, let alone Argent's.
Zero market value—scrap not even paraded before the heirs.
"Young Master, that's—"
The merchant hurried to explain.
"Completely non-functional waste as a slave. It's slated for the monster training grounds as fodder soon..."
To a slave trader, that wasn't for sale.
No profit—in fact, it cost money to dispose of.
And the buyer was Lucas Argent.
Get tangled up, catch another heir's eye, and no number of lives would suffice.
So the merchant tried to send Lucas away as gently and blandly as possible.
"Haha... really, it's a misunderstanding. I can't give it away or sell it."
"You're not worried rumors of handing that slave to me might reach my siblings' ears?"
"Th-That... haha. Do I really need to say it...?"
He laughed, but his breath hitched.
"Anyway, I value my life, so... sorry, but I can't sell any slave to you, Young Master Lucas. Even if it's trash."
But then.
"100,000 gold."
The merchant's words cut off cold.
"...Huh?"
"That one."
Lucas was still smiling.
"I'll buy it for 100,000 gold."
The merchant's mind went blank.
This wasn't just saving disposal costs.
Hundreds of times the original value.
An amount he'd never touch in his lifetime.
"O-One hundred thousand gold...?"
"What do you say."
Lucas tilted his head.
"Enough to quit slave trading and start a new life, right?"