Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge

Chapter 45: The Fat Lamb and the Crawling Order

Seraphina had left, and with her, the drama.

Grandmother watched her silhouette and then turned—walking away with practised grace, the rustle of her robes sweeping behind her like the remnants of judgment.

With this passing exchange, Oliver understood why Grandmother had to come by herself to deliver this news. If she had sent someone else, Seraphina would most likely have torn that person into banana peels.

The Red-Stitched Sisters followed silently behind.

Unlike Grandmother and the Caretaker, they followed on foot, jogging the distance, as it was required of their kind.

Meanwhile, inside the chariot, the heavy curtains sealed off the world.

And as the wheels rolled into motion, the Caretaker turned slightly toward Grandmother. Her voice was hushed but firm.

“Grandmother, are you sure this was the right move? Lady Seraphina holds considerable sway within the Empire... especially with the emperor himself. Getting on her bad side now—when the church’s power is this...fragile. It feels a bit too reckless.”

Grandmother exhaled slowly and leaned into the velvet cushions. “Oh, I know,” she muttered, weariness coating her words like dust. “I had no choice in the matter. The moment I received news about the 'state' of Seraphina’s incoming vessel... I had to act. It was too ripe a chance. If we had delayed even a day, others would have forced this verdict anyway. Even nobles beyond the Vontell line want to see her stumble.”

“You mean the 'Vontell' competition,” the Caretaker corrected softly.

Grandmother waved her hand dismissively. “Competition, enemies, scavengers—it makes no difference. Seraphina has drawn too much favour. The wolves have waited long enough, and today, they saw blood. I wouldn’t have minded had it been another noble daughter. But Seraphina has a habit of going too far... she laid herself bare. A lamb among jackals. Fortunately, a fat lamb.”

She smiled bitterly. “You know the saying: The tree that stands the tallest is the one first broken by the wind.”

“Elvish proverb?” the Caretaker asked, raising a brow.

Grandmother nodded.

“But, like I said before, you forced us to rush here—this won’t work. She won’t be bound. And the only thing we gain is the fury of Duke Vontell... and of course, the Grand Duke. His men might already be en route to the cathedral as we speak.”

Grandmother chuckled, low and amused. “Of course they are. But you misunderstand. It was never supposed to work. Seraphina will not become one of the Red-Stitched Sisters. She is the apple of that man’s eye. This, all of it, was simply a push.”

“A push?” the Caretaker echoed, narrowing her eyes.

“A shove,” Grandmother corrected. “To force him to agree to our other... 'request'. Publicly, the Church of Light appears strong. But internally, we are hollowed out. The priests' powers have grown weak. The Aether supplements for true 'light' of the bloodline are pitiful. And we have not received a good blood offering from Solomon’s line in decades. Without it, we cannot safely re-explore the Abyss.”

The words hung heavy in the chariot’s stillness.

“If only we hadn’t lost that child,” Grandmother whispered, a deep ache tugging at her voice. “Eleven years ago… everything could’ve been different.”

The Caretaker leaned forward, her gloved fingers clasping Grandmother’s hand. “We’ll find another. We must. But... even among Solomon’s descendants, bloodlines of that strength are rare. That child took the Church six centuries to craft—through thousands of errors and lost vessels.”

“I remember,” Grandmother whispered, her gaze distant.

Her fingers curled slightly, then she smiled—slow, wistful. “But imagine... imagine if we had Seraphina as a Red-Stitched Sister. That strength, at her age? She subdued two sisters by herself.” A small, almost reverent chuckle escaped her. “She’s more promising than any of those pampered royal rats.”

But her smile faltered when she looked up again. The Caretaker’s attention had shifted—her eyes fixed out the window slit of the chariot.

“Is something wrong?” Grandmother asked.

“No... it’s just—” The Caretaker hesitated, her voice unusually soft. “I don’t know. It’s nothing. Just... those slaves. Something feels... different.”

"Different!?"

She nodded. It was not the first time she was seeing slaves, but it was definitely the first time she felt like this in Eleven years.

The care taker was special on her own way. Her kind had a certain attachment to Solomon’s blood–one that was bounded by blood.

She could have sworn that she felt purity unlike she had ever before, but yet, it was not there.

It was like trying to see past a thick fog when trying to find a house you knew was there.

Knowing it was there, and not seeing it, only frustrated the search.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Meanwhile…

[—Crawl To The Outer Wall—]

The Beta Sigil pulsed in blue at the corner of his vision.

Around him, little gasps and murmurs spread like sparks in dry grass.

Cassian really dis not like the confrontation only moments ago, but there was nothing one vould do about it.

Powers of all kinds, especially nobles, clashed all the time.

Instead, he turned and gave the order to his children to begin the training.

Of course, he was going to be supervising the process from a distance, but the opportunity to act as they pleased was simply there's.

Training had begun. And it was just as Oliver had seen it.

The order was to crawl all the way to the Outer wall of the Somara empire.

Roderick stepped forward, his wand in hand.

“I trust you’ve all received the message,” he said, his voice calm but laced with something... darker. “Then let’s begin.”

He cracked his neck slowly, a sadistic grin spreading across his face.

Oliver gritted his teeth at this. He could only look at the other side, at his sister, and hoped that she would be able to go through this process and make it to the other side.

"It's five kilometers from here to the Empire’s outer wall. You will make the journey on your hands and knees." Rodrick stated.

But the slaves were confused by this. Commoners could maybe accept a certain level of humiliation, but not nobles.

No.

For them, this was akin to a death sentence. One that many would not take lying down. Much less from a 'boy'.

Some of them looked around. On being handed to the Vaelcrests, the soldiers following had backed away. Going about other businesses with the ship, cargo and some had hurried ahead towards the empire.

Two nobles in the crowd looked to one another as a plan formed in their minds.

They were not weak.

In fact, in the Tyrell kingdom, they were aged men that managed to have achieved the 3rd rank of Blood warrior by years of vigorous training and consuming good elixirs.

They also had the opportunity to participate in various campaigns for their country.

Meaning that they were fighters true and true.

Now, even though the Aether dampening collars still sat around their necks. They were very capable, at least in combat.

And when Roderick had moved earlier on, they had watched and observed his moves.

For men that have been trained in the act of ombat, Roderick's moves were readable to their eyes. In fact they could almost see the mistakes in his muscles. Of course it was true that he displayed incredible combat skills for his age.

The youths in their own Kingdom would have much to learn from this young boy. However they were not youths and they believed that if they timed it just right—just right, they might have a chance against him.

Of course the entire detail of their escape was greatly lacking, Thalia and Cassian were not accounted for.

But it did not matter. At most, Roderick could be used as a shield of some kind.

This thought process would be their undoing.

Immediately, one of them screamed out, "help, please help. My friend, he just passed out. I don't know what happened—"

But before he would finish. The sound of flesh and bone smashing into each other in a grotesque manner, as Roderick's wand dug into his head.

For a second, everyone paused, and turned to the man that had just spoken up.

The wand remained in his head, at his kneeling position, as little jets of blood shot out of the bursted head—spraying on those nearby.

The men around gasped, but Roderick lacked the patience to entertain them.

"SILENCE!" His voice echoed in their minds, his will projected through the Beta Sigil.

He waved his hand and the wand, as if having a life of its own flew back to him.

But he was not satisfied. He rushed over to the dead man, nailing a few more hits to his face with the wand—these were hits in annoyance, that destroyed what was left of the man’s skull.

Brain matter, mixed with the red crimson splashed around, more blood, staining his once pristine white.

The blood fell from his hair to the ground—drip drop.

Then he turned to the 'fainted' man, "are you going to continue pretending, or do you want to join your friend in death."

Those words were not spoken twice as the man hurried to his knees with his head bowed to the ground, pleading.

Power, was respected. But ruthlessness was feared.

Roderick tapped his head with the rod as if pondering a problem. "Erm... so I am going to make this simple for you maggots. Firstly, you should all understand my tongue by now. The sigil allows for translation of all languages, so don't act deaf, or you'll just piss me off. Secondly, know that not all of you will survive." As he spoke, he walked around.

"While there is indeed a quota to be met, the Vontell family only expects 30 percent—of you trash-faces to survive. As a Vaelcrest—understand that we value quality over quantity." He spoke honorably, patting his chest, "So please, no more funny business...okay?"

Oliver sighed. Roderick was telling the truth. However, there was more he was not telling. Training under the Vaelcrest would result into a lot of deaths, but the Vontell family expected at least 30 percent to reach the outer wall.

However, the things that would happen on this day would give these slaves the permanent impression that their lives were worthless—which was not entirely true as they was much gain to still be made.

This was the first of many sieving-out processes.

They were all to crawl to the Outer wall on all fours.

While that was already degrading, it was the smallest part of their problems.

Here, fathers would renounce their sons, brothers themselves, and childhood friends, their bonds.

As Roderick spoke, Oliver moved silently, avoiding being seen as much as possible.

He reached the bloody corpse that had met its unfortunate fate, and then he dug his hands into the flowing blood and used it hair his hair.

Oliver had his personal reasons for this. He had been avoiding Roderick, hiding behind a slave here and there.

In his previous life, Roderick had hated him simply for the reason, of his hair colour. It had been a miracle he survived back then.

He knew he could not hide for long. Fortunately, those men had acted and it presented an opportunity for him to hide his hair color.

Just then, Roderick turned, only to see that the slaves his sister commanded had already left.

It made him frown. The idea that she had already began was infuriating.

He really did not like when she took the lead—which was a lot.

Roderick suddonly smiled, "how about we make things even more interesting." He suddenly waved his hands.

[—Crawl To The Outer Wall—]

[Time Limit: 6 Hours.]

[Failure: Decapitation]

The alerts surprised all of them, Oliver included. But for different reasons.

Oliver remembered that before his return in time, when he had gone through this phase, Roderick was less on edge, and it had taken them ten whole hours to reach the destination.

They were still some deaths, but it had been far better.

But now, things had changed.

Yet, again, the effects of his meddling was taking effect.

Oliver gritted his teeth as he immediately removed his shirt, tearing it in two—a process that came easy to him as a result of the strength he had gained.

And then he wrapped them around his arms, from his palm up wards.

And then he snatched the wet bloody clothes of the corpse as he did the same thing, wrapping them under his knees.

This way, his hands and knees had cushion.

The order was to crawl. He knew better than to go against it.

While many were still confused and wondering if the alerts from the Beta Sigil had been a lie, Oliver was already ready.

However, someone else had his eyes on Oliver, it was Garron.

His surprise at what Oliver was doing did not stop him from following and ripping off the dead man’s pants.

Oliver only glanced at him and continued on his way.

Roderick gave the command, [Go!]