Chapter 3
513words
I donned a cloak bearing the Candidate Inspector emblem and strode down the academy's frigid corridor. Gargoyle sentinels tracked me with crimson eyes before returning to their vigil once they recognized my credentials.
So far, so good.
Today's "performance" had left me unable to stomach food, but it had hardened my resolve.
"This ends now."
I can't remain passive forever. To change anything, I must act. Starting with verification.
My destination: the Slave Holding Facility in the academy's bowels—a place even demon servants avoided.
"Lord Sakurai? At this hour?"
Two guards intercepted me, their faces a mix of surprise and obsequiousness.
"Inspection," I replied coldly, flashing my badge. "Some 'materials' have shown instability. I need to verify security protocols. Take a break—I'll cover for an hour."
"Of course! Thank you, my lord!"
They departed eagerly. An early night off was blessing enough to prevent questions.
I pushed open the heavy door and was hit by a stench far worse than the classroom's. Darkness and dampness enveloped hundreds of narrow cells housing slaves of various races. Most stared vacantly—cattle awaiting slaughter.
I headed straight for the rear section—the "High Risk" area for slaves with "rebellious tendencies" or "unusual abilities."
In the furthest cell, I found her.
The elf girl I'd "knocked out" earlier lay slumped against the wall, sweat beading on her pale face. Beside her knelt another elf with aquamarine hair, her small hand on the first girl's forehead, surrounded by a faint green aura.
Healing magic—weak but remarkably pure.
A massive young orc stood protectively before them, built like a mountain and glaring at me with unflinching defiance.
In the cell's shadows lurked a human boy—physically unimposing yet with eyes like still lakes, calmly assessing me.
Fascinating.
Even in abject misery, such solidarity.
I halted, maintaining distance.
"What do you want, demon?"
The orc growled, voice raw with hatred.
Rather than answering, I activated my ability—Eye of Perception.
Their emotions materialized before me as color auras.
The orc blazed angry red, the healing elf glowed worried green, the patient radiated fearful gray. Most surprising was the human boy's deep contemplative blue.
Most importantly, none showed the black of true malice.
Confirmation complete.
I withdrew a crystal vial from my pocket containing high-grade mana restoration potion—worth more than every slave in this facility combined.
I tossed it gently into the cell with a soft clink against the stone floor.
Under their bewildered stares, I whispered just loudly enough for them alone:
"Use this if you want her to live. And keep those abilities hidden if you want to survive."
Without another word, I resumed my cold, arrogant demeanor and strode away as if I'd merely completed a routine check and discarded something worthless.
Stunned silence followed me out.
I returned to my quarters feeling lighter than when I'd left.
"Perfect."
A small seed of rebellion had been planted by my own hands.
Now I need to patiently wait for it to take root and sprout.
Or perhaps nurture it a little to accelerate its growth.
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