CHAPTER 45: 45

The grand doors closed behind them with a low thoom, final as a judge’s decree.

Caelthorn Thion didn’t move for a long while. He stood stiff by the tall, arched window, watching the retreating forms of the young man and the girls trailing behind him.

Virellen walked at their side, animatedly chatting with the smallest of the three. But Caelthorn’s eyes weren’t on his daughter.

They were on him. The one they called Enric.

He looked... impossible.

Tall, but not just in height—his presence bent the space around him. The way people stood straighter when he walked past, even without looking.

The way even his silences seemed to cast shadows. And those three girls—slave seals gleaming against their skin like branded devotion—they adored him.

Not with fear, not with obligation. With the kind of fierce, boundless loyalty men only gained after saving lives or souls.

The kind of loyalty one couldn’t buy.

A hand brushed his arm. Maristella. Quiet, graceful, her brows drawn with careful worry.

"Well?"

She asked.

Caelthorn answered with a breath, deep and tired.

"We sealed the deal."

She blinked.

"You sealed it."

He nodded.

"You have been there. And saw and heard the whole thing, as he said. We don’t have the luxury to refuse a hand like that. Not anymore."

Her expression turned distant.

"Even if we don’t know what’s behind it?"

Especially because of that, he thought. But he didn’t say it aloud.

Instead, he stepped toward the table and poured himself a measure of dark liquor.

"The Crydias line is rotting from the inside. Our name is still heavy, but the weight is mildew, not gold. This contract... it’s more than coin. It’s relevance. It’s survival."

Maristella accepted a glass wordlessly and sat down. She didn’t need convincing. They both knew the truth. The glory of their merchant house had burned out five winters ago. They’d been living in the smoke ever since.

"Do you believe the things you heard abouthim from Virellen?"

She asked after a while.

"About him?"

Caelthorn didn’t answer right away. He stared into his drink, swirling it slowly.

"That he’s a blessed one of Elyssira?"

He murmured.

"Yes. Or something worse."

She tilted her head.

"How could someone like that exist in Velmora without the Great Empire knowing?"

He didn’t speak. The silence hung between them like a blade.

Then, finally, he whispered,

"Maybe they do know."

Her hand paused.

"Caelthorn."

"I heard something once,"

He said, voice low.

"Back when I was still young enough to ask the wrong questions. It was during a delegation trip to the inner territories of the Great Empire. One night, after too much wine, an old scholar—drunk and scared—told me the Empire no longer receives blessings from Elyssira. Not real ones. Only the ’gifts’ remain—raw power, disconnected from her grace."

Maristella’s eyes sharpened.

"That would explain the rot."

He nodded slowly.

"The Imperial bloodline of Solvenhart used to produce blessed ones too. But not for few mallinias now, if the old man was telling the truth. So when a blessed child is born outside their line—usually to commoners—it’s dealt with. Quietly. Most people never even hear about it. But the disappearances... they’re too clean. Too final."

Her fingers gripped the goblet.

"You’ve never told me this."

"Because if they heard me repeat it, you, me, Virellen—everyone with my name—would vanish. And not in some dignified political purge. We’d be erased. Our records, our assets, our graves—gone."

He finally met her eyes.

"I’ve kept that secret for twenty years. Never spoke of it. Not even to myself. But now... he’s here. And he’s not hiding. He’s thriving. Not some trembling village child—they raised him into a man. Strong. Unshaken. And he wears that power like it’s older than the Great Empire itself."

Maristella’s breath caught.

"How could they have missed him?"

"Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they can’t touch him."

That thought sat in the room like cold stone.

He turned back toward the window, catching the last glimpse of Alaric’s black coat vanishing into the carriage as the door closed.

"Virellen told me a few things about him. Just the basics. His name. His origin. The girls’ names. And that he’s different. That she trusts him."

"And you?"

"I don’t know if I trust him,"

He said softly.

"But I know I’d rather bet on him than stand against him."

"And if he’s what you fear?"

"Then he’ll outlast this Empire. And we’ll be lucky to have our names etched anywhere near his shadow."

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

The moment the carriage door closed behind them, silence settled like a thick woolen blanket. The cobbled roads of Caerywn passed by beyond the glass, blurred by the lantern-glow of the capital’s quiet evening.

No one spoke at first. Even Cellione, whose mouth usually needed no invitation, kept her words tucked behind her thoughtful violet gaze.

But of course, that silence couldn’t last.

"Master,"

Cellione—finally blurted, twisting in her seat with restless energy.

"What secret ingredient were you talking about earlier? The dish you made... the ingredients weren’t even that special. They’re common, right?"

Aurevia’s crimson gaze flicked up, curious but reserved. Serineth tilted her head slightly, the green of her hair catching the carriage’s lamplight, eyes wide but silent. She wouldn’t ask—but she definitely wanted to know.

Alaric glanced at Cellione, amused.

"You see,"

He said mildly,

"those weren’t the complete ingredients."

A pause. The girls leaned in, almost unconsciously.

"That recipe I made,"

He continued,

"it was only partially finished. The real centerpiece was still missing."

"What do you mean?"

Cellione asked, brows furrowing.

"It tasted amazing."

Alaric allowed himself a half-smile.

"The sauce. Soy sauce, to be specific. It wasn’t ready yet. The version I used lacked the final touches."

"Soy sauce?"

Serineth finally spoke up, her voice quiet and lilting.

"What’s that?"

"It’s... well, think of it like the heart of the dish,"

Alaric said.

"A dark, salty liquid that adds depth, complexity. You can use it in stir-fries, fried rice, chili chicken, even dressings for salads."

"So you’re telling me,"

Cellione said, pointing a finger dramatically,

"that those fried rice and chili chicken dishes we nearly fought over—weren’t even at full power?"

"Correct,"

He replied simply.

Aurevia crossed her arms.

"You’ve been developing it, then."

"For a few days now. Still fine-tuning the recipes. It’s a foundational ingredient. One that I’ll be using in more dishes from now on."

"Trade secret?"

Cellione guessed.

"Exactly."

"But Master,"

Aurevia said, her tone cool but intrigued,

"how are you going to protect it? Once it’s on the market, someone’s bound to plagiarize it. Try to recreate it."

"Oh, they will,"

Alaric said.

"That’s inevitable. But they’ll need time. A few days. A week. Maybe a month. During that time—"

"—we’ll dominate the market,"

Cellione finished, smirking. "Right?"

"Exactly. Restaurants, food stalls, even the royal kitchens will scramble for it. Bulk orders. Mass demand. And while everyone’s chasing after the last dish, I’ll release another."

"New trade secret, new ingredient," Serineth murmured, eyes gleaming with silent admiration.

"Each one better than the last,"

Alaric said.

Aurevia nodded slowly, the corner of her mouth lifting in rare approval.

"Efficient. Ruthless."

"Profitable,"

Alaric corrected with a faint smile.

"We’ll milk every drop of gold we can before they catch on."

"And then drop the next bombshell,"

Cellione laughed.

"Yes, but it won’t be the same always. Their will be times when people of this world can’t copy our products. "

Alaric said.

"What do you mean?"

Cellione asked.

"The things I am planning, as you know, is way out of our current situation. We don’t have the manpower nor the technology to build it.

So, we need to create the people who is able to accomplish my visions. People who we can trust without worrying. That’s why I’m buying those slaves."

"So that was your intention all along. To justify your need for more young girls. "

Cellione said as she almost got up from her seat. And Serineth nodding along.

Seeing this Aurevia who was quite until now chimed in and said,

"Cellione, quiet down. You know that you, me nor any of us have any justification to stop him. His our owner and master. And we as his loyal slaves must accept all his decisions. Many other has it far worse than you. They don’t even get treated like human. While you not only have freedom of speech but also leaving a life far better than before. So don’t cross the line you shouldn’t."

Aurevia said with a serious expression. She doesn’t talk much usually. But hearing her speak so much at once stunned all of them a little, but they quickly recovered. Cellione apologised with her head down and said that it won’t happen.

Alaric chuckled and looked at Aurevia.

"You make be sound like some control freak. But, It was me who gave you all the green pass to intervene in my life. You guys aren’t just my first slaves but also first true companions. Although the way we got together is not so romantic. But I am glad that we are together."

Alaric said with soft smile. Hearing this all the girls teared up and hugged him. He hugged them back. After some time they recovered.

And their conversation mellowed after that, but the air inside the carriage had lightened. By the time the hotel came into view—a stately white structure edged with mana-powered lanterns—there was a sense of quiet anticipation humming between them.

They stepped out one by one, the doormen bowing hastily as they passed. Their presence already had weight, even if the capital hadn’t realized it yet.

Inside, the hotel’s halls were lit with crystal orbs, casting gentle light over marble floors. Without a word, they climbed the steps to their suite.

Their rooms were warm, perfumed faintly with lavender oil and the soft whisper of silken sheets turned down.

In the soft glow of magic lighting, the girls began moving about—removing cloaks, brushing out hair, stretching stiff limbs. Cellione cracked her neck with a satisfied groan.

Serineth busied herself with tidying the vanity. Aurevia wordlessly set a cup of warm water beside Alaric’s bedside.

Alaric sat by the window for a moment, staring out at Caerywn’s slumbering skyline.

This was only the beginning.

-To Be Continued