CHAPTER 77: BONDING

The morning light filtered in through the arched windows of the Crydias estate’s grand mansion. The living room was expansive—stone columns, velvet drapes, and finely carved wooden beams interwoven with subtle enchantments that made the air feel warm and settled.

The 24 newly acquired girls sat neatly across plush cushions and low couches in a wide semi-circle. They’d had a strange, dreamlike night in the Artifact Room —mystical, silent, and overwhelming. But today was something else entirely. Real. Tactile. Alive.

At the center of the room, three familiar figures stood before them: Aurevia, arms folded and spine straight; Cellione, lounging sideways across a velvet armchair, legs draped over the side; and

Serineth, perched carefully beside a smaller table, quiet but attentive. Auralyne stood slightly to the back, watching everything like a noble advisor, and Virellen was notably missing—out with Alaric on some unknown errand.

Aurevia broke the silence first.

"You’ve all had a glimpse of the artifact room,"

She said.

"But this is the real heart of our day-to-day life."

Cellione raised her hand lazily.

"Welcome to our mess."

Serineth smiled softly.

Aurevia continued,

"Before we begin anything formal—training, assignments, schedules—you need to understand why you’re here. Why he brought you."

The air grew still. Twenty-four pairs of eyes watched closely.

"It’s not just ownership,"

Auralyne added, stepping forward.

"Master Alaric doesn’t collect slaves for the sake of vanity."

"He collects tools,"

Cellione said, eyes half-lidded.

"But he doesn’t treat them like objects. He expects more from us. All of us."

Aurevia nodded.

"He’s planning something massive. A production project across the kingdom—maybe beyond. And each of you was bought with that in mind."

She began pacing slowly, her white hair catching the light.

"Not randomly. He chose you for your talents. Some of you are artisans. Some of you are mages. Some are engineers, scholars, cultivators, traders, herbalists, builders. Each of you has something—potential or proven—that he believes can be sharpened and directed."

Cellione leaned over her chair.

"You’re raw ingredients,"

She said cheerfully.

"Welcome to the forge."

That got a few hesitant laughs.

"But there’s another reason,"

Serineth added, her voice softer.

"He doesn’t trust easily. Or at all, really."

Aurevia nodded once.

"That’s the truth. Master Alaric has severe trust issues. So rather than surround himself with strangers, he’s built a home out of those he can control—but also care for."

"Control is a strong word,"

Auralyne murmured.

"True,"

Aurevia agreed.

"He won’t chain your growth. He just... needs assurance. That you won’t betray him. That you won’t break what he’s building."

Cellione kicked her legs gently over the side of the chair.

"And also, let’s not kid ourselves,"

She added.

"He is a bit of a pervert."

That line earned a few surprised laughs. One girl even snorted, then quickly covered her mouth.

"But a decent one,"

Cellione went on, grinning.

"He’s not going to force anything on you. If you’re not into him, he’ll leave you alone."

"But..."

Aurevia’s voice took a quiet, knowing tone,

"don’t be so sure of yourselves. You might think you’re immune now. That you’ll resist. But we all said the same."

The room grew still again.

Auralyne crossed her arms with a faint smile.

"And now they argue about who he kissed first."

"Auralyne!"

Serineth and Cellione said at once.

Aurevia’s ears turned faintly pink, but she coughed and redirected the conversation.

"In time, what you decide is up to you. No one will demand your affection. But your loyalty—to the work, to this house, to each other—will be expected."

Just then, the main door creaked open.

Virellen stepped in, kicking the door shut behind her, her black hair slightly frizzed and her gloves clutched like weapons of frustration. Her eyes darted to the crowd—and immediately caught the mood.

She walked in without a word and dropped herself onto the couch beside Cellione, sulking.

"What happened to you?"

Cellione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmph."

Virellen crossed her arms, looking away.

"Dad and Master kicked me out of their meeting."

Aurevia blinked.

"He kicked you out?"

"Said it was private."

Virellen scowled at the floor.

"Me! His maid! Who helps with everything! He just waved me off like I was a nosy cat."

Serineth tilted her head.

"Maybe it was a sensitive topic."

"Of course it was,"

Virellen muttered.

"They’re planning something big, I can tell. Father was there too. The way those two men look at each other when they’re talking... It’s not business. It’s conquest."

Cellione whistled.

"Someone’s bitter."

"I’m curious!"

Virellen snapped, then flopped sideways onto the cushions.

"And yes, fine, I’m bitter too. But mostly curious!"

Aurevia allowed a small laugh, then turned back to the newcomers.

"You’ll get used to this dynamic. Our Master builds a fortress with secrets... but he fills it with people he hopes will eventually understand him."

Auralyne nodded.

"And that starts today. Ask your questions. Get to know one another. Because whether you like it or not—this is your new family."

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

The tension in the room had eased—just a little. Virellen’s entrance and her dramatic complaint had melted the formal atmosphere like heat on frost.

Some of the newer girls even smiled. The senior girls leaned back slightly, sensing that the new group was beginning to loosen up.

Then, quietly but firmly, a voice rose from the right.

"I’m Lyrena Valcrest Ardein."

The golden-haired noblewoman stood up from the cushion where she had been sitting, every inch of her posture regal.

Her iron-gray eyes scanned the room with calm authority. She didn’t bow, nor did she fidget—she simply was, as if the space yielded to her presence.

"I am a blacksmith,"

She said.

"My affinity lies in mythic material resonance. I can feel the nature of metal—its past, its disposition, its limits."

Cellione gave a low whistle.

"Like a metal empath?"

Lyrena gave the slightest nod.

"If you must simplify it."

Aurevia arched an eyebrow.

"That’s a rare talent. Not many can forge divine-class alloys without wrecking their sanity."

"I don’t seek praise,"

Lyrena said.

"Only clarity."

She turned her gaze to the seated senior girls.

"Master Alaric... you say he bought us because he cannot trust easily. That we’re to be part of something vast—some production effort. And yet, we don’t know what we’re building. No goals, no timelines, no models. Only faith."

Her words, cool and measured, carried the weight of someone used to being in charge of herself.

Aurevia took a breath, but before she could respond, someone else spoke up—faster, and a touch louder.

"I’m Mara Embershade."

The brown-haired girl rose from the far side of the couch. She was shorter than Lyrena, broad-shouldered, and had calloused fingers that didn’t match her age. Her deep umber eyes sparkled with blacksmith pride—honest, unadorned.

"I’m not a noble,"

She said bluntly.

"I come from three generations of hammer and anvil. My work has survived on battlefields. I can make weapons that stay true when things fall apart."

She crossed her arms.

"I don’t care about Alaric being a pervert or a saint. I care about purpose. We’re supposed to forge something? Fine. But forge what? Buildings? Armies? Weapons of war?"

She looked at Cellione with unflinching honesty.

"If you want me to pour sweat into something, I need to know what it is. Otherwise I’m just another pretty tool."

Auralyne smiled slightly from her place near the fireplace.

"You two are quite direct."

Lyrena and Mara both nodded—but didn’t sit down yet.

Serineth tilted her head and spoke softly.

"You’re right to ask. But not everything will be revealed in a single day. He’s... not someone who trusts quickly, not even with us."

Aurevia stepped forward.

"The production project isn’t limited to weapons, or buildings. Think of it as a vast infrastructure network. Equipment. Channels. Security systems. Buildings that channel mana. Networks of gathering and crafting—feeding into something far larger than even we understand yet."

"He’s still laying the bones,"

Cellione added.

"But you—you are the organs. The muscle. The rhythm."

Cellione stood, her posture relaxed but eyes sharp.

"You’re not tools,"

She said.

"You’re architects. And if you’ve got questions? Good. You should. That means you’re thinking."

She pointed at Lyrena.

"You’ll likely be head of material division. You’ll tell us which metals want to be used."

Then at Mara.

"And you? You’ll be teaching people how to forge for survival, not just sparkle."

Mara blinked, caught off guard.

"Me? Teach?"

"Of course,"

Serineth said gently.

"Do you think 24 is the end? This is just the beginning."

There was a quiet stir among the others—shuffling robes, exchanged glances. The weight of the future began to settle in. Not as a burden, but as a realization.

Finally, Lyrena gave a curt nod and sat back down.

"I’ll wait and see, then."

Mara crossed her arms again, but she smiled—just a bit—and muttered,

"Guess I’ll hold off on swinging a hammer at anyone."

At that moment, Virellen, still sprawled across the couch, muttered without looking up,

"That’s the spirit."

More laughter followed. Not much. But enough.

-To Be Continued