Volume 1 Chapter 9: The Lord’s Son

Ashvin is still a child.

At the very least, she is not an adult.

A foreigner… no, it’s clear from the fact that she didn’t help her parents with their raids.

Under normal circumstances, she would never have been captured.

It was all due to a minor whim.

Her parents just wanted to put on a little show for their daughter and son.

It may be hard to justify calling this “showing off” a raid, but for foreigners, that was the norm.

That’s why Ashvin, who normally wouldn’t have been taken along on a raid, ended up going with her younger brother… and was caught.

The movements of the foreigners had been discovered.

As a result, along with her parents who were carrying out the raid, Ashvin and her brother were captured.

As expected, the days following their capture were nothing short of hell.

Many people held deep grudges against the foreigners.

Even the slave traders, who were supposed to treat them as merchandise, subjected them to brutal mistreatment.

In the first place, no one expected these foreigners to possess any particular aesthetic appeal.

Since they were seen merely as an outlet for vengeance, it wasn’t surprising.

That’s why even if they were somewhat wounded, it didn’t make them any harder to sell.

On the contrary, some buyers even preferred them injured.

That violence was also inflicted upon Ashvin—still just a child—and her younger brother.

“(We were despised, disliked, and resented, weren’t we?)”

For Ashvin, that realization was a shock.

She was subjected to such overwhelming hatred that some thought it acceptable to kill a child—an unimaginable blow.

Even so, Ashvin managed to stay composed because she had a younger brother to protect.

Without him, she would have long been crushed under that hatred.

Ashvin’s speech is a form of affected noble-lady talk—a desperate attempt to be liked and, in turn, lessen the blows she received.

Of course, it was futile, but it was the only strategy a child could muster.

And seeing their child like that, her parents couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

“Please run! Follow me!”

Ashvin fled together with her younger brother.

Their escape succeeded solely because her parents caused a disturbance that drew the guards’ attention.

They felt guilty for having their children captured for the sake of their pride—even forcing Ashvin to change the way she spoke.

One’s manner of speaking is a crucial part of one’s identity.

Changing it usually signals a powerful, life-altering event.

For Ashvin, being captured was precisely that kind of event.

Such a final offering from her parents to their children was to let them escape from the slave traders.

Of course, they wouldn’t get away scot-free.

Perhaps Ashvin now believes they were killed immediately afterward.

“It’s all right. I will definitely protect you.”

Holding her trembling younger brother close, Ashvin spoke those words. Even at her young age—having already endured the slave traders’ mistreatment—she fully understood how difficult that task would be.

In a country that doesn’t consider foreigners human—and with no one to rely on—two children surviving on their own was nearly impossible.

Just hearing about it would make anyone give up. Had Ashvin been alone, she might have surrendered hope from the start.

She might have died in an alley, been picked up by another slave trader… or even been executed by vigilantes. But she had her brother.

A brother weaker than she was, who depended on her protection. That’s why Ashvin desperately clung to life.

She slept in filthy alleys, stole food from stalls, and scavenged through garbage to fill her stomach. Typically, impoverished children band together and help one another, making survival easier.

However, Ashvin and her brother were foreigners. They were shunned even by children in similar circumstances.

Because of that, many of their attempts ended in failure. Sometimes, shopkeepers caught them and beat them so badly they were on the verge of death.

Still, to protect the life their parents had secured for them—to protect her brother—Ashvin kept going.

“You little brat! A foreigner dares to steal from me?! I’ll kill you!!”

Ashvin was being beaten again. She had been caught by the shopkeeper she tried to steal from.

It was difficult for a child to outrun an adult. She’d experienced this before, but this time the shopkeeper was far more vicious.

Maybe he had been robbed frequently by other poor children, or perhaps he hated foreigners more than most. Ashvin didn’t know, but one thing was certain: she was enduring violence severe enough to knock out an adult.

When someone is hit repeatedly, each blow strangely loses its sting, leaving the mind in a hazy calm.

“(Ah… why is this happening to me?)”

Naturally, she began to curse her fate. She had tried to remain strong and push those thoughts aside.

But she was still just a child. It wouldn’t be surprising if she had complaints…

“(If only he weren’t here…)”

She couldn’t blame her brother, who could do nothing but depend on her. Without him, she might have given up and died.

She wouldn’t have had to endure such agony.

“Die and atone, you foreigner!!”

Unaware of her inner thoughts, the raging shopkeeper raised his clenched fist. Even now, Ashvin’s body was covered in bruises, and her face was swollen.

If that blow landed, she would almost certainly die.

“(Ah, at last…)”

She could finally rest. Ashvin closed her eyes, ready to accept the lethal strike.

But that fist never reached her.

“Wait a second, would you? For my sake?”

“M-Marcel-sama…”

Ashvin managed to open her swollen eyelids. Before her stood Marcel, the lord’s son, smiling gently.