The wagon wheels came to a halt.
"Finally," their master grunted, hopping down.
Alaric lifted his eyes.
A mansion stood before them, large and lavish by common standards—white stone walls, carved statues at the corners, a fountain in the center courtyard. But to Alaric?
It was just so-so.
My stables had better flooring, he thought bitterly.
But, something caught his attention.
The strange artifacts embedded into the walls—floating crystal lanterns, shimmering glyphs on the doors, metallic carvings pulsing with faint light.
What the hell is this? he thought. Is this... magic?
The master barked a command, snapping him back to reality.
"Move!"
They followed as the gates creaked open. Armored guards at the entrance gave a short salute, stepping aside. The doors swung wide.
Inside, maids and footmen stood aligned like soldiers—almost all were women. Heads bowed, eyes to the floor.
Alaric's instincts itched.
This place reeks of a man who enjoys power in all the wrong ways.
"Assign them their quarters," the man ordered lazily, waving at a nearby servant.
A tall woman stepped forward—expression blank.
She took their chain and led them down a narrow hallway, torchlight flickering against cold stone.
No carpets. No paintings. No warmth.
They passed doors sealed with locks and barred windows.
Then the servant stopped.
A heavy iron door scraped open.
"Inside."
They were shoved in like cattle.
The door slammed shut behind them.
Alaric looked around.
A cramped room with no beds, only straw mats. A piss bucket in the corner.
Walls scratched with names and tally marks.
Two other slaves already inside turned to face them—one thin as bone, the other half-asleep and wheezing.
It wasn't a room.
It was a cell.
Alaric stood still, shoulders tense.
They had thrown a king into a dungeon like a mutt.
But as his fingers touched the glowing collar around his neck, he didn't tremble.
He remembered the auction.
The whip.
The laughter.
He would endure.
Not like he had any other choice though.
His nose twitch with the foul smell.
His stomach churned. He swallowed hard, fighting the wave of nausea crawling up his throat.
This… this is the life I have to live now?
The elderly man—always the optimist, the anchor among the damned—clapped his hands and gestured to the darkest corners of the room.
"You can pick a spot," he said, voice steady with false cheer. "I'll take wherever's left. Dirtier the better."
Someone scoffed.
"Like there's any fucking difference," a younger man muttered, dropping to the floor with a defeated thud.
No one argued. There was no point.
Eventually, each of them claimed a patch of filth-covered stone like scavengers fighting over carcass scraps.
Alaric sat last.
He didn't want to. His instincts screamed at him to stand, to command, to spit on this insult.
But his body was worn, and the glowing brand on his neck pulsed like a warning.
Endure. You can do it.
He sank down, teeth grinding, laying on the hard ground as the stink clung to his skin. His nose twitched from the sour, metallic smell of old blood and piss.
The elderly man still kept talking.
Hopeful things. And useless things.
"We'll make it work," he said with a tired smile. "Keep our heads down, do our work, maybe the master won't be so cruel. There's always a way out, if you live long enough to find it."
Alaric glanced at him—really looked.
This man... Just trying. Desperately trying to lead, to lift the others from the edge of collapse. Even if all he had were scraps of lies.
A king would've respected that.
But not now. Not here.
Alaric knew better. They weren't soldiers. They weren't citizens.
They were slaves.
And their misery will began now.
Or maybe tomorrow.
------
Morning came like a curse.
A splash of icy water crashed over Alaric's face.
"Urgh!"
He jolted awake, coughing, blinking.
"Get up, pigs!" barked a guard.
Others groaned and stirred, dragging their stiff bodies from the cold stone.
They were herded like animals—barefoot, aching, shivering—through the narrow corridor into the yard.
Alaric's limbs still screamed from yesterday's beating, but he forced himself to walk upright, gaze straight.
As they stepped into the open, sunlight burning their eyes, a slurred voice echoed from above.
"Oy! You, yeah you—come here!"
Alaric's head turned slowly. His new master, lounging on the balcony, wine-stained robes wrinkled and open, pointed directly at him with a wobbling finger.
The guard didn't hesitate. He grabbed Alaric by the chain and shoved him forward.
"Move. Don't make him wait."
Alaric clenched his fists but swallowed everything. The pain. The fury. The disgust.
He walked up the stairs.
Reaching the balcony and saw his master hovering over a trembling young maid.
His eyes became bloodshot as he stepped forward.
"You summoned me?" He said with an air of confidence, suppressing the urge to lash out.
The master leered and shoved the maid aside.
"Summoned?" he mocked. "The hell do you think you are?"
The wine bottle flew.
CRACK!
Glass shattered across Alaric's cheek.
Blood welled up, mixing with wine.
But he didn't scream.
"That's master to you," the man snapped.
Alaric stood still, tasting iron and humiliation. The maid flinched but said nothing.
The master pointed to a corner of the balcony where a puddle glistened.
"Clean that," he said with a twisted grin. "With your hands."
Alaric looked.
Piss.
His jaw tightened. "No."
The master blinked. "What?"
"I said—no."
Fury exploded in the man's face. He lunged, striking Alaric across the face, then again in the gut. A boot slammed into his chest, knocking him down.
"YOU THINK YOU'RE STILL SOMEONE? YOU'RE FILTH!"
Alaric tried to rise—but the collar flared. His body seized with pain. He dropped, shaking, unable to even scream.
Then, a voice called from below.
"Master! A carriage from house Duskwood just pulled in!"
The man froze.
"Fucking nuisance," he muttered.
He spat at Alaric's side and stormed off.
The maid lingered—her eyes flicking to Alaric, but she said nothing.
She turned and walked away.
Alaric lay there, trembling, blood drying on his cheek.
His fists clenched.
Damn it all...
DAMN this world!
He was about to punch the floor when suddenly—a soft chime echoed in his ears.
Suddenly a blue panel popped before his eyes.
[System Initiated…]
[Binding to host's soul… 10%]
[30%... 70%... 100%]
[Establishing synchronization… 30%... 100%]
Alaric blinked.
[Synchronization complete.]
[Soul Binding: Success.]
What the...?
[Awakening host's bloodline... 10%...30%...]
[!]
[Eroor609!]
[Auto-retry.]
[10%... Error!]
[Force awakening... ]
Then—
A sharp pain stung.
"Argh!"
He groaned clutching his head.
But the panel still hovered infront of him.
[!]
[Bloodline Awakening Failed!]
[Drawing a random lot for compensation.]
[Ding!]
[Congratulations host for awakening the Domination System.]
[Domination System activated!]
[Rule the strong. Break the proud. Tap the wife. Steal the life.]