Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge-Chapter 25: A Game of Masks

Chapter 25: A Game of Masks

"Yes, Oliver shouted, his voice cracking through the cages like a whip. "Stay away from me, diseased rat! Useless garbage!" His words sliced the silence, shocking not only Velma but also the other prisoners packed tightly in the rusted iron cages. Her swollen face twisted in confusion, eyes searching for a reason, a hint of truth, but all she saw was a stranger wearing her brother's face. One of her eyes, bruised and bloodied, fluttered shut as she stumbled back, pain consuming her expression.

A soldier barked an order as he stepped into the cage, then kicked Oliver hard in the chest, sending him crashing into the cage bars. The timing was perfect.

Just as Oliver hit the metal, the nobles arrived. They were young, no older than twenty, with pride stitched into their spines and arrogance in their eyes. Robes of high quality, dyed deep with indigo, crimson, and emerald, fluttered slightly as they walked. Each bore the sigil of their house upon their chest—embroidered seals of ancient bloodlines, some polished with generations of power.

Two of them bore the signet of the Vontell branch family, the same lineage Seraphina cane from, but seen as far lesser. Their noses turned up as they scanned the caged slaves like cattle. A few of them scoffed when they saw Velma.

"Ugh. That one looks half-dead."

"Probably full of lice."

"Reminds me of a mangy dog I once had put down."

Their laughter was as hollow as their empathy. Then one noble pointed beyond Velma, gesturing at another girl curled up near the cage corner. "That one," he muttered. "She's still fresh."

Oliver stood at the edge, his hands trembling. His mind echoed with guilt, whispering accusations at what he had just done. Even if it was necessary, it still tasted bitter. 'I'm sorry—I'm so sorry.'

These were words his mind screamed, but his tongue was too tied to release.

He'd raised his hand against his sister, and her blood had spilled. His hand ached, true–but his heart throbbed harder.

His mind was still in that state of questioning what he had done? As the nobles passed, his body almost instinctively moved to bow And give the slave salute–A reflex etched into his spine from years of servitude in the Somara Empire. But he caught himself. Just barely.

They had not yet been taken to the Somara Empire, it would be too strange and suspicious for him to know the salute of slaves.

His breath hitched.

His mind screamed.

But he didn't bow.

The guilt wasn't over. His passive skill, Blppd Absorption, had activated on its own. His sister's blood had been drawn into his body, feeding him strength, but the feeling had made him sick to his stomach.

Then, a voice.

"I like boys with spunk," said one noble, barely eighteen, with a devilish smirk. He had sandy brown hair cut neatly, sharp brows, and pale skin. His robe was a little too clean, his grin too hungry. "That one. I want him."

His friends laughed, patting his shoulder, a few giving sidelong glances that weren't mocking—but cautious.

It was an open secret. The boy had... eccentric tastes. But as long as the slaves weren't broken beyond use, and the guards were paid enough to keep Seraphina in the dark, it wasn't a problem.

Oliver froze. Him? Did he just point at me?

He didn't expect that. Not at all.

He was ordered out of the cage, and he followed. Step by step, dragged away from his sister, who still bled on the ground still trying to find her bearing. He glanced back one last time. She was crumpled like discarded cloth, breath ragged.

He sighed in his heart, as he wondered if she would ever forgive him for what he did.

The nobles were doing something Seraphina would not permit. Having fun when the hunt was on, was one thing. But these–to be slaves–had been numbered and accounted for. Therefore, they did not dare to take these ones to their cabins in the upper decks.

Instead, urges would need to be satisfied in dark corners.

They took several sharp turns. Eventually, they reached a small food storage room. Sacks of grain and dried meat were stacked to the sides.

The noble stepped in and closed the door. It was just both of them.

Oliver didn't cower. He didn't back away. Instead, he walked to a bag of grain and sat on it like it was his throne.

And then the noble advanced, unbuckling his shirt and belt.

"You can stop pretending now, Accra," Oliver spoke up, voice calm. "I know it's you."

The noble paused.

Then grinned.

His eyes glowed red, and a low, eerie, echo like laugh slithered out of his mouth. Not loud—but not human either.

"Damn," Accra said, tugging at the noble's face like a mask. "You're no fun. I just wanted to scare you a little."

"How did you know?" he asked.

"That's a secret," Oliver replied.

Accra chuckled. "Of course. The Heir of ruin, and his secrets."

In truth, Oliver had sensed the dark Aether. It clung to the noble's body like oil, well hidden—but not from Oliver who also had a contract with the same demon, Accra.

Besides, in the timeline Oliver came from, this noble had been caught and hanged for Contracting with demons.

This was a major Sin in the Empire. King Solomon the wise conquered demons and enslaved them. Any dealing beyond that was seen as an insult.

Then again, to think that it would be the same fallen Duke. Truly, Accra had his ways.

"This body's not bad," Accra said, stretching. "Not all nobles of the somara empire get the good stuff– even from the slaves and the dungeons. The sixth son of a outer noble like this one can barely go by with the trash commoner bloodline he was given to feed from. The gap in power only increases with his other siblings and even worse with inner nobles his age who have access to slaves with better bloodlines.

So, as the benevolent demon that I am, I offered him a contract. A few minutes of shared control each day, and he gets a taste of demonic bloodline perks."

Oliver sighed. He was not in the least surprised by this. "People always want shortcuts. Even in the Somara Empire. But greed doesn't fill the stomach—it just tears the mouth wider."

Accra tilted his head. "Old proverb?"

"From my mother."

Accra grinned, pacing now. "You're sharp, kid. That bloodline you got... exquisite. A true rarity. Blood and Nightmares, wasn't it?" He licked his lower lips sharply.

Oliver frowned. "So you did see that."

"Of course. I wasn't so far when you took the alchemist's seal."

"Hmmm, I already guessed that much. But that's not the only reason you're here."

Accra laughed again. "You're too smart. Fine. I may have tipped off a certain group of demon zealots. Told them someone in the Empire took a relic containing Asmodeus' bloodline."

"You what?!"

"Don't swear at me. It's just business. I trade secrets. What were you expecting,? I'm a demon. Besides, not as if it affects the terms of our contract."

Accra did not need to say it, but Oliver knew that it did. That was why Accra was here.

When Accra had signed a contract with Richie Von Rich, he had found loopholes to snitch certain bits to the Somara Empire. But that meant that the contract had tilted to one side and needed balancing out.

On how Accra had solved that problem, Oliver did not know, but he knew this. Contracts were too delicate. Like scale, balance was the goal, but a little tilt, especially done with experienced hands, was okay, but too much and it falls on one side.

The demon had snitched on its contracted. But the weight of the information was no small matter.

After all, Blood and Nightmare was the bloodline inheritance of a Demon Deity.

Accra needed a balancing out. But the old cunny thing will not just say it.

Then again Oliver thought of something else. If he could have an advantage over this demon now, he definitely would not mind.

"We're going to the Somara Empire! That place is a fortress against demon-kind."

"Ah, but what if the group is... the Red Spiral?"

Oliver froze. "What!?"

The Red Spiral. A cult of chaos.

Aether was getting thinner in the world.

They were many that seeked power and the glory of the old days.

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Also, without Solomon's seal they could not take advantage of the dungeons for experience points that could fuel their bloodlines.

Naturally, they turned to other means. And of course it was demons.

They was nothing they did not do, and their madness only got worse with time. Drinking demon blood and dancing on piles of corpses Was the very least.

Legends said they once burned an entire city to summon a demon prince—just for fun. Children vanished when they passed. Whole armies deserted their posts. They were madness given form.

Of course, they were nothing against the Somara empire, but they were just mad enough to actually come looking for him there.

Oliver clenched his fist. He wanted to slap Accra. But what would it do?

Another question that had been bugging him sprang up in his mind.

"What about my father?" he asked. "Richie Von Rich. Is he on this ship?"

Accra frowned. "No. Haven't seen him since the fall."

Oliver sighed. Always an enigma, that man.

"But the entire ship has been on their feet since. Unlike you, I hear Lady Seraphina has been muttering his name in her sleep, and pouring out her loss on anyone that so much as breathe too much. One might almost think she is a mourning widow."

Oliver shivered a bit at these words. From the look of things, Seraphina had bad crush on his father.

That was both scary and disgusting in his head.

Oliver massaged his head a bit, and then he remembered. "In that case, I want something."

Accra raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You gave out dangerous intel. That counts as a reveal. I want compensation."

Accra narrowed his glowing eyes. "Contract rules..."

"Exactly."

He groaned. "Fine. What do you want?"

Oliver leaned in and whispered it.

Accra blinked. Then nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do. I'll reach out again... through this body."

Later, Oliver was returned to his cage. The other slaves looked at him with pity—and curiosity. They thought they knew what had happened.

Some even assumed he was walking funny, and not because of the sway of the ship at sea.

He didn't care. Instead, he searched.

Found her.

Velma.

She was curled in the corner, face a swollen mess. When he approached, she flinched and pushed him away.

That one good eye stared at him. No words. But it held pain. Confusion. Betrayal.

He sighed. Maybe he should've left her alone.

He sat close by, not saying a word.

And like that, the day ended.

Sleep came.

And with it—the nightmare.

But this time... it was not what Oliver expected.