Chapter 4: Sure, I’m a Slave—But You’d Better Move Aside
589words
Also known as: the day we lowly slaves get dragged out to scrub the outer walls of the main estate, shovel horse dung, and listen to the noble brats laugh and ask why we don’t just “turn into wolves and lick it clean.”
“Hurry up! Anyone dragging their feet loses water rations!”
Our handler squawked like a bald vulture.
I strolled along with my broom, calm and unbothered, like I was on my way to buy honey cakes at the market.
“Daphne! What are you doing?! Hurry up!”
Amy turned to look at me, panicked, nearly in tears.
“I’m waiting,” I said with a grin, “for that little noble brat to get out of the way.”
“Huh?”
I pointed ahead. A boy in white robes was lounging smack in the middle of the path, swirling a silver goblet and holding a nearly-unconscious slave by the collar.
I knew that boy—Cassiel Veyn.
One of the worst Betas in the pack. Big mouth, loves tormenting slaves, and annoyingly good-looking in a “makes-you-want-to-punch-his-face” kind of way.
In my past life, he not only beat me senseless, but nearly kicked Amy out of the stables—to “feed the wolves.”
I narrowed my eyes and slammed my broom against the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
“Ugh—who the hell raised this much dirt?!”
Cassiel coughed.
“Me.” I raised my hand cheerfully.
He looked over at me like I was some moldy rag. “You new?”
“Old model. Refurbished.”
I walked right up and stabbed my broom into the ground by his foot.
“Now, kindly move. I’ve got cleaning to do.”
“You know who I am?”
Cassiel smirked.
“Of course,” I said sweetly. “Cassiel Veyn. Chronic abuser with underdeveloped empathy, using slave-bashing to cope with daddy issues.”
The whole area went dead silent.
“You—” His face turned scarlet. “You’ve got a death wish!”
He raised his whip.
But I didn’t back away. I stepped closer.
“Go ahead and hit me,” I said, loud and clear. “But after that, you’ll need to figure out how to explain your accidental fall into the river tonight.”
He froze. “How… how do you know about that?”
I tilted my head and smiled. “Lucky guess. Just like how I can also guess that tomorrow you’ll sprain your ankle, the day after that your horse will mysteriously escape, and next week—your mother will receive a letter full of very interesting little secrets.”
His pupils contracted. Then he smiled—like a fox with its tail stepped on.
“You’re not a regular slave.”
“And you’re not a regular disappointment,” I shot back.
He slowly lowered his whip and dropped the slave he was holding.
“Fine. Floor’s all yours.”
He turned and walked off—still looking annoyingly elegant.
Amy stared at me like I’d just eaten a lightning bolt.
“You… did you just scare off Cassiel?”
I raised my broom like a victory banner.
“Didn’t scare him off. I taught him something: I might be a slave—but he still needs to step aside.”
Behind me, someone quietly handed me a newer, better broom.
I raised an eyebrow.
It was the boy Cassiel had just beaten—his face still bloodied, but his eyes calm and sharp.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Jero,” he said steadily.
I looked at him, carefully remembering that name.
Because in my last life, he was the only one who collected my body after I died.
But this time?
He’s not burying me.
He’s coming with me—up the stairs, to drag down every last person who ever stood on our backs.
