* * *

By this time, Akan was barely used to the work, the violence and the hunger. But when he was suddenly dragged to a place, he experienced pain he had never imagined. They dragged the boy, who couldn’t even stand up because of the unfamiliar form of violence, and threw him back into the pit, treating him like a rag.

His overworked body was burning with fever. He couldn’t even lie down properly, and every breath that escaped his constricted chest was a struggle. The air in the damp cellar was so heavy and musty that it was even harder to breathe.

Akan regretted his past as his head burned. He should have died. When he was first thrown into that pit, he should have ended his life without hesitation. When he couldn’t find a blade or a rope, he should have smashed his head against the stone wall.

The price of inaction was high. But the reason he couldn’t go to his father’s side was because he didn’t have the strength to stand up.

“Are you all right…?”

It was an old woman. One of the many slaves in the cellar, where there was no distinction between men, women, children or adults, all raised like a herd of pigs. Unlike the others, who found the sound of his panting annoying, the woman carefully tended to the moaning boy.

The warmth of a human body touched his cracked lips. Akan turned his head away, but he couldn’t hide the sad expression on the woman’s face. She carefully brought a dirty water bottle to his lips and, with no strength to resist, gently poured water into his slightly parted mouth.

“Just hold on a little longer. Soon… we’ll be able to get you some medicine. They don’t want us to die either.”

The woman whispered, gently closing his feverish eyes. This place, where countless slaves were bought and sold every day, was not a place where there was room for compassion for a child. It was common for children, barely able to walk, to be taken like prey and passed from one hand to another.

But the woman had a special concern for this boy. The story of how he went from noble to slave didn’t feel like someone else’s story to her.

The woman was born a slave, but she was one of the luckier ones. It was unclear what noble lineage her mother had, but she was born with blond hair, a trait favoured by the nobility. This allowed her to avoid the most difficult jobs. The merchant who bought her from her mother’s owner raised her well, saying that when she grew up she would fetch a good price.

The first owner who bought her as an adult was not a bad person. She was treated as a mistress, not a slave, and the children she bore were treated in the same way. The woman had even forgotten that she was a slave – until her owner died suddenly.

“Ugh… huh.”

Even as he slept, the boy let out a whimper mixed with groans of pain. There was nothing the woman could do but brush the sweat-soaked hair from his face, just as she had done for her children when they were sold separately.

As an adult, she had no advice to give this little child. Should she tell him that with his pretty face, if he put aside his pride and behaved sweetly, he would be well fed and sleep comfortably?

“You must live. You must live. Then one day…”

She seemed to hear such words in his half-conscious state. Contrary to her expectations, there was still no medicine the next day. Akan’s fever finally broke, and three days later he regained his senses. By then, the old blonde woman had disappeared from the cellar.

When the fever subsided, Akan was dragged and beaten before he could learn the woman’s whereabouts. The old slave, frail and broken, whom no one would buy, had begged for medicine to relieve the fever, but was hit on the head with a bottle of liquor and died instantly. As his fever rose, Akan had wished he would just die, but he felt neither gratitude nor remorse towards the woman.

Even when he regained his strength, he didn’t bang his head against the wall. The woman’s unfinished words continued to ring in his ears. It was clear that it wasn’t the nameless boy who had wished for her survival, but in the end it was Akan who survived.

Years later, after meeting Duke Mos, he was finally able to learn the names and stories of the woman and her son and daughter who had died long before her. Perhaps he had thought that since a debt is a debt, it must be repaid.

“It wasn’t anything special.

The woman’s story was trivial. Had she saved Akan in the hope that someone would show mercy to her children who had been sold?

In the end, there was no one left to collect the debt on her behalf. Akan grumbled as he crumpled the document, which contained only the names of the dead. Because of that foolish woman, he thought he had missed his chance to die in vain.

Even in the desert, it rained sometimes.

***

Ansley, the Baron, was in charge of the Duke Mos’s most secret affairs. He took great pride in this. He didn’t hesitate to make sacrifices to prove his competence and live up to expectations. The investigation, which began with a few faint clues in the Princess’s brief note, was made possible by the Baron’s tireless efforts.

The investigation revealed that the pseudonym listed as the sponsor of the slave traders didn’t refer to a single person, but to a group travelling together and using the same name. Eventually, Duke Mos was able to divide the slavers’ backers into several groups.

At first, the captured slavers readily admitted to abusing their slaves, as it wasn’t considered a crime. However, no one revealed the identity of those behind it.

The fact that slavery was legal didn’t pose much of a problem. The Akan charged them with minor offences and had them locked up. Within days, the traders were eager to reveal the identities of those behind the operation.

The soldiers guarding the prison, former slaves themselves, easily recognised the traders who had abused them. The next morning, the man was always carried out dead. No matter how much wealth he had amassed on the outside, his life would be forfeited before his connections could reach him.

But even after Akan received the full list, the prison doors never opened and the bloodshed continued. From the start, Akan had never promised to spare anyone in exchange for revealing the identities of those behind the operation. If loyalty was owed to anyone, it was to him. The soldiers eagerly devoured the rotten meat the Emperor had given them.

With the slavers taken care of, it was time to move on. But unlike the merchants, who were only lesser nobles, the noble figures behind them required special care. Akan and Duke Mos were busy every day preparing a grand stage for them.

“Let’s take a break for a moment.”

Duke Mos took his eyes off the documents he had been buried in all morning. Only then did Akan notice the time. It was past noon. Akan nodded and rose from his chair.

Duke Mos watched Akan’s back as he left the office. His destination was probably not the dining hall.

Lately, Akan had been unusually cooperative with Duke Mos’ plans. The nights of bad dreams had lessened and he no longer had trouble controlling his anger. It wasn’t just because the slave issue was going smoothly.

Despite what he pretended, he was at peace for the moment. If this continued, the final outcome might change a little. Duke Mos thought that wouldn’t be so bad.

Akan left the office and made his way to the princess’s chambers. Although he knew it was pointless, these trivial visits had become part of his daily routine.

When he opened the door, he saw Robellia sitting absentmindedly at a small table by the window that wouldn’t open. Her face, which had been looking out the window, slowly turned towards the sound of the door opening. The vacant look in her eyes was replaced by a spark of life. The corners of her mouth, which had been drooping, turned up slightly.

“Akan.”

Akan didn’t know what expression was on his face. All he could feel was the calm in his chest, once stormy, now peaceful. Even if it was only a short moment of peace in the middle of a storm.

“Just in time, I was about to make some tea. Sit down.”