Later on, she and two other girls around the same age were bought by the young man. On the way back, they were still deeply uneasy, terrified that he might turn out to be some hypocritically perverse creep.
What she hadn’t expected, however, was that the young man—taking into account the hours it would take to return to his territory—let them ride in the carriage. He didn’t force them to walk barefoot or trudge along in shackles.
This gesture drew some displeasure from the Blood Clan Maids.
The young man merely smiled and said, “No worries.”
She couldn’t help growing curious. Confined to a cage since childhood, she knew nothing of the world firsthand and had only heard snippets from the slave traders: the Blood Race was the mightiest on earth, while humans were utterly mediocre save for their vast numbers.
What baffled her most was why a human youth like him had Blood Clan Maids in his service.
Her curiosity about him only deepened.
When the carriage finally arrived at the territory, it was nothing like she’d imagined. There were no ragged clothes, no spoiled food, no dank stables, woodsheds, or storage rooms. Instead, she found crisp new maid uniforms, steaming hot meals, and a cozy, brightly lit room. It all filled her with an unprecedented sense of happiness.
Some time after that, she began hearing stories about the master from the territory’s residents. He was a newly minted human earl with an unusual surname: Inset An. He was reportedly the only one of his race to have risen so high through merit alone. He’d distinguished himself in the recent Northern War and earned the favor of the True Ancestor herself.
Good heavens!
What an extraordinary man!
His daily life, though, seemed rather dull—nothing like other nobles. Apart from practicing his swordsmanship and reading books, he had little in the way of social engagements. He spent most of his time in the mansion, venturing out only every half month or so, always accompanied by Head Maid Aisha Hodhua.
One time, she overheard a chilling snippet of conversation between the master and Aisha just before they headed out.
“Watermelon, come on, it’s time to go!”
“Ugh… what a hassle. I really don’t wanna go see the True Ancestor. I just wanna hole up and sleep all day.”
When she caught that exchange, her shock knew no bounds.
What was the True Ancestor?
The world’s most terrifying, ancient, and awe-inspiring (dreadful) being, dwelling in the Heavenly Key at the heart of the Central region—that towering spire piercing nearly a kilometer into the clouds.
And her master went to meet such an entity every half month!
…
It was now September, two months past Sang’s birthday. He had turned fifteen.
Well… speaking of which, July wasn’t truly his birthday. It was the day the orphanage had taken him in, so they’d simply made that his special day—coincidentally the same as Luna’s.
A few days earlier, while at the mansion, Sang had measured his height. Unbeknownst to him, he’d reached one meter sixty-five. He couldn’t help envying Adolf; back at the orphanage, that guy had shot up to over one meter seventy at just fourteen, while Sang had been under one meter sixty.
“Man, last life I was only one meter seventy at eighteen. This life, am I doomed not to grow any taller…?”
Sang was muttering to himself in front of the mirror in his room when a pink-haired little lolita burst in unannounced. “Respected Earl Inset An, apologies for interrupting your soliloquy, but breakfast is ready. Please come out and eat.”
Sang shot Aisha Hodhua a sideways glance.
This girl was a chameleon—one minute calling him “Lord Count” in front of others, the next slipping back to “Watermelon” in private.
It wasn’t hard to see why. Aisha was helping him maintain an air of authority among the servants. She set great store by such formalities.
Sang didn’t mind much. Eyeing the measuring tape in his hand, he got playful. “Pink-Haired Lolita, how tall are you exactly? One meter forty-five? Something like that?”
At those words, Aisha Hodhua bristled ever so slightly—not dramatically, but her pink pupils did darken a shade.
Her natural eye and hair color were both pink, so the shift to blood eyes wasn’t especially striking.
Seeing this, Sang immediately clammed up, looking crestfallen. He hurried out of the room toward the living room for breakfast.
But he hadn’t gotten far before Aisha Hodhua grabbed him. “Watermelon, your hair’s fading again. Let me redye it for you.”
Even at home, Sang kept his hair in that deep blue shade… for reasons mentioned earlier, no need to belabor the point.
“Sure, thanks.”
Setting aside those True Ancestor visits, Sang’s new life was pretty blissful.
…
After breakfast, Sang practiced his swordsmanship in the front yard. Shika was diligently pulling guard duty, perched in the yard’s birch tree nearly around the clock.
Aisha had picked it out specially—birches were common in the Northern Region but rare around the Central Hub.
For all her talk of hating Shika, Aisha clearly cared about his feelings.
The other maids, meanwhile, were bustling about indoors with cleaning—though really, the house didn’t need to be quite so spotless. Good enough was good enough.
Sang had tried nudging Shika to read more, at least learn his letters, but the guy was a born brute. He ignored everything but eating, sleeping, and patrolling the mansion grounds.
Back to the present moment.
Shika, watching Sang practice alone, grew bored and leaped down from the tree. He had no grand intentions—just wanted a quick spar.
Sang, bored with solo drills himself, agreed.
But just as they were about to square off in the yard, a faint rustle came from a large tree bordering the mansion. The next instant, Sang shot Shika a look. Shika got the message at once, springing up to the tree in a surprise leap. He bellowed, “Who’s there!?”
“Eek—waaah!”
A child’s wail echoed from the branches, followed by the thud of something heavy hitting the ground from on high. Someone had tumbled out.
A short while later, Shika returned to the house dragging two little boys—one in each hand—like chicks by the scruff. Two little girls trailed sheepishly behind him.
Four kids in all, around ten years old. The boys were named Kevin and Bob; the girls, Nora and Nancy. All locals from Dilelo Town, Sang’s own subjects.
Kevin wriggled and hollered, “Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!”
He was your typical wild rascal: messy gray short hair, sturdier than most kids his age, plain-looking but full of energy. Even caught by Shika, he thrashed with gusto, showing real budding king-of-the-hill potential.
Bob, on the other hand, was far more refined—almost too polished for a commoner’s kid. His gleaming golden curls framed a handsome face, though he was a touch slimmer than his peers. Captured too, he put up no real fight, meekly going along.
As for Nancy and Nora, the two girls hurried ahead and dropped to their knees before Sang, pleading for mercy.
“Lord, please forgive Kevin and Bob. They only wanted to sneak a peek at your sword training. They meant no harm.”
But before Sang could respond, the wild child Kevin made the next move. He… knelt as well. Not to beg forgiveness, though—to take a master.
“Lord, please teach me swordsmanship! I want to grow as strong as you—to be a mighty knight like the one who won glory in the Northern War!”
His words left everyone stunned: the other three kids, Shika, even Aisha Hodhua, who had just emerged from the house.
What… kind of play was this?
Sang was dumbfounded too… because the brat had gotten it all wrong. Mistaking the one-meter-seventy-seven Shika for the lord, he’d bowed to the wrong guy.
Sang, at one meter sixty, stood off to the side. “…”
Wait… I’m the lord…
Should I just… leave?
