novelraw Chapter 68: A new start.
Chapter 68: A new start.
He had the Witches. And he had the "Higher Slaves"—Aisha, Kelvin, and the early recruits.
It had happened by accident at first. Raphael had "disciplined" a rebellious slave, breaking his spirit so thoroughly that when Ash walked in, the man pledged eternal loyalty out of sheer terror. The System counted it.
Since then, it had become a tradition. An industrial process.
When a new slave was brought under Ash’s banner, the Higher Slaves would vote on who would handle the "orientation."
Sometimes it was Asmodea, using her charms to twist their minds into loving Ash. Sometimes it was Satanachia, drilling them until they found purpose in war. Sometimes it was just Aisha, offering them kindness in Ash’s name.
The result was the same. The Trauma Quests were completed. The loyalty skyrocketed. And Ash didn’t have to lift a finger.
He was farming devotion.
The city outside his window was no longer a place of suffering. It was a well-oiled machine, a fortress of fanatics building a kingdom for their savior.
Ash swung his legs out of bed, his bare feet touching the cool tiles.
He walked to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. He looked different than he had months ago. Taller. His muscles were denser, his aura more contained but heavier.
He had an army. He had a city. He had the Seven Deadly Witches.
Now, he just needed to check his progress.
"System," Ash uttered, his voice echoing in the large room. "Show me my stats."
Blue light flooded the room, illuminating the dark corners.
[Status Window]
Name: Ash
Race: Human (Awakened)
Class: Monarch of Sins (Unique) / Slave Master
[Unique Skills]
Slave Contract (Rank S): Limit 212/500.Sin Resonance (Rank ???): Allows user to borrow 20% of the stats of any bonded Member of the Court of Sins. Currently Active: 7/7.Shadow Step (Rank A)Kings Haki (Rank S) etc.
[Titles]
Harbinger: Increases affinity with Dark types by 100%.King of Witches: All female subordinates gain +50% morale when in your presence.
Ash clenched his fist, feeling the hum of power beneath his skin.
The numbers were beautiful. Level 42. In the span of a few months, he had jumped nearly twenty skills up. It was unheard of for a human.
The shared experience from over two hundred subordinates killing beasts and clearing dungeons in his name was a cheat code.
"Not enough," he muttered, dismissing the screen with a sharp gesture.
It was never enough. The Heroes he had killed were weaklings compared to the ones sitting in the High Capitals. And the Gods watching from above? He was still an ant to them. A very strong ant, but an ant nonetheless.
A soft knock came at the heavy oak door.
"Enter."
The door creaked open, and two maids shuffled in. One was a fox-kin with russet ears, the other a human with a scar running down her cheek. They carried a basin of water and fresh clothes.
They didn’t look at him directly. They kept their eyes glued to the floor, their hands trembling—not with fear, but with an intense, vibrating excitement. To be in the presence of the King was the highest honor in the city.
"Good morning, My Lord," they chimed in unison.
Ash stood still as they wiped him down and dressed him in a black tunic embroidered with silver thread—Raphael’s choice, naturally. She insisted he dress the part of a ruler.
As the fox-kin buttoned his collar, her fingers brushed his neck. She flinched as if she had been burned, her face flushing a deep crimson.
"Forgive me, Lord!" she squeaked, looking ready to prostrate herself.
"It’s fine," Ash said, his voice flat. "Finish up."
"Yes! Yes, immediately!"
He watched them in the mirror. Their devotion was absolute. The ’Trauma Quests’ worked wonders. By breaking them down and building them back up with him as their sole center of gravity, the Witches had created a populace that would walk into dragon fire if he asked them to.
Once he was dressed, the maids bowed deeply and backed out of the room, leaving the door open for the next visitor.
Raphael didn’t knock as she strode into the room.
Holding a clipboard that looked comically out of place in her hands. She was wearing a modified version of her usual dress, something more practical for "administration," though it still left plenty of skin exposed.
"You look decent," she noted, looking him up and down with critical eyes. "Though the collar is stiff, Leviathan’s tailoring leaves much to be desired."
"The report, Raphael," Ash said, walking over to the table where a breakfast of fruits and cured meats waited.
"Impatient as always," she smirked, handing him the clipboard. "None of the monsters have left the dungeon so far. Those who can fight are keeping them at bay so there is nothing to worry about."
Ash took a bite of an apple. "I see. That is good then."
He walked to the balcony and pushed the doors open.
The roar of the city hit him.
It wasn’t the chaotic noise of a market. It was the rhythmic, disciplined sound of industry. Below him, the city of ’Bastion’—as he had named it—sprawled out.
Stone walls were being reinforced by earth mages. Blacksmith forges puffed gray smoke into the sky where weapons were being mass-produced. In the central square, regiments of former slaves were drilling, their movements synchronized.
Overseeing the drill was a woman in full plate armor—Satanachia. Even from this height, Ash could hear her screaming insults that would make a sailor blush.
"You seem awfully calm, Master," Raphael said, stepping up beside him. Her shoulder brushed against his. "Is my master finally appreciating all that I am building for him?"
"What?" Ash raised a brow. "Quit speaking like that?"
Raphael’s expression tightened slightly. "Hahaha, harsh as always.."
Ash stopped chewing. "Where is Aisha?"
"She is leading the adventurers into the dungeons, she said she wanted to find a challenge or something like that," Raphael said simply.
Ash sighed. "I told her there was no reason for her to fight.."
"She said they looked ’crispy.’" Raphael shrugged, clearly unbothered by Aisha’s disobedience.
Ash gripped the stone railing of the balcony, remembering a few details.
The Church of Light. The organization that backed Hero Isaac. The ones who had hunted Echidna.
"If they sent scouts, an army will follow eventually," Ash mused. "I think it’s time we stopped hiding; my forces are strong enough already."
He turned back to the room, his eyes cold.
"Where is the ’Guest’?"
Raphael’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "The Hero Morgan? He is in the dungeon, level three. Echidna has been watching him. She says he wakes up periodically, screams your name, and then passes out from mana exhaustion. It’s quite pathetic."
"Is he broken yet?"
"Not entirely. Heroes are resilient cockroaches. His mind is fracturing, but he still clings to his ’justice’ like a security blanket."
Ash walked past her, heading for the door. The air around him darkened, the shadows stretching to clear a path for him.
"Then let’s go pay him a visit," Ash said. "I think it’s time I explained to him exactly why his party died."
Raphael followed, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
"Shall I summon the others?"
"No," Ash said. "Just you."
...
The air in the dungeon was a stale mix of iron, ozone, and damp stone. The flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows, making the rough-hewn walls seem to writhe.
Unlike the meticulously carved stone of Bastion, this place was raw, a natural vein of concentrated mana that spawned monsters and had been crudely exploited by the slave traders for quick income.
Ash and Raphael descended the winding stone staircase.
Raphael kept a half-step behind and to the side, maintaining a posture of deference that was both calculated and genuine.
"The Hero is chained in the observation pit," Raphael informed him, her voice a low murmur that seemed to absorb the dungeon’s oppressive silence. "Echidna has rigged it to automatically siphon his mana the moment he tries to activate any of his skills. It’s a beautifully cruel design."
"I expect nothing less from the Witch of Envy," Ash replied, not slowing his pace.
A low, rattling moan reached them before they saw the room.
They reached a wide circular cavern, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the center was a deep, open pit—the observation pit. Chains of an enchanted, dull metal were bolted into the rock walls surrounding it.
At the bottom of the pit, curled into a fetal position amidst a thin layer of dirty straw, was a man. His clothes were torn, caked with sweat and grime, and his blond hair was matted. This was Morgan, the ’Guest,’ a member of the hero’s party.
He was currently convulsing, a weak, guttural sound escaping his lips as the chains around his wrists and ankles glowed faintly, draining the last dregs of his power.
Leaning against the wall opposite the pit, a smile of serene cruelty playing on her face, was Echidna. The Witch of Envy wore a simple black robe that contrasted sharply with her unnaturally pale skin.
...
[A/N]
The last few Chapters have not been my best. But i am building it up to something better.