He tugged at them, but they didn’t budge. His heart dropped as he realized what they were. Slave bindings!
He had seen them before, on heretics dragged to his father’s estate, stripped of freedom and sold like cattle by the Holy Church.
Anxiety clawed at his chest. He knew what they meant. There were only two ways to break them: your master sets you free… or your master dies before transferring ownership.
Corvin shook his head. There was no way any of this would happen. The bald man was a proper Skill User, and judging by his confidence, probably wielding at least a Rare Icon, or maybe higher.
He sighed and started to rise when the door creaked open. A middle-aged, kind-looking woman stepped inside. Her ears tapered to points, her deep green eyes framed by hair that was more silver than blonde.
She smiled softly. “Hello, young man. I’m glad you’re awake.” Her voice carried a weary kindness. “You were in a terrible state when the master brought you.”
Corvin nodded. “Thank you for treating my wounds. If I may ask… what is an elf doing here, serving such a man?” He didn’t bother to soften the question.
The woman chuckled faintly. “I’m a half-elf. We’re not welcome on the Eludin Isles. And as you’ll soon learn…” Her smile faded into a sigh. “…our master likes to collect rare things.”
Corvin’s stomach turned. She’s trapped, too. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, bowing his head. “Forgive my improper question.”
She laughed gently. “Looks like you were raised well. May I ask your name, little sir?”
“Corvin,” he said simply.
“No last name?” Her brows lifted.
He shook his head. “Not anymore.” His voice was flat, his face grim.
The woman understood and pressed no further. “Rest for now. The master will come for you in a few days, once you’ve recovered.” She set a platter of food on the table. “Eat. Regain your strength. You’ll need it.” Her tone darkened as she left the room.
I’ll need it, huh? Corvin stared at the ceiling, rage simmering beneath his skin. Damn it all. If there are gods, I curse you, every one of you.
***
A week has passed. Corvin hadn’t been allowed to leave his room, not even once. Isolde, the half-elf woman, brought him food daily. He learned her name during those brief exchanges. She also provided a portable toilet and a small tub for washing. It felt less like care and more like preparation, like a pig being fattened for slaughter.
Late one afternoon, a guard arrived to fetch him.
They walked through a sprawling garden where slaves scrubbed stone paths and trimmed hedges. Every single one of them wore the same black bracelets he did. The sight twisted his gut. Still, the sunlight on his skin and the crisp air in his lungs felt like a fleeting mercy.
The guard led him to a mansion, not as grand as his father’s estate, but imposing enough to announce its owner’s power.
With a heavy thud, the doors swung open, and Corvin was ushered into a lavish office. Behind a mahogany desk, the bald man sat, grinning like a cat with a cornered mouse.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my guest,” he said cheerfully.
The guard closed the door and stationed himself outside, leaving Corvin alone with the man.
“Corvin, was it? I hear you and Isolde are getting along. Wonderful!” He chuckled, then leaned forward. “I have a proposition for you. I run a special team, you see, I call them dungeon investigators. They bring me lots of loot, rare items, and things of value. I’d like you to join them… once you’re stronger, of course.”
Corvin scoffed. “You make it sound like I have a choice.”
The man laughed heartily. “Not at all! But I like your spirit. You seem to be smart, and your vicious side I have already met. I think we’ll be friends.” He laughed louder.
His grin widened as he pulled a white crystal from a drawer. “Let’s see what you’ve got. This is a Status Relic. It’s usually used by large guilds or armies to check the Icon and Gift rarity and the overall strength of an individual. Here. Catch.”
He tossed the relic to Corvin. But instead of fear or curiosity, Corvin burst out laughing. “Hahahaha… you’re going to love this.”
The man frowned. “Did you lose your mind? Focus on the relic. Let it scan your body and soul.” The bracelets flared crimson, forcing Corvin to comply.
Then the crystal pulsed blue as it scanned the boy, projecting a translucent screen:
Age: 9
Icon: None
Gift: Lesser Vitality
Power: 10
The screen flickered and vanished. Silence hung heavy until the man slammed his fist on the desk.
“You’re nine? How is that possible? Look at you!” His voice rose to a roar. “And worse, you’re Iconless?! What kind of joke is this? A demonic offspring without an Icon? You should’ve inherited something good, a forbidden Icon, or at least a decent Gift! What the fuck is Lesser Vitality?!”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Corvin smirked. “Why do you think I was lost in the woods? My family didn’t like me being Iconless either… well, among other things.” His tone was calm, but inside, a spark of hope flickered. I have a Gift. It’s not an Icon, but it’s something. I’ll figure out what it does later…
The man stared at him, then sank back into his chair with a frustrated sigh. “At least your power is decent for a nine-year-old. I can still use you, but damn, you’ve ruined my day.” He rubbed his temples. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll train your body and learn dungeon work. If you can’t fight, you’ll be useful in other ways.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Guard! Get him out of my sight.”
The guard entered, retrieved the Status Relic and handed it to the bald man, and escorted Corvin back to his room.
***
The next morning, he was transferred to what was called the Dungeon Slave Company. It seemed that the bald man thought himself a funny man.
A big buff man led him into a large room lined with ten beds, though only two were occupied.
“Hey, you wastes of food and resources!” the man barked, slamming the door. “You’ve got a new friend. Show him around and meet me in twenty minutes at the training grounds.
Corvin stood awkwardly as two figures rose from their beds and approached.
One was a towering Beastkin, silver fur glinting under the light, his bear-like face set in a grin. The other was a red-scaled Lizardman with sharp yellow eyes.
“Yo,” the Beastkin said, voice deep and amused. “What sucky skill got you thrown in here with the Garbage Duo?” He chuckled at his own joke.
The Lizardman rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. I’m Stix, and this blabbermouth is Urdu. As you can see…” He tapped his black bracelet with a claw. “…we’re stuck here, same as you.”
Corvin smiled, seeing the cheerful duo. He hoped that the current situation was not terrible. “Hi, I’m Corvin. I don’t have any skills.” He said simply.
Urdu blinked. “What, are you some rare species that gets its Icon later?”
Corvin chuckled, “No, no. I’m nine years old, and I’m human, well, for the most part, but I’m Iconless.” His voice was calm; he’d already made peace with it
Both stared, jaws hanging open.
Urdu exclaimed, shocked, “You are only nine?! And zero skills?”
“Why the hell did Boridus take you in then?” Stix cut in.
Corvin smirked. “He thought I was a demonic human. Didn’t realize I was Iconless until after he dragged me here. You should’ve seen his face, it was priceless.”
The two exchanged a look and burst out laughing.
“You’re telling me he hunted you down, hauled you here, and only then found out you’ve got nothing?” Urdu roared, clutching his stomach.
Corvin nodded, grinning.
“I’ll be damned. Best news I’ve heard all year. Serves that bastard right.” Stix spat on the hardwood floor.
Corvin’s smile faded. “If I may ask…, how did you two end up here? And what happens to me now?”
Urdu’s expression darkened. “Boridus heard about a Beastkin in a nearby village with Silverbear Tribe’s bloodline from the far north. Sent his men to take me. They killed my mother when she tried to stop them.” His tone was flat, but his eyes burned. “Unlucky for him, my Icon is that of a Blacksmith, so not really useful for his needs, but he still decided to use me for his dungeon exploration needs.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Corvin said sadly.
“Eh, it’s what it is. It’s been two years already since that happened. Nothing you or I can do about it now.” He said simply.
“I came here last year. Master Boridus actually saved my life from Orcs and offered to take me in and heal my wounds. Little did I know that I would wake with a slave bracelet.” He sighed.
“Yeah, same thing happened to me.” Corvin sighed as well.
“So, what now?” Corvin asked.
“Well, we will train with the big boy from before, his name is Roary. He usually makes our days a living hell. His job is to toughen us up for dungeon runs, and afternoon lady Isolde will teach us about dungeons and dangers within.” Stix said.
“Wait, Isolde?” Corvin frowned. “I thought she was just a servant.”
Urdu laughed. “Fooled you, too, huh?”
Stix grinned. “She’s Boridus’s right hand. Didn’t you notice she doesn’t wear a slave bracelet?”
“Oh, yes! I never managed to ask her about that… But why did she play nice with me then?” Corvin asked, confused.
“Well, she was gathering info about you for Boridus, obviously, she is also his healer in the dungeon raids,” Urdu explained.
“How do you know all this?” Corvin asked.
Urdu’s face hardened. “See all these beds? When I got here, there were eight of us. They’re all dead now. A few survived long enough to tell me about the dungeons and Boridus’s crew.” His voice cracked slightly. “Good men and women. Died so that bastard could get richer.”
Stix nodded, fury simmering in his eyes. “Three died this past year, one of them also a Lizardman like me, just with a better Icon. Still, in the end, it was useless, all the training and all of the learning.” He growled.
“I see,” Corvin whispered. His head throbbed, rage boiling in his veins. Bastard. He cursed Boridus silently before asking, “How long before I’m sent on a mission?”
“I’ll be going on the next one. You have probably around three years to get ready. The dungeon they are trying to clear is open only once a year; they had one more, which they cleared last month. So, you should be safe for at least three years.” Urdu consoled him.
“Safe,” Corvin muttered bitterly.
“Now come, let’s go train with that big bastard before he whips us again.” Stix hissed as he left for the outside, Urdu behind him.
“Whipped?” Corvin paled as he followed. “Again?”
***
Outside, the dusty brown arena baked under the morning sun. A hulking red-haired man in simple armor stood waiting, arms crossed, a cruel smirk curling his lips.
“Move it, scum!” Roary barked. “A hundred laps around the arena. You’ve got one hour. If even one of you fails, everyone doubles it!”
Corvin’s jaw dropped. “A hundred? This place is almost the size of a city district!”
Roary’s grin widened. “So what? Run, or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life!”
Stix and Urdu bolted without hesitation. Seeing the madness in Roary’s eyes, Corvin swallowed hard and followed.
The laps were brutal. Dust clung to his sweat-soaked skin, his lungs burned, and his legs screamed, but he pushed through. His body, unnaturally large for his age, held up better than expected. Training under his father had left its mark. Against all odds, he finished in time.
Roary clapped mockingly. “Not bad, scum number three. Now to the Trap Course!”
Corvin frowned. What now? The ground trembled as metal groaned. From beneath the arena rose a nightmare of swinging axes, collapsing floors, and crackling electrified panels.
“Stix! Show him how it’s done,” Roary ordered.
The Lizardman leapt forward, weaving through axes with practiced grace, vaulting over vanishing tiles, then dashing across the electrified floor in a blur, clearly using a movement skill.
“See? Easy!” Roary laughed.
Corvin muttered, “I don’t have any skills…”
Roary’s eyes gleamed. “How is that my problem? Go.”
Corvin froze. He wasn’t suicidal. But Roary pulled a red token from his pocket, and Corvin’s bracelets flared crimson. Agony stabbed into his soul; a command burned into his mind.
“Just do it,” Urdu whispered. “He’ll kill you if you resist.”
Gritting his teeth, Corvin sprinted into the gauntlet. He guessed right the axes' timing, barely slipping through. The trap floors nearly claimed him as his foot landed an inch short, forcing a desperate scramble. Then came the electrified panels. He had no skills or tricks left to help him, and behind him, the ground began to vanish.
Here goes nothing. He jumped and fell short. Pain exploded as lightning tore through his body. His muscles locked, his vision blurred. Roary laughed until he finally shut the course down.
“Eh, that’s only Level 1. You’ll do better next time, scum.” He grinned as Corvin lay twitching, numb and gasping. “Rest up. We go again.”
“Level… one?” Corvin groaned, his whole body buzzing with residual shocks.
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