As you walked through the market people turned their heads away from you, some in respect, some in disgust, most avoided you out of fear.

Anon the Sadist, the son of a well known noble from the Ymous family. Your father was infamous for his brutal punishments of servants and slaves. His most distinguished characteristic, one that made him so feared, was his cold, dead stare with which he would terrify those who stood before him. Some said you could stare in the endless void that was his eyes, and feel your soul being sucked in. The inhabitants of the city felt no safer after his passing when his firstborn, Anon Ymous took control of his father’s land and resumed his activities.

You had yet to show these plebeians what you were capable of, yet everyone already expected the worst. Mentioning your name in a good light was one of the greatest acts of buffoonery.

Today, you decided to begin your practice so you’d take good care of your father’s legacy, and that begins by taking a stroll through the market and buying your first very own slaves, ones that you’d pick.

You walked past the farmers offering their produce in chants. The houses around you were in a declining state. You followed the trail of the market until you had reached an alleyway that lead to a more secluded part of the town, known for offering legal yet questionable services. You glanced over the merchants of cloth and silk, most likely contraband they sneaked in the kingdom to avoid Princess Luna’s taxes. Some shady old magician is selling off brand spell books he most likely wrote word for word from somewhere else. The smell of putrid rotten fish comes to your nostrils and almost makes you recoil in disgust. To your side, Dorian, your servant, anxiously wishes to speak up, but is wary of his old master’s distaste for unsolicited help. Even here, the people seemed to eye you with repulsion, except those that dealt with your father.

This repugnant part of town tends to draw in a lot of riffraff, but that is precisely why you’re here, it’s the one place you can find what you’re looking for in broad daylight. Soon enough you see them. Slaves of all kinds, pretty young ladies, useful and pretty old ladies, robust men for labour and femenine young boys for the inverse, and girls as well. Slavery does not know discrimination in this country either, the people on sale range from white to black, western and eastern, humans to half humans to kemonomimi. Those caught in whatever circumstance put the chains around them found their way into the capital’s market. Going over the individuals, you glanced over the many options, all for the highest bidder.

Your eyes jumped from old ladies to the younger ones. Men inspired no interest in you, thankfully, unlike some other noble households. Instead, you eyed three young girls.

“Dorian, those three over there.”

“T-The little ones, sir?”

“Yes…”

Dorian recoiled with concern. He believed you were the son of his old lord, but secretly wished that even a glimpse of humanity would spark in your soul. He figured it was as black as a void, just like your father’s.

You spoke with the trader that was holding the auction. He gave you the details of the girls, where they were acquired from, the state of their health and, figuring you were a man of peculiar tastes, he also assured you of their ‘purity’. Street merchants tend to upsell their products, most their business is based around babbling and sweet talking.

Dorian watched, his limbs became jittery and shaky, barely keeping himself together. You eyed the slaves from top to bottom, three in total, varying ages. One of them looks like a toddler, while the other look around nine to eleven years old. Could be wrong, however. Dorian feared for the lives of the poor girls and also for his. Being witnessed in this part of town wasn’t exactly great for a job history.

First came the first girl, one that stood out the most because of something. She seemed curious rather than scared, not even confused. Just curious, pondering where she was, and who everyone was.

She eyed you with emerald green eyes. Her hair was blonde and reached to her shoulders. Covering her torso down to her knees was an old, but high quality piece of rags. She was barefoot, as expected, and had dirt all over herself as if she had been brought in a sack of potatoes. The girl waved at you with her hand, even though she was close to you already. You waved back, and in her face appeared a happy, shiny smile that made a contrast to her dirty face and unkempt hair.

“I’ll take this one…” You muttered to yourself.

The second girl was sitting on the floor, sinking onto her knees with a lost stare. At first all you could see was a mess of fluffy blonde hair, and horns. Sheep horns to be precise. Instead of rags she’s wearing a light green dress, albeit one of the strings holding it together by her right side was torn apart. No amount of yelling could get her to stand up. The slaver had refused to whip her, they’re worth more if they have fewer scars. You knelt on the dirty floor to see her better. Only then did she lift her gaze from the ground. You got a little peep of the girl’s saddened face and one of her nipples as well, in brief flashes of a cut in her dress. Not bothering to cover it, her empty purple eyes seemed aloof to your presence. It was as if she couldn’t muster the strength to fear you.

“Mmm.”

And, for the last pick of today, another girl with horns, except these are more like a bull’s, yet not quite. They’re fat, black, and have colorful gray stripes. The slaver steps in once more to inform you she’s sort of a wizard girl, caught by some spirit hunter, and restrained by magic by the cuffs on each of her hands and neck. The slaver mentions that she has some spunk, but nothing that can’t be ‘fixed’. The girl is smaller when compared to the others, her black horns protruding out her silver hair and making a very pronounced distinction in size. She wears a black robe instead of rags, but in no better condition.

Even though her appearance was more eye catching than the other’s, what made her stand out the most was her rebellion. She spoke to you and the slaver directly, disregarding her own safety.

“I’ll murder you too, human.” Her eyes lock in with yours, beaming disgust and horror, fiercely defiant, yet utterly powerless. A pointless attempt at intimidation. Now who does she think she is? She shouldn’t be allowed to muster such an expression when she’s bound by the neck like a dog.

Something’s off about her threat, however. You’ve seen what people composed the nobles, and the things they were willing to do.

…

She doesn’t have that look.

“That settles it. Dorian, I’ll be taking these three.”

After the transaction was complete, you were given the paper that certified your ownership of the three girls. Your very first, very own slaves. And now, time to take them back home. With a disingenuous thanks for the slaver, Dorian, you and your slaves walked back home.

~*~

You stood the three girls in a line, all facing forward. You had gotten their names from the slaver bill of sale; Nene, Watame, Laplus. Now it was time to inspect the goods in the comfort of your home, Dorian watching in anguish from the side.

First you approached Nenechi. She had a permanent smile imprinted on her face. You got a hold of the rags on Nenechi, whom tilted her head to the side. You lifted them a bit, Nenechi instinctively covered her womanhood. You raised the rags enough to see her stomach. Prominently, her ribs were bulging out of her skin. The poor girl was severely malnourished, as expected of a someone that has been transported as cattle across the country. Yet, she seems very energetic. Perhaps she’s too stupid to realize the situation she’s in. No signs of bruises or physical abuse, other than a few unremarkable ones she probably got playing around. You let go of her clothes and she blushed.

Watame stands silently, her eyes are still void. You wished to ask where she got her dress from, but you figured she wouldn’t speak. Perhaps in another moment. Whatever brought those purple eyes to such a state of hopelessness? There is not a spark of life in them. Instead of lifting Watame’s clothes, you simply looked through the thin dress, as it showed some developing breasts and ribs with its contour. She has yet to make a sound of any kind, displeasure, fear, anything,

Finally, Laplus, whose body language still shows rebellion and opposition. You inspected the massive black neck chain and handcuffs. They were not big or heavy enough however to render her unable to eat comfortably or such, or at least Laplus showed no difficulty moving around with them. If what the slaver said stands true, she might be a powerful demon, but her powers are supposedly sealed, that only makes you all the more interested. Much like the case of Watame. Curiosity was a strong itch, you wanted to bombard her with questions, but perhaps its best to learn with time, right now she seems she’ll spit in your face to whatever you say.

You showed the girls to their room. A spacious part of the house, and rather empty except for three beds next to each other. Sunlight peeked from a large window that let the girls see onto your backyard, a garden with fruit, being worked by newly hired hand. Dorian was relieved the girls hadn’t been bought for working, but now he feared they’d be used for something else.

“I shall get the rest of the furniture later. Wait here until I come back.”

With that, you told the girls to get in, all of them with different levels of compliance. You closed the door and turned to Dorian.

“Dorian, call Mio and tell her to get the bath ready, I’ll have her wash the girls thoroughly, then I want you to tell our chef to incorporate their meals into our routine.”

“U-Understood, sir. Gruel and water?” He spoke with monotony.

As soon as the words of your servant reached your ears, you felt one of your veins pop up in your head. Your head slowly turned to face him.

“What?” You replied. Your eyes beamed with indignant disgust. Dorian shook in place, fearing your anger. “Three meals per day. For breakfast I want them eating oatmeal and milk, maybe fresh fruit juice should the season call for it. For lunch they’ll snack on whatever the chef makes, but for dinner, and I will stress this thoroughly, I want them eating as we do. Everything, entrees, main course, and maybe a little dessert if they’ve been good. Understood?”

Dorian was baffled, as if he had just witnessed a paradox told by a jester, and began giving you the same advice he’d given his old lord should he come with a rather extravagant request that could be costly, complicated, or even bizarre.

“M-My lord, I believe that’s a little excessive for slaves…”

Now you were mad. For the first time, Dorian saw something akin to the eyes of his old master in you, his glare. Yours however, was a lot more faint. Still, you stood firmly with your indignant look.

“Dorian, what have I done for you to insult me like this? Have I ever held you famished? Have you not eaten well under my roof?”

“I-I mean… No, of course not, sir.”

“This is not an orphanage, nor a tavern. I will not serve lowly dog chow to anyone who lives under my wing. Look at them, they’re more bones than meat. If I begin now they’ll break too easily. And when they grow, it’s best that they have something for me to grab onto.” You let out a creepy smile and laugh. Dorian watched in awe. "Schedule with Frau Kaela so that she may teach them to read and write."

"You're sending them to study...?"

"I will not be seen with stupid women holding my hands, you animal! Now go!"

With that, Dorian bolted out of sight, sweating profusely and barely holding himself together.

You stared back at the door of the room the girls were inside.

“Now, I will take my time.” You smiled. “I will turn them into the perfect, perfect slaves.”

~*~

You wrote down a letter on a piece of paper, addressing an old friend that you kept in contact with. Something about a french play or so, and how riveting it was. The soft footsteps of Watame approached your position. She stood outside your room, watching you through the door frame.

“Papa…”

“Eh?”

Watame walked over to you and tapped on your thighs.

“Ha… Again? You’re getting too old for this…”

Still, you didn’t refuse her. Watame sat on top of your legs and sunk herself into your chest, soft breaths and happy giggles immediately followed.

“Papa’s so warm…”

How long has been it since then? Five, six years? It’s incredible how quickly time passes when you’re busy raising three little girls. Now that you hold Watame in your arms, you realize she’s falling asleep.

“My sweet girls. I wonder how the other two are doing…”

Surrounding you were the walls of a small cabin. Your power and riches had been reduced to a magic wand with enough energy to cast a few blinding sparks, and a couple sacks of flour and fresh fish.

As you felt Watame’s breath on your neck, you snapped your fingers, beckoning Mio to your aid. With a tender laugh, she takes the girl from you and walks off.

The sky is rather clear today. Maybe you’ll be able to see Laplus watching from above.