Below Life

Kalan awoke to the rocking motion of the vehicle.

The slave transport had just departed the quarantine station, filled with black slaves like herself.

　　"Black slaves" didn't refer to skin color, but to the "black-haired" race.

　　In the British Empire, the lighter the hair color, the nobler the status.

　　The royal family typically possessed pure, flawless white hair like fresh milk, while lesser nobles had various shades of golden hair. Below them were those with flaxen or red hair - considered mixed colors. At the very bottom, without citizenship and fit only for slavery, were those like Kalan with pure jet-black hair.

　　She also possessed matching pure black eyes.

　　This made her status even more inferior.

　　Kalan overheard the drivers talking loudly.

　　“Her Majesty is giving them as rewards to the great nobles participating in the Royal Hunt. How fortunate they are.”

　　A companion agreed, "Isn't that the truth？ Being a dog in a noble's household has better prospects than being a driver."

　　The other man nodded repeatedly: "Of course, except for Duke Silverstein. After the hunt, Her Majesty let him have first pick of the slaves he wanted. Guess what he said？"

　　“What？”

　　"'I want the one with the shortest lifespan,'" the other man lowered his voice, deliberately adopting a cold, disgusted tone. "'Spending more than three days under the same roof with such creatures would poison me to death.'"

　　Peals of laughter erupted from the driver's seat.

　　The drivers laughed till tears streamed down their faces: "Her Majesty was absolutely delighted with his answer! She picked the most fragile little thing for Grand Duke Silverstein."

　　One of them turned around and gestured with his lips toward Kalan.

　　“That one there.”

　　Kalan shrank behind others, desperately burying her face between her knees.

　　She was somewhat anemic - during vaccinations at the quarantine station, she'd fainted three times. Everyone considered her too fragile, even considering removing her from this batch of rewards to dump directly at the black slave hunting grounds in the suburbs.

　　Fortunately, Grand Duke Silverstein had requested from the Queen a slave with "the shortest lifespan.

　　"How old is she anyway？ Surely adult？" The drivers continued discussing her.

　　“Eighteen. She's an inferior race - grows slower than us.”

　　“How long do you think before she dies 'accidentally' at the Grand Duke's manor？”

　　“Tonight？”

　　“Hahahaha!”

　　The drivers burst into laughter again.

　　Karan hugged herself in terror.

　　The other slaves remained numb, not even shifting their gaze.

　　They had all come from slave-breeding farms.

　　Karan was different.

　　She had once been adopted by an ordinary family, attending school and playing with fair-haired children. Though she suffered considerable discrimination, she had more independent thought than those raised in cages.

　　Recently, the Queen amended the constitution, stripping black slaves of all civil rights.

　　The military police tore Karan from her parents' arms and locked her in a slave-breeding facility.

　　Then she found herself on this slave transport vehicle.

　　"Thornbird Manor has arrived," the driver announced, stopping the vehicle as several guards dragged Karan out.

　　Iron shackles bound her wrists, ankles, and neck.

　　The chains were thicker than her wrists, weighing her down until she had to hunch forward.

　　“All thanks to Her Majesty!”

　　“Long live the Queen! Thank you for this gift!”

　　Two voices rang out—one clear and bright, the other sly and cunning.

　　Karan barely raised her head to see a pair of angelic twins waiting at the entrance.

　　They are the firstborn Rafael and the second son Arno of Grand Duke Siegwell.

　　They were dressed in extravagant finery, hunting knives at their waists, faces lightly powdered, wearing tall stiff boots. Their hair was so pale it verged on silver-white, closest to the royal lineage, their faces so beautiful that even the world's greatest painters couldn't capture one percent of their perfection.

　　One could scarcely imagine how flawless their parents' features must have been.

　　Behind them stretched endless magnificent estates.

　　The grounds contained spire-topped architecture only slightly smaller than the royal castle, twin bell towers, a chapel, over seven hundred acres of artificial lake surrounded by private hunting grounds, golf courses, stables, and a helipad. A side gate connected to fifty kilometers of private racetrack extending outward, along with the capital's most opulent gambling club.

　　The daily maintenance cost of this estate exceeded what many families could earn in a lifetime.

　　In the Siegwell family, money was merely numbers.

　　The master of Thornbird Manor would forever possess wealth rivaling nations and peerless beauty.

　　The guards saluted the twins with utmost reverence.

　　“Then we leave Her Majesty's gift in your care, young dukes.”

　　The twins nodded with aristocratic hauteur.

　　As soon as the guards turned away, the servants dragged Karan inside the manor.

　　"D*mn it, is she going to live in our castle from now on？" Arno asked his twin brother.

　　Raphael wiped his hands vigorously and calmly replied, "Impossible. Father would never allow a Black slave within his sight."

　　“When is he coming back today？”

　　“Very late.”

　　Arno suddenly halted his steps by the door and looked back at Karan.

　　He abruptly asked, "Then can't we have some fun？"

　　The slave before them had a slender frame, clad in tattered rags that revealed glimpses of snow-white skin through the gaps.

　　Her pure body and pitiful expression were utterly captivating.

　　Raphael remained unmoved and warned his brother, "No matter how chaotic your private life is, if you dare touch a Black slave, Father will personally strangle you to death."

　　“He's returning late; he won't know.”

　　Arno dismissed the servants and then hauled Karan under the corridor on the castle's first floor.

　　Karan sensed the atmosphere growing increasingly tense.

　　She looked at Raphael and finally couldn't hold back her plea: "Save me, Raphael…"

　　Arno slapped her across the face: "How dare you call my brother by his name!"

　　The crisp sound made Raphael somewhat flustered.

　　He grabbed Ano who was about to continue, handing him a handkerchief: "I warned you not to touch the black slave. If father finds out, you won't set foot in the castle for a month. He'll make you stay at the quarantine station."

　　Ano sneered: "Quick and decisive, he won't know."

　　He threw away the handkerchief and tore off Kalan's clothes. Kalan gasped as she was suddenly pressed against a pillar.

　　Suddenly, the sound of a carriage came from the main road.

　　Ano trembled all over.

　　Raphael quickly pulled him away, then reluctantly and clumsily wrapped the torn fabric around Kalan.

　　“He's back!”

　　"Didn't you say father wouldn't return until late？" Ano panicked as he straightened his clothes, smoothing every strand of disordered hair.

　　"I don't know!" Raphael's voice rose involuntarily, unable to suppress his fear, "D*mn it, you idiot, you tore her clothes! Where are we supposed to find rags to cover her now!"

　　Ano looked around frantically, trying to find somewhere to hide Kalan.

　　While the twins were busy panicking, Karan seized the moment to break free from Raphael's grip and ran desperately, only to be knocked down by something hard around the corner.

　　An eerie silence fell over the surroundings.

　　The twins' sharp intakes of breath were painfully distinct.

　　Karan lay sprawled on the ground.

　　Before her stood a pair of deerskin boots, long straight legs, pure white silk gloves, and a platinum-bladed scepter adorned with thornbirds. Her gaze traveled upward to meet a face that bore some resemblance to the twins but belonged to a far older man—a visage of striking beauty frozen in sternness.

　　He had silver-white hair, pale and cold as moonlight, cascading nearly to his waist, meticulously tucked behind his ears. Fine eyebrows arched over an aquiline nose, and his deep blue eyes held a still, fathomless gleam—utterly devoid of emotion, like an endless expanse of snowfield.

　　This was the master of Thornbird Manor.

　　Grand Duke Sieghart.

　　Often called "The Silver Duke" due to the play on his hair color and surname.

　　Raphael and Arno stood paralyzed.

　　The enslaved girl had crashed directly into their father.

　　This was ten thousand times more horrifying than being caught in the act with her.

‘Nothing seems to go right today.’ Silvera thought to himself.

　　First, he was interrupted by some Democratic upstart during his parliamentary speech, then the Queen sent a slave to his estate, followed immediately by catching his own two sons in the act with the black slave…

　　Silvera reluctantly lowered his gaze.

　　The small slave on the ground had frighteningly black hair like storm clouds—short, messy, worse than a bird's nest. Her pale skin clung to bony limbs, making her appear even frailer than others of her dark-haired race. Her black eyes looked like holes poked into paper with a fountain pen.

　　Judging by appearance alone, she seemed younger than his sons.

　　She was practically naked, with the tattered cloth revealing everything it shouldn't.

　　She had just collided with him and carried a strange odor about her.

　　An offspring of an inferior race.

　　Utterly revolting.

　　Silvera had already passed the peak of his rage an