I stepped out of Zaydanov’s estate, the sunlight feeling a bit harsher now that I wasn't alone. I stopped for a moment and focused my gaze on the silent figure standing just behind my left shoulder. I activated the Identify skill, wanting to see the raw data beneath the unassuming exterior.

  ***

  Namo

  Race: Catkin

  Sex: Male

  Status: Normal

  Equipment:

  Job: Villager Level 11

  ***

  Namo, huh? What a plain name, I thought. It suited him, in a way. He had a remarkably ordinary look—his facial features were balanced but forgettable, and his physique was lean without being overly muscular. I didn't mind the lack of a "heroic" aesthetic; as long as he was competent in the roles I assigned him, his appearance was irrelevant. Still, a small, whimsical part of me wondered if he might turn out to be one of those ordinary-looking sword masters hidden in plain sight.

  According to the slave merchant and his own intelligence card, Namo was nineteen years old—exactly one year younger than myself. Since his primary role was to support me in the depths of the dungeon, he was currently in desperate need of the basics. He was standing on the hot cobblestones barefoot, dressed in nothing but tattered rags that looked like they had been through a war.

  As we walked toward the market district, I decided it was best to set the ground rules immediately. A clear hierarchy would prevent misunderstandings later. I kept my voice level as I spoke. I informed him that I would provide his food, his accommodations, and his equipment. In exchange, he was to obey my commands as long as they weren't absurd or suicidal. I planned for him to fight beside me and handle the occasional errand or heavy lifting. Beyond that, I didn't have much use for a subordinate.

  Namo nodded, his tail twitching slightly. He didn't seem to have any objections to the arrangement, but he seemed fixated on one specific detail: the food. He asked about the meals with a quiet, lingering worry in his voice. I suspected he had spent a significant portion of his life starving; for him, the promise of consistent nutrition was likely more valuable than any weapon. I reassured him that he would eat as I did—two solid meals a day—and that since we were earning silver in the dungeon, the cost was negligible.

  When we arrived at a local equipment shop, we had already smoothed out the basics of our "contract." He seemed compliant, which was a relief. I didn't want to spend my energy managing a rebellious slave. Inside the shop, I spent 45 silver coins on a standard copper sword, a sturdy wooden shield, and a pair of leather boots. I also noticed the state of his clothes again; the rags were barely holding together. Even though he didn't ask for it, I spent another 15 silver on a simple t-shirt and a pair of durable pants.

  Namo looked genuinely surprised when I handed him the clothes. For him, the sword and shield were tools of the trade—investments in his master's survival. But new clothes were a luxury. He tried to tell me that his rags were "fine," but I cut him off, pointing out that they were about to fall apart and I didn't want to go shopping twice. He reluctantly accepted them, his expression a mix of confusion and quiet gratitude.

  By the late afternoon, we finally arrived back at the inn. The sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows across the wooden porch.

  “Alright. This is where we will be staying,” I said, pitching my voice with a firm, master-like authority. “It would be best for you to get used to the layout quickly.”

  “Understood,” he replied. His voice was soft, lacking any real force or defiance.

  He wasn't particularly talkative, which suited me fine. I reminded myself not to get too casual; while we might become closer as we bleed together in the dungeon, the legal and social reality of our relationship was Master and Slave. Forgetting that could lead to trouble in a city like Targashar.

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  Stephen, the innkeeper, greeted us at the door, his eyes immediately darting to the new addition at my side. I could practically see the copper coins clicking in his mind as he calculated the extra revenue.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Han… I see you’ve made a purchase?”

  “Yes. This is Namo,” I said. “He’ll be staying in my room. I’ll need an extra blanket for him—he’ll be sleeping on the floor, but I want him to have some padding.”

  “Of course, sir! I’ll bring a fresh blanket up shortly,” Stephen replied with a courteous bow. He seemed to be treating me with even more deference than usual, perhaps thinking that owning a slave gave me some new level of dignity or social standing.

  “Thanks. Also, my current stay has run out. I’d like to renew for another ten days,” I said, giving him the news he was clearly waiting for.

  Stephen’s eyes gleamed, and a broad smile spread across his face. “Yes, sir! I was just about to mention that. How many days were you thinking?”

  “Ten days. Breakfast and dinner for two people every day. And I want an extra pail of hot water and a towel delivered after dinner every night,” I specified.

  Stephen’s fingers moved in the air as he performed the mental math. “Very well! Ten days of accommodation is 10 silver. Meals for two people for ten days comes to 4 silver. The extra water and towel service is 1 silver. That brings the total to 15 silver coins, sir.”

  I let out an internal sigh as I pulled the coins from my pouch. I had spent a staggering amount of money today—fifteen gold for the slave, nearly one gold for equipment, and now another fifteen silver for the inn. I was down to my final five silver Obscuras. I was effectively broke, though fortunately, my essential needs were now covered for the next week and a half.

  Once the money changed hands, Stephen hurried to the kitchen to fetch our food. I found an empty table in the corner of the common room and gestured for Namo to sit across from me. He hovered by the chair, looking deeply unsure.

  “Are you sure, master?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper.

  “About what? Sitting? Of course. I told you that you wouldn't have to worry about food anymore,” I replied, not quite catching his meaning at first.

  “Thank you... but is it okay? To sit at the table? With you?”

  I realized then that the social gap was wider in his mind than mine. In his experience, a slave likely didn't share a table with their master in public. I didn't want to make a scene, but I also didn't want him standing there like a statue while I ate.

  “Yes, Namo. Sit. We need to eat and rest before tomorrow,” I said casually, trying to de-escalate the issue. When he still hesitated, I lowered my voice and added a touch of intimidation. “Namo. Please sit. You are to do what I say, remember?”

  “O-okay,” he stammered, his tail fluttering nervously as he dropped into the chair.

  Stephen brought the meals—the usual plain fare of bread and thick stew. I noticed that Namo didn't touch his spoon until I had taken my first bite. He didn't wait for a direct command to eat, which was a relief, but his movements were incredibly cautious, as if he expected the food to be snatched away at any moment.

  After dinner, we retreated to our room. I showed him the space and explained the nightly routine. “The innkeeper is bringing your blanket. You’ll clean yourself with the hot water before changing into those new clothes.”

  Namo looked at me as if I’d suggested he bathe in liquid gold. “Master... you don't have to pay for that. I don’t need to clean myself.”

  “You don’t think you need it?” I felt a flash of irritation. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to be side-by-side in a cramped dungeon all day. I’m not going to spend my shifts smelling you. You will wash. Period.”

  “S-sorry, master. I will clean, then,” he said, quickly retreating into obedience. He seemed to have a habit of rejecting goodwill out of habit, but he didn't push back once a direct order was given.

  When the water arrived, we both washed and changed. I felt mentally exhausted; the day had been a whirlwind of high-stakes negotiations and logistical management. I was financially drained, holding only 5 silver Obscuras, but I had a companion and a week of security. I just hoped I wouldn't face any major emergencies before I could earn back my buffer.

  Namo spread his blanket on the floor and curled up on it, looking more comfortable than he had all day. I lay back on my own bed and opened the System Window. I wanted to see the final results of today's clear.

  ***

  Equipped Jobs:

  Swordsman Level 26

  Warrior Level 20

  Dungeon Raider Level 20

  Monk Level 16

  Hunter Level 29

  ***

  The growth was satisfying. I had hit Level 20 in both Warrior and Dungeon Raider. I found myself wondering if my experience-related skills would benefit Namo. If we were in a formal party, would he share in the 49x multiplier from my upgraded skills? If so, he would become a powerhouse in a matter of days. If not, I would have to find another way to pull him up to my level.

  It had been a fulfilling, dense day. I closed the window, the blue light fading from the room, and let myself fall into a deep sleep.

  [Edited]