The minutes started to stretch but the door to the interview room did not open.

  Finally, it opened, only for another attendant to enter the room.

  Klarion noted that the man had entered alone, posture rigid and stressed. He briefly bowed to Klarion before turning to head over to the female attendant who had been helping him. Leaning in close, the man whispered something in her ear, then returned to the door, bowed to Klarion once more, and left. The door closed behind him, and no one else came inside.

  The attendant who had been helping him to this point gave a bow of her own. “My apologies, Scion Blacksword. I regret to inform you that there are no longer any available candidates at this time for the position of Steward in Blacksword Manor. It seems I spoke in error earlier about there being potential candidates to consider.”

  Klarion leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “No available candidates? At all?”

  The attendant hesitated, an almost imperceptible pause, but Klarion caught it. “More accurately,” she amended, “the few candidates we had available for the number of Coins of Service you have remaining, have… declined consideration.”

  From her place at his side, Hatsune stiffened. Klarion didn’t need to glance her way to feel how upset she was.

  “They refused because of my House.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  And the attendant’s silence was answer enough. Instead of confirming it outright, she gave another small, deferential bow — a gesture that acknowledged the reality of the situation without speaking it aloud.

  Klarion suppressed the frustration he could feel building in his chest. He’d suspected that House Blacksword’s reputation might turn into a problem for selecting servants, but when all the other interviews for positions, except for the ogre’s, had progressed so smoothly, he had begun to hope it wouldn’t be an issue. But apparently it was.

  Or perhaps there was active interference from another scion? After all, the position of Steward would be a prestigious one. A coveted role for those with the right skills. And the servants here didn’t have the luxury of being picky in most cases. They would likely almost be forced into taking what placements they could get, knowing as they did that refusing a scion’s patronage might well lead to losing out on future opportunities. Then again, perhaps the reputation of House Blacksword was just that bad.

  His fingers flexed against the armrest, but he kept his expression calm.

  Hatsune, however, had no such restraint. “That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “Are they blind? The whole point of this system is to secure placements like these.”

  The attendant didn’t react at first, but when she saw that Klarion did not react to his bodyguard’s words except to continue looking at the attendant, she responded in a level tone. “I understand the frustration,” she said evenly. “However, we cannot force any candidate to accept a placement they do not wish to take.”

  A polite way of saying that they had a choice. And they still refused you.

  Klarion exhaled slowly. No, the candidates for Steward could not be forced, and even if they could, he wouldn’t want that to happen either. The Steward was an important position, and anyone who filled it who had resentment against him and his House could potentially do a lot of damage. Even if adhering to whatever requirements Klarion asked of them, he knew that there would be ways to hold to the letter of their service while not fulfilling the spirit of it. Better to avoid that situation altogether, even if it meant no Steward for Blacksword Manor.

  “Then there’s nothing else to be done,” Klarion said calmly. “I appreciate you taking the time to assist me today, attendant.”

  The attendant blinked. For just a fraction of a second, the carefully constructed neutrality in her expression cracked, giving way to something like surprise. She had expected resistance. Protest. At the very least frustration.

  Instead, Klarion had let it go.

  And that, more than anything, appeared to have unsettled her.

  But only for a moment. Then her features smoothed over once more, and she dipped into another short bow, relieved. “Of course, Scion Blacksword. If anything changes in the future, you are welcome to return at any time.”

  Klarion nodded once. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He pushed himself to his feet, straightening his uniform, and turned to Hatsune. “Let’s collect the servants and head back to Blacksword Manor. I’m sure there is a lot of work they can get done yet today.”

  Hatsune huffed, her ears flicking back, clearly still bristling on his behalf, but she followed without any further comments. The attendant moved to open the door, and closed it behind them as they moved down the corridor back to the main room of this portion of the Hall of Bonds. He was already thinking ahead to what things should be prioritized in fixing up Blacksword Manor, but his planning fell away as soon as the three of them returned to the room where the cells of servants waited.

  The moment he entered, he knew something was wrong.

  It wasn’t just the shift in atmosphere — though that was palpable. There was a stillness, a tightening in the room, as if something was about to happen.

  Then he heard a sharp cry of pain, followed by the thud of flesh striking armor.

  Klarion’s gaze snapped to the far end of the chamber, on the very edge of the cells of servants allotted for consideration by the first-year scions. There the chaos was unfolding.

  Four figures — red-skinned, black-horned, their long tails lashing in panic — were being dragged from one of the cells by a group of Sentinels. The four occupants of the cell clearly did not want to leave it, with the result that it had quickly turned into a brawl. And the Sentinels were not being gentle.

  The lead Sentinel drove an armored elbow into the ribs of the tallest of the four, a broad-shouldered man whose face bore the hardened lines of experience. He staggered, sharp fangs bared in a silent snarl, but he didn’t fall. Instead, with a sudden, desperate surge of strength, he shoved back, forcing the Sentinel a step away — only for another to slam a gauntleted fist into his gut. The force of the blow sent him reeling, a strangled cough breaking from his lips. Nearby, the youngest of the men let out a guttural growl as one of the Sentinels grabbed him. His claws flashed, raking across metal gauntlets, his body twisting in an attempt to break free.

  But it was the smallest of the four — a girl, barely past her teenage years if he was any judge — who looked the most desperate. She clung to the bars of the cell with all her strength, her feet kicking wildly as a Sentinel yanked at her. Her long tail wrapped tightly around the bars in a frantic attempt to secure another anchor for herself, her black eyes wide with terror.

  Then the eldest, a man even older than the broad-shouldered one, his crimson skin darkened with age, his black horns carved with deep grooves and surrounded by grey hair, saw the girl struggling.

  The old man’s roar split the air.

  With a single, violent motion, he threw the Sentinel restraining him aside, sending the armored man crashing into the stone floor. He lunged toward the girl, arms outstretched, trying to shield her.

  He didn’t make it.

  A Sentinel swung the rod he carried into the back of the old man with a sickening crack. The old man crumpled to the floor, a snarl of pain coming from him.

  “Enough!” Klarion’s voice rang through the chamber.

  Hatsune was at his side in an instant, her entire body coiled like a drawn bowstring. Her hand had come to rest on the hilt of her sword, her focus split between the Sentinels and the group of four being dragged from the cell.

  While one of the Sentinels glanced their way, the rest simply tightened their grips on the four, the fight beaten out of all of them. Their captives secure, they looked like they were about to escort them somewhere, and Klarion’s gut said it was not for an interview with another scion.

  “What is going on, attendant?” Klarion demanded angrily.

  The attendant, who had been following just behind them, let out a tired sigh, rubbing her temples as if the entire ordeal was little more than an inconvenience.

  “The Vileborn are being removed from consideration for Household Staff,” she explained, voice still carefully measured. “Their time is up, and since no scion chose to claim them, they’re being taken to the Arena.”

  Klarion felt his stomach twist at that loaded word, and he only needed to glance at Hatsune’s pale face to know his gut was right. Back on Earth, arenas had been famous for bloodsport and violent combat for the enjoyment of the masses, especially within the Roman Empire. Here, and given Hatsune’s expression, the Arena was likely a training ground for scions, where they could hone their combat skills which, apparently, included failed servants.

  The attendant might as well have politely said execution.

  Klarion returned to looking at the Vileborn, who had all but given up in the grips of the Sentinels that held them.

  “And you’re not surprised by this?” he asked the attendant.

  The attendant merely shrugged. “They’re Vileborn. Even under ideal circumstances, they’re difficult to place.”

  Klarion frowned. “Why?”

  “They are a race mostly comprised of criminals,” the attendant said honestly. “No one is exactly sure where their ancestors came from, but the majority have been banished to the dozen worlds of the Vile Marches for some crimes they committed long ago. Some of them have tried to earn a place in Imperial society, but given the stigma tied to them, the majority invariably end up involved in criminal activity.” Her gaze drifted toward the struggling figures, utterly indifferent. “These four? All confirmed criminals sentenced to become servants in penance for their crimes.”

  Klarion watched as the eldest Vileborn, still dazed from the strike to his back, dragged himself to one knee, his movements sluggish but determined. A criminal then. And yet, the moment the young Vileborn girl had been in danger, he hadn’t hesitated. He had thrown himself in front of her, knowing it would cost him. The other two weren’t fighting for themselves, either. Their struggle wasn’t the blind, chaotic violence of someone lashing out in fury. It was desperate, practiced. A fight against something they believed was worse than whatever they had already endured.

  Klarion didn’t have all the details. But he knew what he saw.

  And what he saw was a family desperately fighting being dragged to their deaths.

  The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  He had made his decision before he even fully processed it.

  “Stop.” Klarion didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice carried the weight of command that he was slowly becoming more comfortable with.

  The attendant blinked at him in mild surprise, but the Sentinels remained unmoved. It wasn’t until the attendant raised her hand that the Sentinels finally froze in place, their captives still locked in their grasp.

  Klarion walked forward, Hatsune and the attendant behind him, his attention focused on the four Vileborn.

  The eldest had been forcibly lifted from his knee, sucking in pained breaths. The girl — perhaps his granddaughter — had wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She met Klarion’s gaze with fear and uncertainty, her tail curling protectively around her ankle. The two younger men — her brothers most likely, now that he was closer to see them better — were just behind her, their bodies tense in the grasp of the Sentinels that held them.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “I would like to speak to them,” Klarion told the attendant.

  The attendant hesitated. “Scion Blacksword, I must advise —”

  “Now.”

  For a long moment, the attendant simply stared at him, weighing her options, perhaps. Then, with an almost inaudible sigh, she lifted her hand. “You heard the scion,” she told the Sentinels. “Let them up.”

  The Sentinels released their captives, none too gently, before stepping back. The four Vileborn staggered upright, their movements wary. Given how they had just been treated, Klarion couldn’t blame them.

  Klarion approached until he was only a few paces away from them. He studied them properly now, taking in their features, trying to get a feel for them. Red skin. Black horns. Long, sinuous tails that flicked and curled with each motion. Sharp, pronounced fangs and sharp teeth glinted slightly in the light of the chamber. They almost looked like devils out of a fantasy game he had played back on Earth. But they weren’t fictional. They were real. Flesh and blood. People about to be discarded for nothing more than scions not wishing to give them a chance.

  The attendant cleared her throat at his side, drawing the attention of the Vileborn. “Consider yourselves fortunate,” she told them. “Scion Blacksword has expressed interest in your service. If you want to avoid the Arena, I suggest you answer his questions. Truthfully.”

  After a brief silence, the eldest of the group straightened. Though his posture remained wary, there was an undeniable air of dignity to him. “My name is Solivair,” he said, his voice deep and rough, like gravel beneath a boot. He gestured at the other Vileborn. “These are my grandchildren — Damian, Kodrian, and Lilian.”

  The two younger men, Damian and Kodrian, stood stiffly beside him, their fists clenched. The youngest, Lilian, remained slightly behind all three, her eyes darting between Klarion and the attendant who had just spoken with some suspicion.

  He returned his attention to Solivair after looking over his grandchildren. The old vilebron had a bearing that spoke of hard-won experience, and it was becoming more settled, more confident by the moment. Klarion got a sense that the Vileborn had both seen and lost much. The sharpness in his dark eyes was dulled only by resignation — a man accustomed to making impossible choices.

  “Tell me about your backgrounds. Your classes.” Perhaps he would get lucky and one would be able to serve as his Steward after all.

  Solivair let out a slow, pain-filled sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly before he caught himself and straightened. “That’s… complicated.”

  Klarion motioned for him to continue. “I’ve got time.”

  Solivair gave a bitter chuckle. “I’m sure you do, Scion Blacksword. But I’ll still try to keep this simple.” He clasped his hands behind his back in a gesture that reminded Klarion of his father back on Earth when he had his business meetings. It was a strange thing to recall in the moment, but it was soon forgotten with the next words the Vileborn grandfather said. “I have the Rare class, Crimelord.”

  Klarion’s eyes narrowed, but he was not surprised. Not really. Given what the attendant had said, he had expected a class like that. Just not at the level of Rare. He expected Solivair’s Crimelord class denoted power, influence, and likely an unpleasant history in the underworld of society.

  Beside him, Hatsune shifted subtly, but she said nothing. She appeared to have an opinion but was leaving it up to Klarion to make a decision.

  Solivair continued, nodding toward the two young men standing beside him. “My grandsons both unlocked racial Uncommon classes.”

  “Vileborn Rogue,” Damian said, his voice clipped, his eyes assessing Klarion like he was weighing him in his mind.

  “Vileborn Thief,” Kodrian followed, his tail stirring restlessly behind him, his jaw set.

  Klarion absorbed the information, filing it away. Their classes indicated they were trained to survive in the shadows, to move unseen, strike fast, and disappear. That alone told him what kind of life they had lived up until now. While not useful for the typical Household Staff many other scions likely considered essential, Klarion could already see their usefulness given the number of potential foes arrayed against him because of his membership in House Blacksword.

  Solivair hesitated again, then sighed once more. “And my granddaughter, Lilian, has the racial Uncommon class of Vileborn Assassin.”

  A brief silence stretched between them as Klarion absorbed the significance of this bit of information, only for Lilian to lift her chin defiantly at her grandfather. “It was my choice.”

  Solivair rounded on her, his voice sharp. “And that choice might well get us all sent to the Arena.”

  Lilian met his glare without flinching. “It’s my class. My skills and abilities.”

  Klarion recognized a frequent topic of argument before they even began. A fight between generations, one side wanting to protect, the other refusing to be caged by that protectiveness. He wasn’t interested in listening to it.

  “That’s enough,” Klarion said firmly. “Whether or not it was a bad decision on Lilian’s part isn’t the issue right now.” He turned his attention fully on Solivair. “The real question I have for you is — can you handle the duties of a Steward?”

  That actually seemed to throw the old Vileborn off. His brows knit together. “A Steward?”

  Klarion nodded. “I need someone to manage my household. Finances, staff oversight, day-to-day operations. You’ve got a Rare class that is likely designed to do more than just engage in criminal activities. I doubt you don’t have at least something that might be applied to running Blacksword Manor.”

  Solivair studied him for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “There’s potential for… overlap,” he admitted. “Some of the abilities I have unlocked could possibly be repurposed, and I have more than a few skills that could be of some use.” His lips curled slightly, a shadow of amusement passing through his eyes. “After all, running an organization — criminal or otherwise — requires similar management.”

  Klarion carefully controlled a smile. That had been the answer he had been hoping for. He wasn’t na?ve enough to believe he could entirely trust Solivair, given his past. Yet power was power, and Klarion had no intention of wasting an opportunity. If Solivair could apply those same instincts toward managing Blacksword Manor, not only in its everyday functioning but also against his scheming scion enemies, then Klarion wouldn’t hesitate to use him. He would just have to figure out some roles for his grandchildren. Perhaps guards?

  “Then I’ll take you,” Klarion declared. “All four of you.”

  The attendant let out a pleased hum. Apparently, she hated seeing potential servants heading to the Arena. “Excellent, Scion Blacksword. Since you’re taking all four, I’m happy to offer a discount — bringing the total price to exactly the number of Coins of Service you have left.”

  Solivair blinked, clearly stunned at Klarion’s declaration after he had shared their classes. “You’re actually serious?”

  Klarion nodded. “I don’t make offers I don’t intend to keep. I could use you four, you most of all.”

  The old Vileborn scoffed, but there was something new in his eyes — something reluctant but real. Something that looked suspiciously like hope, buried beneath layers of cynicism. He folded his arms, shaking his horned head in disbelief. “Why?”

  Klarion frowned. “Why what?”

  “Why take us?” Solivair’s voice was low, almost wary. “We’re criminals. Vileborn. No one else would even consider us. Aren’t you worried about what the other scions will think?”

  Before Klarion could answer, Hatsune snorted at his side. “Other scions? He’s too busy dodging their assassination attempts to care what they think.”

  Solivair blinked. “...What?”

  Klarion smiled wryly. “She’s not wrong. I’ll start worrying about their opinions once they stop trying to kill me.”

  Solivair looked between the two of them. “Pardon me scion, but you’re either a fool or more dangerous than you look.”

  Klarion’s smile widened. “I’ll let you figure out which. That is, if you are willing to come with me.”

  Solivair didn’t reply, but he gave a slight nod. Not quite the full acceptance he had hoped for, but Klarion would take it.

  Seeing that the agreement was made, the attendant stepped to Klarion’s side once more and, within moments, he had no more Coins of Service. The exchange complete, the Sentinels returned to their stations along the walls of the massive chamber. Business concluded, Klarion and Hatsune led the Vileborn over to where the other members of his newly acquired staff stood near the exit of the chamber.

  Margaret stood with her arms crossed, scrutinizing the Vileborn as the followed behind her scion. The kobold sisters huddled together in the woman’s shadow, their tails shifting nervously as they eyed the latest servants to join them. Baruk, the orc Camp Cook, raised a brow but said nothing.

  A ragtag bunch, to be sure.

  The attendant pulled up some System interface that only she could see. “With this,” she said, tapping something in the air, “the transactions are formally complete.”

  A chime echoed in Klarion’s mind.

  Congratulations on your selection of nine Household Staff!

  New Staff Assigned to Blacksword Manor:

  Margaret (Estate Manager - Housekeeper)

  Vaila, Shaya, and Noqui (House Maids - Maids)

  Baruk (Camp Cook - Cook)

  Solivair (Crimelord - Steward)

  Damian (Vileborn Rogue - Household Staff)

  Kodrian (Vileborn Thief - Household Staff)

  Lilian (Vileborn Assassin - Household Staff)

  As he closed the System notification, Klarion looked over his assembled servants. A no-nonsense human woman, three timid kobolds, a lean orc with something to prove, and four ex-criminals from a reviled race. Not exactly what he had imagined when he first thought about building up a staff for Blacksword Manor. But he had a good feeling about them.

  “Welcome to Blacksword Manor,” Klarion said, pulling all their attention to him as the attendant left to attend to other duties. “Quite a bit needs to be done, so we need to get going.”

  Klarion led the mixed group of household staff and Hatsune from the Hall of Bonds. He had expected a few lingering glances from other scions, given that he'd left the Hall of Bonds with a full entourage, but the reality of the attention he received was something else entirely. Whispers swirled in his wake like wind through dry leaves. Scions and their attendants stopped in their tracks to stare, some openly, others with more restrained curiosity. He caught glimpses of their reactions in his periphery—narrowed eyes, hushed conversations behind raised hands, sneers from those who thought themselves above the company he now kept. More than once, he noted the insignias of The Ivory Banner pinned to well-tailored clothing. Their wearers sneered at him with open contempt, their noses practically tilted toward the heavens.

  Klarion ignored them. He had more important things to worry about than the wounded pride of privileged bigots. Let them whisper. Let them sneer. They would learn soon enough that he didn’t move to please them.

  The Vileborn, however, were far more attuned to the hostility in the air. Solivair, his newly appointed Steward, walked with a measured, composed gait, his years of experience evident in the way his dark eyes scanned their surroundings, cataloging threats without a hint of outward tension. He gave Klarion the sense of being a seasoned survivor, a man who had learned long ago to sense danger before it struck.

  The younger Vileborn, however, lacked that level of control. Damian and Kodrian kept their gazes low, their tails flicking anxiously—a predator’s instinct chafing against the need to show submission. Lilian, on the other hand, refused to lower her head, her jaw set tight as she stared ahead, though Klarion noticed how her hands had curled into fists at her sides. Pride or defiance—it was hard to tell which. The kobold sisters stuck close together, their small frames hunched slightly as if trying to make themselves invisible. Margaret, ever composed, remained at the rear of the group, back straight and expression unreadable. Baruk, the orc cook, looked neither intimidated nor surprised, but Klarion caught the way his shoulders were slightly hunched.

  Only Hatsune seemed unbothered, walking beside him with an easy, almost lazy stride. If anything, she looked amused by the attention.

  It was only when they finally reached the large estate of Blacksword Manor that the tension began to ease. The looming walls of the manor seemed to stand as a barrier against the outside world, shielding them from the judgment and scrutiny beyond. With all the attention they had endured on their walk, Klarion appreciated how far removed his home was from the majority of other scions on campus.

  Klarion stepped through the front door and into the main hall, turning to face his gathered staff. The dim light of the chandelier overhead cast long shadows across the polished floors, dust swirling faintly in the air. Hopefully, the dust will be a thing of the past very soon. Given how Margaret was staring at the floor and walls with distaste, he expected he was right.

  "Alright, everyone," Klarion said, his voice carrying through the space. "First things first. We need to get an idea of what needs to be done to make this place actually livable."

  Margaret stepped forward immediately, hands clasped in front of her. "The manor is in decent shape, but it’s clear no one has lived here in some time. There will be quite a bit of dust throughout and likely some rooms will be in disrepair. I’ll need to conduct a full assessment, but I expect we’ll require fresh linens, proper cleaning supplies, and replacement furnishings."

  Klarion nodded, then glanced at Baruk. "And the kitchen?"

  The orc exhaled through his nose, his brow furrowing. “Without looking in the pantry and freezer, it’s difficult to tell, but if it’s anything like the rest of the place, I imagine I’ll need quite a bit of fresh stock. Can’t cook much with no ingredients.”

  "Then I’ll trust you to handle that," Klarion said. "Buy whatever’s needed to keep everyone fed."

  Solivair had remained silent, watching, but now he stepped forward. "You’ll need a fair amount of gold for all this," he noted.

  Klarion reached down, lifting free the pouch of gold he had earned from his duel with Ort. He tossed it to Solivair, who caught it smoothly. The older Vileborn’s fingers flexed around the weighty pouch, his sharp eyes flickering with something unreadable.

  "Use this to handle the necessary purchases," Klarion instructed. "If it’s not enough, let me know, and we’ll figure something out."

  Solivair’s lips curled slightly, the faintest trace of surprise breaking through his composed exterior. "This should cover immediate needs," he admitted. “Perhaps a bit more if I hunt around for some deals or purchase wholesale.”

  "Good," Klarion said. "In addition to general supplies, I want you to restock the kitchen and pick up a few new outfits for myself and Hatsune. Alecto, at the Ward and Weave, is where I’ve been going for tailored clothes, so start there."

  Solivair raised a brow. "And for the bodyguards? For the servants?”

  Klarion hesitated, realizing he had no idea where to find clothing for those who weren’t scions. "I… don’t know," he admitted. "I suppose we’ll just have to figure it out. I need to check on my other bodyguard, but if you have any questions, come find me.”

  With that, he turned and headed upstairs toward his bedroom, his mind already shifting toward the conversation he wanted to have with J-65 if she was awake. The former Sentinel had pushed herself to the brink acting on his behalf, and now, as much as he wanted to focus on what came next, he needed to see for himself that she was alright and learn why she had done what she had done against Chadwick.

  Hopefully, she would be awake soon.

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