Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge-Chapter 36: Let’s plant seeds...

“—I’m of royal bloodline,” Oliver added quickly. “You’ll ruin Lady Seraphina’s business if you scar me.”

Both soldiers froze. The short one’s eyes narrowed.

“…The hell? Did that maggot just speak Somaran?”

Oliver blinked. He had. Of course, he had. He knew the language like the back of his hand. But only now did he realize that he normally shouldn't. At least not yet.

Of course, he didn’t tell them the truth—that he could speak their tongue because he’d come back in time.

It was tradition for noble and royal houses to teach their children multiple languages, sometimes six or more, for politics. But he was a ten-year-old before he was taken into slavery. Back then, his studies focused on the tribes of Tyrell, not distant empires like Somara. So, in essence, he really should not know it. But these men looked too dumb.

"Like I said, I came from a royal bloodline. It is only natural for me to know the languages of other states. And of course, the great Somara empire, adored by all is first on the list."

Both men looked at each other assuming that his words made a bit of sense.

But the short one stepped back, wary. “What did you just say about Lady Seraphina?”

Oliver saw the opportunity, and so he leaned in as far as his bound position would allow. “I said I’m royal-blooded. Expensive..."

'These fools, making me repeat myself, are they that retarded?'

"...If you harm me, she’ll lose value—reputation, coin… everything.”

The short one looked uncertain. He glanced at the taller one. “You think he’s telling the truth?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the tall one said with a grin. “That’s why I’m using this.”

He held the knife up, letting the light dance along its cursed edge. “This beauty doesn’t scar the body. Leaves marks in the bloodline. Permanent, quiet… nearly untraceable. I hear it's what the church of Light uses for penance against demon zealots.”

"Hey, you know, I never get it when you use big words. I never had much of a formal education like you lot. What the heck is penAss!?"

"Not penAss–you pervert. 'PENANCE'. It's the shit you do to show your repentance."

"Hey... you did it again. Now you are just being mean to me!"

Oliver rolled his eyes at these two as they went back and forth with each other. He could already guess what and how he got here.

These two lost money betting on him and Barka’s fight. Unlike the other soldiers that did, they thought they were smart in trying to get even.

Oliver guessed it was the Taller one's idea. They must have bathed him with seawater, attempting to get him to wake up, but because of the night trial, he did not wake no matter how hard they tried.

At the same time, it was easy to see that the taller one was a bit sadistic. He wanted Oliver awake so that he could thrill at Oliver screaming in pain while he tortured him.

While the shorter one was dumber, but aware of his shortcomings, and therefore more cautious.

Oliver suddenly gave a mischievous smile in his head. Maybe there was a way to take advantage of this situation for himself.

Because he was in his thoughts, he barely caught the name of the blade as the taller one was explaining to the shorter one—just a snarl of syllables.

The short one frowned. “But if we cut him with it, Won’t that still affect Lady Seraphina’s trade?”

“Not if no one knows,” the tall one chuckled. “We’ll say it was a defect. A scar at birth. And just to be safe… maybe I slice off his scrotum too. Let him feel our loss. Call it a safety measure.”

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Oliver’s heart slammed against his ribs. He cursed the taller man’s ancestors.

He knew that Asmodeus's bloodline wasn’t so weak as to fall to a low-grade knife… but this was a church artifact. Those fanatics had made stranger things. And he wasn’t about to test it—not with his balls on the line.

His mouth moved before he could stop it. “Wait! I can help you.”

The taller one ignored him, still approaching.

“I can make you rich—richer than a noble!”

Still, the knife came closer.

Then Oliver shouted: “The gladiator dens!”

Both soldiers stopped.

The short one looked at his partner. “He knows the dens?”

Oliver pressed on. “I can help you win there. Predict matches. Bet smart. Get rich.”

'Take my bait you greedy assholes.' Oliver cursed in his mind.

The dens were no secret in the Somaran Empire—but they were a place only locals truly understood. Where men bet their lives and fortunes on blood sport. Where a slave’s life could make or ruin a noble overnight.

The tall one finally showed interest. “You? What does a damn slave that has never set foot on Somaran lands know of the dens?”

Oliver smiled faintly. “Like I said, I’m royalty. We have our ways.”

The two soldiers exchanged looks. Greed shined in their dull, drunk eyes.

Oliver thanked the stars for men like them—stupid enough, desperate enough. And for the knowledge he carried from his past life, this should be easy.

“I’m confident,” Oliver said. “I’ll stake it on a blood contract.”

That silenced them.

Contracts were sacred. They were blood-binding. Even demons, or rather especially demons—honoured them.

Unless they had loopholes, of course. Oliver’s grin in his head widened.

“But,” Oliver added, “you’ll have to let me down first. You know, I have to be sure of my predictions.”

Another glance passed between the two.

They were older, and stronger. Surely, any stunt he wanted to pull would be revealed before their eyes.

They cut him loose.

Oliver crashed to the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. Still, he had never loved the ground more. His head spun from hanging so long. He hated gravity now.

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He slowly stood, breathing slow and deep, regardless of his healing ribs from the fight with Barka–weirdly enough the pain aided thinking. His arms ached. His legs shook. But he forced a smile.

“I can make both of you very rich,” he said smoothly. “But since this is a contract, it must be fair. If not, it won’t hold.”

He tilted his head. “So… how about you both do something for me too?”

Both men stared.

Brows raised.

"Don't worry, I'm confident in this. I'm so confident that I can even bet on my life. But of course, both of you would have to do the same."

"Hmmm... that's not enough. Your dog-slave life doesn't mean shit to us, even if you have a royal bloodline."

"You’re right. It doesn't. But it won't stop what's about to happen?"

"And what is that?" The taller one asked.

"A noble on this ship will die before we reach the shores of the Somaran Empire."

Those words came as a shock to these men.

Nobles were considered nearly untouchable. And the nobles of the Somara empire were nothing like those of the Tyrell kingdom.

Even an outer noble in the Somara empire was not cheap—either in fighting ability or value.

The power that an empire carried was by far that of a small kingdom like Tyrell, and here was this slave, saying that one such noble would die.

Even the heads of all the slaves on this ship would not be enough justification for the death of a noble of the empire.

Also, if such a thing happened, the empire would have to step up, if not, it could stain its reputation.

But Oliver was not done with them "If a noble does not die on this ship before we reach shore, then I'll die."

The two soldiers paused, looking at one another. And then the taller one chuckled, "Good! Really good!! Now this is a bet that I'm willing to have." He had a gambler's smile on his face.

The Shorter one face palmed. "If your wife hears of this–playing with—"

"It's a slave’s life. Get over it," He rolled his eyes at his dear friend, suddenly finding his presence a bit annoying. He turned to Oliver, "And how are you sure a noble is going to die?" Asking out of curiosity.

Oliver had a mischievous look on his face, "it's a... gift. A bloodline gift—a royal one."

"Pfft!" The taller one spat, "A gift that couldn’t save your kingdom?"

"Believe it or not, it's true. Now, do we have a deal or not?"

A few minutes later, Oliver was returned to his cage by the taller soldier.

Velma on seeing him, immediately ran to hug him—tight as ever with her show of affection.

Oliver noticed the eyes that the other slaves gave him. It was a mix; fear, respect, warriness, annoyance. But all that did not matter. For now, things woukd be peaceful here.

Even Garron only stared at him for a while before closing his eyes to sleep.

Oliver knew that man was not done with him.

At least for now, he could rest.

The Broken man also looked to him. Oliver could have sworn that his eyes showed that he was grateful Oliver came back in one piece.

Oliver went back to his corner. Looking at the Nightmare Sigil, under contracts, another had appeared. It was an 'E' ranked Contract.

[Contract signed: Rank E]

Who would have thought that he would manage to convince those petty guards.

But this was good. After all, the conditions in the contract were so in his favor that it was almost criminal. Those two had only concentrated on terms involving the bets and consequences of failure. Their minds for the bigger picture was too narrow.

What they did not know was that Oliver thanked the stars that they had fallen on his laps.

There was no doubt that having such plants would come in handy.

Velma had tried to ask him what had happened, Oliver just told her he was given a few whips on his ass for fighting—giving her a smug look to show that he was brave. She found it cute and the two laughed for a bit.

Her laughter was one that he had missed dearly. And before he knew it, the both of them were gisting and giggling lowly. Even though their situation was bad, it was clear that Velma was trying her best to cheer him up.

In this state, even her swollen–shut–eye did not dim her beauty one bit.

Just then, murmurs could be heard, and the sound of cages opening and shutting.

From the boots and laughter, Oliver could tell. The young nobles were here again.

As expected, they picked their taste from the cages to go sort their desires. Unlike the last time, they were slaves that actually tried to struggle, beg, but the chains and collars on them had more functions than just holding back Aether.

No doubt, news of the horrible fate of the first taken had circulated.

Mothers tried to hold back their daughters, and husbands their wives, but the fate of a slave was a damned one.

Before they reached their cage, Oliver looked at Velma, wondering if he should add to her injuries, or the scar on her face was enough.

Surprisingly, she gave him a look that stated that she understood.

He nodded at her and struck. Maybe out of the little experience he had been getting with the battles he had fought, but this time around, the hit was just right, with the right amount of effort.

They reached their cage. Yet another was picked. Velma was fortunately left alone.

Surprisingly, Oliver did not see Accra’s tool—Martin.

He frowned at this, hoping in his heart that the task he gave the demon was going to succeed.

That particular trinket was too essential to his plans.

The nobles left, and all was still again. Even the ship swayed less. No doubt they had passed the storm.

However, a Soldier suddenly arrived at their cage, and Oliver was pulled once again from Velma's gasp.

Oliver did not understand the reason. But then the soldier gave him a pitting look.

As he was led down the corridors, every soldier he saw have him that same look.

Oliver was really bothered by this. But it was not until he was led to the upper decks, and before beautifully decorated twin doors did he realize why.

These doors led to Seraphina’s Chambers.