Louis continued to stare at one of the booths where the aristocrats usually sat, their eyes cold as they looked down at the slaves like him. For a brief moment, he thought he saw someone with colored eyes, a rarity in this world. But before he could focus, the figure retreated behind the curtain, disappearing from view.
He didn't dwell on it.
Louis didn't even flinch when the orc began stomping toward him, its heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath them. The beast let out a thunderous roar, saliva dripping from its jagged teeth as it raised its massive club high above its head.
The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices blending into a chaotic roar.
But Louis? He barely even glanced at the monster.
As the orc swung its club down with brutal force, Louis simply stepped to the side, his movements smooth, almost lazy. His eyes closed for a brief moment, as if he were bored of the entire ordeal.
When he opened them again, there was a sharpness in his gaze.
With a practiced motion, Louis spun his sword, the blade catching the dim light of the arena. He brought the flat of the weapon to rest against his back, his stance relaxed, almost mocking.
The orc growled in frustration, swinging its club wildly, but Louis continued to dodge with ease, his body shifting side to side like a shadow.
The crowd's cheers grew louder, but Louis didn't seem to hear them.
After what felt like an eternity, Louis finally stopped moving. His expression shifted—no longer indifferent, but focused.
He looked at the orc, his sharp eyes narrowing.
The beast roared again, raising its club for another strike.
But this time, Louis didn't wait.
With a single, fluid motion, he swung his sword.
The blade cut through the air with a sharp whistle, and in an instant, the orc's massive body was split clean in two, the halves collapsing to the ground with a sickening thud.
The arena fell silent for a moment, the crowd stunned by the sheer precision and power of the strike.
Louis stood there, his sword hanging loosely at his side, his expression as calm as ever.
"What the… I know he's strong, but was he always this strong before even getting his full blessing?" Mika muttered, unable to look away.
He knew that Louis was currently blessed by the God of War, the twin Gods—Life and Death—and the God of Creation.
But his Elemental blessings?
Those wouldn't come until after he met the Holy Maiden.
And yet—even without them, he was already this powerful.
If Mika remembered correctly, the author had mentioned that Louis only had his stats enhanced by the gods—everything else was pure talent.
It wasn't divine favor alone that made him unbeatable.
It was him.
And Mika needed him.
If he had Louis on his side, his peaceful life was practically guaranteed.
Mika watched as Louis turned away, walking back inside without sparing a glance at the crowd screaming his name.
Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
Just an unbothered exit, as if he was above all of it.
Mika exhaled slowly, his mind racing.
"I have an idea."
And that idea?
It was so damn insane.
But he didn't care.
He would do anything to achieve his relaxing, stress-free life.
And that's how Mika ended up sneaking past guards and underground patrons, trying to blend in as he worked his way toward Louis.
He remembered Louis had longed to escape, but something had kept him trapped here, forcing him to stay even after all these years.
"The Slave Mark."
Mika muttered under his breath as he glanced at the fighters being dragged away.
The mark was carved into their skin, appearing—at first glance—like a simple tattoo.
A circle, a broken sword stabbed through it, with chains wrapped tightly around the design, looping over itself multiple times.
A mark of cursed captivity.
A symbol of freedom they would never reach.
Every time someone tried to escape—the Underground Arena cut them down.
But that wasn't all.
The mark was also cursed.
If a fighter left this place, their strength would start deteriorating. Their muscles would shrink until they were reduced to bone, until the process slowly killed them in seven days.
Louis had tried escaping once—before he had received his blessings.
And he had felt the pain. Experienced the agony. Survived it.
But after that attempt? He never tried again.
So, you might ask—how can Mika save Louis?
Since he didn't have magic, strength, or divine power—how would he break the mark?
The answer was simple.
And disgusting.
"I need to smear saliva on it..."
Mika froze mid-step, his brain finally recalling the insane technique for erasing the mark.
He had read about it once.
Found it disgusting.
And immediately ignored the rest.
"Ah, I forgot the author is a freak! Of course!"
He grabbed his head in absolute panic, groaning as reality settled in.
"Their previous works were straight-up heinous! They're KNOWN for being a pervert!"
While Mika was completely panicking, spiraling into a full-blown mental breakdown, he didn't notice the figure standing right behind him.
Louis, who had been heading back to his cell after claiming his reward, had stopped in his tracks.
He stood there, towering over Mika, staring down at him with a completely blank expression.
'Who the hell is this kid?' Louis thought, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.
'Pervert?'
It was subtle, but a faint frown tugged at the corners of his otherwise handsome face, his thoughts clouded with confusion.
Meanwhile, Mika was still lost in his own world, clutching his head in frustration.
"Aaah! I don't want to do this… Maybe I should just head back home and think of ano—"
He let out a heavy sigh, turning around mid-sentence—only to come face-to-face with Louis, standing there like an immovable wall of muscle and intimidation.
Mika froze.
His eyes went comically wide, his brain struggling to process the sheer presence of the man in front of him.
And then—
"AAAAHHHH!"
A loud scream tore from his throat as he stumbled backward, falling to the ground in a heap.
'Scary! Scary! Fuck! I thought there was a fucking reaper behind me!!'
Mika clutched his chest, trying to calm his racing heart, his breaths coming out in short, panicked gasps.
When he finally looked up at Louis again, he realized—too late—that his hood had fallen back during his outburst, leaving his face completely exposed.
Louis' sharp gaze immediately locked onto him.
"...Red eyes?"
The words left Louis' lips in a low murmur, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of Mika's colored eyes.
"Ah!"
Mika gasped in surprise, his hands flying up to grab his hood. He yanked it back over his head, hiding his face again as quickly as he could.
"What happened here?"
The guard approached, his voice sharp, his expression suspicious.
Mika's panic spiked instantly, his heart hammering against his chest.
Before the guard could step any closer, Louis stepped forward, effortlessly blocking Mika from view.
"Nothing. The boss sent this to me."
His tone was plain, unbothered, but it carried enough weight that the guard paused, scanning Louis carefully.
A moment of silence.
Then—a smirk.
"Hah, fine. Just don't make too much noise."
Without another word, the guard turned on his heel, walking away like he hadn't seen anything unusual.
"Wha—"
Mika barely had time to react before Louis grabbed his arm, yanking him up with ease.
"Hey! Let me go!"
Mika hissed, squirming, trying to break free—but Louis' grip was like iron, unwavering.
"Shut up."
Two words.
Calm. Cold.
But there was an underlying tension, the kind that made Mika instantly shut his mouth.
Louis dragged him forward, pulling him down the corridor with firm, deliberate strides.
When they finally arrived at his cell, Louis shoved Mika inside, then closed the door behind him, shutting out the world beyond.
And unlike the other slaves?
Louis' room was different.
Instead of metal bars, there was a proper wooden door, solid and private.
And instead of a hard, cold floor with only a thin blanket, there was an actual bed, complete with a pillow and a thick cover, something resembling comfort—at least compared to the misery outside.
'He's their main income... Of course.'
Mika glanced around the room, taking in every small detail, the slight luxuries, the privileges that separated Louis from the other slaves.
A bed, a pillow, an actual wooden door instead of iron bars—this was proof enough.
Before he could think further, a firm grip landed on his shoulder, and before Mika could react—he was turned around, forced to face the man himself.
"Wha—"
Mika barely had time to process what was happening before Louis grabbed his hood, tugging it down with swift precision.
His face was inches away from Mika's.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Louis' sharp gaze narrowed slightly, locking onto Mika's bright red irises, his focus unyielding.
Almost as if he were trying to decipher something.
Mika's breath hitched.
'His eyes…'
Louis stared intently, as if deep in thought. His brows furrowed slightly—not from anger, but something closer to curiosity.
And yet, he seemed oblivious to how incredibly close he was.
Mika, on the other hand, was very aware.
"E-eer…"
Instinctively, Mika tried to move back, but Louis' grip was too strong.
The man was holding him in place effortlessly, his grip firm yet unwavering.
Mika raised his hands, gripping Louis' wrist in an attempt to push him away.
"H-Hey! You're too close!"
For a moment—Louis didn't react.
Then, finally, he blinked, his thoughts seemingly snapping back to reality.
His grip loosened, and in a smooth motion, he let Mika go, taking a single step back.
Still, his expression didn't shift, his sharp eyes still locked onto Mika.
"Who are you?"
His voice was calm.
Simple.
But there was weight behind his words—a quiet demand for answers.
Mika instinctively tried to pull his hood back up, but he knew—the gig was already up.
No point in hiding it now.
He let his hands fall back to his sides, swallowing the lump in his throat.
If he wanted Louis' trust, he needed to be truthful.
Taking a deep breath, Mika placed his hand on his chest, straightened his posture, and declared proudly:
"My name is Mika Lyre Verhault! The Third Prince of Verhault!"
Silence.
Louis stared at Mika, his expression completely unreadable, arms crossed over his chest.
Then, finally—
"Are you insane?"
His tone was flat, empty, entirely unamused.
Mika comically fell to his side, cheeks flushing red in embarrassment.
'Of course. No one has ever seen Mika before. It's obvious no one will believe me if I tell them I'm the third prince.'
Letting out an awkward cough, Mika straightened himself, forcing a weak smile.
"My eyes are proof."
He pointed at his irises, the vivid shade of red standing out in the dim light.
"Only royalty from Verhault have red eyes."
Louis fell into silence, his sharp gaze lingering on Mika.
'Well… I've heard that before. I saw the King once, and… this kid kinda looks like him.'
Slowly, Louis held his chin, studying Mika's appearance.
'I did hear that the King had a secret illegitimate son somewhere… Is this the kid?'
But to Louis?
Mika didn't look like a prince.
He barely looked like a noble.
He just looked tired. Spoiled. Fragile.
'Weak. Small. I could easily crush him without even using any strength at all.'
Louis tilted his head slightly, observing him closer.
'He looks like a wet kitten.'
Mika, meanwhile, was sweating bullets, his nervousness skyrocketing with every passing second.
'...Why... why isn't he saying anything?'
Louis had been staring at him for a whole minute without speaking—and honestly? It was scaring him.
Then, finally—Louis let out a silent sigh, his posture shifting slightly.
"If I believe you," he said, voice steady.
"Then what is a third prince doing in the underground arena?"
Mika mentally punched the air in victory.
Finally! He wasn't completely shutting him down!
Straightening his posture, Mika flashed a confident grin.
"I'm here to free you and take you as my bodyguard!"
He declared proudly, standing firm.
Louis stared at him, his expression utterly unimpressed.
'Should I kick him out?'