Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge-Chapter 42: The Lesson of Blood and Control. (Slave Sigil)

Chapter 42: The Lesson of Blood and Control. (Slave Sigil)

Meanwhile, from his place near the shadows, Oliver watched silently.

With his knowledge of the future, he had seen this play out before. But Seeing it again, brought a different feeling. After all, the first time, everything had been new to him, and he wanted nothing more, than to coil up in a hole and hide there.

Now, he had the opportunity to observe closely.

From the moment they arrived, Oliver already had his eyes on them. But of course his eyes were mostly on Roderick Vaelcrest—This 'Spawn of the devil's over pleasing butler'.

He was Oliver’s first prey. But this prey was not so easy.

Oliver reckoned that he was already a rank 1 Blood warrior—possibly close to rank 2 by now.

It might seem low, but it was not an easy achievement to attain.

Cassian Vaelcrest who was their father, and an influential slave master was only rank 3 —The peak of the Blood warrior rank.

Even though for nobles, power attainment was far easier than others.

Then again, there were rumors that Cassian's love and devotion was never in cultivation, but rather the pursuit of absolute domination of the human mind.

But his son—was a different case entirely.

Oliver thought back to certain information about the Vaelcrests.

The Vaelcrests, were a unique bunch.

They were unique because, as far as Oliver knew, they were the only family that were nobles of the inner wall, but operated mostly at the outer wall.

Regardless, they were proud, cruel and very effective. There was also that divine sense of superiority that they could never do without.

Then again, the Somara empire were of such nature. It was just worse with nobles, and even worse with nobles of the inner wall.

The Vaelcrests were the police of the Somara empire— but just for slaves, and slave-related issues, including the dungeons.

Oliver’s past life had taught him that much. But even now, knowing what was to come didn’t make witnessing it any easier—They were about to enter a whole world of pain.—Still he observed.

Roderick Vaelcrest moved first.

The first Reptilian barely had a chance to turn his escape destination, before Roderick's wand flicked upward like a conductor's baton. A flash of twisted crimson laced with black spiraled from the tip. It struck the creature's leg, severing it cleanly with a hiss of dissolving flesh.

The beast let out a shriek.

Roderick stepped forward with a lurching grace, his eyes gleaming not with rage, but with amusement.

“Oh? Did that hurt?” he whispered, crouching beside the beast, his voice was sickeningly sweet. “You shouldn’t have run. You’re not here to think. You’re here to serve.”

With the next wave of his wand, the other leg went—this time slower, deliberate. Oliver could feel the surge of Aether, twisted and meant not just to cut—but to burn. The smell was unbearable, but Roderick inhaled with what could only be described as bliss.

“I wonder,” he mused as the Reptilian whimpered, twitching. “If I cut off your arms next, can you still cry out with your tongue?”

The third limb fell. Then the fourth.

Roderick tilted his head, cocking it like a curious child. “You're still conscious. Impressive.” He lifted his wand one final time, a dark light bubbling at the tip. The beast’s body began to seize violently—the Aether eating from within.

But just before the spell was unleashed, a voice cut through the air.

“Enough, Roderick.”

Low. Calm. Cold.

Cassian Vaelcrest didn’t raise his tone. He didn’t need to.

The wand froze, the energy retracting in a crackle of smoke. Roderick’s body shuddered as if seized by an unseen grip. His hand trembled slightly, but he turned with a crooked smile.

“Of course, Father,” he said, standing straight, his white now stained in the blood of his victim. “Just teaching a lesson.”

Cassian didn’t smile back. Instead, his hand moved subtly, gesturing across the chaos.

“Be more like your sister.”

Roderick’s expression faltered.

He turned toward Thalia—gothic in her composure, her pale fingers toyed with the necklace hanging on her neck.

Under her heel lay not just the second, but also the third Reptilian—unconscious. Not a single wound marred their scaled body.

How she did it?

Effortless.

Even Oliver was in awe of her abilities, and could not help but pity Roderick for having such a twin.

Rodrick was also remarkable. But in the light of his sister, he was like the distant star, and Thalia, the Sun.

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His every action, infinitely compared to her immense talent.

Naturally, this breed a lot underneath.

Roderick’s lips pressed into a thin, bitter line.

Cassian, expression ever-neutral, approached the pair of them.

“You have both been gone too long,” he said. "But your sister still knows how a Vaelcrests should act."

His hand tapped the crimson crest once more. “You don’t earn red through flair or bloodlust. You earn it by control. A true master subdues without leaving a mark. That is what our bloodline is for.”

Roderick didn’t respond. But Oliver saw it—the flicker behind his eyes. Resentment. Jealousy. Desire. All tangled in a boy desperate to eclipse a father who saw him as second best.

Cassian stepped forward.

The entire crowd of slaves seemed to shift under his gaze, as if an invisible force descended over them. His voice, when it came, carried the weight of law.

“Kneel.”

And they did.

Every slave dropped.

As if pulled down by chains around their necks.

A wave of divine compulsion swept through the space, heavier than air, thicker than gravity. Oliver felt it pass through him—and rebound. It didn’t touch him. His blood hummed quietly, rejecting the command like oil deflecting water.

He recognized the skill.

“Voice of Authority”—a known crowd-subjugation technique used by Vaelcrest nobles. It seeped into one’s spirit and demanded obedience.

But it hadn’t worked on him. Not at all.

'My bloodline… rejected it,' he thought. A chill rolled up his spine. Such was the power of a Deity Bloodline. Even though Cassian was much stronger than him, Oliver’s bloodline rejected the order.

But Oliver was not so foolish. He knew that if Cassian were to force the command on just him, the result would be different.

Then again, the knowledge that he had an advantage over all the others was going to be useful.

But he knelt anyway. Slowly. Deliberately. He couldn’t risk exposure. Not now.

Cassian’s boots clicked on the platform as he stood before the kneeling masses, humans, elves, and Demi humans. His eyes scanned them without warmth.

“You may think yourselves unfortunate. Broken. Taken,” he said. “But know this.”

He turned slowly, motioning toward the flag hoisted behind him. That same—blood-red cloth waving gently in the wind. Upon it, a golden crown with seven precious stones gleaming under the sunlight.

“You stand before the Empire of Somara—the greatest civilization to walk the face of the earth. You will serve her. You will grow strong beneath her light. You will fight her battles and protect her name. In doing so, your lives, pitiful as they may seem, will gain purpose.”

Silence. Even the guards seemed still.

“But for that,” he said, raising a gloved hand, “you must first be marked—to bear the greatest gift offered to any outsider. A gift to those unworthy of being King Solomon’s descendants.”

Soldiers stepped forward, carrying red velvet pillows beneath golden silk cloths.

They moved as one, and when they reached the center, they pulled back the cloth.

Upon the pillows sat gleaming golden seals, etched with ancient runes and bathed in faint silver light.

Solomon’s Seal.

Or so the slaves were meant to believe.

But Oliver knew better. He knew the real one was wrapped around the finger of the Emperor.

These were mere copies. They were tools of bondage masquerading as divine favor.

And they were about to be branded into the bodies of these slaves.

The soldiers carried the golden seals like holy relics, each etched with runes that shimmered unnaturally, as though the symbols themselves resisted the light around them. Oliver’s breath caught.

Like most, he looked closer, but he had different thoughts.

Those runes…

Curved spirals wrapped around a central hexagram, while jagged glyphs of a forgotten tongue twisted like claws toward the edges. A seven-pointed star radiated from the core—each point humming faintly, linked by thin, silver veins that pulsed like veins beneath skin.

It was familiar. Too familiar.

It reminded him of the alchemist’s seal… the one etched into the wall back in Father's secret chambers… the one he touched with his blood.

Of course that seal had been older. Hungrier. More erratic, as if it breathed. It had burned his soul open and forced the blood of Asmodeus into him. This one, though similar, was… tamed. Refined.

But even as a copy, Oliver could feel it—an echo of the original, twisted into servitude rather than ascent.

It is said that king Solomon had used the seal to tame demons. Now, the somara empire used it to tame people.

The first scream broke the silence.

A soldier pressed the golden seal against the neck of a human boy, who thrashed violently, teeth clenched so hard they chipped. Smoke rose. Flesh sizzled.

Then came the next. A demi-human girl, no older than ten, buckled before the seal even touched her. When it did, she collapsed, limbs twitching as her voice gave out mid-scream.

Elf. Beastkin. Human. Reptilian. It didn’t matter.

One by one, they were branded.

Some wept silently. Others wailed in primal agony. Several fainted from the pain, their bodies limp, heads smacking the wooden platform. Oliver could smell burnt flesh and fear in the air—an almost holy perfume to the watching nobles.

And then it was his turn.

A soldier stepped forward, seal in hand. Oliver didn’t flinch. free𝑤ebnovel.com

He had screamed when it had been his first time in his previous life. Then again, what came after was much worse. He had long built his mental endurance.

This pain was nothing in comparison.

The golden seal pressed against his neck.

And it burned.

A thousand fires surged through his spine, his nerves lit aflame, but Oliver made no sound. His eyes rolled back, and then snapped open with clarity—just as the world shifted.

Ding.

A glow burst before his eyes—blue and cold.

It was unlike the dark, fog-wrapped bloody Nightmare Sigil, this new vision was bound in spectral chains.

It hovered before him. It was lines of glowing data carved into the ether:

---

SLAVE INTERFACE - BETA SIGIL

Name: Oliver Von Rich. [Old name erased.] [Name: A666]

Race: Human (Royalty)

Bloodline: Royalty [Undisclosed Sublineage]

Class: None

Rank: Nil

Master: Nil

Abilities: Climber (Adaptive Growth, Passive)

Skills: Nil

Condition: Healthy

Seal Integrity: 100%

Willpower Sync: 98%

Obedience Modifier: Pending

Soul Restriction Level: Tier 3

Seal Detected....

Nightmare Sigil Interference: Unreadable

System Comments: [!] Unauthorized secondary sigil detected. Report to Overseer

---

The interface was crude compared to the Nightmare Sigil, but clean—almost sterile in its presentation. The blue hue was cold, bureaucratic, and inhuman.

Oliver noticed that the others were seeing it too.

Their eyes widened around him as the freshly branded slaves blinked upward, mouths slightly open, reacting to an interface only they could see. Some panicked, screaming that ghosts were speaking to them. Others merely stared, dazed and broken.

It was the seal itself—a system forged from Aether, hacking directly into their minds.

Then Cassian Vaelcrest spoke.

“Now,” he said, his voice sharp and smooth. “You are ready.”

He paced slowly, hands behind his back.

“Aether—the breath of the gods, the source of all power, magic, and life—it has grown thin. Centuries of war, corruption, and misuse have drained it from the air, from the soil, from the very stars above.”

His eyes scanned them.

“But with this blessing. With King Solomon’s Seal—you are no longer bound by the starving sky. You will not rely on what has faded.”

He raised a hand, and the seals behind him flared once.

“You will draw your strength directly from us. From the Empire. From order. And in return, you will serve, you will fight, and if you are deemed worthy, you will rise.”

A pause.

"I am sure you have noticed by now. But don't worry those who survive long enough might even be granted the right to carry a name once more. But for now, your names are the letter and numbers according to the quality of your Bloodline. You should rejoice, you are favored."

The soldiers raised their weapons in salute. The citizens of the empire all around, clapped with unrestrained pride.

But in that silence, Oliver felt it:

A ticking tension in the back of his skull.

A whisper in the seal.

Something was wrong.

[Request: Do you wish to erase the Slave Interface?]