Two weeks had passed since the insulated basin demonstration, and the workshop had become Alex's entire world, the routine settling into a predictable rhythm that spoke of permanence even as Alex knew nothing in his life was truly permanent.
He woke before dawn in his private quatre—a marginal improvement over the communal floor, though still a slave's quarters by any honest measure, and made his way to the workshop where Master Henrik waited with tools already laid out.
Henrik taught without warmth or malice, his instruction delivered with the same professional detachment one might expect towards a mere slave, when Alex grounded clay incorrectly the master craftsman would simply say "You're applying too much pressure, watch," before demonstrating the proper technique.
He would walk off, not waiting to see if Alexander had understood.
The other craftsmen followed Henrik's lead, acknowledging Alex's presence with curt nods, answering his questions with minimal words, and otherwise treating him as an oddity they'd learned to tolerate.
Alex understood this dynamic perfectly and found himself appreciating its honesty in a way he might not have in his previous life. Henrik didn't hate him because hatred required emotional investment, and Alex simply wasn't worth that expenditure of energy
Fair enough, Alex thought as he shaped another clay pot under Henrik's dispassionate supervision, he didn't particularly respect Henrik either—the man was competent in his craft certainly, decades of experience showing in every precise movement, but competence without ambition was just another form of stagnation.
Henrik would spend his entire life perfecting techniques and training apprentices, dying with nothing more than a reputation for adequate work.
Alex had already decided he'd rather die young having accomplished something than live long accomplishing nothing, their ideologies could not differ more, though he kept this thought to himself as he worked.
The incident that would define how the other slaves saw him happened on a gray afternoon when the workshop was busy with multiple projects running simultaneously and the overseer was already in a foul mood from some unrelated grievance.
A younger slave—perhaps fourteen or fifteen, Alex couldn't quite tell was tasked with moving materials from the storage to the workbenches, a simple enough job that required more care than strength. The boy's foot caught on an uneven stone as he carried a crate of expensive glass materials, his arms flailed in a futile attempt to regain balance, and the crate went tumbling across the workshop floor in a cascade of shattering glass that made everyone freeze mid-motion.
The overseer's head snapped toward the noise , his expression shifting from boredom to fury in the span of a heartbeat, he crossed the workshop in three strides before grabbing the boy by his neck, putting just enough pressure for the slave to struggle.
"You worthless piece of filth! Do you have any idea how much those costs? Do you have any concept of the value you just destroyed through your incompetence!?"
The boy's face had gone deathly pale, words tumbling over each other in a desperate attempt at apology. The other slaves had stopped working to watch with resigned expressions, their faces showing neither pity nor relief, just blank acceptance.
Then the boy's desperate eyes found Alex, and something like hope kindled there—the calculation visible even through his terror. Surely the clever slave, the one who'd impressed the young master, surely he would say something, surely he had enough favor to intervene on behalf of a fellow slave who'd made an honest mistake.
Alex met those hopeful eyes with complete and utter calm, his expression revealing nothing of whatever thoughts moved behind it, and then he simply went back to grinding clay with the same steady rhythm he'd maintained before the interruption.
The hope in the boy's eyes died as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a deeper despair.
"Outside," the overseer snarled while dragging the boy toward the workshop door, already uncoiling the whip from his belt. "We'll see if you're more careful after you've been properly educated about the value of your lord's property."
The first crack of the whip echoed from the courtyard minutes later, followed by a second, then a third, each one accompanied by screams that started high-pitched and desperate before gradually deteriorating into something more animal.
Alex's hands never paused in their grinding motion, his expression never changed from concentration, because the clay needed proper preparation and the glaze mixture wouldn't prepare itself simply because some boy had made a mistake.
By the tenth strike the screaming had devolved into sobbing, eventually even that had faded to whimpers, and the overseer's voice drifted through the open windows. the malice in his laughter would surely instill more fear in the other slaves.
Strangely, Alex felt no emotion as he continued his work, his heart and mind contempt with the progress.
That evening an older man approached him, he could see that the slave's body had been broken and poorly healed too many times to count, his twisted hands and permanently bent back marking him as ancient by slavery's brutal standards.
"Boy," he said quietly while glancing around "why didn't you say something? You have favor with the young master, everyone knows that, one word from you might have stopped it or at least reduced the punishment."
Alex continued walking without breaking stride, his voice carrying the same calmness it always did nowadays. "Why would I waste limited favor on someone else's mistake? If I spend my influence protecting every slave who fumbles then I'll have nothing left when I need it for myself, and that seems like poor resource management."
The old man's expression shifted to something between confusion and horror as the statement settled in. "He's just a child and it was an accident, surely you can see that, you were sold with him, surely compassion—"
"Compassion?" Alex stopped walking to look at the old man directly, his young sixteen year old face covered in shadows "The boy made a mistake and mistakes have consequences, that's how this world works, he'll either learn to be more careful or he won't survive long enough for it to matter. Either way it's not my concern, not my responsibility, not my problem to solve."
"But we're all slaves here, we should—"
"Everyone here would sacrifice me without hesitation if it benefited them," Alex interrupted, his heart grew cold "The moment my value decreases, I become as disposable as that boy, so I save myself first and worry about others never. That's survival, that's the only honest approach to a dishonest world."
The old man backed away slowly as if Alex had revealed himself to be a demon in human form, not saying anything else but something settle led in his clouded eyes, Alexander the small boy was kind, compassionate and caring. this wolf had become fundamentally different from the rest of them—not a slave who dreamed of freedom or resentment toward his shackles, but something much vile.
The other slaves gave Alex wider berth after that, no one approaching him unnecessarily, it was alright him him as he himself likes the peace. Compassion, guilt, solidarity, all those luxuries that belonged to people with power, he clearly had none of those to offer.
Over the following days Alex paid closer attention to the world that existed beyond the workshop's walls, recognizing that understanding the broader system was just as important as mastering his immediate craft. He continued scanning things as well but finding new materials was rare.
His status as Lord Verlaine's contract craftsman—though the paperwork hadn't been officially filed yet—meant he occasionally accompanied Henrik into town to purchase materials or deliver finished products, these brief excursions revealed the structure of the society he needed to navigate if he wanted to climb higher than his current position.
The Empire of Loretto was vast beyond easy comprehension, a hierarchy so massive that grasping its full scope felt like trying to hold the ocean in his hands, with the Emperor sitting at the capital as a figure so remote he might as well have been mythical for all the direct impact he had on daily life in this region.
Below the Emperor came Dukes who ruled territories the size of small kingdoms, then Marquises who governed provinces within those territories, then Counts who managed regions, Viscounts who oversaw districts, and finally at the bottom of actual nobility came Barons like Lord Verlaine who managed estates and towns.
But the thing was, the size of a region was incomprehensible, a region such as the Northern region where Alex currently resided was vast, no vast was too small of a world. Planetary, a region could cover the entire planet of earth many times over and more. The though sent shivers down his spine.
He observed a wealthy merchant negotiating with Lord Verlaine one afternoon, watching their interaction through a partially open door and noting how the merchant bowed with respect but spoke as an equal.
Money, it seemed, bought a certain level of dignity even without noble blood backing it up, which meant the hierarchy wasn't quite as rigid as it first appeared—wealth could create space for maneuver even when birth hadn't provided it. He could even buy nobility.
Alex also overheard conversations about the regional governor—an official appointed by Count Thornwood who managed legal matters, official records and binding contracts for the entire territory—he realized that status changes like slave to commoner would require not just Lord Verlaine's approval but also the governor's seal along with money for fees and political capital to smooth the process.
The pieces assembled themselves in Alex's mind like a puzzle revealing its pattern, showing him that he existed at the absolute bottom of a pyramid so massive its peak vanished into heaven.
Lord Verlaine was a minor baron insignificant in the grander schemes yet wielding such vast territory and power, what could be higher? the lord's teritorry was bigger than a state, and he was at the bottom. Those above the lord stretched ranks of nobility could erase him with ease while below him existed billions with even less power and fewer options.
If Alex wanted any real freedom, any genuine opportunity to rise beyond his current station, he needed to climb, and climbing required leverage—something valuable enough that those above him would choose to pull him upward rather than keeping him down where he belonged by birth.
He had knowledge from an entire civilization's worth of accumulated innovation, he had one major success with the insulated basin already proving his value, and now he needed more successes to establish a pattern rather than being dismissed as lucky.
The summons arrived unexpectedly one evening when a servant found Alex and announced that Lord Verlaine requested his presence in the private study immediately.
He followed through the long corridors, his mind racing through possibilities of what might have prompted a private audience since such meetings between lords and slaves.
Given that he hadn't made any major mistakes recently—at least none that anyone had discovered—this was likely the latter, though he maintained his guard because assumptions led to unpleasant surprises.
Lord Verlaine's study occupied the estate's highest tower in a room full of books and great decorations, expensive carpets that absorbed footsteps and polished wood furniture that gleamed with dim light. The lord himself sat behind a massive desk reviewing documents with a focused look, he didn't acknowledge Alex's entrance for several long minutes laving him standing there in eerie silence.
Finally, without looking up from his papers, Verlaine spoke in a uninterested tone "Your insulated basin design has drawn attention, Alexander, quite a bit of attention actually from sources that matter."
Alex bowed respectfully and waited for elaboration, recognizing this wasn't a question requiring immediate answer.
"Lady Elara's father, Merchant Lord Castor, was impressed enough to commission three more for his household, and apparently he's been discussing the design with his merchant friends because other wealthy individuals have been making inquiries about purchasing similar pieces." The lord finally looked up, his calculating eyes finding Alex and holding steady with uncomfortable intensity. "This attention creates an interesting situation, one that requires adjustment to maximize its potential value."
"I'm pleased to have served this house my lord," Alex said with a beat, he made sure to show no signs of emotion even through his body. Reading social tips and tactics had become a hobby of his these days and while the system had vast knowledge for improvement as well, he felt himself being a natural at these things.
"Pleased," Verlaine repeated with dry amusement "You should be pleased, because this attention has created an opportunity that benefits both of us if handled correctly." He set down his documents while leaning back in his chair, he was trying to make alexander do something.
"Here's the situation we need to address, when these merchants and minor nobles ask who created the insulated basin design, what should I tell them? That it was created by my slave? That answer diminishes the perceived value considerably, you wont understand, but wealthy men don't like praising slave ingenuity as it raises uncomfortable questions about their own achievements"
Alex remained silent, recognizing this was a setup for something larger and waiting to hear where Verlaine intended to take this line of thought.
"So I have a proposition for you, Alex, a business arrangement if you will that solves this problem while providing certain benefits to both parties involved." Verlaine stood and walked to his window with hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the estate he controlled. "I can arrange for you to be legally reclassified as a commoner in the public record, making you officially a contract craftsman in my exclusive employ rather than simple property. To the outside world—to merchants and nobles and the governor's office, you would no longer be a slave but rather a skilled inventor who works for House Verlaine by choice and contract."
He paused to let that statement settle, watching Alex's reflection in the window glass to gauge any reaction.
"Within this household, of course, nothing actually changes from your perspective or mine—you remain bound to me, housed here under my complete authority in every practical sense. But to the external world, you'd be presented as a free craftsman who chose to work exclusively for me because I provide him resources and opportunities he couldn't find elsewhere. The innovations carry substantially more prestige that way, you see, because 'House Verlaine employs a brilliant commoner craftsman' sounds infinitely better than 'House Verlaine has a clever slave,' wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes, my lord," Alex said carefully, beginning to see the shape of this proposition and recognizing both its benefits and its traps.
"This arrangement benefits you as well in certain practical ways," Verlaine continued while turning from the window to study Alex directly.
"Public status as a commoner opens opportunities that slaves can never access—better treatment when you travel to town, the ability to conduct negotiations and sign documents, legal protections that slaves fundamentally lack under imperial law, the capacity to move more freely through society though always in service to House Verlaine's interests naturally."
He moved closer with deliberate slowness, close enough that Alex could gaze directly upon the mans icy blue eyes. "But you need to understand this arrangement's true nature very clearly before we proceed further—the contract binding you to my service will be ironclad in ways that simple ownership never could be, with clauses and penalties that make breaking it substantially worse than escaping slavery. Contract violations carry severe consequences under imperial law including debtor's prison, forced labor under conditions that make current slavery look generous, even execution for oath-breaking depending on specific circumstances and severity. Every authority in the Empire would be legally obligated to hunt you if you violated the terms, from the governor's guard to the Count's soldiers even bounty hunters."
Verlaine's expression remained perfectly cold as he delivered what came next. "Now here's where you earn this elevation, Alex, rather than simply receiving it as a gift—I want you to convince me why this arrangement benefits me enough to justify the time and money required to persuade the governor to approve the status change. Prove to me this is a worthy investment rather than simply an expense, Fail to make that argument convincingly, and you remain exactly what you currently are—useful perhaps, but ultimately just property."
The room fell silent again except for the steady ticking of an expensive clock on the mantle, and Alexander recognized this for what it truly was—not just a test of his strategic thinking or his ability to articulate value in terms a noble would accept, but Verlaine making him argue for his own manipulation, ensuring he felt he'd earned rather than been granted this elevation
It was a clever manipulation delivered with sophisticated understanding of human psychology, which meant Alex needed to meet it with equal sophistication rather than simple enthusiasm.
He took a measured moment to organize his thoughts, "My lord, this arrangement provides House Verlaine with several significant advantages that justify the investment required."
He kept his voice steady and clear of most emotions. "First, as you noted, innovations attributed to a commoner craftsman rather than a slave carry substantially higher market value in the eyes of potential customers, which directly increases what merchants will pay and enhances House Verlaine's reputation as well"
Verlaine nodded slightly, a gesture for Alex to continue developing his argument.
"Second, other nobles and wealthy merchants can commission work without the awkwardness of publicly praising a slave-created product, which expands your potential customer base significantly, nobles like to gossip after all."
His lips twitched a little but he kept speaking "They're engaging in a business with a craftsman rather than a slave, and that difference matters tremendously to people with distain towards slaves. Nobles who might hesitate to publicly commission work from me will readily hire 'craft of House Verlaine employs' without any loss of dignity."
"Third, when I create future innovations—and I will create more, my lord, the prestige flows directly to House Verlaine as the patron who recognized raw talent and provided resources necessary for development. Your reputation increases with them, bringing opportunities far beyond simple product sales into broader political and social advantages."
Alex paused before delivering what he knew was the most important benefit from Verlaine's perspective. "Fourth and perhaps most valuably, a commoner under contract can legally travel on your behalf, conduct business negotiations, enter other estates, and represent House Verlaine's interests in situations. As a slave my movements are legally restricted and my interactions limited by social convention, but as a commoner, I become a far more versatile tool capable of operating in spaces currently closed to me, all while remaining entirely under your control through the law."
He met Verlaine's cold gaze directly with his own. "the prisoner who argues for his own chains will guard them more carefully than any jailer"
Alex concluded his pitch with honesty.
The silence that followed felt weighted even for him, Verlaine clearly measuring not just the argument's logic but Alex's manner of delivering it.
Then Lord Verlaine smiled, not warmly but with satisfaction "Well argued, remarkably well argued for a sixteen-year-old slave who's only been in my household for less than a year. You understand the game considerably better than most people twice your age, truly a pity for such a genius too be born a slave" He returned to his desk, the decision clearly already made. "You're also fully aware I'm manipulating you with this entire arrangement, that it benefits me far more substantially than it benefits you, yet you constructed an argument for it anyway."
"Because public status as a commoner, however hollow the underlying reality remains, represents progress from my current position, my lord," Alex said with the same honesty. "I understand the manipulation involved and I accept it because our incentives align sufficiently well. You gain a upgraded tool, I longer shackles."
"Honest," Verlaine said with what might have been genuine appreciation. "How refreshing to deal with someone like you" He pulled some documents toward himself, already beginning to make notes.
"Very well then, I'll make the necessary arrangements with Governor Ashford, which will require some time and maneuvering but nothing I can't accomplish with reasonable effort. You'll present yourself as Alexander, former slave of House Verlaine elevated to commoner status in recognition of exceptional service and demonstrated value. you'll need to conduct yourself as a proper commoner in public, maintain appropriate demeanor, and never give anyone reason to question the legitimacy of your status."
"I understand completely, my lord."
"Do you? Because I want to be absolutely clear about my expectations moving forward," Verlaine's expression hardened slightly, the smile disappearing from his face.
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to something cold and dangerous that reminded Alex of the AI far too much "Disappoint me, Alexander, fail to provide those expected returns, and I'll demonstrate exactly what you are worth. Are we absolutely clear?"
"Perfectly clear, my lord. I won't disappoint you."
"See that you don't. You're dismissed."
That night, alone in his corner, Alex processed everything that had just happened with the kind of coldness that had become his default mode of thinking.
Lord Verlaine had played him masterfully, offering an opportunity Alex couldn't possibly refuse, well it was not like he had not expected this
After seeing the kind of world he was dropped it, every asset was valuable. The lord saw that alex was more than just a clever slave and had dug his nails further down his throat. just in case.
It was a pity alexander did not plan to stay here for long, maybe a year or so. he would first need to get his basics of crafting better, then have enough money to travel around. killing off House Verlaine would be a tedious task but it was for the future.
Everyone manipulated everyone when stakes mattered enough—that was simply how the world worked . Verlaine would use him for innovations and reputation enhancement, treating him good only for his independent goals.
Alex would use this elevation for access and information and eventual advancement beyond what Verlaine intended, treating the lord as a stepping stone rather than a final destination. mutual exploitation, the only honest relationship possible in a world built on lies.
He was sixteen years old physically, though his mind carried decades of experience from a lifetime plus unknowable time spent in that formless void, and he was planning to use it well.
Either he was becoming frighteningly competent at navigating this world's power structures, or he was too inexperienced to recognize how badly he was being outmaneuvered, only time would tell which interpretation matched reality.