The smell of bacon and warm bread guided Damien through the unfamiliar manor. Each step down the grand staircase brought new sensory information—polished wood, old stone, the lingering mustiness of a place too big for its few inhabitants.
Portraits of stern-faced ancestors lined the hallway, their golden eyes following him accusingly. These were his people now. The Valtors. A family of minor nobility whose glory days had clearly passed if this frontier assignment was any indication.
He paused before the largest portrait at the end of the hall. A man in his fifties with the same silver-white hair and amber eyes, though with deeper lines of disapproval etched into his face.
"Father," Damien murmured.
Unexpected emotions bubbled up—not his own, but the original Damien's. A complicated mixture of resentment, desperate need for approval, and bitter disappointment. The spoiled brat had hated his father yet craved his recognition above all else.
[Daddy issues, Master?]
'Shut up, Satana.'
[Just saying, you should see your face right now. Like a puppy that got kicked but still wants pets.]
Damien scowled and kept walking. The dining room wasn't hard to find—just follow the smell of food and the sound of plates being arranged.
The space was impressive for a frontier town manor—high ceilings, a long oak table that could seat twenty, though only one place was set at the head.
Sabrina moved about the table, laying out silverware and pouring something that smelled like coffee into a porcelain cup.
"Good morning again, Sabrina," Damien said, taking his seat at the head of the table.
She flinched slightly at his greeting. "Good morning, Young Master." Her voice remained carefully neutral, but Damien caught the slight narrowing of those unusual red eyes.
'Let's see what we're working with here,' Damien thought.
He focused on Sabrina, mentally picturing the word 'Inspect' as Satana had instructed.
Information materialized in his vision:
═══════════════════════════════════
Name: Sabrina Vael
Age: 18
Race: Human
Overall Rank: D- (Suppressed from C+)
Class: Rogue/Shadow Blade
Favourability: -62 (Deep Hatred)
Current Emotion: Wary Suspicion
Threat Level: Orange (Potential Threat)
\[CORRUPTION: 0%\]
\[CONTRACT: None\]
\[STATUS: Slave Crest - Tier 3\]
═══════════════════════════════════
'Negative sixty-two? Damn, she really does hate me.'
[Told you so, Master. The original you was quite the asshole.]
Sabrina finished arranging his breakfast—eggs, bacon, fresh bread, and some kind of preserved fruit. Everything looked surprisingly appetizing for frontier food. As she stepped back and prepared to take her position against the wall, Damien cleared his throat.
"Have you eaten yet, Sabrina?"
She froze, those red eyes widening slightly. "No, Young Master. Servants eat after—"
"Make yourself a plate and join me."
Her face went completely blank, but he caught the flash of suspicion in her eyes.
"Young Master, that would be inappropriate—"
"Consider it an order, then."
Her jaw tightened, and Damien realized the slave crest gave her no choice but to obey direct commands. That wasn't his intention, but it worked for now.
After a moment of hesitation, Sabrina went to the sideboard and prepared a modest plate for herself. When she returned, she sat at his right hand, back straight as a board, eyes focused on her plate.
Damien watched her, not touching his own food yet. Sabrina sat motionless, waiting.
The silence stretched until finally she broke. "Is there anything else you require, Young Master?"
"No." Damien took a bite of his eggs. "Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."
She picked up her fork with visible reluctance, taking tiny, bird-like bites. Her eyes never left her plate.
"Is there anything on the agenda today, Sabrina?" Damien asked casually.
She swallowed. "No scheduled appointments, Young Master. Your father's instructions were for you to... acclimate to Harrow's End and stay out of trouble until the Academy begins."
"So I'm free to explore the town?"
"You may go where you wish. This is Valtor territory."
Damien studied her while pretending to focus on his food. Her hair was pulled back in that severe ponytail, revealing a slender neck and sharp jawline. Her maid uniform was modest but couldn't fully hide her figure. The red eyes were her most striking feature—unusual for a human in this world, if his patchy memories were correct.
"Tell me about yourself, Sabrina."
She nearly choked on her bread. "Excuse me?"
"Your background. Your family. How you came to serve House Valtor."
Her face closed off completely. "I am property of House Valtor, purchased five years ago. There is nothing else to tell."
"I see," Damien nodded. "And what can you tell me about Harrow's End? I'll need a proper tour at some point."
Sabrina's grip on her fork tightened. "Harrow's End is a frontier settlement of approximately two thousand people. It's primarily supported by agriculture, lumber from Blackwood Forest, and the dungeon to the east. The town has been in decline for several years due to monster attacks and bandit raids."
"A dungeon?" Damien perked up, remembering fragments from the novel.
"Yes, Young Master. The Whispering Hollows. A C-rank natural dungeon in Blackwood Forest. Most of the town's adventurers and guards focus on keeping the monsters contained."
"Interesting." Damien filed that information away. A dungeon meant monsters, which meant IP farming opportunities. "And who runs the town? Who should I know?"
Sabrina recited information mechanically. "Mayor Aldus Crane oversees daily administration. Guard Captain Freddie Vrell handles security with a force of twenty men. Sister Analee runs the church and healing clinic. Most commerce passes through the central market and The Rusty Blade Inn."
"And what's your assessment of these people?"
That caught her off guard. "My... assessment?"
"Yes. Your personal opinion." Damien leaned forward slightly. "I value insight, Sabrina."
Suspicion flashed across her face. "Why are you asking me this?"
===
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