Sovereign Ascension

Chapter 3: The Arrogant Noble Heir

The iron shackles bit into his wrists as Yuta was hauled from the dungeon. The air shifted the moment he left the subterranean chamber; less mold and despair, more stale dampness mixed with torch smoke. His ears caught the faint murmurs of children left behind, their rattling chains echoing like ghosts trailing after him.

His body was small and weak, every tug of the merchant’s hand nearly lifting him off his feet. He gritted his teeth but kept silent. Showing weakness now would do nothing.

The corridor opened into a stone stairway leading upward. With every step, faint light spilled in until at last Yuta squinted against the brightness of the outside world.

What greeted him was not the peaceful afterlife he had once imagined, nor any dream of reincarnation. It was a bustling city.

Stone-paved streets stretched outward, lined with buildings of pale brick and slate roofs. Merchants hawked wares from wooden stalls; carriages rattled past, drawn by muscular beasts that resembled horses but bore strange, ridged horns upon their heads. Knights in polished armor patrolled lazily, their insignias, a golden lion wreathed in laurels, gleaming proudly in the sunlight.

“So this is the Leon Kingdom…” Yuta thought grimly. It was beautiful, yes, but beneath that beauty, he already sensed something rotten.

“Keep your head down, boy.” The merchant shoved him forward. “Don’t stare too much. Nobles don’t take kindly to the eyes of slaves.”

Slave.

The word stabbed deeper than the chains. Yuta bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to keep moving.

The carriage waiting ahead was sleek, painted in black and silver with the same lion crest emblazoned across its side. Standing beside it was the boy Yuta had glimpsed earlier in the dungeon.

Ashford Von Alistair.

He wore a finely tailored navy coat trimmed in gold, his blond hair slicked back with arrogant precision. His features were sharp, handsome even, but his pale blue eyes carried only cold disdain.

Beside him loomed Marthius, the knight who had stepped from the shadows. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his armor darkened from years of use rather than polished for show. Unlike his young master, there was no arrogance in his expression. Only calculation. His gaze lingered on Yuta like a butcher examining meat before the cut.

Ashford wrinkled his nose the moment Yuta was dragged forward. “That’s him? Gods, he’s even smaller than I thought.”

The merchant bowed deeply, almost groveling. “Young Lord Ashford, I assure you, though the boy’s frame is slight now, his bloodline carries great potential. Those from his eastern lands are renowned for their affinity with both blade and sorcery.”

Ashford tilted his head, unimpressed. “So they say. And yet, he looks like he would collapse from holding a training sword.”

Yuta kept his eyes lowered, but inside, his thoughts sharpened. Blade and sorcery… so this body really does carry something different. But that only means they’ll use me until I break.

Ashford turned to Marthius. “Well? What do you think?”

The knight studied Yuta for a long, uncomfortable moment before answering in a level tone. “The boy has potential. Whether he survives long enough to be useful… that depends on how you treat him, young master.”

Ashford smirked. “Then I’ll treat him however I please.”

He stepped closer, lifting Yuta’s chin with one gloved finger. The disgust in his eyes was almost worse than the chains themselves. “Listen well, slave. From today onward, you belong to me. You will eat when I allow it, sleep when I allow it, and bleed when I command it. Fail to amuse me, and you’ll end up like poor Koel.”

Koel. Yuta remembered the boy’s cruel words earlier, that his father had accidentally killed a servant during one of his rages. His stomach tightened.

But he said nothing. Only silence.

Ashford chuckled at the lack of response and pushed his face away. “Pathetic. Still, I suppose even pathetic things can be entertaining.”

“Shall we leave, young lord?” Marthius asked.

“Yes. The smell of this place offends me.”

The deal was finalized swiftly, gold coins exchanged hands, the merchant bowing repeatedly until sweat dripped from his brow. Ashford climbed into the carriage with practiced ease. Marthius gestured for Yuta to follow, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword.

Inside, velvet seats and polished wood panels gleamed, an extravagant prison. Ashford lounged comfortably, stretching his legs. Yuta sat opposite him, chains clinking as he shifted.

For a long while, silence hung heavy. Only the rolling of the carriage wheels and the distant murmur of the city filled the air.

Then Ashford spoke, voice casual but laced with venom. “Do you know why I chose you, boy?”

Yuta didn’t answer.

Ashford’s lips curved into a cruel smile. “Because, unlike the others, you might actually survive my games. And if you don’t…” He shrugged, as if the thought didn’t matter. “At least you’ll die more interestingly than the rest.”

The carriage jolted over a stone, rattling chains against the floor. Yuta’s hands trembled faintly, but he pressed them into fists until his nails bit into his palms.

So this is how it begins, he thought. From one prison to another. But no matter what they call me, no matter the chains… I won’t remain like this forever. If this world truly has magic and swords, then I’ll carve out my own fate with both.

Ashford closed his eyes, bored already, while Marthius kept his gaze steady on Yuta. It was not contempt he saw in that look, nor pity; merely the watchful silence of a man who had seen countless slaves come and go.

The carriage rolled on through the streets of Leon, carrying Yuta deeper into a life bound in chains, yet one step closer to the strength he swore he would seize.

This time… no one will decide my path but me.