Decision And Conditions

Alaric lay in bed, eyes open and unmoving, staring at the soft magical lights embedded in the ceiling. Faint glows shimmered across the ornate surface, mimicking starlight.

The room was quiet—too quiet. Not a whisper of wind, not a breath of disturbance. The kind of silence that only made the thoughts louder.

He had been thinking. All night.

About Virellen's proposal. About business. About becoming a merchant, of all things.

Really? Me? A merchant?

It wasn't a bad idea. In fact, it was a brilliant one. And it annoyed him that he hadn't thought of it first.

But the more he turned it over in his head, the more he realized something obvious—he didn't know anything about business.

He didn't know how to make a business plan. He didn't know how to raise funds, manage logistics, or deal with supply chains, or whatever other nonsense came with starting a merchant company.

And he especially didn't know the magical equivalent of the internet or nuclear bombs or industrialization.

All he knew about was Web development because he worked in an IT company in his previous life.

And yet… there was a spark. A realization—quiet at first, then burning a little brighter.

He didn't need to know those things.

That wasn't his role.

He wasn't here to be a factory worker or a scholar or an inventor. He was the one with the vision.

The reincarnated one. The one chosen by Elyssira's grace and handed the legacy of a fallen hero.

No, he didn't need to do everything himself. He needed others to do it for him.

That was the whole reason he'd bought Aurevia, Serineth, and Cellione in the first place.

Not just because they were beautiful—though, yes, their beauty had been a part of it. He'd be lying to himself if he said otherwise. But that wasn't the point.

They were powerful. Capable. They were supposed to fight in his stead, carry out the burdens he couldn't—or wouldn't—carry on his own.

The thought made him smile faintly in the dark.

He didn't need to know how to build a magical telephone.

He just needed someone else to figure it out. And then build it. And sell it. And make him rich and influential and quietly seated at the center of it all.

But to do that—he needed people.

Loyal people. Trusted people.

People who wouldn't run their mouths or betray him the moment they saw an opportunity. And what better guarantee was there than a slave contract sealed in mana and blood?

What better way to ensure absolute secrecy than to own the people involved?

He wasn't going to sugarcoat it—not to himself. He needed absolute control. Unshakable loyalty. Sealed tongues and unbreakable oaths.

Slaves.

But not just any slaves.

They would be women.

Not because he wanted more pretty girls around him. No, definitely not because of that. That would be shallow. Petty.

Completely unbecoming of someone with divine grace burning in his veins and the responsibility of a continent on his shoulders.

No, it was because he didn't want other men ogling his girls. That was all.

He wouldn't have some random male slave gawking at Serineth or trying to flirt with Cellione while she trained.

No way. He didn't need some musclehead forming a crush on Aurevia and trying to play hero.

He valued peace in the household.

And peace required careful curation of personalities—and zero male slaves.

Still, before he did anything—before he set foot in the slave market again or even whispered a plan—he needed to talk to the girls. Convince them. Earn their consent, or at least their understanding.

Because if he was going to start something that could change the foundation of the world, the last thing he wanted was internal resistance from the people closest to him.

The mansion lights dimmed slightly as the artificial sunrise spell began to glow in the distance.

He exhaled through his nose, eyes sharp now, purpose taking root.

'Time to get to work.'

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

The morning sun cast a soft glow across the courtyard, filtering in through the open windows of the grand hall where Alaric had summoned the girls.

The magical lights inside dimmed automatically, as if yielding to the natural light. One by one, Aurevia, Serineth, Cellione, and Virellen took their seats on the ornate cushions arranged around the low table.

Alaric stood before them, his presence calm but firm—divine, almost, in its unshakable stillness. He waited until they had all settled before he spoke.

"I've made my decision,"

He said, looking directly at Virellen.

"About your proposal—I accept."

A flicker of surprise danced in Virellen's eyes, but before she could speak, he raised a hand.

"However, there's something that concerns me. Since you'll be the medium through which we'll conduct trade with the outside world in the future, secrecy is paramount. Everything about me—my abilities, my past, my presence—must remain hidden. That's non-negotiable."

Virellen leaned forward, meeting his gaze squarely.

"Of course, Master. That goes without saying."

Alaric nodded slowly. Then his expression sharpened, his golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"Then let me be blunt—I don't trust you."

CLACK!

Aurevia's hand twitched. Even the girls, who had grown used to Alaric's blunt honesty, were taken aback. They stared at him, stunned. The air grew thick, like the pause before a thunderstorm.

Virellen blinked, startled, but recovered quickly. Her mischievous smile faltered, replaced by a rare seriousness.

"Then... do I need to become your slave?"

Alaric didn't hesitate.

"You misunderstand."

He turned away slightly, casting his gaze over the other three.

"Right now, Virellen, you're nothing but an outsider to my little family."

The word family struck the room like a thunderclap.

Aurevia's breath caught. Cellione's eyes widened. Serineth lowered her gaze, lips parted in disbelief. They had never heard him say that word aloud—not like this. And not with such weight.

Yet none of them rejected it. Quite the opposite.

Their expressions softened into a quiet awe, dreamy smiles appearing unbidden on their lips. It wasn't the word—it was what it meant coming from him.

Alaric allowed them a moment, then turned back to Virellen, his voice solemn.

"You know nothing about me or my secrets. And I assure you—the secrets I carry are far more terrifying than you can imagine. Even those three—"

He gestured to the girls

"—if not for the slave seals preventing them from harming me, I wouldn't have slept a wink beside them."

The silence that followed was absolute. The girls looked at each other, stunned by the revelation. They had never seen this side of Alaric—the deep, guarded paranoia beneath the calm.

He continued,

"So, Virellen... what will it be? Remain an outsider and a business partner? Or become an insider—and experience phenomena beyond your wildest dreams?"

Virellen tilted her head, a playful spark returning to her eyes.

"Master, if you were trying to propose, you could've just said so. No need to beat around the bushes."

She flashed a grin, but Alaric's expression didn't change.

Her smile faltered again. She sighed dramatically.

"Fine, fine. What benefits can you offer, then?"

"That's for you to find out."

"Ah, so it's a gamble,"

She muttered.

"More or less,"

Alaric replied with a small smirk.

The mood shifted again. Virellen grew silent, her usual wit retreating as she pondered the choice. No one interrupted her. Even the birds outside had gone quiet, as if the world held its breath.

After a long pause, she looked up, resolve shining in her grey eyes.

"I accept. What do I need to do? Slave seal?"

"No,"

Alaric said firmly, surprising everyone.

He stepped forward.

"All you need to do is drink my blood."

That earned several reactions.

The girls immediately exchanged glances. Aurevia looked concerned. Cellione raised an eyebrow. Serineth folded her arms, skeptical. Virellen, however, blinked in confusion, then amusement.

Before anyone could speak, Alaric raised his hand.

"Let me explain. I've developed a new binding technique. Like a slave seal, it prevents the bound from causing harm to the one they're bound to. But unlike a slave seal, it doesn't enforce obedience."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

"This binding wraps around the heart. If the one bound attempts to harm the binder in any way, they'll feel immense pain. But it doesn't kill. It doesn't control. It only protects."

The room remained silent. Even Virellen was impressed.

"That's cruel, Master,"

She said at last,

"but also... strangely reasonable. Let's proceed."

Alaric nodded and motioned for her to stay seated as he approached. He drew a slender ceremonial knife from the treasury and sliced the tip of his index finger.

A drop of crimson blood welled up.

Unlike before, when his divine blood shimmered gold, this time it was an ordinary red. The three girls noticed, but said nothing. They understood why. Virellen, unaware of his divine heritage, saw nothing unusual.

Alaric extended his hand toward her.

"I don't know how much blood it'll take, so keep drinking until it's done."

And without warning, he gently pressed his finger into her mouth.

The gesture caught all of them off guard—especially Virellen. Her eyes widened, then gleamed with mischief.

She locked eyes with the other girls and began to passionately suck on Alaric's finger with exaggerated flair.

CRACK!

Aurevia's spoon snapped in her grip.

Cellione's jaw tightened. Her mana flared.

Serineth simply stared—an icy gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

If looks could kill, Virellen would've died at least seven times.

Before she could escalate her performance, Alaric pulled his hand back.

"Done,"

He said simply, focused entirely on sealing the technique. He hadn't seen a thing.

Virellen looked very disappointed.

But she shook it off quickly.

"I don't feel any different,"

She said, licking a spot of blood from her lip.

"You will,"

Alaric replied coolly.

"Try anything funny, and you'll know."

What Virellen didn't realize was that this was a variant of the [Divine Thread: Covenant of Radiant Ascent]. He had simply omitted the divine component this time—using the same principles, a thread bound her heart to his. Conditions were encoded into it, and if she broke any... pain would follow.

Unlike a slave seal, it didn't force commands or obedience. It wasn't about control.

It was about trust.

It could be used to observe, to connect, to communicate. But never to dominate.

Alaric no longer needed to use threads with the three girls. Their bond was beyond symbols and seals now—they were always with him, heart and soul.

The moment passed like a ripple across still water.

Virellen wiped her lips with the back of her hand, feigning nonchalance, though a subtle flush had crept up her neck.

"Well, that was strangely intimate. Are all your contracts sealed by mouth, Master?"

Alaric ignored her bait.

"I trust you won't test the limits of the thread."

Virellen gave a quick, two-fingered salute.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Probably."

THUNK!

Aurevia set down her plate with a little more force than necessary.

"Maid Virellen,"

She said with a tone so serene it was almost threatening,

"I believe you're still on dish duty."

Virellen blinked, then laughed.

"Oh-ho? Someone's jealous."

"No,"

Cellione said coolly, without looking up.

"We're all jealous. We just have better manners."

"Speak for yourselves,"

Serineth muttered, her voice low and dark as she slowly stirred her tea.

"I'm this close to freezing her chair to the floor."

Virellen raised both hands in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright! I'll behave. For now."

She rose, collecting her dishware with exaggerated grace.

"Shall I sing while I work? No? Very well, silence it is."

The other three watched her with careful, narrowed eyes—suspicion wrapped in begrudging acceptance. The tension had not vanished; it had merely evolved.

And yet, despite the thorny exchanges, something had shifted.

She was one of them now.

Alaric turned toward the window, hands clasped behind his back. The light played over his golden hair, casting his silhouette like that of a painting—quiet and mythic.

"You're not a slave,"

He said without looking back.

"You're not family, either. Not yet. But I'll be watching you, Virellen. Closely."

She glanced at him over her shoulder, smile softening.

"I know."

Her tone was different this time. Sincere. Quiet.

A rare moment of truth, hidden beneath all her usual games.

Then she whirled back around and called out, "So, should I expect another blood-drinking initiation ceremony for joining laundry duty too?"

CLACK!

Serineth's teacup cracked in her grip.

Alaric didn't answer. He just closed his eyes, exhaled once, and silently reconsidered every choice that had brought him to this moment.

Behind him, the girls continued their bickering like sisters newly forced to share a room, while Virellen danced between chaos and charm as if born to both.

The mansion was no longer silent.

It was alive.

And, somehow, that made him feel at ease.

He didn't say it out loud—but for the first time since waking in this world, he allowed himself to believe:

Maybe… this could become home.

-To Be Continued