The field slowly settled after Albert returned to his construction site.
His heavy footsteps faded toward the half-built warehouse, swallowed by the scrape of tools, the dull thud of stone being moved, and the distant voices of workers calling to one another. A few villagers still looked in his direction, as if expecting the large man to turn back and continue arguing, but Albert did not. Once he had given me that final warning, he went back to his work as though the matter had been settled for now.
For now.
I stood before the gathered outcasts and let the morning breeze pass over the open field. The sunlight had grown warmer, touching the worn faces of the former slaves and catching in the dust that drifted lazily around their feet. Moments ago, those people had looked like they were waiting for a command that would decide whether they would be punished, sold again, or worked until their bodies gave out. Now, their eyes were different.
Not bright. Not fully trusting.
But there was something there.
A cautious, fragile spark.
They looked at me with the kind of hope people tried to hide because they were afraid it would be taken away. Some still held their heads low out of habit, but their gazes kept rising toward me. A thin woman near the back clasped her hands together. A young man with sunken cheeks swallowed repeatedly, as if the word "freedom" was stuck somewhere in his throat and he did not know how to let it out. Stella Leslie stood quietly among them, her expression still guarded, while Ivan Gregor looked like a man who had survived too much to believe in kindness easily.
I kept my posture calm.
Inside, however, I felt the faintest stir of satisfaction.
Good. This much is enough to change the mood.
The moment that thought passed through my mind, a translucent notification appeared at the corner of my vision.
[Congratulations! You have gained 15 Happiness Points from the hope given to the slaves.]
[Total Points: 30P]
My eyes paused on the glowing words.
A faint smile rose in my heart, though I did not let it show too clearly on my face.
So hope counts too.
That was useful information. Very useful. The System did not only reward direct joy, comfort, or celebration. It also reacted to the birth of hope itself, even if that hope was still uncertain. In a land like this, where poverty, hunger, and fear had already become normal, hope might be the easiest seed to plant and the hardest one to keep alive.
I was still considering that when a rough voice cut through the quiet.
"Hey, then what are we supposed to do?"
The question came from the line of Rank E mercenaries.
I turned my gaze toward them.
The speaker was a thin man with narrow shoulders, a sharp chin, and a rusty sword hanging at his waist. His leather armor had been repaired so many times that no two patches matched, and one of his boots looked ready to split at the sole. Even so, he stood with his chin raised and a crooked smile on his face, as if his poverty had not damaged his pride in the slightest.
He tilted his head toward the former slaves. "Don't tell me we're just going to be stone carriers like them."
A few of the other mercenaries snickered.
It started quietly at first, a breath through the nose, then a few rough chuckles spreading down the line. They glanced at each other, shoulders loosening now that Albert had left. The fear from earlier had not vanished completely, but it had shifted into something more familiar to them: mockery. As Rank E mercenaries, they were likely at the bottom of the professional ladder, the kind of men hired when a client lacked both money and standards. Yet even men standing on the lowest step still wanted someone beneath them.
That was human nature, ugly and predictable.
To them, former slaves were beneath them.
And I, apparently, was not much higher.
Their eyes measured me openly. My clean clothes, my blond hair, my calm expression, the lack of scars on my hands, the absence of a sword at my waist. In their minds, I was nothing more than a "blonde pretty boy" who had somehow obtained money and authority, but would not survive a minute on a real battlefield.
I could almost hear their thoughts from the way they looked at me.
I met their laughter with a sharp stare.
"I did not buy your contracts so you could become porters," I said.
The thin mercenary raised his brows, still smiling. "Oh?"
"I will make you my Knights."
For a heartbeat, silence fell.
Then the mercenaries burst into louder laughter.
One man bent forward with his hands on his knees. Another slapped the shoulder of the person next to him. The thin mercenary with the rusty sword showed his yellowing teeth as if I had just told the funniest joke he had heard all year.
"Knights?" he repeated. "Did you hear that? We're going to be Knights!"
"Careful," another one said, wiping at the corner of his eye. "Maybe Lord Pretty Boy will teach us how to swing a sword with those delicate hands."
More laughter followed.
"Lord," the thin mercenary said, trying and failing to sound respectful. "No offense, but you don't even look like you can hold a sword properly."
My eyelid twitched.
Just a little.
It was not that their insult wounded me deeply. Compared to the political knives I had survived in my previous life, this was childish. I had been called worse by men with cleaner clothes and dirtier hearts. But there was a difference between ignoring an insult and allowing a group of undisciplined fighters to believe they could ridicule me in public without consequence.
Authority was a fragile thing at the beginning.
If I let them laugh today, they would test me again tomorrow. If I asked Albert to silence them, they would obey Albert, not me. If I called Hana, they would fear Hana, not me. And if every threat against my leadership had to be handled by someone else, then the image they already had of me would become reality in their minds.
A useless blonde pretty boy hiding behind stronger people.
No. That will not do.
My fingers rested lightly against my cuff. I kept my expression controlled, but behind my calm face, my thoughts moved quickly.
Could I use words? Possibly. Could I manipulate them with promises of pay, status, or future benefits? Also possible. But men like this respected strength first and reason second. Their pride bowed only when something heavier pressed down on it.
Think. I need to shut them up myself, but I cannot actually fight them.
At that moment, I opened the System.
"System," I called inwardly.
A translucent panel unfolded before my eyes, its letters glowing with cold clarity.
[SKILL | CATEGORY | PRICE | DESC]
[FIRE | ELEMENT | 50P | ...]
[ICE | ELEMENT | 50P | ...]
[WATER | ELEMENT | 50P | ...]
[DIMENSIONAL SLASH | WEAPON SKILL | 300P | ...]
[ENHANCE | PHYSIQUE | 120P | ...]
[SWORD TECHNIQUES | WEAPON SKILL | 70P | ...]
[INTIMIDATION AURA | MENTAL ATTACK | 30P | ...]
My gaze stopped on the last line.
Thirty points.
Exactly everything I had.
For a brief moment, I hesitated. Spending all my points at once was reckless. Fire, Ice, and Water were unavailable to me for now, but they showed the direction of the System's possibilities. Sword Techniques could make me more believable as a military leader, but it was still out of reach. Enhance was even further. Dimensional Slash was absurdly expensive, which probably meant it was absurdly powerful.
But none of those mattered if I lost control of these men today.
Intimidation Aura. Level 1 should be enough, right?
There was no time to overthink.
System, purchase Intimidation Aura.
[-30 Happiness Points have been used.]
[You have obtained the skill 'Intimidation Aura' Lv. 1.]
The moment the notification faded, something cold opened inside my chest.
It was not pain. It was more like a door unlocking in a place I had not known existed. A heavy sensation gathered beneath my skin, dark and silent, waiting for direction. I did not move. I did not draw a weapon. I did not raise my voice.
I simply looked at the laughing mercenaries.
Then I released it.
The atmosphere in the field changed instantly.
A crushing pressure burst from my body, invisible yet heavy enough to make the air feel colder. The morning breeze seemed to die mid-breath. Dust that had been drifting peacefully around my boots scattered outward as if pushed by a sudden wave.
The laughter stopped.
Not slowly. Not awkwardly.
It died all at once.
The thin mercenary's grin froze on his face. His eyes widened, the color draining from his cheeks until his skin looked almost gray. The rusty sword at his waist trembled against his thigh, not because it was moving, but because his legs had begun to shake.
Around him, the other mercenaries stiffened. One man grabbed at his own throat, gasping as though the air had turned too thick to swallow. Another stumbled backward, boot scraping across the dirt with a harsh sound.
Scrrk.
Darkness gathered faintly around me, not like smoke, but like a shadow clinging too closely to my body. It curled at the edge of my vision and pressed outward in a silent wave. I could feel it touching their minds, not reading them, but squeezing the instinct buried beneath thought.
Fear.
Raw, unreasonable fear.
The kind that came before the body understood why.
Several mercenaries dropped to one knee almost at the same time.
Thud. Thud.
Their weapons clinked uselessly against the ground. The thin man with the rusty sword tried to remain standing, but his knees buckled. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, perhaps another joke, perhaps an apology. Nothing came out.
At the far end of the line, Hans Carter reacted the worst.
The mage had physical stats at Rank F, and it showed immediately. His thin frame went rigid, his pupils trembling. He tried to lift his staff, perhaps out of reflex, but his fingers lost strength before he could grip it properly. His eyes rolled upward.
Then his body tilted.
"Hans—!"
Thud!
Hans Carter collapsed onto the ground with a heavy, undignified sound that made even the former slaves flinch.
One of his companions half-reached toward him, then froze. "Hans," he whispered, terror cracking through his voice. But he did not move any closer. He could not. His own body was trembling too badly, trapped between concern for his friend and the overwhelming pressure pinning him in place.
I watched them without changing my expression.
Inside, however, I was startled by the result.
This is only Level 1?
My gaze shifted toward Arad Youssef.
The white-haired man stood near the edge of the mercenary line. Unlike the others, he had not fallen to his knees. He had not fainted. His posture remained upright, though his shoulders had gone tense and his eyes were wide with clear shock. His hand hovered near the hilt of his weapon, but he did not draw it.
He was resisting.
Not comfortably, but resisting.
SSS potential indeed.
For a moment, our eyes met.
Arad's face was pale, yet there was something different in his expression compared to the others. Fear, yes, but not only fear. There was recognition too, as if he had just realized that the man he dismissed as harmless might not be harmless at all.
That was enough.
I closed the door inside me.
The dark pressure vanished.
The cold weight pressing over the field disappeared in an instant, and the morning air rushed back as if the world had finally remembered how to breathe.