Obedient Only to Me! Sir Knight - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“This one is the finest among them!”

The boy that Karl dragged forward was indeed beautiful enough to live up to that claim.

The only problem was that Lowie, who saw his own impossibly beautiful face in the mirror every day, found such beauty unimpressive—and more importantly, he absolutely loathed children. Yet Karl was desperate.

“Come on, call him ‘Master’!”
“M-Master.”

The boy, struck hard on the hip by Karl’s sharp hand, opened his mouth timidly.

“…Master?”

Lowie, who had been about to wave him away, froze. Master?

“Hm… say it again.”
“Pardon?”
“Say it again.”
“…Master?”

The confused “top-quality” boy tilted his head, still not understanding. His face truly was exquisite, but Lowie couldn’t have cared less. Instead, he fell into thought.

He had wanted to buy a dog, but come to think of it—dogs couldn’t talk. They couldn’t even understand speech. The more he thought about it, the more intolerable that sounded. Lowie knew himself too well. And so, he mercilessly abandoned the idea of owning a dog.

In that case—

“Don’t you have any adults? I can’t stand children.”
“……!”

The boy’s eyes widened in dismay, tears welling up as his fragile hopes of being bought by this beautiful man shattered. Karl didn’t notice—or care. Lowie had already made up his mind. What he needed was a strong, loyal servant—one who would call him Master with obedience and fetch his prey when commanded.

“Heh-heh! This way, my lord! Right this way! Fine-looking, tall men—all of them!”

Having finally grasped his customer’s “preferences,” Karl led Lowie onward with renewed enthusiasm.

“Here we are! Take your pick—each one is well-built and… generously endowed. Heh-heh.”

Karl smirked lewdly at his own words, but Lowie wasn’t listening. He was far too absorbed in his search for someone who pleased his aesthetic sense.

That one looks too greasy. Pass. That one’s hair color—what even is that? Pass. That one’s muscles are lacking. Pass. Pass. Pass.

Lowie’s taste, as exquisite as his own face, was notoriously hard to satisfy. He inspected each one with sharp eyes—but none of them felt right.

“Don’t you have anyone stronger?”
“Stronger?”

Karl’s eyes widened. Ah, he likes them big, he thought, his misunderstanding growing like a snowball. But Lowie paid him no attention.

“There is one. A big one, yes—but he’s only recently been brought in. Still under training. Of course, he’s wearing restraints, so he’s not dangerous!”
“Hm…”
“Excellent with a sword, too! We were planning to sell him as a combat slave—”

Before Karl could finish, Lowie gestured curtly. Bring him.

A combat slave, huh…

The noble-born Lowie had only ever seen one before—two years ago, during his long voyage to the island.

To travel from the Empire to distant Seraphila, one had to pass through several other countries. Though exiled, Lowie was still the son of House Irad. Even in disgrace, it would have been unthinkable to send him across borders without an escort. However, bringing imperial knights would draw too much attention, so they had hired mercenaries and combat slaves instead.

The combat slaves he saw then had fought monsters with nothing but their bare strength. It was the first time in Lowie’s life that he had felt such raw killing intent. If he wanted something capable of hunting, a strong one like that would be perfect—even if he didn’t yet know what he intended to hunt. His island didn’t even have a single rabbit.

“Here he is!”

Karl brought forth the slave and forced him to his knees before Lowie. The man’s pitch-black hair fell over his shoulders as he moved, his dark eyes meeting Lowie’s. For a brief moment, they locked gazes.

Even his eyes were black. Lowie smiled faintly—he liked black.

“He wasn’t born a slave, but he’s docile by nature, my lord. He wears a magical restraint, so he cannot disobey orders. And of course, you may enjoy the pleasure of training him yourself.”

Karl added that last part with an insinuating tone, but Lowie barely heard him. His eyes were fixed on the restraint around the man’s neck—a simple device that delivered an electric shock when a command was defied.

They think that’s enough to control him?

As a high-ranking magician, Lowie could tell how crude the enchantment was. He tilted his head, unconvinced.

“Hm.”
“What do you think, my lord?”
“I’m considering it.”

Lowie’s noncommittal tone made Karl hastily prod the slave.

“Greet your master!”
“……”
“Now!”
“…Master.”

As Karl gripped the restraint and gave it a warning shake, the man finally spoke, his voice low and steady. So the collar worked, after all.

“Hm, what to do…”

His voice was nice. His hair and eyes, too. But… Lowie wasn’t particularly drawn in. His expression quickly dulled.

Josef hadn’t exaggerated when he said Lowie’s melancholy was severe—it was. His moods swung violently. The excitement that had filled him earlier was fading fast; even choosing a slave now felt bothersome. But the thought of returning to that silent, lonely island was worse.

Maybe I should just take this one. At least he looks decent enough.

He liked those dark eyes. They were steady, almost defiant.

Doesn’t look all that docile, though.

The slave didn’t avert his gaze. His eyes met Lowie’s—calm, unwavering, and quietly challenging. For a long moment, neither looked away.

“All right. I’ll take him. Draw up the papers.”
“Ah! Yes, right this way, my lord. Heh-heh.”

Lowie broke eye contact first, turning away. As he walked off, the slave’s black eyes followed him, unblinking.

…

He’d truly been sold.

Elion, merciful one.

Suppressing the turmoil within him, Daer murmured the familiar words of prayer under his breath. The prayer was meaningless now. From this day on, he would serve not his god, but his new master.

How had it come to this? Dizzy with disbelief, Daer shut his eyes.

The man just sold—his name was Daer. He had no surname. None of the priests belonging to the Elysion Temple bore surnames; it symbolized their complete devotion to Elion.

Elysion had always been a small order, and its priests never sought worldly power. They valued obedience to divine purpose far above influence or expansion.

Their one divine mission was simple: to destroy demons.

Born and raised within those holy walls, Daer had been trained from childhood for that very purpose. Nurtured by the priests in place of parents, he grew into an exceptional knight—one who wielded both faith and sword in perfect harmony.

When he was appointed Commander of the Holy Knights and embarked on the grand expedition to defeat the Great Demon Mammon, Daer had been filled with the unshakable conviction that his life had meaning.

But after finally fulfilling that lifelong mission—slaying the demon he had sworn to destroy—he was left with a hollow feeling he could not name.

What do I do now?

The satisfaction of victory was fleeting, replaced by a strange emptiness. Still, before he could dwell on it, misfortune struck swiftly.

“The situation is dire. We focused too much on the demon hunt—the Order’s finances are ruined.”
“What?”
“All the sacred relics have been sold. Even your holy sword must go.”
“My… holy sword? You already sold the relics?”
“I’m afraid so.”

Thus, the small Elysion Order—after its greatest triumph—collapsed into bankruptcy.

Of course, no church should have fallen so quickly. But their High Priest had borrowed heavily from an infamous criminal guild. A fatal mistake.

Had they possessed even a shred of worldly sense, they might have appealed to another church or nation for help. But the priests of Elysion had lived their lives wholly devoted to fighting demons, with little understanding of worldly matters.

Their debts snowballed until the Order could no longer bear them. In the end, the holy temple—thousands of years old—was lost. Its members scattered to the wind.

Amid the chaos, Daer had fought desperately to protect one thing—the holy sword Ignis.

Unlike the other relics, Ignis was unique—the only weapon capable of killing demons, the very soul of Elysion’s faith. Without it, nothing of the Order would remain.

Daer had tried everything to save it. But like his brothers in faith, he knew nothing beyond battle. His clumsy attempts to earn money ended in one disaster after another—too pitiful to recount.

How could there be so many swindlers in the world? Did they not fear divine retribution? Before long, Daer himself was buried in debt. His sword was taken, and finally, even his body was sold.

Everything had gone wrong, one thing after another—so much so that he had begun to wonder if Elion himself had abandoned his faithful servant. Yet Daer did not despair.

The Lord tests only those He deems worthy.

Surely, his new master was part of that divine test. So Daer resolved to serve faithfully until his debt was repaid. If he could serve God all his life, surely he could serve a master as well… right?

My new master… what should I call him?

Daer looked at the figure before him—his expression unreadable.