Obedient Only to Me! Sir Knight - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He had seemed so composed, so commanding back at the slave market…

Lowie recalled the chilling glint in Daer’s gemstone-like eyes—cold, expressionless, yet full of pride. Those eyes had radiated a kind of unshakable confidence that even Lowie found oddly intimidating. But in contrast to that striking first impression, his new “slave” was now…

“Ow—hot!”
“Please, drink water first!”

Daer hurriedly handed his master a glass after Lowie scalded his mouth on a cup of steaming hot chocolate. His master was—frankly speaking—childish.

They hadn’t even walked a dozen steps out of the slave market when Lowie had spotted an ice cream sign.

Ice cream!

Before Daer could even register that he’d been sold and was now someone’s property, he found himself being tugged along into a dessert café by his new master. And this—this was the scene that followed.

Lowie had ordered so many desserts that the table overflowed with them, his excitement so great that his legs couldn’t stop bouncing beneath his chair. Daer sighed quietly. His master was rather childlike—but a master nonetheless. It was his duty to serve faithfully…

“Ahh—!”
“Spit it out!”

Lowie, unable to wait even a moment, had bitten straight into a piping-hot honey pie and now mouthed a soundless scream. Startled, Daer thrust out his hand in alarm.

“Ugh—it’s hot.”

Suppressing a sigh, Daer swiftly took the pie from him.

“Please, have a cool drink first. I’ll let it cool down.”
“Mmh…”

Lowie’s eyes shimmered with tears from the heat as he dabbed at them and sipped the iced tea Daer handed over. The sight was so ridiculous that Daer had to stifle another sigh. He pulled all the remaining pies toward himself and began cutting them neatly into bite-sized pieces.

His movements were precise—clean, sharp, not a single crumb wasted. Even without his sacred sword, the former Commander of the Holy Knights displayed impeccable mastery, his hands steady as if wielding a blade of divine steel rather than a simple dessert knife.

Lowie watched, his wide eyes fixed not on Daer, but on the pie. Daer noticed the gaze and picked up a small piece. The boy’s eyes followed it instinctively, back and forth, as Daer playfully waved it from side to side. Left, right, left…

My new master… is rather adorable, isn’t he?

Suppressing a smile, Daer finally offered the piece, and Lowie accepted it eagerly, smiling brightly in return. It was a beautiful smile. If this was what being a slave entailed—perhaps, Daer thought faintly—it might not be such an ill-fitting role after all. Of course, life was never that simple; if it were, he wouldn’t have become a slave to begin with.

“I’m Lowie. What’s your name?”
“I am Daer.”
“Mhm. From now on, I’ll call you Ban.”
“…Pardon?”

What did he just say? Daer froze mid-motion, pie knife still in hand.

“I named you.”
“My… name, my lord?”

But… I already have one?

“You’re mine now. So it’s only right that I give you a name.”
“…A name?”
“Why? Don’t like it? Of course you don’t hate it. Right?”
“……”
“Then it’s decided. I’ll call you Ban from now on.”

Lowie beamed again, the same sweet smile as before—but somehow, this time, it sent a chill down Daer’s spine.

Elion above…

That smile… felt terrifying. And in that instant, Daer—no, Ban—knew that his new master was going to be a trial far from gentle.

“Hehe.”

Lowie, who had just sampled nearly every dessert in the shop, laughed to himself, visibly delighted. His mood had been unstable lately, swinging high and low without warning. He’d been in such a foul temper at the slave market, but now—

Could it be that I was depressed because I hadn’t had any sweets lately?

Maybe. On his island, no one could make proper desserts. Once, desperate for ice cream, he had even frozen fruit juice with magic. It hadn’t tasted quite right—but he’d eaten it all the same. Now, having devoured an obscene amount of cakes, ice cream, and sugary treats, Lowie licked his lips again, already craving more.

The café he’d entered on impulse had been spectacular. Every dish—from cakes to drinks—had suited his impossibly picky taste. After feasting until he was practically a lump of sugar, Lowie leaned back, dazed and content.

If sweets really fix my mood, should I just hire a pastry chef too?

It was a brilliant idea. He’d already bought a slave—what was one more?

Turning his gaze to the man beside him, Lowie’s eyes trailed upward.

“How tall are you?”
“One hundred and ninety-five centimeters.”
“Wow.”

Wow, how infuriating.

Barely reaching one-eighty by generous rounding, Lowie was reminded of how small he always felt among the towering men of House Irad.

Why do they all insist on looking down at people?

His mood began to sour—but then again, if he was going to keep someone by his side, better they be tall and strong. Thanks to the lingering sugar rush, magnanimity came easily. Lowie nodded to himself as he circled Ban, inspecting him critically. Tall, well-built, broad-shouldered—yes, his taste was impeccable.

Only the ugly restraint around Ban’s neck and the drab clothes from the slave market offended his eyes. Especially the restraint. The magic embedded in it was so crude it was laughable. How could a magician’s slave wear something so unsophisticated? If only he had the tools, he’d weave a far more elegant spell—one that could make the man kneel with a snap of his fingers. But for now, that would have to wait.

I’ll buy some supplies before heading back to the island.

When people heard of Seraphila’s islands, they imagined gentle waves and sunlit beaches—but Lowie’s island was not like the others. Fierce currents ran around it, and storms often trapped him there for days.

In truth, the island wasn’t meant for habitation at all. The servants who maintained the estate commuted from a neighboring isle—but when the weather turned foul, even they couldn’t reach him. On stormy nights, the island fell into a silence so deep it was suffocating.

“I need to buy you proper clothes. Oh, right—what about your sword?”
“Slaves aren’t permitted to carry weapons in the market.”
“Then let’s buy one!”
“…Pardon?”

Lowie’s exclamation was impulsive, as always.

House Irad had produced generations of imperial knights, yet Lowie himself, born with immense magical power, was the family’s black sheep—never once allowed near a sword. And because of that, he had always harbored a certain fascination with them.

This was the perfect chance to indulge that old fantasy.

“You’re a combat slave, right? You need a sword.”
“Are you… planning to travel beyond the region?”
“No, not exactly.”

Lowie shook his head. Between cities and across borders, monsters often lurked despite the protective barriers erected by the empire. For that reason, travelers hired mercenaries or combat slaves. But Lowie had no plans to leave Seraphila for now.

“It’s not that. I just… want to go hunting.”
“Hunting… monsters?”
“I was thinking more like rabbits.”
“Ah. Rabbits.”

Ban nodded vaguely. So I was bought… to catch rabbits.

“I’ll need a sword for that, right?”

Lowie’s eyes sparkled again. Ban, now quite used to his master’s erratic logic, followed obediently. A slave couldn’t exactly refuse his master’s whims.

The forge was at the end of the main street. It had been two years since Lowie had last passed it, but he remembered it clearly and led the way as if he were a regular customer.

White Beard Forge.

“Here.”
“What can I get for you?”

A burly man with a thick white beard emerged from behind the counter. He looked every bit the classic blacksmith. Excited as if setting off on an adventure, Lowie raised his chin.

“Show me your swords.”

The blacksmith eyed him up and down.

“What kind of sword are you after? We’ve got some silver daggers over there.”

Naturally, Lowie had no interest in such trinkets.

“A real sword. One that can cut through monsters—and people, too.”
“Can you even wield one?”
“He’ll be the one using it.”

Lowie pointed straight at Ban. The blacksmith finally nodded in understanding.

“So you’re looking for a real weapon. We don’t get many knights around here, you know.”

It made sense—this was a resort town, not a battlefield. Lowie’s disappointment was obvious. Seeing it, Ban stepped forward.

“As long as the balance and length are right, that’s fine. Decorative blades are acceptable.”
“For a knight? Those aren’t properly tempered.”
“That’s fine.”

Ban’s tone was calm but firm. It really didn’t matter. At his level, he could fight with a tree branch if he had to. Of course, a fine sword would be preferable—but he could make do. Especially since…

You don’t need a sword to catch a rabbit.

Still, his master’s eyes gleamed with such anticipation that Ban decided not to comment. How could one meet such expectations? He pondered as the blacksmith, estimating Ban’s build, fetched several blades.

“Ugh, dull.”
“It’s a fine sword.”

They spoke in unison. Lowie’s lips pursed, and he stepped back obediently.

The truth was, Lowie had only ever worn a ceremonial blade once—during his coming-of-age ceremony. All he could judge was whether a sword looked pretty or ugly.

While he lost interest, Ban and the blacksmith fell into an animated discussion about weight balance and blade curvature. Despite their stoic faces, they were quite talkative. Bored, Lowie wandered about the shop, admiring the other wares—golden cutlery sets priced at 900,000 sen, jeweled pasta tongs for 1.5 million.

Hmm. Maybe I did walk into the wrong shop.

Just as he was about to give up on browsing, Ban’s discussion concluded. It seemed he had chosen a sword.

“Um… my lord. The price is…”

Ban hesitated. Having lost everything to debt and servitude, he knew the sting of money all too well. This sword seemed unnecessarily expensive for something he didn’t need. He could fight just as well with a branch, after all.

But Lowie, a duke’s son born into obscene wealth, couldn’t care less. Money was something that existed simply to be spent. He pulled out his purse without hesitation.

“How much? I’ll pay.”
“One hundred fifty thousand sen.”
“Huh?”

Cheaper than the cutlery? That’s fine then.