Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?-Chapter 21: Fucking Mutt

"You fucking mutt."

The words cracked through the air like a whip.

Ferick paused. The maid flinched.

Alaric stepped towards them, running his hand through his hair with visible annoyance.

"I just cleaned that part."

Ferick turned toward him, his expression twisting into a sneer.

"You fucker."

He staggered forward, his hand balling into a fist as he made his way toward Alaric with murderous intent.

Alaric spat to the side, standing his ground. But just as he prepared to move—

A searing pain shot through his skull.

"Argh!"

His knees buckled. His hand shot to his head, fingers digging into his scalp as if to claw the agony out.

"What the hell—?!"

His thoughts were chaotic, his vision pulsing.

"I didn't even trigger the slave mark!"

The pain wasn't the usual he got from triggering the slave mark, by trying to hurt his master.

It was different, something deeper, older.

It curled around his skull like iron chains, squeezing, gnawing, punishing.

Ferick stopped mid-step and scoffed coldly. "Don't think so highly of yourself, filth."

His sneer curled into a sadistic grin. "I have something special for scum like you."

He grabbed at his belt, tugging with his free hand, stepping forward with drunken menace.

The maid froze against the wall, too terrified to even scream.

Alaric's eyes widened, rage and helplessness boiling in his chest.

But then—

Slip!

Thud!

Ferick's foot, slick with the wine he'd just spilled, shot out from under him. His body pitched forward.

CRACK!

The half-empty bottle shattered as he crashed to the floor. Shards of glass sprayed across the hall. Wine splattered over his silken robes, staining them dark red.

A jagged piece scraped along his cheek, leaving a thin cut, barely visible under his now-soaked clothes.

"FUCK!" he roared.

Alaric, still hunched in pain, forced one eye open.

And saw him—face down, drunk, bleeding, humiliated.

The pain in Alaric's skull dulled, as if mocking the man groaning on the ground before him.

He slowly straightened, the stabbing pain in his skull fading like a receding tide. He stood tall, rubbing the back of his neck, and let out a soft chuckle.

"Well, would you look at that," he said, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Even the gods think you're pathetic."

Ferick growled, pushing himself up with a groan, his hands shaky and stained with wine.

Before he could fully rise, Alaric dipped the mop into the bucket nearby and casually sloshed some water beside him.

Swish! Swish!

The mop head dragged along the marble, brushing against Ferick's side as Alaric "cleaned" around him with feigned innocence.

"Careful, Master," Alaric said, mock innocence dripping from his tone. "Wouldn't want you slipping again."

Ferick finally stood, limping to the side with wine-soaked clothes, hair stuck to his forehead, and bloodshot eyes filled with venom.

He opened his mouth to curse, only for Alaric to quickly raise both hands in feigned surrender.

"Master, I'm just doing my job," he added with a crooked smirk.

Ferick was about to lunge again when a soft, lilting voice cut through the tension.

"Husband, an envoy from the royal palace is requesting an audience."

They both turned.

Selene stood at the far end of the corridor, poised as ever. Her emerald gown shimmered under the filtered morning light, her hands folded neatly at her waist, eyes calm but distant.

Ferick grunted and shot one last glare at Alaric before stepping forward—

Thwack!

And threw a sharp punch into Alaric's gut.

Thud!

The air left Alaric's lungs. He doubled over, biting back a groan as pain lanced through his abdomen. His hand instinctively curled over the sore spot.

But karma wasn't done with Ferick.

Crunch.!

A sharp crack echoed as his foot landed on a jagged shard of glass.

Slip!

Crash!

He toppled again, falling flat on his side with a loud curse. "Argh, damn it!"

Alaric, still clutching his gut, let out a muted, satisfied exhale and stood upright with effort. His mouth curled into a smirk.

This time, even the terrified maid couldn't help herself. She stiffened to hide it, but her shoulders shook with a barely-contained chuckle.

Ferick glared at them both with unfiltered hatred, but didn't speak. He stood and hobbled toward Selene without saying another word.

She watched him approach with an expression that hovered somewhere between boredom and quiet disdain.

Then her gaze flicked toward Alaric.

Their eyes met—hers calm and piercing, his guarded and defiant.

Alaric quickly lowered his gaze.

Why?

Why can't I even hold a mere baroness's gaze?

[The host is still but a mere child in front of her.]

Alaric's brow twitched.

[Selene Glimor is an awakened being. The host is not.]

[Also—stop looking down on women just because they're women. That'll get you killed one day.]

And with that, the system window vanished.

Selene's voice cut through his thoughts just as she turned at the edge of the corridor.

"Resume your work."

Then she turned away, walking beside her limping husband who was mumbling something obscene under his breath.

As their figures disappeared into the corridor, the hallway fell quiet again.

Alaric exhaled through his nose, the air still tense in his lungs. He was about to return to mopping when he felt a quiet gaze on him.

He turned.

The young maid from before had straightened up slightly, tray still clutched tightly to her chest.

Her expression was hesitant, concern flickering in her eyes.

When their gazes met, she flinched and quickly looked down, clutching the tray tightly to her chest.

"A-Are you okay?" she asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Alaric stood, rolling his shoulders and wiping dust from his uniform with a practiced swipe.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

The maid's shoulders relaxed. She hesitated at first but stepped forward slightly, then stopped, bowing her head with awkward stiffness.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Then, before he could respond, she turned on her heel and hurried off, tray trembling slightly in her grip.

"Thank you..." she mumbled, then turned and scampered off down the hall.

Alaric watched her go for a moment, then quietly resumed mopping.

"Still just a child, huh?" he muttered to himself.

Then glanced at the broken glass, the faint smear of blood on the floor, and the trail of wine soaking into the velvet rug.

"Then I'll just have to grow up fast."