Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge-Chapter 40: A Demon’s Delivery and an Empire’s shores.

Chapter 40: A Demon’s Delivery and an Empire's shores.

Oliver was taken out of the cage without ceremony, guided by the same stone-faced soldier who always seemed like he had better things to do than lead the young nobles for their enjoyment time.

He didn’t resist, didn’t question. He was used to this. They rarely told slaves anything, and just barked orders and expected obedience. Oliver followed.

The soldier led him down a familiar path, and when they stopped before a metal door and unlocked it, Oliver recognized the room instantly.

It was the same storage room as before. The place where he'd first encountered Accra.

The door creaked shut and locked behind him.

He stood there for a moment, eyes scanning the room. Crates. Grain sacks. Dim lamb flickering over dusty shelves.

There was no one here.

He waited, leaning against the wall. Then, after some time, he made his way to one of the sacks and sat, arms folded.

Maybe it was because of all the food in the room, but even though it was a tight space, it still smelled nice.

Thirty minutes passed.

Then the lock clicked.

Oliver stood up just as the door swung open, expecting Martin Vontell. But it wasn’t him.

Another noble scorn entered—young, finely dressed, but clearly shaken. Sweat poured down his face. He gasped for breath as though he’d been running for his life.

Oliver narrowed his eyes. Was he being chased?

Before he could speak, the noble’s body stiffened. His expression twisted unnaturally. His eyes slowly glowed crimson.

The noble did not want to, bit could obviously not stop the process.

A soft hiss of dark aether leaked from his skin.

Then… calm.

The change was immediate.

The noble’s body straightened. He adjusted his collar with practiced ease and looked at Oliver with the confidence of a predator.

“Ah, how is life in the cages treating you, Heir of Ruin?” Accra asked, his voice calm, laced with amusement.

Oliver shrugged. “Comforting as ever. You know, the smell of piss and fear just grows on you.”

Accra chuckled with a grim smile. “Sharp tongue, as always.”

Oliver’s tone shifted, eying this noble differently. “Of course, you’d have more than one pawn. How many more are you hiding?”

Accra rolled his eyes. “That’s like asking me to show you my undies. A demon’s secrets must remain buried. But if you must know... a few dozen in the outer noble circle, maybe one or two nestled deeper inside.” He answered shamelessly, but still filled with pride.

Oliver nodded, impressed despite himself. Accra was reckless—but damn effective. While other demons avoided the Somara Empire like a plague, Accra danced in its halls like a jester among kings.

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“I assume you got my trinket?” Oliver asked, his palm extended.

Accra’s expression soured. “Trinket?” His brows twitched. A ripple of dark aether flared off him. “That trinket cost me dearly!”

“Aww,” Oliver said, voice thick with sarcasm. “That’s so sad. But I did warn you, didn’t I?”

For a moment, it looked like Accra might strike him.

Instead, he chuckled bitterly, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small yellow rubber duck.

“Knowing you,” Oliver said, taking the duck with a smirk, “I doubt we’re even.”

“You’re right. We’re not,” Accra muttered. “This thing… it’s the most useless shard I’ve ever seen. It has no combat use, and no defense. If not for the aether radiating from it, I’d swear it was just a toy.”

Oliver’s eyes lit up as he concealed it within his clothes—and then willed it into the Scorpion Pouch.

Immediately, he felt the shift. A mental image of the duck nestled into his mind’s eye. It had worked. The pouch had accepted it.

Perfect.

Carrying that thing around would’ve been awkward. But now?

It was hidden and safe.

Accra broke the moment. “In a few hours, you’ll reach the shores of the Somara Empire. Even I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. That place… has broken great men.”

Oliver’s smile faded, but his eyes remained firm.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

The resolve was written on his face.

Then Accra added, “And before I forget—do not ignore them. The Red Spiral. A truly messed-up bunch. And coming from me, that’s a compliment.”

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Oliver rolled his eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually cared. What, should I call you Daddy now?”

Accra snickered. “Just get me that S-Rank contract in a year. Considering you’ll be spending time in the camps… that timeline’s looking pretty bleak. Later.”

With that, the crimson glow in the noble’s eyes faded like smoke. The young man blinked, confused and sweating, and then bolted out of the room without a word.

Oliver sighed and leaned back on the grain sack, mulling over the demon’s final warning.

The camps.

He had been there before. It was not a nice place. They was also that infamous Trainer Family. Masters in the art of breaking men—slaves or otherwise.

He didn’t want to go there, definitely did not want Velma to ever set foot there.

A sigh escaped his lips.

Then something struck him, as he looked around again.

“Wait a minute… isn’t this one of their food storages?”

A mischievous grin spread across his face.

---

When the door opened again, the soldier who had brought him stood there.

“Get up. Time to go.”

Oliver followed him without protest.

As they walked away, the soldier paused and turned back toward the room, his eyes squinting.

“…Wasn’t this room filled with two weeks’ worth of supplies?” he muttered, scratching his head.

Oliver said nothing.

But when he returned to the cage and sat beside Velma, he subtly waved a hand. An apple appeared in her lap.

Her eyes widened. “Where… how did you get this?”

“It was a gift,” Oliver whispered. “Eat it in secret. They’ll tear you apart just for a taste.” He pointed at the other slaves.

He moved deeper into their corner, and materialized another apple, biting into it with a satisfied crunch.

Truly, this Scorpion Pouch was worth more than gold.

But more than that, the hunt was about to begin.

:–

The night trial came quietly.

Fortunately, there was no storm outside, meaning no rocking ship, no loud winds—just a slow voyage to their destination. And a slower dissolve of reality for Oliver.

One second, he sat in the slave cage, the next, he found himself back in that scorched, endless desert.

The Night trial

However, unlike before, he didn’t move.

The blazing sun above didn’t faze him.

The faint scent of dried blood from old scorpion carcasses still hung in the air, but Oliver barely noticed. He sat on the broad, fleshy pointy surface of the Carcass Plant, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on something far away—something that wasn’t even in this bloody realm.

His thoughts were heavy. Not chaotic. Just... full.

He knew what came next wasn’t going to be easy.

Of course, ot was of the Somara Empire.

The mere thought should’ve rattled him.

But it didn’t.

A low hum echoed beside him as the red skull that was his bloodline’s will, drifted into view, hovering just above the heat-slicked sand. Its expressionless eyes stared at him.

“You’re that scared of going to the Empire?” it asked, voice dry and laced with sarcasm.

Oliver didn’t answer right away.

Then he shook his head. “Scared? No.”

He looked up, eyes sharp and unblinking. “Actually, I'm excited. There are so many things to do there. So many people I want to… kill. I want payback for what they did to me. So many of them.”

The words weren’t said in anger.

They were calm. Almost cold.

The skull paused. It tilted slightly, inspecting him.

This was... different.

Maybe it was the blood of Asmodeus that brought about the shift.

The boy who had once flinched and scrambled for safety was being smothered. What remained now was more focused. Intentional.

Only a few days had passed since the contract was made, but the coward who trembled the first time he saw Seraphina’s eyes was fading fast.

This version of Oliver?

He was building something dark beneath the surface.

The skull floated a little closer, almost thoughtful.

“Then why don’t you write it down?” it said.

Oliver blinked. “What?”

“There’s no paper nor,” the skull continued. “But thought is relative in this place. You understand what I mean, right?”

He did.

After all, in this realm, logic was often a suggestion.

Oliver looked down. The Carcass Plant beneath him pulsed slightly. This plant was alive in its own grotesque way. He reached down and plucked one of its long, needle-like stings.

He rolled up his sleeve.

Then pressed the sharp end into his skin.

The sting pierced cleanly, and blood bloomed from the wound.

He began to carve the first name:

Roderick Vaelcrest. The first. The trainer that made Oliver’s life hell simply because his white hair reminded him of his ex.

Then another.

Mirelda Casthorn. A marquis. The man who’d forced Oliver to drink a noble’s waste for sport.

There were others...

Baron Elkin Dravon.

Sarrin Helward.

Aster Mordwell.

Each name etched a memory into his flesh. Some nobles had whipped him, others had used him as bait, others simply stood by and laughed as others tormented him.

He didn’t stop. Surprisingly, not all we're nobles. But he still wrote it down.

His arms filled first, then his thighs. His chest. Even his collarbone. Wherever skin stretched, a name found a place. The pain blurred into something else—focus, maybe. Purpose.

The skull hovered silently, watching. For once, it didn’t mock him.

When Oliver’s hands trembled from the repetition, he stopped.

Blood ran in slow, sticky trails down his arms and chest, the desert heat already drying some of it into thin scabs.

Then—snap.

The skull raised a bony finger and clicked.

In an instant, the names vanished from view.

“Don’t worry,” it said. “I’ve saved them for you. They’re still there—etched beneath the skin. They won’t heal. Whenever you need them… they’ll be waiting.”

Oliver gave a single nod.

He didn’t hunt this night.

He wasn’t in the mood. His hands were raw, his mind heavier than ever.

Instead, he stayed on the high tree nestled between two jagged cliffs where the scorpions couldn’t reach him, and he just... sat. The night air was dry, but the higher altitude offered a breeze that cooled the sweat on his neck.

His thoughts were swimming with revenge—not just the act, but how satisfying it needed to be.

And how precise.

---

A loud horn blasted in his ears.

Oliver’s eyes snapped open.

The world had changed again.

The floor beneath him was wood. Chains rattled all around as slaves stirred and groaned awake. A cool breeze swept through the grated sides of the ship, brushing against his skin like a whisper from freedom itself.

They had arrived.

From outside, soldiers shouted orders.

Oliver felt the shift in the ship—its final approach to the dock.

Soldiers had already begun lining the corridors outside the cages. Their metal armor clinked faintly with every step. The ship groaned as it settled, and the iron doors began to unlock, one after the other.

When they reached his cage, the same barked command came.

“Out. All of you.”

Chains rattled again as slaves stood. Velma rose quietly beside him, her expression hollow but focused as she pulled her brother close. Oliver followed the order without resistance. One step after another. Cold iron scraped against his wrists.

As they moved into the corridor, Oliver’s eyes caught the 'taller' soldier walking just to his right—the one who had the E-rank contract with him.

The man leaned slightly and muttered, “Looks like I win the contract. We’ve arrived, and no noble on this ship lost their life.”

Oliver smiled faintly, keeping his eyes forward.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and calm. “Maybe you should check around the ship… just to be sure.”

The soldier’s brow furrowed slightly.

But before he could respond, they reached the outer deck.

The blinding sunlight poured down like a hammer.

Oliver flinched at first, then let the warmth roll across his skin. The salty scent of the sea mixed with the sharp, dry smell of the Empire’s coastal land. It had to be sometime around 9 in the morning—the light was bright but not at its peak.

The breeze that swept over his sweat-slicked skin felt like something out of a dream. It almost made him forget the collar biting into his neck.

Almost.

Behind them, the tall soldier turned.

He looked back toward the ship—his eyes tracing the shadowed passageways and the upper deck.

But the reveal was not within but outside, nailed to the body of the ship.

Then he froze.

His eyes widened.

Oliver didn’t look at him again.

He didn’t need to....