The days that followed settled into a rhythm known only to the devoted. Over two weeks had passed since Alaric first hunted alone, and now, each day began not with sunrise, but with silence—a silence where breath and resolve met beneath the sky's earliest gray.
At dawn, within the grove behind his modest home in Hollowmere Hearth, Alaric stood barefoot on the cool earth.
Dew clung to his soles, grounding him. The world was hushed, as if the forest itself watched in quiet curiosity.
He began with simple stances, modeled after the forms Garron had once demonstrated in idle moments. Yet each movement was reformed, refined, and remade through the prism of Alaric's own understanding.
He moved slowly at first, each motion deliberate—
Whoosh
The rustle of cloth with every twist; thud, as his foot settled into the soil, anchoring his balance. His breaths were long, measured like sacred chants from a forgotten temple.
What he lacked in raw might, he compensated with precision.
Each swing of his sword—first borrowed, now his own—was not for attack, but comprehension.
How does the wind bend when the blade cuts? Where does the weight gather when stance shifts? What does it mean to strike not with power, but with intent?
He poured aura through his limbs, mimicking the flow he'd studied in the manuals. Not just to strengthen, but to feel—fizz, the subtle rush of energy coursing through muscle and bone.
Slowly, the strands of divine energy joined, weaving into his movements like silent flames licking across a river.
When he ran, he poured his aura into his legs, creating a burst that launched him across the grove—crack, the earth shattered beneath his heel, whoom, air pushed back in defiance as he darted forward.
At first, this technique left him winded, drained. Aura and Divine Energy would clash, and he'd collapse—gasp, panting, his limbs trembling with strain. But in time, he grew accustomed. Recovery became swifter. Focus sharper.
To sharpen his sixth sense, he'd sit perfectly still under the moon, aura dispersed like mist across a wide radius.
Though it didn't grant him the total clarity of true Spatial Perception —the kind where one sees without seeing, like masters in the ancient stories—it allowed him something subtler.
A heightened awareness. He could feel birds fluttering in trees hundreds of meters away.
Hear the snap of insect wings. Smell the sharp tang of a goblin's blood from half a league distant.
It was not perfection. But it was a beginning.
And then, there was the concealment technique—his most personal creation. A technique born not of power, but necessity.
Aura Suppression was not enough. He needed to vanish—entirely.
Drawing his breath inward, he slowed everything. Heartbeat. Aura. Even the light in his eyes dimmed.
His presence softened, then vanished—hush, as if the wind passed through him rather than around.
One evening, a fox walked right by where he stood, never once glancing in his direction.
Alaric smiled. Just faintly.
The forest became both sparring partner and witness. Trees bore marks of strikes. Stones cracked beneath his leaps.
A hollow log became his target for long-range divine strikes, a technique he named Radiant Thrust—where Divine Energy was focused into the tip of his sword and thrust in a blinding line of force. It was not yet deadly, but it carried weight.
Sometimes, when his sword dulled, he visited the old blacksmith in Bronzeforge. They did not speak much.
They didn't need to. The old man simply hummed, polished the blade, and returned it with a quiet nod—a ritual between kindred souls shaped by flame and purpose.
And so, the boy who once walked with a bowed head now soared through the forest, tempered by solitude, honed through quiet days of labor.
Still early [Rank-1], yes. But every inch of his foundation had been carved by discipline. Each movement was etched into his bones, each insight into his spirit.
He did not race toward power. He became it, one breath at a time.
*****
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶
✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
*****
Deep within the shadow-cloaked depths of the forest, where the light of the sun pierced only in trembling fragments, a low growl vibrated through the underbrush.
GRRRRRAAAAUGH!
The bear-like beast towered above Alaric, its muscles rippling beneath fur matted with earth and blood.
Its eyes glowed red in the gloom, filled with primal hunger. Alaric's breathing slowed. His body, slight and still childlike, moved with deliberate grace. In one hand, he gripped a blade faintly pulsing with white-gold radiance.
Click—Swish!
He stepped aside as the beast lunged, its claws tearing through the thick roots where he had just stood.
"Radiant Thrust."
He whispered, voice calm as the still surface of sacred water.
From the tip of his sword burst a spear of pure divine energy—
WHOOSH!
—piercing the beast's flank.
The monster roared, stumbling back with a bellow that shook the canopy. Alaric did not smile. His golden eyes shimmered with tranquil intensity, his Divine Heart Core pulsing in steady rhythm.
The fight was short but brutal. With each movement, Alaric danced between strikes—
THUMP! SNAP! WHOOSH!
—until he drove his blade one last time into the beast's throat. It collapsed with a thunderous BOOM.
Panting lightly, Alaric lowered his sword. There was no triumph in his eyes, only calm.
He approached the still-warm corpse and opened a finely made leather pouch—a spatial bag he had bought from the merchant company after ten long days of hunting and bartering. One thousand gold coins it had cost him, hard-earned through danger and patience.
Before this, he had relied on the company's loaned pouch, bound by an oath in the name of the Goddess Elyssira, which returned to them if he strayed.
He looked at the beast once more and murmured a prayer, hand glowing with divine warmth, before storing it with a soft -
FWWUMPH.
The forest around him sighed. Time inched forward, as it always did.
But as Alaric ventured deeper into the forest, it was becoming too dangerous and bothersome to travel alone.
From the edge of the outer forest to the border of the inner region took him Half a day vack and forth, and the path twisted further into secrets he hadn't dared touch.
So, some times he had to camp alone in the forest.
Although his spatial pouche made it easy for him to carry item for travel. It was the danger that bothered him.
While camping alone he had to look out for monsters that may attack in any given moment. And that could become dangerous if he is caught off guard.
That's why heneeded someone. Not just anyone—someone he could trust, or at least control. Someone who wouldn't betray him.
An oath might keep someone's tongue still, but not their heart.
That's when Alaric decided: he would purchase a slave.
In this world, such trade was legal. War or poverty turned humans into currency. Many were sold as criminals or spoils of lost causes. Female slaves, especially beautiful ones, were treated as luxury items for the powerful.
He didn't flinch at the thought. Alaric was not a saint. In his past life, he'd buried his desires beneath duty and doubt. Now, in this strange new world, he had vowed to live truly. To take what he wanted. To refuse what he did not.
And what he wanted now was someone beautiful by his side.
He had already gathered information. The slave market in Verdeloth was no hidden alley. It stood proudly on the Golden Row, among perfumers and silks. A marble structure with stained glass windows—more temple than trading post.
***
He arrived just past noon. The sun lit the sign gilded above the entrance: The Golden Veil.
The manager greeted him with a warm, practiced smile, showing no surprise at the boy before him.
"What kind of companion are you looking for, young master?"
Alaric met his eyes calmly.
"The best you have. A beautiful girl."
The manager's smile deepened, pleased. He gestured politely.
"Please, wait here."
In the private room, everything smelled of rosewood and incense. The silence was like a drawn breath.
Then the door opened.
Three girls entered.
The first, white-haired and red-eyed, moved with the grace of moonlight—aloof, composed. She seemed no less than a fallen princess.
The second, with cascading green hair and sapphire eyes, looked like a forest spirit, hesitant and shy. The last, blonde with violet eyes, had a wild defiance cloaked in elegance.
Alaric looked at all three.
His heart stirred.
He said nothing. But in the depths of his golden gaze, fire flickered.
The trader introduced them. The white-haired girl was indeed of royal blood, her kingdom long devoured by conquest.
The green-haired one was sold by parents too poor to feed her.
The blonde's family had lost a war and paid their price with her freedom.
"These three are the finest we can offer right now. They were set to go to the capital to be sold through our trading company after a few days if they are not sold. You came right on time, young master."
He said with a smile.
"They're untouched,"
The man added.
"Not even a hand held."
Unnecessary, perhaps. But Alaric liked the sound of it.
He had made his choice.
"I'll take all three,"
He said simply.
The manager's brows lifted, then settled into a pleased arc.
"A refined eye. Their price is high. Seven hundred gold each."
Alaric feigned hesitation.
The manager leaned in, conspiratorial.
"For a first-time patron… two thousand gold."
Alaric nodded.He decided that he would by slaves long ago so he had been saving money for this purpose.
He would go deeper into the forest to hunt more powerful monsters to quickly save some money. And the price was just right.
The man brought out a lacquered box, unfolding strange instruments. A curved needle. A vial of crimson ink that shimmered faintly. A thin strip of enchanted parchment.
"To bind a slave seal,"
He said,
"we need your blood, mixed with sacred ink. The seal is visible around the neck. A symbol unique to the bond."
Alaric offered his hand.
But as the needle neared his skin—
WHUUM —
His Divine Heart Core surged. Like molten gold beneath his skin, his power reacted violently. A layer of luminous energy coated his body, golden-white, sacred and protective. The needle stopped midair, trembling.
The slave trader gasped.
"This—this isn't [Rank-1] energy—"
"I forgot to dismiss my protective aura,"
Alaric said coolly.
The man hesitated, then nodded, still shaken. When the aura dimmed, he tried again.
This time, the needle pierced.
Drip.
Out came blood—not red, but liquid gold. Luminous, warm, alive. Like the breath of a god.
Even the girls stirred. Their blank eyes flickered.
The trader composed himself, muttering prayers under his breath as he mixed the ink.
One by one, the seals were drawn—SSSSK—hissing faintly as they burned into skin. The girls flinched, faint cries escaping their lips. Alaric stood still, gaze steady.
But when the first seal was complete, a thread of golden light leapt from his chest—ZSHHH——and struck the white-haired girl, entering her heart.
Alaric's breath caught.
Suddenly, he felt it.
Despair. Anxiety. Fear.
Emotions that were not his.
He shut his eyes. Centered himself.
When the connection faded, he released a breath he hadn't known he held. The same thing happened with the other two, but Alaric was prepared and wasn't startled this time.
Something… had changed.
The trader did not notice. He handed Alaric three fine robes to cloak the girls' beauty.
"You'll draw attention otherwise,"
He chuckled.
Alaric handed over the gold. The trader's smile widened like a cat before cream.
"Leave me your address, young master,"
He said.
"For merchandise of this level… you should be the first to know."
Alaric nodded.
They returned home under the evening stars. The city's golden lights slowly gave way to the quiet hush of his home. The three girls followed in silence.
His home was modest—two bedrooms, a shared bath, and a warm little hearth. He gestured toward the larger room.
"You'll sleep there. I want you to bond with each other. This house is yours now, too."
They nodded, hollow-eyed. Worn.
He said nothing more.
The candlelight flickered inside Alaric's modest home, casting long shadows across the walls. Outside, the moon hung low and full, a silent witness to three broken legacies now resting under his roof.
The three girls sat on the carpeted floor of their shared room, still wrapped in the robes given to them at the trader's shop.
The silence was thick—not with fear, but with fatigue and the unspoken weight of memory.
Alaric stood at the door, leaning against the frame. His golden eyes lingered on them—his mind drifting between the golden threads that had connected him briefly to the heart of all girl and sudden surge of Divine Energy. He hadn't spoken yet. There was no need to. Not until the silence asked to be broken.
The white-haired girl was the first to raise her head. Her back remained straight despite everything, the fire of royalty not yet snuffed out. Her voice was soft—measured.
"You should know who we are. If not for trust, then for your own caution."
Her words echoed like the rustle of silk over marble. A queen's daughter—even in chains.
"I am Aurevia Elenaris Lysanthir. Crown Princess of the Glacial Kingdom of Lysanthir. Or what is left of it."
She paused, breath catching as if the memory tasted of ash.
"They came under the banner of revolution. Commoners, traitors, men I had once dined with. My brothers and father were executed, my mother and sisters… defiled before the people. I ran. My guards bought me time with their blood. My core—"
She tapped her chest lightly,
"damaged in battle. I was hunted like an animal until I collapsed at the edge of the lower kingdoms. A merchant caught me. Chained me. Sold me."
A tremor ran through her as she exhaled—grace slipping just for a moment.
"They could not take my name. So I gave it, instead of having it torn from me."
A long silence followed before the green-haired girl stirred. Her voice was quieter—like wind brushing through wilted flowers.
"Serineth Delaire Vaelwyn. Of House Vaelwyn of the Western Groves. A Baron's daughter. My father… he wept when he signed the paper. And I smiled. I told him it was better this way."
She hugged her knees.
"We were starving. The crops failed for three years. Bandits came and took our workers. I was the only thing he could still trade. And so I became currency for bread. My mother still sleeps in a cold bed, but she lives. That's enough for me."
The last girl hesitated before speaking. Her fingers clutched at the robe's fabric, knuckles pale. She raised her gaze slowly, violet eyes shimmering.
"Callione Alvestine Meridale… or just Calli now, I suppose."
She gave a fragile smile, a girl still trying to be sunshine in a storm.
"My family… we were once rich. My father managed half of the western ports. But the sea turned cruel. War took our allies. Merchants pulled away. Then… debts. So many debts.
My father broke. My mother couldn't take it. And I… well, I was given to cover interest. A 'blessed investment' the man called me. He said I would age beautifully."
Her voice cracked. She didn't try to hide it.
***
Alaric listened in silence, his expression unreadable. Inside, however, his Divine Heart Core pulsed—not violently this time, but steadily. It listened too. Their names etched themselves into his being like fate written in ancient ink.
And then, as if responding to the weight of truth, three golden threads shimmered faintly around his chest. Not piercing or binding, but tethering—as if destiny itself acknowledged them.
"I see,"
Alaric finally said, voice soft, slow like old rivers.
"You were not bought. You were rescued."
Aurevia looked at him sharply, as if testing his sincerity. Callione blinked, tears drying. Serineth's hands loosened.
"I will not ask for loyalty. Not now. But I ask for your patience. You are no longer property. You are purpose. Whether you hate me or follow me, I will not throw away what the world has already broken."
In the silence that followed, the girls said nothing. But something changed. Not trust—but the absence of resistance. A beginning.
After their small one-sided introduction, Alaric tolf them to wash up and go to sleep.
He did the same.Because tomorrow there are many things to take care of.
-To Be Continued