Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge
Chapter 59: Thalia’s Cruel Special Training For Women

Chapter 59: Thalia’s Cruel Special Training For Women

A boot stepped out.

"Hello, nephew."

The voice was smooth and deep like oil sliding over stone. Roderick didn’t need to turn. He knew it. He hated that he knew it. But he did.

Slowly, stiffly, he turned and offered a bow. “Uncle Mark.”

Mark Vaelcrest stepped through the portal fully, dressed in the white traditional robes of House Vaelcrest. His beard was long and greying, well-kept but not vain. His eyes sparkled with a kind of malice that wore the mask of charm.

Though he called Roderick nephew, they both knew the title was nothing more than a polite fiction. They were kin by house, not by heart.

Also, Mark was a kind of an odd Vaelcrest. To describe him in one sentence: He worked for the Mordelune heirs.

And those triplets were a flavor of weird that even made crazy Roderick respect them.

“Still as stiff as ever,” Mark chuckled, walking up to the cliff’s edge and peering down. His breath formed a thoughtful whistle. “These new ones under House Vontell look promising. Especially that little one—ah yes, the boy with the stones and the vines. You’re doing good work, nephew. Real good work.”

Roderick didn’t respond. Compliments from Mark were like meat wrapped around poison.

“You know,” Mark said as he scratched his beard, “when I was your age, I was barely worth a damn. Took me decades to earn the respect of even the lowest Slave masters. But you—you’re already outshining your father.”

That made Roderick look up.

“Really? You think so?” The question slipped out before he could control it.

Mark’s smile widened. “Of course. Just because you haven’t earned the title of Slave Master yet doesn’t mean you lack the skill. Honestly, if you and Thalia didn’t have to bow and curtsy at every turn for your mother’s bloodline, I’d wager you’d be ahead of Cassian already.”

The words lingered. Roderick didn’t realize he was smiling until he felt the shift in his cheeks.

Not even his Father ever said something like that. Roderick rarely or never received such praise.

But then—

“There’s a but,” Mark said, lifting a finger like a priest delivering scripture. “You can’t shine here. Not in your father’s shadow. You know the old saying, don’t you?”

Roderick’s smile faded. “Which one?”

“‘The second flame always flickers under the first’s heat.’” Mark’s voice dropped. “Come with me. Join the Mordelunes. You’d have your own light. No shadows. No chains.”

Roderick’s entire body stiffened. He took a step back. “If that’s why you came, you shouldn’t have... uncle.”

Mark just laughed. “I came because I see you. And because your talents shouldn’t be wasted under the yolk of Cassian’s legacy. We both know he favors Thalia. Always has. Always will.”

Roderick tried not to flinch. It was true. Cassian didn’t even hide it anymore.

Mark stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper that only Roderick could hear. “Besides... you owe them. Remember?”

That struck like a blade beneath the ribs.

Roderick’s jaw clenched. Of course he remembered. The debt to the Mordelune triplets—It was not one easily forgotten. Nor forgiven. The memory of what he’d done, what he’d agreed to… even now it crawled beneath his skin like maggots under flesh.

But at the time, he had no choice.

Father was gone—off to handle some diplomatic front. He'd always put the welfare of the empire before his own family—and Roderick had to make the decision. It was either that… or watch something far worse unfold to his mother.

And back then, he had been too scared to let go of her.

He said nothing.

Mark's grin turned wolfish. “Still so obedient. Just like the good little boy you always were.”

But then a voice, clear as crystal and sharp as a blade, cut through the thick air.

“I do not appreciate you putting words in my son's head.”

Cassian Vaelcrest had arrived.

He stood with his usual poise, his long white coat trailing in the wind like a war banner. His eyes burned not with anger, but with disappointment—deeper, sharper, more biting.

Instantly, Roderick moved—one powerful leap to another floating rock closer to his father, creating both physical and emotional distance from Mark. He didn’t say a word. But his eyes betrayed everything—guilt, fear, defensiveness.

Mark remained at the edge, unaffected. “Cassian,” he greeted with mock warmth. “You always did have perfect timing.”

Cassian’s stare didn’t waver. “Leave.”

Mark gave a low chuckle, spreading his hands. “I was only here to encourage the next generation... brother.”

Cassian stepped forward, the pressure of his presence like thunder before a storm. “And yet, every time you show your face, it reeks of corruption. Also, i have told you before. We bare the same family crest, but we are not brothers.”

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Cassian’s gaze was strong.

Roderick looked at noth men. He knew his father had history with Mark. He just was not sure of the details. Although he had heard rumors. Something about it concerning his mother.

Then again, a part of him wondered what would happen if these two battled it out.

Cassian might have been most respected in the empire, but his cultivation was only so so —rank 2 of the Blood warrior rank.

While Mark had long settled in rank 3. In fact, rumors had it that he might make another breakthrough soon.

Nevertheless, Cassian had that look on his face. The one that stated that he was in control of the situation. Like would somehow cross the gap in power and still win.

For a moment, the atmosphere was tense, and then the pressure suddenly disappeared.

Mark bowed mockingly. “Ah, family—ever fond of dramatics.”

Then, with one last look at Roderick, Mark added, “Offer still stands, nephew. Light shines brightest away from smothering roots... and before i forget. They did say to tell you that they will be in touch.”

With that, he vanished in the same shimmer of energy, leaving behind only the tension in the air and the sinking weight in Roderick’s gut.

Cassian turned to his son, his expression unreadable. “We will speak later.”

Roderick gave a nod, back straight, face neutral.

But inside? The ruthless trainer of slaves had been shaken.

How could he not?

Roderick was not dumb. Nobles communicated in a different kind of way from the norm.

Mark had handed out an invitation to him to join the Mordelunes.

But what it really meant was that they wanted him to do their bidding.

It was probably very bad. So bad that they knew that after it was done, he would no longer be able to be a vaelcrest associated with the Vontell family—and therefore the offer was extended.

An escape.

Once Mark left through the shimmering portal, Cassian turned his gaze downward, watching the slaves below as they struggled up the mountainside.

Their bodies bent under the weight of the task, each step and climb a battle... especially for the Centaurs.

Cassian didn’t flinch, nor did he offer any words of praise. Roderick, standing beside him, looked at his father’s face, hoping for some kind of recognition. A simple compliment, even a smile. But all he got was a grunt.

“Are they reciting the Imperial Slave Value System?” Cassian’s voice was calm, detached, like he was observing something trivial.

Roderick straightened, his throat was tight with the need for approval. "Yes, Father."

Cassian didn’t respond for a long moment, his eyes never leaving the scene below. "Half their body weight is too light for them. At the end of the week, double it. They should understand that they carry the weight of the Empire’s future on their shoulders. Let them feel it—mentally and physically. Let their minds connect the dots."

Roderick bowed his head, the response was automatic. "Yes, Father."

Cassian’s gaze remained distant, but then, unexpectedly, he waved a hand dismissively. "It’s not bad, what you’re doing. But it’s nothing compared to what Thalia is doing."

The words cut through the air like a slap. Roderick’s stomach tightened. He forced a neutral expression, but inside, the sting was there.

He had been so close to a compliment, yet it had been snatched away by his sister, and she was not even here.

Cassian continued without noticing the shift in his son’s demeanor. "Come. Follow me."

Roderick didn’t speak, but his pride flared. Still, he kept his silence, knowing better than to challenge his father in this moment. Cassian raised his wand with a practiced flick, speaking a single word.

"Portal."

A crackling energy formed in the air, and with it, a swirling gateway opened before them. The portal mage stepped through and bowed low to Cassian.

It was the same mage Roderick had used to bring the slaves to the Sigh Mountains.

"Take us to Thalia."

The mage nodded without question, then gestured with his hands, manipulating the very air around them to form another portal. The two Vaelcrest men followed as the world around them shifted and spun.

They arrived on the high rooftop of a massive warehouse. The first thing that assaulted their senses was the sound—screams, raw and guttural, echoing in the distance.

Roderick’s eyes scanned the scene, his pulse quickening as he saw what was below.

Rows upon rows of women, each sitting before a large, cracked mirror. The mirrors weren’t like normal glass—they were shards, jagged and rough-edged.

One look at it and Roderick knew that this was definitely a kind of dungeon shard.

The fractured shards seemed to shimmer with an unnatural light, reflecting not the outward appearance of the women, but the inner darkness of their souls. Their bodies trembled, their faces twisted in agony as they faced their own fragmented reflections.

But what struck Roderick most was the position of the mirrors—shifting and spinning around the women like tormented stars, distorting their bodies in the refelction, breaking them down both physically and mentally.

And still, despite the overwhelming pain, each of them struggled to recite the Imperial Slave Value System, their voices shaking, their throats raw.

As the portal shimmered shut, Thalia descended onto the platform with them, her white robes flowed like that of a ghost.

Her feet made no sound upon landing. Cassian turned to her, noticing the difference.

Today, she wore no black robes, no black scarf—nothing that suggested her stubborn rebellion or defiance.

The absence of her usual symbols of resistance was enough to catch his attention.

He studied her for a long moment, then spoke. “I see you’ve chosen not to rebel today. No black clothes, not even the scarf. Did my conversation with you last night have some effect?”

She simply nodded, her voice calm and steady as she responded. “Perhaps. I’m still your daughter, Father.”

If only Cassian knew the meaning of those words, or the origin of the creature before him, hiding in his daughter's skin.

Cassian studied her for a moment longer, but his thoughts turned inward, perhaps second-guessing his harshness.

He had been too hard on her lately—he knew that much. She never returned to his office last night; perhaps the cracks in her own resolve were showing.

Then again, he did get the report of a dead slave. From how badly the corpse was mangled, he could guess she poured her frustration on the slave—possibly the one she had run to him to address last night.

Well. It was not bad. They were still far from the quota as expected from the vontell family. So everything was alright.

But he made a mental note to scold them later. So that they don't go off killing every slave that pissed them off. The Vontell would not like that.

Finally, Cassian spoke again, turning to Roderick as if he’d forgotten the boy was standing there. "Tell your brother what you are doing here, Thalia."

Thalia nodded, unfazed. “The mirrors,” she began, her voice cool as ice, “reflect the worst parts of these women’s souls. Their guilt. Their regret. Their self-loathing. The greater the pain they feel in their heart, the more the mirrors twist and distort them. The greater their suffering becomes.”

Roderick’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharpening. “What kind of pain?”

Thalia’s expression didn’t change as she explained, as if she were discussing the weather. “Childbirth pain. Constant childbirth pain. The mirrors force them into a perpetual state of labor, where their cervixes expand repeatedly, but the child never comes. They must recite the Imperial Slave Value System one thousand times without a single mistake, or the pain continues. Yes, they are stuck at the point, right when the child is to come out. But the child never does.”

Roderick felt a chill in his chest. His eyes widened as he took in the horrific beauty of the system Thalia had devised. The sheer creativity of it—each word, each cry of pain was designed not only to break the body, but to twist the mind, force it to surrender, to recognize the value of pain as a lesson.

Roderick was a man, and would not ever have the privilege of chold birth, but he had heard others describe the pain.

A sudden shiver crawled up his spine. The cruelty of it was art in its purest form.

The mirrors, which had been fragmented in their shape, were called "The Shards of Reverence"— it was a different kind of dungeon shard from most.

Thalia had gotten the entire piece from her mother's old things.

Each shard was infused with blood and despair, designed to reflect the messed up part of the soul of the person who faced it. And here, she used them to break the spirit, to bend the women into submission.

Cassian observed with something of an approval as Thalia stood.

"Good... Good work Thalia."