Behind the glory

Kalan awakened amidst a jolting motion.

The slave carriage rolled out of the quarantine station, filled entirely with slaves similar to her.

The term "slave" didn't denote skin color but rather the racial feature of having black hair.

In the British Empire, the lighter the hair, the higher the social status.

The royal family usually boasted pristine white hair akin to milk, while lesser nobles sported various shades of blond. Below them were those with ash or red hair. At the bottom, lacking citizenship and relegated only to slavery, were those like Kalan with jet-black hair.

She also possessed a pair of pure black eyes that matched her hair, further solidifying her lowly status.

Kalan overheard the loud conversation of the drivers.

"Her Majesty intends to gift them to the grand nobles attending the hunt; they're truly lucky."

A companion chimed in, "Who wouldn't be? Being a dog in a noble house offers more prospects than being a mere driver."

Another nodded repeatedly, "Certainly, except for Duke Chauvier. After the hunt, Her Majesty allowed him to choose his desired slaves first. Guess what he said?"

"What?"

"I want the one with the shortest life expectancy," the other said in a low, disdainful tone, "I'd be poisoned to death if I spent more than three days under the same roof as such a creature."

Laughter erupted from the driver's seat.

The drivers were in tears from laughing, "Her Majesty was highly pleased with his response! She picked the weakest little creature for Duke Chauvier."

One of them turned back, gesturing towards Kalan.

"There, that one."

Kalan recoiled behind the others, desperately burying her face in her knees.

She was slightly anemic; she had fainted three times during the vaccination process at the quarantine station. Everyone considered her too frail; some even suggested excluding her from this reward and tossing her directly into the slave hunting grounds outside the city.

Fortunately, Duke Chauvier requested a "shortest life expectancy" slave from Her Majesty.

"How old is she, an adult, isn't she?" the drivers continued discussing her.

"Eighteen. She's of inferior race, slower to mature than us."

"How long do you think before she meets an 'accident' at the Duke's estate?"

"Tonight?"

"Hahaha!"

The drivers burst into laughter again.

Kalan hugged herself in fear.

The other slaves remained numb, not even shifting their gazes.

They all emerged from breeding farms.

Kalan was different.

She had been adopted by an ordinary family, attending school and playing with fair-haired children. Despite facing discrimination, she was more thoughtful than the children raised in cages.

Recently, the queen amended the constitution, stripping all citizenship rights from black slaves.

The constabulary snatched Kalan from her parents' hands, locking her up in the breeding farm.

And now she found herself on this slave carriage.

"We've arrived at Thornbird Manor," the driver announced, halting the carriage, and several guards dragged Kalan out.

She was bound with iron chains around her hands, feet, and neck.

The chains were thicker than her wrists, dragging her down heavily, forcing her to stoop.

"Long live the Queen!"

"Hail to the Queen! Thanks for her gift!"

A clear and a cunning voice rang out.

Kalan reluctantly lifted her head, seeing a pair of angelic twin sons of the Duke standing at the doorway to greet her.

They were Raphael and Arnold, the elder and younger sons of Duke Chauvier.

They were clad in extravagant attire, adorned with hunting knives, powdered faces, and tall, stiff boots. Their hair was so light as to be nearly silver, closest to the royal family, and their faces were so beautiful that even the world's best painters couldn't capture one percent of their beauty.

It was hard to imagine how perfect their parents' faces must be.

Behind them lay an endless expanse of splendid manor.

Inside were pointed buildings slightly smaller than royal castles, two twin clock towers, a church, a lake of over seven hundred acres, and a private hunting ground, golf course, horse track, helipad, connected to a fifty-kilometer private race track extending from here, as well as the most luxurious gambling club in the entire empire.

The upkeep of this estate for a day cost more than many families could earn in their entire lives.

In the Chauvier family, money was just a number.

The master of Thornbird Manor would forever be rich and peerlessly beautiful.

The guards saluted respectfully to the twin sons.

"So, the Queen's gift is now yours, young Duke."

The twin sons nodded proudly.

As soon as the guards turned away, the servants dragged Kalan away and into the estate.

"Hell, will she be living in our castle from now on?" Arnold asked his twin brother.

Raphael wiped his hands forcefully, calmly replying, "Impossible. Father wouldn't allow a black slave to appear within his sight."

"When is he coming back today?"

"Late."

Arnold halted in front of the door, turning back to look at Kalan.

Suddenly, he asked, "Shall we have some fun?"

The slender figure of the slave, clad in tattered garments, revealed snow-white skin through the holes in the fabric.

Her pure body and pitiful expression were extremely appealing.

Raphael remained indifferent, warning his brother, "Your debauchery is none of my concern, but if you dare touch a black slave, Father will surely throttle you himself."

"He'll come back late; he won't know," Arnold retorted.

He shoved the servants aside, then dragged Kalan into a lower level corridor of the castle.

Kalan felt the atmosphere growing tense.

She stared at Raphael, finally couldn't help but plead, "Save me, Raphael..."

Arnold slapped her, "How dare you utter my brother's name!"

The crisp sound startled Raphael.

He grabbed Arnold, who was about to strike again, and handed him a handkerchief, "I warned you; don't touch the black slave. If Father finds out, you won't set foot in the castle for a month. He'll make you stay at the quarantine station."

Arnold sneered, "Let's make it quick; he won't know."

He tossed the handkerchief and tore Kalan's clothes. Kalan gasped, pressed against a pillar by him.

Suddenly, the sound of a carriage approached from the main road.

Arnold trembled.

Raphael quickly pulled him away and, in a panic, wrapped Kalan in the torn fabric again.

"He's back!"

"You said Father would return late?" Arnold asked, frantically adjusting his clothes and smoothing every strand of hair.

"I don't know!" Raphael's voice unintentionally rose, unable to contain his fear, "Damn it, you idiot, you tore her clothes! Where do we find a piece of fabric to cover her now?"

Arnold looked around, trying to find a place to hide Kalan.

Seizing the moment of their busy panic, Kalan broke free from Raphael's grip, ran out desperately, and was then knocked down at the corner by something rigid.

Silence fell.

The chilling voice of the twin sons seemed even clearer.

Kalan lay on the ground.

Before her were a pair of deer skin boots, long and straight legs, pure white silk gloves, and a platinum Thornbird scepter. Then, her gaze followed upwards, seeing