Chapter 38: You Are My Salvacion

Friar Dallas cradled the child in his arms and gently closed the woman’s eyes. The funeral began the following morning. He summoned two young men from among the slaves to dig the grave and visited the undertaker, requesting a proper preparation of the body.

The undertaker, realizing the deceased was a slave, gave him a look as if questioning why he would bother. Dallas handed the hesitant old man a silver coin with a calm expression. Only then did the undertaker begin to work with a bit more urgency. By the time the preparation was completed, the morning sun had fully risen.

Lara rubbed her sleepy eyes as she walked alongside the friar. They arrived at the spot where her father had been buried. The two young men had already dug the grave and were waiting. The spring soil was soft and damp, making it easier to dig the pit.

Carrying the body, Friar Dallas stopped in front of the freshly dug grave. Without a coffin available, Rosa’s body had to be wrapped tightly in a cloth and buried.

There was nothing about the situation that wasn’t heartbreaking, and Lara began to cry once more. She shed more tears than when her father had passed away. The two young men gently laid the body into the long, dug-out grave. As the heavy soil covered her mother, one shovelful, two shovelfuls, three, Lara felt her chest tighten with every layer.

The sudden realization struck her—there was now no one left to care for her. For the past few months, it had been as if she had no guardian, but at least she wasn’t an orphan. She had her mother.

Now, she was an orphan. The truth of it made her feel an unbearable mix of fear and sadness.

Around nine in the morning, Friar Dallas read the eulogy. Lara, utterly exhausted, stood beside him with her eyes closed and her hands clasped together. That was her final goodbye to her mother.

---

Two days after the funeral, at the dead of night, Lara was lying in bed after yet another day of labor on the farm. She had eaten some dry bread dipped in bland soup and retired to sleep.

Now, Lara slept where her mother had breathed her last. It seemed likely that within a week, someone else would occupy the space beside her. Rosa’s death had led many to believe the lord would soon purchase another slave.

Lara didn’t care anymore. Since her mother’s passing, her emotions had all but disappeared, leaving her numb. It was on such a night, as she was falling into a restless sleep, that a knock came at the old door. The sound stirred her awake.

“Lara.”

Stirring sluggishly, she rose and opened the door. Standing outside was Friar Dallas.

“Friar,” she said, surprised.

“I came because I have something to tell you. May I speak with you for a moment?”

Lara nodded. The friar gave a faint smile and gently took her small hand in his. Her rough, calloused hand flinched under the warmth and size of his.

“Do you remember what I said before?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Lara replied, her face showing signs of fatigue. She didn’t mind meeting Friar Dallas, but she was overwhelmed with exhaustion. The emotional toll of the past few days had left her utterly drained, making even her usual labor feel more grueling.

Though deeply grieving the loss of her mother, Lara had no time to process her sorrow. The overseer offered no reprieve, demanding she continue her work as if nothing had happened.

“I asked if you would be my adopted daughter,” Dallas reminded her.

Cautiously, he began to speak. Lara lowered her head slightly.
Though she remembered, she hadn’t dared to hope. In truth, she didn’t fully understand what the friar meant.

Friar Dallas was a free man, and Lara was a slave. Could a slave truly become the daughter of a free man? And even if she could, what would that mean? How would they live together?

Lara knew she would have to continue her labor here, while the friar lived in the manor, teaching the young lady. Someday, he would leave. What would happen to her then?

A slave couldn’t leave their place of residence without a master’s permission. Moreover, Friar Dallas was a noble servant of God. Lara, in contrast, was of such low status that she would barely be allowed to stand at the end of the line at heaven’s gates.

In this land, Empostium, people considered death to be merely an extension of life. Social status, therefore, was eternal, even in the afterlife—a deeply cruel notion.

“I’m a slave, and you’re a noble priest. Can I really become your daughter?”

“I believe that all people are noble, regardless of their status,” he replied.

Lara gave a faint, almost bitter smile, catching Friar Dallas off guard. Her expression bore a maturity far beyond her eight years. Her pale lips moved slightly.

“Would the lord allow it? I mean…”

“Even if he doesn’t, if you wish to be my daughter, I will take you away from here.”

Lara looked up sharply, startled. She couldn’t see the friar’s face clearly in the dim light, but his words were firm.

She blinked in surprise as the friar knelt to meet her gaze.

“I want to save you from this place, Lara. You deserve to eat better food and live in a better home. No, you must have those things.”

The faintly glimmering sincerity in his eyes left Lara speechless. She didn’t know how to respond and simply stared at him.

“…But if the lord doesn’t grant permission, it won’t work. He wants me to stay here and keep working on his farm.”

“If I ask for his permission and he grants it, will you come with me and become my daughter?”

The friar gripped her shoulders firmly. After a long moment, Lara nodded.

“Understood. I will return for you soon.”

---

However, Friar Dallas did not gain the lord’s permission.

Despite the fact that Lara was merely a young slave who could barely contribute to the farm’s labor, the lord was unyielding. Dallas couldn’t comprehend why.

He couldn’t understand why the Marquis of Opreseje was so adamant about keeping a child who couldn’t even pull her weight. On the other hand, the marquis seemed equally baffled by Dallas.

“Adopt her as your daughter? Ha!” The marquis laughed.

Dallas glared at him with a dark expression. Should he have approached this differently? Perhaps he should never have been honest. The marquis clearly did not see slaves as people.

Given this widespread perspective, maybe Dallas should have concealed his true intentions. After all, the marquis stood at the pinnacle of the social hierarchy. He wouldn’t share the perspective of someone like Dallas, who had once eloped with a maidservant.

“If you’d asked for a slave child to use as labor, that might be one thing. But this….” The marquis lit a cigar.

Dallas swallowed hard. He now understood the marquis’ reaction—just as he recalled how the man’s demeanor had shifted days ago when Dallas had requested to adopt Lara as his daughter.

At that time, the marquis’ previously smiling face had turned cold. And now, his expression remained just as distant.

Suppressing the angry pulse in his temples, Dallas glanced at the marquis’ young daughter sitting beside him. The girl, with her dark hair and green eyes, was a striking reflection of her father.

Yet, the marquis doted even more on another child—a daughter born from a slave. Of course, it was a different kind of favoritism. Dallas cast a fleeting glance at the marquis’ illegitimate son, who stood at attention like a servant beside his father.

“Adopt her? Really?”

“Regardless of status, I believe all lives are noble, Your Excellency. There is no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to adopt that child.”

“Friar,” the marquis interrupted.

“You, too, have children born of slaves,” Dallas pressed.

A faint crack appeared in the marquis’ composure, like a fine fissure in glass. Dallas paid it no mind.

“And does that look like a person to you?”

The marquis gestured with his chin toward the boy, as if he were devoid of emotion.

Dallas felt his breath catch. The marquis smiled as if by habit. Glancing at the boy, Dallas took in his curly blonde hair, dusky complexion, and blue eyes. Though his features bore a resemblance to the marquis, his eye and hair color seemed to come from his mother.

Dallas recalled the boy’s birth mother, whom he had encountered a few times within the estate. She was the marquis’ mistress, a woman who lived like a shadow despite having borne two of her master’s illegitimate children.

Everyone treated her like a ghost, and at times, she seemed to view herself as less than alive. She greeted no one and spoke to no one. Only now did Dallas begin to understand why. And perhaps, he thought, he was starting to understand the marquis as well.

“That thing is a dog,” the marquis remarked casually.

“I see,” Dallas replied, his lips curling into a thin smile.

As he laughed bitterly, the marquis wiped the smile from his own face.

“So, your illegitimate son is a dog, but your daughter is your prized doll, is that it?”

It was clear now that Dallas would never be able to secure Lara from such a man. His original plan had been to purchase her legally, gain ownership, and then emancipate her. Perhaps if he had asked for her as a maid, the marquis might have handed her over without much thought.

After all, slaves were abundant in the marquis’ possession. What was one young slave to him? But adopting her as a daughter—that was an affront to the marquis’ worldview.

To him, even his own blood was divided: one child was a loyal dog, while the other was a plaything. His legitimate daughter, seated beside him, and his mistress’s daughter, kept hidden within her chambers, were valued differently and loved unequally.

“My apologies for troubling you. I must have embarrassed you with my unreasonable request.”

Dallas rose and bowed. The marquis stared at him, his eyes icy and sharp, almost a glare.

“I’ll take my leave. As I’ve already informed you, the lessons for the young lady concluded yesterday. Her education has progressed to a level where she no longer requires my instruction.”

“……”

“I plan to leave Heidelbern by the end of the week. I apologize for not informing you sooner. Farewell.”

The marquis offered no farewell of his own. Dallas fled the marquis’ estate as though escaping a predator’s den. He felt the marquis’ gaze burning into his back, a sensation like needles pricking his nape.

Once home, he began packing. The sooner he left, the better. He had provoked the marquis enough that staying any longer could be dangerous.

He discarded his household items in the backyard, keeping only his clothes, which he hastily folded into a bag.

He resolved to take Lara away.

That thought had first crossed his mind when the marquis had laughed at him. It was no longer possible to ask for her as a maid. The marquis, after all, was a man who wouldn’t even properly raise a child of his own blood if that child bore the taint of a slave’s lineage.

This same marquis kept a mistress locked away in the estate, a woman who was no longer young but whom he still refused to release. Convincing him was clearly impossible.

That left Dallas with only one option. But…

“How am I supposed to do this?”

How could he convince Lara? And if they were to flee, how would they escape unnoticed by the marquis?

He sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as he thought about Lara. Just as he had failed to persuade the marquis, he doubted he could persuade her. He remembered the fear in her eyes when he had previously suggested escaping with him.

Her gaze had been filled with mistrust and terror. Few things held as much power over people as fear. Moreover, Lara was just a child who had recently lost her mother.

Her father, according to what she had witnessed, had been beheaded right in front of her. Every day, she saw slaves beaten and killed simply for being slaves. In such circumstances, how could he build enough trust to convince her?

There was only one solution left—to lie.

He would have to deceive Lara to take her away. But what if the marquis sent people after them?

No, the marquis wouldn’t bother, Dallas reassured himself. Even if he did, it wouldn’t last long. Lara was, after all, just a young slave.

Sending subordinates after her wouldn’t be worth the effort. Hiring professional slave trackers would be even less efficient—they were usually foreign mercenaries, and employing them was expensive and labor-intensive.

Unless the runaway slave was highly valuable, like one purchased at great cost, a pursuit wouldn’t last long. Lara, being a child of little monetary worth, would not warrant such an effort. Even if trackers were dispatched, the chase wouldn’t continue for long.