Building a Terrorist Group in The Academy Novel

Leaving the dining room with a bitter feeling inside, Aiden noticed several chests piled at the entrance of the mansion.

Abraham had informed him that they were "gifts" from the territory's officials. In total, there were twenty thousand gold coins and various kinds of jewelry.

Aiden ordered some soldiers to load the chests into the carriage. He was planning to shop today.

As they were ready to depart, Abraham approached and asked, "Don't you need someone to protect you on your trip today, Master?" His voice carried a note of concern, but Aiden knew better.

‘This sack of bones doesn’t give up, he’s clearly testing me’ Aiden thought.

Without letting his irritation show, Aiden’s scarlet eyes glowed faintly, a dangerous gleam flashing in them.

Speaking in a low, measured tone, he responded, “Don’t mistake my compassion for weakness, Abraham. This is the last time I’ll tolerate you testing my patience. There won’t be a next time. Do you understand?”

Abraham’s throat tightened as he saw the red gleam in Aiden’s eyes. He gulped audibly, not daring to meet his gaze, and nodded. His posture resembled that of an abandoned puppy.

With a soft click, Aiden closed the carriage door.

As the carriage pulled away, Abraham stood at the entrance, watching the fading figure disappear into the distance, his thoughts a mystery.

Inside the carriage:

Aiden sat deep in thought, legs crossed. There were pressing matters he needed to address, and the first was this: he needed people to work for him.

More precisely, he needed lackeys.

Aiden didn’t trust people. To him, relationships were transactional — built on mutual interest. The moment that interest vanished, so did the bond.

It was true for everything: from family ties to friendships, even romantic relationships. There was always something at the core that kept people connected, whether it was shared goals, stability, or even abstract things like love.

Human nature was inherently greedy, always grasping for more, never satisfied.

A man might cry when his ex-wife took half of everything he’d worked for, or when a friend betrayed him and stole credit for a shared project.

A woman might give her heart to a man only to find she wasn’t the only one in the relationship.

Aiden was cynical about trust, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use people.

If he were to accomplish his goal, he needed loyal followers—or at least people with no reason to betray him.

And if betrayal came, they had to be prepared for the consequences.

Finding capable allies would be a challenge, and Aiden wasn’t willing to settle for just anyone.

He wanted the best—the cream of the crop. But given his current situation, it was like trying to reach the sky with his bare hands.

The fastest solution? Buying slaves.

Slaves couldn’t betray him, even if they wanted to.

Magic made it easy: with a simple spell, they’d be bound to their master for life, subject to punishment or death at a single thought.

Slaves weren’t considered human in this world. That much was clear to anyone who looked.

Aiden didn’t pity them. But if he could acquire an endless supply of labor with a single purchase, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Still, he didn’t plan to build his entire group with slaves.

He needed real pillars—people he could rely on, individuals who could contribute in meaningful ways.

Some were already in his sights, but they were in the capital or distant countries. For now, he had to make do with lesser options.

The carriage rolled through the streets of Rimevale, a city that had clearly seen better days.

Most of it had fallen into decay—the once vibrant streets now echoed with silence, buildings left in disrepair.

But there was one part of the city that was always bustling: the slave market.

It was one of the few industries thriving despite the city’s downfall.

The demand for slaves never dwindled, driven by desperation, greed, and the simple fact that, in this world, power ruled.

Slaves were sold for many reasons—parents selling their children, debtors offering themselves in servitude, or criminals condemned to a life of degradation.

The market was divided into two parts. First, there was the open market, where lesser slaves—those born into servitude or sold by their families—were displayed.

Then there was the auction, where the more "valuable" stock was sold: nobles who had been reduced to slavery, or individuals who were highly skilled.

As the carriage approached the slave market, the building loomed in front of Aiden. The entrance was opulent, with grand pillars and gilded details—designed to mask the darker reality within.

But as soon as one stepped through the doors, the luxurious facade faded. The air inside was thick with a sense of despair, the faint smell of sweat and fear lingering beneath the perfume of the wealthy buyers.

The lobby was filled with people from all walks of life—merchants, nobles, and even the occasional foreign dignitary—waiting for agents to escort them through the market.

Some sat on plush chairs, sipping wine or idly chatting. Others stood impatiently, glancing at the doors that led to the inner chambers.

When Aiden entered, his presence didn’t go unnoticed.

Whispers spread through the room. Some wore expressions of pity, as if lamenting the fate of the slaves he might buy—knowing all too well that his name carried a dark reputation.

Others turned away, pretending not to see him.

Aiden ignored them, his crimson eyes scanning the room. He had come for a purpose, and idle gossip wouldn’t distract him.

Before long, a short, elegant man in a finely tailored suit hurried toward Aiden.

His monocle gleamed in the low light, and he wore an almost theatrical smile. This was Roy, the manager of the slave market.

“Ah, Master Hoyle!” Roy’s voice was peculiar, high-pitched and melodious, as though he were on stage performing. “What a pleasure to see you. It has been far too long since we’ve had the honor of your patronage.”

Aiden barely glanced at him, his expression flat. “I’m here to see what you have available,” he said, his tone neutral.

Roy clapped his hands together. “Of course, of course! We have some truly exquisite slaves today—beautiful women, fit for any noble household. They would make excellent—”

Aiden cut him off. “Not interested. Show me those who can read and write first.”

Roy blinked, his smile faltering for a split second before he recovered. “Ah, yes! Of course, Master Hoyle, this way please. We have a fine selection of educated slaves. Follow me.”

As Roy led the way, Aiden’s cold eyes surveyed the market, already calculating his next move.

Aiden followed Roy up the stairs to the second floor of the building.

On the first level, he had seen slaves meant solely for manual labor. They were the most common and, therefore, the cheapest.

The higher one went, the more valuable the slaves became.

As they walked, Roy, with his almost theatrical elegance, began to make small talk. "Isn’t it interesting how the market has changed over the years? The demand for educated slaves has increased significantly. Perhaps it’s because the nobles no longer trust their own people as much. Ah, but who am I to speculate?"

Aiden gave a non-committal grunt, his focus elsewhere.

The second floor came into view, and it was markedly different from the first. Roy led him into a dimly lit area that resembled a large, dreary garage.

Row after row of iron cages lined the walls, filled with slaves in various states of misery.

The scene was grim. Many of the slaves appeared malnourished, their skin clinging tightly to their bones, their faces hollow and their eyes vacant—like they had lost the will to live long ago.

Some sat hunched in their cages, rocking back and forth, while others lay on the cold stone floor, motionless.

Aiden’s gaze passed over them, unaffected. "I want to see the ones of higher quality," he said coolly, his voice cutting through the thick, oppressive air.

Roy, always quick to respond, gave a slight bow. "Of course, Master Hoyle, but those slaves will cost significantly more. Their value is—"

Aiden's eyes flashed red, his voice sharp and unwavering. "Money is not a problem."

For a brief moment, an unintentional wave of killing intent escaped Aiden, a cold, dangerous aura that would have unsettled anyone with a sharp sense for such things.

However, Roy, seemingly oblivious, simply nodded, adjusting his monocle. "Very well then, sir. Let’s proceed to the finer stock."

They continued down several narrow corridors, the air thick with the scent of decay and despair.

As they walked, Roy kept up his steady stream of conversation, though Aiden barely paid attention.

Finally, they reached an area that was noticeably cleaner and more well-maintained.

“These, Master Hoyle, are the most valuable slaves we have on offer. They are literate, trained in various arts, and possess unique knowledge for their time.” Roy gestured toward a smaller number of cages, where the slaves appeared less gaunt and broken, though their eyes still held traces of fear and resignation.

Aiden scanned the rows, silently assessing the merchandise.