After the hero finished inspecting the slaves one by one, testing his ability to absorb weak souls, he realized something clear:
Most of the slaves here… were closer to the dead than the living.
Frail bodies, ragged breaths, eyes half-extinguished.
He turned his head toward the merchant, who was standing tensely in the back, watching him as if awaiting judgment.
The hero approached slowly, his voice calm… without anger or emotion, just a direct observation:
— "Master merchant… your slaves are weaker than they should be."
The merchant froze, unsure whether it was a complaint… a threat… or just a comment.
The hero continued in the same calm tone:
— "I don't want trouble with the ruler, and I don't want it said that the slaves on this island are closer to death. It damages our reputation. Take better care of their health."
The merchant's face changed completely, words spilling from his mouth quickly:
— "Y‑yes, sir! Of course! Just… please, sit for a minute or two and I'll arrange the best of the rest!"
The hero shook his head indifferently, then said simply:
— "I will inspect the place myself. Come back later."
The merchant stepped back with a slight bow, catching his breath as if he had narrowly escaped a disaster.
The hero, meanwhile, returned to wandering among the cages with cold detachment, continuing his internal calculations about the limits of his power, while no one knew exactly what he was searching for.
Once the merchant moved away, the hero seized the moment to test his ability on a deeper level.
He stood in front of the cages, his eyes scanning every creature inside… humans, elves, dwarves, half-humans, vampires, sea creatures… even a giant chained in thick shackles.
He did not want to kill anyone…
but he wanted to understand his capabilities.
He reached out toward one of the non-human slaves… a body frail, a soul barely clinging to life.
The moment the hero touched its forehead…
the power surged automatically within him, a cold current flowing from the palm of his hand into the depths of his body.
And he felt the soul being drawn…
It was very weak.
Too weak to resist.
And within seconds… it was extinguished.
He repeated the process with another… then another…
And with each attempt, the sensation became clearer:
His power worked… but it was unstable.
A simple touch could be fatal for those already on the edge of death.
Then he reached the one creature that truly caught his attention.
A man of a semi-human race, strong-bodied despite his apparent weakness, his soul flickering with stubborn strength.
The hero placed his hand on the man's forehead…
waited…
but nothing happened.
No absorption.
No weakening.
Not even the slightest tremble.
The hero slowly opened his eyes, withdrawing his hand and staring at the man for a long moment.
Only one conclusion made sense:
"His soul is stronger than I thought… not on the brink of death. My power only works fully on those who are weak or dying."
He stepped back, taking a deep breath for the first time since entering the place.
It wasn't that the man resisted…
but that his own power was still unstable, undeveloped—
only activating when the soul was fragile enough to collapse.
At that moment…
the hero understood the first real limit of his ability:
A strong soul cannot be absorbed.
A weak soul dies instantly.
And there is no safe middle ground… not yet.
After finishing his tests, the hero wiped his hand on his robe calmly, as if what he had done moments ago was nothing more than a simple inspection.
The guards stood behind him in perfect formation, avoiding looking at the corpses or the slaves who had collapsed after failing to withstand his power.
As for the merchant… he stood far away, his back drenched in sweat, watching the hero's steps like a man awaiting divine judgment.
The hero approached him slowly, wearing a cold, unreadable expression.
He spoke in a low voice… but its impact was heavier than a shout:
— "I will come again… and I will check the slaves' condition myself."
The merchant gasped, then bowed quickly:
— "Y-yes, sir! Of course! I will take care of all of them… I swear it!"
Here is the full English translation of your passage, keeping the same tone, atmosphere, and tension:
The merchant didn't truly care about the slaves;
he was simply terrified at the thought of this young man returning and finding any mistake…
because the hero's anger would mean the end of his business, and possibly the end of his life.
The hero turned and left without saying another word.
As he walked toward the carriage waiting for him outside the market, the guards made way for him with synchronized steps.
He stepped inside the carriage… and closed the door.
The carriage set off toward the palace slowly…
and the merchant remained standing where he was, staring at the dust rising from the wheels, his heart pounding like war drums.
Because if this young man returned and found slaves as weak as today…
it might be the last time his shop ever opened.
The carriage passed through the palace's wide gates, and as it stopped, one of the servants was already waiting near the main stairs, looking more nervous than usual.
The moment the carriage halted before the palace doors, the two accompanying guards moved in precise, sharp steps.
The first hurried forward and opened the carriage door with a slight bow, while the second stood aside to secure the path.
Arian stepped out quietly without uttering a word, and the moment he took a single step—
— "Sir Arian… Lady Lyra is in the palace."
Arian froze in place for a brief moment.
He had not expected to see her today…
but the surprise lasted only a heartbeat.
He understood immediately.
Of course… his father was behind this.
Perhaps he feared Arian would change his mind about the marriage.
Or perhaps he worried that the rumors about Arian's coma would escalate into a political problem between the families.
And with Lyra's high status within the Church of Light… any misunderstanding could spark a political crisis.
Arian breathed out quietly, reshaping his expression until the surprise vanished completely.
— "Very well… where is she now?"
The servant answered instantly, his voice cautious:
— "She is in the eastern salon, sir. She came as soon as she received the governor's message… and said she wished to see you when you returned to the palace."
Arian nodded slowly.
It was clear that he didn't care about Lyra's visit itself.
What he cared about was what his father was thinking…
and how he planned to use this situation to secure the engagement—
even if Arian himself was indifferent to it for now.
Arian lifted his eyes to the long palace corridors, then said in a low voice:
— "Very well… I'll go to her."
If you want, I can translate the next part—or help you rewrite or expand the scene.
He walked with steady steps toward the eastern salon,
his mind rearranging his plans…
between his new power, the approaching marriage, and his father's sharp eyes that missed nothing.
Arian entered the long corridor of the palace, his steps calm, his eyes scanning every corner and every pillar—until his gaze fell on Lyra.
She stood beside one of the marble columns, her long white dress shimmering in the sunlight, her blue eyes fixed on him steadily, though they carried a faint trace of concern.
She smiled softly, trying to hide her hesitation, and said:
— "Arian… you finally returned. Your father told me you're well now."
Arian answered with a neutral tone:
— "Yes… I'm fine. Just fatigue."
Lyra studied his face for a brief moment, then spoke clearly:
— "The wedding is in a week. The governor is counting on us—and on this union."
Arian gave a small, meaningless smile and said:
— "So you came to remind me of my duty?"
She shook her head without hesitation, then continued:
— "This isn't the time for fatigue or uncertainty. This is more political than personal. People sometimes forget that for us, marriage isn't love—it's responsibility."
Arian paused, examining her expression carefully.
Her eyes were calm, yet there was a faint spark of empathy in them—perhaps a small, restrained human emotion directed toward him, though she remained a woman who followed her mind more than her heart.
Arian asked slowly:
— "And do you have any real feeling toward this marriage?"
She smiled lightly, her voice carrying a slightly warm tone:
— "I have… some interest. Not full love, but it's there. What matters more to me is stability and balance between our families. Everything else is a luxury I don't have."
Arian sensed a subtle emotion shimmering in her gaze, but it was bound tightly by duty and logic.
He spoke again, his voice deeper this time:
— "So the marriage is just duty… with a bit of emotion."
She lifted her shoulders, a faint smile curving her lips:
— "Yes… a bit. But I'll work on strengthening it."
A long silence settled between them, wrapped with the distant whispers of the palace corridors.
Then she spoke, as if trying to prevent any misunderstanding:
"Arian… I was never a noble, and I never had any authority or power. Until I discovered my sacred ability, I was just an ordinary girl. My life was never my own—it belonged to the temple and the duties they imposed on me."
Arian took a deep breath and realized that this woman would never be a romantic lover, yet within her heart burned a small spark of human feeling—enough to give her personality depth.
Arian spoke, observing her carefully:
— "I understand. Will this emotion affect your duty?"
She smiled with a hint of coldness, yet added a touch of genuine honesty:
— "It won't affect it. I will remain committed, but I won't deny that my heart feels sometimes."
Arian understood. He knew Lyra's feelings existed, but they were weak, measured, and controlled.
She stepped a little closer, her eyes still fixed on him:
— "Arian… I want you to know… I will not love you as some do. But I will be your partner in duty… and a little in heart."
He was left alone in the corridor, thinking of one thing:
"This woman… will never be my lover completely… but she carries a small feeling, just a spark."
After finishing his conversation with Lyra, Arian went to his father, who was sitting in his study, reviewing some documents. Arian approached with a calm smile, his eyes carrying a hint of mischief:
— "I met Lyra… we spoke at length, and we understood each other well."
His father raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised, and asked with a tone that mixed concern and curiosity:
— "Really? And how was the meeting?"
Arian chuckled lightly and said:
— "She was punctual; she didn't even wait for lunch… it seems she knows very well how to manage her schedule."
The father smiled with satisfaction, then looked at his son with a mixture of pride and concern:
— "Good… at least no misunderstanding occurred between you two. Maintain this understanding, for this marriage is a great responsibility."
Arian nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath as he felt relieved that things were proceeding smoothly.
After a brief moment, his father returned to reviewing his documents, while Arian stood for a short time, contemplating his sense of control and calm, before leaving the office, ready to focus on the rest of his duties and his experience in this new world.
Time passed quickly, and a month went by—it was finally the day of the wedding.
Arian stood in the palace courtyard, reflecting on everything that had happened over the past month since his arrival in this new world. He reviewed his steps: how he had adapted to life here, how he had gradually tested his strength, and how he had visited multiple slave merchants to gauge the limits of his abilities without drawing attention to himself. Every experience had been a lesson, every encounter an opportunity to measure his self-control and his ability to handle difficult situations.
His thoughts lingered on his memories of meeting Lyra, the heroine. He recalled their long discussion about marriage and responsibility. He felt that she was an ordinary woman from a simple family, her emotions weak, yet she had shown unexpected strength when she awakened her sacred power. He had approached her practically and realized that she did not care for love as some might think, but for duty, responsibility, and control over her own destiny.
Arian smiled quietly to himself, sensing a strange feeling of adaptability and control, yet he knew that every step had to be calculated, every movement precisely measured.
Suddenly, he lifted his gaze to the sky and saw lightning tear through the dark clouds, flashing like a sudden spark.
His eyes followed the storm, where heavy clouds clashed with intermittent streaks of lightning. He felt a strange connection to the tempest, as if the thunder and lightning were responding to the rhythm of his inner pulse in a way he did not yet understand. He took a deep breath, trying to comprehend this new sensation, but soon realized that the countless souls he had absorbed since arriving in this world were likely the cause—it had strengthened his body and sharpened his spirit, giving him greater control.
Every movement around him, every whisper of wind, every shadow that shifted on the ground appeared clearer, more vivid. The entire world seemed more alive to him. It was not merely a sense of physical strength, but a feeling of total control over his surroundings, as if everything could be analyzed and measured.
Yet Arian did not indulge in this sensation for long; greater responsibilities awaited him. At that moment, he heard the sound of a servant approaching with heavy steps, whispering clearly:
— "Sir… the guests have arrived, and it is time for the ceremony…"
Arian drew a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders slightly, trying to calm his racing pulse. He felt the strange calm he had acquired since beginning to explore his new abilities and controlling the souls around him, yet he fully understood that his responsibilities were greater now, and every step had to be carefully calculated.
He lifted his gaze toward the sky once more, the lightning flashing in the dark clouds as if sending him a cryptic message. He sensed that the power flowing through his body and spirit resonated with the storm, as if nature itself responded to his newly acquired influence.
At that moment, the guards moved to secure the path ahead of him inside the palace. Arian stepped forward with confidence—each movement deliberate, each breath measured, every glance accompanied by meticulous observation of everyone around him.
The palace buzzed with activity and preparations. Many merchants, nobles, and officials from within the island had arrived, each dressed in their finest clothes, careful to present themselves in the best possible light. No one had come from outside the island—the island was far from the continent of Mira, where the ongoing conflict between the continents raged. The human empire paid little attention to the island due to its distance, yet the annual taxes it provided ensured it held an important place in the political and economic system of the human world.
The island, distant from the major power struggles, maintained partial independence, yet it could not escape its long-standing reputation in the slave trade, which earned it both respect and caution from the empire. The atmosphere was filled with movement and whispers, and the scent of food and flowers carefully arranged in the palace lent the place an air that was both formal and refined.
Arian entered the hall quietly, his steps steady and measured, his face showing a calm focus, free of any excessive emotion. This was not a personal day of joy for him, yet he knew it was an important step as the son of the island's ruler.
The hall was gently lit, white flowers carefully arranged, and soft music played in the background. The atmosphere was simple and serene, reflecting the significance of the event without any pretense.
Aria, the High Priestess, stood alone at one end of the hall, dressed in a simple white robe adorned with priestly symbols. She stood steadily, calm, without any exaggerated emotion.
Arian approached his father, the ruler of the island, who observed the scene quietly. The father spoke in a calm voice:
— "Arian… this marriage is for the benefit of the island. Handle it calmly and respectfully."
Arian nodded briefly:
— "Understood, Father."
He then turned toward Aria, speaking softly and evenly:
— "Today we are officially bound. There will be no complications."
Aria gave a slight, simple smile:
— "Yes… we will handle things calmly."
The marriage ceremony was conducted simply, as the two exchanged the symbols of alliance quietly. There were no elaborate rituals, no exaggerated emotion—just natural steps and measured formalities.
After the ceremony, Arian approached Aria and whispered:
— "We will cooperate. That is all."
Aria nodded quietly:
— "Yes… just commitment and working together."
They stepped apart, and the hall hummed with moderate movement from the attendees, while authority and responsibility dominated the atmosphere. The marriage was political, and the relationship between the two was calm and practical, without strong emotion—but not rigid—just a quiet understanding and practical commitment.
It was here that Arian realized he had taken his first true step in this world.