I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

It worked! He saw everything! A large white window materialized before the knight wielding a mace and shield, startling him initially. Yet, recognizing the box floating next to the rider, he discerned all the details with clarity. The knight's name was Tobias Steiger. He was [LVL] 50. He was a [Warrior] in the [Paladin] class and had 6875/6875 [Life Points] and 100% [Mana]. One part of the window was dedicated to some statistics.

Strength: 39

Intelligence: 45

Regeneration: 34

Armor: 47

Resistance: 50

Constitution: 50

There was a row indicating Tobias's [Origin] was from Germany. He wasn't sure where he'd heard the name before. The knight's [Affiliation] with—oh.

The guild. The name Carnifex swiftly dampened his euphoria. An area indicated the box had a second window, but he lost his concentration. His mood soured at the thought of the Baron.

"So?" Reacher inquired. "Did it work?"

"Yes," he replied half-heartedly. "Thank you."

Content with his good deed for the day, Reacher smiled throughout their trek. Upon reaching the mountain, the caravan veered away from their group, continuing on a narrow path through the mountains. The knights hadn't conversed much, merely exchanging pleasantries, but Reacher seemed glad they had departed. Maybe he's jealous of their armor?

When the miners reached the cave and Reacher busied himself distributing water, he seized the chance to covertly inspect the Mace. He whispered "inspect," catching PP's attention momentarily, but the big man handing out pickaxes didn't react. Now, let's see…

He discovered that the Mace was named John Reacher and that he was also a [Paladin] like the Tobias guy, but he couldn't be more different. He was [LVL] 24 with 3680/3680 [Life Points] and 100% [Mana]. Reacher's statistics were noticeably inferior.

Strength: 22

Intelligence: 24

Regeneration: 18

Armor: 26

Resistance: 31

Constitution: 32

He deduced that a higher LVL correlated with elevated stats. He's envying Tobias for sure.

Reacher hailed from a place called the USA, and he was pretty sure he knew that place well. Naturally, Reacher was also allied with Carnifex. He must have stared intently at Reacher, for he shouted at him to quit gawking with an irate face. It's best to stop playing around for now. I'll try it out some more tomorrow.

After a long day in the mine, he went to bed with excitement. Finally, something novel broke the monotony. He could finally see what the Adventurers were talking about. He recalled the day in the Slaughterhouse when the Baron inquired about his stats and LVL. Bonatelli had questioned him on other matters he couldn't recall, but he unfortunately had forgotten by now. I wonder what my Status looks like. The Players seemed to have a problem with it.

That night marked the first time in months he dreamt again. He was a paladin clad in full heavy armor on a battlefield, racing through smoke, dodging flaming enemy arrows while frantically searching for someone. He was running as fast as he possibly could, coughing from smoke-filled lungs and limping from an arrow lodged in his calf. He found the blonde woman he was looking for lying in a ditch, her armor battered and her face charred. She was near bleeding out, her trembling hand reaching for him. The golden glow on his palm was poised to heal her, but just before their hands met, a massive shadow bearing a bright light loomed within the smokescreen, and they were suddenly engulfed in a massive fireball. Gods, no.

***

He awoke the next morning to sunlight warming his eyes. He felt flattened, as if struck by a falling tree. Initially disoriented, it took him a moment to recover from deep sleep and assess his surroundings. Not a soul was about. The slave camp was eerily silent. How strange. Where is everyone?

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The sun was well-risen, yet no one was preparing breakfast. He crawled out of his sleeping bag, once Cadmun's tent, and circled the campsite. Surely, they didn't leave without me, right?

The cooking pots remained clean but dry, indicating no use since yesterday. The slave rags still hung on the clothesline. They had to be around. He heard movement from a rustling tent, and a drowsy Cadmun emerged.

"Cadmun, where is everybody? We're late!" he exclaimed, slightly alarmed.

Cadmun, however, was unbothered by their late awakening. Sir Frost ignored his panic, rubbing sleep from his eyes and lazily made his way to the stacked firewood.

"Why is everyone still sleeping? We have to go!"

He knew Cadmun didn't want to talk to him, but in an emergency situation like this, it seemed permissible. Nonetheless, the bald man silently placed logs in the fireplace and methodically got to work, disregarding his panic.

"Please help me wake them, Cadmun. The Adventurers will be here any minute. The others will be in trouble."

Cadmun groggily responded, "Happy Hero Day, Recruit."

What?

"Hero Day?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, Hero Day," Cadmun repeated, "it's a holiday where we honor the Great Hero's sacrifice."

"There's an entire holiday dedicated to him? He must have been an exceptionally strong hero!"

"Oh yes, he truly was great," Cadmun's drowsiness gradually dissipated. "They say his bravery and charisma were unparalleled. Lord Thomas and Lord Alastair couldn't stop praising that man's achievements."

Unconsciously, he began to grin. "Why? What did he accomplish?"

The bald man paused his attempts to light a fire and turned towards him.

"He's most renowned for slaying the Gods. They don't refer to him as the Godslayer for nothing."

"The Gods? You mean Arslan?" He seated himself closer to Cadmun.

Cadmun chuckled, catching his infectious enthusiasm. "Precisely! So even you've heard the name."

"Montgomery mentioned that Lord Alastair assisted him in killing the Gods."

"Did he now?" Cadmun let out a hearty laugh, slapping his knee. "I guess you can say that. Lord Alastair did fight alongside them. But truth be told, it was Arslan and his right-hand man who vanquished the God of Death, while the rest of the group wanted to retreat. Though I shouldn't say that."

Wow! The Great Hero!

One question still burned in his mind. "Why did they slay the Gods?"

"Because it was their destiny," Cadmun replied, "the Adventurers were summoned to tackle the rising threat of monsters in the land after the Continental War ended."

"So Arslan was a Player?" He couldn't help but rock back and forth.

Cadmun scratched his chin. "Most of the great warriors were back then. They vanquished hundreds, if not thousands, of monsters and made our country safe again. We're not talking about Dire Wolves here. These were Dragons and Mutants and Demons at least three meters high!"

"What? That's incredible! I mean, Dragons? Gods? The Adventurers truly are extraordinary."

Cadmun crossed his arms. "It wasn't like this from the start. The majority of Adventurers were a bunch of cowards unable to kill a measly goblin. If not for Arslan whipping them into shape, they'd all still be drinking milk holed up in the capital."

Amazing!

"He sounds like a formidable leader."

"You see, that was the Godslayer's greatest feat. He instilled hope in the people and the courage to fight."

His eyes sparkled. A true hero!

"What happened then?"

Cadmun gazed at the mansion uphill with a somber expression in his eyes.

"The good die young," Cadmun said. "The Adventurers had a falling out after his sacrifice. That's how we got Carnifex."

His excitement waned. And with Arslan, hope died too.

They sat in silence by the fireplace, enjoying the morning sun warming their backs. Only when they heard the first rustling of a tent did Cadmun speak again.

"On your feet, Recruit! Just because it's a holiday doesn't mean there's no work to be done!" Cadmun commanded with an authoritative tone.

"Yes, Sir!" he sprang up.

But-

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked shyly.

"Uhm…" Cadmun eyed him with wide eyes, scrutinizing him from head to toe. "You don't look like you can lift anything heavy with that frame. You look like a stick!"

He tried not to be offended by Cadmun's remark, but he still blushed. And your head looks like it can be used as a mirror.

"I carry the pickaxes every day," he retorted.

"And you look like shit doing so. Your breathing sounds like the steam engine in the old factory ready to give out. You shake more than a western belly dancer." Cadmun added more insult to injury. "And you miss your daily quota. Perhaps you should stick to fetching the water for the stew. Although the buckets might be too much for those frail arms—"

"Enough! I get it!" he shouted over the humiliation.

"You wish to yell at me, Recruit?" Cadmun stood up, towering over him. "You truly want to disrespect me?"

Oh, no!

"I apologize for the disrespect!" He instantly bowed, snatching two nearby buckets in the same motion and dashed towards the well before Cadmun could respond. "I'll fetch that water for you, Sir Frost, yes Sir!"

As soon as he reached the well, he sighed in relief. It didn't seem like Cadmun was after him. He lowered the buckets into the well one after the other, distracted by his conversation with Cadmun. He fantasized about confronting Baron Bonatelli clad in heavy silver armor. He would challenge him to a duel and before Bonatelli could even react, he'd deliver a devastating blow that would easily tear down the mansion's tower. One of those blows that could slay a God right in his smug face. Wait, what am I thinking? That's the mansion of the Blitz family.

As he hoisted the second bucket from the well, he realized something significant. If not for today's holiday, he might never have heard the tale of Arslan. He was so absorbed in the monotony and isolation imposed by the Baron that he forgot the most crucial thing: hope. The story of the Great Hero, of how Cassandra escaped. That was what helped them persevere through those challenging times. What allowed them to dream. From the well he stood next to, he could see a hole in Lydia's shack revealing the dismal interior. As long as there's hope, we can endure.

He returned to the slave camp at the same time Reacher and Becket arrived. His hair stood on end. I thought it was a holiday!