I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

The boys reached the shanties, drenched in sweat and breathless. A potent aroma of a tantalizing stew began to permeate the air. His stomach growled in response, and he realized just how ravenous he had become.

"I thought we were bringing the wood for breakfast," he remarked.

"No, no, firewood needs to be dried months beforehand if you don't want your food smoked. Normally, I gather enough to replace what we used from the stack the day before, but with this much—" Varyan gestured at the rags enveloping the logs, "we've got enough to take a day off tomorrow."

"I see." Varyan's reasoning amused him. Though his knowledge of firewood and fires was scant, the pain in his forearms convinced him they were hauling more than plenty.

They ambled alongside a series of dilapidated shacks that appeared long deserted. The wooden planks of the walls were battered, splintered, and riddled with gaps. One shack sported an aperture large enough to fit his head through. Peering inside, he saw only a grimy sheet atop a pile of leaves, occupying half the room's space. Above this makeshift bed, a rope held clothes aloft. A red-haired girl, about their age, exited the hut in haste, struggling to bind her hair with a white headscarf. Her attire—a red ensemble and pointed brown boots—seemed more apt for the chilly weather and muddy lanes than their rags. It struck him as odd that she wore no trousers, although her garments covered her knees sufficiently to be deemed a dress. Upon spotting the boys, she halted abruptly, her gaze lowered as she bowed to Varyan. Without raising her head, she made a wide berth around them. He looked back to see her heading towards the mansion on the hill, her hair still escaping the headscarf's hold. Perplexed, he turned to Varyan, who pressed on with his unwavering stride.

"Don't worry about it too much. The Baron prefers them this way."

What does he mean? What was that just now?

Varyan didn't seem like he wanted to talk, so he kept his questions to himself. They soon reached the edge of the shanty town. Once the final hut faded from view, he pinpointed the source of the enticing aroma they had pursued all this while. A massive cooking pot sat atop an iron framework over a fire. The fire pit was encircled by makeshift tents fashioned from wooden poles and fabric, flimsy enough to be toppled by a strong gust. He noticed other men in rags, spanning various ages, scattered about the campsite, sipping stew from wooden bowls. Some had already begun wrapping pickaxes in sacks, while the last two stood in line for their breakfast serving.

"Welcome home," Varyan declared with pride, his warm smile resurfacing. A smile that dispelled negativity and focused on those before him.

A man at the cooking pot, attending to the stew, was the first to notice them.

"Varyan, what took you so long? The manor servants are all long gone," the man called.

Varyan replied, "It's fine, we bumped into Lydia on our way here. They'll be preoccupied with disciplining her tardiness while we feast."

The man chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "They can certainly try."

Varyan lowered his arms, indicating a spot beside a tent near the fire to unload the logs they had been toting. Once they emptied the rags, he could finally stretch his aching arms with a grateful sigh.

"That's quite a load of wood, not bad. Did your new friend help you?" the man inquired.

The question piqued interest around the camp. He ceased his stretching to avoid drawing further attention.

"Yes, this is our new arrival," Varyan confirmed.

A murmur spread through the camp. He caught snippets like 'dead' and 'twenty-six' from the questions exchanged. He felt more eyes fixed on their spot.

"I wasn't informed of a newcomer. We'll need a headcount before we leave. Anyway, you can collect your breakfast from Shadis. He took it to Jacoby's tent as usual."

"Splendid," Varyan said. "Then you can get your meal from Cadmun here. Now, if you'll excuse us, we must hurry before the Adventurers arrive."

Varyan patted him on the shoulder and departed without another word. Those Adventurers sure must be something.

The last man in line had just been served. Cadmun gestured for him to approach the pot. He was a tall man with a bald pate and a cleanly shaven face. A broad scar stretched from his right cheek to his collarbone. Much like Varyan and the other men, he appeared underweight.

"Name's Cadmun Frost. I managed the factory at the Dragon's Spine for Foreman Blitz before the Adventurers arrived. When we're in the mines later, heed my words," Cadmun instructed.

His demeanor was authoritative, yet it felt well-meaning. His scar looks messy. Maybe he had an accident in that factory?

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"How do you know I'll be working in the mines?" he asked.

"They didn't give you any garments. If you were assigned to the manor, you'd already be too late for breakfast duty anyway. You'd already be at the Slaughterhouse for that. The farmers are on the far side of that hill, tending the fields, so that leaves you with us."

So the girl from before was a manor servant. She did seem like she was in a rush. What was that about a slaughterhouse? I hope she is doing okay.

A growl from his stomach broke the silence between them.

"You've got to eat, eh…," Cadmun paused for a moment. "You weren't introduced, were you? Damnit, Varyan. He never adheres to proper etiquette."

"That's alright. I don't have a name. At least I don't remember it. I don't remember anything before arriving here."

"Fell on the head now, did you? I'd want to forget the last three years too." He chuckled. "In that case, we'll need a name that sticks…"

Cadmun peered into the pot with a look of dismay. He stirred the dregs of the stew with a ladle, but the bowl he served was scarcely half full. He picked a hair out of the bowl.

"Can't be mine," he joked, "but today we had a rare treat for breakfast. PP and I caught a rabbit before sunrise. But don't let the Adventurers find out. We're forbidden to enter the forest. Do you understand, Recruit?"

Cadmun held back the bowl until he received a nod from him. Finally, he had some food in his hands. Though it was merely some herbs in broth and a piece of carrot, he devoured it with vigor. Unfortunately, he didn't find any meat in his portion.

"I'm sorry, Recruit. We didn't expect another mouth to feed. What you got was the leftovers that I would get. I can tell from experience that it isn't much. The meat runs out halfway through. Make sure to collect the most gems today and you'll be first in line for dinner," Cadmun advised.

So he's sticking with 'Recruit'? Fair enough.

His stomach growled anew.

We're working on diamonds? Then the Baron must be wealthy. Can't he spare some food for us?

"You could ask PP if he'd share one of his rations," Cadmun suggested, leaning in. "Though you'd have more luck trying to nick a meal from the werewolf."

There are werewolves here?

They glanced over at a tent far from the main campsite. Even though the man sat cross-legged on the ground, he could tell that man was nearly twice his size. He was muscular and seemed better nourished than the others. His hands were chained together. How strange. He must be some sort of thug.

The man had just finished eating and stacked his bowl atop another next to him. Another man with long hair, having just received his ration from Cadmun, handed him a third bowl which he accepted without a word.

"Don't worry, Recruit. If you behave, PP has no reason to bother you," Cadmun reassured. "And if anyone steps out of line, they'll answer to me first."

It's nice of him to try to comfort me, but what could he do if that PP gets serious? His arms are the size of my head!

"Attention!" a voice commanded, sounding aged.

He turned to see most of the slaves forming a line, standing straight. Cadmun passed by him to join them.

The voice rang out again: "Lords Blitz arriving at the campsite!"

That must be the Baron! I need to get in line too before—

The thought halted as soon as he saw the source of the voice. An old man with a scruffy beard and rags like his own was followed by Varyan and—Varyan?

For a moment, he thought he was seeing double, but he clearly had Varyan and another boy identical to him, except with white hair, heading their way. The white-haired boy moved with a graceful stride, and the slaves bowed as he passed. His upright posture exuded pride, something that Varyan's slouching did not. He seemed of noble birth; however, the rags he wore marked him as a slave too.

"Milord, I trust the rabbit stew was to your taste," Cadmun said while bowing.

Milord?

His stomach churned as Cadmun mentioned food again. He glanced around in search of PP, hoping something was left. To his surprise, PP ignored the boys' arrival and continued cleaning his bowls with a rag.

"It was an adequate meal, Frost," the boy replied, shifting his focus. "So, you're the new arrival."

Cold, blue eyes glared into his own. The boy's piercing gaze didn't waver for even a second. It felt far more invasive than the earlier scrutiny from Varyan. Keeping eye contact was challenging.

"Nothing special here, except perhaps the hair color," the boy eventually remarked to Varyan. "Your doubts are misplaced. No reason to worry. He won't be replacing anyone soon. He's built like a stick."

Side by side with Varyan, one could see they were twins, but their personalities were worlds apart.

"You're not the Baron, are you?" he asked the boy.

A ripple of consternation spread along the line.

"Such impudence!" the old man bellowed.

A hand smacked the back of his head.

"You'll address Lord Blitz as 'Milord' or 'Lord Blitz'!" Cadmun forced his head into a bowing position, and his neck ached from the pressure. "Is that clear, Recruit?"

"Y-yes!" he stuttered.

What's his problem?

"Good! Now apologize for your disrespect!"

"I'm sorry."

What on earth did I do wrong?

"What was that?!" Cadmun pressed harder, as if attempting to force his face to the ground.

"I'm sorry!" The effort to stay upright made his ears ring.

"Did I instruct you to be sorry or to apologize for your disrespect, Recruit?"

"I apologize for my disrespect!"

The pressure on his neck ceased abruptly, and his head snapped back, causing him to lose his balance and tumble backwards. He landed hard, mud splattering across his back. The impact rattled more than his bones—it felt like the earth had thrown him off, like even the ground didn't want to hold him. This place wasn't solid beneath him, not really. It shifted with every mistake, every word he didn't know not to say. Looking up, he saw a sea of angry faces. Only Varyan's eyes offered any softness—an apologetic flicker before he turned and followed the other boy to the edge of the shanty town. Who were these people? What kind of brother did Varyan have?

"A night without dinner will teach you," Cadmun said.

"Sir Frost, are the men prepared?" The old man lingered.

"Indeed! PP will bring the pickaxes."

Sir?

The old man nodded, and with just a look, commanded the men in line to follow him to the edge of the shanty town, where Varyan awaited. He received several hostile looks.

"On your feet, Recruit," Cadmun ordered. "You'll help PP with the pickaxes."

The burly man approached from behind, laden with heavy sacks. He'd kept out of the incident, busy packing the pickaxes. One of the sacks dropped with a metallic clang beside him, splashing a wave of mud on his face. Ignoring the mess, the man continued towards the gathering crowd. What the hell is his problem?

"Get up!" Cadmun said. "The Adventurers will be arriving soon. And you don't want to disrespect them."