I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

The icy wind sliced through the encampment, carrying with it the promise of another harsh day. Winter was coming their way fast, and he made no progress in getting the slaves to open up to him. While everyone huddled in the communal tents, he had to sleep outside in the cold even when it rained. He was shivering all over even with the sun out, and it would only get colder from there. On days like that, Cadmun's discarded tent became a mantle draped over his thin shoulders whenever he wasn't using it as a sleeping bag. He gladly carried the pickaxes to the mines every day since the sack offered additional protection against the cold. Despite his efforts, however, the cold seeped into his bones, and he knew another fever was building that day. Good.

As dawn broke, the knights arrived at the camp, and Reacher reluctantly dismounted his horse once more. He observed, through bleary eyes, as the Mace drew near. Reacher's hands glowed faintly as he placed them on his forehead. The fever dissipated instantly, leaving him feeling invigorated yet hollow. Reacher's magic was remarkable, but it couldn't substitute for food. That's okay.

"You're expected to work," Reacher said, not unkindly—but not kindly, either.

A phrase he had heard repeatedly in recent weeks. He nodded, swallowing his frustration. He had noticed that the other prisoners rarely fell ill, and when they did, Reacher didn't heal them. He received special treatment because he was a Player, much to the dismay of the other captives, but it was all part of the plan. Yes, all part of the plan.

For weeks, he had to forgo dinner because he couldn't meet the quota. He stashed his breakfast behind the rock where he'd wash himself, worked on an empty stomach, and ate the cold meal for dinner. He discovered the delicate balance of sustenance he needed to function and deliberately got ill so Reacher would heal him each morning, allowing him to safely skip meals. Occasionally, some animal would find his breakfast, leaving him with barely enough energy, but it was worth it because deep within the mines, he had hidden a bag full of gems. His stash gradually filled up day by day, while he turned in one or two gems to Reacher, blaming his deteriorating health. Reacher, who pitied him, would patch him up daily, hoping he'd get a lucky streak. Which he later would. All part of the plan.

After enduring much hardship, he "struck it rich" and turned in five gems. In time, five became six, and six became seven. He began using his stash to gain priority at dinner, finally satisfying his hunger after weeks of inadequate nourishment. The change in his demeanor and energy was noticeable. He started to smile more frequently, occasionally receiving a smile in return. Gradually, his body began to strengthen, and he secretly exercised in the evenings. It was grueling. He constantly had to remind himself that the pain of stones digging into his palms during push-ups was worth it. That scraping his back on the cold ground hundreds of times during sit-ups was worth it. That exhausting himself to the point of near collapse every evening was worth it. All part of the plan.

He'd go to bed drenched in sweat, always freezing during the night, unable to sleep properly whenever illness crept in. He knew he had to endure those agonizing nights to be healed in the mornings. On days he fell ill, he'd trade the precious stones while still in the mines to secure extra portions at dinner, which he would eat along with the breakfast he skipped. PP, who had used the same tactic with Montgomery before, remained silent about it all. He better be.

Becket became immediately suspicious of his increasing yields and demanded he reveal his [Inventory] nearly every day, suspecting foul play. Each time, his [Inventory] was empty, and Reacher sneered at the Sword. Thank the Gods that no one noticed the missing bag Lydia borrowed for me.

The worn leather pouch was discreetly placed in a crevice just after the large hole in the mines, barely noticeable even when a torch shone directly on it. Seeing his commitment and lightened workload, the other miners began to warm up to him. He'd receive a "hello" in the mornings and a "good night" after dinner. Not much, but at least something.

Week by week, he began to earn back their trust, working tirelessly in the mines during the day and on his physique during dinner. The pickaxes he carried grew lighter and lighter as his arms grew wider and wider. He could hear the others whispering in admiration about his growing muscles. Weeks turned into months once more, and the grind continued. On a particularly cold and bitter day, he found his first diamond. He held it up in the torchlight with his calloused hands, the sharp edges adding more cuts to his cracked skin. It was small, barely glinting in the light, but to him, it was everything he had hoped for. Reacher's rare smile when he handed it over ticked some people off, but he would soon win them over too, by giving the new slave rags he received as a reward to Jacoby. Jacoby, surprised but grateful, accepted the gesture. It was a small step towards becoming a beacon of hope. Not a big one, but at least something.

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He knew he had made a name for himself when he lined up for the morning greeting of the two lords, and no one dared to question his presence. Not a single unfriendly glance was cast his way. In fact, the only look he received was from Varyan, who locked eyes with him as he passed. The smile on the young lord's face signaled his recognition of his position there. That evening, temperatures dropped significantly, and for the first time since his arrival, it began to snow. Just before bedtime, Cadmun approached him.

"I need to speak with you," the bald man said.

"Oh." He had just arranged the remnants of Sir Frost's tent as close to the dwindling fire as possible. "How can I help you?"

Cadmun lifted his chin, the firelight below casting shadows across his face.

"It has come to my attention that you're trading gems for meals," Sir Frost proclaimed authoritatively.

He gulped. "Is that… illegal?"

"Well, no," Sir Frost replied. "But it is quite impressive."

"Oh, okay." It took him a moment to comprehend. "I appreciate you saying that."

Cadmun folded his arms.

"I came to inform you that the men have noticed you shivering at night. They see you falling ill and getting cured every day. They don't want that. And I don't want that either."

He knew this day would eventually arrive. He braced himself for the worst. How he dared be so close to them. How much of an Adventurer's pet he was. Or worse, how much he was like them.

"You've been making waves," Cadmun said. "In the past, the men would get really depressed this time of year. The cold usually got to them, but now they seem content, even cheerful. And I think that's because of you."

"Wow… That's—" He was at a loss for words, filled with pride. "Thank you!"

"They asked Lord Blitz to let you in." Cadmun lowered his head, his eyes now sparkling in the firelight. "So you don't have to freeze so much."

"What?"

"Lord Jacoby granted permission. As a token of gratitude for the new clothes."

"Are you serious?" He couldn't believe his gesture had paid off. I could have used those rags for my hands and feet, but this is a hundred times better!

Cadmun pointed to one of the large tents. "That's where you'll be sleeping."

"What? Really?" He couldn't contain his excitement. "That's amazing! Thank you!"

"Don't thank me. Thank yourself," Cadmun told him with a wink. "But don't get too excited. You're only allowed inside when it snows. On dry nights, you'll be out here again. And you're only allowed inside the commoners' tent. The one with the lords in it is off-limits. That's the arrangement the lord proposed."

"That's okay!" He was brimming with joy. "I can live with that compromise!"

"I'm glad to hear that." Cadmun struggled not to smile too widely. "Go on then. Get your stuff ready."

"Alright!" He immediately bent over to pack up the tent from the ground, excited to finally have a warmer sleeping place, even if it was between PP and the Goblin Hunters.

"Oh, and one more thing." Cadmun was on his way to the lords' tent but stopped halfway through.

He stopped. "What is it?"

Cadmun's face turned serious. "Great job, Recruit. You're stronger than I thought."

He was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. That bastard! How dare he say something like this so late at night?

He fought back tears but composed himself.

"It's not Recruit anymore," he said steadily.

"Oh?" Cadmun perked up. "Then what is it now?"

He dropped the tent he had just picked up, straightened his back, ready to finally reveal the name he had chosen for himself. The one he believed would go down in history. This name will give the people hope in the stories to come!

He took a deep breath and with a puffed chest, shouted the name he had decided to proudly bear: "My name is Stick. Stick Arslan. And I'll become the greatest hero of all time!"

Cadmun's eyes widened. He stared at him for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. A few meters away, from the tents, more laughter erupted. His face instantly burned up. Those assholes! How dare they?

"Is it Hero Day again already?" A disembodied voice shouted, "I must have missed a couple of seasons!"

The laughter continued for a minute straight, and Cadmun had to wipe away tears. The other tent remained silent, but they must have heard the commotion. Embarrassed, he picked up the tent. This was a bad idea!

Finally, as he was about to storm off, Cadmun raised his hand to signal him to stop.

"No, no. Don't go!" the bald man managed between laughter.

"What is it?" he asked angrily.

"Stick, was it? Stick Arslan?" Cadmun struggled to regain composure.

"Yeah, so?"

"You really want to be a Great Hero like him? Did your brain swell up along with your muscles too, Recruit?"

That goblinshit!

"No, I won't!" He threw the tent on the ground again, this time with forceful anger. "I'm gonna be an even greater hero! I'll be the greatest hero you've ever seen!"

"Is that so?" Cadmun's laughter subsided. "That's some big boots you wish to fill, Recruit!"

His fist trembled. "Don't call me Recruit!"

"You want to disrespect the Great Hero? You want to disrespect me?" Cadmun stepped closer. "Recruit?"

"As long as you're disrespecting me, yes." He stepped closer to Sir Frost, staring him down. "My name is Stick."

Sir Frost might not have been the largest man among the miners, but he was certainly one of the strongest. He could possibly arm-wrestle even PP. But I don't care about that.

"I'm a knight of House Blitz, Player. You think mining gems is all I can do?" Cadmun cracked his knuckles right in front of his face, muscles bulging larger than his head. "You're in for a world of pain, Recruit. You should apologize."