I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

When Stick awoke the next day, he felt dreadful. Although staying inside the communal tent overnight was far warmer, he hadn't anticipated how much the snoring, tumbling, and turning of the other miners, practically piled on top of each other, would affect his sleep quality. It was a struggle to stay awake during breakfast. The warmth of the bowl in his freezing hands was so comforting that he kept nodding off, nearly dunking his face into the stew. By the time the lords were to be greeted, his bowl was still half full. Perhaps the world can wait a day or two for the Greatest Hero to get a proper night's sleep.

When the knights finally arrived to take them to the mines, he got an idea. He just needed to trick Reacher into healing him. His eye bags would surely convince the Mace that he was too unwell to work. Despite Stick's best attempt at a convincing coughing fit, Reacher didn't dismount his horse that day.

"Get in line," he simply ordered.

Stick felt unable to keep himself awake. He had to appeal to Reacher's fondness for Players, even if the others frowned upon it. He tried to sound as hoarse as he could.

"Please, I can barely stand."

"No more healing. No exceptions. Baron's orders," Reacher declared.

Stick gasped but tried to maintain his composure. Becket snickered at his reaction, and Stick immediately realized what was happening. That snitch!

"You're definitely a Player," Reacher said, as if to reassure himself.

"What?" Stick asked.

"NPCs only become ill when afflicted by disease as a game mechanic. It's usually a specific debuff. You, on the other hand," Reacher said, "just have a simple cold."

"Is that so?"

Reacher didn't respond. He looked shocked.

"What's wrong?" Becket asked, but no immediate answer came.

Reacher pointed to Stick. "His Status."

Becket led his horse closer to Reacher's, his eyes widening. "Stick… Arslan? What? Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Explain yourself!" the Mace barked.

How do they know my name?

"What are you talking about?"

"You're taking us for fools?" Becket asked. "The name on your Status wasn't there before. How did you do it?"

"What? Really?" Stick completely forgot about his supposed hoarse voice, sounding a bit too cheerful despite his sleep deprivation.

Reacher didn't care about the feigned illness either, instead growing increasingly mad at the name. "How did you hide it?"

"I didn't!" Stick explained. "I just named myself yesterday."

"And we're supposed to believe that?" Reacher seemed ready to dismount and throw punches, but Becket ordered him to stand down.

"Arslan is not a surname," Becket grunted, shaking his head.

"What did you say?" Reacher's frustration shifted to Becket.

"If we are to believe his amnesia, then this would be the first time he named himself," Becket explained. "It seems plausible that this is just a boy without memories playing dress-up."

Reacher raised an eyebrow. "So the game accepted the first name he gave himself because it doesn't know his real one?"

Becket shrugged. "That's game logic for you. Do you have any other ideas?"

Reacher sighed. He seemed less convinced by the explanation than Becket. Once again they're in their own world.

"What sort of name is Stick anyway?" Reacher retorted like a petulant child.

Without further comment, the slaves set out for the mines. The trek was particularly arduous that day because they had to trudge through freshly fallen snow. Stick rubbed some on his face to wake up more effectively. If it weren't for his feet slowly numbing from the cold, he would have said that day felt warmer than the previous ones, with the snow having settled. Luckily, the God of Life protected their limbs from freezing entirely and withering. Damn, it's cold.

That didn't mean he wouldn't immediately use his torch to warm his stiff toes as soon as they entered the cave. And so he did. The unpleasant sensation of ants crawling all over his feet was unwelcome, but still a welcome change. I have to move if I want to have dinner though!

Once he began to feel the ground beneath his feet again, he quickly descended into the deepest part of the mines, passing the others who had entered before him with a grin on his face as he searched for his hidden stash. He found the bag in its usual spot, untouched, and pulled out two gems. It's all used up now.

A wave of melancholy engulfed him. So much of his effort was now gone. The stash was an answer to the suffering he had endured after Montgomery vanished. During those grueling months, he felt like this day would never come. That he was striving so hard for a time that would never be realized. But now that he had his stronger body, his followers and friends by his side, and an escape plan that would even persuade Sir Moore, things were different. It was either hope or lunacy that got him here. He felt a tinge of nostalgia, pondering the past. It's only just a few more days.

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He knew he needed to find at least five more gems if he wanted priority at dinner that evening, so he hastily made his way to the tunnel, discarding the now empty sack into the large hole on the way. When he arrived at his usual spot beside PP, he quickly struck his pickaxe into the wall. It didn't take long to find his first gem. He soon found the second, the third, and... something different. A diamond!

Inspired by his discovery, he plowed through the wall with relative ease, hitting it repeatedly. With powerful swings, he cleared more and more rubble and gravel. That way he could easily—

Someone grabbed him by the makeshift mantle he wore and yanked him back. He choked on the knot tied around his neck to keep the mantle secure, so he attempted to slip out of it. He found himself thrown onto his backside just a few meters away from where he was working. Since they never lit their torches down there, he couldn't see what was happening. What the hell is PP doing?

The Prized Possession, the only other man down there with Stick, placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Stick asked PP, struggling against the big man's grasp.

PP's hand remained firm on his shoulder. Stick couldn't see his face in the darkness.

"Soft wall," he heard PP say. "You'll get us both killed digging like that."

The big man released something from his other hand, and a trickling sound like falling sand filled the tunnel.

"It's not safe. We have to tell Reacher."

Stick had forgotten how deep and soft PP's voice was. It was the first time in months he had spoken to him.

He could only utter a quick "Okay," when PP was already climbing out of the tunnel. What about our quota?

Stick followed him through the mine, and every slave they encountered on the way had the same reaction. At first, they were confused since no one had given the signal to leave; then they fell silent and got back to work, whatever discussion they had been engaged in interrupted. When they finally got out of the cave, the winter sun had already set. They saw a small fireplace to the side of the cave, where the knights had erected a small canopy to shield themselves from snowfall.

"What is it?" Becket asked when he noticed their torchlight approaching him. "You're not finished yet."

"Gravel," PP replied. "We need supporting structures."

The Sword glanced over to Reacher, who rolled his eyes.

"Don't give me that sass. You were the civil engineer."

Reacher sighed. "It's cold in there."

So we're not freezing, is that it?

Reacher begrudgingly got up and followed them back inside. He insisted on carrying his own torch to keep warm. When they passed the other miners again, all of the usual conversations accompanying the clanking of their pickaxes were missing. No one dared to look at them. In six months, I have never seen Reacher or Becket set foot in here, but the others still knew that this could happen.

After a while, they passed the big hole. A thought intruded his mind: What if I push Reacher inside?

It was a golden opportunity to escape. With Reacher out of the picture, Becket would be completely surprised and outnumbered. There was no need for his plan because all of them would be outside the manor already. It's just that…

He didn't want to kill anybody. If they had to take a life to gain their freedom, then they would stoop to the Baron's level. Even though his hand trembled in anticipation, his conscience forbade him to act. I'm not a murderer. That's not what heroes are.

They continued towards the deep tunnel, and Reacher nearly slipped at the steep decline.

"Fucking hell," he yelled.

Stick stifled a laugh. In an effort to sound more serious, he warned Reacher about the lack of air at the bottom.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

The Mace's weakened torch lit up the tunnel, and he started to inspect the walls. The tunnel the two slaves had dug over the last couple of months was roughly two meters high and as wide as Reacher's whole arm span. It was a few meters deep, leading through two different layers of rock. He turned to the slaves for a quick look, and his eyes were wide in amazement. Reacher hit both sides with his gauntlet and muttered something about "Type A" and "sheer wall collapse." When he got to the far end of the tunnel, he picked up a sample of the wall and let the grains hit the ground.

"Yeah, that's Type C," he said to himself.

He stomped the ground near the gravel wall before walking back to where the slaves stood, counting each step. Then he examined the tunnel as a whole from afar.

"Fourteen. And it's consistently seven by six," he monologued, looking at Stick and PP. "Jesus Christ."

Stick and PP had no idea what he was on about. The numbers don't make sense.

"Let's get out of here," Reacher ordered. "My head hurts."

And with that, they headed for the exit. Stick worried because he hadn't reached his quota when they left the cave, but the knights didn't pay any attention to the slaves who turned in their yield. Instead, they were talking about how they would collect enough lumber. He already knew that it would mean total chaos in the dinner queue, as everybody would use that to make the most extraordinary claims about how many gems they got today. In that case…

With a swift move, he got the diamond out of his bag and hid it beneath the knot on his collar, which held the mantle in place. Once he turned the other gems in, he picked up the pickaxes of the others, placed them into the sack, and started the trek back as if nothing had happened. Maybe tomorrow.

Dinner was as chaotic as he expected. The men were pushing around and yelling at each other. Everyone wanted priority for having found "the biggest haul ever," but Cadmun called all of the bluffs. If the miners didn't want to starve, then they'd have to stop bluffing. He'd only serve those who gave a realistic answer based on the men's previous performance.

"How would you know that they speak the truth? It's the same damn problem," Titor yelled.

"If we can't rely on each other to speak the truth, then how about no one gets to eat?" Cadmun yelled back with a grin on his face.

A collective grunt went through the hungry crowd. When their complaints grew louder, the bald man took the cooking pot hostage and threatened to spill the stew on the ground. Luckily, Shadis arrived to calm the crowd. He made a counterproposal to prioritize seniority. It was the only logical way to determine the order in which they'd get served. He made sure the Lords ate first. Of course, they'd all agree when PP and I are the ones last in line.

Knowing that he wouldn't get anything to eat, he left to get ready for bed. After washing himself, Stick took up a spot near the tent's entrance to be able to breathe better at night while also being out of the other men's way. He didn't want to get kicked in the middle of the night again. He made sure to be alone in the tent before pulling up his [Inventory] from the [Menu], as Becket had unintentionally taught him how to do, and placing the [Diamond] next to the [Carrots] and [Potatoes] he had saved up from the meal during Hero Day. He closed the menu and lay down, marveling at the fact that the food was still fresh. There are perks to being a Player!

He'd regret that thought a few hours later when he got woken up by none other than Becket.