I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

The dawn had barely broken when the rumble of heavy footsteps and the clanking of armor shattered the morning stillness. Stick stirred in the makeshift tent, the chill air biting through his ragged mantle. He could hear the murmur of voices, the commanding tones of knights giving orders.

A shadow fell over him, and a gruff voice barked out: "Get up!"

Stick blinked the sleep from his eyes and stumbled out of the tent. Reacher stood there, looking like he'd pulled an all-nighter. His eyes were bloodshot, his face drawn with exhaustion. Behind him was the Battleaxe, who led a group of servants. A caravan was loading up logs the miners had painstakingly collected for repairing the shanties. Cadmun supervised some nearby miners, but his gaze was fixed on the knight in silver armor. The bald man had a death stare that sent shivers down Stick's spine. His muscles were so tensed up that they started to shake. It took every fiber of strength in him not to start pummeling the Battleaxe. There was no discussion, no protest allowed. What is going on?

"If you don't want it the hard way, you better get out here now," Reacher said, his voice rough. "The Baron invites you for breakfast."

Stick's heart pounded as he spotted Timothy. He tried to catch his eye, but Timothy's gaze was fixed firmly on the ground.

"Follow him to the mansion," Becket said.

A loud wooden thud filled the air. Titor had dropped one of the logs. Reacher rushed over to him and, without warning or hesitation, slapped the former Goblin Hunter across the face.

"You've got Parkinson's, you blockhead? You want to be a support beam instead?" Reacher sounded more aggressive than usual.

The wood is more valuable than the slave.

Stick had forgotten how cruel the knights could be. The slapped slave glanced over to Stick, as if he was telling him that they were ready to fight back. Stick lowered his hand to signal him to exercise patience. Just a few more days.

"Come on! What are you waiting for?" Becket asked.

Not wanting to cause any more trouble, the two of them set off towards the mansion, Stick casting nervous glances back at the camp as the knights took their supplies without a word. As they walked, Stick leaned in close to Timothy, hoping to get some information.

"What's this about?" he asked the servant.

Timothy turned his head slightly, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and regret.

"Do you know what the Baron wants from me?"

Timothy hesitated a bit before opening his mouth, revealing the jagged scar where his tongue had been cut off. The scar seemed to be older. Stick recoiled, a surge of anger and pity washing over him. What the fuck is this?

"Did Bonatelli do this to you?"

Timmy's eyes drifted to the side, and he realized that there wouldn't be any answers. That son of a bitch! That fucking son of a bitch!

The mansion loomed ahead, its dark silhouette imposing against the early morning light, taking away the wind in his sails. They were ushered inside by two female servants dressed in oversized red garments and no trousers, like Lydia always had been, and Stick was led through a grand room directly towards the end of the eastern wing. Timmy was ordered to stay outside with the servant girls, as two other very beautiful women surrounded Stick in the steaming room.

"What is going on here?" he asked, with a slight panic rising in his voice.

"You're invited to the Baron's breakfast, darling. You can't arrive as dirty as you are," a blonde servant explained, her full lips hovering uncomfortably close to his ear.

The bath was set within an opulent chamber adorned with intricate stone carvings and elegant tapestries. At the center of the chamber was a large, sunken marble tub, filled with steaming water infused with aromatic herbs and petals. Nearby, a hearth with a roaring fire ensured the room remained warm and inviting. Rich, plush towels and robes made of fine fabrics were draped over gilded racks.

"Just a quick bath is all we ask," the other one with black hair said, tugging him lightly by his collar to loosen the knot on his mantle.

The women started draping their elegant fingers on his body. Their soft clothes, which left little to the imagination, brushed against his skin. It was unclear what the Baron was trying to achieve with this stunt. I have to stop this.

"Well, alright," he said, trying to gently push the women away from him. "I can take a bath myself. You don't have to worry about me."

The blonde grabbed him by his rags. "Don't be silly, darling. Who's going to rub your back?"

"Or maybe something else?" the other added, pointing to a small table nearby which held an array of luxurious bathing oils, perfumes, and delicate soaps.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

He raised his voice. "That's enough!"

Stick tried to pull away from the women, but now both of them got a hold of his clothes.

"You're so tense, darling. Why won't you let us take care of you?" the blonde giggled, lifting his shirt.

As the women ignored his discomfort more and more, he started to get irritated. What are they trying to achieve here?

"Leave me alone!" he yelled, practically tugging at his shirt.

But the women would not let go. The blonde even tried to remove his trousers.

"The Baron wants us to make you feel good, honey," one of them, he didn't know which, said.

With the image of Timothy's cut tongue still fresh in his mind, he exploded in anger.

"Stop this shit! Leave me alone!"

He abruptly pulled on his clothes, ripping a huge part of his shirt, which made the black-haired woman lose her step, crash into the nearby table, and fall face-first. The glass flasks crashed on the ground near her, spilling perfume and oils all over the stone floor. Oh no!

His anger quickly dissipated as he rushed to see if the black-haired woman was alright. Fortunately, she hadn't fallen on any broken glass.

"You absolute moron!" she exclaimed, hastily trying to cover her exposed parts.

Her switch to a rude tone suggested she hadn't injured herself. He looked away as the blonde handed her one of the towels from the racks.

"Are you out of your mind?" the blonde asked.

"I'm sorry, I-"

He was cut off by the door crashing open. A knight in red armor, similar to Reacher and Becket, burst inside.

"Is everything alright in here?" the Carnifex knight asked.

Stick couldn't see his face under the helmet, but the knight's head movement indicated he was looking between the woman on the ground and Stick. The two women suddenly seemed too intimidated to speak.

"Yeah, we're fine," Stick said awkwardly, realizing how odd the scene must appear to the knight.

"They causing you any trouble?" the knight inquired.

"No, everything's okay, thank you."

The knight loosened up a bit. "You know we can get you some NPCs if you prefer. They're less bitchy than those two."

What?

Stick's gaze snapped to the women, who were looking at the ground in shame. A quick inspection revealed they were [LVL] 15 Players named Emilia Auclair, an [Elemental] [Mage], and Lucille Blanchet, a [Weapons Master] [Assassin]. The white window revealed them to be [Carnifex] members from a place called [France]. Those two are Players?

"Just say the word, and we'll get you someone more willing," the [LVL] 23 [Warrior] [Knight] called Cormac Gallagher offered.

Stick didn't understand what was happening, but his instincts told him not to paint the women in a bad light.

"No, everything is fine," he assured. "Emilia and Lucille have been taking great care of me."

The knight's helmet shifted one last time between Lucille, the black-haired woman on the ground, and Stick. "If you say so. Just be ready in 20 minutes. The Baron doesn't like to wait."

With a thumbs up from Stick, the knight exited the room. After a brief pause, Lucille leapt up from the ground.

"How did you know our names?" she asked him in a mistrustful tone.

"Well, I read your Status."

"What? You can do that?" Emilia moved very close to his face, excited rather than seductive. "But how is that possible?"

The blonde poked his stomach where his belly button should have been, as if trying to make it appear. He hadn't noticed his stomach was exposed when the shirt ripped.

"Stop that!"

"Well?" Lucille pressed. "If you're an NPC, how can you read Statuses?"

"I don't remember how I got here." Stick flicked away Emilia's probing finger. "I don't know why, but I am a Player without a belly button, just like the NPCs."

Emilia, curious as ever, started examining his jawline.

"No sign of a beard. He's really an NPC. Or maybe just a boy."

Stick grabbed her wrist. "Will you stop touching me already?"

The blonde woman let go, stepped back, and tilted her head. "But it does say you're a Player though…"

"So that's why Lucio wants to see you," Lucille deduced.

"No, not really. I've been working in the mines since I got here six months ago. We haven't spoken since my second day. I don't know why he wants to see me after all this time."

"Maybe because of your stats?" Emilia suggested.

My stats? Of course!

"Can you see them? Can you tell me what they are?"

"You don't know how that works?" Emilia seemed oddly amused. "You're a clueless NPC after all."

That bitch!

"Ignore her," Lucille said, "Here, let me show you."

Emilia showed him how to navigate the [Menu] to get to the [Stats] page. The window layout was familiar, resembling a [Status]. His breath quivered with excitement. It wasn't just any [Status]. It had his name at the very top: Stick Arslan. Fuck yeah!

He was [LVL] 1, and his Stats were underwhelming, to say the least.

Strength: 5

Intelligence: 5

Regeneration: 5

Armor: 5

Resistance: 5

Constitution: 5

He had 500/500 [Life Points] and 100% [Mana]. That's not good.

All the other info was blank. He had no [Class], no [Affiliation], and most puzzlingly, no [Origin]. All fives. Not even a hint of talent. Like the system itself had looked at him and said, 'You don't matter.' What a shame. No clues here.

"That's a strange Status," Lucille remarked.

"Yeah…" Stick said. "I hoped it might help me recover my memories, but no such luck."

"That might be linked to your amnesia," Lucille suggested, "but what's more odd are the stats. They're all wrong."

Stick's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean 'wrong'?"

"5 is the lowest score possible in any Stat at LVL 1. It depends on your Class which of your Stats are that low, but in return, you always get better Base Stats as well to even them out," Lucille explained.

"Yours are all trash," Emilia added.

"Wow, that's-" Stick was at a loss for words. "Thank you."

Stick's sarcasm was met with Emilia winking and blowing a kiss. That sassy little…

"So what about your Class?" Lucille asked.

"I don't know. What about it?"

"What kind of fighter are you? Are you a Warrior, a Weapons Master, or a Mage?"

"How would I know that?"

Lucille pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "What kind of Skills do you have?"

Stick was perplexed. "What do you mean Skills?"

Lucille grew exasperated. "Do you use ranged weapons? Do you stun people? Do you heal? Do you cast fireballs? Is there a particular pattern in what you do during a fight?"

He recalled that Reacher had healing light magic.

"No, nothing like that," he concluded. "I've had one fight, and I used a stick to defend myself."

"Stick, huh?" Emilia chuckled, flashing a quick smile.

"Haha," Stick said.

Lucille, however, wasn't in the mood for jokes. Her face had gone pale.

"Are you alright?" Emilia asked.

"I just had a thought," Lucille said. "Think about it for a second."

"What's the matter?" Stick began to worry.

Lucille looked Emilia dead in the eyes. "Emilia, he's an NPC with no Class."

"Oh my fucking God." Emilia sat down shakily, the thin fabric on her skin darkening where it got wet.

There was clearly something they understood that he didn't. "What's going on?"

Through the gaps in her fingers covering her mouth, Lucille answered: "You're a minor."