I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

The carriage trundled along the dirt path, its wheels kicking up small clouds of dust as it made its way through the snow-filled countryside. The fields on either side appeared bleak, with rows of onions and garlic planted beneath a white sheet. In the distance, the imposing silhouette of the Manor loomed, its stone tower piercing the sky. The carriage was due to arrive at the western entrance through the palisade soon. Finally.

Seated inside the wagon were two figures: the Jester, a figure draped in a patchwork of colorful red fabrics, and Herzog, a middle-aged man dressed in a handcrafted gray doublet reminiscent of a modern suit. The Jester's mask bore strange carvings like scars crossing the slits through which his eyes peered, distracting onlookers from looking directly through the eye holes. Its white surface glinted in the sunlight, while Herzog's stern monocle-wearing face remained fixed on the horizon. As was always the case with the German sitting across from the Jester, the conversation was serious and "professional." How tedious.

"There are reports that the respawn rates of the mobs have been increasing in the Canyon," Herzog said, his voice tinged with concern. "That's going to be a problem."

"Why? The Silver Sentinels are over-leveled. They pose no threat to the capital," the Jester replied.

"It's not about them being a danger. Think about the guards who have to fight more and more of them. Who's going to pay for their potions? This is a disaster for our state budget."

The Jester rocked his head back. In the last couple of days of their travel, they had discussed so many different "disasters" the kingdom faced that he already dreaded their return to the capital. He is the Minister of Commerce after all.

"And I don't want to deal with that Australian more than I have to," Herzog continued. "He's a cutthroat."

"He's an Assassin, Milord," the Jester snickered.

But Herzog didn't react at all. He wasn't in the mood for jokes. How boring.

"Why don't you power-level slaves to help the guards out? Like that squire in the Goblin King's Steppes does?" the Jester proposed. "They don't need a salary, only food and water."

"What are you? Crazy? You want an NPC militia right in the capital?" Herzog answered with the same monotonous voice. "You know, for a jester, your jokes are bad."

"So I've been told."

Gods, live a little.

As they approached a group of farmers toiling under the sun, the Jester raised a hand in greeting. "Ho there, good folk! Might we trouble you for some directions to the Manor?"

The farmers exchanged glances before one of them recognized the symbol of Carnifex's High Council on the wagon's door. They paused their work to bow, and a burly man with a weathered face stepped forward.

"That'd be the overseer Clif, Milords," the man muttered, pointing at a cottage further down the road.

"Much obliged," the Jester replied, tipping an imaginary hat.

As the carriage continued, Herzog turned to the Jester. "It doesn't make sense to exchange pleasantries with the bots."

"It's a game, have a little fun, you robot," the Jester teased.

The carriage stopped at the cottage where a thin man with short-cropped brown hair examined a rusty hoe with one hand while scratching his chin with the other. He looked back and forth between the farming tool and the inside of the cottage with a concerned expression.

"What seems to be the problem, mister?" the Jester asked as he leaned through the wagon's door window.

"Well, traveler, obviously I'm concerned that my wife is sharing the bed with another man," the man without a ring on his fingers sarcastically replied. "There are strange markings all over her."

Finally, someone with wit!

"Then maybe it's time to exchange her for a new one!" the Jester humorously suggested.

"I'd love to, if the Baron didn't keep all the fair maidens all to himself," the man said. "More power to him. The winter nights are cold."

Herzog cut into the conversation. "Enough!"

That man is a walking buzzkill.

The man wiped his brow and approached the carriage. "Afternoon, Milords. What brings you to the Baron's western farmlands?" The overseer changed his tone.

Herzog leaned forward, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Official state business."

"And how can Miriad Clif help you with that?"

"We usually come from the north," the Jester answered. "The last time we came through here, our driver got lost, and we arrived at the mansion when dinner was already cold."

"That's a shame," Miriad said.

"Yes, and it would be a waste to have to replace the driver again," the Jester said, placing the back of his hand on his forehead with a dramatic gesture. "Especially if you consider the state's budget right now."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Clif's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Tell us the shortest and correct path to take," Herzog demanded.

The overseer nodded. "Aye, follow the road till you reach the first crossroads and take the second path from the left. At the next fork, it's the road to the right. The road will take a left curve back to the mansion eventually, and it's straight ahead until you see the palisades."

"You got all that?" the Jester asked the carriage driver up front.

"Yes, Milord," he responded.

"All right then, goodbye," the Jester said in a sing-song voice as the carriage started moving again.

Miriad carefully waved at them. "Safe travels."

"What an annoying NPC. How come an idiot like that becomes an overseer? Is Lucio running out of slaves?" Herzog commented.

"I believe he was quite charming," the Jester retorted.

Although it was strange that the name on his [Status] read Montgomery Cliffe.

They soon arrived at the manor's west entrance, and not long after, they found themselves at the main entrance to the mansion where the servant boy who didn't speak waited to admit them. Leaving the carriage behind, they were led through the mostly empty corridors of the mansion and up the winding staircases of the tower where the Baron's study lay. The climb was arduous after such a long trip, but Herzog's determination to see the Baron propelled him upward. At last, they stood before the Baron's study. The door swung open, revealing Baron Lucio Bonatelli, clad in an ankle-length white tunic with a brown v-shaped hood around his neck and shoulders. Beneath, he wore a deep blue cotehardie which showed its yellow-edged pattern at the sleeves peeking out from under the tunic, paired with his yellow pointed shoes. The child is flashy as always.

"Lucio, my lovely little darling angel!" Herzog yelled the moment he saw the Baron.

Herzog sprinted past the bookcases filled with antique texts and reached the big oak desk where Lucio was absorbed in calculations. Herzog hugged him uncomfortably tight, even though the startled Baron didn't reciprocate. It amazes me time and time again.

"Oh, how much I've missed you since last time, son. It's been too long already," the coddling Herzog said, tightening his grip.

"Claudius! Uncle! What are you two doing here?" Lucio strained to say.

"Happy World Day to you too, little Lord," Claudius, the Jester, answered.

"Timmy! Why wasn't I informed about our guests?" a furious Bonatelli yelled, but the mute boy gave no reply.

"Come on now, son. We also have important business to discuss after that letter you wrote, so we felt it best to visit," Herzog said. "Oh my, how you've grown in the last year."

"Couldn't you have sent a letter back?" Lucio asked, still trying to disentangle from Herzog.

"Of course not!" Herzog answered, finally releasing him. "It's a holiday after all. And we also wanted to personally invite you to come home for Christmas."

Lucio threw a confused look at Claudius, who just shrugged his shoulders.

"Will you come? Please! Sofia missed you so much, and so did your brother," Herzog pleaded.

"Come on, little Lucy," the Jester taunted. "What harm will a little trip to the capital do?"

"Besides, you're a member of the High Council now. You have to show face every now and then."

"Okay, fine!" the Baron agreed.

He was certainly not pleased by the decision to go, but knowing Herzog, he wouldn't have relented on a family reunion anytime soon. It was wiser to yield early.

"Great!" an ecstatic Herzog exclaimed, before his face immediately fell and his expression turned blank. "Now, about that letter you wrote. Is it true?"

As much as he disliked the man's inconsistent personality, he was often reminded, through spending so much time with him, that the Jester Claudius respected the Minister of Commerce, Duke Alois Herzog of the High Council of Carnifex, for his uncanny single-mindedness. That man wants results above all else.

The three Carnifex nobles sat in a circle of big crimson armchairs near the bookcases. It was the ideal seating for a study as the arms rested comfortably on the armrests. Though that child seems to care more about appearance than intellect.

After the mute servant brought them their drinks, the men resumed their conversation.

"Tell me, Lucio," Herzog said. "Is it true that you've found a LVL 1 Player?"

"Yes, uncle," the Baron calmly said. "Don't you believe me, uncle?"

"Of course I believe you, don't say that!" the Duke immediately replied. "It just doesn't make sense."

Herzog rested his chin on his palm, as he always did when weighing all possibilities.

"It could be a Fourth Wave," the Jester tried to guess Herzog's thoughts.

But he dismissed that thought right away. "No, this can't be a Wave. We would have heard about more cases like this. When did you first see him again?"

"Just a few days ago," Lucio answered. "Of course, I took him in and offered him a position as a Soldier."

Herzog smiled. "Of course you did. That's my boy!"

The Jester hid a smile behind his mask. That boy is full of shit.

Lucio continued: "He was hesitant at first, understandably so, but he accepted my offer a few days ago, around the time I wrote to you. Now the problem where I needed your help is: How do we LVL him up? I have to keep my word, don't I?"

"Yes, yes, you do. That's important!" Herzog mumbled. "But the question is: Why didn't he arrive in any starting area in Cavon? Why did he spawn here in the Whispering Woods?"

"Maybe there's something wrong with the Spawn Points in the Fourth Wave?" Lucio hypothesized.

"Yes, that might be possible," Herzog ruminated.

The Jester balled a fist. Lucio stealthily gave him a sly smile. He learned from the best.

"Anyway," Lucio tried to grab Herzog's attention. "I was thinking of sending him to Cavon with Becket, so that he can grind some EXP."

"But Lucio, you can't leave the miners defenseless." The Duke sounded concerned. "What if they get hurt and bring you lower yields? You've got a duty to the King."

"Don't worry, uncle." Lucio stood up and grabbed some papers from his desk. "As you can see, I've been running the numbers."

He presented the members of the High Council with indecipherable handwriting. The numbers seemed more like arbitrary scribbles than coherent thoughts.

"I've been able to come up with productivity-enhancing methods to increase the yield per capita." The Baron tried to sound smart. "Meaning that I'll deliver the same results but with significantly cut-down manpower."

"Attaboy!" Herzog said, glancing over to Claudius, as if he were trying to impress him. "How did you do it? Some sort of new technology?"

"No," Lucio answered. "It's just that, when you wrote that you need more supplies for the Front Lines to hold during winter, it really got me thinking on how I'd be able to intelligently reallocate my slaves to save up on resources."

"My boy, my concerns shouldn't burden you." Herzog teared up. "How thoughtful of you."

"Yes, how thoughtful," the Jester repeated, tapping on his armrest.

Claudius knew that there was something that the boy wouldn't say. Reallocate you say?

Bonatelli put the scribbling away. "In short: some miners will work on the farms now and rations will be cut."

"Splendid," Herzog said.

The Jester thought back to the rusty hoe. "Do you really think that's a good idea?"

Herzog dismissed his criticism. "They can survive with less. What's the harm?"

Claudius tried to remind him of the sorry condition the farmlands were in, but his words were cut short by the sight outside the window. Thick plumes of smoke billowed from the southern side of the hill.

Lucio rushed over to the window. His expression darkened.

"The shanties are on fire," he said with a grave tone.