I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

"What the hell?" Becket muttered, his brows knitting together in confusion. "The servants…"

Stick tensed. "Maybe they need more ingredients for the holiday feast?"

But Becket wasn't buying it. He watched the servants as they slipped away behind some bushes, their movements hurried and almost fearful. It seemed completely out of place, and he sensed it.

"Doesn't feel right," he said, a hint of steel entering his voice. "Something's off."

Becket's keen instincts began to kick in. Stick had to think fast. He felt his heart pound in his chest, every beat, every second, stretching into an eternity. He swallowed hard, trying to come up with a way to regain Becket's attention.

"Then, the Initiation is a bigger event than I thought."

Becket turned to him, eyes narrowing as if weighing his words. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement on the hillside behind the mansion. A figure was running downhill, a flash of red catching the rays of the sun. Becket squinted, recognizing the figure instantly. Lydia. She was clutching something in both hands.

"Helmets." Becket's mind raced, connecting the dots in a heartbeat. The servants leaving, Lydia fleeing, the plan unraveling before his eyes.

"Damn it," Becket hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "What did you do?"

He turned around, brandishing his sword again, towering above Stick from his horse. Stick opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. The look in Becket's eyes told him there was no point in lying anymore. Fuck!

A sudden, deafening thud split the air, and a rusty axe embedded itself in the ground between them, just inches from Becket's mount. The horse neighed in terror, rearing up on its hind legs. Becket, caught off guard, tried to regain control, but it was too late. The horse bucked violently, and Becket was thrown from the saddle. He hit the ground with a loud bang, his head bouncing off the hard earth, and lay still. Stick's breath caught in his throat as he stared down at Becket, who was sprawled out unconscious. For a moment, Stick couldn't believe what he was seeing. Becket was out cold. The unbreakable Protection that the high LVL Players always carried, that aura of invincibility, was shattered by a simple concussion. He let out a nervous chuckle. It really worked. It actually worked!

"That's what you get for not wearing a helmet," he muttered.

As Stick's gaze shifted to the weapon that had caused the chaos, he recognized it immediately—the old, rusty axe Varyan used to split firewood. His heart raced as he turned toward the direction it had been thrown from. Shadis emerged from behind the cluster of tree stumps. The old man's scruffy beard and wild eyes made him look like a feral predator that had finally cornered its prey. He moved with a deliberate calm, years of combat experience, though his gaze was anything but.

"You're honest to a fault," Shadis scolded, his voice gravelly and stern as he approached Stick. "You can't lie to save your own skin!"

"Thanks?" Stick replied, not entirely sure if it was a compliment or a critique.

But Shadis wasn't interested in conversation. While Stick still processed the situation at hand, he had already calmed the upset horse.

"Check his bags for rope. We have to move quickly," he ordered, constantly checking over his shoulder to see if a figure appeared in the windows of the mansion's tower.

Stick nodded, snapping into action. He rushed by Becket's unconscious form, his hands trembling as he rifled through the [Saddlebag Inventory]. It was mostly packed with supplies: [Torches], [Raw Venison], [Water], and some [Cloth]. He sifted through the list until he found it [Rope (5m)]. He produced it out of the menu and held it up to Shadis, who gave a curt nod of approval.

"Good," Shadis grunted. "Get to it. I'll make sure he stays hidden."

Stick hesitated for a moment, glancing down at Becket, who lay completely vulnerable on the ground. Despite everything, the sight made him feel a pang of guilt. It's the same they did to us.

Shadis noticed Stick's hesitation and stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Don't go soft on me now, boy. Do what needs to be done."

Stick nodded quickly, shaking off his doubt. He knelt beside Becket and began tying his wrists and ankles with the rope, making sure the knots were tight but not cruel.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Let's go," Shadis commanded, tying the rope into the saddle rings. "We need to move before anyone comes looking."

"Stop!" Stick protested. "We're not gonna drag him on the ground!"

Shadis, already mounted on the horse, looked down on him with disgust. "We don't have time for weakness."

"It's not weakness. It's decency."

"Decency they never showed us."

"Exactly! That's why we won't stoop to that level."

Shadis scoffed. "Honest to a fault."

Stick ignored Shadis's comment and mustered all his strength to pick Becket up. He had to flex all the muscles in his body, immediately breaking into a sweat, to raise him high enough to place behind the saddle. His armor probably adds half a person's worth of weight.

"There's not enough space on the horse to fit an unconscious person and two riders, no matter how starved they are," Shadis said.

"You just make sure to safely get him to Cadmun. I'll join the servants coming this way and be right behind you."

Shadis begrudgingly agreed and wordlessly spurred his horse to head to the camp. As the distance grew between them, Stick watched closely to see if Shadis paid enough attention to not let Becket fall. If he loses any Life Points, I'll have you keelhauled.

His eyes strayed a little further towards the shanty town where a pillar of smoke was slowly rising towards the sky. No! Why are the shanties on fire? This is too soon!

He listened to the footsteps of the servants approaching down the hill. Turning, he watched them carry pastries, dried fruits, small bags of nuts—possibly "borrowed" from the pantry—and most crucially, Lydia had brought the helmets.

"Why was Becket all the way up here?" Lydia panted. "I thought you wanted to split them up while in camp."

"We also wanted them to turn up at midday," Stick explained, as he placed everything they brought into his [Inventory]. "There were some complications with the knights today, but it's taken care of."

"Is that why you started the fire ahead of time?"

"I don't know, something's wrong," Stick replied.

The smokescreen was far larger than anticipated. The servants exchanged worried glances.

Lydia was the first to rush forward. "No use standing around. Come on! Chop, chop!"

Stick and the other servants quickly followed her to the shanty town. The first row of shanties was already ablaze from the outside, and as they passed directly between, keeping as far away from both sides as possible, Stick felt a wave of heat strike him. These fires are far too hot!

"Everybody! To the well!" Lydia shouted. "Form a bucket brigade!"

They ran towards the safe end of the shanty town, where the smoke and heat hadn't yet reached, and the servants immediately began forming a line from the last row, where the well was, to the two in the first row. Why is only one row burning?

Stick didn't get a good look into the shanties in the second row, but he'd swear they were empty inside. Where's all the fuel?

"Gods, damn it!" someone yelled. "What is happening?"

Stick didn't have time to dwell on the implications, as he spotted the twins, Shadis, the stolen horse, and a few miners in the space between the shanty town and the slave camp. Cadmun was hunched over the tied-up Becket, who was now awake.

"I told you it won't work!" Becket yelled.

"Shut up!" Cadmun screamed.

Cadmun reached down to grab Reacher's sword and pulled it out of the scabbard. The moment the sword was unsheathed, it disappeared from Cadmun's hand. He was furious. What the fuck?

"You can't steal from a Player's Inventory, you thickhead!" Becket cried out.

When Stick approached, Cadmun turned his anger towards him. "Stick, what is the meaning of this?"

"What's going on?" Stick asked.

"Why can I not get a hold of it?" Cadmun shouted, as the sword disappeared from his hand once again. "Is it true that you can't steal from Players?"

Becket butted in: "Just surrender now and your punishment will be less severe than if you go through with whatever you're up to."

"I said shut up!" Cadmun yelled.

"Stick, did you know about this? Did you set us up?" Jacoby inquired.

Becket laughed, "Maybe he did."

The men all turned towards Stick, their animosity palpable.

"If you knew about this…" Sir Moore muttered, brandishing the rusty axe.

He was cut short by Varyan holding him back. "Let him talk."

Stick tried to defend himself: "No, I've received plenty from other Players before."

"But have you stolen directly from them?" Varyan asked.

Stick's breath fell short, and it was all the answer they needed. In the blink of an eye, chaos erupted in the group.

"This was a mistake!" Michael bit his fingernails nervously, his eyes darting from one direction to another. "Reacher will be back any minute now. There's no way we can defend ourselves against him, let alone Stamos. They'll be onto us like rabid dogs."

I fucked up.

"You imbecile!" one of the miners shouted. "How could you not think of that?"

I fucked up.

"You idiotic piece of shit!" another added. "Everything's ruined!"

"No, I-" Stick wanted to say.

I fucked up.

Over the panicked and confused yelling, Stick made out Becket's voice: "You've turned everyone against you! No Initiation can save you now. That's what you deserve for joining the NPCs. You've given the Baron a convenient excuse to have those lords killed!"

He looked to Varyan for help or any kind of support, but for the first time since they'd met, Varyan looked terrified. His chest rapidly swelled with panicked breaths. Jacoby tried to put a reassuring hand on his twin brother's shoulder, but at the same time, he had to hide his blank stare with his other trembling hand to save face. I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.

Stick felt nauseous, desperate, and angry all at once. In front of him, the people he wanted to help stood in terror, the fear of death written all over their faces. Behind him, people who trusted him fought to save their homes from a raging fire he'd told them to set. All because of his stupidity. It all felt so unreal. He wanted to rip his hair out. Maybe if he did, he'd trigger some part of his brain to wake him from this nightmare. PP was right. I am no hero.

The noises distorted, and he lost the feeling in his fingers. He was about to pass out. What have I done?

Suddenly, a loud, violent thump brought him back to reality. Cadmun had punched Becket square across the face.