I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

Reacher snarled, sweat dripping down his face as he swung his mace again. "You're nothing but a coward hiding behind that Taunt, Cadmun!"

Cadmun blocked the blow, the shield once again flaring in a blinding crimson light as the mace slammed against it.

"I'll be standing over your body soon enough, John!" Cadmun roared back, teeth gritted as he pressed his attack.

Their fight was a brutal dance of offense with little regard for their own safety, each desperate to land the first real blow. Cadmun's sword flashed again, slicing through the air towards Reacher's side. Reacher barely managed to raise his shield in time, but the sword bounced off, drawn back towards the crimson glow like a moth to a flame. Reacher responded with a powerful swing of his mace, the heavy weapon crashing into Cadmun's side. The force knocked Cadmun off balance for a split second, but he recovered, eyes blazing with determination.

"I won't fall before you," he growled, swinging again, his blade once more clashing against the metallic hum of Reacher's Protection.

Neither man was willing to give ground. Each strike, each bash of shield and weapon, was aimed to break through that final layer of protection—to be the first to make the other bleed.

Meanwhile, Stick was frozen in place as realization settled over him. The nagging suspicion that had been in the back of his mind for so long suddenly crystallized into certainty. The big man bulking in front of him, PP, was the traitor.

"Why did you do it?" Stick growled, stepping forward, his voice raw with betrayal. "Why did you mess with the fire?"

PP's face remained calm, but his eyes glinted with defiance. "I told you your plan was dangerous."

"You put us all in danger!" Stick spat, fury boiling to the surface.

"No," PP replied coldly. "You did. And now you're trying to run away."

"That's not true! I couldn't have known if Reacher would ever show up on time or by himself!" Stick's voice cracked with desperation. "I was ready to stay behind!"

"And now you've jumped at the first opportunity to escape." PP stepped closer, his imposing stature towering over Stick. "It's always the same with people like you. As long as it's not you who gets hurt, nothing else matters."

Stick's fists clenched. "You're wrong! I am a hero! I help others, not hurt them!"

"Have you asked him?" PP's gaze flicked to behind Stick.

Stick followed his gaze, his heart sinking. They were looking at Michael, who stood some distance away, staring blankly towards the horizon where the Blitz brothers had fled. He had been caught in the middle of all this—just another victim in the chaos.

"We… we all knew the risks when we signed up," Stick said unconvincingly.

"Yes, but how many knew the reality?" PP asked. "How many regret taking that risk?"

"The Lords are safe!" one of the miners behind Stick yelled. "They'll be back to free us too! It doesn't matter what happens to us now. We will endure!"

PP's demeanor didn't change in the slightest. "What about Lydia, Stick? You said you'd protect her."

The question hit Stick like a punch to the gut. PP was right. Things changed so much today that I didn't account for that. How could I not think of her?

He looked PP straight in the eyes. The big man waited for a response which he didn't have. Ashamed, he averted his gaze and looked at the fight nearby. He witnessed Cadmun slicing Reacher's neck, a bloodless attack, but painful nonetheless. Cadmun Frost, a dear friend of his, was giving his all. And I couldn't even keep a promise.

The slaves around them had had enough. With a cry, they surged forward, attacking PP from all sides. Although some of them were higher-leveled, their lack of proper weapons and armor leveled the fight. PP fought back with brutal efficiency, his size and strength making him a formidable opponent even against the odds.

"Go Stick!" a slave yelled. "Get that horse!"

But Stick's legs were shaking. He tried to take a step forward; however, the crushing weight of his guilt kept him in place. The servants, Titor, Smith, Michael, Lydia, Cadmun… PP.

"Come on!" yelled another slave who managed to trip PP.

He saw how PP got pushed to the ground. The slaves jumped on him, holding his limbs and kicking him in the stomach and face. To his side, he saw Cadmun barely managing to dodge a blow from the mace. The exhaustion slowly started to creep up on him. Reacher, on the other side, seemed as energetic as ever.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Whenever Cadmun took a step back to get out of the way of an attack, Reacher used the opening to make his shield disappear. A shining light formed on his left hand, which flashed all around him for a split second before his shield would reappear in his hand again. His spells! Of course! Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He swung his mace like there was no tomorrow, and whenever Cadmun was unable to dodge, he tried to catch the attacks with his shield, sometimes with, sometimes without the crimson flash. Damn it! There's no time to falter now! Get a move on!

He tried to reassure himself. You can't save everyone. They signed up for this. They signed up for this. You can't save everyone.

No matter how often he repeated it in his head, he just couldn't step forward. The horse seemed so far away. Come on, Stick. Come on! What kind of hero are you?

Suddenly, Stick was grabbed by his shoulders from behind.

"What the fuck are you doing, Recruit?" Michael screamed. "Stop wasting their sacrifice and run!"

With that, Stick was pushed forward and lost the ground beneath his feet.

Stick stumbled a few steps but quickly found his footing again. The push had thrown him off balance, but now, fueled by adrenaline and desperation, he surged forward. He darted past the pile of bodies writhing on the ground, where PP was being held down by several men, their grunts of exertion mixing with PP's wild thrashing.

"You're not a hero!" PP wailed, his voice cracking with pain and frustration.

The words stung like a slap, but Stick shook his head, forcing the thoughts aside. There was no time to let PP's disappointment sink in. Stop it, Stick!

He kept running, his lungs burning as the cold air bit at his throat. Despite that, he kept running. Don't let him get to your head!

Up ahead, the clash of metal echoed through the clearing. Stick's eyes locked onto the source: Cadmun and Reacher were locked in a brutal fight, the sound of their weapons clashing continuing to fill the air. Reacher had the upper hand, his attacks landing clean and hard on Cadmun.

"What's up, Baldy? Losing steam?" Reacher yelled as he landed another clean hit on Cadmun's side.

Stick winced. Cadmun's lack of a proper harness was showing. The man was fast, but his movements were slowing. Reacher, sensing weakness, pressed the advantage.

"Your Life Points are a bit low, aren't they?" Reacher added, his voice dripping with malice.

Stick felt a surge of panic. Stick stopped to inspect Cadmun. To his shock, Reacher was right. He glanced at the crude system interface hovering over Cadmun's head, the digital display showing a worrying 150 [LP]. Stick's heart thudded painfully in his chest as he realized that Reacher still had nearly half of his own Life Points. His [Mana], on the other side, was at about 2%. That would mean he's nearly out of spells, right?

Cadmun stepped back, breathing heavily. He pressed the hilt of his sword against his chest, his thumb brushing over the long scar on his neck.

"Don't worry, John," Cadmun wheezed, sweat trickling down his temples. "I can go all day—even without my Protection. Remember? It was you who went crying to Stamos about a little cut on your thigh last time."

"You little shit," Reacher spat, his eyes narrowing. "I'll cut your head off for real this time."

Reacher lunged forward, his mace flashing as he unleashed a rapid flurry of attacks. Stick watched, his hands clenching into fists as the two men clashed violently. Reacher was relentless, pushing Cadmun back, his strikes faster and more aggressive with each passing second. But Cadmun was no novice; he blocked and parried as best as he could, his shield absorbing most of the damage. Still, it was clear that Reacher was wearing him down. Reacher, completely locked into the fight, paid no attention to his surroundings. Stick's eyes darted to the horse. It's now or never!

Without wasting a second, Stick threw himself forward, his fingers brushing the rough leather reins of the horse. With a swift jump, he pulled himself onto the animal's back, barely managing to secure a hold before kicking the horse into a full gallop. The ground blurred beneath him as the horse sped toward the exit, where Michael and another miner were waiting, their faces taut with determined smiles. His freedom was just a few hundred meters away. It was right there in front of him, just a short distance away, behind all the fighting, all the chaos he created. All he had to do was keep going. Keep running.

Behind him, the sound of battle raged on. Cadmun grunted as Reacher's strike finally broke through his defenses, the mace biting into his left arm. Blood sprayed from the wound, staining the snow crimson. Reacher let out a triumphant scream, his voice reverberating across the battlefield like a victorious war cry. He drew first blood.

In that split second, though, Reacher's overconfidence became his downfall. Cadmun's eyes glinted with something dangerous as he used the momentum of Reacher's attack to his advantage. With a fierce roar, Cadmun swung his shield with all his strength, slamming it into Reacher's chest. Reacher staggered back, momentarily off balance, and in that moment of weakness, Cadmun bashed the mace from Reacher's hand. The weapon hit the ground with a thud and disappeared into the void, failing to reappear in Reacher's grasp as it usually would. Reacher's eyes widened in shock, realizing his vulnerability too late. Before Reacher could react, Cadmun drove forward, his shield crashing into Reacher's. The overpowering force sent Reacher stumbling backward, his feet slipping on the icy ground. Without missing a beat, Cadmun stepped on Reacher's left arm, pinning the shield to the ground, and with predatory precision, he drove his sword straight through Reacher's throat. A direct hit.

The blade pierced flesh, and though no blood spilled from the wound, the agony was written all over Reacher's contorted face. Reacher gasped, his free hand flailing weakly as he tried to grab Cadmun's sword. But Cadmun was merciless. With a feral snarl, he yanked the blade free and plunged it back into Reacher's throat. Again and again. Each strike was filled with raw fury and years of pent-up rage. Stick's breath caught in his throat as he watched from the back of the horse. He didn't want to look, didn't want to remember, but memories from the Slaughterhouse lit up in his mind. The Baron's cold eyes as he drove his blade into Stick's body. The white-hot pain that trumped the God of Life's Protection. The helplessness. The fear.

The horse's hooves skidded on the icy ground as it tried to stop. Stick just had to pull the reins.