I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

The convoy trudged along the narrow, well-trodden path that wound through the forest, the sound of the wagon's wheels creaking over uneven ground filling the otherwise quiet air. The road wasn't paved—just dirt and fallen leaves flattened by countless journeys before theirs. For hours, they moved through the dense trees, the branches closing in above them like a canopy, blocking out most of the sky. Eventually, the path led to a small clearing. Before them loomed the mountainside, a steep and rugged wall of rock that seemed utterly insurmountable. Stick tilted his head back to take it all in, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The mountain looked impossible to climb, and yet Becket urged the carriage and wagon straight toward it. Stick furrowed his brow. Something seems… off.

His eyes landed on a square-shaped section of the mountainside—three meters tall and wide, just a shade darker than the surrounding stone. He stared at it, puzzled, as the carriage came to a halt in front of the odd patch of rock. Becket wordlessly climbed down from the driver's seat and approached the square. Without a sound, he disappeared behind it. Stick exchanged a bewildered glance with Shadis, who was just as clueless as he was. A tense silence settled over the group. Then, Stick noticed movement—slow, uneven. The square section of rock started to roll upward in fits and starts. He stretched his neck, peering closer, almost falling out of the wagon. Becket was behind the massive stone drape, pulling on a heavy chain to lift it. As it rose, a cave was revealed—an entrance swallowed in complete darkness. No, not a cave. A secret tunnel!

Becket gave a few more strong pulls until the gap was large enough for the carriage to enter. He climbed back onto the wagon, following the carriage inside. Once they were all in, he hopped off and lowered the stone drape, sealing them in darkness. The sound of the horses scuttling filled the cavernous tunnel, their hooves restless on the stone floor. Becket appeared beside the wagon with a lit torch, its flickering flame casting long shadows on the walls. He murmured to the horses, calming them with gentle pats. Up ahead, the carriage's windows suddenly glowed with a faint light, illuminating their surroundings. An oil lamp burned inside, its flame casting an eerie glow that was… purple?

The carriage began to move again, and Becket clicked his tongue, scrambling back into the driver's seat of the wagon. He fumbled with the torch, trying to wedge it into a holder on the side. As the carriage pulled further ahead, he clicked his tongue in frustration and snapped the reins, urging the horses to keep pace. The air in the tunnel was thick, stale, and difficult to breathe, pressing in on them like a weight. Stick couldn't shake the feeling that the walls were closing in around them. It reminded him of the tunnel he dug with PP. But this one's different.

The tunnel itself was unnerving—perfectly smooth, its height and width unwavering the entire way. The stone surface had a precision that was unnatural, almost as if the mountain had been cut through in a single motion. It looked like it was punched through… but that was impossible.

"They must have used Lord Alastair's work," Shadis commented quietly from beside him, sensing his amazement.

Stick raised an eyebrow. "It does seem magical."

"No," Shadis scoffed, shaking his head. "No magic. There's no mage that can do something like this. He's a great inventor."

Stick blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Shadis stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Lord Alastair came up with all kinds of sophisticated machinery for the mines in the Dragon's Spine."

"Really? And we have to use pickaxes?"

Shadis chuckled grimly. "I suppose when it comes to slaves, Carnifex is not rolling out the expensive equipment."

Stick stared ahead, trying to wrap his head around it.

"Although… this does worry me," Shadis added, his voice lowering.

Stick glanced at him. "What? Why?"

"I haven't seen a machine that can do this before," Shadis admitted, his tone grim.

A cold knot formed in Stick's stomach. "Do you think they have Alastair?"

"Not necessarily." Shadis shrugged. "Maybe they just uncovered his research at the Factory."

"But what if they captured him?"

Shadis's expression darkened. "Then he's most likely locked up in the capital."

"Or worse," Stick muttered, his stomach sinking further.

He thought of the twins, their plan, and the possibility that they were chasing a ghost made his worries grow bigger and bigger. If Alastair was gone…

"Mister Arslan," Shadis cleared his throat, interrupting Stick's spiraling thoughts. "Lord Alastair has the strength of an army and wits as sharp as a dragon's claws. The very assumption that he might be dead is an insult for which I will have you keelhauled."

Stick blinked, momentarily speechless. Shadis met his eyes in the dim light of the torch, a stern expression on his face. But then, a toothy grin broke through his beard, and he started to laugh. Stick couldn't help but join in. The last person he'd expected to joke while they were captives inside a mysterious tunnel, deep in enemy territory, surrounded by uncertainty about their future, was the cold and formal Sir Moore. But in that moment, Stick realized he was grateful to have him as an ally as they rode onward, deeper into the heart of Carnifex.

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The carriage rattled forward, wheels grinding over the even stone, as Stick leaned back against the rough wood paneling. His sense of time had become a blur, the long hours on the wagon merging into one continuous stretch, but somehow, their trip through the tunnel felt shorter than he'd expected. The darkness of the passage had dulled everything—except for the rhythmic clop of the horses and the creak of the wheels. Up front, Becket stirred. Stick watched as the officer rose from his seat, making his way to the head of the carriage. A metallic clink resonated through the darkness and the heavy drape that blocked the end of the tunnel was lifted and the light exploded into the confined space. Stick winced, shielding his eyes against the sudden glare that blinded him. When his vision adjusted, he saw two guards standing at the tunnel's mouth, both dressed in gleaming silver armor intricately lined with gold, their appearance resembling the knights he'd glimpsed in the forest months ago. They stepped forward, blocking the exit.

"Who goes there?" one of the guards demanded, his voice stern.

Becket didn't flinch. "Officer Becket from the Blitz Estate."

The guard narrowed his eyes, scanning Becket with an expression that shifted from suspicion to confusion.

He tilted his head slightly, then scoffed. "A LVL 25 Officer? Where did you get that rank, Soldier? In the lottery?"

Before Becket could respond, a voice from behind them cut through the tension like a blade.

"He got it from me."

Stick twisted in his seat to see the man with the grey doublet, his heavy cloak draped across his shoulders like a shadow. The man's mere presence seemed to command the space around him. The guards' reactions were immediate. Both men straightened up, their eyes widening in recognition.

"High Council member Herzog!" one of them stammered, clearly caught off guard.

They both dropped into hurried bows, their hands trembling slightly as they gestured the group forward. "Forgive us. Please, pass through."

Without another word, the guards stepped aside, allowing the carriage to continue. The light grew brighter as they emerged from the tunnel, and soon the road stretched out before them, a narrow path that wound toward a larger, more traveled highway in the distance. As they approached the next road, Stick noticed a shift in the scenery. More carriages, wagons, and mounted knights in the same armor appeared. Following the road upstream beside the river, every time someone caught sight of their convoy, they turned their head and stared intently in their direction. The sight stirred an unease deep within him—though he wasn't sure why.

"Finally," Stick heard Becket mutter.

Ahead, a big city loomed against the sky like a giant crouching over the land. Its massive stone walls and imposing towers rose in the distance, stark and unyielding against the horizon. The sight of it sent a shiver down Stick's spine. That's the capital?

As they got closer, the city rose more and more like something out of a nightmare. The wooden palisades stretched high into the misty air, their tops crowned with sharp spikes that clawed at the sky. His fingers tightened on the edge of the cart, digging into the rough wood. It wasn't just the height of the walls or the looming towers that made his stomach churn. There is something darker here, something sinister and cold.

The road led them to a stone bridge where they were also waved through by the guards. The cart creaked and rattled as it crossed, passing above rows of ramshackle tents and shacks at the river below. The people down there were hard, their eyes darting with suspicion as they went about their business. It was clear they lived in the shadow of the city, just beyond the massive gates that dominated the entrance, as though they weren't truly part of it. The gates themselves were monstrous, each door carved with intricate designs of beasts and warriors. The iron hinges groaned open to release a slow trickle of people to exit the city, finally done with their workday. He pulled his slave rags tighter as the cart rolled forward, his eyes darting to the shadowy figures that drifted past their carriages into the streets below the bridge like ghosts. They must be NPCs.

Inside, the buildings were colossal, towering over the narrow streets. Dark wood and stone loomed over market stalls, each structure adorned with sharp spires and jagged edges that cast long, foreboding shadows in the setting sun. It all seemed so improvised and yet structured at the same time. It was definitely a newly built settlement; the erected buildings consisted mostly of wood, but at the same time he noticed how the ground was even without a single hill in sight, the roads were paved with stone and crossed each other at a perfect ninety-degree angle and the rows of houses were neatly compartmentalized in blocks. Every few blocks they passed by a huge square where merchants and travelers hawked their wares, desperate to make a final sale for the day. They made a right turn at one of these squares and—What the fuck?

The largest building at the opposite end of town drew Stick's gaze—a palace, or maybe a fortress, its broad steps disappearing into the mist above. It stood as the only building on a higher elevation with huge marble pillars signifying the entrance. The space between the red roof and the pillars bore a golden symbol of a bull's head wearing a spiked, crimson helmet. To the sides of the main building, two wings of the palace or fortress or whatever it was spread and molded into the palisades that enclosed the whole city. Their spires reached up like fingers grasping at something unseen, while a low fog clung to the ground, swirling between the stone and timber as though it had a mind of its own. The air here was thick, heavy with the weight of secrets that clung to the very stones. Stick couldn't shake the feeling that the building itself was watching him, that something unseen lurked behind the walls and towers, boring deep into his soul. This is where the king lives?

He looked over to Shadis, who just like him was simultaneously amazed and frightened by Carnifex's ability to construct enormous monuments like these. They were truly a powerful force to be reckoned with and Stick slowly but surely started to lose hope in ever trying to defeat them. Gods, Stick. What have you gotten yourself into?

The carriage in front came to a halt and Becket steered their wagon to align his driver's seat with the carriage's cabin. The Jester opened a window but it was Herzog who spoke.

"The briefing will take place at nine in the morning. I want them there by ten for the hearing. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Becket answered.

"Good. I'll make the necessary preparations," the High Council member said, although he was talking more to himself than to Becket. "Now, let's get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day and my bones are aching from the trip."

Without any further instruction, the convoy split after two full days of traveling together. The carriage of the High Council went toward the main entrance, while their wagon made its way to the right wing of the palace-fortress which unsurprisingly had a second entrance that led to the dungeon where the prisoners were being held.