I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

Herzog's declaration lingered in the still air, drawing wide eyes and hushed murmurs from the assembly. Stick's head snapped toward the Prized Possession, his face a mixture of disbelief and confusion. The NPC's eyes, equally bewildered, mirrored Shadis Moore's stunned expression beside him. The weight of Herzog's words was incomprehensible, yet undeniable. General Solo, seated with commanding presence, leaned forward. Her voice was steady, authoritative.

"Sir Stick Arslan is hereby absolved of any crimes, because, as Claudius put it—and I quote—'Allowing an amnesiac to construct a belief system outside of Player intervention while under the authority of Carnifex shows terrible neglect of the core Carnifex values from our side.'" She paused, letting the words sink in before continuing. "To correct that mistake, the High Council will take responsibility and implement measures to integrate him into the Carnifex Playerbase, starting with transferring ownership of the NPC."

A wave of unease rippled through the room. Stick felt it keenly, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Across the hall, Bonatelli's hateful gaze burned into him, but it was Shadis's expression that stung more—a mixture of resignation and quiet betrayal.

"The High Council has agreed to offer the following deal:" General Solo listed each term methodically, her tone devoid of emotion. "Stick Arslan is to be initiated into the Carnifex guild. He will be power-leveled to LVL 35, making him eligible for the rank of Officer in the Middle Echelon. He will then be stationed at an outpost of his choosing—be it the lumberyard in Prye, the mines at the Dragon's Hand, the Factory in the Dragon's Spine, the headquarters here in the capital, or the Front Lines in Tovenir."

The words were too much for Stick to process at once. His mind reeled. The offer was staggering, almost absurd. Not only were they not punishing him, but they were also offering him a path into Carnifex, complete with status and resources. It seemed impossible—too good to be true. They can't be serious!

He scanned the council members seated opposite him, their expressions betraying varying degrees of calculation. Duke Herzog gave him a knowing nod. Count Mikhailov and Baroness Sallow adjusted themselves in their chairs, offering him smiles that were anything but genuine. Their interest in him wasn't altruistic; Stick could tell they saw him as an asset, a curiosity to add to their collection. And yet, the Factory called to him. Cadmun's diary is there. Maybe I'll find a clue to my past. But join Carnifex? Never. Not even for that.

General Solo continued. "In return, Stick Arslan must forfeit his honorary title as a knight of House Blitz, as we do not acknowledge that authority."

Stick's heart clenched. My honorary title?

"That can easily be arranged," Shadis interjected coldly, his words like a slap to Stick's face.

He turned to Shadis, incredulous. The animosity between them had never been so blatant.

General Solo's eyes narrowed. "Silence, Bot. We'll address you shortly."

Her tone was cutting, and the bailiff's fingers hovered above his weapon, ready to intervene. Shadis bit back further comments, though his glare spoke volumes.

Her gaze shifted back to Stick. "What do you say, Stick Arslan?"

Stick, however, was no longer listening to the General's words alone. The more he thought about the offer, the more he realized its true intent. This wasn't an apology or a reward—it was a calculated trap. A means to re-educate him, to strip him of his independence while keeping him under constant surveillance. The man beside him, Shadis, as much as he didn't like Stick for their differing circumstances, and the one behind him who had tried to kill him before, were still human beings whom at some point he could've even considered friends of his despite their difficult past together.

The jester with the mask leaned forward, his voice playful yet cutting. "What do you say, Stick Arslan? It's an unusually generous deal. The alternative is to try and find a job outside the army without any skills to your name. You do realize you won't last a day outside the capital, not at LVL 1. Let's just say the monsters would love you."

Stick had little time to weigh his options. If what Lucille and Emilia had told him was true, there was no way he could reach a higher LVL on his own. And if he stayed at LVL 1 he'd never be able to defeat them. His eyes met Shadis' and a thought popped in his mind. Could he really become a citizen of the capital and wait for the Blitz family and the Heavenly Union to take down Carnifex? Or would he be able to slip through the Front Lines and join the fight from the opposite side, after he would become an Officer? But joining Carnifex? It felt like betraying himself. Am I trying to justify my selfishness, or is this actually my best option?

He took a deep breath, steadied his resolve, and finally spoke. "What about Sir Moore?"

The room stilled. Herzog's face tightened. "We'll get to the NPC after we've heard your answer."

Stick's gaze didn't waver. "I want to know what happens to him before I decide."

Gasps rippled through the council members. Some faces turned red with anger, others twisted with malice. The jester rocked back and forth, his mask betraying nothing. General Solo, unflinching, flipped through her papers.

"That much defiance was to be expected," she said coolly. "So be it."

Shadis swallowed hard, bracing himself. Stick could see him trying to steel his expression, but the tension was evident.

General Solo's voice rang out, cutting through the air like a blade. "Sir Shadis Moore, on the count of the insurrection you've incited and all the crimes associated with it, as recounted previously, you deserve no less than being sentenced to death."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The words landed like a hammer blow, silencing even the faintest whispers in the chamber. Stick's breath caught in his throat. Shadis stood motionless, his jaw clenched, his face a mask of stoic resolve. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting Stick's next move. His heart pounded in his chest. The weight of everything—his future, Shadis' fate, and the ominous plans of the Carnifex guild—pressed down on him.

"I won't do it!" Stick yelled, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Never! You can take your deal and throw it in the trash!"

The room fell into stunned silence. No one dared to speak, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. All except General Solo, who remained unflappable. She tilted her head slightly, an amused smile playing on her lips.

"That was also expected," she said smoothly. "As I mentioned, this is an unprecedented case."

She shifted her papers deliberately before continuing. "While it is true that, under normal circumstances, Shadis Moore deserves to be terminated, we cannot afford to make him a martyr. Such an act would only give the other NPCs foolish ideas. That is also why he will not be returned to the workforce, but instead, he will remain here in the dungeon until the end of his days."

A wave of relief washed over Stick. He felt Shadis' tension release beside him, the other man's rigid posture softening slightly. For a moment, Stick almost believed things might turn out better than expected. Herzog's voice broke through the momentary reprieve.

"If he gives up the location of where he hid the Lords, then he won't be tortured." His tone was clinical, as if filling in a missing piece of General Solo's statement.

Shadis let out a breathy laugh, the sound brittle but defiant.

"My brittle bones wouldn't endure it anyway," he joked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Stick could sense there was more to the statement than humor—a calculated undertone, a man who had made peace with his fate.

"If the Lords are captured," Shadis continued, "then I want assurances that they will not be treated as slaves. They must be properly cared for. If they are, the others won't feel the need to rise up."

Herzog's brow furrowed as he considered Shadis' words and he looked around to check the other members' reactions.

"What are you doing?" Stick asked.

Shadis met his gaze, his expression calm, almost serene. "The next generation is our hope for real change. They have to live."

After a long pause, Herzog nodded. "I agree to those terms."

Baron Bonatelli shifted in his seat, his face darkening. "This is all well and good, but with the twins' birthday coming up—"

Herzog cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"We are not discussing that now." The finality in his tone left no room for argument, and Bonatelli sank back into his seat, clearly displeased.

Stick turned to Shadis, his voice tinged with desperation. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I trust Lady Cassandra and Lord Alastair."

Stick's throat tightened at the quiet conviction in Shadis' voice. The man's acceptance of his fate felt both noble and tragic. General Solo tilted her head slightly, her cold gaze fixed on Stick as the room hung in tense silence. Her voice sliced through the charged air, precise and unyielding.

"So, Stick Arslan," she said, her tone laced with both authority and disdain, "when you're done fussing over your emotions and throwing tantrums, remember this: the deal you've been offered will not wait. You have until tomorrow to bring the Letter of Initiation you received from Baron Bonatelli to Headquarters. Think carefully."

She paused, letting the words settle, then straightened her posture. Her hands brushed across the papers on the table, the movement deliberate. When she spoke again, her voice carried a razor-sharp finality that silenced even the restless shuffling in the chamber.

"Today, this Council has weighed the evidence, the circumstances, and the laws of the Guild with the utmost care. Justice requires your absolution. Let this ruling serve as a testament to the principles of Carnifex, the Guild that has not forgotten about the real world—but do not mistake this for mercy. Carnifex spares no one from the consequences of rebellion, not even heroes. This chapter is closed. You are free to start your life as a Player of our Guild. But heed my words, Arslan: there are no third chances. Dismissed."

Solo's chair scraped against the stone floor as she stood, a precise, calculated motion that felt as sharp as her words. Without sparing Stick a second glance, she strode toward the door at the back of the chamber, her polished boots echoing with a finality that sent a chill down Stick's spine.

Duke Herzog rose as well, nodding briskly to the Council. His voice was gruff, almost perfunctory. "Thus concludes the trial of Stick Arslan and Shadis Moore."

The room erupted into noise. Council members exchanged hurried whispers, their voices rising like a storm. Soldiers moved with purpose, swarming out like a hivemind to round up the defendants. Stick barely noticed as the bailiff approached to unlock the chains biting into his wrists. With a sharp clank, the restraints fell away, and Stick flexed his fingers, savoring the small, fleeting sense of freedom.

The bailiff then turned to PP, intent on removing his chains as well, but the big man shook his head firmly.

"Leave them," PP said, his voice low but resolute.

The bailiff tilted his head in confusion. After a moment's hesitation, he turned to Stick, holding out the iron key.

"Here," the bailiff said flatly, shoving the key into Stick's palm. "Your new possession."

Stick stared at the key in his hand, its cold weight feeling impossibly heavy. He looked at PP, who stood tall despite the clinking chains that bound him, his dignity unshaken. His eyes met Stick's—level, unreadable, unblinking. He didn't bow. Didn't speak. Just waited.

As the room began to empty, Stick felt the Council's collective gaze lingering on him, a silent reminder of the stakes he now carried. Their eyes seemed to bore into him, each glance a weight pressing down on his already burdened shoulders. Led by a pair of soldiers, Stick, PP, and Shadis exited the Council Hall. As they passed by Baron Bonatelli and his entourage, Stick caught the Baron's scowl—a mixture of anger and confusion. The Baron's lips moved as though he wanted to speak, but no words came. Stick met his glare with defiance, though inwardly he felt the tension coil tighter in his chest. We won, but at what cost?

Beside him, Shadis walked with quiet composure, his chains clinking softly with each step. Stick opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words lodged in his throat. His mind churned, searching for a way to stop what had been set in motion, but no solution presented itself. As they reached the golden statues near the staircase, the soldiers pulled Shadis toward a separate path, leading him deeper into the castle. Stick's heart sank as he watched the man who had fought so fiercely for others walk away, his fate sealed.

"Shadis!" Stick called, his voice cracking.

But Shadis didn't turn back.

"Tomorrow," he said simply.

Then he continued forward, his figure shrinking into the distance.

Stick stood frozen, the iron key still clutched in his hand. Tomorrow?

His mind was a whirlwind of questions and doubts as his eyes drifted towards the statues of King Ahlgren and the knight in the heroic pose. The statues seemed to watch him, their cold gazes as unyielding as the Council's. His grip on the key tightened, its chill seeping into his palm.

What would a hero do?

The statues offered no answer, only their unflinching gaze as the sun dipped below the walls of the capital, casting the world into shadow. The trial was over. But for Stick Arslan, the real sentence had just begun.