I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

They had been journeying for so long that his knees began to ache. The sack's rope bit into his shoulder, and his hands hurt even more than his feet. He was parched. If there was ever a time to rest, it should be now. He imagined lying on the soft grass, a fresh breeze cooling him. Add some water and I would be in heaven.

"We're almost there," the slave with the long hair in front of him noticed his panting.

The man was sweating, but like PP, showed little sign of fatigue. He suddenly realized it was the same man who'd given PP breakfast. How does he manage? And why isn't he carrying a pickaxe? This is unfair!

As they climbed the steep mountain path, he felt his heart might give out at any moment. Each step was harder than the last. The weight he carried constantly pulled at him, constricting his muscles, causing white dots to dance in his vision. He wanted to breathe deeply, but each attempt resulted in coughing. He could either tense up and muscle through or risk rolling down the mountain in a moment of weakness. If that were to happen, no one would come to rescue him. What's this guy's definition of 'almost there'?

The long-awaited moment of relief arrived a few minutes off the beaten path when the Sword stopped in front of a cave. He instructed the men to gather. Each received a small bag and a torch, which he lit.

"You two, to the entrance!" Reacher commanded.

Together with PP, he stood at the entrance, holding up sacks. His arms shook uncontrollably as he tried to extend them. The pickaxes inside clinked. I just need a minute to lie down, please.

The other slaves lined up at the Mace, each receiving a sip of water from a flask before grabbing a pickaxe and venturing into the cave. The twins alone received their water from the Sword. His body reacted instantly to the sight of water, his remaining saliva painfully trickling down his dry throat.

"As usual, your goal is five gems per head. Find a diamond and you get new clothes," declared the Sword to the men entering the cave.

"Bring back less and I'll personally feed you to the wolves," the Mace added, glaring directly at him.

Reacher's gaze suggested that he wanted that to happen. It sent shivers down his spine. He would love to see me die!

As Varyan passed by on his way into the cave, he clutched his arm. Varyan met his eyes and offered a reassuring smile, as if to say: "It's going to be okay." He felt a bit calmer seeing a friendly face. Then Varyan disappeared with his brother and the old man into the cave. The other two didn't spare him a glance. Once everyone was equipped, PP retrieved the last pickaxe from his side and entered the cave without drinking any water. What? Why didn't he drink anything?

He turned his attention to the knights, who were engrossed in a conversation. Mentally, they had already moved on from the slaves, much like they had that morning in the slave camp. He watched the big man vanish into the cave's darkness and couldn't help but feel his hopes for something to drink disappear as well.

He turned to the knights once more. Whatever discussion they had was over at this point. They dismounted their horses and reached for their flasks to drink. He intently watched the water as it trickled down the Mace's chin. He had to restrain himself from making a comment when he saw the drops trickling down on the bright red armor, though most of them were squandered on the ground. Reacher caught his stare.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"I didn't get any water," he replied hesitantly.

"Water break is over. Should've used the chance. Now you have to wait until we're finished here. Get moving!"

"But you made me hold—"

Reacher flung his flask to the ground and stormed over.

"I'll make you regret talking back to me, you useless piece of shit!"

The knight loomed over him, his armor now devilishly red in the mountain's shadow. The Mace pressed a finger against his forehead, pushing him towards the cave.

"Who the hell even let a twig like you work in the mines? Who brought you here? Did he do it just to mess with us?" Reacher raised his voice, continuing to prod him repeatedly. "Huh? Answer me! Did he do it?!"

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

Who is he? The Baron? I don't know. What's your problem? The gauntlet hurts!

"There's no reason for a whiny fragile boy like you to be working the mines, unless you're meant to die and cause us trouble. You should be in the Manor sucking the Baron's—"

"That's enough!" the Sword intervened. "Just look at the boy. He has no clue. You're scaring him shitless for no reason. He did the trek for the first time; cut him some slack."

"Tomorrow you won't get the same treatment." Reacher backed down but continued his rant in a murmur.

He scanned him repeatedly in search of answers to his questions.

"Here." The Sword handed him a flask. "Your lips look nasty. Can't have you dying in the mines and stinking the place up. Take a sip!"

He didn't hesitate to take the flask and press it to his mouth. He couldn't resist. The cold water felt heavenly. He could feel his insides thanking him for finally getting some hydration. His throat, though still sore, didn't hurt as much when he swallowed. He couldn't stop himself. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mister Sword!

Suddenly, he was struck across the face. His ears rang. It took him a moment to gather his senses. The first thing he registered was the flask on the ground. His jaw was numb. His lips felt wet and warm. He touched them and saw blood. He looked at the knights. The Sword had hit him with the metal of his gauntlet. He could see his blood on the back of that hand. It took him a moment to process everything. The Sword waited patiently for him to comprehend the situation.

"When an Adventurer says a sip, he means a single sip," he finally said. "Do yourself a favor and listen to orders more attentively in the future."

What's with that guy? One second he's all nice and then he smacks me. He's even worse than Reacher! Why are the Adventurers like this?

"There's no reason to look at me like that. You're being told what to do, so do exactly as you're told. Don't forget your place," the Sword said.

"Becket," Reacher said. "Did you see that?"

The Sword, Becket, turned around. "What is it?"

"Did you see that?" His tone sounded different, terrified.

"What do you mean?"

"Just now, when you hit him. For a quick moment—" Reacher stopped.

"What are you talking about?" Becket asked.

"His Combat Status." Reacher was troubled.

Becket appeared as perplexed as he felt. He leaned over to take a closer look. Their eyes locked.

"No…," Becket murmured to himself. "This doesn't add up. Unless…"

With slow movements, he picked up the flask between them and poured some water on his gauntlet, rubbing it to get the blood off. He never broke eye contact.

The Mace commanded: "You, into the cave. You're with PP and Montgomery at the very back."

What is happening?

"Didn't you hear me? Move it!" Reacher was shouting again, though less confidently.

He slowly picked up the last pickaxe at his feet and looked around for a torch and bag. Like prey sensing a predator, he moved with as few sudden movements as possible. He wasn't sure if this was another trick, so he watched their movements closely. They appeared tense. Not like predators at all.

"Just go!" he heard Becket say.

He decided to take a sack with him and go without a torch. There was no reason to linger any longer and upset them further. The numbness in his face slowly gave way to pain. He hesitantly descended into the mine, unable to see where he was going. When he was completely enveloped in darkness, he heard the two knights begin to whisper to each other. He couldn't discern what they were saying and soon enough, couldn't hear them at all. Doesn't matter what just happened; I have to be more careful around these two from now on.

The sunlight from the entrance was long gone. He briefly recalled the morning darkness he had awoken in. He tightened his grip on the handle of the pickaxe. He patted down his body with his other hand, ensuring the sack was tied securely around his waist. You never know.

The metallic clanks in the air were his only guide. He carefully followed the wall on his right, wary of unseen holes. The coolness of the cave soothed the rope burns on his palm. Occasionally, his hand brushed against a wooden beam, likely supporting the cave's structure. After slow progress, he finally spotted a light. Just around the corner, the source of the clanking was revealed: two slaves digging for diamonds, with a third holding a torch.

"By the Gods, you scared me!" one said.

"I'm sorry. I didn't get a torch," he responded.

The three men looked at each other. Then they smiled.

"That's devious," one commented.

"Hope the werewolf tears their head off," another added.

"Whoresons, the pair of them."

They were clearly talking about the Adventurers, unfazed by consequences. Is it because they are not coming down here?

Noticing his discomfort, one man spoke.

"They did a number on you, didn't they? I can tell." He pointed his index finger at his lips. "Don't worry, you can express yourself freely down here. In two years, those goblinshits never stepped foot inside the mines."

He recalled Varyan's words.

"Don't let them catch you saying that."

The men laughed, and he joined in hesitantly. Up there, you had to whisper. Down here, you could laugh. Up there, they watched your every move. Down here, no one was watching.

The man in front patted his shoulder.

"You're alright, Recruit," he said. "You're alright."

His tone turned stern. "But don't you ever disrespect Lord Blitz again."

The miner's large hand gripped his shoulder firmly. He swallowed. "Of course not."

"Well then…" The man released him. "Who are you with?"

What?

"Which group are you assigned to?" another miner asked. "You're with us Goblin Hunters?"

Goblin Hunters?

"I'm with PP and Montgomery," he answered.

They chuckled again. "They must really hate you!"

PP isn't particularly popular, is he?

The torchbearer lit another torch and handed it to him. "Follow the mine shaft, take a right at the first fork, and go all the way back. You should hurry. They're deep in. Five gems, remember?"

He thanked them and continued on his way.

"Mind the holes!" one shouted from afar.

The Goblin Hunters resumed their work.