I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

The cold, damp air clung to Stick's skin as they paced the confines of their cell. The stone walls seemed to press in, their silence deafening. Only the faint hum from the adjacent cell broke the monotony, a cryptic tune that sent shivers down Stick's spine. The melody was haunting, an otherworldly lullaby in a place that had forgotten hope. A sudden tapping echoed through the dungeon, faint at first but growing louder. The sound grew sharper, accompanied by the soft shuffle of footsteps.

A shadow stretched across the part of the stone wall in Stick's vision. The tapping stopped with a sharp thud, followed by silence. Stick's gaze shot upward, toward the grated hole in the ceiling. Light spilled through as a man emerged from the shadows, holding a lamp in one hand. The glow flickered faintly, never steady, as though it couldn't decide whether to illuminate the space or retreat into darkness. He wore an impeccably tailored yet antiquated coat, its details gleaming in the uncertain light. The man's smile was playful, almost boyish, which made Stick uneasy.

"Stick, the Prized Possession, and Hadvar," the man said, his voice smooth and unhurried. "What an unusual combination of characters."

"And who are you?" came a sharp demand from the adjacent cell.

"I didn't expect you to remember." He tipped his head in a mock bow, the lamp swaying slightly in his hand. "Call me Ed."

Stick frowned. "What do you want?"

"Ah, straight to the point. I like that," Ed said, amused. "I'm here to offer you something rare: freedom. You see, you two self-proclaimed heroes have caught the attention of some very influential people."

Heroes?

"And what's the catch?" Stick asked warily.

"Always a catch, isn't there?" Ed's grin widened. "I propose a test. A question to decide your fate. Answer wisely, and you'll walk free."

Stick remembered his first day when he was brought before the Baron. He thought about it for a second but ultimately nodded in agreement.

"Heroes and fools are on two sides of the same coin," Ed began, pacing slowly. "When you want to flip the coin from heads to tails, the top calls the change foolish. The bottom, however, thinks it's heroic. I think you are fools for trying to flip the coin. You think you are heroes. Well, what is it then? Are you heroes trying to help the fools or are you fools standing up to the heroes?"

Stick racked his brain around the question. There's no way to know the correct answer if it's a matter of perspective! What do you want to hear, Ed? That I'm a fool in Carnifex's eyes? That's what it takes to let me out of here?

A tense silence followed.

"So what you're saying," Hadvar finally said, "is that you'll find fools and heroes on both sides of the coin."

Ed's smile grew enigmatic, but he didn't react further. The lamp flickered, its light dimming briefly before regaining strength. What? Was it a trick question?

"If you want to flip a coin from the bottom to the top, you let one side rise and one side fall. When you're at the bottom, weak heroes need to take what weak fools won't give, so that they can become strong heroes to face the top. The weak bottom flips the strong top on its head. I saw myself as a strong hero at the very top once. Now I'm a weak fool here at the bottom. If you let me out of here, I'll flip that back on its head."

Something clicked when he heard Hadvar's answer. It wasn't about either-or. No correct or wrong. The coin only ever flipped one way. The question is how I see the coin flip.

Ed nodded and turned his head to Stick, his face unreadable. The flame in his lamp danced, the shadows around him growing restless.

"But what if I don't want to take advantage of the weak fools to become a strong hero?" Stick asked, making PP meet his eyes. "I like fools. Fools bring levity during hardships. Fools are selfless so others can strive. I think it's wrong to step on the weak fools at the bottom instead of asking for help from the strong fools at the top. It's easier for the weak heroes to take action when there are strong fools taking responsibility. You might think of people who give rather than take to be fools, because most of the time they don't get anything in return, but I believe that risking everything to help others makes fools the heroes among the heroes to me, even if you don't call them that. Some people have to be that selfless for others to strive. You out of all people should understand. After all, aren't you a strong fool offering to free us in the first place?"

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Ed remained silent. He waited for Stick to give his answer.

"Without the selfless sacrifice of the Great Fool Arslan, we'd have no Carnifex rising to the top. I want to follow his example and allow the weak heroes to rise strong enough to flip the coin, even if it costs me my fall. Without Arslan, there'd be no Stick. So if you let me, a weak hero, free, I'll make sure to become the strongest fool this world has seen."

Silence. Then, out of nowhere, Ed cackled. The lamp's flame leapt high, casting sharp, jagged shadows around the room.

"Interesting perspectives. I like your answers equally." He turned to Hadvar. "But you, dear Hadvar, already had your chance and mucked it up."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

Ed's voice softened, yet carried an edge of menace. "One last question: what happens when us strong fools finally get to rule?"

He tossed a pair of keys to Stick, who caught them instinctively. The flame in the lamp flickered one last time, its glow receding into shadow as Ed vanished into the darkness, leaving only the faint glimmer of light fading into the distance and the question lingering in the air. Stick stared at the keys, his hands trembling. Who is that guy?

The Prized Possession, the hulking figure in the cell across, watched silently, his eyes fixed on the keys with an intensity that unnerved Stick. His breath caught for a moment, and he gripped the keys tighter, their cool metal biting into his palm. Taking a deep breath, he climbed the ladder and unlocked his cell. The click of the lock echoed through the dungeon like the snap of a bone.

Stick glanced back at the Prized Possession, who remained frozen in place, his shadow swallowing half the wall.

"I'm going," Stick said softly. "You can stay if you want."

PP didn't respond. His silence pressed against Stick like the weight of the air around them. Stick sighed and stepped out of the hole and into the dungeon corridor. The air was heavier out here, damp and suffocating, carrying the faint stench of mildew and decay. The guards who had dragged him here were gone. So was Ed. Turning toward the other cell, Stick peered into the abyss where Hadvar was held. His heart pounded in his chest. What kind of man could Carnifex have deemed dangerous enough to lock away in a place like this? And yet… this was Arslan's friend. That thought alone stirred a faint flicker of determination in his chest, like an ember struggling to catch fire.

"Who are you?" Stick called down.

A pause. Then, Hadvar's voice drifted upward, dry and weary, like old parchment crumbling in the wind.

"A has-been on the wrong side of the previous coin flip."

Stick hesitated, gripping the keys tighter. What could someone like Hadvar have done to wind up here? Whatever it was, it must have been enough to piss off the High Council. But if Arslan had trusted him, that had to count for something. Right?

He unlocked Hadvar's cell. The sound of rushing footsteps echoed almost immediately as Hadvar ascended the metal ladder with startling speed. Stick took a step back, startled, as Hadvar emerged into the dim light. He was taller than Stick had expected, towering over him. His long brown hair framed a sharp, weathered face, but it was the beard that stood out—unkempt and heavy, brushing against his ribcage like the remnants of a forgotten war. It made him look wild, feral even, like someone who had been abandoned to time. But there was something else too. Something in his eyes. The way they pierced Stick, scrutinizing him as if trying to peel back his skin and see the truth underneath. This wasn't a man broken by captivity. This was a man who had been planning his next move for a long time. Stick could't quite place it, but the man he had just met looked… familiar.

"So," Hadvar said at last, his voice low and rough. "You're calling yourself a hero."

His piercing eyes flicked over Stick with interest, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Stick chuckled nervously, feeling small under that gaze. "I'm not just a hero. I'll be the greatest hero of this world."

The smirk grew sharper. "Greatness, huh? Funny how everyone thinks they're the hero of their own story." His words landed heavy, but there was no malice in them. Just weariness.

Stick squared his shoulders, forcing himself to hold Hadvar's gaze. "Maybe. But whatever we do, the first step is getting Shadis out."

"Right," said Hadvar. "The NPC."

"Yes," Stick said, a little more firmly this time.

"We'll have to fight." Hadvar protested.

"I'm aware." Stick affirmed.

He tried to sound confident, but the words came out tight, like they'd barely made it past the lump in his throat. Stick stared the man he had just freed in the eyes, already feeling a sense of regret creeping up on him. This guy was a Carnifex member, no doubt about it.

Hadvar's gaze lingered on Stick for a moment longer, and then, to Stick's surprise, his expression softened. The sharpness in his eyes gave way to something quieter, almost amused.

"Taking risks is part of taking action," Hadvar said, extending a hand. "I like people who take action. What's your name again?"

"Stick Arslan."

"Hadvar." He grasped Stick's hand in his own with a strong, firm grip. "Just Hadvar. I don't hold titles nor power. Not anymore. But I'd feel way better holding a sword in my hand."

The clinking of chains pulled both of their attention. The Prized Possession emerged from his cell, stepping into the dim light. His broad shoulders filled the corridor, his movements deliberate and unhurried. Stick's face lit up.

"PP, are you coming with us?"

The big man shot a glance at Hadvar, then nodded. A warmth spread in Stick's chest. Whatever happened next, at least he wasn't alone. But before he could respond, the door to the cell block creaked open, the sound splitting the silence like a blade. The air seemed to shift, the dungeon growing colder. Stick's head snapped toward the sound, his chest tightening. The shadows beyond the door were impenetrable, but the faint flicker of torchlight hinted at movement. Hadvar was already moving, his strides purposeful and swift. His voice, tinged with anticipation, broke the silence.

"I've been waiting for years," he said. "It's time to take action."