I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

The blue-haired boy skidded to a stop, his breaths ragged and tears streaking his flushed cheeks. His voice trembled with anger and confusion as he shouted, "What the hell is going on here? You! You're from the trial!"

Stick froze. His pulse thundered as he met Nakamura's piercing gaze.

PP immediately stepped in front of him, the chains on his shackles clinking faintly as he adjusted Shadis in his arms. The unconscious man's breathing was shallow but steady.

"It was Hadvar," Stick stammered, his voice breaking under the weight of Nakamura's glare. "He…"

"Hadvar?" Nakamura's face twisted in bewilderment, and then something sharper—doubt, perhaps.

Stick swallowed hard, the words caught in his throat. He could see it already—Nakamura would never believe him. Nobody would. Hadvar had been locked away in the hole for years, forgotten by the world. How do I explain this without sounding like I'm lying?

Nakamura took a deep breath. Without a word, he removed his cloak and draped it over the lifeless guard. His expression was unreadable as he rolled a nearby barrel in front of the body, obscuring it completely.

"What… what are you doing?" Stick asked, stunned.

Nakamura didn't look at him as he answered, his voice low. "As soon as they find the poor man, all hell will break loose."

Stick hesitated, unease pooling in his stomach. Something about the way Nakamura moved—so calm, so deliberate—unnerved him.

"Who is Hadvar?" he finally asked.

Nakamura turned to him then, his expression dark. "You'd better forget that name if you want to live."

Stick's breath caught. The weight of Nakamura's words sent a shiver down his spine. He's not bluffing.

Before Stick could respond, the distant sound of marching footsteps reached their ears. The rhythmic clatter echoed through the alleys, growing louder. A patrol was closing in.

"Come on," Nakamura whispered sharply, gesturing for them to follow. "We have to get out of the city before they sound the alarm."

Stick hesitated, his nerves fraying. He didn't trust Nakamura.

"Why are you helping us?" Stick asked as Nakamura led them deeper into the side alleys.

"I'm running too," Nakamura admitted. "Fleeing from Carnifex."

PP's narrowed eyes flicked to Nakamura, his wariness clear. "And why should we trust you?"

"We don't have a choice," Stick said before Nakamura could reply.

He glanced at PP, his unease mirrored in the older man's expression. "Not with the guards this close. We have no idea how to navigate the city."

PP's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Reluctantly, he followed, still keeping a cautious eye on Nakamura. The group wove through the labyrinth of narrow alleys. The quiet tension between them hung heavy, broken only by the faint rasp of Shadis's breathing and the distant clang of boots against stone. The silence shattered when a piercing alarm bell rang out, cutting through the air like a knife.

"Damn it!" Stick cursed, his chest tightening as guards began pouring into the streets.

Whatever escape plan they had, it had now been thrown out of the window. They ducked under the stands of a nearby marketplace. Stick's heart hammered as he scanned the area. His eyes landed on a familiar figure—Becket—hurrying into a small, weathered house just ahead.

"We need to move," Nakamura said sharply, his voice low but urgent.

Stick didn't hesitate. There was nowhere else to go. With a glance at PP, he headed for Becket's door and knocked. The sound of his fist on the wood felt deafening against the chaos outside. The door creaked open, revealing Becket's startled face. His eyes darted to Shadis's pale, bloodied form in PP's arms. Then his gaze shifted to Nakamura, and something flickered in his expression—shock, or perhaps recognition.

"What are you doing here?" Becket asked, his voice tight.

"Let us in. Please," Stick pleaded.

The words came out more desperate than he intended. Becket hesitated, his gaze drifting nervously to the commotion in the market. The sight of Shadis's injuries seemed to sway him, but it was Nakamura's commanding tone that sealed the decision.

"This is an order, Soldier," Hiro said, his fists clenched.

With a resigned grunt, Becket opened the door wider, motioning them inside just as a pair of guards entered the marketplace. Becket shut the door behind them with a soft click, muttering under his breath. The small, ramshackle house was dimly lit, its modest furniture and sparse decorations a far cry from the man Stick had only known in Carnifex red. Becket, however, wore a simple blue shirt and beige trousers—almost unrecognizable.

"Over here," Becket said, leading them into the living room.

He closed the blinds, peering out as the guards swarmed the market. Stick's pulse thundered in his ears as he listened to the muffled commotion outside. It was several agonizing minutes before the marketplace began to empty, and the tension in the room ebbed slightly. He realized his jaw ached from clenching it so tightly.

"What's going on out there? Who is it, Anthony?"

The soft voice startled Stick. He turned to see a young woman appear from the kitchen, cradling a baby. She couldn't have been much older than him.

Her curious gaze swept over the group, her expression shifting to alarm when she saw Shadis.

"It's nothing, love," Becket replied gruffly, his tone unconvincing. "Just work."

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Stick's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Love?

"On a Sunday?" The woman's brow furrowed. Then her eyes surrounded by dark circles landed on Nakamura and widened in recognition. Her posture stiffened, and she gave a small bow. "Sir Nakamura…"

"Priscilla," Nakamura said softly.

But his unease was evident. He avoided her gaze, his hands flexing at his sides. Stick caught the faintest whisper from Shadis, who repeated the name under his breath. He's responsive!

Priscilla's nervous smile faltered as she glanced at Becket. "Excuse me, sir! I didn't know a Praetorian would visit us today. I'll prepare a meal right away!"

"No need, really…" Nakamura began, raising a hand, but she was already gone, retreating into the kitchen.

The group exchanged uneasy glances. The tension was thick, suffocating. Stick felt as though they'd stumbled into something they weren't supposed to see. Becket cleared his throat, gesturing to a nearby table.

"Well, as you can see, you're invited for lunch. Why don't you sit down?" His tone darkened as his gaze shifted to Nakamura. "But before we eat, I have some questions. And I want answers."

The group settled awkwardly into the cramped living room. Nakamura and Becket sat at the dining table, staring each other down in a tense silence. Nearby, Stick knelt beside Shadis, carefully wrapping fresh bandages around the man's wounds. Shadis lay motionless on the floor, his makeshift bed little more than two thin sheets spread over warped wood. The warm, savory aroma of pumpkin cream soup drifted in from the kitchen, its coziness at odds with the tension suffocating the room. Stick glanced at Shadis, noticing how painfully slow his Life Points seemed to recover.

"Why is it healing so slowly?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"Well, he's not a Berserker like the Prized Possession over there." Becket nodded toward PP, who remained standing silently, arms crossed, ever watchful. "They have much better Regeneration than Knights."

"Right…" Stick said vaguely, not really understanding.

His mind was too preoccupied with Shadis's shallow breathing, the faint rasp of air in and out of his chest.

Becket leaned back in his chair. "You've got a knack for getting NPCs killed, don't you?"

Stick stiffened, heat rushing to his face. For a moment, he considered snapping back, but he could feel PP's eyes on him—cold, unblinking, like a weight pressing against his neck. Instead, he stayed silent.

Becket leaned over the table again. "So, to what do I owe the honor of welcoming you to my home on my day off?"

"That's Praetorian business, Soldier," Nakamura said coldly.

Becket tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. "Sure it is."

Stick shifted uncomfortably, then decided to speak. "We're running… from imprisonment."

Becket arched a brow. "Why would you be imprisoned?"

Stick opened his mouth to explain, but the warning look from Nakamura made him hesitate.

"Because we broke out Sir Moore," he blurted. It sounded clumsy even to him. "Can't you see?"

Becket narrowed his eyes. "Then why is he with you?"

The silence that followed felt heavier than the room itself. Becket and Nakamura locked eyes, the unspoken challenge between them palpable. Stick shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do, when a soft sound broke the tension. Priscilla entered the room quietly, carrying two bowls of steaming soup, one balanced carefully in each hand. Her baby rested on her hip, bundled tightly against the chill of the house. She moved with quiet precision, her gaze flickering briefly to the others before focusing on Becket.

"This one's for you, love," she said softly, setting a bowl in front of him.

Becket didn't acknowledge her, his focus still entirely on Nakamura. Priscilla turned to Nakamura, setting the second bowl down in front of him with the same gentle care. She placed down a side of goat cheese and some slices of bread on the table.

"Enjoy your meal, Sir," she said politely before retreating toward the kitchen, her footsteps barely audible.

Stick stared at the bowl in front of him. The creamy surface of the soup rippled faintly, steam curling toward his face—warm, inviting. But his stomach twisted.

She hadn't served PP. Not even a glance. She hadn't acknowledged Shadis, bleeding on the floor like he wasn't there.

His eyes drifted to the red shirt he still wore—the Carnifex insignia catching the light just so. Of course. To her, he wasn't a guest. He was one of them.

He suddenly felt like an impostor in someone else's tragedy. A boy in borrowed clothes, sitting at the table while the people he fought to protect lay starving in the background. Stick watched her go, his brow furrowing. No one spoke until the soft sound of bubbling soup resumed from the other room.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Soldier?" Nakamura asked, his tone sharp.

"You didn't arrest them," Becket said, leaning forward. His face darkened as the shadow from the dim room fell over him. "Are you a fugitive too?"

Nakamura didn't answer immediately. Becket's lips curled into a slight sneer.

"Now, why would a good-for-nothing, spoiled brat like you toss your comfy Praetorian life just to become a fugitive?"

Nakamura's jaw tightened. "Don't forget that you're the one harboring fugitives right now."

"There's nothing stopping me from turning you in." Becket's voice was low, menacing. "In fact, I could earn my promotion back. I saw how many guards are out there looking for you. You messed up. Big time. And it's definitely not because of an NPC."

Nakamura turned his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. He seemed to wrestle with himself, but whatever he wanted to say remained unsaid. Priscilla returned with another bowl of soup, this time placing it in front of Stick. She didn't serve PP. Stick looked up at her, confused.

"Enjoy your meal, Sir," she said politely before vanishing into the kitchen again.

Stick glanced down and noticed, for the first time that day, the red Carnifex shirt he still wore.

"So, I'll ask again," Becket said, his voice cutting through Stick's thoughts. "Why would you be imprisoned?"

Stick hesitated. He felt a sudden urge to be honest, to just say it, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Finally, he forced himself to speak. "I overheard that the Blitz brothers were spotted somewhere."

Becket's head snapped toward him.

Stick stood, moving closer to the table. "I tried to follow the soldier who said it, but I ended up lost in the castle… and landed in the King's Chambers. Sir Nakamura found me there, and when the guards found us, we were all arrested."

Becket leaned forward, his dark eyes scanning Stick like he was searching for cracks.

"The King's Chambers, huh?" he repeated.

Nakamura shifted in his seat, the movement subtle but noticeable.

Stick met Becket's gaze, trying to hold his ground. "I'm telling the truth."

Becket's eyes widened, his face a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect. "You're honest to a fault."

"I've heard that one before," Stick muttered.

Becket's expression softened. His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile returning.

Stick turned to Nakamura. "Sir Nakamura, tell me about the twins. What do you know?"

Becket's interest visibly piqued at the mention of the twins. The atmosphere shifted, and all eyes fell on Nakamura.

"That's sensitive information, citizen," Nakamura scoffed.

"Please, I need to know," Stick implored. "Varyan is my best friend."

Nakamura hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. After a long moment, he exhaled deeply.

"Fine," he said reluctantly. "But you won't like it."

"I'm prepared for the worst," he said, though he wasn't sure it was true.

Nakamura lowered his head, his voice dropping. "There was a report. They were spotted traveling on foot from Pridtur to Cavon."

Stick clenched his jaw. "What happened?"

"They were traveling on foot," Nakamura repeated. "It was easy to catch them. Prye soldiers transporting slaves to the Blitz Estate had horses. It looks like they're Lucio's slaves again."

Stick felt his stomach drop. The words didn't fully register at first—like his brain was trying to block them out. When they finally sank in, his hands balled into fists.

"Our plan has failed," he said quietly, the words like ash in his mouth.

A faint, broken sound drew his attention. He turned and saw Priscilla standing in the doorway, her face pale and streaked with tears.

"No…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Priscilla…" Becket began, his voice soft.

But she shook her head violently and fled the room. The bedroom door slammed shut, muffling her cries. Becket stood slowly, following her to the door. He stopped short, his hand hovering just inches from the wood. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his hand trembling. But he didn't knock. He just stood there, staring.

Stick stared at Becket, wide-eyed. "What was that?"

Becket turned, his face drawn and weary.

"You'll have to excuse the mother of my child," he said quietly. "She's Varyan Blitz's fiancée."