I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

The room was still, the weight of Becket's revelation pressing down like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting.

Stick was the first to shatter the silence. "So you were the Adventurer that got her kicked out of her house."

Becket's expression darkened. "Of course you know about that."

Nakamura crossed his arms. "I've always thought it was weird that you're living with an NPC, but this… This is something else."

Becket shook his head. "It's not weird. It's… complicated."

"It's not complicated," Stick snapped, his fists clenched. "She left Varyan at the altar for you."

Becket's jaw tightened. "Don't give me that. That boy was twelve. That's no age to marry."

"He still loved her."

"You think I didn't?" Becket's voice cracked.

Stick took a step forward. "How could you? You're a Carnifex Player. You didn't even flinch when Nakamura said the twins were captured."

"It's just a job," Becket muttered.

Stick's voice rose, a flare of anger breaking through. "That's exactly what I mean! You walk through this world acting like none of it matters, like nothing touches you. I don't understand how you're so unfazed by what you're doing."

"I don't—" Becket started, but Stick didn't let him finish.

"Do you even know how much you've hurt him?" Stick's voice sharpened, almost breaking under the weight of his frustration.

Becket's eyes burned with sudden fury. "Do you even know how much she hurt?"

The words came out louder than he intended, shaking the room. Stick faltered, unprepared for the counterattack. But Becket wasn't done.

His voice rose with every word, his anger spilling over like a dam breaking. "Have you even thought about what she went through? How guilty she felt for leaving? For not ending up a slave like the others? Do you know how often she asks me about Varyan every time I'm in the capital? Every single year? For someone who claims to feel closer to NPCs than Players, you sure lack empathy."

Stick glared. "I lack empathy? You're the one who slaps and bullies and dehumanizes NPCs for a living. And now you're coming after me like I'm the problem. Why?"

Becket's voice exploded. "Because it's not real! None of it is!"

Stick flinched. The room fell into silence. Becket stood there, panting, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

Finally, Stick spoke. "How can you say something so cold?"

Becket exhaled shakily, staring at nothing in particular. "Because it all started so differently. When I arrived in this world, there was no Carnifex. Just Players going on adventures together. Everything felt new. It felt real. Like the possibilities were limitless. I thought I could start over—create a whole new life here. And I did. I met Priscilla. She was a noble's daughter, and we fell in love. It was like living in a fantasy novel."

Nakamura raised an eyebrow, his tone skeptical but curious. "What happened then?"

Becket's eyes flickered with a pained nostalgia. "We got what we wanted. We lived the dream. But then I realized nothing in this world is real. It all follows its own… rules. Monsters respawn. Players don't. Our son… he didn't even have an umbilical cord when he was born. It was like Priscilla had… laid an egg, like some lizard. I tried to ignore it, not make a big deal out of it. But things like that… they creep up on you."

Stick rubbed his stomach unconsciously. "You're telling me something small like that made you dismiss an entire race of people?"

"Of course not!" Becket snapped. "I loved her. It was still one of the happiest days of my life."

"Then what changed?" Stick pressed.

Becket's face hardened. "The NPCs stopped aging. My son… he's still a baby. He should have taken his first steps by now. Should be talking, calling me Papa. But he's frozen. He's just as small and helpless as the day he was born. And Priscilla… every day she looks more like a child to me. Like the world is fighting to keep her frozen in time. It's like booting up an old video game and seeing the same character unchanged after years. That's when I had to face it. How could I see myself growing old with her if the world itself doesn't allow that kind of change? It's crazy, right? But it makes sense. Because it's a fucking game! It's all just a cruel, unchanging game. And the game wants her to be someone else's fiancée."

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The confession seemed to drain him. He stood there, hollow, as though the weight of his grief had finally caught up with him. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for him to compose himself.

"I don't even recognize my own wife anymore," Becket whispered. "I didn't tell her we couldn't afford this house and she'd have to move on her own while I was away working. Hell, she doesn't even know I'm not an officer anymore."

"Why not?" Stick asked gently.

Becket's lips trembled. "Because I didn't have the heart to tell her."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Then Stick spoke, gently. "But doesn't that prove your love for her is real? If it wasn't, you wouldn't care this much."

Becket's defenses crumbled. His shoulders shook as tears streamed down his face. For the first time in years, Becket let himself mourn the impossible love he still carried for Priscilla.

Stick stepped forward, meeting Becket's gaze. "Then stop running from it. If this world is just a game, rewrite the rules. Fight for her, for your family. Isn't that why you're here?"

Becket stared at him, stunned by the challenge. "You're asking the impossible."

Stick smirked, puffing out his chest. "I want to be the greatest hero this world has ever seen. And in the shadow of the Great Hero Arslan, this is just about the most impossible thing you can do in this world, game or not. And if I can dream that big, then you can at least try to love your wife back."

"I—" Becket stammered. "I don't know if I should laugh or cry right now."

"You should smile," Stick replied simply.

Becket looked at him, confused.

"Be a good husband to Priscilla. Be a good father to your son," Stick said, fetching the bag with the [100 Gold] out of his Inventory. "That's what Varyan would want."

He placed the bag of gold in Becket's palm and closed it to a fist. Becket recognized it immediately. His lips trembled.

"You can't stop talking about NPCs, can you?"

"I can't stop talking about my friends," Stick answered. "And I want my friends to smile. To genuinely smile with all their heart."

Becket started sobbing louder, but a teary smile had formed on his face.

"You're a fool," he managed to let out between the sobs.

Stick grinned. "Maybe the biggest fool there is. But that makes me good at one thing: making my friends smile. And trust me, Becket—this suits you."

Becket's laughter came like a release, shaky but genuine. He wiped the tears off his face. For a moment, the room felt lighter.

But then Nakamura spoke, his tone as cold as ever. "My father was right. Players shouldn't mingle with NPCs."

Stick turned to him, ready to fire back—but his jaw dropped mid-retort. Sir Shadis Moore was awake. The once-unconscious knight sat upright, his sharp eyes fixed on Stick with an unnerving intensity.

"I agree," Shadis said, his voice calm but brimming with authority.

Stick's eyes darted to Shadis, scanning him anxiously for any signs of worsening injury. His hands hovered uselessly, torn between wanting to intervene and not knowing what to do.

The light of a candle flickered in the dim room with the lowered blinds. The faint smell of pumpkin soup lingered, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and sweat. Nearby, PP stood with a rare look of calm, his arms folded. His gaze moved from Becket and caught Stick's eye and gave a reassuring nod, indicating that the worst was over.

Stick let out a relieved breath. "Shadis! You're awake!"

"I've been awake for quite a while," Shadis replied.

His tone was clipped, his disapproval unmistakable.

"How long?" Stick pressed.

"Long enough."

Before Stick could respond, Shadis pushed himself upright without warning, his face tightening in pain as he ignored the strain on his battered body.

"What are you—?" Stick began, but Shadis cut him off with a formal bow.

"Lady Priscilla. It is an honor seeing you again."

"The pleasure is all mine," Stick heard behind him.

Stick turned sharply to see Priscilla entering the room. Her measured, graceful steps seemed out of place amid the suffocating atmosphere. She had left the baby in the bedroom, her hands now folded neatly in front of her. Despite the muffled crying from behind the door, her expression was calm, composed. Her gaze swept over Shadis, pausing briefly on the bruises on his ribs before moving on to Becket.

"My love, I—" Becket began, rising slightly from his seat, but Priscilla silenced him with a gentle smile.

"We will talk later," she said softly.

Becket hesitated, then nodded, sinking back into his chair with a resigned sigh.

"Are you well, Sir Moore?" Priscilla asked, turning back to Shadis.

Her voice was warm, but there was a trace of concern beneath her poised exterior.

"It is nothing to worry about," Shadis replied, his posture stiff despite his obvious discomfort. "I thank you for your concern."

Stick, his worry bubbling over, stepped forward. "Shadis, please lie down!"

"I said it's nothing to worry about," Shadis replied sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

Priscilla's voice softened, but it carried a firm weight. "Sir Moore, please."

Shadis hesitated, then relented with a curt nod. "If you insist."

He lowered himself stiffly to the ground, his movements deliberate, as if every motion was a battle against pain. Priscilla knelt beside him, her skirts pooling on the stone floor. Her expression softened as she met his eyes.

"Now, please, tell me about the twins. What happened?"

Shadis' eyes widened, alarm flickering in his expression. "The twins?"

His gaze swept the room, lingering on each man as if searching for hidden answers. "What's going on? What happened to the lords?"

With a heavy heart, Stick stepped forward, recounting the grim report Nakamura had shared earlier. As he finished, his voice faltered.

"I'm sorry. The plan failed."

Shadis buried his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling slightly. The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the distant, muffled cries of the baby.