I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

"I owe you an apology," Shadis repeated, his voice steady despite the weight of his words.

Becket released Priscilla from the hug, cracked the door open, and peered outside.

"It's clear," he whispered, and in an instant, he and Nakamura slipped out.

Becket shot a quick glance back and offered a confident wave. "We're off, then."

They waved them goodbye before the door closed. Stick refocused on Shadis, who cleared his throat.

"I want to apologize." His pale hands rested on his knees, trembling slightly. "For what I've said. For what I've done. I was wrong."

The air in the room seemed to still. Stick was caught off guard, the words taking a moment to sink in. With everything else happening, he struggled to process this unexpected admission.

"I… You don't need to—"

"No," Shadis interrupted. "Now is the time." He leaned forward, coughing into his fist before continuing, his voice hoarse but insistent. "I might not have another chance."

Stick swallowed hard, the sight of Shadis's battered face and bruised body forcing a lump into his throat.

"Don't say that!" he said, his voice quieter now. "I know you only did what you thought was right."

"That doesn't make it right," Shadis said, shaking his head. "You're not just any other adventurer. You've been lied to, betrayed, and hurt by those your people might call beneath you—Montgomery, the Prized Possession, me. Yet you've refused to join Carnifex, even when it would've been easier. That reminded me that not all adventurers are out to get us. That takes more patience, more strength, than most." He paused to catch his breath, the rasp of his breathing filling the quiet. "I've known people like you before. A long time ago. But the last few years have clouded my judgment. For that, I am sorry."

Stick looked away, his throat tight. Memories of their escape—betrayals, battles, sacrifices—flooded his mind. He clenched his fists.

"Thank you," he said finally, the words raw but sincere. "That… That means a lot."

Shadis gave a faint smile, his gaze drifting to the door where Becket and Nakamura had disappeared. "You've done more than most would. Not only that, you're still fighting for something better. You're looking for ways to unite us, for compromises. That takes more patience and willpower than most. That's rare."

Another coughing fit overtook him, deep and rattling. Without hesitation, Priscilla disappeared into the small kitchen, returning moments later with a cup of water. She placed it in Shadis's trembling hands, her brow furrowed with concern.

"You're too gracious, my lady," he said before taking a sip.

"Are you okay?" Stick asked.

"Don't waste your concern on me," Shadis said with a toothy grin. "I'm already a dead man."

"Sir Moore!" Priscilla exclaimed, scandalized.

"It's the truth," Shadis said with a wheezing laugh. "I was dead long before this war. Just a farm boy with no purpose, no prospects. Day in, day out, just farm work. No worthwhile life to speak of. Then Lord Alastair came along. A young, brilliant man, full of mad ideas. He gave us direction, breathed life into the East that had been forgotten by Cavon. He turned us into something more—lumberjacks, then shipwrights, then miners and ultimately even knights. We did everything he asked. People called him crazy, but without him, Cavon would never have conquered the seas."

Stick's mind filled with the memory of Cavon's massive fleet, its masts stretching to the horizon. That is Lord Alastair's doing?

"He gave me a life," Shadis continued, his voice softer now. "Yes, I died long ago. But Lord Alastair gave me a life. Made me a knight. His work made him nobility, and a farm boy like me suddenly had the honor of associating with lords and ladies."

Priscilla made a graceful bow. "And you fit in quite nicely."

Shadis returned the gesture.

"We worked hard because we wanted the next generation to thrive, not endure the hardships we had to. But then Carnifex came along…" His gaze shifted back to Stick. "You don't deserve the cards you've been dealt, but you've done your best. And for what little it's worth, I'm sorry."

Stick swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He clenched his fists, struggling not to cry. "I didn't do it alone."

"Your humility honors you," Shadis said before turning to the Prized Possession. "And thank you as well."

The Prized Possession, unaccustomed to such dignity, shifted uncomfortably, his chains jingling.

"It was nothing," he murmured.

Shadis's smile returned, faint but genuine. "No, thank you. For not giving up on me."

Another coughing fit overtook Shadis. From the next room, a baby's cry shattered the fragile quiet. Priscilla excused herself, returning moments later with a child cradled in her arms. An idea shot through Stick's head. His curiosity sparked. He inspected the baby's Status.

What he saw made him blink in surprise—it was nearly blank, missing all but its LVL 1 status and the [Origin] tag: Nova Civitas.

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"It doesn't have a name?" Stick asked.

"Anthony was… undecided," Priscilla said hesitantly.

"Undecided?" Stick exclaimed. "But it's three years old!"

Before Stick could press further, a sharp, hurried knock rattled the door. The sound was loud enough to make everyone freeze. Stick's head snapped toward it, his pulse spiking. That was too fast to be Becket.

The sharp knock at the door still hung in the air, the echo lingering longer than it should have. Stick's stomach twisted. Have they caught Nakamura?

The four of them exchanged quick glances. Priscilla's face was unreadable, but Stick saw the tension in her fingers as they hovered near the baby. The Prized Possession moved first, helping Shadis to his feet and guiding him to the other room. Stick stepped forward, receiving the baby from Priscilla before following them, his breath shallow.

Another knock. More insistent this time.

"Crimson Custodia! Open up!"

Stick sucked in a breath. He, Shadis, and PP ducked into the bedroom, closing the wooden door behind them as quietly as possible. Every creak of the hinges made Stick's pulse jump.

"One moment!" Priscilla called out.

Stick pressed his eye to the keyhole. Through the small gap, he watched as she adjusted her hair, smoothing it down with steady fingers. But her hands weren't steady. Not completely. A slight tremor betrayed the effort. She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and turned the handle. The door swung open almost instantly.

"What took you so long?" The gruff voice sent a chill down Stick's spine.

Two Carnifex soldiers stepped inside, their crimson armor stark against the homey interior. Stick forced himself to stay still, pressing closer to the door. His heart pounded against his ribs, so loud he was sure they could hear it.

"I apologize, I—" Priscilla started, but the soldier cut her off.

"There are three convicts on the loose," he barked. "Where's Becket? It's all hands on deck."

Without hesitation, Priscilla bluffed. "He heard the alarm bell earlier and went to get his orders."

"At HQ?" the other soldier asked.

"Yes," Priscilla answered smoothly.

Quick thinking, Priscilla.

A pause.

"I didn't see him there."

Stick's breath hitched.

For the first time, Priscilla faltered. "Oh really?"

The stammer was barely there, but Stick caught it. So did the soldier. His gaze swept the room, landing on the closed bedroom door. He took a step toward it. Shit.

Stick's muscles locked up. He couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe too hard. If he pulled away from the keyhole now, the soldier would notice the shift in shadow. His grip on the baby tightened, his hands trembling. Please, don't make a sound now.

The soldier reached for the handle.

"Excuse me!" Priscilla's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "What do you think you're doing?"

The soldier turned, eyes narrowing. "What's it look like? I'm searching for Becket."

"He's not in there."

"Oh?" The soldier cocked his head. "You know that not following orders leads to disciplinary action?"

A long, stretching silence. The soldier's fingers hovered over the handle. Stick wiped his palm against his tunic and placed his hand on the other side of the handle, ready to catch the soldier off guard. His grip was slick with sweat. The iron hinge felt impossibly slippery under his touch. The soldier's fingers stretched closer. Then Priscilla moved. She grabbed the soldier's arm.

"I said no."

The room froze. Stick felt like he was going to be sick. What the hell are you doing, Priscilla?

The soldier stiffened. His eyes darkened as he turned to her, looming. Priscilla didn't flinch. She held his gaze, her fingers gripping his forearm like a vice—except Stick saw it now, the faintest tremble in her stance. The soldier hesitated. A flicker of calculation crossed his face. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he released the handle. Priscilla let go of his arm.

"He better be at Headquarters," the soldier muttered.

With a sharp motion, he signaled the other soldier, and they both exited the house. Priscilla closed the door behind them. The silence was deafening. Stick exhaled in a cough, only now realizing he had been holding his breath. He turned to Shadis and PP, both of whom wore nervous smiles, their eyes wide.

Priscilla opened the bedroom door. "Are you all right?"

"Are we all right?" Stick asked. "Are you all right? That was amazing."

He handed her the baby. Miraculously, it fell asleep during the commotion.

Shadis gave a short bow. "Truly magnificent, my lady. I'm glad your quick wits are on our side."

Priscilla smiled. "Don't mention it."

A bead of sweat betrayed her otherwise composed exterior.

"What about Becket?" Stick asked. "He'll be in trouble."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Priscilla answered with a wink. "First, he has to come back."

They spent the time waiting by packing supplies. Stick kept stealing glances at Priscilla. He couldn't shake the image of her standing up to that soldier, her hand gripping his arm like she belonged in this war. She wasn't supposed to be here. None of them were.

Priscilla handed them vegetables, flasks of water, and a change of clothes, although none of them would fit PP.

"That's asking too much," Shadis protested. "We can't possibly accept this."

"We have to move soon anyway," Priscilla answered. "The less we have, the less we have to carry."

Stick paused. She wasn't even in the room when Becket said that earlier.

Had she heard? Or did she already know? Whether it was superhuman hearing or pure intuition remained a mystery, but one thing was clear—there was a lot more to Priscilla than met the eye.

The sound of hooves approached. Nakamura pulled up in the carriage.

"Where's Becket?" Stick asked.

"We didn't want them to see us together as soon as we got the thing," Nakamura replied, clearly on edge.

The cabin door creaked open. Becket stepped out.

"There are a lot of patrols on the streets. You have to move while you have the advantage."

His gaze swept over the group. "Everything okay?"

Priscilla answered before anyone else. "Everything is fine."

Stick wasn't sure that was true. Shadis and PP quickly boarded. PP took the front seat next to Nakamura, while Shadis climbed into the cabin. Stick hesitated. It felt wrong to leave. Like he was running away. Like he was leaving them behind to deal with all the trouble he caused them.

"Farewell, my lady," Shadis said to Priscilla. "It was a pleasure witnessing the fine young woman you've become."

Priscilla made a small bow. "Farewell, Sir Moore. Send Lord Blitz my regards when you see him."

Shadis smiled, then turned to Stick, who hadn't yet boarded. He had something to say to Becket.

"What's wrong?" Becket asked. "You need to go."

Stick chewed the inside of his cheek. "What do you mean you're undecided? That baby needs a name."

Becket blinked. "What? That's not important right now."

"Of course it is. He's three years old!"

Stick punched his shoulder. "You have to name him."

Becket turned to Priscilla. "How about Stick?"

"Stick?" Priscilla repeated, bewildered. "What kind of name is that?"

Becket stifled a laugh. "Maybe another one."

Stick flushed. Becket, you little—

"Here," Becket said, "take this."

A sword materialized in his hand. He placed it in Stick's palm.

"It's my first sword," Becket explained. "I got it when the game began. Just a simple Bronze Sword, but it's meant for LVL 1 players. I want you to have it. Willingly this time."

Stick hesitated. Then he took the [Bronze Sword].

A standard sword. Ideal for beginners. (Required LVL: 1)

He met Becket's gaze. "Thank you. For everything."

Becket smirked. "Don't mention it."

"Move it!" Nakamura called.

Stick took one last look at Becket, Priscilla, and the baby. "You fit so well together. No matter what the others said."

Becket's cheeks flushed red. "Get out of here! A patrol could pass any second."

Stick climbed into the cabin. As the carriage pulled away, Stick glanced back one last time. Becket's clothes vanished, replaced by his red armor in an instant. The Carnifex soldier Anthony Becket, the Sword, returned to work.

And Stick was still running.