I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave

The carriage trundled along the dirt path, its wheels kicking up small clouds of dust as it made its way through the snow-filled countryside. The driver, no longer Officer Anthony Becket, absentmindedly flicked the reins, his grip stiff from the long journey. He had traveled these roads before, but the sight of the distant estate never failed to bring a fresh sense of unease. Inside the carriage, High Council member Claudius stretched with a languid sigh, a few audible cracks running up his spine. He exhaled sharply. I'll never get used to long travels like these. Especially not back-to-back.

Opposite him, Lucio Bonatelli fidgeted, his fingers running over the fabric of the carriage interior as if trying to scrub away some invisible filth. His upper lip curled in disgust.

"They invaded my private space," he hissed, more to himself than anyone. "Do you know how disgusting that is?"

Claudius tilted his masked face toward him, his tone thick with amusement. "If only your father and brother could be here to comfort you." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Such a pity."

Lucio shot him a glare, but there was no venom in it—just exhaustion. His fingers curled into a fist before he exhaled sharply and slumped back against the seat. "I don't get it. Why are you coming back with me?"

Claudius let out a theatrical sigh, dabbing at his mask as though wiping away a nonexistent tear. "Well, to wish you the happiest of birthdays, dearest Baron." His fingers curled mid-motion, puppet-like, before his voice dropped into something sharper. "And to clean up your mess, of course."

Lucio fell silent.

Claudius leaned forward, the dim light catching the edges of his Mutant Mask, turning his expression into something unreadable. "So, what is your wish on such an important 18th birthday of yours?"

Lucio turned to the frost-covered window, his knuckles whitening against the sill. "To take revenge on that little worm."

A chuckle rippled from Claudius, low and delighted. "Oh ho. Isn't that fun?"

Neither Lucio nor the driver noticed the small envelope that slipped from Claudius's sleeve and fluttered out the carriage window, caught by the wind and carried across the barren fields. It landed upon the frost-covered farmland of Overseer Miriad Clif. Or rather… Montgomery Cliffe.

Claudius, satisfied, relaxed into his seat.

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They passed through the western palisade of the Bonatelli estate, but instead of the quiet grandeur Lucio expected, a sea of makeshift barracks and armored soldiers awaited them. Row upon row of tents stretched across the grounds where the smoldering remains of the servants' quarters once stood. Soldiers stood in grim formation, armed and ready—a whole company of them.

"What's this?" Lucio demanded, his voice tinged with unease.

Claudius, however, merely observed the scene with a keen, knowing eye. His masked gaze swept across the encampment, but there was no surprise in his posture—only calculated interest. It was clear that another High Council member had arrived before them.

As the carriage came to a stop, a dozen armored soldiers greeted them instead of the usual servants. They took the nobles' belongings without a word, moving like a well-oiled machine.

Lucio turned to Claudius, lowering his voice. "What is going on?"

The jester wasn't pleased with this turn of events either. "You'll see."

They were escorted inside. Through the dimly lit halls, the deep, rumbling echo of a voice drifted from the dining room, each syllable carrying authority and disinterest in equal measure.

"We have an undying supply of workforce. They don't take sick days, they're complacent. And they're too weak to fight back. How is that fool still needing thirty-five workers?"

Then—a sickening crunch. Of course. Him.

As they stepped into the hall, they were greeted by the scent of a lavish feast, roasted meats and spiced winter stews spread across a grand table. Yet, despite the opulence, two figures sat at either side of the table, lacking plates of their own—the twin lords, Jacoby and Varyan Blitz. They were seated lower, their diminished status unmistakable.

At the head of the table, beneath the imposing portrait of Baron Bonatelli, sat the true power in the room. The man who truly encompassed all of Carnifex values, maybe even more so than the king himself. It was the fourth High Council Member, the Duke of Tovenir. Shaun Murphy.

Lucio shifted uncomfortably. He had heard the rumors. He had seen the aftermath of the Duke's "corrections" in the capital a few years ago. But seeing him in person is something else entirely.

Murphy's massive frame made the high-backed chair look almost comically small. His armor, lined with fur and battle scars, barely concealed the sheer bulk of the man. His calloused hands—twice the size of Lucio's—gripped a slab of ribs, cracking bone like it was nothing more than dry bark.

He chewed. He swallowed—bone and all.

Lucio couldn't look away.

The Duke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before finally turning his gaze upon him. Predatory. Calculating. Dismissive.

And then, he laughed. Low, guttural—like the growl of some great beast.

"So," the Berserker Duke rumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "This is what constitutes a High Council candidate nowadays."

Claudius felt Lucio's unease. The young Baron wanted to scoff, to sneer, to throw back a sharp remark—but he couldn't shake the feeling that any wrong word could see his bones added to the Duke's next meal.

"Looks like the capital's going soft." Murphy's smirk deepened. "I need to talk to Hadvar."

"Well then—happy birthday, Little Lucio."

I Woke Up In Another World As A Slave - End of Book 0 Part 2: Freedom