It was a simple two-story house close to the merchant square, where most major shops were located. The merchant's square was also where slave traders hosted their public slave auctions. The boy whose body Sturm had taken over had probably gone through that same square. Except for the most beautiful or skilled slaves, the rest would go ahead to work in the quarry, as most commoners and nobles already had all the slaves they needed. Those promising-looking slaves would have the luck or, in some cases, bad luck to be bought at the square.
Over the last five years, the mayor, in cooperation with the overseer, had forbidden private purchases of slaves. Only recently, after fulfilling the quota, had they lifted the ban, causing the square to be much busier than it had ever been before the ban. Sturm could hear the turmoil from Edgar's house.
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"This is your room. Rest up, for now; it has been a hard day. Tomorrow we will get Edgar, and then we properly settle you in. Boss said he wanted to start showing you the world of trades, but that does not mean you can slack off on your training. It is getting increasingly dangerous around here. We need to be prepared."
Reinhardt could not help but worry about Sturm's safety. A slave could lose his life at any time in a town. The punishment for killing a slave was a simple reimbursement. Just that, there were no further consequences. He planned to visit a few contacts and let it be known that his little student was not to be touched.
*nod* *nod*
With the experience they had just been through, Sturm felt more motivated than ever. "Don't worry about that. I am thinking about joining the local fighting pit, but I hope they provide more of a challenge than those in the quarry."
At first, Sturm wanted to reach the combat slave rank of 'Gladiator' to secure another future path, in case his relationship with Edgar took an unexpected twist. Now, it had changed to another way to support his benefactor. The two mercenary friends Reinhardt paid to give Sturm more varied sparring experiences were avid fighting pit gamblers and knew everything about combat slaves and gladiators.
Most gladiators did not work their way up from slave camps but were acquired by nobles and wealthy merchants. Dagger's Rock Town's fighting pit was a special case as it had just a few private combat slaves, but that was due to the slave camp present on the isle in combination with the recent restrictions. A new generation of private gladiators was sure to arise in the coming years. Successful gladiators were an excellent boost to their owner's prestige and would at the same time be the best publicity.
If he could not achieve the results Edgar wanted from him for his business, he could at least repay him as the best gladiator. Having been a professional fighter on earth and arguably the best at that, it was something he was absolutely confident he could achieve, but to Sturm's surprise, Reinhardt quickly shut that plan down. At least for now, that was.
"Sturm, don't tell me you forgot you are still 13. Will you waste your time with those other junior combat slaves for another two years at the pit? We both know that is beneath you. I have a much better idea. If you can handle it, that is."
What Reinhardt proposed was very much to Sturm's liking, but it was something Edgar would never agree with. In preparation for the future discussion, the duo conceived a plan to convince their boss to accept it somehow.
…
The following morning a young slave could be seen lying down on a hard wooden floor of an ordinary house. Next to the boy was a bed, it was not luxurious, but it looked pretty comfortable with the thick, gray mattress placed on top of it.
Except for the gray mattress and a gray blanket, everything else in the room was brown. The floor, walls, ceiling, the small table, and the chair on the other side of the small room were all made of the same sturdy-looking wood.
<>
It always appeared to Sturm that people who preferred to sleep on stone-hard mattresses had some sort of mental problem, but the previous night, he could not find a comfortable position on the fluffy bed. Even the most basic beds he had used in his previous life were soft, and they could never be too soft for him, so he had been looking forward to once again sleeping on a heavenly soft mattress.
His excitement quickly turned into disbelief as he kept shifting from one side to the other. The feeling of sinking in felt strange and just would not let him relax. In the end, he had to throw his blanket on the floor and sleep there. At least the smell of the wood was relaxing to him and contributed to better sleep.
After getting up, Sturm noticed fresh new clothes on the chair, along with a written note.
'Before putting on these clothes, take them and meet me in the kitchen,
Reinhardt'
Surprised by the note, Sturm took the clothing and proceeded to the kitchen on the first floor. There he found Reinhardt happily munching on some dry bread. It was a wonder how the chair he was sitting on managed to support his weight.
"Good morning, boy. No breakfast for you yet. First, take those clothes and go to the washroom and wash yourself. When I am done with breakfast, I will come and cut your hair. Let's give Edgar a positive surprise. What, why are you staring at me like that?"
Sturm didn't stop staring at Reinhardt and held up the note that had been on the clothing.
"Who wrote this note?"
"Who do you think wrote it? Of course, I did," Reinhardt answered.
"You… know how to write?"
The smile on Reinhardt's face broadened. He had been waiting to surprise Sturm with this for a long time now. His initial plan was for Sturm to ask him for help for Edgar's lessons, but the boy learned too quickly and never approached him for anything related to writing.
"Of course I do! Do you think Edgar hired me as his guard captain just because of my brawns and combat ability?"
"Yes."
Boom. Not even a single second of hesitation. The answer came out when Reinhardt had not even finished articulating his question. Only now did the tall man understand why his pupil never asked him for help with his studies.
"Well, you are right, but before I came to be known as the Rampage Bear, I already belonged to the upper class of Commoners. How do you think I reached the fifth heavenly step? You won't find many fifth step Commoners that have not gone through basic education." Reinhardt explained.
"Ummm, is that so? I thought you were more of the simple type. I mean, just by looking at how often you break stuff by accident, one would not assume you to be of the scholarly type."
This was not how Reinhardt had expected his surprise to go at all. While huffing, the guard captain threateningly raised his fist. "Where did the respectful young pupil go? You either give him back or go wash yourself right now!"
Satisfied with successfully teasing the big bear, Sturm quickly hurried to the washroom behind the kitchen. While he was honestly surprised that Reinhardt knew how to write and read, he knew that his teacher was not just brawn and no brain. His training regiments were thought out, his observations often spot on, and his inability to judge his own strength was more due to clumsiness rather than stupidity.
There was no shower in the washing room, just a bucket filled with water and a sponge. It took a while for Sturm to rub off the dirt that had been accumulating for years. Even if he could have done so in the slave camp with Edgar's help, he would be filthy again with just a day in the quarry. On top of that, water was a valuable resource in the quarry, and any slave would rather drink than do something as useless as washing themselves.
After Sturm had washed up, Reinhardt came in with a knife and started trimming Sturms long hair. Long blonde hair strands fell to the ground. The clean body, fresh haircut, and new dark blue clothes made Sturm look like a brand new person.