„I want food."
The merchant had a smile on his face. Even though he seemed calculating, his eyes were not as cold as everyone else's.
"Oh, like this sugar bread?"
The merchant took out something similar to a Brazilian Cuca Bread, which was basically sweet bread with a sugar coat on top of it. He knew children could not resist them. Thus he could not help but smile when he imagined the shiny eyes Mike would surely show.
"No, thank you. I want whatever fills me up the most."
Mike was not interested in sweets. What he needed was food that gave him energy and let him maintain his strength.
"You are the first child to ever say no to sugar bread. To have the maturity to make this choice… interesting. How old are you, boy?"
He looked genuinely surprised. The merchant had a weak spot for children, and no matter if they were slaves, commoners, or nobles, he would at least try to brighten up their day for a moment. A child that rejected sweets in favor of more substantial food was rare, even for slave children that were starving.
I obviously cannot tell him my actual age...or anything about myself at all.
"I do not know."
Mike did not reveal anything. It was a new life and a new beginning for him, after all. He did not want to go through torture ever again, and sticking out too much meant risking more attention from the guards. Spouting nonsense about reincarnation and another world was a sure means to do exactly that. Sticking out meant a higher chance a slaver in a lousy mood would find trouble with him. A prime example was Lanky, who, by simply sticking out because of his height, got punished proportionally more than everyone else.
"You don't know? Well, it is not like that is uncommon. You look like you are around eight, maybe, so let's just say you are eight years old. And what about your name?"
"I do not know, but my number is 2047."
The merchant reacted with an angry glint in his eyes and shook his head. His hands clenched into fists, and he let out a deep breath. Even after trading all kinds of goods throughout his life, and even though he ended up working at a slave camp, he had never traded human life himself. This was also the reason the old guard had asked him to look after Mike.
"A number is not a name. Marcus told me to take care of you. What about you help me out? I will give you a name and food in exchange for your service. Slaves cannot own anything since legally; you are an object yourself, so even if I gave you money, it would be worthless to you. Nothing is free in this world. If you want something, you have to be prepared to give something in exchange for it. I am giving you an opportunity, so you will have to work hard. If you disappoint me, then I will just find another slave to help me out, do you understand?"
This was surprising since that was basically everything Mike could ask for. The merchant trusted in Marcus' intuition, but other slaves would kill for this opportunity.
He said I look eight years old? So what happened to my original body? Did I just force an innocent child out of their body? Well, maybe I saved it from the hell that was awaiting it.
Hearing it out loud made this the first time Mike directly confronted what he had been dreading. Even though he had prepared for it, it was still shocking. He decided to think about it later and maintain a calm attitude in front of the merchant. An excellent first impression can only be achieved once after all.
"Yes, Sir!"
The merchant was satisfied with Mike's respectful attitude. An eight-year-old child that knew how to behave and not be blinded by useless things was someone who would learn quickly. As a merchant, he did not trust many, but a slave without any connections to the world and that he brought up himself was someone he would have to worry less about.
"Good! A respectful attitude will keep you out of trouble. I will talk to the guards regarding the paperwork. You will be on probation for five years, and after that, I may take you with me. Disappoint me, and you will spend the rest of your life in this quarry."
The merchant kept repeating he would have to work hard or else he would be abandoned, but that was a good sign for Mike. It was a simple transaction, hard work for a better life. He knew empty promises and false reassurances were signs of ulterior motives.
"Do you understand everything that I said?"
Would an eight-year-old understand everything? No, a kid surely would not know what a 'probation' was.
"What is probation?"
"Haha! You are smart, you listened and did not just accept what I said, very good! It means that you have five years to show that it is worth helping you," the merchant said.
"I will do my best, Sir!"
Mike did not have to fake it. He really was going to do his best. It was in his own interest, after all.
"I am sure you will. My name is Edgar, so you can call me Mister Edgar. Your name is Sturm."
Sturm? A word from my mother tongue? Are there people who speak German in this world?
"Sturm?"
He tried to get some more information out of Edgar.
"It means storm in the barbarian language. Since you may become a part of my Thunder Merchant Group in the future, it is a pretty fitting name, don't you think? Haha!"
Edgar was amazed at his genius-level naming sense. A storm is mighty and unstoppable, and there was no way a young boy would not like it.
<
The two of them were in agreement.
"Sturm… I like it! I am Sturm!"
The happy expression Sturm was showing made Edgar feel even more satisfied with himself. Sturm felt like maybe this was the real beginning of his new life. And not that terrible experience that haunted him like post-traumatic stress disorder.
"I think this is enough information for one day. The day after tomorrow, you will come back to hear the results of my discussion with the Overseer."
Edgar then turned around and searched through his carriage. He took a small linen bag and a wooden cup out and proceeded to fill the cup with water from a barrel.
"Here, have some water and some stambread. The water that slaves have to drink makes them sick sometimes, so this is from my private barrel. And you are right that you will need a lot of energy. This bread is very expensive for commoners but considered cheap goods for nobles. On top of that, the taste is… well, you will see."
Sturm took the bag and the cup with water. Finally, there was a chance to see his reflection. He saw thin and short arms and legs, which were basically bones from the malnourishment this body had been through. But what he was most curious about was his face.
He moved towards a torch and looked inside his cup.
<
Sturm had not seen anyone with bright blond hair between the guards and slaves. His hair, face, and body were dirty, and it was the first time he noticed how bad he and the area was smelling as well. It did not annoy him as much as he thought it would, as he had already somehow gotten used to it.
"You are supposed to drink that and not look at it."
The merchant had a grin on his face. He knew that must have been the first time the boy saw his own reflection. He laughed when Sturm proceeded to slowly drink the water, making sure not to spill a single drop like it was the last drink he would ever have. The self-control the boy had was made apparent once more.
"To celebrate our meeting, I will give you one more cup. You will need it to flush down the stambread, trust me. Do not get used to it, though. You have not done anything for me yet. In the future additional water has to be earned, you understand?"
With a nod, Sturm took a bite out of the incredibly dry bread. It had no taste at all, and the texture was tough. Not even the army rations he had once eaten on earth had been this bad. No wonder water was necessary to flush it down.
Sturm felt his stomach slowly filling up, and a warm feeling ran through his still aching body. That was what he had needed. Sturm turned around and bowed towards Edgar.
"Now go back and rest and come back the day after tomorrow, then we will talk about your future."
The old merchant waved his hand to send Sturm away and then turned around to talk to some guards approaching the cart.
Hope had been found even though he had just been in search of information. And getting the information he needed was just a matter of time.
Ten minutes later, Sturm arrived at his tent. He immediately laid down and started thinking: What exactly was the situation he was in? How would he proceed from there?
<
Sturm fell asleep.