The sun is beginning to peak over the horizon by the time that we return to base. Grumble's feet drag on the ground in exhaustion, but I'm as awake as a fluttering butterfly shuddering in a spider's web!
And I have good reason to be happy; over the course of the night I had reached level 15, and, much more importantly, my swordsmanship skill had advanced from Moderate Swordsmanship Lvl. 7 to Moderate Swordsmanship Lvl. 9. It didn't level up nearly as fast as my sight skill, which had reached Moderate Sight Enhancement Lvl. 5. That's about thirteen levels in one night! My eyes were like toggleable night vision binoculars; if I wanted to, I could activate night vision, zoom, none, or both. Certainly a very useful skill… had I had this on Earth, I would almost certainly still be alive… ahem! Moving on!
His Royal Highness, King Lord Sir Mr. Armor is sitting on a wooden chair outside the wagon, sharpening his sword with his helmet at his feet. I am struck by how horrifyingly hideous Sir Armor is, and then I realize that this is the first time that I have seen him without a helmet. He has a head of neatly cropped black hair, with no sign of balding, and his face is clean shaven. His nose is so crooked, and his face is so scarred, that it would come as no surprise to anyone if a child were to run away screaming upon seeing it. It looks as if he has either been mauled by a bear or clawed by a tiger, the scarring is so bad. Behind him, a few yards back, stands one of the other slavers, the archer if I remember correctly.
"So. You're still alive. I was a bit worried when neither of you returned last night," he says to the two of us. I'm touched that he was worried when we didn't return last night; I hadn't realized that our connection ran so deep as for him to be worried about my safety.
"Well, this little bugger continued to insist that he was level nine, no matter how many monsters he killed. I'm sure that he was lying, but who am I to complain if our product wants to raise its value." That treacherous Gorbson! Using [me] as an excuse for why we were out late last night! How dare he!
"Well, that's nice." Mr. Armor says to Gorbson. He then turns to me. "What level are you actually?"
"Level 9," I say with absolute sincerity, to which Mr. Armor scowls and grabs my throat.
"Don't think that I won't kill you, you insolent brat. Now, what level are you [really] ?"
"Level 15." I respond, this time reluctantly. I feel like a loser for giving in, but hey! This guy could kill me with ease!
"Really? To reach level 15 would require nearly triple the xp required to reach level 10, and the monsters around here are notoriously low on xp. Well, I'm not going to complain. The higher the level, the higher the price. If it weren't for that madness of yours, you'd probably fetch a good price at the colosseum. As it is, however, you'll probably end up in the army's loon brigade. Although, if it's decided that you are capable of following orders, you might still get a decent position. For a slave, anyway."
Pretending I hadn't already heard all of this from Ms. Blabbermouth, I nod along like the obedient little slave like I am, drinking in the righteous words of my master.
"Yes sir! I'll work hard to be sold for a lot so that you can become rich!"
After thinking for a moment about how to respond to such a statement, he eventually just replies with "Yeah okay. Be sure to do that."
After that, I am thrown unceremoniously back into my cage/covered wagon thing. Little Ms. Blabbermouth seems to [really] want to talk, as expected of a blabbermouth, but she manages to hold in her words until the slavers have taken the reigns of the horses of our wagon, or have gone back to their own, and the wagons start moving. Then she finally begins talking.
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?" I respond, wanting nothing more than to find a way to permanently shut her up. If only I were able to find an answer to the question that I had formulated yesterday…
"How do you stand up to them even after what they've done to you? I saw them burning you yesterday, burning into you until your bones turned black and your blood boiled, and yet you did not truly submit, no matter how much pain you were exposed to. You only agreed to be their slave when you were sure that they'd kill you otherwise… that was the exact opposite of myself and most other slaves. I begged for death, as death is better than slavery, and yet it didn't come. I tried to stand firm, to not submit, to accept my death, and yet once the torture began, I submitted. It is considered common knowledge that once a slave accepts that they are a slave, that they will no longer think of escaping or of committing suicide. Once one's job and mindset both agree that they are a slave, they are usually locked in for life. Of course, slave owners don't rely on that alone. They forcibly bind the slave to them through magic, so that they can end the slave at any time. Once bound, any chance at again being free is over-"
"Wait, wait, wait! Bound to an owner? Killed at a whim!? Why haven't you mentioned any of this?!
"Because it's common knowledge?"
"This is absurd! I'm out of here!": I try to activate my magic, to envelope my hand in it so I can break the bars, but nothing happens.
"Huh? Why is my magic not working?"
"This is a slave wagon. It has anti-magic materials in the structure somewhere. Did you really think that they would just let you use magic? Wait… have you really not tried to escape yet?"
"Of course not! I didn't want to die in the desert! I figured that I'd have plenty of time to escape once we reached the city."
How does Little Ms. Blabbermouth respond to my genuine panic? She silently facepalms. The one time that I want her sympathy, she says nothing! She's truly useless!
"So you're telling me that you haven't even thought about escaping yet? You were planning on just leaving me behind and escaping once we reach our destination?"
I nod. "Of course! What else would I be planning in such a situation? Besides, you're ignoring the important thing! [I] need to get out of here! [You] don't matter!"
Tears well up in her eyes for unknown reasons, and she whispers to herself "He's just a loon… yes, he's just a loon… you can ignore him, for he knows nothing; after all, he's just a loon…"
While she tries to convince herself that it is [I] who is insane, I take the opportunity of near-silence to formulate a plan. [Alright. What do I do? I could try to escape next time I'm let out of the carriage… but I'm sure I'll be killed. I wouldn't count on my odds against Gorbson or Mr. Armor alone, but together I have no chance at defeating them… and that's ignoring the four other slavers that I have yet to see fight. And even if I did manage to somehow escape, there is still the issue of dying in this blasted desert. No matter what, I am sure to die. So… die, or spend the rest of my life as a slave with no chance of escaping?] Such a stupidly easy question! I'd do anything to avoid that horrific darkness that I had once experienced! Even being a slave would be better than that!
With that conundrum settled, I settle in to go to sleep. I was up all night, so I'm quite tired, and Little Miss Blabbermouth is still muttering silently like a crazy person. Seriously,[ she] has the audacity to call [me] a loon? She seriously thought that I would take her with me if I escaped! No one in their right mind would do that! I go back to trying to remember the proper way to make someone shut up indefinitely, and while searching for the answer I fall asleep.
When I awake, night has again fallen. Ms. Blabbermouth's breathing, a gentle rise and fall, is the only sound coming from inside the carriage. From outside the carriage emanates the incessant sound of horse hooves clopping against the ground. Ooo! Clopping?
The horses' steps thus far emitted little sound as the loose and dry dirt that made up the sandless desert was too soft for much in the way of clopping. But now a soft [clop clop clop] can be heard. Not loud enough to be from stone, but loud enough for me to be sure that we had left the desert.
I sit in silence for some time, and shortly thereafter I begin to see trees through the walls of bars. While sparse, these trees are the first that I have seen in this world. They seem to be some sort of needle-based tree, though I can see little more than outlines under the crescent moon. Grateful for the change in scenery, I continue to stare silently at the passing wilderness.
[Why am I here?] Such a question begins to fill my mind. I should be dead right now, wallowing in darkness, and yet I am [here,] in a different dimension, or at least a very different planet, than my own. Such a question consumes me, but I have no answer. In the end, I must simply assume that it was by chance, as I have no evidence of anything else being in the case. I mean, on Earth there weren't any cases of people spontaneously appearing with memories of their past life.
That question dealt with to the best of my abilities, I return my attention to the outside world. The realm of sparse trees persists for several hours. And then… "A house…" I can't contain my thoughts for a second, and they slip out as words.
Yes, a house. The first house that I have seen in what feels like decades. Years of prison, decades of darkness, a week in a desert… it really has been a while since my eyes have last beheld a proper house. Though, to be honest, this one isn't much to see. The sun has peaked over the horizon enough to reveal the small wooden box in all of its squalor. I would normally not assume anyone to live in such a nasty building, yet smoke spills from a small hole in the roof. I only have time to note a small garden attached to its side before we are too far beyond to make out further detail.
Soon more houses, houses attached to massive farms, become visible. Usually a large and fancy house will catch my attention, before it then shifts to the handful of much smaller, shabbier houses that surround it. As we go further on, the farms and main houses grow grander, and the number of shabby shacks increase. As the morning progresses, I begin to see people working in the fields, under the watchful eyes of their supervisors. [Slaves,] I assume, but again, it's none of my business. As the day progresses, we pass through several small towns, which consist of a few shops, and countless farms both large and small.
Miss Blabbermouth awakens at some point, but she has the good sense to keep quiet. She must be able to detect with her acute senses that I recently remembered how to deal with obnoxious people, and she obviously doesn't want to be forcibly and permanently silenced in such ways.
Around noon, the wagons briefly stop in the middle of the road and some chunks of tasty brain food are thrown in. Little else of note happens until evening, when we reach the outskirts of the city.
Shabby buildings grow increasingly dense around us. What strikes me most is not the thin and dirty people wearing disheveled clothing, but the horrendous [smell.] A pungent odor of rot and sewage that only grows as we pull deeper into the city. Several people stop to look into the carriage at me, pity evident on their faces. [Huh? These misfortunate wretches feel pity for me?I honestly find that rather insulting. Sure, I'm about to be sold as a slave, but whether in the colosseum or in the military, I'm sure to live better than them. I mean, at least as an enslaved soldier I'll get to eat.]
Eventually we come up to the high walls that separate the prestigious inner city from the slums in the outer city. I heard a brief exchange between Mr. Armor and a guard, wherein Mr. Armor stated his purpose for entering the city (selling us), and handed over some identification. We then moved on through the gates into the inner city. Streets of mud give way to well-kept cobblestones, and the horses' hooves begin clopping against the street. The smell quickly fades away, and malnourished, dirty people give way to well fed, well washed, and well clothed people; sometimes all in one! The dirty and cramped wooden buildings have been replaced with larger buildings built primarily from stone. I get a few looks of interest, looks properly afforded to a product of such high quality as myself! Hey, why are they shaking their heads and looking away? Why?!
The rich peoples' inability to spot high quality goods, such as yours truly, aside, we soon pull into a wide alley. We turn from one alley to another, until eventually we pass in front of some shady storefronts. "Human flesh to feed your monsters!" and "Fresh corpses, legally acquired!" shone from signs sitting behind grimy windows. The store Blood and Bones Sorcery has a sign proudly declaring "Just in: high quality human leather!" Further down the same alley we stop behind a large building. A dark metal door sits recedeeded within its wall, a door from which I feel a deep sense of foreboding. Thankfully, it seems that that isn't the door we're going through, as Mr. Armor gets out of his carriage and knocks on the door adjacent to it. After a minute of nothing happening, he knocks again.
I can hardly contain my laughter! The prestigious Mr. Armor, so unimportant as to not even warrant a speedy greeting!
Eventually, an obscenely fat man, entirely bald and slightly wrinkled, opens the door. "What do you want? Last time that you were here, you only brought us low quality goods that didn't sell. We eventually had to send them to the butcher," he says with a slight nod to the door near the one that he is standing in.
Oh? They send poorly selling goods to the butcher to feed them with some high quality food to increase their value? Genius!
"At least we have a guaranteed purchaser for the men, though the army doesn't pay much more than the butcher. But the women? If they aren't skilled or pretty enough, the only path for them is magic materials."
Oooo! They use magic materials to increase the power of their slaves so that they can sell better?! How clever!
"No need to worry about that. We only have two products this time, but one has impressive skill levels, and the other is rather pretty and not entirely unskilled herself."
"Bah! I'll measure what skills are impressive and what faces are 'pretty'! Now come on in. Bring the products with you."
He walks in, followed by all but Gorbson. Gorbson walks over to our wagon and opens it up. "Follow me," he says gruffly. "And you!" he adds, turning to me. "No funny business. Try [anything] and you go to the butcher. Understand?"
Now, I don't see what's so wrong with getting some high quality meat at the butcher, but, out of my boundless respect for Gorbson, I simply nod in affirmation.
We enter the building, and I find myself in a well furnished room. A large chandelier, holding many candles, hangs from the ceiling, illuminating the room with its radiance. Numerous chairs fill the relatively small room, several of which are already occupied by Mr. Armor and the other slavers. Two guards stand on the opposite wall from the one I enter, guarding the only other exit to the room.
"The products will be sitting in this chair. The girl first." The auctioneer says, gesturing to a chair with built in shackles for the forearms, upper arms, lower legs, thighs, waist, and neck. It's very apparent that even squirming would be a difficult task from that position.
Ms. Blabbermouth is directed to the chair and made to sit down. I kind of expect her to put up a bit of a fight, but she becomes docile in the presence of Gorbson. I knew that they were dating, but I never expected the ever-so-impudent Ms. Blabbermouth to be so… [submissive.] Regardless of her unusual behavior, she is still strapped down with every restraint. She looks like a statue, held perfectly in place.
The auctioneer withdraws a orb from within a pocket of his suit. "This is an analysis orb. The process of analyzing is a bit… unpleasant, so you've been strapped down for your safety," he says to Ms. Blabbermouth. He then holds it against her forehead.
For a moment nothing happens as everyone holds silent. Then, a ear piercing scream emanates from her blabbering mouth. At first I am surprised, but my surprise quickly turns to satisfaction at seeing this obnoxious individual get what she deserves. She's still not quiet though.
Her muscles start to tense and pull, pressing into the restraints as she tries to flail around. Furthermore, her screams reach new volumes, never before charted decibel ranges that I could [feel] making me deafer. [Shut her up!] I think, but, good slave that I am, I say nothing.
It's not long, however, before the always angry Gornson voices his insightful views: "Shut her up!"
"Don't worry," the auctioneer soothes. "The process will be finished shortly."
Eventually her shuddering begins to slow down, and her muscles, dripping with sweat, finally relax. Oh, and her incessant noise ceases as well.
Once she has fully relaxed, the orb projects a screen similar to the one that appears in front of me when I check my stats- but far more detailed.
"While painful, due to the extreme stress that it puts on the mind, our methods allow us to see not only skills but measure potential as well. Now, take a look:"
Name: Eryn
Level: 3
Race: Human
Class/Job: Slave
Skills: Lesser Charm Lvl. 2, Lesser Thirst Nullification Lvl. 4, Lesser Heat Resistance Lvl. 4, Lesser Cold Resistance Lvl. 2, Lesser Coquetry Lvl. 1, Moderate Garment Mending Lvl. 2, and Moderate Housework Lvl. 1.
There, the details that I recognize end. Following those details, however, is further information.
Proficiencies: Low Heat Resistance Proficiency Bonus, High Garment Mending Bonus, Medium Housework Bonus
Racial Characteristics: Has no restrictions on available skills
Class Characteristics: 50% reduced experience, increased submissiveness
"Oho! A greater proficiency bonus! The product is sure to sell well, either to a tailoring business, or even to a private employer! I'll offer 30 silver!"
I expect Mr. Armor to haggle for more, but instead he simply nods and replies "That seems very fair. Thank you."
The auctioneer removes the orb from her head, and undoes the numerous restraints. Due to the restraints, her thrashing about seemed to have done little damage. She is gently laid on the ground, and now it's my turn.
The auctioneer looks at me. "Come!" he orders, beckoning me over with his index finger just in case I was too stupid to understand verbal orders. How thoughtful of him, to tailor his orders such that even an imbecile could understand!
Continuing to fulfill my duties as an obedient slave, I hurry over to him. He then orders me to sit down, and closes the shackles to hold me in place. I am surprised by how much padding is on them; they clearly don't want any of their precious goods to be damaged in the evaluation process.
Without so much as a warning, Lord Auctioneer presses the Orb of Agony, or whatever it's called, to my forehead. Immediately, I feel as though my entire nervous system has been set on fire. However, the pain is little compared to what I experienced in my revival, and I don't want to bother Lords Armor and Auctioneer with obnoxious noises, so I keep silent. On a side note, I acquired a new skill: Lesser Mental Attack Resistance Lvl. 1.
Eventually the process is finished. "Huh… no screaming. Well, I'm not going to complain. I'm not sure if my ears could have handled much more anyway." I see that my silence was a success! I even made Lord Auctioneer happy! Anyways, time to check my stats:
Name: unnamed
Level: 15
Race: Human
Class: Slave
Skills: Greater Pain Resistance Lvl. 7, Greater Madness Lvl. 9, Moderate Sight Enhancement Lvl. 6, Lesser Hearing Enhancement Lvl. 8, Lesser Resistance Lvl. 9, Moderate Heat Resistance Lvl. 6, Lesser Cold Resistance Lvl. 6, Moderate Thirst Nullification Lvl. 3, Lesser Sleep Nullification Lvl. 9, Moderate Swordsmanship Lvl. 9, Lesser Melee Magic Conduction Lvl. 3, Magic Sensory Lvl. 1, Lesser Magic Manipulation Lvl. 1, Lesser Mental Attack Resistance Lvl. 2, Lesser Chaos Lvl. 1
Proficiencies: High Leveling Efficiency Proficiency Bonus, Very High Madness Proficiency Bonus, High Sight Proficiency Bonus, Moderate Swordsmanship Proficiency Bonus
Racial Characteristics, and Class Characteristics are the same.
Ooo! Look at all of those pretty stats! Even the auctioneer looks impressed!
"Leveling efficiency bonus! Not only that, but proficiency in sight and swordsmanship! Magical abilities as well?! Yet all of that, tarnished by your madness… seriously, I have never seen a madness level that high, not even in the damaged products that we occasionally sell here. If it weren't for that madness, the product could fetch a monstrous sum… yet, here we'd be lucky to not have the sale shut down and the madness 'cured' by the church."
"Isn't it possible to prove mental competency in cases of madness?" says our dear Lord Sir Mr. Armor.
"Well, yes, but those tests carry hefty fees, and, furthermore, are administered by the church, so bribery won't be an option… well, I've heard the tests are fair. If you can get the product certified as 'sane,' then I assure you a fair offer."
"How much? It's sure to be expensive to do the tests, and I really don't want to bother if the offer is too low…"
"How about… five gold? Actually, add an additional 100 silver to that to cover the testing fees. How does that sound?"
A genuine smile spreads out across Mr. Armor's face. "That sounds excellent! We'd be more than happy to accept that amount!"
"Good. Then we'll pay for the girl now, and we'll hopefully see you later tonight depending on the results of the test."
"Yes, hopefully," says Mr. Armor.
I am then released from the shackles. I give a polite wave to the limp Ms. Blabbermouth, hopeful to never see her again, and then I walk out the door, escorted by the slavers.
I expect to be forced back into the rolling cage of a wagon, but Mr. Armor explains that the city is too hard to travel in by carriage, so we will go on foot. All the slavers except Mr. Armor and Gorbson stay with the carriages; apparently they've decided that two people are enough to control me in a city environment.