Ryan didn't want to believe it, but he could no longer find any logical explanation other than the fact that they had been sent to another world, one with magic.
This could have been a good thing for Ryan—a new beginning maybe, perhaps another chance at life where things finally went his way. Well, it was anything but that, more so the exact opposite. In fact, in the short time of him being here, it seemed to be no different from how it was prior.
On one side was him, who never seemed to be even remotely close to special, constantly pressed down by the suffocating weight of utter mediocrity. On the other side was Marcus—perfect, at everytime, everything worked out for him.
Ryan wasn't sure what magic meant in this world, but he knew it had gotten his coworkers a place to stay, a bed to lay, and Marcus? He was being treated as a king by the people of the imperial legion, the people who had come in what Ryan assumed were luxury carriages just for Marcus. The very moment they arrived, everyone kissed their asses, and they kissed Marcus's.
Having magic was great; Ryan could tell that much. However having light magic, whatever the hell it was, was even better.
It was easy to see. After all, where did not having mana get him? Out in the town square, chained to a pole as the rain came down on him with what seemed to Ryan like a deliberately aggressive downpour.
Even the universe was mocking him.
"Could my life be more pathetic? No, really?" Ryan's words couldn't be heard over the rain.
He shifted his gaze to the others. He was not alone. For one moment, it seemed he was not the only one with terrible luck. The majority of the slaves possessed no mana as well, so they were left to the same fate as Ryan—chained under the rain in the middle of the night.
It was cold, so bloody cold.
"Fuck, why didn't I just die," Ryan's words a mumbled shiver.
He closed his eyes, not in an attempt to sleep. No, that wasn't possible. Just in hopes that there was even the slightest chance that he never opened them up again. That he would no longer be suffering.
He was tired, so bloody tired.
The morning came; it couldn't have come slower. The rain had ended some hours ago, and to the shivering slaves on the street, the morning light was a sympathetic offering of the slightest bit of warmth.
Ryan's dark hair stuck to his head, and his eyelids were barely open, his eyes like gaping voids of darkness that seemed to hold only despair—it was terrifying.
He watched Marcus and the rest walk out of what was easily the best-looking building in this wretched town. They wore new clothes, not the slave attire—no, now they dressed like the imperial legion people who had come here, in fine suede and silk, an attire fit for lucky bastards like themselves.
They glanced at Ryan as they walked past, all looking at him, his form nothing short of a pitiful state. They didn't look at him with pity; instead, with utter disgust.
They walked towards the carriage standing in front of him as one of the men moved to the middle of the town square, his hand gripping a small paper. He cleared his throat as he unrolled the paper and began to read.
"By the order of Marcus Hodaine, a candidate of one of the imperial squads, these are to be carried out as follows: All slaves present here should be freed immediately."
The slaves, who all looked half-dead a moment ago, all sprung to cheers, using the last bit of energy they could muster. Of course, they had to show their appreciation; the last thing they needed was him changing his mind.
"What a hero you are," Ryan spat internally. "Who are you fooling?" Ryan seemed to be the only slave not elated by the announcement.
"And as for the slave known as Ryan Caman," now they had Ryan's attention. What did he mean by "as for him"? Could they have decided to bring him along with them?
"For the attempt of murder, Marcus has ordered he be sentenced to the dungeon for life at the closest province."
As the man completed his words, a silence fell; no one said a word. Then a chuckle shot through the silence, and then another, then slowly morphed, evolved even, into maniacal laughter.
Ryan's laughter echoed through the town square with an eerie reverie as he stood up. He stopped, looked at his wife, and she averted her gaze, as did his coworkers.
"Listen, I swear by everything, an oath I take here in front of man and the heavens,"
As Ryan's voice shot through the town square, full of pain, anger, and despair, he had no idea how he would carry out what he was about to say. He had no magic, he had noone, and he was going to spend his life in a dungeon, but he didn't care. What mattered was the hatred that engulfed him—the will for revenge.
"I will make you all suffer and beg for death."
Ryan made this solemn oath in the presence of all those assembled, under the gaze of both heaven and mankind.
"You dare?" one of the guards of the imperial legion drew their swords but was quickly halted by Marcus.
"No," Marcus said as he raised his hand. "Let him live with his failure."
"This will be the biggest mistake you ever make," Ryan's words sharp like daggers, they held no trace of bluff.
"We'll see," Marcus replied as he turned to board the carriage with the rest of them.
As Ryan watched the carriage drive away, something obscured his vision.
[Initialization Complete]
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