I wish I could say I was dreaming of a better life when the ice-cold bucket of water jarred me awake from the nightmare, but no such luck.
Seriously? Wasn't keeping me locked in this freezing barn enough torture? I could barely feel my numb toes.
Blinking away the stinging streams of water, I glared up at my tormentor through stringy tangled strands of soaked golden hair plastered across my face.
Bryard, the level 50 Punisher who had whipped me bloody just yesterday, leaned over me with that infuriatingly smug grin twisting his thin lips, holding an empty bucket.
He knew I hated him with every fiber of my being, just as I was certain the feeling was mutual ever since I stopped him from whipping innocent little Anyae.
I wouldn't put it past the sadistic bastard to have sworn a vow to make my life a living hell from that day forward.
"Wakey wakey, sunshine. Ready for another round of fun?" He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
By "fun" he meant whipping me unconscious again. I wanted to spit in his face, but thought better of provoking him while I'm defenseless like this.
"No." I said, my voice hoarse.
"Learned your lesson?" He asked, malice gleaming in his eyes..
I nodded, the bald-faced lie bitter as ashes on my tongue. I would never allow him or his people to truly break me.
But for now, starved and weakened, I had no choice but to play the cornered prey waiting for an opportunity to turn the tables.
A tiny dark voice at the back of my mind wondered...if they ever slipped up and left my manacles too loose, even for an instant, could I bring myself to do what my twisted sister would do and slaughter them in cold blood as they slept?
Bryard's smirk widened as he jerked cruelly on the chains suspending my wrists, twisting my shoulders until I groaned at the blazing agony.
He hauled me staggering to my feet, sunlight streaming through the cracks to sting my light-starved eyes.
Beyond the barn's entrance, black plumes of smoke coiled upwards into the pale morning sky. It wasn't the friendly scent of a mere chimney, but the reek of a raging inferno.
Bryard tossed me a bundled set of clothes and released me from the shackles just long enough to change into the damp, white pajamas.
He didn't care that the new ones were soaked from the buckets freezing contents. As soon as I'd struggled into them, he yanked me forward by the chain, dragging me outside into the weak morning light.
Loud chatter and the shuffle of many feet met my ears—it sounded like people were gathering in masses.
"Here they go again." Bryard groaned, rolling his eyes.
I followed his gaze to see a large crowd huddled along the road up ahead. In the distance, two heavily loaded wagons trundled slowly closer, pulled by straining horses.
"There's been another attack in Tyr after fifteen years. Does that mean we're next?" Someone asked fearfully.
"What's the point in asking?" Another asked bitterly. "The Vatican has washed their hands of the Free Cities. We worship our gods and they worship theirs."
The other thralls were being brought out from their quarters to join the growing crowd. I spotted Trynton leading them, but he didn't look my way. I understood—if he showed me any kindness again, we'd both risk being punished.
I shivered violently in just soaked pajamas as the wagons rolled to a stop before us all. A foul, unmistakable stench wafted off them. The reek of death.
My breath caught as I saw they were piled high with corpses—men, women, even children. Shredded beyond recognition, blank eyes staring at nothing. These poor souls would receive no proper burial, just dumped into another mass grave.
"We're next, I know it," a woman's trembling voice rang out as she stared at the grisly sight. Following her gaze, I noticed scraps of white cloth like my pajamas amidst the tangle of bodies.
As workers started unloading the corpses, I felt sick. There was Anyae's slender form, lifelessly trapped beneath two others.
I couldn't believe it. Anyae was dead. It was just yesterday she was shoving warm bread into my mouth with her trembling hands, cold from the winter weather she walked through for me.
Now she was nothing but a hollow doll tossed amongst the other fallen, their once vibrant lives snuffed out like a flame on a candle's wick.
"Tyr," a woman across the road murmured, tracing a star symbol in the air before bowing her head. "The closest and most vulnerable of the Free Cities."
Tyr...I remembered Bryard and another Punisher discussing it at yesterday's auction.
It was Anyae's hometown; a place Dad had described as blessed with snow-capped mountains and windswept meadows.
But how could gentle Anyae be among the slain if the attack occurred so far from here?
A man slapped the hind of the two horses and the wagon started moving again.
"Where are they taking them?" A villager asked the woman.
"Reaper's Gate. To burn the remains," she replied with a shudder. "The Saints know we can't risk any more Vassals roaming freely."
[System Notification: You have unlocked 1 new term and 1 map location!]
A whip cracked the air, the phantom sting making me flinch as if I'd been struck, pulling me from eavesdropping on the hushed conversation.
"Move it, maggot!" Bryard's bark sent spittle flecking my face as he shoved me, nearly pitching me to the frozen ground before I caught my balance.
Anyae's face swam before me, her warm smile fading like last night's campfire as I was herded over to join Trynton and the other miserable thralls chained together.
Bryard secured me at the rear, and I fell into step behind the shuffling line, my mind still whirling.
What did they mean by "Vassals"? The term rang no bells, same as this "Reaper's Gate"—places and concepts Dad had never prepared me for in all our world building sessions.
He'd spun me countless tales from Dawnbreaker's fantasy universe, leaving me addicted to the magic and mythology until my mind overflowed. But half the character backstories and plot details blurred into an indistinct haze now that I walked knee-deep in their chilling reality.
Except the game had changed. My father had changed. The rift between us grew year after year until eventually it had become a chasm too wide to cross.
I'd purged my room of his creations—every leather-bound notebook filled with lore and scripts, the discarded sketches of fantastical creatures and the prototype game CD's he let me play.
We never fixed our relationship long enough for me to play the official game before I died.
But Anyae... why was she caught in the web of a game I didn't even fully understand? And what did it mean for me, the forgotten character, the one left wandering on the periphery of a story gone rogue?
As we passed the wagons again, there was someone else standing there with their back visible, staring down at the bodies. They wore thick furs and had a hood pulled up over their head.
Even so, I could see a flash of their priest robes near the neckline.
It was an odd thing to see in the Free Cities considering Dark Priests turned their backs on anyone who lived there.
My eyes returned to the horizon, searching for any sign of hope as they dragged us to a small tent, the chill barely yielding to the faintest flicker of warmth inside. Better than nothing, I supposed, though that wasn't saying much.
Crammed around a sputtering fire, we watched as a Punisher dole out tin plates piled with a grey slop. My stomach growled at the sight even though I hated the way it looked and smelled.
But hunger was hunger, and escape from this hell required every ounce of strength I could muster.
Snatching the offered plate, I gobbled down the slop, mimicking the animalistic feeding frenzy around me. If I was in my world, mom would've nagged at me to use my silverware, but here, that seemed like a luxury these beasts wouldn't afford their prey.
"That's a Dark Priest," A boy beside me muttered, caramel eyes fixed on the tent flap. Dark brown curls framed his tanned grime smudged face.
Licking my greasy fingers, the aftertaste of oil and water coating my tongue, I asked, "Who's a Dark Priest?" following his gaze.
Through the tattered fabric, I saw him—the hooded figure from earlier.
"Is he here because of the talk of another Daemon attack?" I pried, a knot of fear twisting in my gut alongside the flicker of morbid curiosity. My lips puckered as I gulped down water from a chipped stone bowl. It tasted wrong, and I could feel the gritty texture of dirt against my tongue. "Ack."
The boy shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "He won't last long trying that here. He's on his first mission."
Other thralls stole glances towards the Dark Priest, their silence speaking volumes.
Was I missing something?
There was a shift when the other Punishers noticed this Dark Priest, they watched him take in the wounds of the dead piled in the wagon, and when he turned to leave through an alleyway, the Punishers who'd noticed him followed.
What were they going to do?
New Side Quest: [Stranger in a Strange Land]
[ Ψ Follow the low-class Punishers to start the journey of learning their strife.Ψ ]
Objective: Understand the Punishers' plight 0/1
Reward: Punishers' Insight—a passive manipulation skill that increases empathy and understanding, leading to better interactions with a Punisher.
Upon reading the notification that popped up; I waited for Trynton and Bryard to go to the other tent to feed the other thralls, then slipped out to follow the low classed Punishers, knowing all too well I was getting myself into something I shouldn't have.
But I felt I didn't have a choice, and I certainly didn't want to wait and find out what would happen if I ignored the system.
Maybe I'd learn something, like a way to get out of this damn thrall camp.