Chapter - 19
Ironhelm, Kingdom of Avele, Mirntha
"Quickly get these men in the cages. We're short on time here," a man barked furiously, surveying his workers as they corralled the ragtag group of captives. The men were bound in ropes and chains, some barely clothed in tattered rags. They stumbled and fell as they were dragged toward the waiting cages on the carriages.
Among the captives was one man who stood out from the rest. He wore a battered cowboy hat, a faded blue checkered shirt that had seen better days, and black jeans tucked into worn, scuffed boots. His brown hair, unkempt and falling over his brow, partly obscured his piercing blue eyes that darted around the scene, filled with confusion. This man was Jacob Turner.
Jacob couldn't fathom what was happening. The last thing he remembered was the chaos in the saloon—the deafening sound of gunfire, the searing pain as bullets tore through him, and the cold, creeping darkness of death. Yet, here he was, very much alive, lying on the forest floor. How had he survived? Where was he? Nothing made sense.
Before he could even gather his thoughts, two rough men had descended upon him, tackling him to the ground with brutal efficiency. They bound his wrists with coarse ropes and hauled him to his feet, forcing him to march toward the carriage just a short distance away.
"Look here, boss!" one of the men called out, his voice thick with arrogance. "We caught some prime stock, and it didn't even put up a fight," he added with a sneer, shoving Jacob into one of the cages. The metal bars clanged shut, trapping him inside with a huddled group of scrawny captives, most of whom looked like they hadn't eaten or slept in days.
The boss, a cold-eyed man with a cruel face, glanced at Jacob with interest. "Where'd you find him?" he asked, his gaze narrowing as he sized Jacob up.
"Near the trail. We went for a piss and saw him wandering around, looking lost. His clothes are weird—definitely not from around here. Probably got separated from a caravan heading to Ironhelm City," one of the men explained.
The boss nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "If he's good merchandise, you'll get your cut. But if this turns into a problem, you two will pay for it," he warned, his voice dripping with menace.
"What about his slave certificate, boss?" another man asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.
The boss let out a harsh laugh. "Slave certificate? That's the least of our worries. I can forge one in no time. Now quit asking stupid questions and get back to work."
Jacob sat in stunned silence, his mind reeling from what he was hearing. Slavery? Certificates? Ironhelm City? None of it made any sense to him. Only moments ago—or what felt like moments—he had been dying in a saloon. Now he was alive, captured, and being treated like cargo. How was this possible? His hands clenched into fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, but he stayed quiet, afraid of drawing attention.
The carriage began to move, bumping along the rough forest trail. As the hours passed, Jacob's bewilderment only grew. He'd tried convincing himself this was just a dream, but the pain in his wrists from the tight ropes and the cold bite of the metal cage were far too real. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered under his breath, anger starting to replace his confusion.
Suddenly, something strange appeared before his eyes—a shimmering green text, floating in midair as if written in the very air itself:
Welcome Back
Jacob blinked, certain he was hallucinating. He turned his head, hoping the strange vision would vanish, but the words followed his gaze, stubbornly hovering at the center of his sight. No one else seemed to notice it; the other captives remained huddled in their misery, oblivious.
The words shifted, forming new sentences:
Your Trial Has Begun, Oh Weary Traveler
Jacob's pulse quickened. He shook his head, trying to dispel the bizarre sight, but the words remained, unwavering. He barely had time to process what was happening before the text changed again:
Kill the Cursed Lord, Save Mirntha
"Mirntha?" Jacob muttered in disbelief. "What the hell is Mirntha? And why am I supposed to save it?" His frustration mounting, he glared at the phantom text, half-expecting it to vanish. But the floating words remained, as if they could hear his very thoughts, and they shifted once more:
Succeed, and You Will Be Granted a Wish
Jacob let out a bitter laugh. "A wish?" he scoffed under his breath. "I didn't even want to live. What could I possibly wish for?"
But then, the words shimmered and morphed again, and the next message stopped him cold:
You Can Wish for Anything. Even Your Beloved Eliza
He stared at the words, his eyes fixed on the name 'Eliza'. His heart twisted painfully at the thought of her, the memory of her death still fresh and raw. Just as quickly as they had appeared, the words vanished, leaving Jacob in stunned silence.
"No, don't go! Tell me what you mean—tell me!" he shouted, his voice rising in desperation. His hands shook as he gripped the bars of the cage, his knuckles white. The other captives stared at him, a mix of confusion and pity on their faces, clearly thinking he had lost his mind. But Jacob didn't care. He couldn't care.
Scrambling to his feet, his shackles clinked loudly as he staggered toward the front of the cage. "Let me out! Let me out, you filthy scoundrels! I need to get out of here!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse with urgency. He rattled the iron bars, his wild eyes burning with desperation.