"YAAAAAAAWN!"
Michael Yuto stirred from the depths of sleep, a long, weary sigh escaping his lips as he faced yet another day marked by the familiar ache in his chest. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the grimy bars of his cell, casting a harsh light on the gray walls. The warmth of the sun felt strangely uninviting, a mockery of the hope he once had. Here, in this bleak existence, the weight of monotony pressed down on him like a suffocating shroud.
He knew he had to rise and prepare before the guards arrived. They were relentless, and he had learned the hard way that any sign of hesitation could lead to dire consequences.
"Clang, clang, clang!"
The sound of a baton striking metal echoed ominously through the corridor, signaling the guards' approach. Michael took a deep breath, steeling himself for the routine he had come to loathe.
But before I go further, let me share how I ended up here. My story isn't one of heroic fantasy or grand adventures. No, it's the tale of an ordinary guy who was unceremoniously reincarnated—or perhaps just transferred—to another world. I'm not entirely sure which it is; my memories began only when I was twelve. Now, at fourteen, I find myself grappling with a past I can barely recall.
Back in my previous life, I was nothing special. I spent my days working a soul-crushing job, dealing with a tyrannical boss, and living alone in a tiny, cramped apartment. I had dreams—like so many anime and manga protagonists—but those dreams seemed as distant as the stars. I often fantasized about a better life, one filled with adventure and purpose. Yet here I was, wondering if this new life was truly any better.
So, how did I die, you ask?
One evening, lost in thought while walking home, I tripped over a rock that I hadn't noticed. In a bizarre twist of fate, I fell into an open manhole—a gaping void that had no safety signs or warnings. I remember the sudden darkness enveloping me, followed by the sharp pain of impact. When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a different world, inhabiting a new body that belonged to a slave—a human servant to vampires. Fantastic, right?
In my past life, I was an avid fan of anime and manga, immersed in worlds filled with magic and adventure. I had always imagined that death might offer a second chance, perhaps with unique powers or a thrilling destiny. Instead, I woke up shackled, forced to labor for creatures of the night.
Let me paint a picture of this world. It's a twisted mirror of my own, where hierarchy and bloodlines dictate existence.
First, the ruling classes here consist of vampires and werewolves—beings that appear human yet possess terrifying powers. Humans like me? We are mere commodities, existing at the bottom of the social ladder. It's a cruel system: the higher your bloodline, the more power you wield. Those like me, born with no special lineage, are left to scrape by in a world that offers little mercy.
Second, there are three main races: vampires, werewolves, and humans. While vampires and werewolves vie for dominance, humans are often caught in the crossfire, treated as expendable assets. The vampires, currently the dominant race, control about 60% of the land, while the werewolves stake their claim on the remaining territories.
Lastly, humans are granted peculiar rights that are often meaningless. Breaking a law results in immediate death, but if a slave manages to earn enough money to buy their freedom, they gain a shred of respect. Yet every action a slave takes must be paid for—even the simplest tasks. It's a maddening reality: while a slave can be abused with impunity, a fine can absolve the abuser of any guilt. There is no higher power watching over us, no divine intervention to save the suffering.
Now, back to my tale.
Upon arriving in this cruel world, I inherited fragments of the memories of the former host of this body. It was a grim legacy; he had arrived with nothing and ultimately took his own life in despair. With scant resources and no guidance, I was thrust into a reality that felt more like a nightmare. The rules were harsh: any money earned by a slave is protected by an inexplicable magic; attempting to steal it results in instant death. It's a brutal existence, and I often find myself wondering how long it will take to gain my freedom—estimates suggest it could take fifty years of tireless work.
I've heard whispers among fellow slaves that upon gaining freedom, one is gifted a home and the chance to marry anyone, even if they are still a slave, as long as both parties consent. However, every slave bears a mark on their forehead, a permanent reminder of their status. Once a slave earns enough to buy their freedom, that mark vanishes, symbolizing their release from bondage.
Speaking of identity, my assigned name here is 000892, a sterile label that strips away any sense of self. Yet, among the other slaves, we choose our own names to retain our humanity. I decided on the name Leonard, inspired by a character I had admired in my previous life. At one point, I thought about calling myself Rimuru, after the titular character of "That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime," but ultimately, Leonard felt more fitting, a name I could hold onto as I navigated this bleak reality.
Lately, I've been working in the mines of a long-dead vampire king, a place whispered to hold treasures of unimaginable value. Yet, all that remains are ruins and darkness, and we slaves are tasked with digging out remnants for underground passageways to neighboring territories. Each morning, I wake at six, bathe, eat, and prepare for the relentless day ahead, all before the guards arrive to usher us to the depths below.
As I lay there, battling the weight of my life's misery, the guards stormed in, barking orders. It was time to descend into the mine—a shadowy, treacherous place fraught with peril. Many had perished in its depths, but the vampire guards guided us, their eyes glinting with a predatory hunger as they ensured we navigated safely.
Once inside the mine, we changed into tattered garments fit for labor, the air thick with dust and despair. The women were escorted to a cafeteria, while we men were led deeper into the darkness, where each of us was assigned a plot of land to excavate. Upon completion, we could rest until lunch—a brief respite I looked forward to with aching anticipation.
My designated section was near my friend John, whose presence provided a much-needed distraction from the oppressive atmosphere. After hours of relentless toil, my hands were raw and my lungs burned. I collapsed onto the cold, hard ground to catch my breath, when John, a mountain of muscle and energy, teased, "What are you slacking off for? Get back to work!"
I shot him a mock glare, my frustration bubbling over. "If you want to take my place, be my guest. It's not like I enjoy this," I shot back, letting my irritation seep into my words.
"Come on, I get it. But lunch is almost here! If you don't finish in time, you won't eat," he reminded me, his tone light yet serious.
His words were a grim reminder of our reality. The stakes were high: if I didn't complete my task, hunger would be my punishment. Angered, I seized my pickaxe and swung it with reckless abandon, letting my frustration fuel each strike. Just as I was about to wrap up, the lunch bell echoed through the mine, a sound both welcome and taunting.
Then John said to me the bell has rang and I shouted back"Don't I know that?" as if my ears aren't working or what, but my resolve hardening.
As the others rushed off, I found myself alone, the last worker still laboring in the depths. The guards had also left for their meals, leaving the mine eerily silent. I concentrated on finishing my section when, suddenly, my pickaxe struck something solid beneath the rubble—a resounding clang that reverberated through my bones.
Curiosity surged through me as I knelt to investigate. I uncovered a translucent orb, pulsing with a strange energy. As I touched it, a wave of power coursed through me, draining my strength and clouding my thoughts. Just before I slipped into darkness, a voice resonated in my mind: "You have opened the system bloodline. Do you accept? Yes or no?"
Without a moment's hesitation, I replied, "Yes."