The great Arks, living ships of near-indestructible magical witchwood, made excellent time across the water, their massive bulk now pushed and pulled by the gigantic leviathans that made the deep places of the sea their home. Great cheers were raised when the ships made landfall on the western continent.

- On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar circa 103 AC.

Half a day of grueling labor had been an exhausting, yet strangely relaxing experience. There, in the mine, it was just my pick and me waging a never-ending war against the rock. It reminded me of the time when I washed dishes for a summer job. The dirty plates piled high with leftover delectables, more arriving at an increasing pace throughout the night until finally, it was closing time. Muscle memory took over, and the mind was free to think of other things.

The pull of the chain from the line snapped me from my reverie of the past, and my hobbled feet almost stumbled as we were led to our next destination. The heavy ore-filled wicker basket’s straps cut painfully into my shoulders as we moved. Passing by a sorting area, we deposited the load as instructed before filing off and continuing our weary march.

We arrived at our final destination, a compound surrounded by tall walls of smoothly quarried stone. A single gate led into the place, and we were herded through like tired cattle after a long day of grazing. On our left, as we entered the walled slave pens, flowing water ran across a rough-cut line in the stone floor. It rushed fast like a mountain stream before disappearing into a large metal grate running into the ground.

As we passed by, elderly slaves of both sexes stooped and hunched, washing clothes and other miscellaneous items, with their eyes held low as the guards passed. We were corralled into another area and handed over our various tools to some official-looking guards, who counted and recorded them on tablets. Another group of cruel-eyed guards took us to an area with slaves in various states of undress, washing in the cool open air with cupped hands along a shallow stream that flowed into a rusty iron grate.

"Wash here. Relieve yourself down by the grate," instructed a guard with a large pole flail, his voice bestial in its implied promise of danger. It appeared that my captors had some idea of the importance of hygiene in efficiently maintaining a slave population. After all, disease could run rampant if basic levels of cleanliness were not observed.

Even here, at the bottom rung of society, a pecking order was established. Those who were more belligerent or stronger took a place near the source of the flowing water, while others made do further downstream with the dirtier remnants. With my bladder painfully swollen, I made my way down to the grate to relieve myself.

After fulfilling my bodily needs, I moved back upstream to a place with cleaner water. But a huge block of a man shoved me back with a grunt. Tilting my neck upwards, I saw blonde hair hung in loose locks, dripping water. A chiseled jaw and an aquiline nose were set in a face that looked like it was carved from hard stone and cold blue eyes the color of glaciers dared me to try again.

"I am the first to wash," he drawled in a low voice, almost like a warning growl from a bear.

He raised a fist at me before turning away and going down to the water to bathe, cocky, slow, and sure in his arrogant stride.

The sudden threat of violence caused a spike of adrenaline, and my face flushed with anger. I checked my Status, preparing to reply in turn with violence, when a familiar gravelly voice piped behind me, “Don’t mind him, lad. Just wait your turn. We’ll all get there eventually. The guards will beat you twice as hard if they see you fighting here.”

Turning around, I recognized the wide frame of Durhit, his eyes dull with exhaustion. I was in no shape to enter combat anyway, and the threat of punishment kept me in check for all but a split second.

I was about to thank him for his sage advice, but something gnawed at me. A seed of violence that had been born in the arena. Having faced bullies before, I felt it necessary to show at least some form of resistance. It wasn’t just about who got to clean themselves first anymore. If I accepted this treatment, I would be accepting it for the rest of my time here. I’d had enough of it in my old world, I wouldn't have it here.

Absently, I also noticed that my recent gain in Strength had led to a slight increase in my Health and Stamina, and that I had gained a modest amount of experience from toiling in the mines. Would it be enough for what I had in mind?

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Health: 58/80

Stamina: 24/38

Mana: 1/11

I pushed past some of the waiting slaves and found my target washing himself. At first, I only intended to prove that I was not easily cowed. However, his vulnerability as he lowered his face to the water to wash inspired something much darker in me. Although I learned some karate as a teenager at the local sports center for a few summers, I am no expert in martial arts, and I am not usually violent by nature. Nonetheless, my sudden transportation, the constant smorgasbord of pain just to survive, the always present threat of death, and my recently awarded victory at the arena unlocked something I think that all of us possess deep inside.

I threw a punch with all my weight and cold-blooded anger as I splashed into the water, aiming for the space just above the nape of his neck. With a closed fist full of rage, I connected with a meaty wallop. By some stroke of luck, the titan of a man fell into the water, stunned. Falling on top of him, I grabbed his head and kept smashing it against the cold, hard stone with my hands. The water began to turn crimson, and the slaves parted away from me like Moses before the Red Sea, fear etched in their stupid bovine eyes. They looked at me as if I were some sort of wild animal. I then got up quietly, walked a little further from the spreading crimson, and washed my face in cleaner waters.

After splashing my face a few times, notifications flashed across my inner vision, and I could not help but laugh. It appeared that my karate classes had paid off, and a green belt equated to about level three in terms of skill in this world.

You have slain a Human 240 experience gained.

You have learned Backstab (lvl.2)

You have learned Unarmed Combat.

You have learned Unarmed Combat (lvl.2)

You have learned Unarmed Combat (lvl.3)

You have learned Critical Hit Mastery (lvl.2)

You have gained 1 Strength.

You have gained 1 Dexterity.

You have gained 1 Luck.

You have reached level 6.

3 unassigned attribute points.

1 unassigned skill point.

Something inside of me probably broke then as I kept laughing at the sheer absurdity of my new reality. This was a world that rewarded violence and death. If this wasn't a game, then what was it? The notifications confirmed it; I had killed a no-name human NPC and was rewarded for it.

The guards came for me then, a new cautious respect in their eyes now, wielding long-poled man catchers and wicked whips. I was mentally exhausted, my pent-up anger and frustration fully spent in my cathartic explosion of violence. Raising my hands in the universal sign of surrender, I accepted my fate. As they closed in, I hurriedly increased only my Strength and my Heal spell.

After capturing me, they beat me, expressionless in their discipline. Like good workmen, they went about their task diligently, going over me with the effortless rhythm of a task practiced so many times it had become rote. I was dragged to another cell, raised high up on chains attached to my manacled wrists. With my Health already quite low, I was forced to endure the lash. Many times, I thought the pain was too great, and I felt myself sinking into the blessed refuge of unconsciousness.

However, they were experts in their craft and would not allow me to fall into insensibility, splashing me with water or targeting a particularly sensitive nerve with their cruel irons. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of suffering, my throat hoarse from long-running screams, they left me to welter in the dark. As some sort of consolation prize, I was given a new notification, which caused another round of whimpered sobbing.

You have gained 1 Constitution.