"In five years time, our master will enter a team of five into the Empire of Accard's Gladiator Tournament," Cameron said. "It takes place every five years. It's fought exclusively by Human slaves. Each fight is a fight to the death. The winning team of the tournament will recieve the Brand of Freedom, signalling them as officially free from slavery."

"That'll give us freedom." Ryan said. "But won't the result of that just be like when escaping via force? It's not like any elf will let us live anywhere or work anywhere. Most of us would just resort to banditry for a living anyway. "

"You'd be surprised. Those with the Brand of Freedom are well respected across the Empire and beyond. Many elves consider slavery as a rite of passage into society. They consider it a way for humans to redeem themselves."

"They want us to redeem ourselves?" He asked. "For what? I just got here."

"They believe us humans need to cleanse ourselves of the crimes our ancestors inflicted on elves hundreds of years ago."

Ryan sighed. Pure idiocy. Blaming someone for the actions of their ancestors was stupid enough, but neither him or any of the humans with him on that staircase were even ancestors of the humans that existed on this world. None of them came from this world or dimension in the first place.

"Cheer up," Cameron said. He chuckled at Ryan's angry expression. "I get that it's frustrating, but we won't be here forever. As well as getting the Brand of Freedom, which would make us immune to the effects of Slave Cuffs, but we'll also get a hefty sum of money. We could use that to travel to the Continent of Manra, and be truly free."

It'd still be difficult because regardless of how respected those with the Brand of Freedom Cameron optimistically claimed them to be, there were bound to be many elves, many of them very powerful, who'd disregard the laws and hunt them down out of pure rage or sadism. They could even do it out of paranoia, worrying that they could join the armies of the human kingdoms in the Continent of Manra, which he assumed were at war with the human hating elven Kingdoms of the Continent of Elain.

But it certainly increased their chances. So he wasn't suprised when he saw the slaves surrounding him all smile at Cameron, filled with hope by what he said. Despite the spiralling staircase they walked down getting darker and narrower as they finally reached the bottom, they appeared bright and cheery.

"Becoming gladiators could be quite promising for you all," Zack said. He smirked back at the slaves, derision in his eyes as he glanced up at them exit the spiralling staircase and walk into a narrow hallway. "But it'd most likely lead to your deaths."

The smiles of the slaves fell. Their straightened backs bent. Their hope didn't last all too long. Quite a weak hope to be broken down by such a light tap of reality.

"You're not helping," Cameron said, glaring at Zack.

Zack ignored Cameron. His eyes swivelled to Ryan. His smirk widened. "I saw how you grimaced when climbing out of that pit earlier. I saw you wail and cry when the soldiers threw you to the floor, and branded your nape."

"I saw you wail and cry when Countess Gladine shot green stuff at you with a weird stick," Ryan said with a shrug. "What's your point?"

"My point is that you're too soft to win anything." Zack's gaze swept across the rest of the slaves. "And that goes for the rest of you. I've spent this entire day being welcomed to new slaves, and you've all been disappointing. Scared over nothing. Crying over nothing. If you tried to become gladiators, you'd die when levelling up in the Continent of Mana. You wouldn't even get to the tournament's qualifiers."

"That's enough," Cameron said.

"If a few words was all it took to break them, then they never had a chance."

Ryan frowned. Zack had a point. Slaves all across the Empire would be participating. Maybe even beyond the Empire. They would be slaves who were probably born into it and strictly trained since birth to accquire as much XP as possible. But not just XP, they would've been practising basic martial skills since the day they learned to walk. How could Ryan compete against them? Except from a few drunken brawls and him mindlessly throwing bricks at Dan and those thugs, he never fought before. He wouldn't stand a chance.

Being yourself usually isn't enough. Sometimes you just have to know your place and give up.

Ryan and the rest of the slaves were silent as Countess Gladine led them down a hallway. This one was much smaller than the one they just came down from. There were no windows. There weren't smooth stone tiles on the floor or walls, there was just rough cobble. The ceiling was low, only a few inches above their heads. It was damp. Little drops of dirty water dripped from it. Flickering lanterns spread a dim orange lustre down the tiny tunnel.

Considering how dull and drab this hallway was, they must've been getting close to their slave quarters. His feelings of dread only intensified.

"What do you hope to achieve by trying to break them?" Cameron asked, breaking the silence. "Are you just breaking things for the sake of it?"

"They're liabilities," Zack scowled down at the slaves. "I'd be beyond annoyed if I ended up in a team with any of them. If they cared for anyone other than themselves, then they would give up any hope of becoming a gladiator."

Many of the slaves surrounding Ryan nodded, frowning down at the floor. Zack grinned and turned away, as if his job was done. He wasn't wrong. The tournament was fought in teams so it'd be wrong for any of them to bring the other gladiators down with them.

"Well," Cameron said, appearing concerned as he gazed across the group of downtrodden slaves. "I for one would encourage and support anyone who wanted to become a gladiator. Regardless of your current weakness or strength, you can always improve if you work hard enough."

Cameron frowned as he saw the slaves barely react to his comments, not convinced anymore by his optimism. They all knew the reality.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"But of course, I won't force any of you. Because the second choice is quite…" He paused and pondered. "…something as well."

The slaves perked up when they heard that, curious to know what the second option was. Ryan did as well. The reality of his situation hit him just as hard as the others. Becoming a gladiator didn't seem like much of an option anymore.

"The second choice is to become a household slave for Countess Gladine." The enthusiasm in Cameron's voice and body language faded a bit. He was clearly not all too interested in the idea of anyone becoming a household slave. "You'll be tasked with performing various household chores, like gardening, cleaning, stuff like that," Cameron was so bored with the idea that he even yawned. But the rest of the slaves were intrigued. It was a way of living that was safe and predictable. Much better than having to fight warriors, or worse, to the death.

It certainly attracted Ryan. Albeit, there was a slight resisting force. It was a voice of hope. But he ignored it. It was irrational.

"As a household slave you'll get paid a tiny allowance," Cameron said. "If you save up a certain amount of that allowance over the course of forty years, then you can use that money to buy your way to freedom."

The slaves all stared at Cameron for a bit, and then stared at the walls and floor. Pondering and mulling over their options. Most of them then eventually nodded to themselves.

Ryan didn't do anything. He knew that working as a household slave was the rational option, the one most likely allowing for his survival. But he had a latent feeling that desired for something more than mere survival.

There wasn't any thought behind that feeling. It was intense and it was growing, and it prevented him from nodding to himself like the others. Why? Why couldn't he just act and think practically? Succeeding as a gladiator wasn't possible. So why wouldn't this feeling disappear?

"Just to get a vague idea of how many would become gladiators, anyone who would, say 'I'", Cameron said.

Then there was silence. All Ryan could hear was the stepping of feet and the breathing of the slaves surrounding him. Countess Gladine glanced back at them and sighed.

Zack chuckled. But his brows furrowed as if he was slightly disappointed. Cameron frowned. He seemed to be hoping that more would have the recklessness to join him. Did he really believe that winning the tournament was feasible? What would it be like to see the world through such rose-tinted glasses?

"That's completely fine by me," Cameron said. He turned away from them. "As I said, I'm not gonna force any of you to do anything. You all recently died. I can imagine that none of you are interested in going near death again any time soon. You know how horrible it can be. But as you may have realised, I like to look on the bright side of things. Whilst we did die, and that's terrible, we're alive now. We fell, but we got back up. We breathed our final breath, but there's still air in our lungs."

So why waste this new opportunity on a reckless dream? Ryan thought to himself. I don't want to die again. I don't want to fail again. I don't want my heart to break again.

"The most painful thing about my death wasn't the blood leaking out of my head. It was the regret."

Ryan nodded. Getting stabbed was painful, but his feelings of helplessness, doom, failure, and regret felt much colder than the knife's steel. But no matter what he did, that was bound to happen again. If he died after fourty years as a household slave, he'd regret wasting those fourty years for a long life of freedom. If he died as a gladiator, then he'd regret not sacrificing those fourty years for a brief chance of freedom. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Unless he won, but that couldn't happen. Or could it?

He saw how strong Zack was. He saw how strong Cameron was. They were slaves, yet they took down a giant monster that dozens of affluent elves stood no chance against. It was a world where your destiny may not have been in your palms, but it was close enough to touch with the tips of your fingers.

"I spent most of my past life taking the safe and comfortable but empty path." Cameron said. "I don't see the point in living again if it's just gonna be like my last life. I'm not really afraid of getting my head bashed in anymore. I'm afraid of feeling that regret. So when I woke up from death, I chose to live differently. I chose the unsafe but fulfilling path. Because even if I fail, at least I could look back and know that I lived with hope filling my heart and guiding my actions, rather than letting fear weigh me down and make me small."

Cameron turned back to the slaves with a smile, expecting his speech to be responded to with a round of applause and roses thrown at his feet. But the slave's wrists were cuffed and there were no flowers to be found underground. None of the slaves looked at him at all. They didn't make a sound. They ignored him and his optimism. The only sound he was met with was Zack's laughter.

"You're ridiculous!" Zack cackled. "Back on Earth, were you one of those idiots filling the internet with images of corny motivational quotes that covered poorly edited stock images?"

"No," Cameron said, with a chuckle. "But I never found them all that corny, personally."

"Of course you wouldn't!" Zack laughed.

Ryan had to agree with Zack there, they were pretty corny and he wouldn't be surprised if a lot of that corniness was a result of Cameron making most of them. In any other circumstance he'd be laughing along with Zack. But he couldn't. That thoughtless feeling within him was stronger than ever. But now it wasn't just a feeling.

It told him to rage. It told him to fight. It told him to rebel against the world's cruelty and meaninglessness. Whilst suffering was the universe's most likely retaliation to courage, there was also a sense of pride that came from the mere act of trying anyway, and a sense of weakness in running away.

There was no reasoning. There was no evidence. There was no logic.

It was just an insatiable hunger that told him to fight for power, wealth, fulfilment, love and luxury, regardless of how dangerous striving for them may be.

That feeling finally told him something. It told him that life was hell, so he had nothing to lose.

"Well, that failed," Cameron said. He sighed and shook his head. "It was worth a try at leas-"

"I'll do it," Ryan said.

Everyone stopped. They turned to him. The slaves looked at him with widened eyes. Cameron looked at him with a surprised smile. Zack looked at him with a smirk. Countess Gladine stared at him with a blank expression, but curiously softened a bit. Softer than he ever saw it.

"I'll become a gladiator." Ryan declared. He grimaced at the floor, already regretting his decision. Both because he felt embarrassed by how unnecessarily dramatic he made his declaration, but also because thoughts of his recent death flashed through his mind. He'd likely be put in the same situation again. No, he wouldn't be put into it, he was walking into it.

But an image of his ideal future followed it. A smile spread across his face. He didn't want to smile, but the excitement that surged through him stopped him from doing anything else. He dragged his gaze up from the floor and up ahead of him, looking forwards towards his future.

"You won't just become a gladiator," Cameron said with a wide smile, slapping his palm on Ryan's shoulder and pointing a fist out towards him. "We'll be the winning gladiators."

Ryan didn't know if he could agree with that. He'd most likely lose and die before the qualifiers. He just knew that he'd feel better dying trying, than living with fear. But that didn't stop him from feeling the thrill. So he grinned wider than he had in a while, and bumped his fist against Cameron's.

He may not win, but he was excited to give it a try anyway.

Countess Gladine led them around a turn in the hallway and stopped. "We're finally here," She said. She gestured towards a door at the end of it. It was their slave quarters. "Your new home."