Glauster and Gork sat around the only table of the cabin when Midday returned from his experiments with the Elvanerean Ring. Both were intensely focused on watching the battle between two beetles they had set out on the tabletop to duke it out.

Seeing as playing cards had been banned after someone with an uncatalogued Ability had used them to kill over a dozen guards in a failed escape attempt, the slaves of Elvanera Plantation oftentimes had to come up with unorthodox pastimes. There was a wide variety of weird hobbies among the slaves of the plantation, but the prevailing one in Slave Quarter #344 was beetle fighting.

Romulo had introduced the sport to the rest of the cabin about a month before, explaining that it was a popular tradition among his people, and the game had quickly become a hit. All four residents—including Midday—had their own resident beetle they trained (or tried to) for the sake of beating the beetles belonging to their fellow cabinmates in what essentially amounted to wrestling matches. The sport was fairly interesting to watch, and the participating beetles never got injured from the matches, so there were typically a handful of battles throughout the day. They had even gone so far as to make a leaderboard for their beetles, ranking them by their success in the ring, and Midday took some level of silent pride in the fact that his beetle, Mister Potatoes, was the reigning champion.

“How’s breakfast coming?” Midday walked over to the table and sat down to watch the match, which seemed to be in its final moments. Glauster’s beetle clearly had the edge, pushing Gork’s beetle closer and then closer still to the edge of the wooden plate they used as an arena. “Looks like we have a winner.”

“Not yet!” exclaimed Gork, who proceeded to give his beetle some encouraging words. “My beetle can still win.”

“Breakfast should be ready if you don’t mind taking the pot off the fire.” Glauster grinned, watching as his beetle approached its victory. “I was going to do it a few minutes ago, after the match, but Gork’s beetle is really fired up today. It’s taking longer than expected.”

“No worries.” Midday used a wooden ladle to pick up the pot and set it down on the dirt floor. He then grabbed three bowls from the nook above the fireplace and divvied out the chicken & lentil soup Glauster had prepared for them. He grabbed a bowl for himself and started toward the table.

Just a moment later, Glauster jumped to his feet, victory on his face. “Damn right!” He walked over to the leaderboard, which was a small slab of slate propped up against the wall, and used a soft piece of limestone to make a tally next to his beetle’s name. “That makes me tied for #2! Romulo and I will have to have a match this evening to settle the score. If he shows up tonight, that is…”

“I’d be shocked if he did.” Gork drew a deep breath. “He’s been pretty much nocturnal since last week. The last time I saw him was three days ago, and he’d only come back to have me treat his wounds. He left immediately thereafter.” He got up and set his beetle down near his bed.

“What a nut,” said Glauster as he reached for a bowl of soup, “But, with how hard he’s been been working, he’ll probably reach level 10 pretty soon, right?”

“Without access to a dungeon? I doubt it. He’s already plenty strong enough to hunt the monsters he needs for his level-up, but finding those monsters is the hard part. His XP gain has been slow, he tells me. Steady, sure, but definitely slow too. I reckon it will probably take him the better part of a year. Either that or he dies trying…” Gork grabbed a bowl of soup and sat down at the table.

Now that all three of them were at the table, the conversation inevitably turned to Midday and his current predicament. Gork was worried that Midday’s body would finally break under the stress of Jenjo’s torture, but Midday assured him that his will to live would get him through anything—at least for a few days. Glauster didn’t say much throughout the meal, but he promised Midday that he would try to help, at least a little, with Midday’s quota for the day because the aftermath of the torture would make it harder for him to work.

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Following the breakfast, all three grabbed their scythes and left the cabin: Glauster and Gork went to the fields to do their daily work while Midday started walking toward the officer cabin where his torture would take place.

♦

The officer cabin stood out starkly from the surrounding cabins. Despite being home to only two people—Jenjo, the head guard of Neighborhood 8, and his assistant, Mell—it was several times larger than anything else in the area (though it still only had a single floor). The place had a well-kept exterior, complete with a cozy porch and windows that had actual glass instead of simply being open air. As for the interior, Midday knew nothing. Torture was the only reason he had ever come here before, and that was always done outside in public where people could witness it.

Jenjo, a lanky man who always wore both a sword and a pistol on his waist, was already sitting outside in a nice rocking chair he kept out on the porch when Midday arrived. He closed the book he had been reading upon noticing that his guest had arrived. After hesitantly setting it down on a table beside him, he gradually rose to his feet.

“Ah, yes, I do believe someone was supposed to spin the wheel of games this morning.” Jenjo had a nasally yet deep voice that Midday hated as much as anything else about the plantation. “Was that you?”

“Erm, yes sir, I do believe so.”

“Good. Good.” Jenjo stepped off the porch and walked to Midday until he was less than an arm’s length away. “Follow me.” He started walking towards what Midday knew from experience was the main plaza area where all major public events were held: from mere general announcements to torture sessions to full-on executions, the plaza was the place where it all happened. “You know, I would prefer not to do this, but you really got to make your quotas.”

Midday said nothing. He knew from the other slaves that Jenjo was fairly easy to bribe, but he had nothing to offer. It was better, in that case, to simply stay quiet and let the process run its course. Other slaves, most of which had scythes on their backs because they were headed out to the fields, saw Midday walking behind Jenjo and murmured amongst themselves, but nobody said anything. It was better not to get involved with these things.

After a few minutes of walking, they arrived. A big circle, notable for the fact that it was paved with stone as opposed to simple dirt, greeted them. This was the plaza, and it was quite sizable. The sole structure in the area, however, was a simple wooden stage on which there was a brightly colored wheel divided into 8 sections, each labelled with a different punishment. Midday sighed, aware that in a few minutes his fate would be decided by luck. There was no real crowd in the plaza, per say, but there was a sizable amount of foot traffic running through the area because most people had to pass through the chokepoint on the way to work each morning.

“Alright, kiddo.” Jenjo shrugged. “I’m going to hurry through it today, if you don’t mind. Coffee with coworkers, you know how it is.”

Midday, in fact, did not know how it was, nor did he care. He was glad, however, to hear that the ordeal would be over soon after it began. He followed Jenjo up onto the stage.

“Eh-em! People of Neighborhood 8! Good morning to all!” Jenjo reciting his script, speaking to a crowd that continued walking as though they had heard nothing. “Today begins with this lazy fellow here! What’s your name, you lazy good-for-nothing?”

“Midday Sunson.” Midday tensed up as he read through the daily torture possibilities on the wheel. The punishments ranged from taking a swim in boiling water to having wasp eggs inserted into an open wound to straight up plain execution. All of the options were absolutely dreadful save for one: the section labeled ‘SAFE’. If he managed to land that, he would get off without any punishment at all. The chances were 1 in 8, so getting it wasn’t completely out of the question—though he still expected the worst.

“And why are you here, Midday Sunson?”

“I failed to meet my daily quota three times since the last time I came onto this stage. This is my punishment.”

“A punctual answer, Midday Sunson. Well said.” Jenjo frowned at the audience, which was practically nonexistent because everyone was on their way to work and didn’t have time to watch Jenjo’s silly show. They had all seen it enough times for the novelty to wear off by then. “Well… Let’s get to it then. Step up and spin!”

Midday meandered over to the wheel, stared at it for a few seconds, and then gave it the hardest spin he could muster.