1765 quickly realized that someone was watching him. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but with his enhanced senses, detecting furtive glances had become instinctive. SILAS typically didn't alert him to non-hostile presences, so he had to remain vigilant himself.

Forcing a small smile, 1765 spoke without turning his gaze:

—Hello. If you'd like, you can come closer and eat. I've prepared breakfast.

With a slight gesture, he pointed to the pile of cooked meat on some stones near the fire. He had gone hunting for rabbits early that morning, and now their skins lay to the side, washed and spread out to dry—a process he had thoroughly mastered.

The girl watching him from the entrance of the cave seemed hesitant. Her small fingers clenched her tattered clothing, and her face bore a mix of fear and confusion. 1765 understood her reluctance, so in a calm tone, he added:

—Don't worry. The food isn't poisoned, and I don't plan to hurt you.

She hesitated, but the tempting aroma of roasted meat proved too strong. She took one step forward, then another, and finally came close enough to take the piece of meat 1765 held out to her on a stick. Her hands trembled slightly as she received it.

She took a bite. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was delicious—far beyond anything she had ever tasted. In the cage, the food was nothing more than a mixture of scraps, a tasteless, disgusting paste. This… this was something else. Her face lit up with a small smile as she continued eating, bite after bite, until the meat was entirely gone. She stared sadly at the empty stick, as if hoping more food would miraculously appear.

1765 let out a small laugh and handed her another piece. This time, the girl didn't hesitate; she took it and devoured it eagerly.

The scene didn't go unnoticed. Another former slave, drawn by the smell, cautiously approached. 1765 offered them a piece of meat without hesitation. Hunger overpowered their distrust, and they accepted silently. Gradually, more and more of the group began to wake. Murmurs rose as the aroma of cooked meat filled the cave. One by one, with growing courage, they approached the fire. 1765 simply handed out portions without saying a word, ensuring everyone received something to eat.

One of the young men, likely the eldest of the group, took his portion with trembling hands and held it for a moment before taking a bite. His eyes closed slightly as if he was trying to contain an unfamiliar emotion.

For them, this wasn't just a simple breakfast. It was the first time in a long time that they tasted real food—the first time they ate without orders from a master, without fear of someone snatching it away from them.

1765 observed the scene silently. As he watched the freed slaves eat, he noticed something: their expressions, though tired and marked by suffering, held a glimmer of something new.

Hope.

Before long, everyone was satisfied. For the first time in their lives, they had eaten something delicious to their fill. For many, it felt like paradise, but soon they would have to wake from the dream.

The eldest slave looked at 1765 with trepidation. His hands balled into trembling fists before he spoke, his voice barely audible, laden with fear and contained gratitude:

—Thank you so much, sir, for giving us this delicious food. To be honest, we don't know what to do. We're just ignorant slaves, but even we know what awaits us if we stay in the Empire. I've heard that people like us aren't welcome on this continent, so we have no idea where to go. Do you know of a place where we could go?

As the slave spoke, the others lowered their gazes. Their faces reflected anguish, pain, resignation, and an overwhelming fear of an uncertain future. Some hugged themselves, others pressed their lips tightly together, struggling to hold back tears. The cave, which for a brief moment had been a refuge of warmth, was once again steeped in the weight of despair.

1765 closed his eyes for a moment and then let out a deep sigh. His voice rang out firmly:

—1765.

A murmur rippled through the group, confused and expectant.

—Pardon, sir? —asked the young slave, frowning.

—1765. That's my name, just a simple number. I imagine all of you must have a similar number.

A deathly silence fell over the group. All eyes were fixed on him now, waiting with bated breath. 1765 continued, his calm tone barely disguising the bitterness in his words:

—Like you, I was a slave. A slave born in the mines.

The impact of his words hit like a blow. The slaves exchanged glances, their expressions shifting between astonishment and disbelief. But soon, a question they dared not voice began to fill their minds.

How was it possible? How could a slave be so strong? He hadn't just freed them; he had also defeated the fearsome Dominus, the all-powerful sorcerers of the Empire.

Indómitos had never stood a chance against the Dominus. And yet, here he was—defiant, alive, and free.

Seeing the puzzled looks from the group, 1765 continued:

—You're probably wondering how it's possible. How I can fight against the Dominus.

Some slaves seemed to nod slightly at his words.

He smiled faintly.

—It was simply a combination of ingenuity, training, and weapons. It's easier than you think, but that's a topic for another time.

He straightened up and addressed them seriously:

—As far as I'm concerned, you have two options right now. You can leave and try your luck. This world is vast, and who knows—maybe there's a place out there that will accept you. But unfortunately, I can't accompany you if you choose that path.

He continued:

—The other option is to follow me. I don't live in the best place in the world, but it's relatively safe. However, the journey is long. It could take three or four days, and some of you might not make it. The decision is yours, and I'll respect whatever you choose.

He sat back down, leaving the group of slaves to their thoughts, weighing their choices.

Without much hesitation, the girl approached 1765 and gently took his hand before saying in a trembling voice:

—2876. That's my name. I want to stay with you, sir.

1765 smiled and shook his head softly.

—You know, I'm not a "sir." I'm only 12 years old.

The group of slaves fell silent. Surprise was written all over their faces. To them, 1765 was a warrior—someone unreachable. The girl frowned, raised her small hands, and began counting on her fingers. After a moment, her gaze locked on him with amazement.

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—Twelve years? I'm eleven…

The disbelief was palpable. 1765 was tall for his age, his strong build and intimidating presence making him appear older than he truly was. Yet, to these slaves, he was still a child, just like them.

A murmur began to rise among the youth. Inspired by the girl's courage, one by one, they started introducing themselves.

—3259… I want to stay too.

—1984… I'll stay with you.

—4501… I'd rather follow you than wander aimlessly.

Their names, mere numbers assigned by their captors, were shared in resigned tones. Some spoke their numbers hesitantly, as if still unaccustomed to the idea of introducing themselves in such a way. Others said theirs more firmly, accepting that, while their lives had changed, the shadow of their past still loomed over them.

The group exchanged glances—some uncertain, others curious and expectant. The sun rose slowly in the sky, and the murmur of their voices filled the space, making them feel, for the first time in a long time, that they weren't alone. They were sharing something beyond mere survival.

1765 observed each of them. They were children and adolescents like him, but they had endured far more suffering than anyone should ever bear. He took a deep breath and spoke firmly:

—It will be a difficult journey, but if you've decided to follow me, I promise I'll do everything I can to help you survive.

The youth nodded. There were no more doubts. Together, they would begin a new life.

As the morning progressed, conversations among the former slaves became more fluid. They started talking to one another, sharing their stories, fears, and hopes. For the first time in a long while, they stopped seeing themselves as mere numbers and began to recognize each other as people.

Some offered to gather provisions, while others searched the cave for useful materials. Their decision to follow 1765 seemed to imbue them with a newfound energy, motivating them to prepare for the journey ahead.

1765 watched them silently, a faint smile on his face. He couldn't promise them an easy future, but at least tonight, they had taken their first step toward freedom.

The group left the cave at dawn, the morning chill still clinging to the ground. The path ahead was uneven, with steep hills and rough terrain that forced them to tread carefully. Despite their frailty, the former slaves kept pace, driven by the hope of reaching safety.

1765 led the group with steady strides, his trained eyes scanning the surroundings. He carried the rabbit skins with him, still damp but essential for the journey. The young slaves, though weary, pushed themselves to match his rhythm.

The first day passed in tense silence. Only the crunch of branches underfoot and the whisper of the wind among the trees accompanied them. They stopped occasionally to drink from streams or rest in the shade of large rocks. The trek was grueling, and for some, it was almost too much.

One of the youngest, 3259, stumbled on a rocky path and scraped his knee. 1765 stopped, examined the wound, and efficiently improvised a bandage from one of the rabbit pelts.

By nightfall, they camped in a clearing surrounded by tall trees. The fire 1765 lit provided warmth and a sense of security. Dinner was sparse but enough to keep them going. As the flames danced, some of the group began to talk, sharing fragments of their past lives. 1765 listened quietly, knowing that this exchange was a small step toward healing.

The second day brought a greater challenge. Around midday, as they crossed a rocky area with thick underbrush, a roar echoed through the air.

A large feline, with sharp fangs and hungry eyes, emerged from the bushes. The former slaves stepped back in fear, but 1765 didn't hesitate. He positioned himself between the beast and the group, holding an improvised knife in his hand.

The animal leapt at him with a fierce jump. 1765 rolled to the side, avoiding the strike, and with precise calculation, plunged his knife into the creature's flank. The feline roared in pain and retreated. Unwilling to fight a prey that had hurt it, the beast eventually slinked back into the brush.

The slaves watched the scene in awe. 1765 took a deep breath and sheathed his improvised weapon.

—Let's keep moving. We're not far now.

The third day was the most exhausting. They climbed a steep hill and crossed slippery terrain. Feet ached, stomachs growled, but no one complained.

Finally, as the sun began to set on the horizon, they reached the edge of a dense, silent forest.

1765 allowed himself a faint smile.

—This is the Silent Forest. I know it looks frightening, but it's the safest place we can go.

The young former slaves gazed at the dark landscape with traces of fear, but after the events of the past few days, they trusted 1765. Without hesitation, they followed their leader into the thick woods.

The forest was just as 1765 remembered it—gloomy, gray, and eerily silent. There were no plants or signs of life within, only twisted trunks and a heavy, oppressive air that enveloped everything.

The slaves walked quietly, their hesitant footsteps echoing on the bare ground. They glanced around warily, but 1765 moved forward without hesitation, and they followed. As they ventured deeper, the initial fear began to fade. They had endured so much that the fear of nature seemed insignificant compared to what they had already suffered.

Night fell quickly, and unlike the previous evenings, 1765 didn't seek a cave or natural shelter. He simply stopped in a clearing and instructed the group to sleep on the ground.

Some of the former slaves had improvised sleeping sacks from rabbit pelts, branches, and leaves gathered during the journey. They settled onto the cold ground and, exhausted from the trek, soon fell into a deep sleep.

Not one of them had been left behind—every one of the 45 who started the journey had made it this far.

As always, 1765 kept watch while the group slept. Sitting on a rock, he surveyed the surroundings, his senses on high alert. Despite the apparent calm of the forest, his instincts told him to remain vigilant. SILAS hadn't detected any hostile presences, but caution was never wasted.

The next morning, the former slaves woke early and began gathering their belongings. Without needing any instructions, they tidied up their makeshift camp and prepared to continue their journey. It was a routine they had already mastered.

However, before resuming their trek, they needed to eat. 1765 had already lit a fire and was cooking meat over the embers. This time, though, the meal had something different. Alongside the meat, he had added some fruits he had collected from the forest.

The fruits from the Silent Forest were peculiar. For most people, they would likely be poisonous. However, 1765, thanks to the metabolic modifications implemented by SILAS, could consume them without harm. This time, he had a plan.

SILAS had devised a method to reduce the fruits' toxic effects through a cooking process and by combining them with meat. If their calculations were correct, the mixture could act as an energy supplement without causing severe side effects for the former slaves. It was a calculated risk, but a necessary one.

1765 removed the meat from the fire and distributed it. The slaves looked at it cautiously, but their hunger eventually won out. They took the portions with their hands and began eating. The taste was unusual, with a slightly sour tang, but tolerable.

For the first few minutes, 1765 watched in silence, vigilant for any reactions. Gradually, he observed the exhausted bodies regaining energy. The heavy gazes lifted, and their movements became more fluid. The experiment had worked.

The group traveled through the forest for an entire week. Food had to be rationed carefully. While 1765 could sustain himself on the fruits of the forest, the others could not. Fortunately, the juice from these fruits enhanced the energy from small portions of meat, enabling the group to stay on their feet and keep moving.

The journey was not only long but increasingly treacherous. The mountain that connected to the valley was an extension of the Silent Forest, with narrow paths and precarious crossings. The dry trees persisted, though less densely, and sunlight managed to filter more easily through the rocky crevices. The air remained thick, but with each step, they felt closer to their destination.

Finally, after an exhausting week of travel, the group emerged from the wooded area and reached a high clearing. From there, they could see the valley stretching out beyond the mountain. The view took their breath away.

In the distance, right at the edge of the Silent Forest, stone and metal structures aligned with unusual precision. These were not abandoned ruins but active constructions. Silhouettes moved among them, their motions mechanical and repetitive. Small humanoid figures worked in perfect coordination, transporting materials and reinforcing buildings.

"What is that?" one of the former slaves asked in a hushed tone.

1765 narrowed his eyes. They weren't people. They were golems, human-sized, functioning with inhuman efficiency. They moved with precision, as though following a clear purpose, but there were no signs of a master directing them.

The group stood in silence, watching the scene with a mixture of awe and mistrust.

1765 nodded slightly, unsurprised. This was exactly what he had hoped to find.

The former slaves exchanged glances, unsure if what they were seeing was a threat or an opportunity. The air felt heavy, laden with uncertainty.

"Let's go," 1765 said firmly, though his gaze remained fixed on the mysterious settlement waiting for them in the valley.