Grinding Away at the Mines

You know, I really don't feel bad about dying. I died pretty young, around eighteen, and my life was decent throughout, but somehow I'm ok with losing that life. It's been around month and a half since I've been reincarnated, and I've accepted it pretty quickly.

Even now, as I'm slamming my pickaxe down into hard rock, I don't feel bad about having died.

"DIEEEEE!!!!"

But that's that, and this is this. I'm fine with dying and being reincarnated, but being a slave? Mining away in some dusty hole where the light doesn't shine?

"DIEEEEEEEE!!!"

It's enough to turn a man into an aspiring death-metal artist, screaming out against the injustices in life. Granted, my only audience is a pile of rocks and my only instrument is a worn pickaxe, but in the true spirit of death metal, fuck it.

"I don't know any lyrics~!" I scream while strumming my pickaxe like a guitar. "And I'm not good enough to make my own, so I'll just yell~~!" I sing with zero rhythm, just saying things for the sake of saying them.

"DIEEEEEE!!!" I scream while swinging away at the walls, taking out my frustration by dislodging piles of rocks.

"DI-" I continue at it, until from the corner of my eye I see something thin stick out from a crevice in the wall. I stop swinging and with a gloved hand, reach in and pull at the thin thing. With a few good tugs, a card enveloped with dirt and dust is revealed.

"Whew. That's the first card today." Blowing off the dust, the card reveals itself to be:

[Millennium Golem] [6] [ATK: 2000] [DEF: 2200]

"Trash card, as usual. Can't I get something that actually has an effect? Or at least a decent statline. This thing trades with [Gene-warped warwolf]."

Suddenly, an incessant ringing sound fills my tunnel, making me raise my hood and plug my ears.

"GET BACK HERE YOU MAGGOTS! IT'S TIME TO CHECK QUOTA!"

I don't think there's a worse sound down in these tunnels then that.

Reaching out for the protruding rocks, slowly I make my way up the hole I've dug. Going from crouching to crawling on my stomach, to crawling then standing, I return to a clearing tall enough that it barely nicks my helmet when I'm standing. 

"Yo Jay, it's time for quota!" I yell into the hole next to mine, shaking my glowstone torch like a traffic controller beckoning someone.

In a few moments, a brown-haired boy with blue eyes emerges from the hole, absolutely caked in dirt and dust. I help pull him up into the clearing, where he rises to the point his knees are fully straight, about the same height as me.

Except for his eyes, which are an incredibly bright blue in contrast to all this brown and grey, he looks like a typical mining slave: messy brown hair that looks like it's been painted with dust, ribs showing in between his ragged clothes and a hand full of bumps, callouses and nicked scars. When I lifted him up by his hand, it felt like I was touching sandpaper.

He gives me a tired smile.

"Well don't you look happy. Meet quota today?"

He takes me over to a empty corner of the clearing and reaches into his pouch very carefully, making sure the card he's pulling out is out of view. From beyond his fingers covering the card, I see something shining...wait, shining?

"Is that a royal rare!?" I scream and whisper at the same time, admiring the shiny foiling. It's the duelist in me: I can't resist shiny cards.

[Chewbone] [3] [ATK: 100] [DEF: 300]

I mean, it's not a very good card, but still. Shiny. Almost shiny enough to brighten up this horrible day, but not quite.

"I found it a moment ago." Replies Jay with a thin smile, putting the royal rare back. "What about you? Did you meet quota?"

"Do you think I did?" I reply, my voice dropping a few octaves without realizing. 

"...Again?" He remarks as we reach the main clearing all the outgoing caves connect to. Other slaves trickle in through various tunnels, lining up into three groups for their inspection.

"...It's okay. You'll be fine. You're fast, after all." He says, giving me a weak pat on the back. "You can..."

I see his hand reach down to his pouch, skirting around the string that keeps it shut.

"Don't you dare." I say, grabbing his hand and pushing him towards his line. "Just go and get your reward. I'll be fine. Like you said, I'm fast, right?" I try and give a reliable smile, but it really doesn't work. But, after a strong push, he relents and heads over to his group.

Because there are so many slaves here, instead of inspecting one by one they split us up into five groups, all under the supervision of one handler. I'm in group five and Jay's in group one, so we get our quota checked at opposite ends of the clearing. 

I take my spot behind about two dozen other slaves, and slowly the line shrinks. As I get closer to the handler, I hear his usual deadpan, grungy voice call out the same words.

"Number and Cards." He asks each time. Most slaves, or at least most of my fellow slaves here, are born in unfortunate circumstances that don't give them the luxury of a name, or are forced to cast them aside. The guy just in front of me was apparently born in a whorehouse and cast into the streets, eventually getting caught for thievery and tried into slavery. The guy to my right, in group two, was a prisoner of war, and as proof he had the tendons on his tongue cut. He can hardly speak properly, so he had his number burnt into his side in front of all of us.

"Number and Cards." 

"121, no cards." I say, displaying an empty hand. The handler notes it down, then gets up to pat me dry. Not that he needs to—there's no way you can hide cards wearing these rags.

Finding nothing, he calls next and points me towards the back, where I join my fellows who also missed quota. Steel handcuffs encase our wrists, keeping our arms glued together. They then hook a chain on a ring at the end, connecting everyone's cuffs to one another, then drag us down a dimly-lit tunnel accentuated by the occasional blood splatter and corpse. Every group is taken through a separate tunnel, all leading to a giant double gate guarded by two handlers. Before long, we, group 1, arrive.

"So, these are today's losers, huh?" Says one of the handlers, prodding at us with the blunt end of their spear. "Seeing a lot of familiar faces! 224, 452... oh, and 121!" he exclaims. "Surprised a brat like you is still alive! You're becoming a regular in the arena, you know? Think you've even got some fans in the crowds!" He jokes, prodding at my stomach with the sharp tip of the spear, pretending like he's going to stab me.

"But you know..."

Suddenly, he twists his spear up and lunges, making a clean scratch along the left of my face.

I scream, recoil and fall to the ground, nearly bringing everyone else down along the chain.

"Don't get cocky just because you've been in here and back a few times." Says the handler, crouching down to meet me in the eyes. "A brat like you can die anytime." He says, bringing the bloody edge of the spear right up to my face.

"But hey, with that scar, you're now a really recognizable face!" He says in a feigned high-pitch, happy voice. "Really building up your brand, 121!"

Suddenly, a booming knock comes from the other side of the double gate, rattling the steel bar that keeps the gate locked.

"Well, that's the signal." he says, signalling his partner. "Alright, you maggots. Have fun in there!" he says, heaving the steel beam off and pushing the gates open to reveal a giant, circular pit filled with sand.

They urge us in with the tips of their spears, nicking and scratching a few so the rest of us run inside in terror. They keep prodding at us until we're a bit off from the doors, then slowly close them.

"Good luck you maggots~!" adds the talkative handler before fully closing the door. Soon after, we hear a heave as they re-install the steel beam.

A few of the newbies, who's first time it is missing quota, panic at the sound, trying to run at the doors and bang on it. However, everyone's connected to each other by the chains around our handcuffs, so they don't get far before the steel stops them.

A sand pit surrounded by walls near three to four times our height, with five doors leading inside. A group of slaves stand in front of each door, all cuffed and chained together into an inseparable mass. High up, on the top of the walls, lie fences for you to lean on and watch the action, and beyond that are carved seats to lie on. Torches line the edge of the pit so the carnage will be well in view of the spectators up top.

Speaking of the spectators, here come their yells, the voices reverberating in the round walls.

"Come on, group 2! I've got a lot riding on you brats!"

There's about eight people in group 2.

"Fuck! Why is group 3 so few this time!"

I see five people in 3.

"Hey, don't sweat it! If there's only a few, that means they can move around better. I tell you, people think the strategy is to bet on the biggest group, but the meta is to actually bet on groups with less. Five's a good number."

We have about a dozen people in our group.

"Yo, is that 121! Nice scar, you brat!"

I got nicked a moment ago. It's still bleeding.

"Yo 121, you better win! I've got a lot riding on you!"

Shut up. I don't exist to get you a better payout.

"I've got a good feeling about group 4—think I'll go all in on them!"

Four people in group four. Isn't 4 the number of death or something?

"Hey, group five looks scared shitless. Guess we've got a lot of newbies in five today."

Five has about ten people, second only to us. Like that bastard said, their group looks quite nervous. A lot of newbies, probably—

...Wait.

"...Jay?"

Why is he here? He got a Royal Rare! He should be getting rewarded, not thrown in here with—

"LADS AND LASSES!"

At that booming call, the muttering among the spectators die down as they all turn to face him.

The head handler, and manager of this mine. A muscly, grotesque husk of a man, scarred across half his bald face and burnt to a crisp on the other half, he smiles with jagged, crooked teeth to yell in a gravelly voice:

"WELCOME TO THE WEEKLY BETTING POOL!"

Head Handler Ronovan.

"Now, while I'm sure all of you can tell, I'll officially announce the results of the first round!"

"Group 1, twelve!"

"Group 2, eight!"

"Group 3, five!"

"Group 4, four!"

"Group 5, ten!"

"Congratulations to the winners! Now, I'm sure a lot of you know the proceedings, but I'll say it again for the newcomers! If you won you can choose to cash out your winnings now, or you can choose to channel your winnings to the second round! For that, our handlers are 'handing' out the forms right now!" he says, holding up a small sheet of paper. 

"Rank each group in terms of how many survivors you think they'll have! The second round will start in just five minutes, so get your bets in quick!"

The spectators clamour and rush to get their bets in, and the handlers have their hands full with keeping track of the bets.

I run to the edge of the my group the best I can, being careful to not entangle the the chains.

"Jay!" I yell out. "Why are you here! What about your card?!"

He turns to face me, and I see that, on his side, the string that normally holds his card pouch has snapped, as if someone pulled it off—

"Did they steal it!?" I scream. "Did some bastard steal it!?!" I say, almost dragging my entire group with how much I'm writhing.

Jay gives me a weak, defeated smile. 

This is his first time missing quota.

"Alright everyone! It seems the bets have come in earlier than usual, so we'll be beginning now! Here are the rankings!"

On a giant stone plaque, the votes are painted on like so:

Group 2

Group 3

Group 4

Group 1

Group 5

It's a ranking of how people assigned their votes. The most-voted on order of most survivors to least.

"Fuck, people are starting to catch on to the small group meta!"

"Dude, why'd you vote on group 1? Are you crazy?!"

"Nah, this is strategy. Group 1 has a lot of experienced folk, especially 121. I think they can pull an upset, even with 12 people."

"Group 5's at the bottom, huh."

"Oh yeah. They're a big group with mostly inexperienced numbers. They're fucked."

"ALRIGHT EVERYONE!" he booms over the chatting crowd. "THE SECOND ROUND STARTS NOW!"

From a leather pouch on his belt, he pulls out a square metal case and lifts off the lid, sliding out a stack of cards. He then gives it a haphazard shuffle, then pulls out a card at random:

"Here is the monster for this week!" Holding the card out over the pit, both it and the deck start giving off a slight glow.

"I summon {Koa'ki Meiru Guardian}!"

The glow intensifies, growing into a giant mass that falls and crashes onto the middle of the pit, spreading sand everywhere and blowing us back. The glow fades to reveal a giant golem made of marble-like stone, armed with a stone greatshield and broadsword. Glowing white eyes peer at us form behind a stone helmet with large, bull-like horns protruding from it.

The crowd cheers, the slaves panic, and I steady myself once again. It's coming.

Remember how I said I'm fine with my reincarnation? I wasn't lying about that, but it was a bit misleading to say. I've accepted my death and reincarnation, and I've come to peace with leaving my old world behind. However...

"LET THE SECOND ROUND BEGIN!"

I don't accept this new life.