24 Consequences

It was a pity that Sturm was too exhausted to realize what was happening around him because he would have seen why Edgar chose Reinhardt to be his guard captain. The native mercenary wanted to kick the motionless Sturm on the ground once again, but the surprise effect was over, and there was no way Reinhardt would allow him to hurt his student any more.

Reinhardt grabbed Latif by his dreads and brutally threw him against the palisade like a sack of potatoes. The fortification broke down from the impact and buried the blood-coughing mercenary underneath. Latif tried to crawl out of the debris, but a shadow already loomed above him, prepared to hand out retribution. The last thing the native mercenary saw was a giant fist speeding towards his chin.

Reinhardt's overhand-right had his full weight and strength behind it. The guard captain was known for his inhuman strength, which even surpassed some of the nobles. Receiving an unhindered strike from the massive trunk Reinhardt called an arm was no different than headbutting a 1000kg heavy wrecking ball.

Edgar was already providing first aid for Sturm while shaking from rage.

Reinhardt used his shirt to wipe off the blood from his hand. "Boss, what do you want me to do with him?"

"Reinhardt, this is your fault. Clean up your mess." Edgar knew that no one could have expected that outcome, but that did not make him any less pissed.

The amicable former mercenary that often forgot how to hold back had a rather infamous past. In his mercenary days, Reinhardt was known as the Rampage Bear for both his strength and tendency to lose control during desperate battles, hacking apart both friend and foe. For the first time in years, Reinhardt felt the red veil cover his sight, and there was only one way to suppress it.

A beast unleashed onto Latif.

Guards soon arrived at the merchant's camp, alerted by the commotion. Ten black-armored guards with shield symbols on their armor were staring with their jaws hanging open, aghast at the terrifying scene in front of them. Part of the palisade was utterly demolished and in the middle of the wreck laid a bloody… something.

They barely recognized it as a body. Next to it stood a giant of a man, his upper body bare and with fists as big as coconuts. He used a blood-soaked cloth to wipe the blood off his pranks, but instead of removing the blood, it simply smeared it around.

<<What the hell had happened here?>> The guards' leader was too frightened to speak up. He did not get paid enough for this.

At this moment, Edgar got up and quickly approached the guards to explain the situation. The guards let out a gasp once again when they spotted the merchant's black-purple eye. They instantly turned furious. The merchant was their only way to conveniently purchase goods from the town without having to go there in person.

"Brave guards, thank god you are here! This crazy mercenary ruthlessly attacked me. I was going to pay him five silver coins for his help, but he demanded ten. When I refused, he suddenly punched me in the face!" Edgar cried out.

"He had the audacity to attack you with Reinhardt nearby? Is he insane?"

All the guards knew Reinhardt's fame and had a healthy amount of respect and fear towards him. Anyone who dared to provoke him had to be tired of living.

"No, Reinhardt was running an errand for me, and Latif, the mercenary, took advantage of that moment. My personal slave Sturm tried to defend me, but he was no match for him. When Reinhardt finally came back, he fought the attacker off. The palisade broke down during their struggle, and I promise to pay for the repairs, but I beg you. Please punish that scum!"

Sturm had already recovered a little and gotten some of his strength back. He listened with satisfaction as he leaned against a rock. Revenge was better than any medicine. While he had been knocked down on the ground, he had not noticed what happened around him, but he remembered everything before that. Not a single word Edgar had said was true.

<<This sly old bastard.>>

"Daring to attack our merchant in our camp? Do not worry, Edgar; the man will not escape the whip! Men, take him!"

Two guards proceeded to lift the bloody body from the ground and carried him away. Latif's legs were dragging through the sand, leaving a red trace behind them. The guard leader bowed towards Edgar and Reinhardt, completely ignoring Sturm's presence. Slaves really had no value in his eyes. It was a dog's duty to protect its owner. There was no reason to praise it for that.

"The camp leader will get back to you regarding compensation for the destroyed palisade, but I am sure you will find an adequate compromise. This incident happened in our jurisdiction, after all. Now please excuse me, I have some whipping to do,'' the guard's leader assured.

After a quick bow, he turned around and walked off with the eight remaining guards. Edgar was watching them leave with a mischievous smile and turned towards Reinhardt.

"See? I told you it would work. By the way, I will deduct the price of my medical treatment from your salary. You can't just hit your employer after all."

The guard captain obviously did not expect that. He was just about to praise Edgar, so he had been caught off guard.

"Wh...what? Boss, you told me to hit you."

"I did, but tell me. Did you hit your boss?"

Reinhardt felt wronged. "You told me to!"

"Did. You. Hit. Your. Boss.?" Edgar asked once again.

"Yes…"

Knowing that there was no way to get out of this, Reinhardt just wanted to cry. It was hard to match this image with the brutal berserker that had just beaten one of his acquaintances to a pulp.

The aftermath was resolved the same day. Edgar had to pay a small amount to fix the palisade, while the Overseer used the opportunity to force a mercenary into labor. Latif was a commoner, and his transgression was not heavy enough to warrant forcing him into slavery. A commoner had to commit murder at the minimum to lose his status, as that was seen as one of the so-called 'dehumanizing' acts. What was human but at the same time not? Slaves.

In the end, Latif was going to be punished with heavy work inside the quarry for two whole years. If the guards found out that he merely tried to kill a slave, he probably would not have been persecuted at all. The Thunder Merchant Group had no right to complain about the outcome. On the contrary, it was something they were very content with.

Reinhardt solemnly promised to choose future sparring partners more carefully and be upfront about them helping him train a slave. Lying to Latif had been wrong from the beginning, but neither Edgar nor Sturm blamed him. Few were as open-minded about slaves as they were. Racism was just too deeply engraved in society.

In the end, this resulted in nine out of ten acquaintances declining the job, arguing it was beneath them and that they would not dirty their hands with slave scum. The other ten percent consisted of mainly three people. Of those three, two were simple mercenaries that, although friendly, were of the simple brute type like Edgar's guard captain was. While it was still a good experience for Sturm, it was not as helpful as Latif would have been. The third person, on the other hand, was of a much higher caliber.

His name was Daga, an underground hitman that did not care about the job as long as he got paid. There were only two types of people for him, clients and targets. Daga was mysterious, as not even Reinhardt had ever seen his face. The assassin never took off his black mask, had never been seen touching alcohol, and would talk only the minimum necessary.

Daga fought with two daggers and relied on speed and chaining techniques to overwhelm his opponents in a flash. He was far better than the special forces Sturm had fought on Earth, but he was similarly professional about any spars or requests. You paid, he complied.

Over the next three years, Sturm repeated his usual training regime. It reminded him of how he had prepared on Earth and was slowly getting tired of the same daily routine, but he knew he could not afford to slack off for even a moment. Being a slave meant being extremely inferior regarding his physical condition, so the Art of Nine Pillars had to make up for that.

His [Black Room] was improving steadily, and despite only being 13, his body far surpassed what would be possible for a child the same age on his home planet. The gintseng was finally showing some effect as well. Over the years, Sturm's learning had shown a small but definite improvement. It affected both Edgar's lessons, his meditation, and his Four Chapters.

The fighting in the pit had predictably stagnated. As Sturm got better, the difference between him and the junior combat slaves was getting insurmountably high. Sturm tried to counteract it by handicapping himself. Additional weights on his body, fighting with only one arm, fighting with his eyes closed, or even attacking with just light jabs. There was nothing he did not try, but it just was not enough.

Most junior combat slaves would lose their will to fight the second they got matched up against him. Luckily they could not just forfeit as they would be punished for that, but fighting opponents without any spirit or morale was no different from punching sandbags. There were still four years left until Sturm was considered an adult, and even then, he was doubtful that fights with adult combat slaves would turn out any different.

But maybe all that would change today. Sturm was going to leave this damned place because finally, the day had come. The camp had reached the necessary quota, and Edgar's contract with the camp lord would finally reach its conclusion today. It was early in the morning, and Sturm was currently waiting for Edgar to finish the negotiations.

After the hellish start in this world, it was time to leave this shithole behind and step into the outside world.