The Encounter

They walked in silence, but Mike noticed that the old man looked at him differently. He was not sure if he should ask him. Firstly, Mike did not want to annoy him. If the old guard wanted to talk, he'd talk to him eventually. Secondly, other guards could trouble him for being nice to a slave. Many of the gambling guards threw odd glances at the old guard the moment he stepped up for him.

Mike was a proud person, but the whips made him realize he was not a hero in a story. This was real. Death was just around the corner at any time. Anything that increased the chance for survival, like receiving help from people, was an opportunity that had to be taken.

The old man saw the look on Mike's face.

"Is everything fine, boy?"

"Why do you look differently at me, Sir?"

Hearing that question caused the old man's eyes to turn grim.

"Because I still think you're human. The other guards and honestly, almost everyone except priests will see you as less than livestock. That's why you have to be careful. In theory, guards will be punished for killing slaves, but in reality, that never happens."

Mike could not say he was surprised by that. With a little less luck, he could easily be dead already.

They arrived at Mike's tent, and there he saw the tile with the numbers 2040-2050 he just did not notice before.

"Here you are. Listen, boy, if you need help with anything, then feel free to ask for Marcus. Do not get me into trouble, though. You remind me of my grandson, but that's it. Does not mean I'll suffer for you, ok?" Marcus was serious.

"I will not trouble you, thank you!" Feeling truly grateful, Mike bowed towards his helper.

He was not mad at all since what the grandpa said was fair in the end. Mike could not say he'd act differently. There was absolutely no reason to risk one's life for a stranger. From an optimistic point of view, Marcus' refusal to help in dire situations was not all that bad since relying on someone was a sure way to get doomed. Accepting help and putting one's life into another's hands were two very different things.

The old man took one last worried look at him and walked back to where he came from.

<<That's it, all by myself then. I guess I'll just enter my tent and practice the first chapter for now.>>

His body still was not in condition for physical training, but keeping a flexible mind and body would allow him to adapt to any situation better. Mike also felt that his senses had dulled and noticed the loss of all the progress he had made in the first two chapters of the Art of the Nine Pillars.

These two chapters involved the mind, body, and the nine senses he named the Nine Pillars. The loss of that progress was another indication of his current condition. In reality, Mike suspected what had happened to him. He just did not want to face the truth.

Nonetheless, going through the exercises that had been his routine for years gave him some peace of mind. Even though the leg cuffs restricted his mobility and made some forms, stretches, and poses impossible, adapting them to his current circumstances was enough. As his body could not be in a worse condition, he immediately felt some result from the training and found himself accepting his situation a little bit more.

While the tent was still the same, Mike noticed six additional heaps of cloth apart from his own. The cloth had been thrown on the ground to act as a bed. With a sigh, Mike shook his head and just laid down on his own cloth bed and rested for a few hours. No matter what would come next, his physical condition was linked to his survival, so he had to take care of himself.

Gathering information was the next highest priority. Where exactly was he, and who did the other beds belong to? How could he get more food and water? How could he improve his social standing, and most importantly, when would he be able to fight someone without getting killed for it?

<< It feels like my last brawl has been so long ago.>>

He came to this world to fight after all, but he was not stupid. Before fighting came survival and starting a fight with just anyone could get him executed or, even worse, make them whip him again.

„I guess the fight for survival is a fight too, isn't it? I hope it's enough to stop me from getting bored. Though it will not compare to the feeling when your knuckles push someone's face in," Mike mumbled.

Out of boredom and due to being worried, Mike talked to himself until he just could not sit still anymore and got up. It was dawn already, and the other slaves were probably getting back soon. Talking to them might hopefully solve some questions.

<<I must say that even though I feel a little bit better, sleeping on a hard floor is not as refreshing as a lovely king-sized bed. >>

Mike walked to the front of his tent while still dreaming about those comfortable, heavenly soft beds from a few weeks ago. As he had guessed, some slaves were returning to their tents.

A thin, lanky slave walked towards his tent.

<<Is that my roommate?>>

„Hello! I am 2047. What's your name?"

Greeting your roommate was basic courtesy, but the tall slave just looked at Mike with dead eyes.

„Don't care."

What a nice fellow. I'm certainly not going to invite him to my next barbeque.

„Forget it. Lanky does not like to talk to anyone. Since he's tall, he sticks out. Sticking out means getting whipped more often."

A middle-aged slave with a full beard came out of the other tent next to Mike's. He must have come back while he was sleeping. The slave approached Mike, and he could hear the sound of metal dragging through the sand.

„Wait. He gets whipped regularly? How is he still sane? The five whips they gave me almost made me lose my mind!"

<<How does someone endure that on a daily basis?>>

It made no sense. Just getting whipped five times had left him on the verge of insanity. It was not humanly possible to stay sane if that happened each day.

The man looked at Mike with a shocked expression.

"Five consecutive whips? Don't tell me they bound you to the pole and used that cursed whip?"

He did not give Mike time to respond as he discovered the band on Mike's arm and became visibly pale.

"Two days of rest? They never allow slaves to rest unless they are literally on the brink of death."

"Cursed? I do not know about a cursed whip, but they certainly bound me to a pole. I lost my consciousness after the torture and woke up at the old healers' house," Mike responded.

"Boy, the whip I was talking about is the one slavers use when we're not moving fast enough for them. The one they used one you is the specialty of the Eastern Pirate Association. It is said to be mana enchanted to enhance pain several times. I've seen people biting off their tongue to commit suicide after the first whip to escape the pain. What did you do for them to punish you like that?"

That explained the worst pain Mike had ever felt in his life. To use that on him for basically nothing made the fire of revenge swell up inside his chest again.

"Well, I…"

"No, I changed my mind. Don't tell me. In fact, never talk to me again."

The man turned around and went back inside the tent.

<<What was that about?>>

The tall slave called Lanky laid down on one of the makeshift beds and went to sleep without making a sound. It was as if he was alone again, but at least Mike got some new information. The enchanted whip punishment was not a common occurrence, and their current location was the Eastern Pirate Association.

Even though he wanted to ask some more questions, he would have to find someone else for that. Judging by Lanky's reaction, the other roommates were unlikely to talk to him as well, and even if they would be open for a conversation, it was not likely they knew a lot either. At this moment, it made more sense to search for information outside.

The sun was setting in the west, giving Mike some sense of direction. Well, it was supposedly west if this world followed the same rotation as the earth did. He started walking eastwards in a straight line. Getting back to his tent would be easier this way.

After passing what felt to him like 10.000 tents, but in reality, only were around 150, Mike saw a cart at the perimeter of the slave area. A few meters behind the cart, a wooden palisade blocked the view of a forest while wolf howls echoed through the forest. The howls sounded mournful as if a member of their pack had passed away.

Long torches illuminated the cart, a few barrels, and some chests. Sitting on a barrel was an old man who looked like the typical merchant one would expect from a fantasy world: expensive clothes, some jewelry, and a glass lens over his right eye. The only thing missing was a little bit of fat on the bones since he was quite fit.

The merchant was talking to Marcus and seemed to be in a good mood based on his ridiculously loud laughter.

„Huahahaha!"

It honestly amazed Mike that he could not hear him laugh inside his tent a couple of hundred meters away. It would not even be surprising if the earth started shaking due to that laugh.

He did not approach them any further and sat down in a dark corner. Who knew if he would cause Marcus trouble. Seeing a flat rock, he sat down on it and waited for them to finish talking.

<<Even though I'm not someone who has played a lot of RPGs… everyone knows merchants and barkeepers have the best information.>>

The merchant gave Marcus a wooden cup, some light taps on the shoulder, and laughed once more. The old guard did not seem to mind it, as he just thanked him and started walking off in Mike's direction.

After a few steps, he noticed Mike sitting in the dark and let out a chuckle.

„Boy, what are you doing there?"

„I did not want to intrude on your conversation."

His answer seemed to please Marcus. Mike did not know that the old man valued manners and basic etiquette very highly. He grabbed Mike's hand to help him up.

„I want to present you to someone. Come with me."

They walked towards the merchant, who was already busy doing inventory. He heard them approach but did not even bother turning around.

„Come again later or tomorrow. I'm a little busy now."

The steps the merchant was hearing did not stop at all and kept getting closer.

„I said to come later… Oh, Marcus, it's you. Did you miss me so much already? Ah, is that the boy you mentioned?"

Eyes that brimmed with intelligence were sizing up Mike, making him feel slightly uncomfortable. Even though those intellectual types of eyes usually had a certain coldness to them, the way the merchant was looking at him had a touch of warmth instead in it.

<<He isn't the same as those slavers and guards. They look at me with disgust, but I sense no malice from him.>>

Mike's intuition was right since the merchant looked this way at everyone.

"Yes, that's the slave boy I told you about. I just met him today, but I had a good impression of him. He reminds me of my grandson, so I decided to help him out a little bit."

<<Did they talk about me?>>

"People that give you a good impression are usually different. You always had a good eye for the human character. Alright, leave him to me. Everything will depend on him, though. I will not accept any losses."

<<Ha, so similar to what the old grandpa said to me. Did he recommend me to the merchant?>>

"That's all I ask for. Alright, boy, it's goodbye then. I've just been informed that I'm being transferred to the town, so I asked old Edgar to keep an eye out on you for me. Do your best to use this opportunity as most slaves can only dream about this."

After a few light taps on Mike's head, he turned around and left just like that. It was not the most heartfelt goodbye, but for someone who knew him just for a few hours, this was much more than Mike could ask for.

„Looks like it's just you and me now. So tell me, is there anything you need, little man?"