Aimless Ascension

The disgusting blare of horn pulled me out of the few hours of comfort I had in my slave days like always and threw me into simmering misery.

If I have to say what the worst part of my slave days was, in the beginning, days, my answer would be the lashing, however later I learn, it was during these free hours that I had nothing to do other than get drunk in overwhelming miserable thoughts.

Anyway, I won't get into the depressive things and get on with the day.

It was only the sixth day, and I decided I would get the lashing today.

I still had five more freebies from the other earthlings. I guess alternating with the days I would get lashed, I could survive a couple of weeks, even with my injured arm.

Let's hope in that time my arm would get better and I would be able to earn my quota without others' help. Well, that was why I was working out, hoping to gain some muscle to do heavy work.

Thankfully, we have a physician among the earthlings. Despite not getting access to any medication or fantastic potions, the physician should be able to do some grounded therapy to ease the recovery. I hoped they could.

They would come to take me to the doctor after the collection. Honestly, I was impressed they were able to stay united in such a disastrous situation without hope. Not only did a few dozen of them survive this hell for years, but they were also helping others to survive.

Apparently, it turned out the guards didn't have a problem with slaves helping each other to a degree. But if it gets out of hand, it was another story. For example, if a slave turns almost completely useless in the mine work, they would get the end of the lash along with the other slave that tried to help them.

That's why the earthlings only made the rule to help another newcomer for only seven days. And that too, with alternating days lest the guards get fishy. Well, it was hard to spare your effort to help others as well, considering the circumstances.

Anyway, since I decided to welcome their help, that made me one of them as well, which meant I would have to pull in greater effort when others were in need.

Well, I had no problem with it as long as I'm in a fair state. Thankfully, I was getting better. I don't know what's the main reason for this, but I'm gaining lean muscles in my body quite fast. Probably something to do with the potion and beating I got in my first week.

According to 197, they were helping me to adapt. No matter how screwed their way was, it certainly helped. I had to admit that, albeit grudgingly.

However, that didn't mean my fatigue and stress were any less.

So at work, I didn't mine half-heartedly or skid around the place for something new to see. I worked methodically, definitely not in the hope of meeting the quota, but just to get used to the work. Not to mention it was a great exercise to gain muscle mass as well.

Really, half of the slaves here had an athletic body, the rest were either lean or in poor condition—they probably wouldn't last longer than a few months.

Well, I would be the same without the help from the others.

Anyway, let's skip to something more interesting. So collection. . .

I went my way along with Cameron to get my beating, pushing my trolley half-heartedly. At least, I had a few dozen crystals to show for today, though that was still a disappointing number for the guards.

Also, my number of lashes hadn't reverted to the initial ten just because I magically succeeded in passing the quota for a day. It would still be counted from where I was left off.

Thirty lashes. Just remembering the number made me feel like tiny insects running on my skin.

"Cam," I called Cameron, who was walking next to me. "If I don't make it today, tell them that I had a stomachache."

Cameron threw a tired look and nodded. Of course, it hadn't been easy on him at all. The older man had to pull up all his efforts to meet the quota. He had to work for extra hours almost every other day to keep up with his growing fatigue.

"Think positive," the former accountant said, "you have thicker skin, you'll make it."

"Mate, you clearly didn't have any idea what it feels like," I said, considering the words to describe the agony. "Every lash is like a death sentence to my being. Then again, it's only pain. Simple pain that reminds you of what hell should be like."

Cameron considered replying, but halted as his trolley hit someone from behind, though not too hard. The other man was still standing like a column. He turned with a heavy scowl on his face.

"Sorry," Cameron said unwittingly, only to find out the other slave was a native and didn't understand English.

The other slave was one tall person, even half a head taller than me with a couple of years more on him. He had a hawkish face and chiselled jawlines. However, the unique feature was the burn marks on his arms that passed under his robes. He looked worn out, but healthier than most people in this hellhole.

He gave us a nod and went his own way.

We didn't think we would meet that slave again, however, we were, of course, mistaken. Less than ten minutes passed, and we found the slave in an argument with the guards about something in the middle of the collection.

I exchanged glances with Cameron as we scurried on to get a better look at this. This dude must have balls of steel to act this way with those exceedingly strong guards. Those guards, they could literally break stones with their bare arms. I wasn't just simply making a conclusion, but I have seen them crushing stones with their bare arms.

We didn't know their language to understand what their argument was about, though it was easy to guess what it was for. The crystals—the thing which was in the middle of most things here.

Unlike us, this slave in particular had his trolley half full with deep orange-coloured crystals—the very kind that helped me to meet my quota with just a fist-sized one.

What was interesting was that this slave had almost doubled of what the dark-skinned earthling—I still didn't know her name—had, yet it seemed he still couldn't satisfy the guards with them.

I guess he was one baller slave.

He alone argued with the group of guards, his body language provocative, though the guards weren't taking it easy either.

I understood barely a couple of words of vulgarities the man threw at the guards, watching them with contempt. Yeah, most of the words I picked up were vulgarities. Well, what do you know, slaves had hard lives, they didn't have a filter.

"That ain't right, right?" I couldn't wait to say, turning to Cameron.

The former accountant was watching this closely as well. "The guards," he said, "they seemed hesitant to make a move on him."

And before we knew it, the argument escalated to unhealthy thrashing, but the fascinating part was that the man wasn't on the lower end of it. The slave was actually the one who was putting the work in on those guards.

Only by himself, the man leapt on four armed guards and thrashed them with bare hands, ramming his knees and elbow where they would hurt the most.

We watched at all. Some watched unaffectedly with pensive looks in their eyes, whereas some like me--who became a slave for a shorter time--watched with relegated passion.

I had to admit, I really would like to join him and do some work on the guards myself, but I was worried about the ramifications. Not to mention, the slave's domination over the guards hadn't lasted that long.

Within a few seconds, the hawkish slave got the guards heavily injured, roughly to the point of humiliation. However, there were dozens of other guards nearby, proceeding to pacify the atmosphere.

Well, they didn't have to act, as a moment later, the enraged slave was sprawled to the ground, spasming as a buzzing noise pulsed from his slave collar.

I knew it. They really have an electrocuting feature on the collar. Damn. Damn me. . .

However, the slave's misfortune hadn't stopped there. The guards he beat up didn't swallow their pain in peace. They stood up and followed by repaying the lesson, albeit a little harder.

They yelled at him, calling him "A'caen" in contempt, ramming their foot on his powerless body with tremendous force. They didn't care where they were hitting, tore up his dress, as we managed to see all the burn marks his body bore.

It was really a miracle that this slave—A'caen—still had the fire in him to go on like this.

I was sure of it, I wouldn't be able to survive a couple of those kicks, much less such burn marks. It just wasn't about courage and mentality, but the physique played a great role in it as well.

How did he get so strong? Simple slave work didn't seem to be the case. Well, although some slaves, mostly the natives, had tougher bodies than what should be naturally possible. Still, they couldn't hold a candle against A'caen, or the guards.

They were on a completely different level.