《Necrotic》


 Prologue - Introduction

    The world as we know it once was nothing more than an endless chasm of chaos.


    Light and dark, matter and anti-matter, and all stages and forms of existence all mashed up into one big sticky mess.


    Then suddenly, for one moment that lasted a very short eternity, chaos was split equally, between dark and light. Suddenly, there was matter, and there was space, and there was time, and there was the universe as we know it.


    Over the course of several millions and millions of years, the universe expanded, cooled, planets formed and stars ignited. And another thing was born at that time. From chaos, two halves were born, always opposing each other in an eternal dance, parting the sea of chaotic assimilation with their sheer contrast;


    From light, came the one known as Oberon - The Bright one.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    From dark, came the one known as Nochta - The Dark one.


    Over time, these two beings and their spawn would become revealed to the sentient beings that would come to the universe much, much later. Those sentients would come to worship them as gods, or despise them for their nature.


    The two siblings, twins born from the womb of chaos, would constantly struggle by virtue of their opposite nature - and in their wake, destroy all that had been. Nochta would strike at a solar system and extinguish its sun, only to find out that a similar fate has met her own holdings by the hand of Oberon. As millenniums passed, they came to understand the plight of the mortals that had suffered immensely under their feuds, and recognize the trail of destruction in their wake.


    Beseeched by their children, they met on neutral grounds, at the cradle of creation where they both first came to be, and decided to limit their reach on the mortal plane. They would both select a world, populate it and raise its inhabitants, and through them, they would conduct their competition - not by wanton destruction, but to see who would create best, whose wards would flourish and who would falter.


    As fate would want it, they chose a planet orbited by two small moons, itself orbiting third of nine around a yellow sun.


    And this planet, they would name, Dalatha.

 Rat

    Rat was hungry.


    Rat, however, didn¡¯t mind his stomach¡¯s attempts at acrobatics within his belly ¨C to Rat, hunger was a constant companion.


    Such was life in the streets of the capital for another nameless urchin left to fend for themselves.


    At 17 years old, Rat was considered a legal adult ¨C responsible for his own actions, able to hold property in his own name, able to marry, and most importantly ¨C pay his taxes to the king, just like everyone else.


    However, like most of the other residents of the slums, Rat didn¡¯t have convenient access to fancy luxuries like a well-paying, stable job, a solid and watertight roof above his head, or more than one set of filthy clothes worn from use and a size too small for his already scrawny frame.


    Instead, rat had precisely ten copper bits to his name ¨C enough to buy a stale loaf of tough black bread, a mug of cheap, spiced wine to slide it down, and a firm kick in the ass from the tavern owner for darkening their doorstep again.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    It wasn¡¯t always as bad, of course.


    Rat¡¯s parents, alongside thousands more, died in the black plague that washed over the continent more than 15 years ago.


    At the tender age of one, he was placed in an orphanage while the state official handling the assets of the recently departed helped himself to the already meager house where Rat¡¯s parents lived.


    Growing up in the orphanage was not easy, of course ¨C the matrons ran the place with an iron fist and demanded discipline, and the children themselves were often damaged, either physically or mentally. It was, however, his home for the last 16 years, where he was fed and could safely sleep ¨C until he turned 17, became an adult, and like all the other kids before him ¨C got kicked out.


    He soon found his way to the slums, after narrowly escaping a pair of guards who tried to press him into military service and rob him of what little he had along the way ¨C and set up in one of the abandoned shacks abundant in the slums outside the walls.


    And so, with his stomach churning out complaint after complaint, he stared out his open window and at the moon, in all its pale glory, as it hung there above Dead man¡¯s Hill ¨C contemplating his future.


    He¡¯d have to figure out food tomorrow though, or he would¡¯t get the chance to plan anything beyond the most comfortable position to starve to death in.

 Something to eat

    The marketplace was packed dense with people, making movement a trial in patience.


    Rat simply chose to ride the current of people after trying to resist its pull for several minutes.


    He¡¯d spent the majority of the morning trying to find somewhere to work at, but most people who had laid their eyes on him shut their door instantly. While Rat didn¡¯t find much affection for them in his heart, he probably would¡¯ve done the same if a skinny beggar would knock on his door with gaunt eyes, wearing filthy rags.


    A few merchants and shop-keeps did take a minute to ask him what he could do, but apparently knowing how to read common on a basic level and counting to a hundred simply didn¡¯t cut it. He couldn¡¯t resent the orphanage for this, he knew, but that didn¡¯t quite soothe the sting of humiliation after hearing a rotund caravan trader told him that he ¡°didn¡¯t need another charity case¡±.


    And so, Rat finally decided to settle on the world¡¯s 2<sup>nd</sup> oldest profession ¨C he¡¯d steal his next meal.


    This didn¡¯t sit well with rat.


    The matrons at the orphanage always told him that stealing is wrong, and swatted him silly that one time he did steal a loaf of bread from the pantry at night.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Only a rogue takes from others¡¯ hard work and property ¨C such a man is loathsome in the bright one¡¯s eyes¡±, they said.


    And yet it didn¡¯t seem like there¡¯s any other choice, seeing how the last few days he could scantly find any place that would take him ¨C and he wouldn¡¯t join the military; he¡¯d heard rumors in the slums on how the undead front was claiming soldiers like the king takes taxes. So Rat would steal.


    Finally, he spotted a decent chance, as far as he could tell ¨C an older merchant with sunken eyes, hawking some form of exotic fruit, had begun arguing with another man over one thing or another. He¡¯d sneak one of the emerald-colored, fist-sized round fruits and no one would be the wiser. The merchant had six laden baskets filled with the stuff, so he wouldn¡¯t even know, right?


    He walked as naturally as he could, and once he passed the stall, faked a stumble and nabbed a fruit from one of the baskets further away from the arguing pair. Instantly, the merchant¡¯s eyes locked on him, widened, and then again narrowed in anger.


    ¡°Guards! That little shit''s a THIEF!¡±


    Rat ran.


    The crowds around him began parting, not wanting to stand in the way of the city guards rather than enabling his escape. Behind him, armored boots clacked against the cobblestone as shouts rang out.


    ¡°Stop right there kid! Don¡¯t make this harder than it needs to be!¡±


    Rat didn¡¯t spare them a moment¡¯s thought and kept running. On his right, an alley came into view, and Rat took his chance. Shoving down a barrel of rainwater from last night¡¯s shower, he bolted into the alley, only to find himself faced with wooden walls on all three sides. It was a dead end.


    He didn¡¯t manage to turn around before something struck his head from behind and the world went black.

 Intake

    Sergeant Nash didn¡¯t consider himself much of a city official.


    Sure, he¡¯d made Sergeant after serving for about 15 years with the city guard ¨C a job that mainly entailed rounding up drunkards, beating thieves, and the occasional raid on a warehouse in the name of the Lord of the city ¨C some of those warehouses occasionally contained actual contraband, rather than the wares of a poor merchant who got on the Lord¡¯s bad side that day.


    All of those jobs were, without exception, performed with as much numerical superiority as possible, making foundation for the common saying; ¡°City Guard¡¯s like cockroaches ¨C for each one you see, there are 10 more behind the corner ¨C and both show up where shit piles high¡±.


    And yet, as a Sergeant of the Guard, and a Veteran, Nash had several duties ¨C one of which was the processing of prisoner intake at the Guardhouse cells.


    Thieves, unruly drunks who just didn¡¯t listen, and the occasional streaker all lined the walls, conveniently shackled with just enough slack to go to the bathroom bucket at the far end of the cell. Of course, one of the prisoners ¨C usually the one who pissed off Nash the most that week ¨C would be emptying the buckets.


    So when three of his men came back with a scrawny orphan with his head lulling from side to side, the same way you¡¯d see someone who went unconscious quickly and abruptly, Nash knew he¡¯d be busy with the fresh meat for the next half-hour.


    Just long enough to interrupt his break.


    Nash immediately hated the kid.


    No one messed with HIS break , damn it.


    But he had a solution for that little problem.


    Nash fixed his expertly honed glare of bored annoyance at Grit - the older, bigger, and least annoying of his three flunkies.


    ¡°Out with it, what¡¯d the little bastard do to earn a fist sammich?¡±


    Chuckling, Bert ¨C the youngest of the three and thus, automatically the most annoying ¨C grabbed a fistful of the teen¡¯s brown hair and lifted up his face.


    ¡°We caught the moron lifting fruit off of one of the traders on Market Street, decided to bolt. John got ¡®im good though, ain¡¯tcha John?¡± he said, tapping the third member of the troupe on the shoulder.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    John simply grunted affirmatively.


    Nash liked John - he kept it simple.


    ¡°A thief you say? In our city? Not on my watch ¨C probably some sort of vagrant who thought he¡¯d rip off one of our own from their own hard labor. The Bright One frowns on these kind of things ¨C but I recon we can help him, can¡¯t we boys?¡± He asked them, his voice dripping with false concern.


    Grit piped up ¨C ¡°Sure can boss, we got them scrolls after all!¡±


    ¡°That we do. Now where did I put those damn things...¡±


    After a minute of shuffling, Nash found a scroll tied with a simple leather bind behind a pile of documents he meant to read after his break. Unfurling the Scroll of Indenture revealed a complex pattern that suddenly became readable in perfect Common write, as Nash directed his meager mana at the thing.


    As he uttered the words of power, strings of sticky grey smoke wafted from the scroll, ensnaring the teen¡¯s neck and binding it with chains of pollution.


    Once done, the ritual left a faint band of discolored skin around the teen-turned-indentured servant, marking him as such.


    ¡°That¡¯ll teach him to steal from our people ¨C now toss him in the drunkard pit and let him rot until the Toad comes around.¡±


    ¡°Sure thing boss¡±, said Grit, who hoisted the teen on a shoulder, then descended into the holding cells of the Guardhouse.


    ¡°Good riddance ¨C now where was I¡­¡± snorted Nash, digging back into his pile of documents, left abandoned thanks to the new arrival.


    ¡°Ah, there we go.¡±


    The Sergeant pulled a small hide-bound booklet from the pile of documents ¨C the lieutenant commanding this particular guard station had two hobbies after all; brown-nosing the Captain of the Guard and paperwork.


    Digging out a stick of charcoal, Nash took care with jutting down the details of the latest intake at the bottom of the chart that was already half full.


    Damn booklet was already half full and it was barely two months old.


    The alchemical paper appeared to have sucked in the charcoal trail, binding it to the fibers; ¡°Prisoner 11359 ¨C theft ¨C young adult ¨C male ¨C year 1407 ¨C thridday of 7<sup>th</sup> month ¨C indentured indefinitely¡±.


    Nash jotted his signature - a simple scribble on top of his name ¨C next to the record of intake.


    Indefinite indenture was uncommon for theft, but as a Sergeant and a Veteran, Nash had a few privileges ¨C one of which was the ability to make summary judgment on minor cases.


    Sure, if the boy could muster the balls to do so, he could appeal to the lieutenant and rescind the sentence, but the man was just as likely to trade indenture for military service ¨C which was basically a delayed execution thanks to the Undead Front.


    It also didn¡¯t help the boy¡¯s case that every indenture gave a cut from the payment to the Lord¡¯s estate towards the Guard station making the indenture. That same cut that was usually reserved towards maintenance on the Guard house, and bonuses for the hard working honest guardsmen, of course.


    Nash finished scribbling in the record booklet, set it aside, and grabbed his forgotten sandwich.


    ¡°Good thing the Toad comes around every fourthday, or else we¡¯d be stuck with the brat for a week!¡±

 Procurement

    A series of wooden thumps echoed down the stone hallway, waking Bert from his nap.


    ¡°What- Whozzat banging on the damn door?!¡± protested Bert, bemoaning his ruined rest.


    Since he was the youngest of the Sergeant¡¯s squad, he automatically had to do the dirty jobs ¨C which would often be both actually dirty and physically tiring.


    Stuff like polishing the squad¡¯s armor, stacking the provision crates down in the Guard house¡¯s emergency stores cellar while John quietly took stock, and wrangling the more unruly of ¡°guests¡± down in the cells left him sweaty, tired, and irate.


    Usually, he¡¯d take the chance to nap during the early morning guard shift.


    Around the small hours the Sergeant was too lazy to check up on him - and no one was sober enough to cause trouble warranting a visit from the guardsmen and a night in the lockup.


    Bert¡¯s mind sobered up right quick once the thumps came back, realizing who was making all that noise.


    The young guardsman slung his short sword and his club to his side and quickly rushed to the door. Opening it, he was greeted with a very tall, bare-chest mountain of a man, bulging muscles twining around tree-trunk like arms attached to a rain barrel chest.


    He was more concerned by the shorter figure in front of the goliath.


    ¡°Master Toad¡± stammered Bert.


    Master Toad, A business partner of the Sergeant, was a weekly sight at the Guard house. He self-described himself as a ¡°human resources reallocation specialist¡± ¨C but even Bert¡¯s uneducated mind knew a slave trader when he saw one.


    The pot-bellied man¡¯s skin was a sickly greyish-green, warts covering most of it. His round face sat on a nearly-unnoticed neck entombed with fat, an indulging smile showing at least three gold teeth peeking from obscenely plump lips.


    He may have been about half Bert¡¯s height, but his hairs stood on end, knowing that merely a gesture would have the goliath behind the man snap his like a sick kitten¡¯s, and no one would dare bat an eye.


    Master Toad¡¯s dealings with the City Guard were well known, after all.


    ¡°Young man, would you kindly lead the way to your Sergeant¡¯s office? I believe I am expected.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    The man¡¯s voice was deep and gravelly, his courteous words spoken in a tone insinuating that regardless of either Bert¡¯s the Sergeant¡¯s or even the damn Captain of the City Guard¡¯s opinions, he was indeed expected.


    Bert wisely chose to comply, showing remarkable insight unbecoming his usual record.


    ¡°Right this way, Master Toad.¡±


    It took a few minutes to navigate the Guard house¡¯s corridors to the sergeant¡¯s office and chambers ¨C while the same confusing corridors made great defensive chokepoints against peasant uprisings, they also made getting anywhere a pain in the ass.


    Finally, Bert, Master Toad, and the goliath stood in front of the aged wooden door to the Sergeant¡¯s chambers.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let him know you¡¯re here, Master.¡±


    Master toad simply nodded, crossing his arms with that same smile.


    Bert decided he should be quick about it.


    Knocking twice on the door and then entering as the Sergeant taught him, he found the man at his wooden desk, working on some parchment or other.


    While the position of Sergeant might sound unimpressive, it apparently was enough to justify what could be said to be opulent chambers, with colorful fabric banners adorning bare stone walls and a fireplace warming the space from the cold winter night air coming through the window, despite the shutters.


    The Sergeant turned his head to Bert and took one look at his face.


    ¡°Stand guard at attention outside, no one gets in unless they¡¯re using your guts as a fashionable scarf.¡±


    ¡°Aye sir¡± snapped Bert, actually pulling off a decent salute, and rushed to the door alongside the Sergeant.


    After seeing his man out, Sergeant Nash saw Master Toad in, alongside his ¡°help.¡±


    ¡°Master Toad, welcome. Care for a drink?¡±


    ¡°I am afraid Business comes before pleasure. Let us take a look at the stock first, then perhaps a tour of the actual merchandise, shall we?¡± the merchant gestured at the table nearby.


    ¡°As you wish¡± Nash said.


    The two sat down, the Sergeant pulling from his desk both the record from last day¡¯s induction and a hand-written list on a simple scroll with numbers on it, organized in a list.


    Nash began reading:


    ¡°We have seven new additions to our stock since last week; two minors, five adults.


    ¡°Of the minors, we have two females, caught prostituting without permit or backer from the P.O.P, therefore free for the taking. They look decent and with some work could be worth something.


    ¡°Next, we have five adults, of which one is on the older side, two females with similar background to the minors, and two younger adults with one having recently hit majority.


    ¡°As per the City Lord¡¯s agreement, standard fee for procurement applies with tax to the City Lord¡¯s estate included, all responsibility for the goods and liability for any damages held by the procurer, as per the Charter of the Grand Empire of Light¡¯s Free Cities Coalition.


    ¡°Do you agree to these conditions, Master Toad?¡±


    The warty face cracked a smile, his eyes sparking a flame of passion ¨C this was the fun part.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Sergeant Nash smiled in return, and answered.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s begin negotiating¡±.

 Collar

    Rat¡¯s head felt like that time he fought the largest boy in the orphanage for picking on one of the girls he was sweet on at the time.


    While it seemed to be a good idea at the beginning, the first punch that connected with his jaw left him seeing double, and the consecutive kicks to his stomach made him puke twice and sore for days.


    Of course, when the matrons asked, he said he ¡°fell down the stairs¡± ¨C even though the orphanage only had one floor.


    Everyone knew what happened to tattletales.


    Rat also noticed that he was hungry ¨C which was normal these days. However, his stomach was being egged on by his nose, scenting out what his mind immediately identified as fresh bread.


    His eyes shot open, sighting a wooden plate with a small loaf of bread and a bowl of water.


    Both of his hands shot forward, one grabbing the bread and launching the poor loaf towards his mouth at desperate speed, the other propelling the precious water to his parched lips as fast as possible, without spilling the vital fluid.


    He was immediately sitting from his lying down position, eyes closed, jaws churning.


    It took him less than 20 seconds to inhale the fresh loaf of bread, small as it was, then choke it down with water to preserve his airways.


    Then he took stock of where he was, and the food threatened to make its return, and not via the expected route.


    Often the matrons at the orphanage would tell the children tales of slave traders fishing orphans from the streets, and how lucky they were to not end up at a dingy cellar with a collar around the neck and a life of hard labor in front of them.


    Rat now remembered those lectures with horrifying vividness, since he was definitely within a dingy cellar, and unless he was at a barber shop, the thing around his neck was definitely a leather collar.


    His chest started pumping and he began panicking.


    ¡°Calm down kid, you¡¯re only making it worse for yourself¡± said an older male voice, off to his right.


    Rat¡¯s head snapped to the voice¡¯s direction while his body scrambled in the opposite direction, much like a panicking spider.


    ¡°W-Who are you?! Where am I?! What¡¯s going on?!¡± he cried out.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Rat¡¯s eyes landed on the owner of the voice.


    In front of him sat an old man, his neck similarly in a leather collar which probably had the same design as his, tied to an iron loop set into the stone walls.


    The man had to be at least fifty winters old, his grey hair messy and filthy, body clad in rags.


    He looked much like the average beggar from the street, to Rat.


    The old beggar sighed, leveling a tired stare at him.


    ¡°Stop shouting ¨C men in our position are supposed to shut up and do as their told, and do it as quietly as possible. I¡¯ve been awake a day longer than you and our new owners are not as kind as they might seem.¡±


    Rat¡¯s mind went into overdrive, raw panic replaced by actual dread reinforced by actual information now.


    ¡°Is that it? Am I a gods-damned slave now? Am I going to die like a dog while breaking my back in some light-forsaken mine? All I did was stealing a piece of damn fruit!¡±


    The old man let out a sigh ¨C ¡°Consider yourself lucky ¨C in other places they simply chop off the hand that did the stealing and don¡¯t bother with helping you stop the bleeding. At least a slave gets to eat regularly for the most part.¡±


    Anger took the place of Rat¡¯s dread at the man¡¯s words.


    ¡°That¡¯s easy for you to say, old man! I¡¯m still young, I just turned 17! I don¡¯t want to be a slave!¡±


    The man simply sighed, then stared the youth right in the eyes, before answering in a mocking tone;


    ¡°Is that so? And what will you do, my lord? Perhaps lead an army to break the undead front? Maybe marry the Holy Emperor¡¯s princess daughter and live happily ever after in the lap of luxury? What shiny bright future is waiting for you, mister ¡®I steal to eat¡¯, lecturing me from your high horse? At the very least, I did honest begging ¨C relying on people¡¯s mercy and kindness is better than taking from them in my book.¡±


    Rat simply shut up.


    He hadn¡¯t a trade.


    He had no education, or any special skill.


    He didn¡¯t have any family to take him, or land to farm.


    He barely owned the clothes he wore.


    Perhaps this was all he¡¯d amount to in the end, just another slave building a lording¡¯s summer estate in some gods-forsaken valley, only to trip and break his neck after years of hard labor.


    The two¡¯s discourse was interrupted by a clanging noise from the metal door on the opposite side of the room they were in.


    The room itself was empty, save for a straw floor and a single illumination globe set directly above the door itself.


    The man who entered through the opening door though, filled the whole space with his presence.


    A large man, towering at least 1.95 meters in height, muscle-bound and with a club at his hip, he simply looked at the pair and barked out a few words.


    ¡°Up, Eyes forward, Quiet, Now.¡±


    It took the old man no time to comply and stand at an approximation of attention


    The still shaken Rat however, delayed a few precious seconds before scrabbling to his feet and imitating the old man with much less practice.


    The large man strode towards them with purpose and without warning, planted a fist right into Rat¡¯s stomach, through the diaphragm.


    Rat instantly folded, and met his earlier meal again.


    ¡°UP!¡± barked the assailant ¨C ¡°UP!¡±


    Rat¡¯s neck burned around the collar, and he shot up with teary eyes.


    The tall man looked up the pair, and addressed them:


    ¡°This time, you receive instruction. Next time, no food for three days. Disobey again and you will die like the dogs you are.¡±

 Warden

    The man, who didn¡¯t bother to introduce himself to neither the old man nor rat, ordered the pair for follow him. As they pair did, they navigated many stone corridors, bare legs thumping against worn wooded floors, the surface of which smoothed by what was probably many more who walked these corridors much like them.


    Rat kept his head square forward as ordered by the man leading them, yet his eyes darted from wall to wall, looking for an exit. His efforts were in vain; their new ¡°home" apparently didn¡¯t have much in the ways of windows ¨C relying on globes of glass enchanted with some sort of illumination magic you¡¯d often see in the fancier parts of town, or mounted on fancy merchant carriages. Occasionally a narrow grated pipe emerged from a wall and blew in a gust of wind from no-where, or sucked the air out and thus creating circulation.


    Several minutes of walking through the eerily quiet dungeon eventually saw them reach a locked wooden door, reinforced with iron strips crisscrossing its surface.


    The man, apparently some sort of guard assigned to them for the time being, pulled a keychain from his belt and turned the lock in the door. A loud clank followed, and the door swung open, blinding Rat with the unexpected outside light.


    His eyes soon settled, and the guard ordered him and the old man to ¡°Get out, stand with the others, quick and quiet.¡±


    Exiting the doorway in a brisk manner, Rat quickly noticed a group of about 50 people standing in what appeared to be neat rows of 10, facing a wooden platform guarded on both sides by armored men in plate, wielding big two-handed swords whose tip was planted in the earth a few centimeters deep.


    Rat imagined that if the people in the lines, all appearing somewhat terrified and malnourished like him and the old man, had any bright ideas and decided to charge the guards ¨C then it¡¯d end up just about the same way a rebellion of wheat ended during harvest.


    Another man, wearing leather armor on bare skin and with a similar club at his hip as the guard who led them here, motioned them over to the back of the last row.


    Rat and the old man stood one next to the other, the glare of this new guard boring a hole into their backs ¨C there wouldn¡¯t be any talking anytime soon it would appear.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    A few more minutes passed, all the while Rat¡¯s mind ran circles around itself in panic, trying to figure out a way to escape from this new predicament.


    Then, one of the leather-clad guards stepped on stage and barked out new orders:


    ¡°All of you, Eyes front, Quiet, QUIET! ¨C You will now kneel to the warden!¡±


    As he finished his words, he turned to the right and knelt down.


    A few confused seconds passed, and then a group of angry, flush-faced guards clad in leather descended on the group of newly minted slaves, berating them until they knelt down as the guard on stage did.


    Once every one was on their knees and quiet, some a few beatings wiser, a man in simple and sophisticated robed stepped on to the wooden platform. His face was old, creases showing a harsh life covering his skin separating in front of steely blue eyes completely bereft of pity and projecting a pure business-like setting.


    He reminded Rat of one of those older merchants who occasionally came to negotiate with the matrons for either custody on one of the brighter kids, or supplies and services to the orphanage.


    The man looked over each and every single slave, all wearing the same manner of collar, and then spoke.


    ¡°You all are here, because you are weak. You are weak, therefore you rely on others.


    You rely on them for money to buy food, which you¡¯ve borrowed and failed to return.


    You rely on their services for which you¡¯ve failed to compensate them, promises broken and cast aside. Some of you even rely on them as prey, taking from them by force that which you cannot earn for yourself.¡±


    Placing his hand on his chest, he continued.


    ¡°My name is Warden. You will address me as warden and nothing but, and only when you are ordered to do so. Your name from now on is slave. You have lost your previous names before coming here as a result of your actions. Blame no one but yourselves.¡±


    ¡°When addressing a guard in this compound, you shall face them at all times, lower your eyes to the floor and never look at theirs, and speak respectfully. Each and every guard here is authorized to execute corrective action as they see fit, and terminate dissident slaves on the spot.¡±


    ¡°Around your neck is a leather collar of Enslavement ¨C its magic binds you and will force your compliance by causing great amounts of pain upon disobeying an order. This pain will intensify until you obey or lose consciousness ¨C multiple repetitions of this will eventually cause your brain to rot from the inside.¡±


    The Warden finished his explanation and straightened his stance, leveling another stare at all the present slaves.


    ¡°The purpose of this facility is to turn you into productive slaves who obey their master¡¯s words. Obedience will grant you safety, food and shelter so long as you serve your master¡¯s interests.


    Disobedience will see you disposed of. That is all.¡±

 Training

    The following weeks, Rat had learned discipline.


    While the matrons were strict, they were still normal people ¨C some saw the children they cared for as their own, while others felt it was their duty to the Bright one. Both types cared for the children.


    The Institute, and its Warden, was a different world.


    Disobedience and hesitation were met with immediate correction, while success was rewarded with food, rest, and sometimes luxuries such as books or drink.


    The first lessons were composed of a teacher who stood in one of the smaller courtyards of the Institute and instructed a group of 20 slaves. The topics varied, between the common trade language of the country, basic mathematics, and manners.


    After the first week, any slave who failed an exam that was held in the main courtyard where they first met the Warden was taken away and never seen again.


    This was a more terrifying experience than any beating the guards could deliver, seeing those poor sods cuffed and marched out through a pair of steel-bound doors in the middle of the night.


    Everyone had begun walking faster to their lessons after that.


    Rat had found the institute comforting, after a few days of crying himself to sleep.


    It had taught him many things; how to make a shelter using a few branches and vines, or to do basic construction work, the proper way to carry loads. It had also taught him cooking, proper manners when addressing his superiors on the off-chance he¡¯d be bought by a noble house, and even basic combat ¨C if he had to distract a bandit so that his master could get away, he¡¯d better be good at it, after all.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    After some two or three months, about half the slaves remained.


    Around that time, the warden gathered the slaves around in the main courtyard, and introduced them to an old man who he only called ¡°Sage¡±.


    The slaves were made to stand in five columns, the first column on the right approaching the wooden platform. Each slave would stand in front of the Sage, kneel, and place both hands on a crystal sphere the Sage held. The Sage would then utter some words; the sphere would glow in colors and the Sage would write down something on a piece of paper.


    Once Rat¡¯s turn came up, He did the same and as the Sage uttered his lines, something different happened.


    While most slaves would have the sphere light up in red, or brown, or blue or white, some would be different.


    Some would simply not light the sphere up, making the Warden frown.


    One slave had the sphere light up as mix of green and white, which pleased the Warden enough to crack a smile. Another had a rarely-seen yellow color come up.


    Rat had lit up the sphere a mix of red and black.


    The Sage immediately stopped, and then went to talk to the Warden.


    After a few brief words, the Warden had made a gesture, which had a guard haul Rat through a small door into a simple room with a table and a chair, a sort of office.


    He waited there, completely still as he was taught, for about an hour and a half.


    Finally, the Warden himself came through the door.


    As he did, Rat immediately knelt ¨C the last time a slave had failed to do so, he had both his arms broken by a guard, and then taken to the healer¡¯s chambers ¨C somehow they managed to heal the injury but leave the pain, so the bastard had to suffer the pain for a month while being completely fine.


    The Warden simply ordered ¡°Rise, slave, and sit¡± ¨C indicating one of the chairs.


    This was unheard of, a slave sitting on a chair in the presence of the warden, not to mention at the same table as him, but he would not question the warden¡¯s orders.


    Rat sat down, and the Warden began speaking.


    ¡°You¡± he said, ¡°Are trouble - Profitable trouble, that is. You¡¯ve awakened with a lesser magical affinity, one for fire. Usually you would be sent either to be trained in specialized housekeeping or forging, but you also awakened another, far more problematic greater affinity.¡±


    ¡°Death.¡±