《Underdog: Dungeons of the Crooked Mountains by A. Osadchuk》 Chapter 1 ¡°FOREMAN AREN, it¡¯s a boy...¡± The head of one of the most prosperous mining crews in Orchus, Foreman Aren looked deeply into the gloomy gaze of the woman who delivered his wife¡¯s baby and was sincerely perplexed. What possible reason could there be for someone to tell him such joyous news with a sour face? But a few moments later, it began to reach him. The child was born, but he can¡¯t hear crying... ¡°Is he dead?¡± Aren was a man who had seen all manner of things in this life, but still the words didn¡¯t come easily to him. ¡°He is alive,¡± the healer woman answered darkly and quickly added softly, nearly in a whisper: ¡°But he¡¯d be better off not...¡± Aren squinted his eyes predatorily and took a step forward. If his gaze could burn, even the ash pile he¡¯d have quickly reduced her to would have been incinerated by this point. Dalia calmly bore the miner¡¯s hateful stare and said: ¡°But there is also good news. Your wife took the birth marvelously.¡± That extinguished the newly-lit fire of rage in the soul of the new father. With a bit of effort, he composed himself and continued the questioning. This woman is the only healer of her level in the whole region. What¡¯s more, it¡¯s remarkable luck that she¡¯s still even in Orchus. She was supposed to leave for the capital ages ago. It¡¯s all down to the rainy season, which came a week ahead of schedule. Now, Sleepy Pass would be closed for two months. Only a crazy person would even think of traveling through the mountains at a time like this. And fortunately for Aren and his wife, Dalia was sound of mind. ¡°Speak,¡± the foreman grunted shortly. No matter how he wanted to be at Liana and his son¡¯s side, business came first. ¡°He¡¯s nulled,¡± the healer squeezed out drily. Aren¡¯s face went completely blank. His immovability could inspire envy even in Black Crag, the great stone where northerly storms of the Dead Ocean first broke. But inside, he felt a cold grip clenching around his heart. The poor boy! How could this be?! Meanwhile, the healer continued: ¡°First I thought he was born dead. But then I looked at his life and energy supplies. Just ten points each... And the lower limit usually is twenty.¡± ¡°But how is that possible?!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Dalia shrugged, perplexed. ¡°I have never encountered anything like it before. But I didn¡¯t even have to listen. One of Bug¡¯s tricks, no two ways about it.¡± ¡°Do you blaspheme, crone?¡± Aren¡¯s calm again showed a crack. ¡°What does the malevolent spirit have to do with this? Or do you not believe that everything in this world happens by the will of the Great System?¡± Hearing that, the healer¡¯s face twisted up like she just ate a lemon. ¡°As a matter of fact, I do believe that...¡± ¡°Then where does the evil spirit come into it?¡± ¡°Alright,¡± relenting to the foreman¡¯s pressure, the healer began speaking wearily: ¡°But first swear that you will not drag me off to the nearest temple of the Great System to be slain as a heretic.¡± ¡°You have my word,¡± the foreman promised gloomily. The healer, receiving a system message that the oath had been accepted, shifted to a hushed toe and began: ¡°As you know, when we are born, the Great System grants us our first level, fills our supplies and awards us our first characteristic tablets. And their number is defined by the god Random. Most get ten or twelve. The most tablets I¡¯ve ever heard of is fifteen.¡± Aren nodded in silence. Ivar, his firstborn had received fourteen when he was born. A shadow slowly crawled across the foreman¡¯s face. It had been just two years since he and Liana received the news that Ivar died in battle in the Wastes. He was hoping the birth of a second son would drive off the gloom that had taken root in their home after Ivar¡¯s death. But apparently it was not to be... ¡°But some have also received less than ten tablets. They all had rough childhoods. They were weaker than their peers... But with time, many of them worked their way up to a respectable life.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Aren agreed. ¡°Some of the men in my crew were born that way.¡± His face lit up a bit. How could he forget! Does that mean his son can live a normal life in the future? Right then and there, he made a promise to himself. Of course he can! Aren will see to it! Seeing the foreman¡¯s mood, the healer hurried to bring him back down to earth: ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking, Aren. You¡¯re under the impression that your son is like them. But you are mistaken. Your baby is nulled. He did not receive level one or the tablets due to him. And his supplies are pitifully low. I don¡¯t believe Random had any hand in this. It was all Bug...¡± It hurt to even look at Aren. Hope just gave him a little wink but now the very concept of hope was being dragged through the mud. Meanwhile, Dalia continued: ¡°As you know, Bug is known by many names. Glitch, Failure, Virus, but there is one more. My teacher read it in a manuscript of the Ancients. The Departed called him System Error. Do you understand? Error! That means the Great System is not perfect and can make mistakes! There were many other things written in that book, but I do not wish to speak of them. And they aren¡¯t for your ears...¡± Aren collapsed wearily on a bench. ¡°Level zero,¡± he whispered. ¡°But that¡¯s...¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the healer nodded sadly. ¡°He will not progress. He cannot use tablets. Even if you gave him your experience essences, nothing would come of it. Almost everything created by the Great System has a limitation: minimum level one.¡± ¡°But then what can we do?¡± Aren asked fatedly. Dalia sat down on the bench next to the foreman. Her face, lined with deep wrinkles, was frozen in deep thought. ¡°How old is she?¡± he suddenly thought. Everyone knows healers have long lives. They also say they have discovered the secret of eternal youth. The man chuckled to himself... Nonsense of course... But Bug works in mysterious ways... And if Dalia looked seventy, that number could safely be doubled, maybe even tripled... ¡°Ha!¡± the woman exclaimed at a surprising volume. Her dark blue eyes glimmered with joy. ¡°I¡¯ve got it!¡± Rubbing her bone-dry palms together, Dalia turned to the workman: ¡°Strange that it took me so long to think of this. I¡¯m getting old... You aren¡¯t doing much better...¡± Aren stared at the woman in confusion. ¡°Okay,¡± she waved a hand. ¡°Let me explain. I can see you¡¯re not much for thinking... For now, the only solution is artifacts of the Ancients.¡± ¡°You mean to say...¡± ¡°Precisely... They are the only items without restrictions. In fact, they have no requirements at all. But you have to understand... They are a rarity and cost dearly. But your son will only need two or three items with plusses to main characteristics...¡± The old woman said a bit more, but Aren was only half listening. He was already imagining where and how he would buy artifacts of the Departed. And he wasn¡¯t thinking of money... His son¡¯s life ¡ª that was his main concern... 14 years later... ¡°You¡¯re a heavy sumabitch!¡± flatulating and cursing through his teeth, a fat mover was dragging a heavy armchair over to the front door. My great grandfather¡¯s ¡°throne.¡± Father loved to sit in it after dinner, warming his feet by the fire and smoking a pipe. That always put him in a very tender mood and he told me many stories, tales and legends while sitting in it... ¡°Yeah all their furniture weighs a ton!¡± a peevish voice from the dining room echoed. ¡°Old oaken armchair ¡ª one,¡± the bank clerk stated in a calm voice, ignoring the mover¡¯s cursing and farting. His long desiccated fingers fluttered a white goose-feather quill, carefully taking down every object removed from the home. Three sheets were already fully covered in his small calligraphic handwriting. A wiry bearded man emerged from the kitchen. A cracked tureen in his quavering hands. The cloudy gaze of his reddish eyes paused on the gaunt figure of the clerk. ¡°This thing looks like trash. We gonna take it?¡± My mother¡¯s favorite tureen. Every time she placed it on the table, we heard the same old adage. ¡°Who cares if it¡¯s got a crack! It keeps soup warm a long time!¡± Then she would scurry back to the kitchen for another dish, and father would whisper that all women have a hard time parting with material things. Meanwhile, with a smile, he would pat his old vest, which mom was constantly threatening to throw it out. The clerk tore his gaze from his notes and looked at the bearded man. His small narrow-set eyes were full of obvious scorn. ¡°Tox,¡± he rasped. ¡°You were given a simple instruction: ¡®remove everything from the home and load it onto the carts.¡¯ Exactly what part of that did you not understand?¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Well it¡¯s just so...¡± Tox tried to object but another man, a giant, came into the house and interrupted him rudely: ¡°Shut your fat mouth and do as you¡¯re told! And move your butt!¡± The bearded Tox, his head slumped between his shoulders, tried to slip away out the front door. ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± the giant barked. Tox gave a blank stare to the immense man, his boss, who was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and a big gut sticking out in front. ¡°Did you think I was gonna let you just bring out one tureen at a time? Come on, step to. Back to the kitchen and do your job!¡± Tox blew away like the wind. ¡°Mr. Dreher, you could stand to be a bit more selective with your choice of staff,¡± the clerk noted acridly. ¡°I don¡¯t remember asking you, filing weasel,¡± the big-bellied Dreher waved it off and headed for my parents¡¯ bedroom, batting the thin clerk¡¯s notes carelessly. The white sheets of paper flew out of his hands like a flock of startled pigeons and slid around the floor. The ¡°filing weasel¡± then gave a loud feminine gasp and fell to his knees to recover his treasure. His body was shaking in indignation, a line of green snot drooping down from his long birdlike nose. Fitfully crawling around the floor, the clerk grunted a curse at the idiot movers and their boorish leader. Mocking the pencil pusher¡¯s humiliating position, a rude whinnying came from a few tinny throats in the dining room. The clerk¡¯s face instantly turned crimson and tears of anger welled up in the corners of his little eyes. Finally, his dry old fingers carefully put all the papers back in order. The clerk, clutching an inkwell hanging from a cord around his neck, got up from his knees. Patting the dust from his pants with his right hand and giving a few slaps to his very worn but neat frock, he settled down. At that very moment, our gazes met... I was sitting on a kitchen stool in the corner of the entryway and awaiting my fate. Only yesterday had I learned that the bank would be taking our house to pay back my parents¡¯ debts. In fact, just one day before that was when I learned my parents lost their lives in a nearby mine. ¡°What are you staring at, half-baked whelp?¡± the clerk hissed. He really is a weasel, I chuckled to myself. ¡°You think this is funny?¡± in the weasel¡¯s eyes, a mixture of sincere puzzlement and acrimony. ¡°After all, everything happening now is your doing!¡± I don¡¯t get it... What is he talking about? ¡°Haha! I can see you aren¡¯t getting it.¡± Dreher appeared in the doorway of my parents¡¯ bedroom, his arms loaded with mom¡¯s ceramics. He looked gloomily first at me, then at the clerk. ¡°Shut it, office rat!¡± he barked. ¡°If you don¡¯t leave the kid alone, you¡¯ll be going home without teeth!¡± Giving me an encouraging wink, the big bellied guy left the house. Based on his angrily gnarled lips, the weasel wanted to say something, but a shout from above broke off his tirade before it could begin. ¡°Don¡¯t do it, Sakis. Better hold your tongue.¡± We raised our heads simultaneously. There was a man standing on the stairs leading to the second floor. His head, bald as an egg, was looking down at some notes, his full lips moving in time with the letters being written. His inkwell wasn¡¯t so much hanging from the chain around his neck as perched on his gut. ¡°But Velen! You must see! This whelp isn¡¯t showing me the respect I deserve as a bank employee!¡± Sakis howled. ¡°Just don¡¯t,¡± the fat clerk repeated and continued down the stairs, continuing to take notes all the while. And then, tearing himself from the papers, he added: ¡°And really, leave the boy alone. He is none of our concern.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Sakis asked, surprised. ¡°I thought the bank...¡± ¡°No,¡± Velen interrupted. ¡°The remaining debt was purchased by Bardan.¡± The weasel¡¯s narrow face stretched out so much his face looked flat. ¡°That Bardan?!¡± ¡°Uh huh,¡± Velen answered casually, again sinking into his notes. Sakis slowly turned his head in my direction. A moment of pity flickered in his eyes. ¡°Ahem-m-m...¡± he drew out. ¡°I do not envy you, half-baked whelp.¡± Enjoying the confusion and disquiet on my face, he gradually made his way to the exit, his head raised proudly. I couldn¡¯t help but overhear a muffled conversation from the two movers in the dining room. ¡°Listen, Tox, why does that bank rat keep calling the kid half-baked?¡± I couldn¡¯t see who was talking, but I recognized the voice. It was Roy, a big dumpy guy with blond hair and a body like a beer keg. ¡°Well, that¡¯s what he his. He¡¯s been like crippled ever since he was born,¡± Tox answered carelessly. ¡°Hmm,¡± Roy answered in surprise. ¡°You¡¯d never know it to look at him. I guess he is a bit scrawny, and has bags under his eyes. So, you reckon he fell ill recently? Well, he did lose his mom and dad a couple days ago. That must be why he¡¯s pale as death.¡± ¡°Naaah,¡± Tox objected. ¡°He was born that way. Hmm... I guess old Aren, Random rest his soul, had bad luck with sons...¡± For some time, the conversation in the dining room ceased. They were both contemplating. Roy was first to break the silence: ¡°Say... We¡¯ve still got half a day¡¯s work here, and the time passes quicker when we talk...¡± ¡°Yeah there¡¯s not really much to tell,¡± Tox answered in strain, clearly moving something heavy. ¡°As you can see, the family had means. A two story house. The farm is doing pretty well. Horses, cows, pigs.¡± ¡°That¡¯s for sure,¡± notes of envy slipped through in Roy¡¯s voice. ¡°The Bergmans are a family of miners,¡± Tox continued. ¡°His father had the strongest crew. And that whole crew just died in a cave-in.¡± ¡°Yi-iikes...¡± ¡°Bergman¡¯s wife and another couple ladies were bringing their husbands lunch in the mine, too... And basically they all passed on as well....¡± Based on Tox¡¯s vocal timbre, he was truly bothered by the death of my parents and their friends. ¡°And what about the sons?¡± Roy asked. ¡°He had bad luck with sons. Well, it all started well. Really well, actually! When his first was born, he got a good set of characteristics. He was the strongest of his age group. By age fourteen, he was working in the mine with his father. And in the winter of that same year, he also won the tournament. And that was when the Baron hired him to serve in his retinue as a novice.¡± ¡°Woah! What¡¯s so unlucky about that?!¡± Roy exclaimed, baffled. ¡°Well, one month later, the Bergmans received news that their son died...¡± ¡°Ah, there it is...¡± ¡°Yep, so...¡± The movers fell silent again, digesting the information. But not for long. This time Tox was first to speak up: ¡°The years of grief passed and Aren¡¯s wife got pregnant again. And you¡¯d think that might be cause for joy, but here¡¯s the thing... The baby was born with a slight flaw. Actually, a bit worse... At first they thought he was just dead. No crying, no movement, eyes closed. But they hired a very capable medicine woman as midwife and she noticed he was breathing. Barely, but breathing.¡± ¡°Yi-iikes...¡± Roy drew out. ¡°Ha!¡± Tox exclaimed. ¡°You haven¡¯t even heard the most important part yet. Aren paid out the butt for a healer from the capital.¡± ¡°I bet!¡± ¡°Anyway, she saw that the kid was born nulled, level zero!¡± Tox said triumphantly. It sounded like Roy¡¯s jaw fell down to the floor with a thundering crash. But then I realized the movers had just gotten to father¡¯s tools. ¡°Well, you don¡¯t see that every day!¡± I heard Roy say, amazed. To be frank, I was surprised. He got my story almost exactly right... A few of the details were off, but the gist was overall accurate... My father had told me the story of my birth many times. ¡°Hey, you two chumps!¡± the sudden roar from Dreher made me shudder. ¡°Move your butts! I¡¯m not paying you idiots to talk!¡± The giant lead mover suddenly appeared in the front doorway and shot a glare at the workmen as they scurried over to the door. ¡°Lazy bastards,¡± he growled under his breath. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry, we¡¯ll have plenty of time to talk when you come around asking for your money...¡± He spent a bit longer watching the yard then turned toward me. His gaze had warmed slightly. ¡°Get ready, kid,¡± he said sadly, nodding at the exit. ¡°Your ride is here.¡± Weirdly, I catch myself on the thought that I¡¯ve been impatiently waiting for this since morning. If anyone could know what I¡¯m thinking right now, they¡¯d say I lost my mind. Ugh... At a certain level, they¡¯d be close to the truth. Two days ago my world, never the most wonderful to begin with, approximately what a cripple like me could expect, just ceased to exist. Watching distantly as our home was plundered, I suddenly realized that I was all alone. Just me and the world, one on one. My big strong father would not be coming to help me again. My talkative and tender mom would never again be drying my tears of despair and anger. I felt a lump coming up my throat. My eyes started stinging, betraying my feelings. No! I will not burst into tears. At least not here, not now ¡ª that would just amuse the marauders looting my family home. After this is all over, I can find some hole to cower in. There I¡¯ll let my feelings run wild. But not here and not now. Otherwise I¡¯ll betray my father¡¯s memory. He taught me to be strong. I watched them moving out my parents¡¯ favorite things. Demolishing the history of our family. And I understood that this place ceased to be my home the moment they died... I didn¡¯t realize it at the time, but I had penetrated one of life¡¯s greatest truths ¡ª home is where the people who love you live. I slowly crawled off the stool. That was all the speed I was capable of with my two points of agility. But I was happy to have even that. I was two years old when I took my first step. That was also when I said my first word. Luck finally shined on father that year, and he was able to buy me my first artifact of the Ancients on the black market in the capital of our Barony. Out of old habit, my arm reached for my chest. - Rock Monitor Bone Button. - Category: Simple. - Agility +2. - Strength +1. - Mind +3. - Restrictions ¡ª None. - Durability ¡ª 25/25. Some probably think it funny how happy those pitiful six characteristic points made me... But for me, after two long years confined to a bed like a plank of wood, unfeeling and unable to speak, my father¡¯s gift was and still is the best thing that ever happened... I was holding a small knapsack in my hands. In it, I had a small portrait of my parents, two boiled eggs and a crust of bread. Madam Horst, a neighbor, brought me some food for the road. I always used to think she was evil and quarrelsome, but in the end she managed to surprise me. She was the only one who came around to ask what would become of me. My normal belt, level zero like all my clothing, had a small compartment where I kept a small pocketknife. - Dragonfly Pocketknife. - Category: Simple. - Damage +2. - Restrictions ¡ª None. - Durability ¡ª 55/55. It was the last artifact father obtained. My parents gave it to me as a birthday present. Just a few hours before they died... Somehow, my pitiful three strength points were able to handle both my own body and the little knapsack. And that was all thanks to a meagre little ring. - Steel Ring. - Category: Simple. - Strength +2. - Restrictions ¡ª None. - Durability ¡ª 30/30. I once asked father why these simple items were so valuable. As it turned out, the reasons were fairly significant. First of all, artifacts of the Ancients have no restrictions. That means anyone can wear them regardless of level or characteristics. Second, despite the low bonuses, I could improve them in the future. For now, I just don¡¯t know how. Third, though this is just rumored, improving them would not only raise my already existing characteristics but add new ones. And the last reason is that these objects, these sca...scalaaa... scal-ab-les... They mean my level will be added to all the item¡¯s characteristics. If I were level one now, all the characteristics of my artifacts would be improved by one. Ah... dreams... dreams... Also... Dalia told me this. Handiwork of the Ancients can only be recognized by those with high Mind. For normal folks, they look like normal items, totally unremarkable. And as for their appearance... Well, expensive jewelry like a gold ring is sure to attract the wrong kind of attention on the finger of a miner¡¯s son. So it¡¯s perfect that they appear plain and inconspicuous. After all, all things crafted by the Departed are one of a kind, expensive. There¡¯s no reason to draw unneeded attention. That¡¯s one of the first rules father taught me. That was exactly why every time a new artifact came to our house, Dalia the healer, first just my mother¡¯s midwife, came as well. And she soon became a friend of the family. Thanks to that little trick, no one ever asked questions. Like for example, when I started to walk after spending more than two years motionless on my back. It also created a logical explanation for why the foreman of a miner crew was always going to the bank for more loans. Healers are expensive. Especially healers like Dalia. By the way, mom once spilled that it was none other than the old healer woman who tracked down the handicrafts of the Ancients for me. Father paid her a small finder¡¯s fee for the trouble. I¡¯d always suspected my parents were spending lots of money so their son could live like a normal child. But when I actually saw how much debt they¡¯d accrued with all the runaway interest, it made an impression. Enough that the bank took our house, land and whole farm. And I was still in debt to the bank for almost a hundred gold. But the bank sold that debt... So now I¡¯d have to pay back some guy named Bardan... Walking out the door of my parents¡¯ house for the very last time, I turned to the lead mover: ¡°Mr. Dreher, would you mind telling me who this Bardan is?¡± The giant took a heavy sigh and, hiding a gloomy look, answered: ¡°Bardan is a lanista. He owns gladiator pits.¡± Chapter 2 Two years prior. ¡°SO THEN, listen up!¡± Came trainer Droom, his voice booming through the cave. The tough red-head was from a mining crew that competed with my father¡¯s, and was teaching us the basics of the art of mining. ¡°Today you will all learn to handle a pickaxe!¡± he barked, staring gloomily into our young faces. After that, the barbed gaze of his black eyes paused on me. ¡°Except for Eric Bergman, obviously.¡± His wide toad-like mouth spread into an acrid smile, revealing a row of crooked yellow teeth. My former classmates all looked at me right on cue and started laughing with glee. A blonde named Mia, the prettiest girl in class, laughed especially hard. Surrounded by a crowd of friends, also cute but not quite as pretty, she looked like a queen. Mia¡¯s father Hrut, one of the twelve elders of Orchus, was at daggers with my father. Once, he just about broke old Hrut¡¯s face, and it was topic of discussion in the city for quite some time after. It all started when the stuffy elder started raising a stink about a Bugged cripple studying alongside his daughter. Honestly, the matter even ended up going to trial. Hrut had the support of the other elders, and my classmates¡¯ parents were unanimously behind them. In their words, my deficiency was slowing down the rest of the class. When hunting for example, my mere presence weakens the whole group. I don¡¯t do damage, but still I supposedly lay claim to the spoils. Plus, they said, I am no end of trouble for the trainers, who are constantly making sure the ¡°half-baked whelp¡± doesn¡¯t accidentally get struck dead by some mob. After all, my life supply is just ten points... One bite from a large garbage rat. In theory, that was exactly how it worked but, in practice, no one ever shared anything with me. And the trainers didn¡¯t give a damn about my safety. If I survived, good. If I died, it was my own fault. Gathering resources was also an issue. The tools and resources all had a restriction: minimum level one. And that was the least of my troubles! I couldn¡¯t even eat all mother¡¯s food. Only the dishes with a little zero. The most basic food like bread, butter and honey. Simple fare like meat or porridge, no accoutrements. Seeing the other kids wolf down sweets was a very particular kind of torture... In the end, the court decided I should be expelled from school. But I was allowed to sit in and observe. Just be present at lessons. The basic idea was: ¡°look, but don¡¯t touch...¡± And naturally, the trainers would bear no responsibility if I got hurt... A small pickaxe appeared in Droom¡¯s hands. Father had shown me one like it. Little, for training. Five points of damage. ¡°I¡¯ll only be explaining this one time!¡± the trainer barked. ¡°You hold it here, by the handle! Wind up, swing! Hit!¡± The steel, shooting dozens of tiny sparks, struck ore. Without particular effort, Droom applied pressure to the handle and popped out his first rock. ¡°Presto! Everyone get it?!¡± A dissonant chorus of children¡¯s voices answered in the affirmative. ¡°Okay then, let¡¯s see. Who¡¯s gonna be first?!¡± A tall strong figure quickly broke off from the cluster of students. Haakon, son of Ulvar the hunter. Hair black as tar. A supple stature. Soft animalistic movements. The group of girls headed by Mia was watching him, dazed. They say when he was born, Random granted him a generous fourteen tablets. Exactly the same as my older brother Ivar got once upon a time... And alas I never even met him. Thanks to the Great System¡¯s generous gift, Haakon was progressing much faster than his peers. A week ago, he left with his father and older brother to hunt at level two. He came back five. My former classmates worshipped him for his strength and agility. ¡°Master Droom, could you maybe give me a better tool?!¡± Haakon shouted with defiance. Chest puffed out, hands on hips. Poser... Droom croaked back happily. ¡°I don¡¯t see why not.¡± And extended him a more substantial ¡°adult¡± pickaxe. ¡°Woah!¡± marveled Thomas, a bigger kid, also a miner¡¯s son like me. ¡°Level five! Like my dad¡¯s! That thing must be heavy!¡± If Haakon was the least bit worried, no one noticed. His handsome face was just beaming with the same self-satisfied smile as ever. Walking up almost face to face with the trainer, the hunter¡¯s son extended his right hand for the tool. Droom extended the heavy pickaxe with ease, as if it were light as a feather. ¡°Better use two hands,¡± he said with a smile. Despite his self-confident appearance, Haakon took the precaution, for which the teacher rewarded him with a nod of approval. All that time we were standing in silence, holding our breath and watching Haakon. He grasps the handle with both hands. Nods at the trainer. Droom lets go. I see the veins on Haakon¡¯s forehead bulge. His hands are quivering in strain, but still he keeps hold of the pick. A heavy swing and the steel tip cuts into ore. It looks like he¡¯s working a little harder than Droom, but it doesn¡¯t matter... Haakon leverages all his bodyweight onto the handle and, with enormous effort, to the admiring gasps of his classmates, pops out quite a large piece of stone. ¡°Well done!¡± the master barked and patted the boy on the shoulder. A satisfied smile froze on Haakon¡¯s face. His eyes ran over some system notifications only he could see. ¡°What did you get?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Questions leapt in, vying with one another. Haakon raised a hand demandingly. ¡°Quiet!¡± shouted Skeggi, Haakon¡¯s best friend. ¡°Read, bro!¡± Haakon concentrated on the invisible text and began reading it at his leisure. Was I the only one who noticed how slowly he read? He must have less Mind than even me. ¡°Attention you have acquired four pounds of ore! Congratulations! You receive...¡± Haakon ran a sly meaningful look over all of us and continued: ¡°Clay tablet of strength!¡± Everyone shouted for joy. ¡°Clay tablet of agility!¡± ¡°Yeaaah!¡± Everyone yelled in concert. ¡°Clay tablet of endurance! Clay tablet ¡®Mining!¡¯ Clay tablet of carrying capacity! Experience essences ¡ª five!¡± As Haakon read through his loot, I unwittingly imagined myself in his place. What must it be like to be strong and agile? To achieve everything you desire? To catch the prettiest girls staring at you with stars in their eyes? It took me a second to realize that Haakon had stopped boasting and everyone was staring at me. I looked around, not understanding.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Did you see his face?!¡± shouted Snorri, another of Haakon¡¯s flunkies, pointing a grubby finger at me. ¡°That defective is drooling over Haakon¡¯s loot!¡± A wave of loud whinnying boomed through the cave. They all had their fingers trained on me. They were making faces that must have been imitating how they thought I looked. Unable to bear it any longer, I turned and ran for the exit. Well, so it seemed to me to me. It would be more accurate to say I crawled slowly like a turtle. I mean, a turtle would have honestly been faster. My ¡°epic¡± run caused another burst of laughter. Snotty Snorri and fat Thomas even cheered. I don¡¯t remember getting home. I only remember that I wept all night. The anger and humiliation made me want to fall through the earth. But most of all I hated myself for my shameful retreat. That very day, around morning, before falling into a restless dream, I promised myself that I would never again show my back to an enemy... Present day. ¡°Eric Bergman?¡± Thin as a decaying tree, the old man stared half-blind at a rumpled sheet of paper. A little bald head, narrow bony shoulders, a hunched stature. Just level nine. I wonder what he did all his life. Another failure like me. Actually, no. I¡¯m the only one like me. At the very least that¡¯s what Dalia told me. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me.¡± The old man finally tore himself from the paper and looked closely at the words over my head. ¡°What the...¡± the old man¡¯s faded teary eyes went round. He even blinked a few times. ¡°My old lady told me to stop drinking that moonshine,¡± he rasped out angrily. ¡°Now I¡¯m hallucinating zeroes.¡± A mover walking past guffawed. ¡°What, Burdoc? Finally drink yourself silly?¡± ¡°What are you laughing about, loafer? Now I¡¯m gonna have to fork over a wad of cash to some healer.¡± ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll learn what it means to force nasty stuff down your throat!¡± the mover kept laughing. Burdoc spat in anger and, again frowning, started looking closer at my level. I decided to take pity on the old man. ¡°Mr. Burdoc, don¡¯t you worry. You¡¯re not hallucinating. I really am nulled.¡± I thought I was reassuring the poor fellow. Little did I know! That only horrified him further. ¡°How can that be? Oh, Great System!¡± he lamented, clutching at his head. ¡°What will I ever say to Mr. Bardan?! He¡¯ll flay me alive for bringing him a defective!¡± ¡°How is that your problem, old fool?¡± the lead mover jumped in. ¡°Bardan made a deal with the bank. He bought the peonage certificates. If he didn¡¯t look at who he was buying, that¡¯s his problem. Not yours, old man.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true!¡± the geezer spread his arms happily. ¡°After all, I¡¯m just a cog in the machine. My job is merely to transport the people on this list!¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Dreher smiled. ¡°And you were about to bury yourself.¡± ¡°Thank you, sweet man, you¡¯ve set my soul at ease,¡± Burdoc quickly bowed to the lead mover and turned to me. ¡°And you, kid, climb up on my cart. We have more peons to pick up.¡± It was around evening when we finally arrived. To my surprise, I took the journey well. My head buried in a pile of sweet-smelling hay, I slept the whole way. I opened my eyes only when Burdoc stopped to pick up more peons. It was hard to sleep with all the heart-rending screaming of women and children. A family sending off one of their own into peonage is not a spectacle for the faint of heart. I had never seen such a thing before, but Burdoc was eager to explain what all was going on. For an old man, he was actually pretty talkative. ¡°Let¡¯s say a man comes to the bank and takes out a loan,¡± the old man said. ¡°How does the bank stand to benefit from throwing gold around willy-nilly? Exactly, they don¡¯t. They need to make a profit, that¡¯s why they¡¯re a bank. And so they give the man a little cash to grow. Then that racks up interest. If he¡¯s got the gold to pay them back on schedule, then good. But if he doesn¡¯t, the debt gets bought up by someone like my master. He¡¯s always in need of more people... And when that time comes, they have to work for him until they¡¯ve paid off their whole debt. Ahem, see I still haven¡¯t even gotten to the worst part... It¡¯s good when a family has strong sons. Usually their fathers give them up to peonage, and themselves try to quickly get the money together to buy their boy back. Well, that¡¯s for good fathers... Sometimes, children spend half their lives toiling for their parents¡¯ creditors. Sometimes they even die in peonage...¡± The last family we went to had no sons. They had children, but only five girls. The very oldest looked to be about my age. And she was who we were taking. Her name was Jay and, surprisingly, her mother was not crying, though her gloomy face was affixed with a mask of pain and despair. The youngest sisters, wiping away tears and snot, were whimpering pitifully like puppies. I looked at Jay¡¯s old house, at her mother embracing her eldest daughter with tense arms. I saw her father, a man who looked like he never crawled out of the bottle. I realized it would be a long time before she¡¯d be able to pay off her debt... If that ever came. Bardan¡¯s home was impressively large. Three stories. Granite walls. All the windows fitted with massive steel grates. Not a home but a fortress. And his fairly sizable property was entirely surrounded by a tall stone fence. At the gates and front door, there were well-armed guards. By all appearances, this Bardan was made of money. Our cart of quiet peons rolled over to the barracks, which were a distance from the master¡¯s home. There were people waiting for us. Two men. One subtly reminded me of the bank clerk Sakis. An identical inkwell around his neck, the same mustache, scrutinizing gaze. Gaunt. An unhealthy tinge to his face. A born clerk. The second was his complete opposite. Tall, broad-shouldered. Hands like excavator shovels. Green eyes burning with energy and power. Burdoc fitfully lined us up next to the cart and extended a familiar rumpled paper to the ¡°clerk:¡± ¡°Here you go, mister steward. Just as the list says, six new peons. Four men, one girl and one boy.¡± The steward accepted the paper with disgust, using only two fingers and quickly scanned our names. When he reached me, his eyes went wide. ¡°What have you brought me?!¡± he shouted. ¡°Doddering old fool, did you not see who the Bergmans were trying to slip you!!! What will I tell my master now?! Valgard, order this idiot flogged!¡± The red-bearded giant, previously standing blankly, took a threatening lurch forward. Burdoc lost all his affinity for speech and collapsed to his knees before the raging steward. But he just flew deeper and deeper into a fit of anger. Valgard loomed over the poor man. His wide palms came down on the bony shoulders of the now weeping geezer. ¡°Mister steward!¡± I think even I shuddered at the sound of my own voice. ¡°Permission to speak!¡± Bug must have pulled that out of my big stupid mouth! But it was too late to take it back! An oppressive silence hung over the courtyard. My companions in misfortune stared at me, dumbfounded. Even Burdoc stopped his howling. The ¡°clerk¡± squinted predatorily and barked: ¡°Speak! But keep in mind, if you interrupted me for no reason, you¡¯ll be getting a lashing alongside this muttonhead! Got it?¡± ¡°Yes, mister steward. I accept the risk.¡± It took effort to keep my voice from quavering. ¡°Continue!¡± ¡°Mr. Burdoc is not at fault. As a matter of fact, he carried out your orders dutifully.¡± ¡°Then why are you here and not your father, older brother or sister?¡± ¡°Well, mister steward, I don¡¯t have a sister and never have. My older brother fell in battle in the Wastes fighting for our Baron, and my father and mother died two days ago in a mine collapse... I am all alone... So you see, Mr. Burdoc had no choice.¡± Out of the corner of my eye, I caught an intrigued glance from Jay. During our trip, I inconspicuously got a good look at her. Much to my surprise, she was level five. Based on her flexible figure and smooth cat-like movements, she had invested heavily in Agility. A lock of fiery red hair stuck out from under her kerchief. Her eyes are like two dark emeralds. The freckles on her slightly upturned little nose and pale cheeks don¡¯t diminish her beauty in the slightest. Quite the opposite... ¡°Is he speaking the truth?¡± The steward was still angry but, by his tone of voice, I could tell the storm had passed. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the old man bleated. ¡°I swear it was so!¡± Clearly having received a system message confirming the oath, the steward¡¯s rage morphed into sweetness. ¡°Alright,¡± he crowed at the old man. ¡°Get everyone a place to stay. Tomorrow I¡¯ll decide what to do with them...¡± Burdoc quickly hopped up and led all the peons to the farthest barrack. I wanted to also turn and go but suddenly heard: ¡°But you won¡¯t be getting off so easy...¡± The barbed gaze of his squinty eyes hooked into me. I forgot how to breathe. ¡°Master will be outraged. The bank mucked up, and now we¡¯re left to pick up the pieces... After all, you¡¯re utterly worthless. Just think! Level zero! How are you even still alive...? And where are we going to stick you?¡± ¡°Ing,¡± the red-bearded giant unexpectedly spoke up. ¡°Look how dainty he is. Skorx¡¯s scout crew has been asking for someone like him a long time.¡± ¡°Have you lost your mind?¡± the leader replied, distraught. ¡°Send a null like him out to the mine? For what, so he can keel over before the end of his first hour?¡± I think I gulped. My heart was just about to jump out of my chest. ¡°Well, who cares if he does?¡± Valgard continued. ¡°Then you can file a grievance against Skorx saying he damaged master¡¯s property. You might even come out ahead.¡± ¡°Are you out of your mind? His debt is almost a hundred gold! Skorx won¡¯t accept a risk like that. For that kind of dough, he could hire a few dozen boys like this!¡± ¡°Who are you talking about?¡± the big fellow laughed. ¡°Skorx, who would sell his own mother for ten copper? Haha! You¡¯re a funny guy! That miser would never say no to fresh meat if he doesn¡¯t have to pay. And who¡¯s to say the little guy is gonna kick the bucket on day one. He comes from a family of miners. At the end of the day, he¡¯s a Bergman.¡± After that, Valgard shot me a happy wink. It made a chill run over my skin. ¡°Yeah but why does he want small kids?¡± Ing asked, intrigued. ¡°Well, to scout out long tunnels. Only tiny bodies can fit into the burrows of the stone worms.¡± ¡°I see,¡± said the steward, stroking his beard in thought. ¡°Think for yourself,¡± Valgard applied some pressure, seeing that Ing was about to give in. ¡°Did he put out a request for scrawny kids? He did. Did you send him one? You did. And now it¡¯s up to Skorx to decide. If he sends him into the tunnels, it¡¯s his responsibility. If he sends him back, no big deal. You can set the kid up somewhere in the kitchen before master comes around. They say he¡¯s not coming for two weeks.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Ing agreed. ¡°He¡¯s busy buying up new gladiators. Marshal Vestar¡¯s supply train just got to the capital. They have lots of prisoners of war, orcs and goblins.¡± ¡°All the better. Master will hardly notice some new whelp. And you¡¯ll have a great chance to get back at Skorx. After all, didn¡¯t he send master a grievance against you last month?¡± Based on Ing¡¯s angry face, the seeds had hit fertile soil. To my immense pity, Valgard hadn¡¯t only invested in strength. He had a way with words as well. ¡°And Skorx will also never learn the size of the boy¡¯s debt. The kid will give us an oath not to tell,¡± said the big fellow, adding his final argument. After those words, Ing shot a gaze at me. Brr... Cold as ice. ¡°Well then bigmouth, looks like you¡¯ll be following in the footsteps of your dearly departed daddy.¡±