《Restart: Where Are My Cheat Skills?!》


 Chapter 1 - Where Are My Cheat Skills?!

    I had been lying in my bed, procrastinating. Then, in the blink of an eye, I found myself on the ground, surrounded by towering trees.


    I turned, dazed and confused. A forest? It looked like one, at least. But why was I here? How did I get here?


    I tried to stand, but the moment I put weight on my right leg, a sharp pain shot through it, sending me crashing back down.


    Right¡­ My leg.


    I had been in the hospital not long ago. I had messed it up saving a woman from getting hit by a truck. I didn¡¯t die, but I had spent weeks recovering at home. Even now, my steps were slow, stiff, and painful.


    This time, I pushed myself up with more caution.


    I was definitely in a forest, but something felt off. It didn¡¯t quite match the images I had seen in books or on TV. Then again, I had never actually been in one before, so what did I know?


    Out of instinct, I picked up a stick lying nearby and started moving. My grip tightened as I glanced over my shoulder with every step. My heart was pounding. I searched for any clue, anything that could explain where I was, but all I saw were towering trees stretching endlessly around me. Above, the sky was a familiar shade of blue yet somehow, it felt foreign.


    The whole situation was terrifying. I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, wearing nothing but my pajamas, with only a stick for protection.


    Scenarios started flooding my mind. Was I abducted by aliens? Did my bullies from school pull some sick prank and dump me here? That didn¡¯t make sense. They didn¡¯t even know my address. And even if they did, there was no way they could¡¯ve broken into my house without waking my parents or our dogs.


    But there was one possibility¡ªone that I secretly hoped was true.


    I got transported to another world. Just like in my isekai anime.


    The thought of being in a fantasy isekai strangely calmed my nerves. As a healthy young man, I had always fantasized about being isekai¡¯d: fighting a Demon Lord, assembling a harem of cute girls with various bust sizes and races, and living the ultimate power fantasy.


    But, of course, that was just wishful thinking. There was no way something like that would actually happen! If this really was an isekai, then where was my godly benefactor explaining my situation? Where was the king ready to shower me with riches in exchange for saving his kingdom from the Demon Lord? Where was my second life as a prodigy baby, born with all my past-life memories intact, suckling on my new mother¡¯s teat before becoming an overpowered genius by the age of one?


    ¡°If I was truly isekai¡¯d, I¡¯d at least have some starter skills.¡±


    I muttered to myself.


    As if on cue, a small, blinking red dot appeared in my right peripheral vision, hovering like it was etched into my eyes.


    My first instinct was to reach out and touch it. The moment my fingers made contact, a screen popped up. I didn¡¯t even flinch. Somehow, I had been expecting this.


    And now, there was no denying it. I turned my eyes to the screen and began to read.


    Jonas Wright


    Error: Invalid Summoning Process. Cheat Skills Disabled.


    "Wait, what?"


    I raised an eyebrow. What the hell does ¡®Invalid Summoning Process¡¯ even mean?


    Was I summoned incorrectly? And because of that, I didn¡¯t get any cheat skills?


    I let out a dry laugh. Of course. Even in an isekai, something I had only dreamed of, I still somehow managed to screw it up.


    "No cheat powers, huh? Guess that means I¡¯m still just a regular human."


    I uttered. Still, I refused to believe that was the end of the line. Depending on this world¡¯s level of technology, I could still leverage the sheer wealth of knowledge humanity had built over millennia. Suffice it to say, I had spent an embarrassing amount of time watching YouTube videos on survival, crafting, and obscure life hacks and now was the perfect time to put all that knowledge to use.


    I couldn¡¯t afford to waste time. I needed to find civilization as soon as possible. I had no idea what this isekai forest had in store for me once night fell, and I wasn¡¯t about to stick around to find out.


    My first idea was to climb a tree for a better view of my surroundings. It did not go well. My arms gave out almost immediately and yes, I had no one to blame but myself for never exercising.


    I walked. And walked. Stopping every ten minutes or so to rest my aching leg. My eyes darted around, scanning for any sign of a road, a clearing. Anything that could lead me to safety.


    Hours passed. The sky turned deep red as the sun sank lower, stretching shadows across the forest floor. With each passing minute, a creeping sense of unease settled in my chest. I heard faint whispers in the dark and the rustling of leaves.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    My heart started to pound very hard. I forced myself to keep it down, to suppress my fear. A part of me wanted to shout for help. But another part of me knew better. Because in a place like this, who or what would answer?


    The blinking red dot in my peripheral vision flickered again. I clicked on it once more, hoping, somehow, that it would show something different.


    Jonas Wright


    Error: Invalid Summoning Process. Cheat Skills Disabled.


    The same message stared back at me. My shoulders slumped as I sank down beneath a tree, feeling utterly defeated.


    What was the point of all this? Being transported to another world with no cheat skills? At least give me something. I was not even asking to be overpowered anymore. Anything would be better than this.


    I let out a deep sigh. "Why am I here? I didn¡¯t even die..."


    The sun was nearly gone, dipping below the horizon and yet I had seen no signs of civilization.


    I was running out of time.


    I immediately went back to searching. I picked up my pace. I walked, then walked faster until I found myself running. My leg throbbed with pain, but stopping was not an option. I ran across the uneven terrain, weaving between bushes and ducking under low-hanging branches. In the distance, I spotted a gap in the trees, a clear break in the dense forest.


    I pushed forward, my steps growing steadier as the ground beneath me evened out. The thick grass faded, giving way to something more familiar. A dirt road.


    The realization brought a faint smile to my lips.


    Hope swelled in my chest.


    I glanced left, then right, debating which direction to take. I picked right, at random. As long as I followed the road, it had to lead me somewhere eventually and hopefully, to people.


    By now, the pain in my leg was an afterthought. I had always been an introvert, but at that moment, finding another person was the only thing in my mind.


    As I continued running, movement in the distance caught my eye. Three large, boxy shapes were traveling in the same direction as me. I squinted to get a better look. Wagons. Pulled by horses.


    A caravan. And to me, that meant one thing¡ªother people.


    My eyes lit up with joy.


    ¡°Hey! Wait for me!¡±


    I called out, quickening my pace to catch up. A man sitting at the back of the last wagon turned at the sound of my voice. He met my gaze for a brief moment before saying something to his companions. Moments later, the entire caravan came to a halt.


    I finally caught up, out of breath and aching all over, but ecstatic nonetheless. After taking a moment to catch my breath, I turned to face them.


    Their faces looked Southern European. They were all men, dressed in rugged medieval tunics and trousers. Some had daggers strapped to their belts, but considering this was an isekai fantasy world, I figured that was just the norm. They would need to protect themselves, after all. And none of them seemed particularly threatening too. If anything, they struck me more as merchants than warriors.


    "Thanks for stopping for me! You guys don¡¯t know it yet, but you just saved my life!"


    I said, my voice brimming with relief and excitement.


    The men stared at me, their eyebrows raised as they exchanged confused glances. One of them spoke, but the words meant nothing to me.


    "Uh¡­ sorry? I didn¡¯t catch that. Can you say it again?" I said.


    The man gave me an even more bewildered look before repeating himself. Same language., same complete lack of understanding on my part.


    My eyes widened. Wait¡­ I don¡¯t understand him?


    This isn¡¯t how it¡¯s supposed to work.


    In isekai stories, protagonists usually wake up already speaking the language of their new world. It¡¯s just part of the deal. No awkward misunderstandings, no language barriers, just instant fluency.


    Then I remembered the pop-up window. Invalid Summoning Process.


    Was this part of it too? Had I been thrown into this world completely unprepared, without even the ability to communicate?


    One of the men shouted toward the lead wagon. Now that I was actually paying attention, I could see that this one was different. Unlike the others, which were nothing more than wooden frames covered in rugged sheets, this one was fully enclosed, elegant, and built like something straight out of nobility.


    The wagon door creaked open, and a short man stepped out. He wore the same type of tunic as the others, but his clothes were cleaner, more refined. With an annoyed expression, he strode toward us and spoke to his men. They responded by gesturing at me.


    The man, who I assumed was their boss, turned his gaze to me. His eyes swept over me from head to toe, but then he paused, staring at my face. His expression shifted slightly, then a knowing smile curled on his lips.


    He said something to his men, then disappeared back into his wagon. One of them immediately hopped down and started walking towards me. His eyes flickered to the stick in my hand and I dropped it without hesitation.


    "Oh, my bad," I muttered, not that I had any idea if he understood me.


    He started speaking to me but, of course, none of it made sense. Realizing that talking was pointless, he switched to gestures instead. He waved his hand toward the middle wagon, clearly signaling for me to go there.


    I was a little skeptical about all of this, especially since I couldn¡¯t understand a word they were saying, but I was exhausted. At that point, all I wanted was to sit down and rest.


    I approached the middle wagon and unlike the wagon at the back, this one had curtains covering the entrance. Reaching out, I pulled them aside and took a quick glance.


    And there they were.


    A group of people sat huddled together. Men, women, and children, but not a single elderly person among them. For a moment, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me but some of them had animal ears where a human¡¯s ears should be. Their clothes were torn and filthy and their faces exhausted. Chains bound their wrists and ankles. Thick, unyielding iron.


    One of the slaves, a young girl, met my gaze for a brief moment. Her eyes were lifeless.


    A chill ran through me. Slaves. They are all slaves.


    I turned to leave, but before I could react, something slammed against my head.


    Pain exploded in my skull. I hit the ground, vision swimming. I could hear footsteps approaching, followed by the sharp clinking of metal.


    Cold iron closed around my wrists.


    My vision slowly faded into darkness.

 Chapter 2 - The Slave Auction

    Before I was thrown into this world, the last thing I heard was shouts being hurled back and forth.


    "You''re a good-for-nothing son!"


    "I wish you had never given birth to me!"


    My mother stood in front of me, eyes filled with pain and disappointment, her cheeks wet with endless tears. My younger sister sat on the couch, her back turned to us, silent.


    These fights usually ended with me holing up in my room for hours. I¡¯d just sit there and watch anime or read light novels as if nothing had happened. Eventually, I¡¯d get hungry and only leave my room once I was sure everyone had already fallen asleep. And sure enough, I¡¯d still find food prepared for me¡ªa hot, comforting meal that, once eaten, made me feel like I was still loved.


    I don¡¯t remember when these fights first began, but I do remember the first time I heard those words. They cut deep, not just because of what was said, but because they came from the one person who was supposed to love me no matter what. They say words cut deeper than actions, leaving wounds that linger long after they¡¯re spoken. But like any wound, they heal. And over time, you stop feeling the pain. As if they never really mattered at all.


    The canopy opening of the tent was pulled back, letting light shine into my eyes. I woke up to the sound of our handlers pounding our metal cages.


    Every morning, these men would wake us up and give us food¡ªthe only meal we¡¯d have for the entire day. After that, they would take down the massive tent they had set up, chain us together, and transfer us to the wagons before moving to a different part of the city.


    Once there, they would clean us up just enough to look presentable, then put us on display before a massive crowd. The order was always the same: the girls were sold first, followed by the strong men, then the ones who weren¡¯t particularly strong but still healthy.


    By nightfall, whatever remained of us would be locked back in our cages. If they bought new slaves to resell, they would be locked up too, and I would have to listen to their cries and pleas all night until exhaustion silenced them¡ªor punishment did. The routine never changed. Day after day, the cycle repeated.


    It had been five days since I was captured by these men, and no one had bought me yet, presumably because of my leg injury and my inability to speak their language. Even if I did, I don¡¯t particularly look strong anyway.


    I scanned the cages and sure enough, on the other side of the tent was the newest arrival¡ªprobably the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And yes, that included the women from Earth.


    Her long brown hair was a tangled mess, her bangs nearly covering her round amber eyes. She was thin, her frame almost disappearing under the ragged clothes draped over her. She sat curled up in the farthest corner of her cage, staring into the distance, trembling. I could feel the fear radiating off her, like a silent scream you could audibly hear.


    She had arrived last night. I remembered hearing her cries, her desperate pleas as the men dragged her into the cage. They didn¡¯t listen. They had done this before countless times after all. One of them even took advantage of the struggle, letting his hand linger on her chest as she fought to break free. It was quick, almost practiced, so much so that she did not even seem to notice.


    I did not realize I had been staring at her for a good minute until she looked back at me. Our eyes met for a brief moment before I quickly turned away, heat creeping up my face.


    She definitely thinks I am a creep now.


    Hesitant, I slowly glanced back to see her reaction.


    She was still staring at me. Her wide amber eyes were imploring me, as if silently begging for help. Looking at her like that made me think of a lost puppy waiting for its owner to take it home.


    I lowered my head, my gaze falling to the dirt floor.


    There was nothing I could do for her. We were in the same boat.


    One of the handlers began distributing our food. Normally, they would place the wooden bowls inside the cages, but when it was my turn, they dropped mine just barely outside my cage.


    "Dato¨¬ ti makah¨¤n mo, po t¨¤an ienamne naga gaigo!"


    The guy yelled at me.


    Those words still didn¡¯t make any sense, but I assumed he was cursing at me. I had given them hell when I first woke up after my capture. Not that my rebellious phase lasted long¡ªa strong punch to the gut and a threat to slit my throat put an end to that.


    I reached for the bowl and tried not to gag at the stench of the slop inside. A faint growl rumbled in my stomach.


    I stared at the food. It tasted terrible and I would rather starve than eat it, but those men would beat me if I didn¡¯t. To make eating it less unbearable, I started imagining it was something else. I concentrated really hard. The slop slowly morphed in my mind into chicken curry with rice¡ªthe last decent meal I had.


    The last meal my mom prepared for me.


    My vision blurred. Before I knew it, tears spilled down my cheeks.


    "I¡¯m really sorry, Mom¡­"


    At that moment, all I wanted was to be home and to be with them.


    * * * * *


    We were all herded into our wagon, our hands were chained down.


    With a jolt, the caravan lurched forward, rolling toward today¡¯s destination.


    I caught glimpses of the outside world through a small gap in the curtain covering the wagon''s entrance¡ªpeople going about their day. Every now and then, I spotted figures clad in armor and draped in elaborate robes.


    Adventurers.


    I still could not wrap my head around the fact that I was in a completely different world. Maybe it was an alternate version of mine, something vaguely familiar yet different. But no¡ªthis was a full-blown fantasy world with beastmen, elves, dwarves, and regular humans.


    It should have been a dream come true. Like winning the lottery.


    Except I got caught and was now being sold as a slave.


    Still, I wanted to become an adventurer one day. Earn enough money, settle down, and build the harem I would form along my journey. But none of that would happen unless I got out of here first. My leg had healed, so if an opportunity presented itself, I could escape and run.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Absentmindedly, I opened my status box. I had figured out that I could do it just by thinking about it. I glanced at the other slaves and they did not seem to notice the bright floating screen at all.


    I took a quick look at my status, and there it was. The same message.


    If only I had some skills to work with.


    The ride took an hour before we arrived at a new location. They escorted us into a building that, at first glance, looked like a theater. Ornate decorations gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers, and rows of plush seats upholstered in rich red fabric were arranged neatly, all facing a raised platform at the center. Velvet-colored curtains hung across the back of the stage and a podium stood at the center, a wooden gavel resting on top. The entire setup was bathed in warm light from elegant lamps, the kind you would expect to see in a Victorian-era drama. It was grand, almost romantic¡ªif not for the reality of what was about to happen here.


    We were led backstage, where they removed our cuffs and divided us into two groups. Lined up and facing one another, we were ordered to strip for inspection. Just another routine quality check.


    I remembered how embarrassed I had been the first time. Back then, there had been a couple of pretty girls among us, and for me, that had been the first time I had ever seen a naked woman in real life.


    As I stripped, I could not help but steal a glance at the new girl. She fumbled with her tattered clothes, her movements slow and hesitant¡ªdeliberately stalling for time.


    One of the handlers, visibly irritated, started toward her. She looked at me then, her eyes locking onto mine, begging for help.


    I gritted my teeth. I¡¯m sorry. I can¡¯t help you.


    The man grabbed the hem of her clothes and yanked them up in one swift motion, stripping her naked. She gasped and immediately threw her arms around herself, covering her chest with one and shielding her crotch with the other.


    She was shaking like a drenched kitten, her face burned red with humiliation.


    The short man from before, the real slave trader, entered the room not long after. He moved down the line, inspecting each of us one by one. His gaze lingered for a long moment on every body before he silently moved on to the next.


    When he reached me, he turned to one of his men, who only shrugged in response. The trader then shifted his attention back to me.


    "N¨¤sah-yaar kaed¨¬ ti kaesasahadna?"


    He spoke, but as expected, I had no clue what he was saying. I just stared back at him, my expression making it obvious.


    Without warning, he grabbed my arm and yanked me forward, forcing me to take a few steps. When I did not flinch or react to the pain, a grin crept across his face. He muttered something in his language then patted me firmly on the shoulder.


    I tried to piece together what he meant. From what I could tell, my healed leg was good news for him¡ªit made me more valuable, more appealing to buyers.


    Which meant¡­


    I was really going to be sold.


    A cold weight settled in my chest.


    The slave trader moved on, continuing his inspections until he reached the girl. She was still covering herself, arms wrapped tightly around her body. He told her to lower them. That was what I assumed he was saying.


    She shook her head, even taking a step back. Even from a distance, I could see the shift in the trader¡¯s expression, his patience wearing thin.


    In the end, she gave in. She had no choice.


    Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her arms.


    And like a creepy horndog, I watched intently.


    Small breasts, indeed.


    I knew I shouldn¡¯t had been staring, but I couldn''t help myself. There was no way I was going to let this moment pass. She was gorgeous, and that meant she would be sold in no time. Once that happened, whatever awaited her would be far worse than this.


    At least, that was how I justified it to myself.


    Deep down, I knew the truth.


    I was nothing more than a pervert taking advantage of a woman at her lowest point.


    Before long, they ordered us to get dressed and reattached our cuffs. I could hear the muffled voices of people gathering in the main room.


    This is it.


    To my surprise, I was the first one put up for bidding. As I stood behind the curtain, I glanced back one last time. The girl met my gaze and offered a weak, pained smile.


    She would be sold quickly¡ªI had no doubt about that. This was probably the last time I would ever see her. I could only hope that, by some miracle, her master would not be a monster. That she would be treated well.


    If only we had met under different circumstances. Maybe we could have been friends. If only I had cheat skills right now..


    I stepped out onto the stage.


    The crowd was a strange mix¡ªwealthy aristocrats dressed in finery, hardened adventurers clad in armor, and others I could not quite place. I had almost numbed myself to this process, but now the fear was creeping back in. The slave trader¡¯s reaction still lingered in my mind, making me uneasy. I was healthy now, which only meant I was far more likely to be sold.


    Right now, more than anything, I wished my leg was still broken.


    The slave trader stood beside me, addressing the crowd with a confidence I had not seen before. Last time, even with the massive language barrier, he had sounded like a shady salesman pushing a beat-up carriage onto a clueless buyer.


    This time, he was sure I would sell.


    The bidding began. And, to my disbelief, people actually raised their hands.


    A pit formed in my stomach. From where I stood, I could barely make out their faces through the blinding lights¡ªwhich only made it more ridiculous that the trader could see them just fine.


    My eyes darted between bidders, tracking each hand that went up.


    A sharp crack echoed through the hall. The auctioneer¡¯s gavel had come down.


    It was over.


    I barely had time to process what happened before they dragged me into another room to wait for the rest of the event to finish.


    I sat in the corner on a stiff wooden bench, elbows on my knees, hands clasped under my chin.


    Someone actually bought me.


    I am going to be a real slave.


    This is it.


    What the hell were they going to make me do? How long would they force me to work? Would they at least feed me?


    Would they pay me? Even a little? I mean, fuck, I have never been a slave before! How the hell would I know?!


    But forget all that¡ªhow am I even going to communicate?


    Did that bastard of a slave trader even tell them I can¡¯t speak their language?


    Would they punish me for it?


    Shit. Shit. Shit.


    Fuck.


    My mind raced with all these thoughts, so caught up in my own worries that I hadn''t even noticed the event had ended.


    One of the handlers entered the room. It was time to face my master.


    I met the two inside a new room filled with wooden crates. The bastard trader was rummaging through a pile of papers on top of a table. Upon closer inspection, I noticed they had magic circles drawn on them. He noticed me glaring at him, stopped what he was doing, and nonchalantly introduced me to the other guy.


    He was older, but not ancient¡ªprobably ten to fifteen years older than my father, and that bastard was forty-six. His graying hair was slightly unkempt, his beard neatly trimmed but still rugged. Thick, dark eyebrows arched high, giving him a perpetually amused expression, and his deep-set eyes gleamed with something I could not quite place.


    I could not tell what he did for a living. He carried himself with a certain extravagance, yet there was also something soft about him, something gentle and familiar.


    He reminded me a little of my grandfather. Though, the fact that he was still a slave owner did not escape me.


    He extended a hand toward me. Instinct told me that playing hard to get would not do me any favors.


    I took it without hesitation. He started talking to me and I had no idea what the bastard trader had told him so I pretended to understand.


    The man saw through me instantly. He then burst into hearty laughter before giving me a firm pat on the shoulder. Unlike the last time I had been "patted," this one did not come with bad intentions.


    I thought I knew what was coming next. In every isekai story, this was the part where the slave got branded¡ªa magic crest, an enchanted collar, some kind of mark to keep them in line, preventing them from harming their master or disobeying orders.


    But no one moved. The slave trader and my master remained in their position, as if they were waiting for someone.


    Then, I heard footsteps approaching from behind.


    I turned around. My eyes widened.


    It was her.


    The old man stepped forward, extending his hand for a handshake. She accepted with hesitation.