1 Ambushed

Dirt was stirred up on the stone ground as a young man carried a brick much too large for his impoverished figure. Climbing up a shabby, wooden ramp, he dropped the stone down from his hunched back.

The young black man's body was on the verge of collapse. Bones clearly visible and skin heavily scarred, he knew he wouldn't last many more weeks of this menial work.

Grunting as he strained his muscles, the young man barely managed to lift the brick up to its position within the walls of Fort Nihl. He then shuddered, feeling his entire body threatening to collapse as he trudged back down the grassy incline the fort sat upon. Other slaves followed the same long trail as him, heading north through the forest.

"Tsk." The young man clicked his tongue as he stepped on a sharp stone with his weathered foot. The forest trail was uneven and laced with small gravel and rocks, making it so slaves couldn't use carts or other vehicles to transport the bricks.

The young man was impassive, however, and after his small initial complaint, paid no attention to the throbbing pain in his foot. Before even reaching his destination, he could already hear the shouts of the guards, the cracking of whips, and the cries of the slaves being beaten.

He was lucky he didn't have to work at the quarry, where surveillance was many times higher.

The young man licked his cracked lips as he reached the checkpoint, a wooden building and fence placed between the large walls that encircled the quarry. One of the armored guards glanced over provocatively from his slouched position at a desk as the young man passed by. The young man didn't meet the guard's gaze.

A massive, sprawling stone crater of scaffolding and ramps spiraled down into the depths of the planet in front of the young man as he headed towards the pick-up area. Slaves with pickaxes chipped away endlessly at the grey walls while white guards lazed about, occasionally cracking their whips and laughing as slaves fell under the weight of heavy labor.

The young man paid no attention to others' misfortune and only reminded himself to watch where he stepped. Most slaves were like this, due to the guards' intense scrutiny. Even though the slaves here suffered under a shared yoke of degrading conditions, they still had no time to pay attention to each other's travails, because each was too busy carefully minding his own conduct. After surviving for so long, the young man felt it would be a shame if he were beaten half to death just for tripping. He soon arrived at the pick-up area and was given another stone brick, repeating the monotonous cycle that's been going on for months.

The summer day turned to night as the guards herded the slaves out of the quarry and into tents within the forest. An hour later, the young man made his way back from placing his final stone at Fort Nihl. The silver moon hung high up in the sky, illuminating the vast expanse of forest and towering fort placed in its center. Slaves called the moon 'the white lady's breast,' because it was white and round like a woman's breast, but watched over their suffering coldly like the upper-class ladies who sometimes passed by. One slave had given the young man an alternative, tongue-in-cheek explanation, "we call it this, because it is beautiful, but it is out of reach." Gnarled roots twisted the ground and nocturnal critters eyed their surroundings vigilantly from their hidden positions within the dense foliage.

The young man arrived at the small clearing of tents and seeing the ragged bodies lying within them, settled himself beneath the bent trunk of a tree. Finishing late meant not getting a tarp over his head, but he's had worse. The young man sighed over his misfortune. Ending up as a slave all due to his race and damnable physique.

He was startled awake to the clanging ringing of a brass bell. Sunlight blinded him as he rubbed his tired eyes. Getting up, the young man stumbled towards the sharp, piercing sound.

He shortly came to see a snaking line of slaves, slowly moving towards a small stand where the stench of cheap gruel came from. Within the stand, a fat man in a what used to be white apron dipped his ladle into an old cauldron before dumping the foul contents into a bowl.

After a few minutes of waiting in line, the young man arrived in front of the cook. The fat man didn't bother to look up as he asked, "Number?"

The young man blandly replied, "Eight". The cook's gaze moved down the long list and about halfway through the paper, he saw the number eight. His eyes opened from their crescent-moon shape in mild surprise. "This skinny guy..." The cook shook his head. No matter how many stones a slave could carry, it didn't matter to him.

The cook then brought out two large, wooden bowls and lazily dropped the thin soup into them.

"Next," the cook called with seemingly as little enthusiasm as possible, while preparing a smaller bowl. The young man, Eight, took his meal and quietly slipped away.

Slaves sat in groups all around Eight as he walked by. He never was one for socialization during the time he spent as a slave. Besides, slaves weren't really allowed to form friendships, since, after a few recent slave revolts in the country, there was more care put into preventing slaves from grouping up or associating closely with each other. Slaves by this time worked alone and died alone, talking to each other much was dangerous and likely to just end in punishment. While there was a long history of slaves conversing with each other, and even coming up with music and folk tales, that was in the past by now.

Various voices filtered through Eight's ears; some were complaining, some were crying, a few were begging. Many were watching Eight as he made his way through, or more specifically, the two bowls he carried in his hands.

Eight settled down with his food. Sitting on grassy dirt, he brought the worn bowl to his lips. The vile taste of old vegetables assaulted his tongue as the soup slid down his throat. Unexpectedly, Eight smiled at the sensation. Although the texture was terrible and the bowl unsanitary, it was truly good to have food.

Licking the bowl clean more eagerly than Paris ate out Helen, Eight slouched his back up against a tree and began a short nap. Experience taught Eight to take advantage of any short break that he could. He never knew if he would be able to get enough rest later.

The brass bell rung twice, signaling the end of breakfast and waking Eight up. Leaving the empty bowl in a bin near the food stand, he headed back to the quarry to begin his monotonous cycle of repairing Fort Nihl.

The fort lay on the border between human and uncharted territory, leading to it receiving consistent attacks from various beasts and even rival forces. Damage to the walls and foundation were inevitable at the border, and fixing those damages is where slaves came in.

Arriving at the quarry, Eight looked up to the now cloud-filled sky as he passed through the checkpoint. It looked like it was going to rain. Eight soon arrived at the pick-up area. He clenched his teeth as he heaved a large, rectangular brick onto his bare back with the help of another slave, his hands grasping the bottom of it. Eight grimaced as the edge of the brick cut his arm. Adjusting his grip, he hunched over and set off along the trail towards Fort Nihl.

Two hours into his journey, Eight cursed as he heard the pattering of water on the tree canopy above. Rain was terrible: it reduced his vision, caused the rough dirt trail to become much more difficult to traverse, and ruined his grip on the boulder.

Eight slouched his back to an extreme angle, making it nearly horizontal with the now muddy ground. Even so, he felt his grip slipping on the brick as his legs barely carried him forward. The forest surrounding him turned greener as it thrived under the heavy rain. Eight found it harder than ever to progress, it was as if he were wading waist-deep in swamp, the mud clinging to his bruised feet like thick glue.

Eight's already visible veins popped out further as the stone brick began slipping down his back, the rain and his sweat acting like a perfect lubricant.

"Damn it!" The stone dropped to the ground with a splash, caking Eight in mud. His breath came out in ragged bursts as he supported himself against the brick. Eight felt that if he collapsed, he wouldn't be able to get up again. Wobbling to a standing position, he cupped his hands and drank the rainwater that quickly collected within them.

Eight could only sigh to himself. Although his body was extremely strong, he's been slaving away on this planet for months which left him looking almost like an undead. Of course, this isn't the first time he's considered some form of escape, but he could only wait for an opportunity. There was a difference between escape and freedom.

Eight's magical talent was the lowest of the low, not even making it to the first tier. Because of this, he didn't have his mana core formed despite being in his twenties. Even some fellow-slaves had developed further in what they called 'voodoo.' Eight shook his head. He had already had his fair share of wallowing in regret many years ago, now he had to focus on the task at hand.

After resting and straitening his back, Eight crouched and then heaved the brick up into his arms. He couldn't get it onto his back due to him being alone, and it would slip off anyway. The rain hadn't slowed in the slightest. Walking forwards carefully, Eight slowly made his way towards Fort Nihl as heavy water droplets continued to pelt him.

He soon neared the fort as it loomed above the tree line, the clouded sky giving it a haunted castle-like look. By then, the rain had periodically stopped, allowing for Eight to arrive by late midday.

Eight climbed step-by-step up the stone staircase that spiraled around the hill that Fort Nihl rested on. He soon arrived at a gaping hole within the southern walls of the fort after being instructed by a guard.

Damage to the fort almost always was on the southern side, being the side that faced the border. Walking up a wooden ramp, Eight leaned backward and with a light grunt, placed the brick at the bottom of the hole. Circling back around Fort Nihl, he headed back to the quarry.

The sun was beginning to set as Eight neared the slave encampment. It had taken him all day to carry one brick to the fort.

Eight suddenly halted in place and immediately jumped behind a large twisting tree. Not a moment later, two guards walked into view.

"… it's fine to beat them, as long as they aren't killed. After all, the new captain said it's not up to us to abdicate proper punishment due to excuses like rain, he even whined that his wife could deliver stronger beatings than some of us," the taller of the pair explained with a smile as he passed Eight, totally unaware that their short conversation was overheard by one of the very slaves in question.

As the guards continued along their patrol route, Eight frowned and thought to himself, "Looks like I can't sleep at the camp today."

The rain had doubled the time it took for him to carry a brick to the fort, making a single trip take nearly the full day. Eight's quota was to carry two bricks, one higher than any other slave, but he wasn't able to meet it.

It was only natural that he avoided punishment if he could. Most slaves by now accepted beatings as a part of life, and just tried to get through them and move on. For Eight, though, there was still something degrading about them, and, more importantly, he was concerned that the successive punishments were taking their toll on his body. However, not being able to sleep at the camp was a large problem for a single reason: beasts.

The forest was primarily unexplored, the fort and quarry taking up only a small percentage of its vast landscape. Beasts such as wolves or boars lived in great numbers within it and could easily injure an average man, never mind someone like Eight who doesn't have a mana core.

Eight cursed the new captain as he quickly left the area. It was already dark by then and he had to find a safe place to rest. Not sleeping meant not being able to function properly, which would cause him to be unable to work and eventually collapsing.

Eight walked along the path towards the fort as he dug through his memories. He tried to remember whether there was a good location to sleep somewhere along the trail, a spot that was hidden and enclosed from the environment. Lost in his thoughts, Eight didn't notice the glowing eyes watching him in the darkness.

Leftover clouds covered the normally shining moon, creating a deep blanket of shadow over the forest. Eight was continuing along the trail when he heard a small growl from the bush to his left, startling him out of his stupor. He immediately dropped the brick and dodged backward as a black cat-like shape landed with a thud where he just stood.

However, the assault wasn't over yet as another beast pounced from the shadows on his right. This feline was slightly larger than the first one and had a dark brown coat. Eight barely had time to register the feline before it clawed him across his abdomen, leaving three red ribbons that began to bleed profusely.

The surprise attack was strange. Beasts avoided the main trail due to the guards that occasionally patrolled along it, making it unusual for there to be any sort of predator this close to the quarry and encampment. But unusual didn't mean impossible and Eight didn't suspect anything untoward. Even though he was heavily injured, he smiled. There only seemed to be two night cats.

These night cats were closely related to the black panthers which wandered the nearby mountains. He was lucky to only be facing these smaller cats. Many non-slaves in this area even kept night cats as pets, but these ones were clearly not domesticated.

The first of the felines pounced at Eight again, but he didn't dodge this time. Instead, Eight raised his arms together and allowed the cat to claw him. Another wound appeared across his chest, however, Eight showed no change in his expression as he slammed his fists down on the startled cat.

A sharp crack resounded up to the sky as Eight felt the skull of the night cat collapse under his heavy slam. The feline was instantly killed, its blood and brain matter painting the dirt red. Trading injury for injury; attack for attack, this was the best way for Eight to fight. He wasn't that clever or agile, and unlike these cats he had no claws, but he was strong as a gorilla. He shook his hands, the collision had hurt his arms quite a bit as he couldn't use mana to reinforce his body.

The other night cat hissed at Eight. The foolish predator believed he would be an easy target, given the weak appearance of his body, but looking closely there were compact layers of muscle beneath his tanned skin. It wasn't much of a surprise that Eight could smash the skull of the night cat; he was able to lift and carry boulders multiple times his body weight for weeks on end.

Eight's eyes darted around the area looking for any signs of other nocturnal predators hiding in the darkness. Not seeing anything, his gaze settled on the remaining night cat. The feline's brown hair stood on end when Eight turned his attention towards it. His gaze was one of a starved man, one who desperately need any sort of food, no matter the source.

Not wasting time, Eight mimicked the first cat's attack and pounced towards the brown night cat, his leap quickly shortening the distance between him and the feline. Seeing Eight charge at it, the cat met his assault with claws unleashed and eyes red from rage.

"In the end it's just an animal, making the same mistake as its companion," Eight thought to himself as he raised his left arm, letting the cat claw it before slugging the shocked feline with his right arm. The night cat was sent flying, its unconscious body smacked against a tree before falling to the ground like a sack of flesh.

A beast couldn't comprehend Eight purposely sacrificing his left arm to gain an advantage in such a short period of time, leading to it being caught off guard and knocked out in one punch. An ordinary human enemy would have died if they were in Eight's situation, and the beast was not expecting to deal with such a freak of nature.

Eight picked up the black night cat's limp corpse and tossed it over his shoulder. He ambled to the other unconscious night cat body, quickly snapped its neck, and placed the warm corpse over his other shoulder. Blood and mud encrusted the bodies of the night cats, a gory stench already making its appearance. But Eight didn't notice it at first, busily surveying his own wounds.

By now he was extremely pale from blood loss. Any normal human would have been dead long ago if they were in his place. Even if he wasn't dead, he was heavily injured, his originally muddy pants were washed with red as blood poured out of his chest like a small river. If he was forced to work again tomorrow, he'd barely be in any condition for it. He only realized this clearly at the end of the fight, because earlier, in the heat of the moment, he had vainly thought he would easily beat these cats without taking a scratch. Now it turned out that they were more powerful than he had thought.

The nauseating smell of gore engulfed the area, so Eight quickly left with his gains. If there were two night cats, there could be more. He didn't want to bet his life on the answer.