Volume 1 Chapter 38 Falling into Slavery
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Larry triggered Autism Mode¹, and the body’s autonomy shifted entirely into his grip.
When I slowly opened my eyes, the first thing to hit me was the carnage—butchered corpses everywhere I looked.
The copper tang of blood mingled with the sickening stench of spilled entrails.
I couldn’t find the words.
(Calm down! I have to stay cool, now more than ever…) I took a deep breath and began sifting through Larry’s recent memories.
I couldn’t believe we’d been caught in a “Man-hunt”².
Were these victims meant to be a warning? Slaughtered to force submission and break any will to resist… I could understand the cold logic, but I could never accept the reality of it.
To think they’d target a refugee soup kitchen.
Still, from a ruler’s perspective, a “Man-hunt” was probably a viable solution to the refugee crisis even with the borders sealed.
Even after the rowdy mercenaries and arrogant soldiers moved on, the locals would live in terror of the crime refugees might bring.
If you use mercenaries to “harvest” them—turning the men into Slave Soldiers³ and the women into Slave Prostitutes⁴—you don’t just erase a threat; you create assets.
In a military operation this massive, the merchant caravans trailing behind are no joke. Selling the “merchandise” wouldn’t take any effort at all.
But that meant us.
We weren’t human anymore; we were just pieces on a board. Expendable pawns.
It was the absolute worst.
According to the old man handling the horses, the army was set to march tomorrow.
There would be no time for training, which meant we were strictly disposable.
We’d be forced to march ahead of the valuable regulars to soak up arrows, trigger traps, or serve as a “meat wall” if we were ambushed in a narrow pass.
In modern terms, we were prisoners of war being forced to walk through a minefield.
The feeling of being “alive” was vanishing fast.
Suddenly, I remembered cleaning up after the militia drilling at Bours-san’s house. Specifically, I remembered the words Larry had heard from Ed.
”Listen close. They say that if you give up on the battlefield, the Reaper comes calling. When you get back, you need to have a goal. For me, it’s officer school. For Celt, it’s becoming a yeoman. If you’ve got a drive that strong, you won’t buckle when things get ugly. You hear what I’m saying?”
Now, finally, I understood. Back then, Larry hadn’t been able to give Ed an answer.
It might have been his “proper” upbringing, but Larry was the kind of boy who seemed entirely disconnected from that kind of greed.
He wasn’t the type to push others aside to get what he wanted.
As a Parasite Host⁵, I was even worse.
If a boss asked me to do the impossible, I’d take it on.
If my subordinates complained, I’d swallow the burden myself.
I was the guy who arrived at the office before anyone else, spent the day helping the juniors, and only started my own work after doing the final cleanup. I didn’t have a shred of the greed required to push past others.
Looking back, I wasn’t “diligent”—I was just a fool.
But because I was that kind of man, I resolved that I wouldn’t let the young Larry die here.
I was going to get him back to Strock Village alive.
”Rudy, let’s move,” I said.
I grabbed Rudy by the arm while he was still on all fours, retching, and forced him to his feet.
”What for?” Rudy asked.
”You want to go home, don’t you? Back to your precious Heberich Village?”
He looked at me as if he were seeing a ghost.
”Let’s choose to live,” I said.
Rudy was the only ally I could trust here. If he broke, I’d be entirely alone if I tried to make a break for it.
”But… how?” Rudy asked.
”What happens if you can’t get any food tonight or tomorrow morning?”
”I’ll… I’ll collapse.”
”And do you think those guys have any reason to keep a human alive if they can’t move?”
That seemed to click for him. The two of us started jogging toward the massive cauldrons used for the soup kitchen.
We scavenged a couple of discarded wooden bowls.
Whether everyone had the same idea or were just driven by pure hunger, the area around the unattended pots was a swarm of desperate bodies.
The two of us dove into the fray, shoving through the crowd to reach the pots and scoop up wheat porridge.
Being smaller than the adults actually worked in our favor; we could slip through the gaps.
I forced the bland, tasteless mush into my stomach until I was bursting.
Rudy couldn’t stomach as much after vomiting, so he took his two bowls and retreated from the crowd to eat slowly.
”Alright, you lot! Move it along!” a mercenary shouted, prodding us.
We were herded into a mass of people for sorting, where the two of us were lumped into a five-man cell.
The other three in our group were already gaunt and hollow-eyed from the ordeal.
”×△〇◎*!”
One of them spoke, but the words were complete gibberish to me.
”You boys local?” asked a man who looked like the eldest of the group, speaking in the Schweilitz tongue.
When we nodded, the other two caught the gist and shot us looks of pure, unadulterated hostility.
That resentment rippled through the other cells. They didn’t lay a hand on us yet, but the “you’re not one of us” vibe was suffocating.
”Why the hell are you even here?” the man asked.
”Kiridal and Schweilitz are at war,” I explained, though it felt like a bitter half-truth. “We got caught in the crossfire, ended up in this city, and got snatched up while we were trying to get a meal.”
”What are you talking about? A war between Schweilitz and Kiridal?”
”You didn’t know? On the other side of the city, there are Kiridal refugees who fled the fighting,” I replied.
The man simply shook his head in disbelief.
”You there! Pipe down!” a man shouted.
Mercenaries with bared swords stood every few yards to keep the refugees from rioting, their presence a constant weight.
Looking around, there were over a hundred of us forced to sit in the dirt.
A few moments later, a massive man in tights climbed onto a makeshift platform, followed by four men and one large woman.
”Hey… that woman…” Rudy whispered, nudging my back.
I’d seen her before he even spoke.
My eyes locked with Isabella’s. She looked like she’d just swallowed a lemon, and I knew right then that our chances of survival had just hit a massive yellow light.
”I am Paul Adler, Captain of the Guard for the prestigious Count Straba of the Kingdom of Kiridal!” the man on the platform roared. “Anyone who understands my words, stand your asses up!”
About a quarter of the refugees stood.
It was more than I expected.
”Hey, should we stand?” Rudy whispered frantically.
”It’s an interpreter call,” I replied. “Even if we understand that blowhard, we can’t explain it to the others. Standing now just makes us a target, and we’ve already got the leader of the ‘Weasels of Bohemia’ burning holes in us.”
”Alright! You lot make sure you tell your groups exactly what I’m about to say!” the giant man shouted, pausing for a breath. “Listen good! As of this moment, you’ve all just become Slave Soldiers!”
I’d expected it, but hearing it made the descent into slavery official.
”You follow orders, or you get slaughtered where you stand if you even look like you’re gonna bolt! Clear?!”
The next part made me doubt my own ears.
”We head for Obernbach in Schweilitz tomorrow morning! And you lot? You’re walking point!”
I’d anticipated the human shield part, but heading for the city of Obernbach instead of Vod Fortress was a curveball.
Sure, it was a vital hub for the Danube River trade, and taking it would cripple the Kingdom of Schuberitz, but the city was massive and heavily garrisoned.
Did they have another objective?
”Listen up! Our commander is the Second Prince of Kiridal, Lord Bolesław Chrobry! We’ve got ten thousand men and Golem⁶ siege engines ready to roll! Right now, Obernbach is weak because they sent their boys to Vod Fortress. Our victory is already a damn certainty!”
The prince was likely just a figurehead, but this guy was either incredibly overconfident or a total idiot for blabbing about troop numbers and secret weapons.
”Once we take Obernbach, I’ll personally set you lot free! So you better show me some damn loyalty!”
The crowd broke into a low murmur. Not a soul believed him.
The wives and children of these men had undoubtedly been hauled off to be sold as slaves elsewhere.
Who would believe a promise like that?
”That’s all from me! Think long and hard on it while you’re workin’ for us!”
The man in the flashy tights stepped down, replaced by a rougher-looking sort who began barking out the schedule.
Each pair of five-man cells would have one mercenary guard with the authority to behead anyone on the spot for attempted desertion.
Even using the latrine required explicit permission.
We were issued one blanket each. No weapons. Meals twice a day. Sleeping on the bare dirt.
I wanted to talk to the others, but the language barrier was a wall, and they didn’t see us as allies anyway.
Even the translators kept their distance.
Whenever I tried to talk to Rudy, we were yelled at to shut up. There was nothing we could do.
It was freezing, and the sound of coughing was rippling through the camp.
”Rudy… let’s sleep back-to-back,” I suggested.
He didn’t argue; he must have been as cold as I was.
As we pressed our backs together, I could feel a faint warmth, but the stone ground leached it away almost as fast as it was made.
The next morning, several people didn’t wake up at all.
When their cellmates tried to dig holes to bury them, the mercenaries stopped them, ordering the bodies to be lined up in the dirt and left behind.
We weren’t allowed to talk. We just walked.
We didn’t have to do heavy labor yet, but I could see the exhaustion carving deep lines into everyone’s faces.
I don’t know how long we marched before the air around us finally began to hum with a frantic energy.
When I looked up, a watchtower peeked through the gaps in the trees.
”That’s the pass over there, right?” I said.
Rudy nodded in response.
”Keep walking! Don’t stop!” a mercenary shouted, a shield gripped tight in his hand.
We had no choice but to trudge forward, clutching the thin blankets they’d issued us against our chests like makeshift pavises.
They were likely useless against Bours-san’s⁷ arrows, but I wanted to cling to life as long as possible.
Despite our guard being up, the tower at the pass was abandoned.
Fresh footprints stretched out toward the Schweilitz side; someone up there had clearly seen our numbers and bolted.
It was the only explanation that made sense.
Our second night out of the city was spent in the deep woods.
They forced us into night-watch rotations that drained our stamina, yet our bread rations never increased.
By the time morning came, the number of those who had turned cold was double that of the day before.
Twelve bodies were laid out like discarded logs by the roadside.
The march resumed, the path leading us straight toward Linto.
Once the East Gate came into view, the arrow fire would begin.
What then? If I could sprint to the creek and follow the water, I might hit the road leading from the North Gate toward Vod Fortress.
Lost in these tactical fantasies, we arrived at a ghost village on the lakeshore.
”We’re bunking here for the night,” a guard grunted.
That night, they didn’t force us onto watch.
One small piece of bread a day and mouthfuls of snow for water—on that alone, we were marched for hours and forced to sleep in the dirt under a freezing sky.
My will to escape was flickering out, but tomorrow we’d reach the Linto base.
If I wanted to survive, I had to run the moment the attack started.
I tried to save my energy, but sleep wouldn’t come.
”Larry, we’re still going for it tomorrow, right?” Rudy whispered.
Getting caught would be the end of us, and we’d be beaten just for talking, so we both pulled our blankets over our heads and spoke into our chests.
”Yeah. When the arrows start, we head up the creek.”
”Up? Not down?”
”If we go up, I think we can reach Vod Fortress. They might have reinforcements there.”
”Got it.”
We kept it brief, but someone must have been listening.
The moment we finished, the blanket was ripped away from us.
”Scheming to run, are you?”
A giant of a woman loomed over us. It was Isabella. The jig was up.
”A waste of breath,” she muttered.
She snatched me by the collar and hoisted me into the air.
”Don’t you dare try magic. Let me tell you something useful.”
In her left hand, Isabella gripped a wicked, jagged dagger, pressing the cold steel into my ribs.
(This is it. Sorry, Larry…)
”Linto is a ghost town. The scouts just got back.”
(What? That’s impossible.)
Linto was the main hub.
They wouldn’t just abandon it.
”If you’re going to run, do it once you’re inside. That place is your backyard, after all.” She said it so casually, despite the weight of it.
Even if she didn’t kill me, if these people realized we were Schweilitz men, we were dead anyway.
Isabella’s grip loosened.
(Could I blast her back with Mana before she drove that blade home?)
”Hmph. You’ve got spiteful eyes,” she said, shoving me back as she stepped away.
She was keeping out of my spell range.
”Why tell us?” I gasped.
”Who knows. I owe the Village Chief back there a favor.”
It made less sense by the second.
And then I noticed—the burn scars that should have been on Isabella’s face were gone.
”If—and it’s a big if—you manage to survive, go pay your respects at Barsheni Village.”
She turned on her heel and dissolved into the dark. Someone else must have heard her, but no one moved.
”Hey, what was that about?” Rudy hissed.
”I have no damn idea,” I replied.
The next morning, another four had died in the night.
The mercenaries brought the bread as usual, but strangely, it was a full loaf per person.
Maybe they finally realized they were running out of warm bodies to throw at the gate.
The march began under a high sun.
By noon, the East Gate of Linto appeared. It was standing wide open.
A trap? It had to be. But as we closed the distance, no arrows fell.
The group ahead of us passed through the threshold without a sound.
Inside, the town had grown since I’d last been there; there were more houses now.
It didn’t look like a panicked retreat; the tents were neatly struck and rolled.
”First squad, with me!” a mercenary barked.
Since we were closest, he hauled us toward a well near the old 303rd Unit’s camp.
”Drink.”
He grabbed Rudy by the neck and shoved him toward the stone rim.
My blood ran cold. If Schweilitz had used scorched-earth tactics, those wells would be poisoned.
I thought of Neil and Marx, rotting back in Garao Village.
Rudy knew it too; he stared at the bucket of water, his hands shaking.
”Move it!” The mercenary drew his sword.
Rudy had no choice; he dipped his head and drank. I watched him, heart hammering, waiting for the convulsions.
Nothing happened.
”More.”
He drank until he was bloated. Still nothing.
When the guard finally let him go, Rudy collapsed into the dirt.
They dragged the five of us across Linto, making us taste every single well.
No one died.
”Excuse me, sir… these look like tents. Mind if we use ’em?” I called out to our guard.
He hesitated, then went toward a house near the North Gate to check with a superior.
”I want a fire, too,” I muttered.
”Me too,” Rudy added.
There was no wood, though. To get any, we’d have to go back out the East Gate.
The fire was a no-go, but we got the green light for the tents.
We scrambled to set them up—they were our own tents, after all.
We knew every seam. I worried our efficiency would give us away, but the mercenaries didn’t care.
”We’re staying here one more night,” I heard a guard say.
Tomorrow would be a day to rest. The next day, a caravan of wagons rolled in, and a stream of women climbed down.
They were setting up a brothel at the South Gate. The soldiers were going to “recharge” before the next push.
”Stay in your tents. All of you,” the guards ordered.
Maybe they were worried the wives or daughters were in those wagons.
We were locked in for twenty-four hours.
The tent was warm, and I didn’t have to huddle with Rudy for heat.
We kept our mouths shut during the day to keep the plan safe.
”Hey, if you guys are making a break for it… take me with you?”
It was the old interpreter. He’d been watching us.
”Don’t worry,” I said, my voice flat. “If we go, we’ll let you know.”
It was a half-truth. If we bolted, I needed a crowd.
I needed the interpreter and whoever else followed to be a wall of meat between us and the archers.
If they survived that, they could tangle with the guards while we slipped away. I didn’t feel a shred of guilt.
Tomorrow is the day. After tomorrow, we’ll be in the thick of a real war.
I’ll step over every one of them if I have to. I’m going home.
—
Summary:
After the brutal man-hunt at the soup kitchen, the narrator and Rudy find themselves captured and classified as disposable slave soldiers.
They are forced into a grueling march toward the city of Obernbach under the command of the Kiridal military.
The presence of Isabella and the flashy Captain Paul Adler underscores the grim reality that they are now expendable shields in an upcoming siege.
Larry and Rudy endure a grueling march toward Linto, witnessing the increasing death toll among the captives.
Isabella confronts them about their escape plan but unexpectedly offers cryptic advice and information about Linto being abandoned.
Upon arrival, they are used as food tasters for the town’s wells before being confined as the captors establish a base of operations.
—
Trivia:
- The narrator admits to being a ‘Parasite Host’, indicating he is an external consciousness within Larry’s body.
- Kiridal and Schweilitz are currently at war, though the refugees were initially unaware of the scale.
- The military is utilizing Golems as siege engines, showing a blend of fantasy technology and warfare.
- The city of Obernbach is strategic due to its position on the Danube River.
- Refugees are being systematically commodified into soldiers and prostitutes to boost city assets.
- Isabella’s lack of burn scars is a significant physical inconsistency mentioned by Larry.
- The captives are using blankets as pavises (large shields) for psychological and minimal physical protection.
- Larry is willing to use other captives as ‘meat shields’ to facilitate his own escape.
- The East Gate of Linto was left wide open, suggesting a coordinated retreat rather than a chaotic one
—
Character Insight:
The narrator shows a shift from his former passive, ‘pushover’ salaryman personality to a determined protector.
He resolves to use his ‘greedy’ survival instincts to ensure Larry makes it home, showing a paternalistic growth toward the boy whose body he inhabits.
Larry’s moral compass is shifting toward extreme pragmatism.
He is no longer just looking to survive; he is willing to sacrifice others to ensure his and Rudy’s return home.
Isabella shows a surprising, albeit threatening, bit of leniency tied to a past debt.
—
Lore And Worldbuilding Context:
The author uses ‘Autism Mode’ as a stylistic choice to denote a hyper-focused, emotionally detached mental state, common in some web novel subcultures to describe efficient protagonists.
The author uses the ‘well tasting’ scene to heighten tension and ground the story in the grim realities of medieval warfare tactics like scorched earth.
—
Glossary:
Notes:
• Larry – 14‑year‑old third son of the Strock headman, reddish‑white skin, bronze eyes, curly bronze hair, now a slave‑soldier in Militia Unit 303. He hosts a Parasite with a 40‑yr‑old Sage’s memories, uses fire magic (Fireball), reads hearts/mana by touch, syncs golems, battles PTSD and mana inflammation, admires his sister‑in‑law, trains to be Village Head, and feels guilty for a killing.
• Bours – Tall, scarred, in a faded Royal Army uniform, he is a former Captain turned 303rd Militia leader, veteran of the Western Front and Elders’ Council member. Commander of cavalry and infantry during the Kiridal attack, expert marksman, married to Sheeta‑san, father of a son conscripted on the Imperial border, and originally from Larry’s village. He mercilessly saves Larry and Rudy from ambush.
• Ed – A lanky youth in simple farmer’s garb, Larry’s close friend and soon‑to‑be conscript, fiercely protective of Larry’s interests, now a militia member training spear‑walls, remembered as a man who spoke of the will to survive on the battlefield.
• Celt – Modestly dressed tenant farmer in simple work clothes, level‑headed militia member who questions war’s civilian toll and seeks tax relief to buy land; skilled sandal‑maker, observant translator of Bours’s jargon, banquet observer admiring Teressa‑san’s competence, village gossip source, now leader of Second Squad with a calm, kind demeanor.
• Rudy – 14‑year‑old black‑haired militia recruit from Heberich Village, formerly of Garao, now wood‑hauls with Larry as his brother‑in‑arms. Grandson of a hunter, he knows forest creatures, excels at math, battles war anxiety yet mocks Larry’s condition, visits him daily. He code‑switches dialect to negotiate, struggles with armor and horse, holds elitist views of Strock Village, and fiercely protects Larry amid captivity. Filthy, traumatized, he devised a hidden‑trail escape and knows northern trade and Al‑miraJ biology.
• Al – Alberto, a massive red‑haired man recently married to Mary, just finished his village wedding. He is a companion of Hans, helping intimidate and gather elders as a villager and leader working alongside him.
• Isabella – A towering, muscular mercenary leader of the Weasels of Bohemia, hailing from Opcheri. She bears a burn scar from Larry’s fireball, has a massive frame and a low, sour‑voiced growl, and an aggressive, sour expression. Her sheer presence dominates the village, and she wields sharp insight into the value of mages.
• Paul Adler – Captain of the Guard for Count Straba. A massive man wearing tights.
• Neil – Silver‑haired militia member from Great Norden Island, blue‑eyed and of Second Sage lineage, dies from poisoning.
• Marx – Fifty‑something laundry owner from Obernbach, a Laland refugee, militia member serving in the Obernbach second unit. He is Larry’s squad mate, the squad’s eldest, often sparks conversation, and now battles a painful leg injury after being nearly attacked by a regular infantry soldier.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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