The open carriage creaked as its wheels rolled through the dirt road in a dense forest, a pair of soldiers on either side, riding horses. Making sure that the passengers do not escape.
"Hey, I heard someone among you is being thrown into the rift! Who's it?!" One of the soldiers asked, his voice raspy from all the ale he drank to fight the cold.
The people on the carriage all shrank in response; their trembling eyes glanced at each other before they all landed on a single person.
"H-Him…!" One of them responded, pointing his finger.
"Oh? So that was you? The famous servant class who stuck a knife into his own master!" Another soldier, one with a long scar on his left cheek, commented as he neared the carriage, glancing at the thin man up and down, "You don't look like much."
Victor didn't reply to the soldier's comments; he didn't have the energy to. It has been a month since the verdict was given. Until now, he was thrown in a dungeon and only fed a glass of water and a loaf of rotten bread.
Of course, the servant class wasn't known for being healthy, and it's not like Victor wasn't healthy prior to the imprisonment either.
He raised his dull red eyes, glancing at the soldier before he pulled his legs closer, hiding behind them.
But his silence didn't please the soldier. "Filthy bastard…!" He cursed with gritted teeth as he glared at him. His face shook with anger while his hand inched towards the sword on his waist.
"....."
The soldier's face darkened. "So, that's how you want to play…." He muttered as his fingers curled around the handle of his sword. The cold blade let out a shriek as the soldier drew the sword, but then,
"Fool! Death is a gift for a man being thrown into the rift. Do you want to grant him…freedom?"
The soldier's eyes widened as he listened to the voice; turning towards the front of the carriage, he stared at the back of the man riding on a horse that was bigger than theirs. "I-I'm sorry, commander!" The soldier quickly apologized, quickly sheathing his sword, "I was shortsighted."
But the commander only shook his head and muttered, "He just doesn't have to die…"
It took the soldier a few moments to understand the commander's words, and when he did, a menacing grin bloomed on his lips as he turned back towards Victor. "Prisoners! If you want an extra loaf of bread, beat that bastard! But if he dies…you'll follow him!"
The prisoners shivered at his words; a hesitant look flickered in some of their eyes, while a few were…excited.
"Haha! More food!" One of the prisoners exploded as he lunged at Victor, his hand curling into a fist as he swung his arm at Victor's face.
Victor was thrown onto the ground, his cheek reddened at impact, his eyes still closed, his face scrunched up in pain.
BANG
The prisoner threw another punch, now aiming at Victor's sunken stomach. It hit right in the ribs, a sharp snap echoing in the carriage.
BANG
BANG
BANG
The punches continued, and Victor cursed as tightly as he could, but no matter what, the guy kept punching, and noticing that Victor wasn't retaliating, others joined too.
Some had a frenzied look on their faces, as if reliving their pent-up stress. While others had a pitying expression, muttering, "I'm sorry," repeatedly, but none of them stopped beating him up. The offer of an extra loaf of bread was too much to ignore. Well, except for one.
"Hey! Don't you want extra bread?!" The scarfaceasked as he looked at a woman sitting at the far end of the carriage. She wore a worn-off cloak over her head, covering her entire body.
"...."
The soldier's face twisted in fury as he was met with silence once again. "Damn, bitch! First that bastard and now you, huh! I may not kill him, but I'll sure as hell kill you!" He roared as he brandished his rusty sword. But then again,
"Mark, touch her and you'll lose your hands…" The commander's deep voice shook the soldiers to their core.
"...." Mark, the scar-faced soldier, turned to his commander in horror, his sword rattling in fear.
"C-Commander!" Other soldiers exclaimed, shocked by his sudden words, their eyes wide as frogs.
"That woman is an awakener, an asset on the field. Far more valuable than your worthless lives!" The commander explained.
"""....."""
The soldiers' faces turned into one of shock as they collectively turned to the woman, including the prisoners who were beating up Victor.
"An awakened…" one of them muttered in a daze, his body trembling involuntarily.
"W-What is an—" One of the soldiers wanted to ask, but the commander cut him off.
"I'll cut off your tongue if you ask too many questions!"
"""....."""
"T-That's enough! Get back to your places!" Mark yelled at the prisoners, his face red, flustered, and afraid to continue. Clutching his scabbard with his trembling hands. He beckoned his horse to move away from the carriage.
The prisoners stopped, sitting back in their places, some sighing in relief, as if getting a good exercise, while others held their heads down in shame, glancing at Victor once in a while. But all of them collectively avoided the woman now, even going as far as moving away from her.
Meanwhile, Victor lay on the floor, his scrawny body trembling in pain and stinging cold. Blood trickled down his broken nose, curving around his torn lips, filling his mouth with the taste of rusted iron. Bruises filled his arms and legs as he shielded himself. Yet, he hadn't even so much as squealed in pain.
Because,
'I'll kill them! I'll kill them! I'LL KILL THEM ALL!!'
…..
Night had arrived, and the commander had ordered the men to stop and take shelter for the night.
The soldiers had set up tents with the help of the prisoners, excluding Victor and the woman. One was too beaten up to be of any use, and none had the guts to order the other.
The soldiers' mood had lightened up once warm food slid down their throats. Mark had kept his promise and had given each prisoner an extra loaf of bread, including the woman, who even had meat.
But for Victor? He had given only half a loaf of bread, and that too after spitting on it.
But Victor had finished his food. Still crawled up on the carriage as he was denied a tent, he kept muttering, "I'll kill them," like a broken record.
As a servant class, he didn't have many dreams. And the ones he had were simple and mundane. But now, he has been denied the right to dream.
Pressing his quivering fist against his heart, Victor shut his eyes close. It took a while, but after almost an hour, his trembling stopped and his breath became even, his rage soothed, and Victor…fell asleep.