The darkness didn't last long. Monroe felt it fade away as rapidly as it engulfed him, giving way to a bright sight that took his breath away…
Literally.
"Cough!"
A violent cough escaped his mouth, causing him to feel a piercing pain in his lungs. His vision blurred and his steps, which were moving for some reason, faltered for a brief moment.
Stifled curses echoed before and behind him, followed by the obnoxious shout of a gruff voice.
"If any of you whoresons dare to stop, my whip shall have your vile blood!"
Monroe didn't have any time to think. Chains tugged at his neck and wrists, pulling him forward against his will before he could get his bearings.
Amidst the cold chill that threatened to turn him into a freezing block of human ice, he finally opened his eyes, his eyes widening in stupefaction.
Monroe found himself on a snow-covered plateau, walking barefooted while bound in chains as thick as a child's arm. There were others chained to him, forming a long line while cursing under their breaths.
As they walked, men clad in red leather armour would pass by, riding their brown horses and occasionally whipping a slow walking or grumbling slave, drawing blood more often than none.
'What in the world…' his mind stalled. He remembered the words Death had told him in preparation for his current predicament… 'but isn't this too dire??'
He took a moment to catch his breath, successfully causing himself pain from his unhealthy lungs. Then, he went over his conversation with Death.
A light bulb lit up in his mind at that moment. 'Yes! He talked about runes.'
His excitement dimmed almost as immediately as it appeared. 'How do I activate these runes though… and will I even be able to read them?
'I don't know anything about this world!'
At that moment, a terrible headache suddenly struck him. His vision darkened as images—foreign memories that didn't belong to him yet were his—flooded through his mind.
The heavy presence of filth, blood and chains in the memories threatened to overwhelm him, but he steeled himself and ground his will.
Seconds later, the headache vanished, and he saw his gaunt body kneeling on the white ground, panting with a few drops of blood running down his nose.
"Shit," he cursed and was about to scramble to his feet when—
RRIPP!
Pain surged from his back as a black whip collided with him, tearing his clothes and skin alike. The same obnoxious, gruff voice he had heard earlier was now beside him, cursing at him with his foul breath that reeked of fish.
"What in the name of the gods is wrong with you?! Do you think I have all day to herd you unfortunate bastards to the keep?? If you don't get up on your feet this instant, I swear I'll throw you down Mount Arcus!"
Monroe was immediately infuriated. 'Who the fuck does this guy think he is? I might not have my powers, but I am Monroe! I don't need my power to prove my existence!'
Facing the man with the gruff voice who had a helmet that exposed only his brown eyes and thick brown beard, Monroe promptly spat. "Who do you think you are? Everyone is prone to mistakes, you son of a cancerous bitch! I—"
He didn't get to finish what he was saying. An armoured sole crashed with his jaw, sending his head spinning. The blood that pooled in his mouth was promptly spat out as he felt something cold and metallic bash his skull.
"Look at this cunt," the bearded man with the gruff voice pointed at Monroe, signalling to his companions. "He thinks he's a person, hahaha hahahaha!!!"
His companions also burst out laughing on their horses, while the slaves simply looked down, unwilling to incur their irascible wrath.
"Oi Brale, he called you the son of a cancerous bitch, are you going to just let that be?" One of them spoke, laughing as he did.
"Oho, don't you trust me Albert?" Brale smirked as he walked up to Monroe. He fumbled with a bunch of keys, releasing the latter from his shackles and chains. Then, he dragged him to the very forefront of the slaves—atop and elevated ground where he could be seen by everyone.
Grabbing Monroe by the hair, Brale began. "Listen up, fools with no tomorrow! It has come to my notice that a lot of you are unhappy with the way we have been treating you so far, and one of you has decided to speak up," he said, lifting Monroe up so everyone could see. It was not that hard, considering the fact that Monroe was in the body of a young adult while Brale was a man as burly as a bear.
"Well," Brale continued. "Let me show you what happens when you fight for your rights."
After his speech, he lifted Monroe's head a bit higher and slammed it on the floor.
WHAM!
The latter felt the world turn upside down. He could feel the warm liquid that was his own blood flowing incessantly, but he wasn't able to pinpoint where before a powerful kick folded him in two. His eyes bulged as he skidded on the ground, his clothes tearing even further.
What followed was a thorough beating by every single one of the armoured men and Monroe, the recipient of the thrashing, was left half dead. Subsequently, he was tied to one of the horses and given orders to not lag behind their pace. If he did, they would have no choice but to pull him along the ground without regard for his safety.
The slaves, seeing Monroe's fate, trembled intensely and swallowed their grumblings. They moved forward with a steady pace without any mishaps. It was dusk at the time and soon, night fell.
The slaves and slavers stopped to rest, with the former trembling in the cold embrace of darkness and the latter huddled around the warmth of a fire. As each group chatted, Monroe was left with the horses, broken, beaten and battered.
The harmonious atmosphere lasted for half an hour before a subtle sound caught Brale's attention. He paused, then turned to his comrades. "Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Albert asked half seriously.
Brale's brows furrowed. He walked away from his companion, past the slaves and walked a bit farther while looking around. "It sounded just like…"
He looked up, his eyes widening in terror.
"...chewing…"