The first night the lord came alone, John was half asleep.
The kennel door creaked open. Footsteps, unsteady, stumbling slightly. The smell of wine hit before the lord even reached the pen.
John kept his eyes closed. Maybe if he stayed still, pretended to be unconscious, the lord would leave.
No such luck.
The gate opened. Footsteps stopped right above him.
"You awake?" The lord's voice was slurred. "Course you are. Can't sleep when you're this pathetic."
John didn't respond.
Rustling fabric. The sound of clothing being adjusted.
Then warmth. Wet warmth, splashing onto John's legs, his chest, his face.
His eye snapped open. The lord stood over him, swaying slightly, relieving himself on the chained servant below like John was a chamber pot.
"Even animals know their place better than you," the lord said, his words running together. "Dogs understand hierarchy. Instinctively. Naturally. But you? You require lessons. Repeated lessons."
The stream continued. John tried to turn his face away but the chain limited his movement.
"You come to my lands. Eat my food. Breathe my air. And you can't even kneel properly. Can't follow basic commands. Can't shut your stupid mouth when told."
Finally, mercifully, it stopped.
The lord tucked himself away, still swaying.
"Tomorrow you'll understand better. They always do eventually."
He left. The gate didn't even close properly, just swung loose on its hinges.
John lay in piss soaked straw and stared at the ceiling.
The dogs watched but didn't approach. Even they seemed disturbed.
It happened again the next night. And the night after. Always late, always drunk, always the same humiliating ritual followed by slurred monologues about station and breeding and knowing one's place.
John stopped reacting. Just closed his eye and waited for it to end.
By the fourth day, he'd stopped tracking time properly. The beatings and starvation blurred together. The kennel master threw scraps once, maybe twice, always just enough to keep John breathing but not enough to satisfy the burning emptiness in his gut. He fought the dogs for the food. Lost more often than he won.
His body was shutting down in stages. The swelling in his face had gone down slightly but new bruises kept appearing. His ribs were definitely broken now, multiple fractures that made breathing an exercise in agony. The chain had rubbed his wrist raw, the skin there open and weeping.
He'd stopped thinking about isekai logic. Stopped analyzing magic systems or social structures. His entire world had shrunk to immediate survival. Water. Food. Sleep when the dogs allowed it.
Then came the afternoon everything got worse.
The kennel door opened in daylight for once. Multiple footsteps, refined voices, the sound of people who'd never missed a meal discussing the weather.
John lifted his head with tremendous effort.
The lord entered with a group. Five young men, dressed well but not extravagantly. Lesser nobles, probably, or squires from allied houses. Visitors here for hunting or politics or whatever the aristocracy did when they weren't tormenting servants.
"And this," the lord gestured with a flourish, "is what happens to servants who forget their station."
The visitors peered into the pen with varying expressions of disgust and fascination.
"Gods, the smell," one muttered.
"How long has he been chained there?"
"Four days," the lord said proudly. "Four days among the hounds. An educational experience."
He approached the gate, his earlier drunkenness replaced with theatrical energy.
"Let's have a demonstration, shall we? Something to illustrate the lesson."
The kennel master appeared, summoned by some unseen signal. He carried a wooden stick, thick as a man's thumb, worn smooth from use.
The lord smiled.
"You there. In the straw." He kicked the gate. "I want you to beg for water. Like a dog. Down on all fours, tongue out, the whole performance."
John looked at him through his one functional eye.
The visitors watched with the detached interest of people viewing exotic animals.
"No," John said. His voice came out as a rasp.
It was barely defiance. Barely anything. Just the last tiny scrap of dignity refusing to cooperate.
The lord's smile widened.
"Master Henrik. Please encourage our guest to comply."
The kennel master entered the pen. He didn't look happy about it but he didn't hesitate either. Orders were orders.
The stick came down across John's shoulders.
Pain exploded, different from fists and boots, sharper and more focused. John gasped, his broken ribs screaming.
Another strike. This one across his back.
"Beg," the lord said pleasantly. "Beg like the dog you are."
The stick hit his legs. His arms. His already damaged torso.
John curled as tight as the chain allowed but there was no escape. The beating was methodical. Professional. The kennel master had done this before to animals that needed correction.
Five strikes. Ten. Fifteen.
John's resistance crumbled like wet paper.
"Please," he croaked.
The stick paused.
"Louder. And properly. On your knees. Tongue out."
John's body moved on instinct, self preservation overriding everything else. He dragged himself onto his knees, the chain rattling. His hands hit the straw. His tongue, swollen and dry, extended from his ruined mouth.
"Please," he said again, the word distorted. "Water. Please."
One of the visitors laughed uncomfortably. Another looked away.
The lord beamed like a proud teacher whose student finally grasped a difficult concept.
"There. See how quickly they learn when properly motivated? Even the stupidest animal understands pain."
John stayed on his hands and knees, tongue out, the last fragments of who he'd been dissolving in dog piss and straw and shame.
The visitors made polite noises and left quickly, their entertainment apparently satisfied.
The lord lingered at the gate.
"Good boy," he said, his voice dripping honey sweetness and venom. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."
He tossed something into the pen. A wooden cup, quarter full of water.
Then he left.
John crawled to the cup and drank, his hands shaking so badly half of it spilled.
The dogs watched with what might have been sympathy.
Or maybe just hunger.