Chapter 3 – It repeats itself

Their two-week trip wasn't particularly eventful. Michael had repeatedly asked the others various questions, but they refused to answer him. They'd told him some meaningless drivel about how he should enjoy his ignorance while he could and ended the short conservations. In truth, they were afraid that Michael would react badly to the news and try to do something stupid that would get all of them into unnecessary trouble. Thus, Michael could only wait and endure the anxiety continuously building up within him.

During the trip, the rations they'd gotten were comparable to the orphanage. Barely enough food for young adults but Michael didn't complain. Instead, he was more focused on the fact that there wasn't any storage place, yet the driver would always deliver them enough bread and water, seemingly grabbing it out of thin air.

Despite their meager food, none of the youths seemed malnourished or dissatisfied with its amount. In fact, Michael was the most underdeveloped of the entire group. They should have been about the same age, but their complexion and build looked significantly healthier than his own. Although they had supposedly grown up in similar conditions, the difference in strength was visible from the outside. Further inquiries on the topic had taught him that they were able to use at least some tiny fragments of Mana. Far from enough for proper Magecraft, but with the right instructions, it'd helped them improve their physical conditions slightly. As it turned out, food wasn't the only way for the body to gain energy.

Michael knew he was once again at a disadvantage compared to his peers, but he didn't let that bother him. They might have surpassed him in physical prowess, but they couldn't come close to his mental fortitude. Behind this somewhat frail-looking young adult, there hid an iron-will, forged by a century of suffering. If nothing else, then this was a weapon he could rely on.

Finally, they'd arrived at their destination in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by lush greenery. The ground was mostly covered in a silver-green grass that was still wet from the morning dew. Several trees rose from the ground, blocking their view in every direction. Only a small trail that led into the depths of the forest indicated any signs of human activity in these areas.

“Alright, step out, and line up.” The Captain said with much relief. There was neither pity nor compassion in his eyes as he looked at the young men, whose fate he held in his hands.

The youths listened obediently and lined up in front of the Captain. Each of them looked into the opening between the trees where the trail led to. Even from this distance, Michael could recognize the faint echoing of a very familiar sound. A sound etched into the depths of his soul that he could never mistake for anything else. More familiar scenes of the past flashed through his mind, and when the realization hit him, it left him with a deep sense of helplessness and disbelief. Rooted to the ground, he began muttering to himself, shaking his head repeatedly as if he could evict the idea in his mind through this method. The Captain merely shrugged at his sudden behavior and continued unbothered. He had seen many going crazy before they'd arrived. Fair enough, in his opinion - the spreading rumors only became worse, the more time went by.

The youth next to Michael fiddled nervously on his tattered clothes. The later had begun muttering and stammering words repeatedly in a language he'd never heard of before. He silently praised himself for not telling Michael anything about this before they arrived. Who knew what this nervous wreck could have done?

It took until the Captain almost finished his explanation for Michael to calm down. This wasn't the time to panic - he needed to stay positive. Sure, it might look bleak at the moment, but it could never compare to his previous life. Repeatedly, he tried to convince himself that things would turn out fine, but a small unsettling voice in the back of his mind wouldn't let him calm down. The past had haunted him, and despite his hardest attempts, it didn't seem to leave him be. From the outside, he had at last returned to his calm, yet deep within, he was still struggling with the terror from times past that dreaded to resurface and consume him.

“This will be the place you will be living in.” The Captain pointed at a tall wooden cabin next to the excavation. Logs, simply stacked upon each other, lacking any signs of skillful workmanship. It was most likely built by people who had never been instructed on how to properly build a wooden house.

“You will be working here for the rest of your life. You had the chance to join the military, but now that you are here, your future is set. Unless you prove yourself capable of sufficient Magecraft, this will be your life now. Your job is simple. You mine the iron ore within the excavation. If you behave properly, you might be rewarded with luxuries. If you don't, the guards will teach you some memorable lessons.”

When the Captain finished, all of the youths had ugly looks on their faces. Now that they'd arrived, the brunt of reality had finally hit them and they truly realized the graveness of their situation. For them, the possibility of advancing in Magecraft was not impossible but very minuscule. With a conservative estimation, some of them could escape this life by the time they are forty or fifty. However, most of them would spend the rest of their life here. Under normal circumstances, working as a miner was not the worst-case scenario for them. That's why they'd chosen this life instead of joining the military as a mere foot soldier – more commonly referred to as 'cannon fodder.'

But their attitude had changed shortly after they'd spent some time traveling. Rumors circulated as the people had pointed at them with pitiful eyes. Slowly they understood that they had been too hopeful about the future.

It didn't take long for them to find out about the truth hidden inside these rumors.

Officially, slavery was not tolerated. The numerous churches had spoken vehemently against it and the Empire could not ignore their influence. Nevertheless, it didn't stop it altogether. Instead, the military was only ordered to keep their chosen workers low-profile. As dissatisfied as the churches were, they couldn't push the matter too far either. Thus, as long as the public was mostly unaware of these locations, workers were still drafted in horrible conditions. Both sides put up a front for the public while nothing much had changed behind the scenes. Simple work like mining was always handed to small groups of military personnel that would forcefully control their workers. Of course, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't prevent some information from leaking to the public, resulting in various rumors. Unhappy as the population and churches might be, this was something they could except. Especially since mostly only orphans, criminals and prisoners of war were sought out for these kinds of jobs. In the end, everyone on the surface could accept the status quo and revel in the feeling of upholding human rights while blissfully ignoring the truth. It didn't concern them personally, after all.

While some still had a glimmer of hope regarding improvements in their Magecraft, Michael didn't have that. It was crystal clear by now that he had absolutely no aptitude for Magic.

He continued to cheer himself up with pretty words and try not to despair too much. He had a lot of hope for this new life and it was too early to come to conclusions. The silver lining - it was impossible for it to get any worse than his last life.

After this short instruction, the Captain led them to the cabin. Despite its fragile look, it provided decent accommodations once inside. They still had to look after the health of the workers at least a little after all.

“Come out, Arthus!” The Captain shouted. Within seconds, a man hurried out of the cabin. His fragile upper body was bare, and as he turned around, it revealed the numerous old scars stretching across his back, causing the blood to drain from the faces of the new arrivals. His blonde hair had grown below his shoulders and lacked any signs of caretaking. Although he didn't smell particularly bad, he looked like a homeless beggar with his untamed beard covering his entire face.

“Take care of the Newbies.” Without waiting for an answer, the Captain left the group alone and disappeared in the woods from their sights.

Arthus waited until he was sure he couldn't see the Captain anymore before he straightened himself to look at the group of new arrivals.

“So you guys are the Newbies? Not many as always.” He said. His voice was surprisingly relaxed and devoid of any signs of exhaustion. From his wounded figure they'd expected him to sound a little more worn out.

While Arthus inspected each of the young adults, his gaze remained on Michael for a longer time. It was difficult to tell a person's proficiency in Magic from the outside, but Michael's appearance indicated a few obvious things to him. He was aware that all of the orphans who were doomed to work here, were usually prepared in some minor physical enhancements as evidenced by their appearance. Michael was a stark contrast not only to his peers but also to the workers passing by. Only very few were as thin as Michael, including Arthus. On the side, Michael had realized that those were especially downtrodden, while some other men seemed strangely satisfied. Not as relaxed as Arthus, but they were content with their situation. One couldn't call them happy, but they were in much better shape than one would expect, both physically and mentally.

Arthus' gaze had lingered longer on Michael for quite some time before he assigned each of them their beds inside the cabin.

“Yours is 52. It's next to mine.” Arthus gave Michael a friendly smile before returning his attention to the entire group.

“If you have any problems in the future you can come to me. I'll help you out as long as it's within my capabilities. Under your beds, you will find some clothing and a pickaxe. Your work is straightforward. You wake up at dawn, go down to the mines and work until you fulfill the quota for the day. Guards will supervise you so don't try anything funny. After you're done, you can find some dried rations in front of the cabin. As for water, you can find some down the mines and inside the cabin. Any questions? If not, get your stuff and follow me.”

Arthus explained patiently, ready to comfort anyone who'd break down from the news. However, he didn't have to worry about this group, except for Michael, whom he didn't let out of his sight. The group changed their clothes into plain grey trousers and grabbed their pickaxes while following Arthus' advice of omitting the shirt, that would only motivate the guards to lash out at them harder.

Michael looked a little absentminded as if he still couldn't come to terms with reality. Except for Arthus, no one paid him any more attention as they were busy lamenting their own fate.

The group led by Arthus walked down some stairs to the excavation. There were about a hundred men that worked unceasingly and twelve guards, each holding a whip that was painted in the color of dried blood. Almost every worker had open wounds on their back from which fresh blood was dripping onto the ground, gathering in a small pool beneath them. The occasional grunt and scream of pain filled the Newbies with even more dread. Meanwhile, a few had noticed that some of the men were exempt from the punishment. Those men only had old scars that'd healed a long time ago with no traces of any recent wounds. They were also mining the iron ore within the stones but barely gave the activity any effort.

“You better work hard,” Arthus advised them. “As you can see, our “working conditions” aren't the best. At the end of the day you each have to fill a wagon with iron ore like the one you see over there.” He pointed behind a worker. It was a hollow box made of stone without a cover. At the bottom, some makeshift wheels were adhered to it, which barely seemed to work.

“If you are too slow or you somehow displease the guards, they will hit you. Some of them are really sadistic bas-...” He didn't dare to continue as he saw one of the guards noticing their group's arrival.

“Don't mind me. Please continue.” The guard said as he arrived with a wicked grin on his face. There was a massive scar across his face that went through one of his eyes, effectively blinding it. Pretty much every guard had some visible injuries or scars revealed on the few spots their armor would reveal their skin.

“Nothing, nothing, revered Knight. I just finished showing these newcomers the ropes and was about to return to the cabin.” Arthus said in a fawning voice, something he'd trained to perfection over the years.

“Just leave. You're lucky the Captain favors you, else...” The guard didn't continue, but the wicked smile on his face grew wider as he licked his lips in anticipation. Arthus didn't dare test the man's patience any longer and hurriedly went away after excusing himself. The last look he gave the Newbies told them that they were now on their own.

“So you are the Newbies the Captain brought back? Get to work on the double!” The man shouted at the Newbies as he lashed out with the whip onto the ground. As a result, a small crack appeared underneath the strength of the whip that immediately filled the Newbies with immense fear. Things were developing too fast, and with the aggressive appearance of the guard in front of them, they were like helpless children who didn't know what to do despite how obvious it seemed.

What no one expected was, that Michael was the first to get his act together as he threw the pickaxe across his shoulder in a practiced manner and walked away. The others admired how quickly Michael had recouped, despite this turn of events. The one they'd assumed was the weakest and most fragile among their group, turned out to be the calmest. Thus, they followed and clung onto this steadfast back like a lighthouse in the turbulent sea you could always rely on. Regardless of the weather, its light would always guide them in their direst needs.

What they didn't know, however, was that Michael's mind was an utter mess, a stark contrast to his outward appearance. Total chaos that had eventually resulted in calmness on the surface. The more he'd learned about his 'new' work and saw the battered workers, the more his mind slipped into a routine. As if trying to escape from this place and reality, he stopped thinking and let his instincts take over. He'd listened, and with the pickaxe in his hand, his body reacted on its own. Arriving at a desolate place, followed by the Newbies, he swung the pickaxe towards the rock in such a practiced manner that gave the distant workers a big surprise. None of them had paid much attention to the new arrivals, but the way Michael had used the pickaxe was too eye-catching. The pickaxe had traveled in a perfect arch as it hit the rock, resulting in an almost beautiful echoing sound, followed by a refined rhythm as if he had practiced the art of swinging for decades.

Evidently unpleased by his calmness, the earlier guard walked towards Michael and raised his whip to lash out at him.

“Faster!!”

With the strength of multiple men, the Knight's whip traveled at an astonishing speed. The sharp sound of the whip hitting on Michael's back echoed through the surrounding, sending shivers down the spines of the Newbies. This time, instead of admiration, they were once again filled with fear. An enormous gash had opened on Michael's back as fresh blood gushed from his back onto the ground. Their fear of the whip, however, was quickly eclipsed by Michael's unflinching reaction.

There wasn't even the slightest trace of a reaction from him. He was still raising and dropping his pickaxe as if anything that had happened wasn't related to him. Only the wound on his back proved the reality of the injury he'd received. As it was to be expected, the guard was more than furious at Michael's lack of reaction.

As if his authority was questioned, the guard continued to whip at Miachel as he shouted insult after insult. Yet, he couldn't get a single gasp or cry of pain from this new worker.

This was the first time the veteran workers had seen a guard out of breath from delivering a lashing. It was incomprehensible to them. His tiny stature indicated his lack of strength, yet there wasn't a single reaction from the young man. Not even disrupting his rhythm in the slightest, he operated the pickaxe at a steady pace to the surprise of anyone present. An entirely different fear emerged within the workers witnessing the event and even the guards began doubting the reality in front of their eyes. The image of the young and weak man was quickly replaced by something else. By a fear for the unknown - A monster.

The day had ended, yet the surprises didn't. From the beginning to the end, Michael had worked without pause, neither eating or drinking. He had mined far more than was expected of him before he inevitably collapsed on the ground. It was the first time a guard had ordered someone to stop working, but Michael didn't listen. He'd worked until his body could no longer support him and the guards called for Arthus to take care of him.

Eventually, Michael awoke in his bed with Arthus at his side, who held a bowl of soup as well as water, bread and some dried meat.

“Finally you woke up. What was wrong with you? The guard thought you wanted to commit suicide and actually began panicking. While they couldn't care less about us, a dead worker wasn't something they needed.” Michael didn't bother listening to him. He'd calmed down and realized the exhaustion that completely overwhelmed his body. Within seconds he gorged down the food and water, relaxing in the comforting feeling that filled him. It took Arthus some time to explain what had happened before Michael understood what he had done. He had been totally out of it and didn't even remember the recent events. The actions of today earned him numerous stares from his co-workers who now didn't want to bother associating with him. Whatever it was, there was clearly something wrong with Michael. Better to not interact with a lunatic like that. Arthus didn't buy in the superstition and had taken care of Michael until he woke up. The latter was grateful for the help but wanted to be left alone for now. He tried to sleep just so he could wake up from this nightmare.

But when the next day arrived, those hopes too were extinguished and Michael had to accept the reality ahead of him.