Chapter 2
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 02
Chapter Title: 2. The Pebble
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Black Stone Fortress.
The Crow Bandits' stronghold, which had practically taken over the entire southern region.
This fortress, home to nearly a hundred regular members, was a place Bran knew all too well.
'It's definitely the same as in the game.'
He had visited it while playing most characters.
Being the type to devour every bit of game content, even the surrounding scenery felt familiar.
The watchtower scorched black by lightning, the moss-covered walls, the outdoor forge built by kidnapped blacksmiths...
In some ways, it was a touching situation.
After all, he had entered the world of his favorite game.
Of course, if anyone said that to Bran right now, he would have smashed their skull with his hoe on the spot.
"Ugh, seriously, it's so damn hot!"
Bran spat out a curse.
The summer sky was a brilliant blue. The merciless sun scorched the world relentlessly.
The humidity made sweat pour down in streams.
Clang-!
As he swung the hoe irritably, a metallic clang echoed out.
"Argh!"
Bran dropped the hoe.
The shock traveled up his wrist and spread through his body.
Looking at the spot he had struck, a large stone protruded neatly.
"You little pebble...!"
Bran glared at it.
He crouched down and began digging the dirt away with his bare hands like a mole.
The giant watching him finally pull out the stone and toss it away nodded in satisfaction.
"Very proactive. Everyone, take a page from his book."
It was the same guy who had given Bran a kick-ass wake-up call three days ago.
His title was Supervisor. He always prowled around like a wartime cop, club in hand.
Beating or berating slaves was his job, and sadly, it suited him perfectly.
Satisfied with Bran's enthusiasm, the Supervisor turned away.
"Take a page from your ass. Just drop dead."
Bran flipped him off.
It had already been three days since he entered the world of Return Lord.
At first, despair had kept him from eating properly, but by now, he felt like he was adapting.
If he hadn't been a rightless slave, he probably would have adjusted two days faster.
"Ha... What did I do to deserve this...?"
Of course, fully accepting it was still hard.
Once, he had been a righteous adventurer purging bandits.
Once, he had sided with the Crow Bandits' leader as a vile villain.
He had come and gone from Black Stone Fortress in various roles, but being a slave was a first.
NPCs he had only brushed past in the game were now tilling the soil right beside him.
"Huff... huff... Cough! Cough!"
"Hurry it up, old man. If we don't meet the quota, we're all screwed. You wanna get beat by me instead of the Supervisor?"
"Right, right... Sorry about that."
The old man caught his breath and resumed hoeing.
His emaciated legs trembled pitifully, a heartbreaking sight.
There were four slaves in the farming crew, including Bran.
Their main tasks were leveling the ground and watering crops.
Suddenly, Bran recalled that ridiculous summary that boiled Hitler's life down to "Failed art school and killed himself."
'Even now, it's just absurd. What kind of lunatic sums up the Nameless Hero as a farming slave?'
A surge of anger welled up.
When he saw the Nameless Hero's self-introduction, Bran had assumed he was a serf.
The kind tied to a lord's land, farming away with a slim chance at becoming a freeman.
But compared to his own situation, even that serf was practically nobility.
"...Should I try it one more time?"
This was utterly unreasonable.
If justice existed in this world, at the very least that should have been granted to him.
Confirming the Supervisor was far away, Bran muttered while hoeing.
"Status window."
Nothing happened.
Bran closed his eyes tightly. Veins bulged at his temples.
Honestly, he had expected it. He had been trying since three days ago... no, since the moment he realized he was trapped in the game.
Still, he couldn't help the anger.
If they were going to shove a perfectly fine person into a game, shouldn't they at least give him a status window?
And the unfairness didn't end there.
'I can't remember.'
No matter how hard he wracked his brain, the Nameless Hero's memories from before wouldn't surface.
In some ways, it was a graver issue than the missing status window.
Return Lord was fundamentally a game about regressors as protagonists.
Players started by inheriting a summary of the character's life before their death.
The fun lay in using that info to overturn past regrets.
'A hero forgotten even by himself...'
Even so, this much he could accept.
It fit the Nameless Hero's character setting.
He had momentarily forgotten that even the self-introduction wasn't by the character's own will.
Now, it was time to face reality.
In this harsh world, his only reliable asset was his own abilities.
"Alright. Let's do this."
Bran muttered.
He had zero intention of living and dying as a slave here.
The only thing that mattered now was the reality at hand.
He set aside his aching longing for his old life and forced himself to think positively.
"It's all good. I said I'd make you a famous hero instead of a nameless one, right?"
The words he had boasted before starting the game weren't empty.
A status window or the Nameless Hero's memories were nothing compared to his own experience and knowledge.
Thinking it over, real life had thrown worse at him sometimes.
With renewed resolve, Bran approached the old man who had been getting picked on.
"Sir, let's switch spots. I've cleared all the big rocks, so it'll be easier work."
"What? No, how could I...?"
The old man's eyes widened.
Before he could protest, Bran took his place and started hoeing.
"I'm young, so I'm fine. Come on, quick."
"Th-thank you, young man... Truly, thank you."
Tears welled in the wrinkles around his eyes.
The old man kept thanking him profusely as he moved.
Bran surveyed his new section and let out a hollow chuckle.
Compared to his own cleared area, it was practically a rock field.
"Gonna have to put some muscle into this."
Bran rolled up his sleeves.
And silently resumed hoeing.
The other slaves watching him shot him contemptuous looks.
"What a sucker. Putting on a show."
"What's up with the wimp today?"
His ears itched, but he ignored them.
Still, besides spreading goodwill, he had another purpose right now.
"It's been three days. Something should pop by now."
In Return Lord, there were many ways to raise character stats.
Eating good food, reading magic books, hunting monsters for items, and so on.
Among them, the most primitive and intuitive method was repeating actions tied to the relevant stat.
'No status window, but the system structure should be intact. It has to be.'
In simple terms, getting hit a lot raised defense, beating others raised attack.
From that angle, hoeing was highly suitable for stat growth.
Like swinging a wooden sword all day?
Repetitively moving muscles and striking points with a long tool.
If you ignored the pesky variable of stones, that is.
'Don't give up hope.'
Though he hadn't seen so much as a glimpse of a system window in three days, he had to believe his stats were trending upward.
Without that hope, he'd lose his mind.
Fortunately, Bran had the tenacity of a weed.
'Pile up specs and escape.'
Bran devised an escape plan at the same time.
He knew the layout crystal clear from all his visits.
The problem was that this was reality, not a game.
Bran looked up, his gaze drawn to the northern wall.
"...Brutal."
He swallowed hard.
Dozens of spears lined the wall.
Each bore a withered, mummified corpse.
Gender and age didn't matter. The smallest was a snot-nosed kid under ten.
All shared the same crime: escape.
Bran knew the process—impaling them from anus to mouth while alive.
No extra lives in reality.
No save-load function, either.
Screw up, and he'd end up as one of those corpses.
Feeling the spear rip through his guts. Hearing the bandits' jeers.
'No. Don't think unlucky thoughts.'
Bran shook his head.
Now was the time for courage.
Courage with reason—he could achieve anything.
Clang-!!
Another metallic ring echoed from where he struck.
"Ugh!"
Bran gritted his teeth.
Another stone outcrop. Shock like electricity surged through his arm.
"You damn pebble...!"
It hurt. He was pissed.
But this time, he didn't drop the hoe.
Instead of raging, he calmly dug out the stone.
Maybe it was his imagination, but using his strength felt easier than before.
As he tossed the stone far away and prepared to resume, it happened.
You have continued labor beyond the limits of your body. Overcoming hardship activates Tenacity of the Weed!
Strength and Stamina growth rates slightly increase.
Tool-wielding proficiency growth rate slightly increases.
Consistent repetitive actions or overcoming hardship may generate new traits!
A translucent window suddenly appeared before his eyes.
Bran froze in place.
It was the system message he had been desperately waiting for.
"What the...?"
But what stiffened him wasn't the message's appearance—it was its content.
Before he could react, more windows popped up in sequence.
Finally, all the messages vanished.
Bran said nothing.
He just quietly clenched his fist.
The Nameless Hero was a good character, not fated to wither like a weed.
"...That's more like it."
It was the moment his belief proved correct.