Chapter 3
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Rash Escape (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The sun had set.
A cool breeze soothed the parched earth baked under the day's relentless heat.
The slaves' grueling workday was finally over, and dinner time had arrived.
"Huuu... I'm gonna die. But at least I made it through today."
"Gotta survive tomorrow too. And the day after that."
"Is this how we're gonna live and die? Eating this slop every day?"
Sighs echoed from all around.
The slaves' meals were always steeped in gloom.
It wasn't just because their staple, the gruel porridge, tasted barely better than dog food.
They had no hope.
No hope of one day regaining their freedom and starting a new life.
Barring escape, the only way to freedom was if the Crow Bandits completely collapsed—and that was virtually impossible.
"When the hell are these bastards gonna go under? Can't we just bail?"
"Unless you imagine getting impaled and still shake it off, forget it. I guarantee an earthquake flattening everything would come sooner than the Crows falling apart."
The Crow Bandits were nothing like your run-of-the-mill ragtag thieves.
If anything, they were like a solid mid-sized company in the real world.
Plenty of cash flow, in bed with the local lord—no one could touch them.
Yesterday like today. Today like tomorrow.
The endless cycle of backbreaking labor broke even the most upbeat young man, leaving him wilted like dried moss.
"Heh heh, meat for once. I wish every day was like today."
That's why Bran's laughter stood out so sharply.
He was perched on a rock, shoveling gruel porridge into his mouth.
The rare chunks of meat had him in high spirits.
Tough as old tires, sure—but in this place, even old crow meat was precious protein.
He'd already polished off three bowls, but his spoon kept moving relentlessly.
"Crazy bastard."
"Knew it since he stole work from the old folks. Sun must've fried his brain."
"But hasn't that guy's body gotten kinda jacked? Totally different from a month ago."
The farmhand slaves clicked their tongues.
They were eating a good distance away from Bran.
Their gazes toward him held pity now, not contempt.
Of course, Bran couldn't care less.
"Phew, now I feel alive."
Bran flopped onto his back after emptying his fourth bowl.
At first, he'd wondered how anyone could stomach this crap.
Now? It was tolerable.
Puberty, maybe—everything he ate felt like it turned straight to blood and muscle.
"See? I knew I was right."
Bran murmured.
His murky green eyes gazed up at the star-filled night sky.
The only beautiful sight worth taking in from this dump of a fortress.
A month since awakening his unique trait.
He was steadily turning into an even tougher weed.
Strength and Stamina growth rates have slightly increased.
Strength and Stamina growth rates have slightly increased.
Strength and Stamina growth rates have slightly increased.
Three system messages in a month.
Pretty stingy for handling the workload of three slaves plus daily muscle training.
"Well, a sudden huge jump would be weirder."
Still, no real complaints.
Balance-wise, this was actually fast.
Tenacity of the Weed permanently boosted growth rates—and even granted new traits. Total cheat status.
Plus, regardless of the system's wording, Bran's body was showing clear progress.
"Bodybuilders must be pissed."
Bran chuckled.
Clenching his fist, his thickened forearm muscles bulged prominently.
Experiments proved he could now crush walnuts barehanded with ease.
Unbelievable gains for just one month.
'If this is "slight" increase, what's next?'
The system humbly called it a "slight" boost, but Bran's felt otherwise.
It was blatantly fast.
Like shooting steroids, maybe.
Stamina through the roof—no back pain after a thousand hoe swings.
In a world of magic and superhumans, it might be minor, but journeys of a thousand miles start with a single step.
"Start strong, go far."
Always positive.
Muttering his life motto, Bran started to rise for his nightly training.
"Bran."
A young voice came from his feet.
Glancing down, he saw a blond boy waving at him.
"What? You finished super late today."
"Execs had a banquet. Cleanup took forever."
"Gotcha."
A welcome face.
Even caked in grease and grime, his golden hair shone like sunlight.
Bran sat up fully to face the boy.
"Good work. Kael."
Kael was the kitchen slave.
Bran's one true friend—and his savior.
Right after possession, if this kid hadn't called his name, the bald Supervisor would've beaten him senseless.
"Ahaha... Happens sometimes. You had it way worse."
Kael scratched his cheek with a grin.
So innocent, Bran snorted too.
The more he saw, the more fascinating the kid.
Hard to believe he'd been a total unknown pre-possession.
Too refined for a slave, and oddly familiar somehow.
'Feels weirdly cozy. Was he originally friends with Weed Uncle?'
Maybe 'cause his name matched a fave veggie.
Anyway, chatting with Kael always eased his mind.
Plus, the kid helped in ways outside Bran's reach.
Bran spoke up.
"Hey, about that thing I asked yesterday?"
"Oh, got it!"
Kael rummaged in his pocket.
His hand emerged clutching a handful of yellowish greens.
Bran whistled as he took them.
"Nice. Quality stuff."
"Haha, no biggie. But... what for?"
Kael tilted his head.
He'd helped, but no clue on the purpose.
What he'd handed over were crown radish leaves.
Prime discards—bitter sap oozed at the slightest damage.
Bran's request: snag some wandering kitchen radish leaves.
"Got uses. Was gonna sneak into the mess hall, but you saved me the hassle."
"Sneak? For this?"
"Kidding, dummy. Thanks anyway."
"Gah! Ouch!"
What a great friend.
Bran thumped Kael's back.
"Anyone bullies you, tell me. I'll knock out all but the front teeth—beaver style."
"Beaver? What's—Ow! Quit hitting!"
Kael yelped.
Skinny and scrawny, his whole body jolted with each smack.
Bran pocketed the leaves, smirking.
'Perfect.'
Not joking, really.
These weeds were a super important item for him.
Exaggeration? Maybe—but life-changing, absolutely.
As the two wrapped up their chat and parted—
"Hey, Bran."
"Yeah?"
"You... happy with life here?"
Kael dropped the bomb out of nowhere.
Bran frowned.
"Dumb question. Who gets off on slave life?"
"Yeah, figured. Just... you always scarf that gruel like it's gourmet. Had to check."
"'Cause it's the only damn option. So much I wanna eat instead."
Anger surged suddenly.
He didn't eat it 'cause he liked it.
No gourmet in this world could top modern food.
Spicy fried chicken with cold beer? Dragon's playtime.
"If we get out... yeah, right."
"Why ask that outta nowhere?"
"Well... um... y'see..."
Kael trailed off.
Confirming no one around, he stepped close and whispered.
"Bran. Wanna escape with us?"
"...Escape?"
"Yeah. Mog said no more recruits, but... you seem solid."
Bran froze.
His eyes said dead serious.
"What's this all of a sudden? You got a plan?"
"Yep. Few days back, found a dog hole by the mess hall wall. Hidden in bushes—been there ages."
"Dog hole, huh."
"Stuck here forever otherwise. Better try, even if caught and killed."
Kael's face burned with resolve.
Not total nonsense, on reflection.
No guarantee of capture—that was just his player guess.
They might actually pull it off and taste freedom.
And early escape suited Bran too.
'If it works, no downside. If it works.'
Most of his game knowledge needed leaving the fortress to use.
Planned to max specs first, but early out had perks.
About to ask for details—
"Gah!"
"B-Bran?!"
A horrific headache slammed Bran.
Pain he'd never known.
Like razor blades shredding his brain.
Sounds faded, vision went white.
Couldn't even scream, thrashing—then new footage overlaid the white.
[Pay attention, you trash!]
The Supervisor's voice boomed from somewhere.
Bran's vision cleared. He stood under blazing sun.
Slaves lined up in neat rows around him.
'What the hell.'
Body frozen like scissors-locked.
Flesh a prison trapping his soul—uncontrollable.
The enraged voice erupted again.
[This is the end for vermin harboring vain hopes! Open your eyes and look closely!]
Atop the wall.
Viewpoint shifted as Bran oriented.
North wall in sight.
Behind the Supervisor yelling with club in hand—twenty-seven corpses.
Five more than before. Last night's failed escapers.
Arrows riddling bodies painted the scene.
At least not skewered alive. Silver lining?
Scanning the escapees, a familiar face jumped out.
'Uh.'
Kael.
Impaled on a spear.
The scrawny boy's body run through from anus to mouth.
His pale skin now ghostly white. Lifeless blond hair like rotten straw.
Blood pooling from arrows and shaft.
'Kael.'
Bran froze.
Couldn't call out—voice gone.
Two more atop the wall: flashy thief man and woman chatting over Kael's corpse.
Indeed, only Kael's corpse fly-free.
Trait of innate holy power wielders.
Rare for it to linger post-death.
A tidal wave of grief blurred his vision.
'This...'
Not his own feelings.
Tragic death, sure—but not that close to Kael.
The emotions belonged to this body's original owner.
All things considered, that owner was...
"Nameless Hero."
No doubt.
This was the Nameless Hero's memory from life.
Several lingering questions clicked.
Mysterious closeness, nagging familiarity in looks.
Why such potent holy power coursed through this kid.
A playable character's face flashed in mind.
Icy blue eyes, radiant gold hair.
'Thought he looked similar, but actual kin to a playable char?'
Too much evidence for hypothesis.
Fallen to slavery, but great holy knight blood ran pure.
Who knew an Easter egg like this remained undiscovered?
Suddenly, a worried voice pierced ahead.
"Nameless Hero?"
"...!!!"
Scenery snapped back.
Slaves and corpses vanished, replaced by a pretty face.
The question repeated.
"Bran, you okay?"
"Hah!"
Bran gasped.
Kael stared up, concerned.
Lake-blue eyes reflected his face.
He stumbled back instinctively; Kael apologized, flustered.
"S-Sorry if I scared you. You went quiet... face pale. You sick?"
"...Damn it."
"B-Bran?!"
Bran bolted without answering.
Turning the barn corner, north wall came into view.
Moonlit stone gleamed blue, twenty-one corpses displayed.
Like yesterday—not twenty-seven.
Sentries paced below.
"Hah... heh, why'd you run? Scared me."
Kael caught up, panting.
Bran asked.
"When?"
"Huh?"
"When's the escape?"
"Uh... dawn today."
"What?"
Bran's brow furrowed.
This kid's insane.
"Most're already gathered by the hole. Patrols skip it good."
"Good. Let's go."
"Huh?"
"I'm in."
Bran declared.
Kael's confusion lit to joy.
"R-Really? Smart choice!"
"Yeah. After that vision? Can't let you die pointlessly. Especially you."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Move."
Bran led the way.
Time to steel himself.
First real scrap since entering this Return Road world.