Chapter 57
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Livestock
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Two days had passed.
My back had healed at an astonishing speed.
The dark scabs had already peeled off, replaced by tender pink new skin.
That ointment she applied—could it have been Madecassol made from Na-mek blood or something?
The regenerative power was on par with a healing factor. Or maybe Doctor Octopus's arms.
Now, my clean back bore only the stark slave tattoo and that woman's name, Baekrin.
Over these past two days, Noy had refused to leave my side even for a moment.
Except when sleeping, he clung to my leg all day or burrowed into my arms.
Today, too, he only finally dozed off after stuffing himself full at lunch, allowing me to slip out of the room.
I'd exchanged greetings with Baekrin as well.
"......"
She still shot me a look that said she wasn't pleased, but she gave a curt nod without a word.
Yesterday and the day before, she'd sucked me dry night and day, so her dissatisfaction must have eased a bit.
And now.
"......It's cold."
I walked the dingy streets of Nahark with my shirt flung off.
Accompanied by the one-armed old man, Kain.
"Oh ho."
The old geezer stroked his goatee and flashed a sly grin.
"So you finally lost your virginity, eh?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"That girl's got some guts. How could she even think of mixing with a creepy bastard like you?"
This lecherous old fart was thrilled.
Since morning, after spotting the red marks on my neck and chest, his mouth had been glued from ear to ear.
"Jealous? Just say it."
I snorted back.
"You're too old for your dick to even stand anymore."
"Heh heh, nonsense. I'm still spry. My equipment down there rivals my twenties and thirties."
"Bullshit, you fossil. Even if that shriveled prick perks up, it's useless."
Time is science, after all.
I flipped him the bird casually.
"Anyway, got it, old man? She's my woman now. If you try anything while I'm gone, I'll come flying back and burst your balls."
Just in case, I laid down the law with this geezer.
"You lunatic. Do I look my age? I'm not messing with a girl young enough to be my daughter. Anyone under forty doesn't even register as a woman to me anymore."
"Good thing then. That's the exact opposite of my tastes."
Because women over forty don't count as women to me either.
No twitch down there at all.
Of course, adding my past life age, I'm over fifty too, but screw that. My current body is twenty.
So my tastes are perfectly reasonable. Normal.
Young, fresh, and perky is the way.
"So quit worrying needlessly and come back in one piece."
We'd arrived at a compound outside the walls, enclosed by a crude fence—like a detention camp.
Similar to the prison where those guards had locked me up before.
Scrawled letters on the crumbling walls read:
[Ruben Kingdom Slave Reformation Academy]
Damn, check out that sign naming.
Never dreamed reincarnating here would land me in an academy story.
Of course, as a slave, not a student, in a shithole building.
No uniforms, just sackcloth pants with torsos bare. That's the difference.
Anyway, what a grandiose name.
Kain pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and clapped my shoulder.
"Don't pussy out too much, kid."
"Who's pussy? Me?"
"Word is, only one or two slaves die here a year."
The old man chuckled, exhaling a long plume of smoke.
"Even those are the super old croaking ones or the sickly who drop dead. Healthy ones with all limbs intact almost never kick it."
"Hmm......"
I glanced toward the entrance. Already six or seven slaves lined up.
Some looked scrawny, but most were muscled bruisers who could handle labor.
If the geezer was right, no real threat to life.
I hadn't taken it too seriously from the start anyway.
Slaves are personal property, after all—no reason to carelessly ruin them.
This money-obsessed kingdom wouldn't volunteer to compensate losses with taxes.
Just spin my wheels moderately and get out.
I nodded and asked,
"Anyway, I'll rot here a month, but what about you in the meantime?"
"What else? Earn money. Rented out all the rooms too."
Kain shrugged.
"We'll take simple jobs, the three of us."
"Three? Bringing the kid along?"
"Not like we can afford a nanny in our situation. I've been a merc long enough, and with a kid, we'll skip the dangerous stuff. Better than sitting idle earning pennies."
I chuckled.
This old Kain sure had solid judgment.
Safety first, no overreaching. Good he'd manage fine without me.
"See you in a month then. Don't starve the girl, and pave the way smooth."
"You too. Stay safe."
"Bonus if you time it right with some tofu or whatever."
I waved lightly at Kain and took my place at the end of the slave line.
Scanning the lineup, what a sight.
All faces rotten and lifeless, like calves dragged to slaughter. Not a spark in their eyes.
Makes sense for slaves.
Baekrin and I were the unusual slave-employer pair—with benefits.
Hmm, so am I a sex slave then?
Her cripple whore mom sold her body to keep her from the same fate, even taught her to read.
But the son downgrades further than a brothel john.
Rinea up in heaven must be wailing.
'......Hits kinda close to home.'
Past life memories.
That shitty feeling standing on Nonsan's drill field, buzzcut head.
Sky collapsing, suicidal gloom.
Wondering why born with a dick, why in that cursed divided nation.
Cursing the world for my rotten luck.
Never thought reincarnation would bring it back.
But 21 months down to one, more like a draft dodger's training camp stint.
"Next!"
A thick bellow from the front. Line shrinking fast.
My turn approaching.
.....
"Name."
"Leo...... No, White Wolf."
"Owner."
"Private. Baekrin."
The desk clerk didn't even look at me. Scribbled mechanically, tossed a thin wooden tag.
"104. Inside."
That was it. No orientation, no ceremony.
Grab tag, crawl into assigned pen. Simple system.
Creeeak, slam!
Heavy iron door opened. Stepping in,
"......Urk."
A nose-stinging stench hit hard.
Sweat, piss-shit reek, moldy rot mixed in foul air.
So shitty, yet familiar.
Like coming home...
Inside resembled a converted warehouse or stable. Cobwebs on high ceiling, floor damp and sticky.
Dim halls without a ray of sun, lined with barred cells jammed together.
Academy my ass.
This was a camp. Livestock pen level, management in the toilet.
Not prison-like—straight-up prison.
Experienced eye confirms.
"Move it, you filthy shits!"
Guards down the hall whipped and bellowed.
No taste for that, so I hustled to my number.
[104]
[104]
Rusted iron door. Peering in, brow furrowed instinctively.
Tiny space, maybe six pyeong tops.
Already packed with over twenty humans like sardines.
Less room, more chicken coop.
More shocking,
"......?"
No gender separation.
Shirtless men mixed with women slaves squatting, tits dangling casually.
If clothed properly, maybe fine. But most in rags barely covering privates, some buck naked.
Slaves are livestock.
Right, what clothes do cattle need?
"What? Get in."
Guard prodded my back with his baton.
"Uh...... Isn't it too cramped?"
"Shove in, punk. They'll fit if you pack 'em."
Guard kicked me in like luggage.
I crashed down, stepping on a foot, ass-planted by another.
Slam!
Door shut, lock clicked.
"Haa...... Fucking hell."
So primitive, inadequate doesn't cover it.
I stood. No room to stretch legs.
Just squat, hug knees.
Looked around.
Right: hairy giant snoring.
Left: emaciated woman staring blankly. Whip scars? on exposed chest.
Stuffy air, cold floor chill.
Heat and stench from dozens of sweaty bodies crammed tight.
'A month here......'
Nonsan training camp? Canceled.
Compared to this, it was a five-star suite.
Not that cramped, no indoor shit stink,
and at least no mixed gender bathhouse.
"Sigh, fuck."
I leaned against the wall, deep sigh.
Just starting, future looked bleak.
.....
Time blurred. Just staring at walls or dozing on shoulders.
Not leaning on purpose. Cramped, bodies touch. Inevitable.
By the way, no one here washes.
No facilities, and no welfare for livestock anyway.
Filthy bodies pressed in tight space. Disgust and grime built daily. Smell needless to say.
Life here simpler, cruder than thought.
No programs, no training regimen.
Just herd into pens like cattle, toss rotten oat porridge once a day.
One routine though.
Initially puzzled. So many slaves wanting out? Not just able-bodied men—frail elderly, snotty kids. Useless for labor.
What use outside?
Mystery solved quick.
"......Hic, Mama......"
Girl beside me sobbing, huddled.
Her bony back clean. No dark brand like mine.
Looking around, most like that. More unmarked flesh than branded slaves.
There it was.
Far more 'prospective slaves' than actual ones.
Not just re-ed for existing slaves.
Illegal residents nabbed without papers. Debtors sold for debts. Refugees from razed villages.
Round up the stateless, vanished, dump here, slave-ify.
Giant state-run slave factory.
Tame 'em moderately, use as public kingdom slaves or sell for treasury.
Hence, grab anyone regardless of gender, age.
Ones like me with owners? Minor byproduct.
Owners needing proof for border passes send 'em.
Owned ones minority.
Why mix real slaves and prospects like bibimbap? Still mystery.
Seniors mentor juniors maybe.
Or,
"Mister, your back......"
"What're you staring at, brat."
The man next to the girl growled. Branded real slave.
He glared at the cowering girl, then smirked with smug superiority.
"You...... no owner yet? Tsk tsk..."
"......?"
"Least I got somewhere to go back to. You? Outta here, straight to mines or whorehouse."
Man chuckled, flicked her head.
Like he was chosen pet, she slaughter-bound cattle.
'Aha, that's it.'
I slapped my knee.
Reason for mixing.
Fear contagion, class divide.
Show newbies the resigned real slaves, teach despair.
'Rebel all you want, you'll end up like them.'
Slaves despise, surveil each other—block riots, unity.
Efficient, natural system.
"......Smart bastards."
I clicked my tongue.
Ruben Kingdom.
Masters at turning humans to parts.
Much to learn.
Then.
Clang!
Heavy door opened, guard banged baton on bars.
"104! 16 to 20, out!"
Shout flipped room's tension to terror. Routine time.
Spend day crammed in coop breathing, called out in batches.
For routine.
"......P-Please, spare me! I was wrong!!"
"Aaak! Kuaaak!!"
Screams from end hall, 'reformation room'. Flesh tearing, dull thuds echoed vividly off walls.
The routine? Torture.
No reason. Just break human pride, mold into obedient livestock.
Equal opportunity, indiscriminate.
No. 18: the girl mocked earlier, pale and trembling.
Already pissed herself, crawling backward.
"No...... Don't wanna...... Mama......"
"Fucking bitch, dawdling again."
Guard stormed in, yanked her hair.
Dragged her out, battered face mercilessly with baton.
Crack! Smack!
"Euk! Guk......!"
Girl couldn't scream, just gagged as dragged off.
Others called out looked like pigs to sausage factory.
Slam!
Door shut. Survivors mouse-quiet.
No deep breaths, just ears on screams outside.
"Sigh, my turn soon."
I rubbed my face dry, head to wall.
Kain's words recalled.
[Only one or two die here a year.]
Torture in there intense. Always blood.
Beaten, sliced, chopped.
Soles, palms seared too.
Hurts, obviously.
Healthy adults maybe cope, but kids, elders? No.
Yet astonishing—no real deaths.
Damn curious.
Reason exists.
That reason,
"104! 21 to 25! Out!!"
"Motherfucker."
Know once inside.
Experience it.
.....