5.| Human Sheep

The other thralls exchanged hushed murmurs, questioning my reckless behavior. Truth be told, I wondered about my own sanity as well. 

What possessed me to act so stupidly, especially with my limited understanding of this game world? This Punisher outmatched me in every way.

Time seemed to slow as the Punisher's cold gray eyes narrowed. Snowflakes appeared to hang motionless in the air, and a small screen materialized in the corner of my vision.

[System]

[ Ψ Bryard is a level 50 Punisher, working as the right hand of the Underground Church. You've angered him by catching the whip. Whenever you're out of battle, you can select the dictionary once in the menu for the highlighted terms to get a better understanding.Ψ ]

The holographic words faded as the world rematerialized around me in full, merciless reality. 

"Who does this little shit think he is?" the level fifty Punisher growled.

I was nobody special, just reacting on instinct against their inhumane treatment of the deaf girl—of all the children here.

"She couldn't hear you! She's deaf!" I stated as calmly as I could muster.

In my former life, I had been entranced by true crime videos, enraged by stories of adults abusing their power over defenseless children. 

Those tales had instilled an unshakable sense of justice within me that still burned bright.

Bryard's eyes pierced me, as if he could see the worthless thrall-filth he surely perceived me as. His thoughts were clear: how dare this insignificant brat defy me—this worthless, enslaved worm. 

I swallowed hard.

Before I could blink, his knee slammed into my gut, knocking the air from my lungs. I crumpled onto the platform, clutching my abdomen in pain.

The ruthless man didn't allow me a moment's reprieve. His calloused hand fisted in my hair, wrenching my head back to meet his scathing glare. 

Our eyes locked, my rage warring with the system's fresh warning—he was level fifty. 

"I didn't ask you if she was deaf," he hissed, drawing a dagger from his belt and pointing it at my eye. "If you don't shut that filthy mouth, you'll lose more than just your sight to mar that already ugly mug."

I caught a glimpse of my new face's haunting reflection in the blade's mirrored surface. 

Striking blue eyes stared back, framed by a tousled mess of golden hair. But a horrific birth scar marred the right side, the mottled flesh resembling melted plastic along my pale skin, with only two holes where a nose should have been.

"I'm sorry, sir!" I blurted out, hoping to appease the level 50 Punisher and avoid any further suffering.

I leaned back as the blade's edge nicked my cheek, then bowed my head in a show of respect. 

Maybe stroking his ego would stop further punishment for catching the whip. It would show the others I was afraid of him, which was likely what he wanted.

Bryard let out a mocking laugh that chilled me to the bone. "This little dog learns quickly."

His steel-capped boot ground into my back, crushing me harder against the wooden planks. All I could see was the freshly fallen snow blanketing the grounds beyond. 

How could this waking nightmare be my new reality?!

"Dra'el," Bryard barked out a name.

Heavy boots thumped up the platform steps before a gravelly voice responded. "Yes, sir?"

"Give this disobedient mutt half rations tonight," Bryard ordered, "Then take him to the stables and hang him by the wrists."

"Yes, sir!"

Why did I have to go and play the hero? I was never brave before. My father was right—I was a coward, never standing up for myself or others.

Yet here, in this strange new world, I had acted against my timid nature. My mind felt the same, but my body...my soul...was fundamentally changed, acting on its own accord at times.

Bryard finally lifted his boot, allowing me to roll onto my back and face him. My ragged breaths plumed in icy clouds as I stared up at his form against the fading sun and misty treelines.

"Get back in line," He snarled.

Pulling my aching body from the frozen planks, I hurried to rejoin the others, taking my place beside the deaf girl I had shielded. Her eyes shone with gratitude.

'Thank you.' The girl signed with her hand discreetly.

I lifted a trembling hand to respond. 'You don't need to thank me. Just because they refuse to treat us as human doesn't mean we have to accept living like caged animals.'

Her brows rose in surprise, clearly not expecting me to understand her silent gestures. I had fallen in love with sign language back in the 5th grade, spending evenings at the local library teaching myself after each class period.

'How do you know sign?' She smiled warmly as her hands flowed through the motions, our silent communication unnoticed by Bryard as he conversed with another man in the crowd.

How could I explain the concept of school to her when education seemed foreign in Middle eastern and Southern parts of Darkshova? I could only imagine their daily struggle for basic survival.

'I had a deaf friend,' I carefully signed back, a partial truth. Revealing I was from another world would surely make me seem insane.

Hour after hour ticked by as the auctioneer bellowed out numbers, awaiting the highest bid. The biting cold numbed my feet into useless stumps, my hands slowly draining of color and life.

One by one, shivering thralls stepped forward until no more remained in the dwindling crowd. Only a small group of ten, myself included, were left shackled atop the platform.

I watched the auctioneer angrily count his meager coins. "Damn the All Mother! Four years we kept that mute Anyae, and she hasn't uttered a word since the Daemon attack on Tyr. Who'd want a mute slave?"

"You'd think the bloody Vatican would learn. Keep those damned gates sealed and we wouldn't have to deal with these scarred brats," his cold stare found me, a sneer twisting his lips as if daring me to react.

Clenching my jaw, I avoided his gaze, knowing better than to give this sadist any excuse to lash out further. The whip had already left my hand a mangled mess.

"We'd better secure them for the night," the auctioneer muttered, eyes scanning the horizon warily. "I heard there's to be another Blood Moon." A visible shudder ran through him at the mere mention.

Bryard sighed, raking a hand through his greasy hair. The fading sunlight cast an eerie glow across his harsh features. "Not before dealing with that one like I asked." He jerked his chin at me.

"Aye, we'll work them harder this week after the moon turns," the auctioneer nodded. "Make up for their uselessness."

As Bryard waved him off dismissively, the auctioneer fixed me with a resentful glare, as if I were the source of all his troubles rather than the cruel bastard who enjoyed whipping children.

The auctioneer unhooked me from the chained line and tugged harshly, forcing me to stumble out of line, limping painfully behind him. My feet were raw, swollen, the soles cracked and bloody from trudging across the rough ground—they felt scorched by fire.

Glancing back, my gaze met Anyae's—the deaf girl whose punishment I had spared. A silent farewell passed between us as I turned and hobbled after the auctioneer into the dusky treeline where moonlight barely reached.

Through the darkness, the shape of a barn emerged against the night moonlit sky. The foul stench of rot and animal waste burned my nostrils as we neared, making me gag.

The unfamiliar terms from earlier came to mind, and I still needed clarification. Maybe now I could check that dictionary menu this world seemed to provide.

Accessing my mental interface, I navigated to the glossary section, hoping to understand those strange words.