The three men walked quickly, trying to ditch the northern barbarian with darker brand than their own.
That too on shoulder, which means this madman tried to get rid of the Brand. They don't want to provoke this trouble or lose their life.
Their brand keeps itching, reminding them that they haven't gone far away.
They did not look back or risk mingling and giving the impression to others that they are with this madman.
They entered the town and disappeared into the crowd. The T-800 followed at its calculated pace. It did not need to rush. He just needed the direction and only needed to follow them as long as he was on the right path. Its sensors were already mapping the entire area.
The town was named Greenwater Town on the map as those three confirmed it too. Before he could see the town, it was protected by a large wall made of wood and rough stone.
A long line was in front of the Gate. It's a good amount to be called a crowd, filled with murmurs and gossips.
The T-800's audio sensors focused on the chatter. Its enhanced neural processor worked at maximum efficiency, including the enhanced efficiency he is experiencing due to unknown energy interference in his power core and everything. It registered every word, every sound, every piece of data.
[Language module active.]
[New vocabulary acquisition rate: 30 words per second.]
[Grammatical structure analysis: 95% complete.]
[Contextual correlation: Active.]
The T-800 heard dozens of conversations at once. Its processor filtered and sorted them.
"...Shadow Wolf Sect is getting desperate. They lost half their men in the Sun Lizard raid..."
"...Good. More jobs for us. Mining, hunting, labor... anything is better than starving..."
"...Did you hear? They are even taking people for the next raid. High pay, but you will probably die..."
"...We are all dead men anyway. This is the Boundless Seal Realm. No one gets out. Might as well die with a full stomach..."
The T-800 processed the term "Boundless Seal Realm." He has heard it multiple times now, which confirms that this is not Earth at all.
His time-travel has gone off course. The temporal displacement sphere was supposed to deliver him to LA even if the timeline is varied.
But this is way too off course.
His prime directive is still active.
Which means, find a way to return to Earth and Kill John Connor.
There was no conflict of directive here at all.
The T-800 joined the end of the line. Its large size and foreign appearance made him stand out. He does not look like local or even of their world. Most of them kept calling or addressing him as Northern Barbarian.
They moved away, they left a clear space around it. Their Brand kept on itching making them wary of this giant.
However, T-800 kept studying them. Its audio sensors continued to gather data from the crowd.
"...look at that one. His Penance Mark is so Dark, how many strokes darker? But he does not look like a Senior or an experienced veteran of Boundless Realm, his expression and outfit looks like he is new here..."
"...That Darker Brand alone would earn him a high position in Shadow Wolf Sect…what luck…"
"...Luck? He earned it by killing trash like us, but at what cost? More curse? you can be lucky if you want to bear more curse, can you?..."
The T-800's neural processor logged the new terms. "Penance Mark" and "curse" were now linked directly to the brand on his shoulder.
"Next."
The line moved forward. A young man stepped forward and step up to the small stage setup for recruitment. He was thin and looked nervous. The recruiter, a large man with a scarred face, looked him up and down.
His eyes went to the right forearm.
"No Penance Mark," the recruiter said loudly. His voice was full of contempt. "You are a Native?"
The young man shook his head. He did not speak in shame.
"A Brand Bastard…huh?" The crowd laughed and shouted insults.
"At least you are an honest lad…have you killed anyone yet, boy?" The recruiter mocked. "This is not a stroll in the park…you would have to put your life at stake here."
"A Brand Bastard wants to join us?"
"Go back to the dirty womb you came from, boy!"
The recruiter ignored the crowd. He pointed to a large, square block of black stone on the stage. The stone was the size of a small table.
"The test is simple," the recruiter announced. "Lift the Strength Stone to your chest. If you can hold it for three breaths, you pass. You can work as a laborer or a miner. Fail, and you get nothing."
This test was the absolute minimum requirement. It measured basic physical strength needed for manual labor. The Shadow Wolf Sect or any local sect would use it to filter out the weakest individuals. Stronger recruits were given more difficult tests for better positions.
The young man walked to the stone. He bent his knees and wrapped his arms around it. He grunted and pulled. His face turned red as he tried to lift but the stone did not move. It did not even tremble.
He tried again. He screamed with effort. A vein popping on his forehead but the stone remained completely still.
The crowd roared with laughter. The recruiter kicked the young man out of the line. "Useless! Get out of my sight! Next!"
The young man fell into the mud. He got up and stood in the corner, his face covered in shame but he didn't leave. Others kept pointing at him and laughed, sending mocking insults at him.
The recruitment continued. Man after man tried to lift the stone. Most could lift it, but struggled. A few strong ones lifted it with some ease. They were assigned to hunting parties or guard duty.
The line grew shorter. Soon, it was the T-800's turn. It walked up the wooden steps. The steps creaked below its weight. Everyone in the square went silent.