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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Enjoyable Slave Life
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I thought a beggar's life meant a beggar's world.
A life where every morning I dragged my deathly exhausted body to work with great difficulty.
A routine of getting yelled at for absurd reasons and collapsing into bed like the dead only late at night.
The bursting subways, days with no time even to spend the money earned through grueling labor, a sense of self-loathing where I couldn't tell if I was human or livestock.
Who would have ever imagined I'd miss that kind of life?
Arsen huddled in the filthy stable, staring blankly into space with delusions. 'I want to go back. Please send me back.'
Overwork, overtime, and the boss's nagging—even those felt nostalgic now.
The sensation of a bug crawling up his leg somewhere, the straw covered with a rag that served as his blanket poking through the holes and pricking his skin.
All of this had become familiar over the dozen or so years since his rebirth in this world.
"Arsen—!"
Startled by the shout from afar, Arsen jumped to his feet and ran out.
Even when his toe caught on a rock mid-run and bled, he couldn't show any sign of pain and kept going.
The one calling him from outside the stable was a giant of a man nearly two meters tall with an enormous build.
The man glared at the panting boy and backhanded him across the cheek with his knuckles.
It was a full-force swing, sending Arsen spinning like in a movie and sprawling on the ground.
If it weren't for the real pain, it might have been a pretty funny slapstick comedy.
"Yes, Young Master Philus... Ack!"
"You little shit, I clearly told you to bathe Philia, didn't I? You trying to pick a fight with me?"
The giant who had called Arsen was Philus.
He was the eldest son of Lenoc, the lord of Crata Castle.
Philia was Philus's most cherished mount, a Blade Leopard notorious among them for its ferocity.
Never mind that bathing a Blade Leopard wasn't a job for a child in the first place—Arsen hadn't even been told to do it.
"S-Sorry, Young Master... I forgot about bathing Philia. I'll do it right now."
Despite the absurd reason for the slap, Arsen immediately bowed his head to the ground and apologized.
In this world where he had been reborn, he'd grown even more accustomed to irrationality than the stable's bugs or the toilet stench.
An order to have a ten-year-old bathe a mount that was little more than a carnivorous beast was just part of it.
If he talked back with "I never heard that," he'd be called insolent and beaten to death, and he had no grounds to complain in his position.
When he had first entered the military as a fresh recruit, all the absurd nonsense had made him want to kill himself, but now, if someone offered to send him back to the Korean army, he'd give them his soul.
"Forget it. I have to go hunting with Father soon anyway. Make sure you bathe it when I get back from the hunt this time. Or else I'll really kill you!"
Philus yelled that, kicked Arsen once more, and stormed off fuming.
Arsen, precisely kicked in the solar plexus with the ball of the foot, retched but only stomach acid came up.
It was only natural, since he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday but watery porridge made from discarded scraps.
'Fucking hell, fucking hell... that leopard-riding bastard...'
Even the name Philia meant "Philus's companion" in the local tongue.
What kind of pervert names a female leopard that, rides it, and uses it as a mount?
Cursing inwardly, Arsen stood up, covered the vomit with dirt, and looked at the rising dawn sun.
It was time to start work.
Grueling, filthy, and even dangerous labor.
A company man who endlessly pulled all-nighters and overtime on Earth dies and rises triumphantly in a fantasy world.
It was a story that often appeared in the novels Arsen used to enjoy back on Earth.
He didn't remember exactly how he died, but in any case, the fate that befell Arsen after reincarnating into a fantasy world was a bit—no, quite a lot—more beggarly than that.
This world was a little different from the typical fantasy worlds people talked about.
A post-apocalyptic fantasy mess, perhaps?
For some reason, long ago, the mages had screwed something up, and the world had more or less fallen apart. Outside places like "estates" or "castles" infused with the essence of ancient magic, it was a land of death teeming with dangerous creatures like in some survival game, where mere survival came with heavy restrictions.
In this world where knights who wielded mana and possessed superhuman abilities occupied castles, managed estates, and lived on, Arsen's position was unfortunately close to that of a slave.
Even though his father was Sir Lenoc, the castle's lord.
"Hey, Arsen. Heard you got hit by the young master this morning?"
"Where'd you hear that crap?"
"There's no story in this castle that big brother doesn't know. I'm the castle's ears, Raf Ram!"
"You talk a good game."
Sweeping the courtyard alongside Arsen was his half-brother, Raf Ram.
Two years older, Raf Ram was a sly and annoying guy, but he was also the least bad among the half-brothers.
He wouldn't go out of his way to be kind, but if you asked for help and it didn't cost him, he'd oblige.
That made him the closest thing to a friend Arsen had in the castle.
"Later tonight when Young Master Philus gets back, gotta wash that leopard. Can you help?"
"Oh... farewell. It was fun while it lasted, brother."
"You bastard."
Arsen hurled mutual curses insulting each other's fathers at Raf Ram as he bolted, then swept the courtyard vigorously.
Truth be told, Arsen would have refused flat-out if Raf Ram had suggested washing the Blade Leopard together, so he had no room to talk.
Raf Ram spoke with a sigh.
"If only we'd been born to mothers from knight families like the young masters."
"Even if our mothers were alive, it'd be better than this. What can you do when motherless bastards get treated like this?"
The reason Arsen and Raf Ram were treated like serfs despite inheriting knight blood from their father's side was their mothers were gone.
Not as an insult—it was literal fact.
In the castle, Lenoc had six legitimate children from daughters of other knight families, and over sixteen bastards, both male and female.
Bastards whose mothers were alive were raised by their mothers' sides, but the castle lord's children whose mothers had died were neglected amid his indifference and pushed around at will.
Treated like serfs to be used whenever someone felt like it.
On top of that, Arsen's mother had been more or less kidnapped from somewhere outside by Lenoc.
All Arsen knew about his mother was that she was "a woman with ominous purple eyes."
It was also a jab at Arsen, who had eyes of the same color.
Thus, like any closed society, cruelty toward outsider bloodlines contributed to Arsen's poor treatment.
"But you're still better off than me."
Raf Ram was treated much better by those around him than Arsen.
His mother had been a maid once favored by the lord, though now dead from illness.
Thanks to her friends and family looking after him here and there, Raf Ram was in a far better situation than Arsen.
At least he didn't sleep in the stable eating scraps left by the servants.
Just looking at their clothes: Raf Ram wore a patched but hole-free shirt, pants, and even shoes, while Arsen was barefoot in ragged, hole-ridden cloth.
In the cold winter, he had to layer the rags multiple times to stay alive.
"Well, yeah, compared to me, you're practically living off the castle's generosity."
"You sure know how to put a positive spin on it."
"It's not wrong."
As infants, they had been roughly cared for by maids due to their castle lord blood, but from around five or six, they had to sleep in the stable.
Without memories from his past life, he probably wouldn't have survived to this age as a normal child.
He somehow managed to sneak water from the well to stay clean, always boiled it to avoid parasites.
He didn't do idiotic things like drink executed prisoners' blood or rub rotten urine on wounds to ward off ghosts—instead, he wrapped injuries with thoroughly boiled cloth.
That alone had greatly helped him survive in this place, incredibly vulnerable in terms of hygiene.
He could confidently say so, since three or four "brothers" in similar straits had died suddenly from various diseases.
'Of course, I might die today.'
Among the shallow knowledge of a modern man, there was no safe way to bathe a ferocious Blade Leopard while protecting oneself. Such creatures didn't exist on Earth anyway!
He had no idea how such an absurd task had been dumped on him.
'Oh almighty Rha, I pray: please let Philus die on the hunt.'
Fearing someone might overhear, Arsen prayed silently while swinging the broom.
After sweeping in front of the barracks, he had to clean the communal toilet. Naturally, it was a pit latrine.
The first time, he nearly puked; even after a few times, he never got used to it; every time was a fresh hell.
Then, a call for the all-purpose laborer came from somewhere.
"Arsen, Arsen!"
"Coming!"
Sighing inwardly at what new chore it might be, Arsen started to run when the bell clanged frantically.
He saw the bell-ringer yanking the rope like mad from afar.
They rang it occasionally for magic beasts or small raider bands nearby, but never with such panicked frenzy.
Even the people around were looking up at the bell tower, wondering what was happening.
"Enemies incoming! Soldiers, to the walls immediately! Everyone else, inside your homes!"
At that moment, the chief squire in magic beast leather armor appeared and bellowed.
At his voice, soldiers rushed out from the barracks, while others fled inside in panic.
A glance beside him: Raf Ram had already vanished like a shot.
Arsen quickened his pace and dashed into the stable.
"Listen up! Enemies have attacked! All non-soldiers, no outdoor activity until the fight ends! Get inside immediately! Listen up! Enemies..."
Feeling the chief squire's voice fading, Arsen burrowed into the straw pile.
The tips of the straw pricked his skin painfully, but his mind couldn't think of anywhere safer right now.
The central castle lord's residence was a sanctuary off-limits to a bastard outsider like him, and no one would take a filthy serf into their home.
Huddled in the straw, Arsen clutched a fist-sized stone he'd picked up while running, praying desperately.
'Oh almighty Rha, I beseech you. I beseech you...'
He'd once mocked this world's faith in Rha as an atheist in his past life, but harsh life and fear had the power to turn nonbelievers into the devout.
Perhaps because without clinging to something, he simply couldn't endure.
Distant shouts, screams, and the clash of blades carried faintly without end, drying his throat.
[Kill them all!]
[This castle is ours now!]
After what felt like tens of minutes to hours, unfortunately, the voices around hinted at dire results.
Unfamiliar voices echoed everywhere, screams and crashing, breaking sounds nonstop.
The outsiders had successfully invaded the castle and were now reaping the rewards of plunder.
Praying they wouldn't find this stable—or would peek in, see only straw, and leave disappointed—a door creaking open sounded.
"What's this?"
"Just a stable, looks like."
Rustling followed as two outsiders entered the stable.