"Sigh…"
A breath left my lips as I looked down at my wrists.
Chains.
But not just mine—one long, continuous line of chains bound us all together, links tightening with every step. A straight line of suffering. No one could run. No one could even think of escape.
I looked ahead. My gaze landed on the man in front of me. He was lean, ragged, wearing a torn, worn shirt and trousers that had long since given up. Rags.
Then again, I wasn't any better. My own "rags" might've once been expensive, judging by the fabric, but now they were just scraps clinging to my body. Not that it made a difference.
"THOSE BASTARDS! BY ALL THE GODS, THEY WILL DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THOSE IMBECILES!"
Someone screamed behind me, pouring every bit of venom they had into their voice. I didn't need to turn. I already knew who it was.
The guy chained right behind me—loud, dramatic, and according to his own story, "forcibly taken at the Asterian border." Claimed he was a tourist activist. No clue what that meant, but if I had to guess? He was probably a robber who got a taste of his own medicine.
"I HAVE SERVED THIS WORLD DILIGENTLY IN THE BEST WAY I COULD—NO ACKNOWLEDGEMENT, NO GRATITUDE! NOTHING! BUT I REMAINED STEADFAST! YET THIS IS MY REWARD?!"
He roared. I rolled my eyes.
Yeah. By robbing, killing, and probably molesting people, right? Real diligent service.
"THE GODS ARE MY WITNESS! RELEASE ME NOW OR FACE THEIR WRATH, YOU MISERABLE SOULS! DO YOU—"
I tuned him out. Again. The guy had endless energy to scream. Even the mercenaries in charge had given up flogging him. He just wouldn't shut up.
Sigh.
I glanced around, trying to focus on anything else.
At least my arm had healed. That much was true. One of the slaves—a girl—had healing magic. Pale face, blank eyes, lips cracked from thirst. She looked half-dead. After healing me, they took her down another route. She had a relic too, like the rest of us, but they seemed to value her most. Probably because of her ability.
That was the first real sign of fantasy I'd seen in this world—actual healing magic. I'd watched her regenerate broken bones with my own eyes.
Magic was real.
That thought stirred something in me. Even in chains, even in this hellhole, the idea of manipulating the natural world was thrilling. The kind of thing a fantasy-obsessed nerd like me would die for.
The problem? I was in no position to enjoy it.
From the mercenaries' conversation earlier, I gathered that the route we were on now… wasn't safe.
Clink.
The chain jerked as I bumped into the man in front. He didn't flinch. I leaned slightly to the side to see ahead.
Now that I thought about it, the trees were thinning out. The grass was sparser too. It had been two days of marching, and I had a gut feeling we were finally leaving the forest.
"What's happening?"
The guy behind me had shuffled a little ahead, thanks to the slack in the chain.
"It seems… there's a sandstorm up ahead," said the man in front—quiet for most of the trip until now. His voice was oddly smooth. Refined, even. A strange contrast to his filthy state.
"Sandstorm? But the canyon doesn't have sandstorms," the other guy replied.
"Are you an idiot?"
A new voice. Someone further ahead. Muscular, shirtless, skin tanned and glistening with sweat. A cloth was wrapped around his waist like a makeshift skirt.
"Did you say something, muscle-brain?" my guy shot back.
Typical bravado. He only had guts because the chains kept the big guy from crushing his face.
"Yes, I did. You must have half the brain of a cobalt to not realize something was wrong the moment they split the group," the muscular man said coolly. He was staring ahead at the mercenaries, who were clearly discussing something serious.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!" the guy roared, completely ignored.
"…Sigh."
"The Wanderer's Path," said the calm man in front of me. "This is the route."
Silence.
"Wanderer's Path?! NO—NO! MAY THE GODS FORBID I SET FOOT—"
I tuned him out again. Gods help me, being chained in front of this guy was torture.
He'd already gotten the mercs to come back here and flog us again—repeatedly—because he wouldn't stop yapping.
I had no idea what lay ahead. But one thing was clear: if I survived this "Wanderer's Path," I'd still be a prisoner.
Still trapped.
They were clearly slavers. That much I'd pieced together. But knowing that didn't help.
I was weak. Small.
And worst of all? I still had no memories of who this body belonged to. The system hadn't worked since the moment I woke up here. I'd tried calling out status,menu,inventory—all of it. Nothing.
The voice inside me—the one that came with the system—had gone quiet too.
So right now… I was alone. Powerless. Vulnerable.
And walking toward the unknown.
I just hope…
I make it out of the Wanderer's Path alive.
I really do.
Let me know if you want this turned into a full scene or integrated into a larger chapter!