Cling. Cling. Clang.
Those were the first words I registered the moment I gained consciousness. Chains. Heavy iron links biting into raw wrists and ankles, scraping against bruised flesh with every jolting step, and then a foul stench of sweat, vomit, and rotting flesh. My body, this body...ached like it had been dragged through hell and back. Pain throbbed in places it had no right to, a deep, violating burn between my legs and across my back where fresh welts crisscrossed old scars.
I wasn’t supposed to be here, the last thing I remembered from my previous life was the cold barrel of a gun pressed to my temple, and then... nothing. I was a renowned martial artist and killer in my past life, and I remembered being ambushed at my last mission. I had been shot, killed, so why the fuck was I breathing again?
A rough shove from behind nearly sent me sprawling. "Keep moving, filth!" a guttural voice snarled.
I stumbled forward, bare feet scraping over sharp stones on a narrow mountain trail. The air was thin and cold, making breathing difficult. From everything I had gathered so far, it was clear that I was a slave, and this world was far from anything I was used to.
Around me, dozens of other slaves shuffled in a ragged column, their chains clinking in miserable unison. Men, women, even a few hollow-eyed children. Most were human, but a scattering of beastkin with torn ears and matted tails trudged alongside them. Guards flanked the line, hulking figures in crude leather armor, carrying whips and spears.
One of the guards was closer than the rest. An orc. Tusks jutting from a brutish jaw, green-gray skin scarred from old battles, eyes like dull coals. He was the one who had shoved me. No... more than that. Suddenly, memories of this new body hit me, countless whippings, then his hands, his weight, the slave’s desperate, futile struggle before everything went black. The original owner of this body had died right there on the trail, broken and violated. And somehow, I had slipped into the corpse.
Rage uncoiled in my chest, deep rooted hatred for the beasts around me.
The trail wound upward through jagged rocks and stunted trees. In the distance, snow-capped peaks loomed under a gray sky. We were being herded toward some kind of pass, probably to a slave market on the other side. I caught fragments of conversation from the guards as they barked orders.
"...Lord Grimgor wants fresh stock for the pits. These ones look weak, but the strong ones will fetch good coin."
"Bah. Humans break too easy. Should’ve taken more dwarves from the last raid."
I filed the names away. Lord Grimgor. Orc territory, then. This world had monsters that walked on two legs and called themselves masters. Slavery wasn’t hidden here; it was the natural order. The weak served, the strong owned, and humans were clearly on the weaker side of the food chain.
A scream suddenly cut through the air ahead. A young woman, barely more than a girl had stumbled and fallen, dragging her chain and pulling the man beside her down with her. Two guards descended immediately. Whips cracked and flesh split. Her cries turned to wet gurgles as boots stomped down. The other slaves kept their heads down, no one helped. Helping meant joining her.
I felt my body tense up with rage. I remembered everything from my past life, so it was safe to assume I could still do all the things I could then now. But the body I inhabited was malnourished, ribs visible under torn rags, muscles wasted from whatever nightmare this slave had endured before I arrived. Trying to be a hero in that condition could mean death.
The orc who had... used the previous owner of my body... walked parallel to me now, laughing with another guard. His name, I somehow knew from the fading memories, was Karg. He carried a short, brutal axe at his belt and a whip coiled on his hip. Every few steps he glanced at the column, eyes lingering on the women with predatory hunger.
Night fell quickly in the mountains. The guards called a halt near a rocky overhang, forcing the slaves into a tight circle. Fires were lit, but none for us. We were given a few moldy crusts of bread and filthy water. I ate without restraint, forcing my body to regain strength.
Karg approached the circle, boots crunching gravel. He grabbed a male slave by the hair and dragged him out.
"You looked at me wrong earlier, rat." The whip rose and fell. Blood sprayed. The man screamed until his voice broke. Other guards joined in, kicking and laughing. One slave tried to intervene and was run through with a spear for his trouble. His body was left where it fell, eyes wide in death.
I watched it all without expression, but inside, the killer in me itched for blood. These creatures were no different from the scum I’d eliminated in my previous world. They deserved the same end.
Hours passed. The guards grew lax as they drank and ate around their fires. Two of them passed out. Karg remained awake, sharpening his axe with a whetstone, occasionally glancing toward the female slaves with obvious intent.
The moment came when he stood and stalked toward my section of the chain line. His eyes met mine. Recognition flickered, perhaps he sensed something different in this broken slave’s gaze now.
"You," he grunted. "The one who stopped squirming earlier. Get up. I’m not finished with your kind."
He leaned down to unlock the chain connecting me to the others, clearly planning to drag me aside.
As the manacle on my ankle clicked open, I moved. Years of training flooded back. Even in this weakened body, the fundamentals were there. I exploded upward, chains still dangling from my wrists like makeshift flails. My first strike was a palm heel to his throat. Karg’s eyes bulged. He staggered, gasping for air.
Before he could roar for help, I wrapped the wrist chain around his neck and yanked him down. My knee drove into his face with a sickening crunch. Tusks cracked, blood pouring from his broken nose.
"Filthy slave—!" he choked out, swinging wildly.
I dodged inside his reach. Close-quarters combat. My specialty. Elbow to the temple, another knee to the ribs. I heard bone snap. The orc was stronger, heavier, but he was drunk and overconfident. I was a murderer who had trained to kill men twice his size with nothing but my hands.
He managed to grab his axe. I let him swing it, then stepped into the arc, catching his wrist and twisting with every ounce of strength I could muster. The joint popped. The axe fell, and I caught it mid-air.
One clean chop.
The blade bit deep into Karg’s neck. Arterial blood sprayed across the rocks. He gurgled, clutching at the wound, eyes wide with shock. I twisted the axe free and brought it down again, severing his head completely. It rolled away into the shadows.
For a moment, silence. Then chaos erupted as the other guards realized what had happened.
But something else happened first.
A blue translucent window materialized in my vision, hovering like augmented reality from some game I’d never played.
[System Activation Detected]
[Host Soul Integration Complete]
[You have slain a Level 4 Orc Slaver. +20XP. Loot available.]
[Lvl 1 20/100 XP]
[Skill Extraction Available from Defeated Enemy.]
[Choose one skill to absorb:]
[1. Brutal Strike (Active) – Enhance melee attacks with crushing force. +30% damage, chance to stun.]
[2. Slave Master’s Command (Passive) – Intimidate weaker beings. Minor chance to force temporary obedience.]
[3. Endurance of the Beast (Passive) – Increased pain tolerance and stamina regeneration. Resist environmental extremes.]
[4. Axe Mastery (Passive) – Proficiency with bladed weapons. Reduced stamina cost for swings.]
[5. Rage Ignition (Active) – Enter a berserk state for short bursts. +50% strength, reduced defense.]
I stared at the floating text, heart pounding from the fight. The other guards were shouting now, rushing toward me with weapons drawn. Chains still bound my wrists, but the ankle was free. More slaves were stirring, some with dawning hope in their eyes.
Running was futile, there were probably tens of them patrolling the vicinity, and I was more than certain that this frail body wouldn’t outrun these wellfed monsters. The only option was to fight, and hope that I don’t get killed.
Left with no other option, I mentally touched the first option. It was best suited for my situation and skill at the moment.
[Brutal Strike acquired.]
Power surged through my veins, suddenly my frail body felt stronger, and there was a renewed sense of hope as I gripped Karg’s bloody axe tighter and turned to face the oncoming guards.
The first guard, a shorter, stockier figure that looked like a corrupted dwarf with a braided beard and scarred cheeks lunged at me with a spear. I sidestepped, the new skill guiding my movements. My axe swung in a brutal arc. Brutal Strike activated instinctively. The blade connected with his shoulder, caving it in with a wet crunch far beyond what my weakened arms should have managed. He screamed and dropped.
[You have slain a level 2 dwarf slaver +5 XP]
Another guard swung a whip. I caught it mid-air with my chained wrist, yanked him forward, and drove my forehead into his face. Cartilage exploded. I finished him with the axe. Each kill earned me experience points, and the system notified me about every single one.
Shouts echoed up the trail. More guards were coming. Behind me, a few slaves began to move, some grabbing rocks, others trying to free themselves with keys taken from the fallen.
I didn’t care about leading a rebellion yet, my survival was first, then everything else later.
Twenty minutes later, twelve corpses were at my feet, most of the chained slaves had escaped from their chains and turned against their captors, and half of the mountain was on fire. I was still trying to catch my breath when notifications from the system flooded in.
[Level Up! You have reached Level 2.]
[HP and Stamina increased. New attribute points available.]
[Total XP: 142/200]