“The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity.
The optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty.” — Winston Churchill The following morning, the guards arrived shortly after sunrise.
Riven was sitting against the wall of the slave quarters when the gates opened.
Several guards entered.
“All of you!
Get up!
We’re going outside!” The slaves exchanged nervous glances but quickly obeyed.
Nobody wanted to give the guards a reason to use their weapons.
Riven struggled to his feet, his body still aching from the previous day’s labor.
He followed the other slaves as they were marched out of the camp.
The smell hit him almost immediately.
Blood.
It was everywhere.
The ground outside the camp had been torn apart by the battle.
Deep grooves marked the dirt where enormous creatures had dragged their bodies, and patches of grass had been trampled into the mud.
Broken weapons and pieces of armor littered the battlefield.
The dead guards had already been removed, but the monsters remained.
Riven stopped for a moment, staring at the enormous corpses scattered across the field.
They were humanoid creatures, each standing roughly twelve feet tall.
Their skin was an unnatural pale color, almost gray in some places.
Thick muscles covered their arms and legs, giving them an imposing appearance, but their stomachs were strangely swollen, making their bodies look almost bloated.
Their enormous hands were tipped with thick, dirty nails, and their faces were twisted into ugly expressions.
Some had their mouths hanging open, revealing rows of yellowed teeth.
Orcs.
Riven had heard of them before, but seeing one in person was an entirely different experience.
Even in death, they were terrifying.
“Stop staring and get to work!” A guard struck the back of a slave with the flat of his sword, sending him stumbling forward.
The slaves quickly gathered around the corpses.
“Today, you’re going to help us dispose of these things.
I don’t want anyone standing around doing nothing.
Understand?” “Yes, sir!” the slaves answered.
Riven lowered his head and waited for instructions.
The old man approached him.
His clothes were stained with dirt and blood.
“Come here, boy.” Riven cautiously approached him.
“You ever worked with monster corpses before?” “No.” “Then pay attention.
I won’t explain things twice.” The old man gestured toward one of the dead orcs.
“First thing you need to know is that every monster has a magic core.” He pointed toward the creature’s chest.
“They’re usually located near the heart.
The exact position can vary depending on the monster, but you’ll generally find them somewhere around here.” Riven studied the corpse.
“A magic core?” ‘So monsters have them too’ The old man picked up a long knife from a nearby pile of tools.
“Watch closely.” He knelt beside the orc and began cutting into its chest.
The blade struggled against the creature’s thick skin, but the old man eventually managed to open it.
A terrible stench escaped the wound, causing several nearby slaves to recoil.
Riven covered his nose.
The old man didn’t seem bothered.
“Get used to the smell.
You’re going to be dealing with it all day.” He continued cutting until he exposed the creature’s enormous rib cage.
After several more cuts, he reached inside and began searching around the heart.
“There.” He pulled out a dark, fist-sized object covered in blood.
It was a magic core.
Unlike the surrounding flesh, the core appeared almost perfectly smooth.
It had a faint purple glow that pulsed weakly in the old man’s hand.
Riven stared at it with curiosity.
“So that’s what they look like?” “Depends on the monster.
Some are red, some are blue, and others have all sorts of strange colors.
You’ll learn to recognize them eventually.” The old man placed the core in a wooden container beside him.
“Now, help me with the next one.” Riven reluctantly knelt beside another corpse.
For the next several hours, he worked alongside the old man, cutting open the monsters and extracting their cores.
It was difficult work.
The orcs’ thick skin made cutting into them exhausting, and their enormous bodies were difficult to move.
Every time Riven thought he had finished, the old man would point out another part of the creature he had missed.
Eventually, however, he began to understand the process.
Cut through the chest, locate the heart, and carefully remove the core.
As they worked, Riven noticed that the other slaves were doing different tasks.
Some were dragging the corpses into large piles, while others were collecting the cores from creatures that had already been opened.
A few were gathering broken weapons and armor left behind by the battle.
It seems the guards didn’t mind the slaves holding them, they couldn’t use them anyway because of the contract.
“Why are we only taking the cores?” Riven eventually asked.
The old man glanced at him.
“Because these are orcs.” “Can’t we sell their hides or teeth?” The old man let out a dry laugh.
“Sell them?
Who in their right mind would buy this garbage?” He gestured toward the enormous corpse.
“Some monsters have valuable hides.
Others have useful teeth, bones, claws, or even meat.
There are plenty of creatures whose bodies are worth more than their cores.
But orcs?
Their meat tastes terrible, their hides are practically worthless, and their teeth aren’t particularly useful.” He paused to wipe his forehead.
“Besides, processing them would take too much time.
The cores are the only things worth collecting.” Riven nodded, committing the information to memory.
By midday, they had finished extracting the cores from most of the corpses.
The battlefield was now littered with opened bodies, and the smell had grown almost unbearable.
The guards began shouting orders.
“Get the bodies into piles!
We’re burning them!” The slaves immediately got to work.
Riven joined the others in dragging the enormous corpses toward the designated area.
Even with several people pulling together, moving a single orc was difficult.
Their bodies were incredibly heavy.
Eventually, the corpses were stacked into freshly dug pits.
The guards poured oil over them before tossing torches onto the bodies.
Flames quickly spread across the battlefield.
Thick black smoke rose into the air, carrying the horrible stench of burning flesh with it.
Riven turned away, coughing as the smoke reached him.
The fire crackled loudly, and the flames gradually consumed the enormous bodies.
Their pale skin blackened, and the air grew even more foul.
He couldn’t help but feel disgusted.
Yet the guards seemed completely accustomed to it.
They stood nearby, casually talking among themselves as though burning dozens of enormous monsters were an ordinary part of their day.
Perhaps it was.
After all, this was a slave camp.
Riven had already learned that very little here could be considered normal, at least to the standards of his old world.
As he watched the flames, something caught his eye.
A few feet away, partially buried in the dirt, was a broken spear.
Most of its shaft had been snapped, leaving only a short section attached to the metal tip.
Riven glanced toward the guards.
They were too busy watching the fires to pay attention to him.
He casually walked toward the broken weapon, pretending to search for something on the ground.
Once he was close enough, he crouched down and picked up the spear tip.
It was heavier than he expected.
The metal was dark and slightly stained with blood, but the point itself was still sharp.
Riven examined it briefly before slipping it beneath his ragged clothing.
He kept his expression neutral and returned to work.
Nobody seemed to notice.
He continued helping the others until the guards finally ordered them back inside.
By then, the sun had begun to descend.
The slaves were exhausted, and several could barely walk.
Riven was no exception.
His arms ached from cutting through the monsters, and his hands were covered in blood and grime.
The smell of burning flesh seemed to cling to his clothes.
Still, he couldn’t help feeling a small sense of satisfaction.
He had found something useful.
It wasn’t much, but it was a weapon.
And in a place like this, even a small advantage could make the difference between life and death.
When they finally returned to the slave quarters, Riven immediately headed toward his usual sleeping spot.
He waited until the other slaves had settled down before carefully reaching beneath his clothes.
The broken spear tip was still there.
He pulled it out and examined it in the dim light.
It was crude, but the point was sharp enough to pierce skin.
Perhaps he could use it to defend himself.
Or perhaps it could help him escape.
He wasn’t sure yet.
For now, he needed to keep it hidden.
Riven glanced around the room.
Most of the slaves were too exhausted to pay attention to him.
A few were already asleep, while others sat quietly against the walls.
He waited a little longer before moving toward the loose brick near his sleeping spot.
He had discovered it several days earlier while searching for somewhere to hide his belongings.
Carefully, he pulled it free.
Behind it was a small gap in the floor.
Riven slipped the spear tip inside, making sure it was completely hidden before replacing the brick.
He pressed against it several times to ensure it wouldn’t move.
Satisfied, he returned to his spot and lay down.
Riven closed his eyes.
For the first time since arriving at the camp, he had a weapon of his own.
It wasn’t much.
But it was a start.