BARK! BARK!
The loud, heart-thumping barks of the two hounds signaled their imminent arrival in front of the gate. Six figures manned the station, four of whom were armed with long halberds with swords affixed at their hips. They donned a variety of multi-colored suits which reminded him of the Pontifex Swiss Guards he'd seen in documentaries. One of the soldiers wore black clothes interlaced with steel rings and held the chains which kept the hounds at bay.
The carriage was ordered to stop by a soldier who removed his helmet. The driver left his seat and they were engaged in a short discussion before they were permitted entry into the mansion grounds.
Past the tall polished stone gate, the large backyard of the mansion was a vast space of packed dirt. There were wooden sheds here and there, while small groups of soldiers patrolled the walls, other than that the mansion lacked much in terms of decorations.
They pulled up besides seven other carriage, some covered others open. No two seemed alike. Isaiah scanned the new arrivals being herded out. Aside from the guards most were chained just like his own miserable group. Men and women, young and old, no one was given special treatment, except for the sick. They were delivered someplace else.
They all wore coarse and minimal clothes, not even shoes for their shivering feet. Every face bore the same sullen, hollow look of despair. And for good reason.
Many would have wanted to run for their freedoms, but security here was deceptively absolute, and unlike the furniture, the owner did not spare any expenses on this department. Tall fences trapped the people inside while soldiers, armed with blunt and ranged weapons positioned themselves everywhere. Hunger and thirst only added to the level of despair the slaves were feeling, even Isaiah was not immune to these feelings.
Those, however, weren't the only thing that kept many from trying to escape.
Crawling on all fours, the very picture of a hellish monster - two Dobermans patrolled alongside their veiled masters, their mouths dripping with rabies-infested saliva, their constant growling and violent barks were quick to demoralize the minds of the slaves. Even if one were to run and cross the walls and towards the safety of the forest, the very image of being chased out by these creatures would be more than enough to produce nightmares to last an entire year.
"Come now, out you go..." Hans banged the side of the carriage as he dragged the slaves.
As Isaiah left the carriage, his foot stepped into a wet surface, looking down he saw that the puddle of water was a reddish-brown mixture. 'Blood?' He lifted his foot and began wiping it in the drier dirt. There were no shoes offered, and none would probably offered in the future.
Hans then drew a line with his sword on the ground and signaled for them to line up in front. All four quietly obeyed, not that they could do anything else. The driver was called over to a small shed-like building. While waiting for further instructions, Isaiah began to look around trying to figure out who these people were, though he was confused by the setting he found himself in.
'They looked like medieval-era Swiss or like that one German mercenary, but why would they dress up like that... Plus, they don't have guns?'
As he continued to look around he heard some of the guards speak. They spoke a language that Isaiah felt like he had heard before, but wasn't quite sure, sadly, unlike the language the old man and Hans spoke, he couldn't understand them.
However as he strained his focus to listen, he began to hear some phrases that he was familiar with, phrases like 'Ja' 'Kommandant' 'Wunderbar', and in a mocking tone, 'Der Fuhrer Kilo'. Isaiah's German wasn't extensive, but he knew enough to understand them. These people, they spoke Deutsch
'So I am in Germany... But why are there no guns among the guards? Why use spears and swords? No cellphones, no bulletproof vest, not even cameras?' Isaiah looked at the edges of the walls and once again began to question the validity of what he was seeing. It just didn't make any sense to him. The old man stated he was in Dachia, whatever that is, and since many spoke German he could reasonably guess that he was somewhere in the Dutch Republic or Germany itself but the severe lack of machinery, and machinery is Germany's trademark, made him ask the same question,
'Where am I? Europe is supposed to be all modernized but why does it feel like I am in a backwater village or something?'
But as those thoughts came to his mind, a rather strange question appeared before him.
'Am I in a different world?' For a while, he paused. The thought itself began to gain some ground in his mental debate. Everything would make most sense if he went with that train of thought but there was one major issue with the idea, and that was,
'There is no way I could be Isekaid.'
Isaiah was very familiar with the concept itself, especially with the rise of the genre's popularity. He had read many such books but he had always thought of those as simply entertainment.
'Yet this is way too true to be real... Or is it?'
He had heard somewhere that the mind would tend to seek the answer one wanted to hear and not what was true. People would subconsciously choose comfortable illusions to protect them from harsh realities. If that is true, then his mind was clouded with improbable thoughts, desperate to believe the subconscious desire of living in a fantasy.
'And I definitely want to be placed in another world now didn't I?' He shook the thoughts off his head, it was absurd to think of fantasy becoming true, especially since this could all be just one elaborate prank. There may even be cameras here and there videotaping his very actions now and everyone else around him were all paid actors.
Really now, what if videos of him acting like an overpowered edge lord, a delusional main character of a novel, got circulated to the public? That frightened him more than the day he was lining up with his cousin for circumcision.
But as he once more began to look around, the thought of being Isekaid never left his mind. If this was one elaborate prank, there was no way in hell this was legal, especially in this day's political climate. Of all the reasons he could come up with, only the Isekai one made the most sense apart, him being sold to slavery was another but he chose not to believe that.
Han's rough voice cut through his thoughts, "Move along..."
They were led towards the cellar entrance of an underground hallway where a long line of prisoners was already formed. As Isaiah descended the dimly lit hall, the smell of decay took hold of his nose while smoke from somewhere forced many to cough constantly. As he stood in his place at the line, he heard a chill-inducing screech coming from deep into the room.
"Aaaaaaaaah!"
His skin jumped, and he felt his heart skip a beat. His eyes turned wide and he tried to look ahead. Other slaves had the same reaction as he did and whispers began to echo the hallway, but everything turned silent when another scream erupted from the hallway. Many of the slaves were disconcerted, but there was little they could do as the guards kept a vigilant watch on any who dared walk out of line.
"Whats... What's going on?" Unable to keep his curiosity, Isaiah asked no one in particular. Hans who stood nearby flashed a very ugly grin...
"Something wrong?"
"It... Yes sir, why?"
"Haha, simple... You'll soon know." He smugly grinned when he jerked his chin forward, "Look at that... Special treatment eh?"
Just in front, the driver soon returned with two muscular guys just behind. Hans pointed towards Isaiah and the two guys descended on him, holding him in the arms and legs. Isaiah spent most of his time reading than playing sports, he couldnt even resist let alone remotely budge these two burly dudes.
"Let me off..." Isaiah flailed as much as he could but was soon silenced when a gag was placed on his mouth. "Mfffff!"
He was then carried off towards the front of the line. The distant screams became louder and louder, and soon Isaiah caught a whiff of something burning...
"This guy..." The driver went in front of a desk, "It's the special good the boss told me to pick up..."
"Hmm, ahh Olfo the Orc, no wonder why you were missing here... Aha, mhm, Ja, ja..." The clerk picked up his quill and wrote something in his paper before gesturing for them to proceed.
It was here, as they entered the room that Isaiah lost all his strength and his eyes grew wide.
The hellish glow of the furnace, and an iron rod shaped like an animal,
He remembered the documentaries he read in the past,
'Branding...'
It was a form of medieval torture where a brand was marked on a person's body, the marking was usually done by a superheated rod pressed against one's flesh, naturally, it was painful. A tear fell from his eyes and he flailed even harder, but none of his efforts could avoid him from what was about to happen.
The room was dark, lit only by the burning furnace. Three people stood inside, one of whom was heating a bunch of metal probe in the furnace. The two large men propped him down on his knees and tied his chains to two poles at his side. They then removed the fur coat, revealing his flat chest.
Then, one of the men grabbed his hair and held his head up as the other grabbed a heated probe from the fireplace.
"Wait... What is his magic again?" Another asked prompting the man with the probe to pause, "This might not be good,"
"Don't worry..." Olfo took out his paper, "Lightning it says here."
"Right..." The man had a concerned look as he turned to another,
The man replied in a different language,
"I see... Carry on." He then nodded to the one with the probe to proceed.
'What have I done wrong?' Isaiah silently asked as he pulled his arms as hard as he could, but all he was doing was tearing on his skin with how tight the chains were on his shoulders.
'What is this!? This is illegal, there is no way this is real... Where is the camera, where are the people... Guys, please get out now! Please tell me it's a prank!... Come on please!?' Tears fell hot and desperate yet despite all that, the probe only got closer.
'Please! Please!! Laugh please!! I wont sue you guys, for real!!! Please help me! God! No!'
Then he felt the heat from the metal rod, it was as if thousands of needles were pricking his chest. He dared to look up, seeing the man holding the rod to disuade him.
But as if he was waiting for it...
Psssssssh!
"MFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!"
The rod bit into his skin while a hand held him from behind, holding him still.
"MFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!"
A raw, muffled shriek. The pain in his chest, a burning, spreading agony, was too much. Soon, his body went numb from the pain, and the rod was removed. He slumped forwards, chains holding him from behind, he could see the bits and pieces of his burned flesh on his skin, below, a puddle had formed from his sweat and tears, and surprisingly he could clearly see the brand on his chest. An ominous mark of a scorpion, it was still glowing from the heat.
Pain... A stinging, biting, bulbing agony.
His mind went blank, he couldn't comprehend what had just happened. His gag was removed and the chains were fell loose which caused him to fall to the floor headfirst. Here more tears went out of his eyes.
"What..." He mumbled as his whole body started to heat and his vision got blurry, a sign of a panic attack. "Why-"
He was suddenly held up by one of his captors who looked him in the eye, grinned then dragged him out of the place,
"Aaah!" Isaiah screamed, for that was all he could say as his knees scraped the floor, he was thrown into a corner where the captor turned to his companions and nodded,
"Take him, he's ready!"
They quickly grabbed him and propped him up causing him to fall from the sudden movements. Though the branding wasn't that painful it was the shock that that happened that caused the most damage to Isaiah. He just didn't think that his pranksters would go that far...
No, this was no prank.
Its torture.
He looked around, and saw the man watching...
'Ill kill you!!! I'll kill every last one of you!' He thought,
"Ohh... I feel bad for you, really do." The man replied mockingly as he saw the tearful face he made, "But nothing you can do now?" He squeezed Isaiah's nose as the later tried to jump straight for his neck, but the man only laughed.
"You want to fight? Bring it."
The two then threw Isaiah to the ground and started beating him up, helpless as he was.
'Wait!' Still with a gag and his hands bound, he could not do anything but squirm as they repeatedly kicked him in the stomach.
"What are you two doing?" Another interrupted them, the two instantly cowered and lowered their heads,
"He sir, he..."
"He tried to fight us you know, we just fought to protect ourselves."
"Fight back?" The man replied as he examined Isaiah's figure, weeping silently in a fetal position, "Get him up."
"Sir..." The two oblidged,
"Get him to his cell and no more fighting, he will sell for a lot."