Sleep was short and restless, but for the first time, I didn't wake up feeling like my insides were trying to devour themselves. The hunger is there, of course. It's a faithful old friend. But it is no longer a razor blade against my throat. It's a dull throb, a reminder of what I am and what I must do. A tool in waiting.
The stone floor of the barracks is still just as cold, but when I get up, my limbs don't tremble with exhaustion. My body aches from the night's fight, but it's a healthy ache, the ache of muscles that have worked, not of those being consumed.
Name: Reinhardt Valdios
Level: 2
Experience: 2/150
Status: Normal
HP: 40/40
MP: 10/10
I look at this interface with a silent pride. It is my secret. To the world, to the other servants waking with grunts, to the guards barking orders at us, I am the same piece of trash as yesterday. Weak, useless, contemptible. The thought almost makes me smile.
My first task of the day is the same as yesterday: carrying buckets of water. I grab the heavy wooden handles, bracing for the familiar strain in my back and arms. But the buckets feel... lighter. It's not an illusion. My strength has increased. Yesterday, this task would have left me gasping, on the verge of collapsing. Today, I walk at a steady pace, my breathing calm. I can feel the power contained within my muscles, a modest but very real strength.
It's intoxicating.
I work with an efficiency I never knew I had. I finish my chore in record time, without needing to stop to catch my breath. The quartermaster gives me a look of thinly veiled surprise but just shrugs and assigns me another task: cleaning the training weapons of the new recruits.
I settle into a corner of the armory, a pile of blunted swords and shields beside me. I rub the metal with an oiled cloth, the repetitive motion calming my mind. Every sword I clean reminds me of the fragility of my iron pipe. One day, I will have a real weapon. A weapon worthy of the name.
"The vermin looks quite diligent today."
My body freezes. That voice. Caelan Burix's voice. The calm I had felt evaporates like a drop of water on a hot stone. I slowly raise my head. He is there, leaning against the doorframe, his friends flanking him like watchdogs. His arrogant gaze sweeps the room before landing on me.
"Looks like the black eye I gave you yesterday put you back in your place," he says with a cruel smile.
I lower my head, falling back into my role. The secret of my Level 2 is my only defense. If I show the slightest ounce of defiance, he will break me for his own amusement. And he's Level 12. My Level 2 is nothing against that.
"Yes, Sir Caelan." The answer comes out of my mouth, humble and automatic.
He approaches, the sound of his leather boots echoing on the stone floor. He stops right in front of me, his shadow completely covering me. "It's strange. Usually, by this time, you're already collapsing from exhaustion. Today, you're still standing. Did you find a dead rat to eat in a trash heap?"
His friends snicker. The hunger, which had been only a throb, awakens. It feeds on my anger, on my humiliation.
Status: Normal → Hungry
I grit my teeth, keeping my gaze fixed on the sword in my hands. Don't react. Don't give him the satisfaction.
"I... I slept well, Sir." It's the best lie I can come up with.
He lets out a disdainful "Hmph." "Get up. I need someone to train with."
My blood runs cold. Train with? He means: I need a dummy to hit.
"Sir... I'm just a laborer. I don't know how to fight."
"I know. That's why I'm choosing you." He kicks me in the leg. Not hard enough to injure, but just enough to make me understand it's not a request. "I said, get up."
Slowly, I rise to my feet. My heart is hammering. He shoves me toward the center of the room and throws a wooden training sword at me. It's heavy and poorly balanced.
"Go on, attack me," he orders, drawing his own training sword, a much finer and better-made model.
I stand motionless, the wooden sword hanging at my side. "I can't, Sir."
"That's an order, mutt!" he yells.
I know what will happen. If I attack him, he will punish me for my insolence. If I don't, he will punish me for my disobedience. It's a game only he can win.
I raise the wooden sword, my hands trembling. I take a step forward and attempt a slow, clumsy attack, the most pathetic one I can manage.
Caelan parries it without even looking, with a simple flick of his wrist. His counter is immediate. The flat of his blade slams into my ribs. The pain is sharp, knocking the wind out of me.
HP: 40/40 → 35/40
I stumble backward, grimacing.
"Pathetic," he spits. "Again."
He forces me to attack him again and again. Each time, he effortlessly parries my blow and punishes me with cruel precision. A hit on the arms, one on the legs, another on my back. He isn't aiming to disable me. He is aiming to inflict pain, to humiliate me. Every blow is a reminder of my place.
The hunger claws at my insides, intensifying with each impact.
Status: Hungry → Starving (Severe)
I am out of breath, my body covered in bruises. Caelan, however, doesn't have a single drop of sweat on his brow. He's enjoying himself.
"That's enough, Caelan."
The voice is calm, but it cuts through the air of the armory like a blade of divine steel. Everyone freezes.
Roxis Heart is standing at the entrance. She isn't wearing her ceremonial armor, but a light training outfit that highlights her athletic build. Her silver hair is tied back in a braid, and her blue eyes are as cold and hard as the ice of a winter lake.
Caelan's smile vanishes instantly. He straightens up and tries to look nonchalant, but the tension is palpable.
"Lady Heart. I was just... disciplining a lazy servant."
"Really?" she says, stepping into the room. Her gaze moves from Caelan to me, lingering for a second on my bruises and labored breathing. An unreadable glint passes through her eyes. "It looked to me like you were using an untrained man as a personal punching bag. That is unworthy of a future Knight."
Caelan's face tightens. Being reprimanded by her, in front of his friends, is a far worse humiliation than any he has inflicted on me.
"With all due respect, My Lady, this is none of your concern."
"Anything concerning the honor of the knighthood of Kryndal is my concern," she retorts, without raising her voice. "And what you are doing is dishonorable. Now, leave him. I have need of him."
Caelan glares at her, but he knows he cannot challenge a direct order from a Holy Knight. Her Level 45 isn't just a number. It's a mountain of power he cannot hope to climb.
He throws his wooden sword to the ground with a clatter. "As you wish. I have no time to waste on this vermin anyway."
He gives me one last look full of hatred, a silent promise of retribution, before turning on his heel and leaving the room, his friends trotting behind him.
I stand there, trembling, the wooden sword still clutched in my hand.
Roxis approaches me. The scent of polished steel and something clean, almost floral, emanates from her. She stops in front of me.
"Drop that," she says softly, gesturing to the sword. My fingers loosen, and the weapon falls to the floor with a thud. "Show me your arms."
Hesitantly, I push up my sleeves. The purplish welts from Caelan's blows are clearly visible. She frowns.
"Does this happen often?"
I look down. "Sometimes."
"You mustn't let people like him dictate your worth, Reinhardt."
Hearing my name spoken by her is like a balm on my wounds. I don't know what to say.
"Come," she says, turning. "The reason I was looking for you is that I have a task for you. My training equipment needs a thorough cleaning. No one here does it with the necessary care. I will pay the extra myself."
I follow her silently out of the armory, my heart beating for a completely different reason. She isn't just saving me from Caelan. She is giving me a job. A responsibility. A sign of trust.
She leads me to her personal quarters, a small, simple but impeccably tidy room near the elite training grounds. In a corner rests her training armor, along with several swords of different weights and sizes.
"Take your time," she says. "I want every piece to shine. Understood?"
"Yes, My Lady."
She nods, then her gaze softens. "And Reinhardt..." She hesitates for a second. "Strength lies not only in the ability to land blows, but also in the ability to take them and remain standing. Never forget that."
With those words, she leaves the room, leaving me alone with her weapons.
I stand motionless for a long moment, Roxis's words echoing in my mind. Remain standing. That's what I did. That's what I will do.
I kneel and begin my work. I polish her breastplate, every piece of her armor, every blade of her swords. This is not a chore. It is an honor. As I touch this steel, I can feel the power it holds—the thousands of hours of training, the discipline, the will.
The hunger returns, more insistent now. The "Starving (Severe)" status flashes in my vision. But this time, it is not synonymous with despair. It is an engine.
Tonight, I won't return to the sewers simply to survive. I will return to become stronger. To be worthy of the trust she has placed in me. To be able, one day, to stand before Caelan Burix, not as a victim, but as an equal.
Hunger is my key. And I will use it to open every door.