Chapter 03
Arriving at the Village
The slaves each wore a small wooden tag around their necks, separate from the shackles on their ankles. The tag was narrow—about two fingers wide and a finger long.
The commander looked at the wooden tag hanging from the neck of the slave at the front and began flipping through a stack of papers.
Kim Juhwan glanced at the tag hanging from the neck of a man in the same wagon.
34.
The familiar Arabic numerals were written in black ink. The language might be different, but numbers looked the same.
The stack of papers the commander held likely contained information about the slaves—their identities or ownership details.
When the commander pulled out a sheet, a soldier roughly shoved the slave forward. The man stumbled but managed to stand upright in front of the commander.
After asking the village chief something, the commander wrote on the paper with a thin, charcoal-like stick.
Then he held the paper forward. A soldier grabbed the slave’s arm, stretched it over the paper, and cut his finger with a small knife. Blood dripped onto the page.
“!”
Kim Juhwan’s eyes widened.
The paper suddenly began to glow faintly. At the same time, a soft light appeared on the back of the slave’s hand.
Could that be… magic?
At the very least, this place wasn’t Earth. If magic existed, then it had to be another world.
The slave whose hand had glowed was shoved toward the village chief.
Then another slave was brought forward. The commander compared the wooden tag with the paper, wrote something, and again had the slave’s blood dropped onto the page.
Just like before, both the paper and the slave’s hand emitted a faint glow.
This process continued for several people—until only two slaves remained.
The next slave was pushed forward as usual.
But this one seemed able to read. He looked at the paper, then spoke in confusion.
“## #####.”
Shaking his head, he pointed at the paper, as if saying what was written didn’t match his situation.
But no one cared to listen. The commander shouted harshly and slapped him across the face. The slave fell to the ground, and a nearby soldier kicked him in the stomach.
Even while screaming in pain, the slave kept protesting. Whatever was written on the paper must have been something terrible.
When he continued to resist, the commander, enraged, drew his sword.
A soldier pinned the slave down. The man screamed, and even the village chief shouted in alarm.
Ignoring them, the commander brought the sword down—severing the slave’s arm—and smeared the blood onto the paper.
Amid the slave’s horrific screams, the paper and his hand glowed faintly once more.
When the light faded, a soldier roughly dragged the fallen man up and threw him toward the group standing before the village chief.
The chief pointed toward the wagons, pleading about something—perhaps asking for another slave to replace the one who had lost his arm. But when the commander shouted, the chief fell silent.
Kim Juhwan pulled his body back into the wagon.
My god…
He had already known that these people didn’t care if the slaves lived or died. But to cut off a man’s arm without even blinking…
He looked at the screaming slave. Blood gushed out like water from a torn hose. Yet no one tried to stop the bleeding or treat him.
They probably assumed he would die soon anyway.
That night, they stayed in the village. The next morning, the wagons and soldiers set off again.
After several days of traveling through barren land, they reached another similar village.
The same thing happened there.
The villagers offered alcohol and food, and the soldiers pulled out a few slaves from the wagons, forming some kind of magical contract.
If a pouch of money was handed to the commander, more slaves were left behind in the village. If no money was given, only a few slaves—three or four—were left.
Unlike the first village, however, the soldiers usually selected the slaves themselves.
Only once more did a village chief personally choose slaves like in the first case.
Kim Juhwan guessed that those villages must have paid an unusually large amount.
As time passed, the number of slaves in the wagons gradually decreased. Eventually, only about ten people remained in Kim Juhwan’s wagon. Other wagons were nearly empty.
Sometimes, even before reaching a village, they would take the blood of dying slaves to activate the magical contracts. Those slaves would be left behind as corpses along with the papers at the next village.
Before he knew it, Kim Juhwan had begun stripping clothes and shoes from the dead to wear himself. He had also grown used to eating the foul, pig-slop-like food.
Humans adapt to anything.
It was both remarkable—and horrifying.
The scenery gradually began to change. There were more forests and trees than open plains. The sound of the wheels rolling over the hardened ground became sharper.
To those inside the wagon, everything was equally freezing. But judging by the ground and the sound, this region seemed even colder. The earth was frozen solid like ice.
Kim Juhwan pulled his layered clothes tighter around himself, trying to cover his skin. But even with multiple layers, the wind cut right through them.
The cold air sliced his skin like a blade. His body trembled uncontrollably. After days of exposure to the winter wind, his skin felt as if it would tear at the slightest touch.
The corpses had been removed along the way, but two of the remaining men were barely breathing.
They’ll die today… or tomorrow.
How long can I last?
His vomiting had mostly stopped, but the food they were given was so foul that he suffered from constant diarrhea. At this rate, he too would die.
To think he would end up dying from diarrhea in a place like this—it wasn’t even something you could joke about.
When the sun, high in the sky, began to tilt slightly, the wagon carrying Kim Juhwan arrived at another village.
The first thing he saw was a crude wooden fence, like something from a primitive tribe.
Long logs had been placed side by side to form a wall, but many parts were broken—some looked as if they had been smashed by force. In some places, it was low enough to simply climb over.
The villages they had passed before were shabby, but this one was even worse.
The surrounding fields were fewer, and sparse trees stood near the outer wall. Although it was on flat land, aside from the road, it looked no different from a mountain village.
In fact, one side of the forest led directly into a mountain.
Perhaps to keep out wild animals, an additional wooden barrier had been built on that side.
The soldiers stopped in front of the gate and banged loudly, shouting. After a moment, the gate creaked open.
Startled villagers ran out, bowing repeatedly.
The gate itself seemed broken. One side dragged along the ground and wouldn’t open easily. Only after several men rushed over did it fully open.
As the wagons entered the village, a few women peeked from behind the ruined houses.
When some soldiers looked their way, the women gasped and ran back inside.
The soldiers muttered and spat on the ground. The atmosphere was tense.
A middle-aged man, likely the village chief, hurried out. Compared to other villages, far less alcohol and poorer food were brought before the soldiers.
This time, there was no pouch of money offered.
The commander’s expression darkened noticeably.
Among the remaining slaves, the wagon carrying Kim Juhwan was in the worst condition.
The commander glanced toward him with a harsh expression. After saying something to the soldiers, the wagon door was immediately opened.
One slave near the entrance was dragged out, and three soldiers entered.
They grabbed two slaves who looked as if they would die at any moment.
Unconscious, the two were dragged outside and thrown onto the ground like lifeless objects. They didn’t even groan.
One soldier’s gaze suddenly fell on Kim Juhwan’s ankle. During the commotion, the fabric covering it had shifted slightly.
For a moment, his breath caught.
This is it…
What would happen now? Would he be handed over as a slave—or simply killed?
The soldier approached with a puzzled expression, pulled aside his clothes, and checked his neck and ankle. Then he called another soldier over.
After examining him, the second soldier hurried to the commander and whispered something.
The soldier inside the wagon grabbed Kim Juhwan by the hair and dragged him out.
Don’t resist. Don’t resist. Endure it.
He clenched his fist tightly, forcing himself not to fight back.
If he resisted, he might be able to grab a spear and kill one or two soldiers. He might even run a meter or two.
But if he wanted to live, he couldn’t do that.
There were too many soldiers. He was unarmed. Even if he ran, they had horses—he would be caught and killed.
Kim Juhwan let himself be forced to his knees.
The soldiers were rough. One of them kicked him hard in the back. With a heavy thud, the impact slammed through his body,
and his face hit the cold ground.
Several soldiers shouted at him angrily, as if interrogating him. Of course, he couldn’t understand a word.
At the commander’s order, they began beating him—kicking him and striking him with the blunt ends of their spears.
Their hard boots crushed his already frozen skin. Pain shot through him. His insides churned, and blood spilled from his mouth.
Curling his body to absorb the blows, he shouted in Korean:
“I don’t understand! I don’t understand your language!”
The soldiers’ anger likely wasn’t just directed at him.
The village had offered less—older, less attractive women, poorer food, no money. The commander and soldiers were already
in a foul mood.
And now, they had found him.
Their frustration poured onto him.
The beating continued for a long time. Even the commander occasionally kicked him in the stomach. His blows were especially painful.
Only after a long while did the violence finally stop.
“#### ###.”
The commander grinned and said something.
The two dying slaves were dragged forward. The soldiers cut their arms and smeared the blood onto a contract. A faint glow
appeared on the paper and on the backs of their hands before fading.
The village chief protested with a distressed expression—perhaps complaining about receiving dying slaves. But when the
commander shouted, he fell silent.
In total, three slaves were handed over to the village.
Two were dying, and one had severely swollen feet—likely frostbite.
And then, lastly…
Kim Juhwan was handed over to the chief.
Though “handed over” was hardly the right word. The villagers simply lifted his battered body and took him away.
Seeing that the other slaves were loaded back onto the wagons, it seemed he had been counted as their share.
But he didn’t appear to be treated as a slave. The villagers didn’t shackle him or brand him. There was no magical contract either.
Not knowing under what terms he had been given to them made him uneasy.
The villagers took him to a separate house, away from the slaves.
It was small and shabby. Inside were a few crude pieces of furniture and a pile of straw in the corner. There were no signs that anyone lived there—it seemed abandoned.
Though cold, it felt like heaven compared to the wagon.
After a while, a villager brought him a bowl of thin, watery porridge made from flour.
The man gestured for him to eat and quickly left, placing something against the door to block it from the outside.
It was just a bland bowl of porridge, lacking even salt—but for the first time in a long while, he was able to eat real food.
It tasted so good it brought tears to his eyes.
After devouring it greedily, he curled up in the straw and spent the night there.
He had intended to stay awake, unsure of what might happen—but at some point, he fell asleep.
When he briefly woke, he heard the soldiers laughing somewhere. Mixed with their voices were the cries of women.
“…”
Kim Juhwan shut his eyes, trying to ignore the sounds.
There was nothing good about this world.
Whether here or back on Earth…
it was probably the same everywhere.
