RISING OF THE GOLEM KING FROM ZERO TO HERO, Volume 1, Part One by H. L. Watson - HTML preview

Chapter 8

The next morning was a rude awakening, quite literally. The sound of persistent knocking on the door was incessant, each rap against the wood sending sharp echoes through my small chamber. Sunlight filtered through the narrow, barred window, casting elongated rectangles of golden light across the stone floor and illuminating dancing dust motes in the air. The knocking wouldn't stop until I answered it, growing more insistent with each passing moment. I groggily rolled out of bed, the thin mattress offering little resistance as I pushed myself up. My muscles ached from the previous day's journey, protesting every movement. Rubbing my eyes and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep that clung to me like cobwebs, I blinked several times to clear my vision. The knocking continued, each impact reverberating through my skull, intensifying the dull headache forming behind my eyes.

"Give me a second, I'll be out soon!" I yelled out in irritation, my voice rough and gravelly from sleep.

The room felt chilly against my skin as I fumbled for my clothes, laid out on the simple wooden chest at the foot of the bed. As I reached for my shirt and pants, my eyes wandered to their worn spots—frayed seams, thinning fabric at the elbows and knees. The linen had lost whatever color it once possessed, now existing in a indeterminate shade between gray and brown. It was evident that they were on their last legs, and I knew I would have to replace them soon if I wanted to maintain any semblance of dignity.

I dressed hastily, the rough fabric scratching against my skin as I pulled the garments on. The stone floor felt cold beneath my bare feet as I stumbled towards the door, still half-asleep and disoriented in this unfamiliar room. The persistent knocking continued, each impact setting my teeth on edge.

To my surprise, Dahlia, the servant girl, stood there again when I finally pulled the door open. The hallway behind her was dimly lit by wall-mounted orbs casting their steady, unwavering light. Her bright pink hair stood out vividly against the muted colors of the manor, almost unnaturally vibrant in the morning light. She wore the same style of simple blue-gray dress as yesterday, freshly pressed, with a pristine white apron tied at her waist. Her face was animated with a cheerful energy that seemed completely at odds with the early hour. "Hello once again, Mr. Sleepy," she greeted me with a cheerful smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Her voice carried a musical lilt that echoed slightly in the stone corridor. She balanced her weight from one foot to the other, her hands clasped behind her back in a posture of barely contained exuberance.

"It's Eric, just call me Eric," I interrupted, running a hand through my disheveled hair in a futile attempt to make myself more presentable. The idea of formality between slaves—or between a slave and a servant—seemed absurd, especially coming from someone who couldn't be much more than a teenager.

"Ok, I understand, Mr. Eric," she replied, her eyes lively with mischief. She emphasized the "Mr." with exaggerated formality, clearly teasing me. A small dimple appeared in her left cheek as her smile widened. "I was sent up here to tell you that the tinker's assistant is here to see you. Likely he's here to evaluate you and see if you're worthy enough for his master to waste his time on you or not. I wish you luck; I think you might need it," she added, her tone shifting to seriousness, the smile fading slightly from her face.

The news sent a jolt of nervous energy through me, instantly banishing the last vestiges of sleep. My heart rate quickened, and I felt a flutter of anxiety in my stomach. This was happening much faster than I had anticipated. Jiren had mentioned securing an instructor soon, but I hadn't expected to be evaluated so quickly.

I nodded in response, swallowing hard against the sudden dryness in my throat. Dahlia motioned for me to follow her, turning to lead the way down the corridor. The sound of our footsteps created a syncopated rhythm against the stone floor—her light, quick steps contrasting with my heavier, more hesitant pace.

Before we left the room, a sharp pang of hunger reminded me that I hadn't eaten since the meal Dahlia had brought me the previous night. I asked if there was something to eat, explaining that I always did better on tests when I was full. The prospect of facing an evaluation on an empty stomach seemed particularly daunting.

Dahlia turned abruptly at my question, her pink pigtails swinging with the momentum. She smacked her head with her hand, eyes widening in realization. Her expression shifted to one of genuine concern, eyebrows drawing together over her bright blue eyes.

"Darn, I knew I forgot something again today," she said suddenly, her voice rising in pitch with distress. "I was supposed to give you something to eat earlier this morning, but I figured you were tired after your long journey, so I thought I would do it later. But then the assistant arrived, so I never got a chance to bring your food," she explained, her words tumbling out in a rush, her voice apologetic. She bit her lower lip, genuinely distressed by her oversight. "Don't worry about it, I can eat later," I reassured her with a smile, not wanting to add to her obvious distress. My stomach protested with another growl, but I ignored it. "It's not like I haven't gone through something like this before on an empty stomach." The memories of pulling all-nighters for coding projects back in college, subsisting on nothing but caffeine and determination, flashed through my mind.

"Okay, if you're sure," she replied, though her expression remained doubtful. The furrow between her brows eased slightly. "I'll try to sneak you a snack later if I get a chance, I promise," she added with a cheeky smile, her natural exuberance reasserting itself. She made a crossing motion over her heart, as if sealing the vow.

"I'll hold you to that," I said while I laughed as we continued to walk. The sound of my own laughter surprised me—it had been a long time since I'd had anything to laugh about. Something about Dahlia's bright personality made the weight of my situation feel momentarily lighter. We made our way downstairs to the main greeting area of the manor house, my nervousness intensifying with each step. The grand room opened before us, vastly different from the utilitarian simplicity of my quarters. High ceilings supported by ornately carved wooden beams stretched above us. Tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes I couldn't interpret but recognized as representing battles or hunts. Elegant furniture crafted from dark wood populated the space, arranged for optimal conversation or business discussions. A simply dressed man was waiting impatiently, standing near one of the tall windows where morning light streamed in. His attire, while not ornate, was of far better quality than my own—a tunic of deep blue with subtle embroidery at the cuffs, trousers of a sturdy fabric, and polished leather boots. He wore what looked to be spectacles of some sort, wire-framed and perched on a narrow nose. Behind the lenses, keen eyes observed everything with calculated precision. His fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against his thigh, and it was evident from the tight line of his mouth that he had been waiting for a while.

My owner was there, seated at a substantial desk, going through his business parchments with practiced efficiency. The scratch of his quill against parchment created a background noise that somehow heightened the tension in the room. Without looking up, Jiren's presence dominated the space—his silver hair catching the light, his posture erect despite his age. It was apparent from the atmosphere that they were waiting for me, and I had kept them waiting. As we arrived, Dahlia announced our presence with an awkward curtsy, her movements lacking the grace that might come with more practice or formal training. "Here he is as requested," she said, her voice taking on a more formal tone than she had used with me in private.

My owner Jiren acknowledged her with a nod, finally looking up from his parchments. His eyes, sharp and evaluating, swept over me briefly. "Good job, Dahlia. You may leave us," he replied, his tone neutral but authoritative.

"Yes, Sir," Dahlia responded with another quick bow, more fluid than her curtsy had been. She shot me a quick, encouraging smile before disappearing through a side door, her departure leaving the room feeling somehow emptier.

Jiren motioned for me to take a seat adjacent to the new arrival, the chair's wooden frame creaking slightly as I settled into it. The tinker's assistant remained standing, his posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back. A leather satchel lay on the table beside him, partially open to reveal rolls of parchment within.

"Kid," Jiren addressed me with a hint of warning in his voice, his eyes holding mine with unwavering intensity. Wrinkles deepened at the corners of his eyes as he frowned slightly. "Hopefully you're smarter than you look, and you'll get through this without any issues. You can consider that an order. I have a lot of money riding on you." His tone carried no room for failure, each word carefully measured and delivered with precision. My heart pounded in my chest as I nodded nervously, the gravity of the situation settling over me like a physical weight. The implications were clear—my performance now would determine not just my future, but Jiren's investment as well. I was determined to give it my all, though the enormity of what was at stake made my palms sweat and my mouth go dry. The Tinkerer assistant cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the tense silence. His expression conveyed annoyance, perhaps at being kept waiting or at being involved in evaluating a slave at all. He began to unpack several rolls of parchment paper from his satchel, laying them out on the table with methodical precision. The parchments were covered in symbols and equations I could somehow understand despite their alien appearance—as if my mind translated them automatically into concepts I recognized.

Without even introducing himself, he handed me a steampunk version of an ink pen—an intricate metal instrument with tiny gears visible through a glass section, filled with dark liquid that resembled ink but shimmered slightly in the light. His thin fingers were stained with ink, suggesting frequent use of similar writing implements.

"I assume you have some sort of basic training in mathematics where you come from?" he asked, his voice clipped and efficient. His accent was different from Jiren's or Dahlia's—more precise, with rounded vowels that suggested a different region or social class. "Yes, Sir," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as my fingers closed around the pen. The metal felt cool against my skin, the weight of it unfamiliar compared to the ballpoints and keyboards I was accustomed to. "Before I came here, I had just recently graduated from college and had an entry-level position at one of my world's technology businesses."

The assistant's expression softened a bit at this information, his eyebrows raising slightly in interest. The severity in his gaze eased, replaced by a scholar's curiosity. "Oh, what was your field of study?" he asked, adjusting his spectacles with one finger. "I was a computer engineer," I replied, my nerves making my voice crack slightly on the unfamiliar term that would mean nothing in this world. I gripped the pen tighter, trying to steady my hand.

The assistant looked puzzled, his brow furrowing and creating a network of fine lines across his forehead. His head tilted slightly to one side as he considered the foreign concept. "What is a computer? I'm aware of what an engineer is, but computers are not a word I'm familiar with." Genuine curiosity had replaced his earlier impatience, his eyes focused intently on me. I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. How could I explain the concept of computers to someone from a world that appeared to blend medieval and steampunk elements? The challenge of translation seemed suddenly monumental.

"A computer is a machine that can perform various tasks, such as processing data and storing information," I began carefully, choosing my words with precision. The assistant's eyes remained fixed on me, absorbing every word. "As a computer engineer, I was responsible for designing, developing, testing, and maintaining computer hardware and software. I troubleshooted and debugged computer systems, collaborated with other professionals, and stayed up to date with emerging technologies."

The Tinkerer assistant nodded slowly; his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to wrap his head around this foreign concept. His lips moved slightly, as if repeating certain terms to himself. I could sense the weight of his evaluation on my shoulders and prayed that I wouldn't let Jiren down. The older man had stopped pretending to work on his parchments and was watching our exchange with undisguised interest.

After the explanation, the assistant seemed to come to some internal decision. Without commenting further on computers, he reached for an hourglass that sat on the edge of the table— an elegant object with deep blue sand contained within a glass housing decorated with silver filigree.

"You have until the sand reaches the bottom to solve all the problems that you can, on these parchments," he stated, his tone once again professional and detached. He placed the hourglass where I could clearly see it, the blue sand gathered in the upper chamber, waiting to begin its inexorable descent.

I glanced at the stack of parchments before me, my stomach clenching with renewed anxiety. "All of them? There's got to be ten parchments here," I said, unable to keep the note of dismay from my voice. Each parchment appeared covered with problems, the complexity of which I couldn't yet determine.

"Consider that in and of itself a test as well, to see how many you can get through in the allotted time," he replied, unmoved by my concern. His tone was matter-of-fact, neither encouraging nor discouraging—simply stating the parameters of the challenge before me. I nodded my head in resignation, gripping the pen tighter. "Okay, whenever you're ready." The weight of Jiren's gaze on me was palpable, adding another layer of pressure to an already stressful situation.

The assistant nodded and turned over the hourglass with a fluid motion. The blue sand began to flow immediately, marking the beginning of my evaluation. "Begin," he said simply, stepping back to observe.

As I took the test, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of nervousness and excitement coursing through me. The peculiar pen in my hand moved smoothly across the parchment, leaving behind marks that dried almost instantly. The materials in front of me looked daunting at first glance, the unfamiliar symbols and layout momentarily overwhelming. The first few questions were easy enough, just basic subtraction and division—mathematical concepts that transcended worlds. The symbols were different, but my mind interpreted them automatically, as if the translation spell or whatever had affected me extended to mathematical notation as well. My confidence grew as I worked through these initial problems, the pen leaving behind neat rows of calculations and answers.

But as I progressed through the test, the questions became progressively more challenging. The third parchment introduced what appeared to be geometric principles, requiring spatial reasoning and application of theorems I hadn't used since high school. By the fourth page and beyond, I was faced with algebra, calculus, and trigonometry-level problems that required me to concentrate intently, brow furrowed and lips pressed together in concentration. The scratch of my pen against parchment filled the silence, occasionally accompanied by the soft clearing of a throat or the rustle of fabric as someone shifted position. The blue sand continued its relentless descent, marking the passage of time with silent efficiency. Jiren had returned to his parchments but glanced up occasionally to observe my progress. I struggled with some of the more advanced problems, spending precious minutes working through complex equations, double-checking my work, and occasionally having to erase and recalculate. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the coolness of the room, and my hand began to cramp from the unfamiliar writing implement.

Too soon, the last grains of blue sand filtered through the narrow neck of the hourglass. The assistant raised his hand, signaling the end of the evaluation. "Time," he announced, his voice breaking the concentrated silence that had fallen over the room. Unfortunately, I had not completed the task. There were simply too many problems that were surprisingly difficult in the later stages. I had made it to about page 8, leaving two parchments untouched. The man overseeing the test seemed somewhat dubious about what he saw, his eyes narrowing as he collected the parchments from me.

He asked, "Did you guess on any of these problems so that you could simply skip ahead?" His tone suggested he found my progress suspicious, perhaps too quick for someone claiming to be from another world entirely.

I replied with complete honesty, "No, each one of them, I tried to solve as best I could." My voice carried the weariness of mental exertion, but I met his gaze steadily, confident in the work I had done.

He looked skeptical, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly as he examined my answers. He muttered something to himself that I couldn't quite catch, and then began grading my answers with methodical precision. With a slight nod to Jiren, he settled into a chair across from me and commenced his evaluation.

The assistant quietly went through the set of tests for the next 30 minutes. He seemed annoyed for some reason as he continued to read through the parchments, occasionally making marks with his own pen or pausing to recheck calculations. His eyebrows would raise occasionally, or his lips would purse in consideration, but he offered no comments on my performance. As I waited, I couldn't help but take in the surroundings more fully than I had upon entering. The musty scent of old books and parchment filled the air, emanating from shelves lining one wall of the room. This was mixed with a faint whiff of something that smelled like sage—perhaps from the small bundle of dried herbs hanging near one window, gently swaying in the breeze. The room was comfortably warm, heated by a small fireplace in which embers glowed softly. I heard the sound of writing utensils scratching on paper, as the assistant continued to work his way through the tests. Occasionally, Jiren would turn a page or dip his quill in an inkwell, the soft sounds punctuating the otherwise silent room. From somewhere deeper in the manor came the muffled sounds of activity—footsteps, distant voices, the clang of what might have been cooking implements.

Finally, the assistant made it to page 8 and, after examining it for a moment, put the parchment down with a decisive motion. He sighed aloud, the sound carrying a note of resignation rather than disappointment. His expression had shifted during his evaluation, the skepticism gradually replaced by something that looked almost like reluctant admiration. "Not bad, kid. I hate to say it, but I'm impressed," he said, removing his spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache. "I take it that mathematics in your world is somewhat common?" The question seemed genuinely curious now, lacking the earlier suspicion. I told him, "Somewhat, but advanced mathematics were only something that higher-level students typically had to learn. Most people made it by with only simple basic math." The memory of struggling classmates during calculus courses flashed through my mind, alongside the recollection of how essential those same principles had become in my engineering work.

He nodded and said, "That explains a lot. You only missed two problems, kid." His tone carried reluctant respect, perhaps surprise that a slave could perform so well on what was clearly designed to be a challenging evaluation. "What's your name, by the way?" The question seemed almost an afterthought, yet suggested I had become a person of interest rather than merely an object being assessed.

I replied, "My name is Eric." The simple act of introducing myself, of being acknowledged as an individual with a name and skills, felt unexpectedly significant in this world where I had been reduced to property.

"Very nice to meet you, Eric. My name is Merrick by the way," he responded, extending the same courtesy of introduction he had initially withheld. His tone had warmed considerably from our first interaction. "I think my master is going to be very interested in having you as a potential apprentice." A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, suggesting he rarely offered such positive assessments.

As I waited for the final verdict, my mind was racing with possibilities. If I got chosen, it could mean a whole new life for me within the constraints of my current situation. A chance to learn from a master, to expand my knowledge and skills in ways I could only dream of. The prospect of becoming a Tinkerer apprentice—working with magical devices and perhaps eventually creating them—offered a path that might leverage my engineering background in this new world. But if I didn't make the cut, I would be back to square one, my future entirely dependent on Jiren's whims and whatever value he could extract from me. My owner Jiren then cut in, his voice breaking through my thoughts. "Good job, boy. I knew you could do it. You were worth every cent. I always knew you were. Never forget it." His words were ostensibly praise, but carried an undercurrent of self-congratulation for his own investment acumen. Nevertheless, he gave me a grudging smile, the expression softening his usually stern features.

As the Tinkerer assistant rose from his seat, gathering his materials and returning them to his satchel with practiced efficiency, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building. The test had been grueling, taxing mental muscles I hadn't used since my final exams, and I wasn't sure if I had done well enough to truly impress the master. But Merrick seemed to think that I had a chance, and that gave me hope.

Merrick informed us that he would turn these results into his master and that I would likely hear from him within the week. His tone was professional once more, but lacked the earlier disdain. I bowed to him and thanked him for his time, the gesture feeling both foreign and necessary in this hierarchical world. The man nodded back before taking his leave, his footsteps fading as he departed the manor.

As I watched him go through the large oak doors, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held. If I was chosen to be an apprentice, it would mean a whole new chapter in my unexpected journey through this strange world. But if not, I would have to find another way to carve out an existence here, to adapt and survive in a reality I still barely comprehended.

My owner then sent me back up to my room with a dismissive wave, telling me that he would be sending someone today to measure me for new clothing. "You've earned it," he said, the words suggesting a reward for services rendered rather than a recognition of basic needs. Still, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. I had worked hard under difficult circumstances, and it was gratifying to know that my efforts had been recognized, even if the underlying relationship remained one of owner and property.

As I made my way back to my room, retracing the path Dahlia and I had taken earlier, my stomach began to growl with renewed intensity. The emptiness felt more pronounced after the mental exertion of the test. I realized that I hadn't eaten since the previous evening, and that was probably why I had struggled with some of the questions on the test. They had required me to think harder than I originally anticipated, and my brain had been operating without its necessary fuel.

Fortunately, at that moment, I heard knocking on the door of my room and a familiar voice calling my name. I opened the door to see Dahlia once more, with a heaping plate of food balanced carefully in her hands. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat hit me immediately, making my mouth water in Pavlovian response. The plate was piled high with all sorts of foods I didn't fully recognize—sausages of a deep reddish color speckled with unfamiliar spices, rolls with unusual colored fruits baked into them, some sort of odd berries in shades of purple and blue, and what looked to be a wooden cup filled with a fruit drink judging from the sweet, tangy smell wafting from it. My stomach growled once more, the sound audible in the quiet corridor. Dahlia giggled at me, the sound light and musical. "Looks like I arrived just in time. Here you go." Her eyes crinkled with genuine warmth as she set the tray of food on my makeshift table with careful movements. She bowed to me deeply, the gesture seeming out of place from the cheerful girl who had teased me earlier. "Thank you so much for not telling the master that I forgot to feed you. Once more, I'm really, really sorry. I'm still kind of new at this, and I keep making mistakes." Her expression was earnest, a hint of vulnerability showing through her usual cheerfulness. I told her not to worry about it and that we're all entitled to make mistakes every now and then. Her relief was visible, tension leaving her shoulders at my reassurance. But as I took my first real look at her closely, I couldn't help but notice how young she looked. She had two pigtail buns on the top of her head, secured with simple ribbons that matched her apron. Her hair was pink, similar to one of the social media female influencers back home I used to watch from time to time. The vibrant color seemed natural, not dyed, another reminder of how this world differed from my own in unexpected ways.

Dahlia looked to be about 15 or 16, but I had never asked her age. Her eyes were sky blue, bright and clear like a summer day, and she had a ready, easy smile and mischievous air about her. Her features were delicate—a small nose, heart-shaped face, and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks that became more visible when she blushed. I saw her as a kid sister that I never had back home, her youthful energy and genuine kindness a welcome contrast to the calculating interactions that dominated this new existence.

She smiled at me when she noticed me staring at her and said, before she left, "Again, thank you so much." Her gratitude seemed disproportionate to my simple act of not reporting her oversight, suggesting that consequences for such mistakes might be more severe than I had imagined. She then took her leave and closed the door behind her, leaving me alone with the feast she had provided.

When she left, I'm not ashamed to say that I attacked the food, filling my belly fuller than I ever had my entire time in this world. The flavors were rich and complex—the sausages spiced with herbs I couldn't identify, the bread still warm from the oven, the fruits sweet and tangy on my tongue. Whether from genuine quality or merely intense hunger, the meal was deeply satisfying, each bite chased by another until the plate was nearly clean. Once I had satisfied my hunger, I couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise. The food here wasn't too bad, despite my initial impressions of this world's cuisine during my captivity. It was hard to know how much of that was actually due to the quality of the food or just my hunger. But either way, I was grateful for the meal, the fullness in my stomach a welcome contrast to the gnawing emptiness that had accompanied me through the morning's evaluation. As I sat there, pondering the test I had taken earlier, I found it quite interesting that the problems on it were comparable to algebra, trigonometry, and calculus questions back home. Although the symbols and numbers were completely different, I could understand them just fine, as if my mind automatically translated them into familiar concepts. It was a strange feeling, as if I had stumbled upon something familiar in a world that was completely new to me. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a clue to what a tinkerer's job entailed. Perhaps it wasn't as different from what I was already accustomed to in my computer engineering job back home. The logical thinking, problem-solving approach, and mathematical foundation seemed similar, even if the applications might differ vastly.

I said out loud to myself, "Hmm, interesting. Perhaps I wouldn't have to learn something completely new from scratch after all." The sound of my voice broke the silence of the room, reminding me of my solitude. But, I reminded myself that I was making a lot of assumptions, and I would have to wait and see what unfolded next in my training.