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

Chapter 2

The soldiers who had captured us were clad in peculiar armor that gleamed dully in the flickering torchlight. The metal plates overlapped like scales of some ancient beast, etched with symbols I couldn't decipher. Their helmets concealed most of their faces, revealing only their eyes—cold and merciless as they surveyed us with thinly veiled contempt. Each soldier carried an assortment of weapons: swords sheathed at their sides, daggers strapped to their thighs, and some wielded spears with tips that glinted menacingly. Their heavy boots left clear imprints in the soft earth as they moved among us with practiced efficiency.

As we trudged forward through the dimly lit passage, my legs ached with each step. The rough stone floor scraped against my worn shoes, and the dank air filled my lungs with the musty scent of earth and decay. I noticed that there were other captives like myself, some of whom were wounded and bleeding profusely. One man to my right had a deep gash across his forehead, blood trickling down his face and staining his tattered shirt crimson. A woman nearby cradled her arm against her chest, her face contorted with pain as she struggled to keep pace. Their labored breathing and occasional whimpers punctuated the oppressive silence. "Keep moving," barked one of the soldiers, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, fingers tapping impatiently. "Or you'll end up like the last one who couldn't keep up."

The soldiers roughly grabbed us and pulled us towards an area where they secured our arms and wrists with tight bonds, leaving us severely restricted in movement. The coarse rope bit into my skin, and I winced as it was pulled tighter by a soldier with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw. His breath smelled of something fermented and unfamiliar as he leaned close to inspect his handiwork.

"Too tight?" he asked with mock concern, lips curling into a cruel smile. "Good." Once everyone was restrained, they ordered us to advance towards the opening in the cavern wall. The tallest soldier, whose armor bore additional markings that suggested some higher rank, gestured with his spear.

"Move. Anyone who falls behind stays behind," he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. His eyes scanned our group, lingering briefly on the wounded before shifting away dismissively. We entered the cavern and began to navigate towards an unknown destination, a seemingly endless journey with only a few stops in between. The passage twisted and turned, sometimes widening into chambers large enough that I couldn't see the ceiling, other times narrowing so much that we had to proceed in single file. Stalactites hung from above like petrified tears, water occasionally dripping from their tips onto our heads. The ground was uneven, scattered with loose stones that threatened to roll beneath our feet and send us stumbling.

The air grew thinner and colder as we progressed deeper into the earth. My lungs strained with each breath, and my body shivered despite the exertion of the march. The smell changed too— from damp earth to something more mineral, with occasional wafts of sulfur that made my eyes water. The sound of our footsteps and the clink of the soldiers' armor created an eerie rhythm that bounced off the walls, making it impossible to tell if we were truly alone in these tunnels. During our infrequent rest periods, we were allowed to sit on the cold ground, our backs against the rough stone walls. No one dared to speak above a whisper, and even then, conversations were brief and furtive. A young man with hollow cheeks and trembling hands murmured something about seeing creatures moving in the shadows, but a sharp glance from one of the guards silenced him immediately.

By the time we finally reached our destination, I was utterly exhausted. Every muscle in my body screamed with fatigue, and my feet felt like they were encased in lead. My throat was parched, and my stomach had long since stopped growling, having resigned itself to emptiness. However, we soon emerged from the end of the tunnel, and the sight that greeted us was a stark contrast to the dimly lit cave – a bright and sunny day.

The sudden brightness was blinding after so long in the darkness. I squinted, raising my bound hands instinctively to shield my eyes, earning a rough shove from the guard behind me. I was somewhat taken aback, having incorrectly assumed that it was nighttime outside. There had been no way to track the passage of time in the cave, no clocks or windows, just the relentless march forward.

As I stepped out of the cave, I got my first real glimpse of the world I had found myself in. The landscape spread out before me was both familiar and alien—rolling hills covered in vegetation that resembled grass but was a shade too purple, trees with trunks that twisted in improbable ways, their leaves fluttering in colors I had never seen in nature. In the distance, mountains rose like jagged teeth against the horizon, their peaks capped with what might have been snow but glinted with an almost metallic sheen.

Looking up at the sky in awe, I felt a mixture of disbelief and wonder at the magnificent sight before me. The sky was blue, a familiar hue, but that was where the similarities with my own world ended. The sky was adorned with two suns, both radiating their light onto the world below. One sun was larger and more orange, hanging like a fiery orb directly overhead. The other was smaller, almost white-blue in color, positioned lower in the sky as if chasing its larger companion. On the far side of the sky, in the opposite direction, there was a visible moon. However, this moon was unlike any I had ever seen before. It was enormous, potentially even larger than a planet, and had horizontal bands of beige and red, most likely gas streams swirling around its surface.

The sight was so breathtaking that for a moment I forgot my dire circumstances. The cosmic ballet playing out above me was mesmerizing, the dance of light between the two suns casting dual shadows behind every object. I couldn't help but wonder if this world was, in fact, a moon orbiting a colossal gas giant. The thought triggered a cascade of questions in my mind— questions about physics, astronomy, about how a habitable world could exist in such conditions. A scientist from my world would give anything to study this place. My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when one of the soldiers struck me across the face, the impact sending me staggering sideways. Pain bloomed across my cheek, and I tasted blood where my teeth had cut into the inside of my mouth. The soldier towered over me, his face twisted in anger beneath his half-helmet. His eyes were dark and narrowed, his skin weathered and marked with tiny scars that spoke of many battles.

"Pay attention and keep up with the rest," he snarled, spittle flying from his lips. His breath smelled of meat and something bitter. "Or I'll do the same to every one of you and kill you myself."

The other guards chuckled, one of them slapping his whip against his palm suggestively. The captives around me shrunk back, fear evident in their hunched shoulders and lowered eyes. The harsh reality of my situation hit me like a ton of bricks, and I quickly snapped back to reality, recognizing that this was no time for sightseeing. The sting of the blow and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth were sharp reminders of my vulnerability. I had to stay alert and focused if I was to survive in this strange and unfamiliar world. We trudged on for several days, stopping only briefly to hydrate and rest for no longer than three hours at a time, with the soldiers relentlessly leading us towards an unknown destination. The water they provided was tepid and had a mineral taste that coated my tongue unpleasantly, but I gulped it down greedily whenever it was offered. Food was scarce—dry, hard bread and occasionally strips of some kind of dried meat that was tough and salty. The weather fluctuated wildly as we traveled. During the day, when both suns were high, the heat was nearly unbearable, the air shimmering with it. Sweat soaked through my clothes, attracting biting insects that left raised welts on any exposed skin. At night, when the smaller sun dipped below the horizon, the temperature plummeted, and we huddled together for warmth, our breath forming clouds in the chill air.

As we marched, a sense of unease pervaded my thoughts, leaving me wondering what lay ahead for us. The prospect of being in the clutches of these hostile soldiers was a terrifying one, and I couldn't dispel the feeling that something dreadful lurked in our future. My mind kept replaying the brutal execution of the woman who had resisted during the inspection, the way her body had crumpled to the ground, the life leaving her eyes in an instant. The image sent a shiver down my spine. I knew I had to remain vigilant at all times if I was to survive. On the 2nd day of our journey, we crested a hill, and I saw our destination spread out in the valley below. Even from a distance, the cacophony of people talking and shouting grew louder, carrying on the wind. The air changed too, becoming thicker with the aroma of burning wood from cooking fires mingled with the stench of sweat and fear. My stomach clenched with dread as we approached the slave camp.

The camp was a sprawling, chaotic assemblage of structures. Ramshackle tents of various sizes and colors dotted the landscape, some of which served as makeshift shops where traders hawked their wares. Smoke rose from dozens of cooking fires, and people—both guards and slaves— moved about in a constant bustle of activity. But the primary focus, I quickly realized, was the inhumane trade of human beings. It was apparent that slavery was still a prevalent and accepted practice in this world.

The slave pens were crudely built, little more than cages constructed from rough-hewn wood and metal bars. They housed people from my world and others who appeared to hail from different realms, all crammed together in conditions that no animal should endure, let alone thinking, feeling beings. Some of the captives were clearly human, while others had features that marked them as something else—skin in hues of blue or green, extra fingers or limbs, eyes that reflected light like a cat's.

Some seemed resigned to their grim fate, sitting with vacant expressions and slumped shoulders. Others fiercely resisted their shackles, pulling at the bars until their hands bled or shouting defiance at their captors. The guards responded to such resistance with swift brutality, using whips or clubs to beat the fight out of them.

I watched with growing horror as people were auctioned off like cattle on a raised platform at the camp's center. The platform was stained dark in places, and I didn't want to speculate on what had caused those stains. Prospective buyers were permitted to examine the captives up close, their hands roaming over bodies as if inspecting livestock, making it easier for them to decide whether to purchase or not. They checked teeth, prodded muscles, and sometimes performed more invasive examinations, all while discussing the merits of each "item" as if the person wasn't standing right there, hearing every word.

"This one's strong, good for labor," a buyer commented, squeezing the arm of a muscular man whose eyes blazed with suppressed rage.

"Too much fight in him," replied the seller, a corpulent man with a jeweled dagger at his belt. "But nothing a few weeks of breaking won't cure."

The atmosphere was charged with tension, underscored by the din of shouting and the chilling sound of whips cracking through the air. The auctioneer's voice struggled to rise above the clamor of the crowd, his words reduced to unintelligible shouts from where I stood. Witnessing people being sold into slavery was nauseating, and it made me appreciate the good fortune of being born in a world where slavery had long been abolished. My stomach churned with disgust and helplessness.

Amid the pandemonium and distress of the slave camp, I couldn't help but marvel at my surroundings. The sky was an extraordinary shade of blue, illuminated by two suns casting their brilliance from above. The air was warm, with a gentle breeze carrying the enticing scents of cooking food and the distant cries of exotic animals. Strange birds circled overhead, their wings spanning wider than any eagle I'd ever seen, their calls like metallic chimes on the wind.

The landscape was adorned with strange, unfamiliar trees and plants. Some trees rose in spiraling patterns, their branches fanning out at impossible angles. The vegetation near the camp had been trampled and reduced to scrub, but further away, I could see fields of what looked like grass, shimmering in shades of lavender and indigo. In the distance, mist-shrouded mountains loomed majestically, their peaks lost in clouds that seemed to glow from within. The slave camp was a world apart from the one I knew, but my determination to return home never wavered. I realized I had to keep my wits about me and never abandon hope. I had to keep fighting, regardless of how bleak the situation might seem. The thought of never reuniting with my family and friends was unbearable, but I knew that I had to persevere, pushing forward, no matter the obstacles.

Our group was led to one of the pens, the gate creaking open on rusted hinges to admit us. We were shoved inside, and the gate was locked behind us with a clang that felt terribly final. The pens into which we were cast were nothing more than expansive open-air enclosures, encircled by towering metal bars that left us feeling exposed and vulnerable to the merciless elements. The bars were rough with rust in places, but still solid enough to resist any attempt at breaking them. They rose at least twelve feet high, topped with cruel spikes that discouraged climbing. The ground beneath us was parched and dusty, sporadically interrupted by protruding rocks or stones that made finding a comfortable place to sit nearly impossible. The air inside the pen was stifling and oppressive, thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and human waste from the rudimentary latrine in one corner—little more than a hole in the ground surrounded by a low wall that offered minimal privacy. The glaring absence of shade offered no respite from the relentless sun, and the heat bounced off the hard-packed earth, creating a furnace-like environment.

The other captives sharing the pen with me appeared just as defeated as I felt, heads bowed and eyes shut, seeking solace in the fleeting escape of sleep. Some had clearly been here longer, their skin burned red by sun exposure, their lips cracked from dehydration. Others bore the marks of mistreatment—bruises in various stages of healing, cuts that had scabbed over, welts from whips that formed raised patterns on their backs.

The only sounds punctuating the heavy silence were the shuffling of feet and the occasional cough or sneeze. Now and then, someone would sob quietly, the sound quickly stifled as if they feared drawing attention to themselves. A woman nearby rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped around her knees, murmuring words in a language I didn't understand, her eyes fixed on something only she could see.

Surveying the scene, I noticed that the pens were partitioned into sections, each housing a distinct group of captives. Among them were humans like myself, but there were also beings the likes of which I had never encountered, displaying an array of skin colors, shapes, and sizes. In one pen, the occupants had blue-tinged skin and elongated fingers that ended in what looked like small claws. In another, the beings were short and stocky with disproportionately large heads and no visible ears.

Some of these beings seemed to be in immense pain, their bodies contorting in ways that suggested they were not meant to exist in this world's conditions. Others appeared to be in a state of shock or disbelief, their expressions vacant as if their minds had retreated to some safer place. The guards overseeing the pens were just as ruthless as the soldiers who had brought us here. They patrolled the perimeters with a swagger that spoke of their absolute power over us. Dressed in lighter armor than the soldiers who had captured us, their faces were fully visible—most bearing expressions of boredom or contempt. They bellowed orders and brutally struck anyone who dared to defy them.

"Back from the bars," one shouted, his face flushed with anger as he approached a captive who had been gripping the metal. He brought his whip down with practiced precision, opening a red line across the man's arm. "Next time it'll be your face."

Armed with whips, they wielded them with unsettling frequency, as evidenced by the scars and bruises that marred the backs of some fellow captives. The guards seemed to relish their cruel occupation, their eyes gleaming with satisfaction as they treated us like mere animals. Some even made a game of it, wagering on which prisoner would break down first under their torment. A profound sense of hopelessness weighed on me as I came to terms with this horrifying new reality. The prospect of being sold into slavery and regarded as nothing more than property was unbearable, yet I knew that I had to muster the strength to endure. I closed my eyes and attempted to devise an escape plan, but such a feat seemed insurmountable. The pens were heavily guarded, and the only apparent exit was the front gate, flanked by even more formidable soldiers.

As the day wore on, my body weakened and my thirst intensified. My tongue felt swollen in my mouth, sticking to my palate with each attempt to swallow. The sun showed no mercy, beating down on us with the combined force of its dual presence in the sky. I began to feel the onslaught of heat exhaustion—dizziness, nausea, a pounding headache that made my vision blur at the edges.

I longed for a sip of water, but it was a luxury I knew would be denied until the guards decided we had suffered enough. They reveled in our torment, their aggression mounting as the day progressed and the heat made them irritable. One guard, a squat man with a nose that had been broken multiple times, took particular pleasure in withholding water from those who begged for it, only to pour it on the ground before their eyes.

Dread consumed me as I acknowledged my utter powerlessness in this alien world. I was a captive, a slave, entirely at the mercy of my heartless captors. The weight of this realization was almost physical, pressing down on my chest until each breath became an effort. I knew I had to find a way to escape, but the means eluded me. The pens seemed inescapable, and I was surrounded by guards who were all too eager to resort to violence to maintain order. On the third day of our confinement, men in official-looking attire arrived at the camp. They wore clothing that was finer than anything I'd seen since arriving in this world—robes of rich fabrics in deep colors, adorned with intricate embroidery and fastened with clasps that glinted like gold. Their bearing suggested authority, and even the guards straightened their postures as they approached.

Finally, as the officials concluded their negotiations with the prison guards, they commenced their inspection of us. We were herded out of the pen and lined up before them like chattel. The officials scrutinized each of us, one by one, assessing our potential worth. They prodded and poked at us, inquiring about our skills and evaluating our bodies for signs of physical strength or resilience.

"This one has some muscle," commented one official, a thin man with a pointed beard and calculating eyes. He pinched the arm of the captive in front of me, a young man who flinched but didn't resist. "Could be useful in the mines."

"What of his class?" asked another, this one older with silver streaks in his dark hair. "We need more than just bodies."

"Utility class, nothing special," replied the first with a dismissive wave. "But strong backs are always in demand."

Regrettably, the officials were sorely disappointed with what they discovered. The majority of us were ordinary individuals possessing no extraordinary abilities, save for a few who boasted utility classes—whatever those were. As my turn approached, a surge of fear engulfed me. My heart raced, and sweat that had nothing to do with the heat trickled down my spine. The officials scrutinized my appearance with cold, evaluating eyes that seemed to see right through me. One of them, a woman with sharp features and hair pulled back so tightly it looked painful, consulted a scroll in her hands.

I stared at her blankly, utterly unfamiliar with the concept of magic or the meaning of the term "artificer." The word meant nothing to me—was it a type of craftsman? A magical ability? I had no frame of reference, no context in which to place it.

"I... I don't understand," I stammered, my voice hoarse from disuse and thirst. The official's expression hardened. "Don't play ignorant. What are your specialties? Enchanting? Alchemy? Runic inscriptions?"

I endeavored to conceal my ignorance, but the officials easily saw through my facade. My confusion must have been written plainly on my face, because the woman's mouth twisted in disgust.

"Useless," she spat, making a mark on her scroll. "Either too damaged by the transition or truly ignorant of his own abilities."

They scoffed at me, deeming me a useless waste of their precious time and resources. The man with the pointed beard gestured for the guards to move me aside. "Put this one with the others for the eastern region," he ordered. "They always need bodies for the fields, regardless of class."

Once more, I was confronted by the dire predicament I found myself in. I was in an alien world, surrounded by people who regarded me as nothing more than a commodity to be traded and sold. Bereft of friends, allies, and any means of escape, I was entirely at the mercy of these officials and their merciless whims.

Overwhelmed by hopelessness and despair, I struggled to find a way to survive in this enigmatic and foreign world where I was perceived as little more than an expendable instrument. Fear and uncertainty clouded my thoughts as I contemplated my uncertain future. I resolved to find a means to survive and, if feasible, escape from this bizarre realm. After the officials completed their evaluation, the prison guards commenced moving us from the pen to a new location. As we progressed towards our new destination, slated to be our home for the next several days, I couldn't help but notice the heightened alertness of the guards. Their weapons were drawn and ready, as though anticipating imminent danger. Their eyes scanned the surroundings constantly, and they communicated with sharp hand signals more than words. Whatever lay ahead, it clearly warranted caution.

After several weeks of travel across a landscape that gradually shifted from the arid region of the slave camp to more fertile lands with actual farms and settlements visible in the distance, we arrived at an imposing stone edifice featuring colossal wooden doors, flanked by a pair of vigilant soldiers. These soldiers were different from our escorts—their armor more elaborate, their posture more disciplined. The clanking of our chains and the footsteps of the soldiers reverberated off the walls, creating an ominous symphony that echoed my mounting dread. Upon reaching the entrance, the guards stepped aside, and the doors were swung open, revealing a yawning darkness beyond. Although my heart was heavy with hopelessness and despair, I was determined to survive and unearth a means of escaping this confining place. We were ushered into a vast chamber illuminated by wall-mounted glowing orbs and furnished with elongated tables and benches. The orbs cast a pale blue light that created long shadows and gave everyone's skin an unhealthy pallor. The air here was cooler than outside but stale, carrying the scent of too many bodies confined in too little space for too long. The room teemed with people spanning all ages, genders, and races—each shackled and garbed in tattered clothing. Children huddled together at one table, their eyes wide with fear and confusion. Elderly men and women sat with stooped shoulders, their faces etched with lines of resignation. All were enslaved, their eyes filled with a blend of fear and curiosity as they gazed upon us. The room was eerily quiet, save for the constant clinking of chains and the occasional whispered conversation that quickly died when guards looked in that direction.

The soldiers guided us to a prominent table at the heart of the room and instructed us to sit. The bench was hard and splintered, but it felt like luxury after days of standing or sitting on bare ground. Once we had settled, they proceeded to inspect each of us, removing our shackles and examining our hands, feet, and faces. They searched meticulously for any indications of disease or injury, their touch impersonal and clinical.

One prisoner, a man with a festering wound on his leg, was immediately separated from the group. His pleas were ignored as he was dragged away, disappearing through a side door. No one spoke of what might have happened to him.

The extensive inspection persisted for several hours. My muscles cramped from sitting in one position for so long, but I dared not move too much and draw attention to myself. As I glanced around, I noticed that some of the other slaves appeared to be in pain, their faces contorted, bodies hunched protectively. It led me to wonder about the treatment they had endured at the hands of their former masters. What horrors had they witnessed? What suffering had they endured before arriving at this place? And more importantly, what awaited us all in the days to come?