Sins of the Forefathers: A LitRPG Fantasy Isekai

Walter Meyers tried to keep his head down while he followed his new dwarven master through the markets. This wasn’t difficult for him, as he had already gotten a harsh lesson about staring from the dwarf that had purchased him. In the scant few days since he’d been a slave, he’d learned. Master Horsoun had no pity for him.

Walter was slowly becoming numb to it all. Only sixteen years old, and his life was already over. He’d been forced to flee the war by his frantic father, along with the rest of his family. What little life and prospects that he’d had were gone now, no doubt burned down by those damn dolls. His family were all dead as well, killed in an elven raid while trying to seek a more peaceful life in dwarven lands. Everyone knew that the rebels didn’t dare try and strike into the Principality.

He supposed it didn’t matter much for him, at this point. He was just property now, no better than old Matilda, the family milk cow.

Walter didn’t know what he and his master were doing in the markets today and didn’t much care to find out. He’d learned another lesson from Master Horsoun about curiosity, after all. He just quietly walked behind his master, dull eyes down and fixed on his master’s feet as he trudged along.

Slowly, as he and his master trudged down the main thoroughfare of the small dwarven town he’d found himself enslaved in, he began to hear a commotion. He still didn’t dare look up, not until his master stopped as well. Risking a glance up at his master’s back, he could see from behind that the dwarf had stopped to rubberneck the source of the noise. He followed his master’s gaze.

The commotion was coming from another pair of dwarven master and human slave. The dwarf was yelling at his slave for dropping what looked to be a large amount of cutlery. The utensils were sprawled out all over the hard-packed dirt road.

Walter didn’t recognize the dwarf, which also didn’t surprise him. He was huge frankly, the largest dwarf he’d ever personally seen. With blazing red hair and a surprisingly long beard, he was nearly the average height of a human man. Something about the beard tickled his memory, but he felt like he’d forgotten most of the lessons he’d had with Brother Franklin after everything that had happened to him. On the other hand, he did recognize the human that was being yelled at.

It was that weird guy the caravan had picked up the day of the raid.

Walter was somewhat surprised to see him. He figured the stunty’s would have put him down by now. After the guy had just shown up on the edge of camp and gotten Corporal Danvers all up in a tizzy, word had gotten around that he might be Unawakened. His best friend Paul had been the first person to find him, and had excitedly told him the story. From what he’d said, the weird guy had just appeared out of thin air, like a mage or something. Walter ignored the pang in his heart at the reminder of Paul, dead at the end of an elven spear.

The yelling of the dwarven master had drawn the attention of one of the guardsmen, who had sidled up to the huge dwarf. He was too far away to hear what they were saying to one another. Master Horsoun must have been too far away as well, as he sauntered over closer in order to eavesdrop. Walter followed dutifully.

“…untrained…” He heard as heard in snippets as he and his master got closer. “…ungrateful…night…barracks…” Whatever the huge dwarf was saying to the compliant guard, it probably didn’t bode well for the weird guy. When the master was done speaking to the guard, the guard actually saluted the large dwarf. The guard strode over to the strange man and grabbed him roughly by the arm and wrenched it behind him. The human let out a strangled noise of pain at the movement. Holding the arm of the man behind his back in a bar, the guard began force-marching the slave out of the market in the direction of the gate. Despite everything that had happened to him so far, Walter felt an ounce of pity for the man.

“Hmph. Good on you, My Lord.” Walter heard Master Horsoun say with approval in his voice. “Come along, boy.”

Walter followed dutifully as his master began to walk towards his destination again. As he left the scene of the accident, he caught sight of the huge dwarf’s face. It was twisted strangely, gazing in the direction that the slave had been taken in.

Walter tried not to think too deeply on it. Like most things, these days.

Better to just be numb to it all.

……………………………………...

Later that day, Walter stumbled into the slave barracks, exhausted. His master had driven him hard. He’d been hauling goods and packages for Master Horsoun to and from the post office all day. He had no idea why his master needed so much junk, and he didn’t dare ask.

Flopping onto his patchy woolen bunk in the barracks, he let out a sigh. He hadn’t eaten since his meager breakfast at first bell, and he was starving. It was near sundown, and he knew that the next meal would be just as meager. At least it would be soon, he’d learned that they typically served dinner around this time. He just needed to wait for the rest of the field slaves to come in, and then the overseers would ring the dinner bell. He closed his eyes to rest until then.

As he was dozing, a hand shook his shoulder. Groggily opening his eyes, Walter followed the hand up to its owner. It was Mr. Matheson, one of the only other survivors from his caravan.

“Up, boy.” Mr. Matheson said gruffly. Henry Matheson was a large man, built from a lifetime of labor on a farm back home. Walter supposed his size was what had saved his life in the end. A large, strong-looking slave was more likely to sell, after all. “You slept right through the dinner bell.”

Fully awake now, Walter sat up in his bunk. He looked up at Mr. Matheson. “When did you get in?” He asked him. As far as he knew, Mr. Matheson had been assigned to work the fields.

Mr. Matheson scowled slightly, reaching up to fiddle with his slave collar absentmindedly. “Not long ago. I figured a green boy like you couldn’t handle a real day’s work, and came to find you.” He said gruffly. Walter didn’t take it personally. Mr. Matheson had tried to look out for him as best he could since they’d been sold. “Foods ready.” He told Walter, turning around and striding to the entrance of the barracks they’d been assigned to.

With a groan, Walter sat up and followed him. Exiting the barracks, he found most of the slaves standing in line for their bowl of thin stew. Shuffling into line, Walter settled in to wait for his turn. Before long, he’d received his meal for the night and bowed his head in thanks for the food, as his mother had taught him. The overseer didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Holding his stew close to his chest protectively, Walter searched for a place to eat it safely. He found that Mr. Matheson had saved a spot for him near the bonfire that was in the middle of the circle of slave barracks. He made his way over to Mr. Matheson and dug into his food without a word. Mr. Matheson didn’t acknowledge him either.

When he was finished with his dinner, Walter merely stared blankly into his empty wooden food bowl. He didn’t know how long he sat there next to Mr. Matheson, as blissfully numb to the world as he was. Walter jerked out of his empty-mindedness when he felt a nudge on his shoulder. Turning to face it, he found it had been Mr. Matheson.

“Look at that.” Mr. Matheson said, pointing. Walter followed his finger. With a start, he saw that Mr. Matheson was pointing at the weird guy from earlier that morning.

The guy looked rough. He had a large, visible bruise across half of his face, overlaying the fresh-looking scar on his left cheek. He was visibly dirty and looked nearly dead on his feet. Despite that, the weird guy was going from person to person and asking something. Everyone that the guy spoke to either ignored him or was telling him to fuck off. Walter understood. Everyone was tired. They just wanted to eat their food and relax as much as they could, before they had to exhaust themselves again tomorrow.

“What does he want?” Walter asked Mr. Matheson, curious despite himself.

Mr. Matheson grunted. “He was put in the fields with us today. Damn near worthless, he was. He kept going around and askin’ if anyone would be willin’ to teach him Wildshaping.”

Walter was surprised. He studied the man again before turning back to Mr. Matheson. “He doesn’t have his Professions?” Walter was only sixteen, and he already had both of his Professions. That guy was definitely older than him.

Mr. Matheson shrugged. “Guess not. Danvers was probably wrong. That guy ain’t no spy.” He paused a moment before continuing. “Might’ve been Unawakened after all.” There was naked pity in his voice.

Walter turned back to study the stranger. Slowly, he became aware that a feeling had made its way past his wall of numbness. “What’s his name?” He asked Mr. Matheson, still watching the weird guy.

“Said it was Nathan.” Mr. Matheson said, off to his right.

Slowly getting to his feet, Walter set his empty food bowl on the log that he had been sitting on. Before he could go anywhere, he felt a large hand grab his wrist. Turning to face it, he found that Mr. Matheson was looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Don’t know if that’s a good idea, boy.” The large man said softly. “Best not to get mixed up with his business.”

Walter felt angry despite himself. “He’s not going to last long if he doesn’t have his Professions.” He whispered furiously to Mr. Matheson.

Mr. Matheson sighed. “Are any of us?” He asked under his voice. He let go of Walter's wrist abruptly. “Go on then. I’m not your father.”

Walter staggered slightly, before getting his feet under himself steadily. He turned in the direction of the weird guy, Nathan, and started making his way over to him without another word.

The guy had taken a seat on one of the logs in between one of the barracks and put his head in his hands. Walking over to him, Walter sat next to him with a thump. The man jerked upright and turned to face Walter with a wild look on his face. However, when his eyes met Walters, a look of recognition spread across his face.

“You…” The man said slowly. “Were you…?”

Walter looked away from the man and down at his clasped hands. “Yes.” He said simply. He didn’t need to say anything else. The man clearly understood. With a sigh, the man dragged a hand down his face, before wincing when his motion upset the bruise upon it.

“Can I help you?” The man said tiredly.

Walter looked back up at the man. “Um. I heard you were looking for someone to teach you Wildshaping?” He asked hesitantly.

The man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Are you offering?” He asked, shocked.

Walter nodded nonverbally.

The man took a breath and let it out, clearly relieved. “What’s your name?” He asked Walter, extending a hand.

Walter looked at the hand for a few moments before slowly taking it in his own. “Walter Meyers.” He said softly, not looking the man in the eye.

The man shook hands with him once before letting go. “Nathan Hart. It’s nice to meet you, Walter.”

Walter mumbled something in response. Even he wasn’t sure what he said.

Mr. Hart nodded as if he understood, nonetheless.

The two sat in awkward silence for a moment before Walter broke it. He limply extended his hand again. “Do you want to…?” He asked questioningly.

“Yeah.” Mr. Hart said firmly. “I do.” He took Walter’s hand in his again.

Walter looked up at the man finally and met his eyes. Absentmindedly, he noted that they were green. Walter took a deep breath before speaking again. “Do you-” His voice broke. Walter cleared his throat, embarrassed. Mr. Hart just waited patiently. “Do you wish to learn Wildshaping?”

“I do.” Mr. Hart said decisively.

A brief spark in between their clasped hands.

Mr. Hart visibly relaxed once they’d dropped their hands. “Thank you, Walter.” He said sincerely. “I won’t forget this.”

“It’s fine,” Walter mumbled, looking down to study his feet.

“No.” Mr. Hart said resolutely. Walter jerked his head up at that. He saw that Mr. Hart had clenched his jaw. “I mean it when I say, I will not forget this. You were the only one to give me the time of day, and I didn’t even have to come to you.” Mr. Hart stretched out a hand to lay on Walter’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Walter.”

Walter's eyes welled up, against his will. Not even his father had acknowledged him as a man before he’d died trying to negotiate with the elves. Desperately, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Despite the situation we find ourselves in.” Mr. Hart said soothingly to Walter. “I really believe that we can’t let ourselves sink to their level. They’re trying to beat the empathy out of us. It’s what all of this,” He said, waving an arm around himself at the slave grounds. “Is about. They want us to become something less than human. Nothing but unthinking, unfeeling machines to do their labor for them. Don’t let them turn you into that, Walter.” He finished, before losing some of his confidence and flushing. “At least, that’s what I think.”

Walter got his emotions under control. He looked back up at Mr. Hart with eyes red from tears. “Thank you. I-I’ll try.”

Mr. Hart nodded back at him with a smile. He got to his feet with a groan, twisting back and forth to let several audible cracks sound from the small of his back. He extended a hand down to Walter. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. I’m about ready to hit the hay.” He told Walter.

Walter nodded and then hesitated. “Do you…? Know where you’re going to sleep tonight? Did they assign you a bunk?”

Mr. Hart shook his head. “No, they didn’t. And I was being literal about that hay, anyway. The guard told me to just sleep in the hay pile near the overseer’s barracks.” He said, pointing a thumb at the visibly nicer building off to the side of the circle of slave barracks. He paused a moment, before bringing a hand up to his bruised cheek. “Well, after he gave me this. Anyway, I’m not sticking around here. The guards are going to be taking me back to my ‘master’,” His face twisted slightly at the word. “In the morning.”

“Oh,” Walter said, slightly disappointed. He couldn’t help but feel that he had connected with Mr. Hart, and had been looking forward to maybe having a new friend.

Mr. Hart must have sensed this because he put a hand on Walter’s shoulder again. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Like I said, I won’t forget what you did for me.”

Walter nodded, embarrassed that Mr. Hart had seen right through him.

“Well, goodnight, Walter.” Mr. Hart said. With a final nod at him, Mr. Hart started walking in the direction of the overseer’s barracks.

Walter watched him go for a moment, before deciding to copy him and go to sleep. He walked past the bonfire that Mr. Matheson was still sitting at and gave him a nod. Mr. Matheson nodded back. Reaching the barracks that he’d been assigned to, Walter meandered over to his bunk and flopped into it, just as he had earlier. This time, however, he got under the paper-thin sheets. Settling down in his bunk to go to sleep, Walter felt better than he had in days. At least, mentally.

Don’t lose his empathy, huh. Walter felt that his mother would have approved of Mr. Hart.

Father would have probably hated him, though.

With that comforting thought, Walter fell asleep.