Sorry it took me so long to update. Hopefully, it won't happen again. Also, since I have multiple stories now, the length will be cut down to around six thousand words or less so I can update more regularly.
"Nmaskaar, mera naam elan vaakar hai. Aaj aap kaise hain," Allen said with more than a little difficulty as he huffed for breath. With every word, he dipped down and felt his triceps burn in effort while sweat dripped from his chest to his chin and then into his eyes because his teenage body hated him. His feet were planted on the wall while his hands kept him propped up.
Allen was feeling the pain but he wasn't seeing any gains.
The only reaction Natasha gave to Allen butchering the language was a quick blink of her eyes before giving him a thin smile.
"Much better ma-'lord," she said kindly, brushing over her mistake of nearly calling him master. Normally, Allen would insist on her just calling him Allen, but she nearly had a mental breakdown when he offered the morning after the revolt. Until she stopped struggling to stop saying master, he would let her take her time adjusting to calling him by his 'title' or until she gave him enough of a reason to insist that she call him by his name.
"However, you are still moving your lips too much. Low valarien focuses more on the tongue," she said, reminding him for the thousandth time. Really, this girl had the patience of a saint because they've been at this for hours, barely getting past the first phrase, yet she wasn't ripping her hair out by the handfuls or screaming her frustrations to the heavens. Very impressive.
"Namaskaar, mera naam elan vaakar hai. Aaj aap kaise hain," Allen said, much more slowly and taking great care to keep the movement of his lips to a minimum. It sounded miles better since Allen could speak individual words with less difficulty but he could hardly hold a conversation when it took him a minute to speak each sentence.
It was a right pain in the arse, especially when there were so many other skills he could be grinding or re-creating, but he needed to learn the language of the land. As much of a pain, this was, having a language barrier would be an even greater one. Sure, he could understand them well enough thanks to Subtitles, but if Natasha decided to go her separate way then he'd loose his only method of communication.
Language Mastery has leveled up!
Knowledge of Low has leveled up!
Due to deep thinking about the future and problem solving, Wisdom has gone up by 1.
The information appeared to the front of Allen's mind before fading away with a blink of his eyes. He repressed a sigh at it, despite making progress, Allen hated the snail's pace it felt like he was moving. In reality, he was going at a breakneck pace compared to his first time around; it had taken him a whole two weeks to start creating useful skills, not counting dishwashing.
However, it was just very frustrating not having his bonuses for shorter grinding times or still having to progress at a normal pace when he already knew how to do things. Take learning languages for example; Remnant only had four, not counting dead languages, since there were only four kingdoms left in the world, but after he mastered one learning the remaining three had been a breeze due to language mastery leveling up. By the time he learned the last one, it only took a few days and he was speaking it like a native.
Now those bonuses were gone, he only managed to learn a handful of words in the same time.
'I really took those buffs for granted,' Allen thought with a mental sigh. All too often he had complained that a skill didn't give him the buff he deserved for the level he had...if only he knew...
"Much better," Natasha gently encouraged. "Try again, except this time try to say it a little faster," she said and Allen opened his mouth to do so when the door to the captain quarters was thrown open, which was now Allen's after cleaning the place up. Meaning throwing the corpse overboard and replacing the bed with an inflatable mattress before ransacking the room in search of Alim's hidden stash of gold, which was hidden in a false drawer.
Allen still didn't know how much money was worth here, but he currently has thirteen gold dragons, a few hundred silver, and even more bronze pence. Bronn seemed impressed, so Allen was taking that as a good sign.
Back to matters at hand, Allen's door was carelessly thrown open before Bronn strolled into the room. He gave a cocky smirk to Allen that slid off his face as he saw Natasha was sitting next to him. The two glared at each other but Allen cleared his throat before either of them could kick off a fight, knowing that this one could get physical since neither were restrained.
"The slavers are trying ta surrender," Bronn said casually, tearing his eyes from Natasha, though he made sure to have his gaze linger at the start of the sentence. Out of the corner of his eye, Allen saw Natasha's knuckles turn white.
Ignoring it for now, Allen frowned, "it's only been four days." It took three days for starvation to start and the slavers had a little food from what Natasha said. Even if they ate it in the few days before the revolt, Allen expected them to hold out for a lot longer than this.
"Have they tried getting to the food again," he questioned as he shifted his weight, dipping down again. The first time was in the afternoon of the first day during a lull in the fighting. They realized that they were truly trapped and since they didn't know how many had died, they also assumed they were outnumbered. When Allen didn't press the attack, though he did remove the corpses to show that they would be pincered if he chose to attack, they correctly assumed he was going to starve them into a surrender and tried to steal some food. They lost another defender, but they kept the food out of their hands.
"No, they haven't," Bronn said with a shrug not thinking too much of it. After he gutted the slaver, he assumed that the message got across that there was a blood price to be paid if they wanted to eat.
"I don't like it. It's a trap," Allen deduced with a fair amount of ease. It's what he would do if he was in their position. Fake a surrender and make a break for it when they opened the door; their chances of survival weren't exactly high but they were greater than the certainty of starving to death.
"Aye, that's what I thought but we've been eating in front of them for a few days now. They're hungry and the only thing they have to eat are the corpses," Bronn said with another shrug. "None of them look like they've gone hungry fer this long before, so I think they just broke." He informed and Allen debated that in his head for a moment.
He had never gone hungry before, not truly hungry. Not the kind where your stomach curls into itself and growls the message, 'eat something, we're dying.' Even the few times he did go a day or two without food, he never felt hunger because of Gamer Body. He still ate plenty but that was more out of habit or appeasing his sweet tooth.
"You sure?" Allen questioned before he kicked off the wall and let gravity carry him until his feet touched the floor again. His triceps burned for a moment before the pain faded and Allen was disappointed by the lack of information that Strength had gone up. He had been at it for hours!
Bronn seemed to think about it for a moment, considering his answer before he nodded with certainty. "aye, I'm sure of it. Folk can starve for weeks if they ain't got a choice but dangle some food in front of them and they'll cave sooner than later."
"Fair enough," Allen admitted, "get the others and get ready in case they make a break for it. Have four down below while the rest stay up top," Allen ordered as he shrugged on a shirt. Bronn nodded, stepping outside and began barking orders in a way that would make a drill sergeant proud.
Fitting his head through the hole, Allen caught a glimpse of Natasha looking at him intently, or rather the jagged patch of pale flesh right above his heart, before glancing down at the table top in an attempt to hide the fact she was staring. Allen didn't say anything as he put his arms through the holes, he wouldn't until Natasha brought the subject up.
Allen learned that sometimes it's better to let people bring up subjects at their own pace. Bronn had...accepted...the fact that he could make objects appear out of thin air while Natasha saw him get skewered and be perfectly fine moments later. If-when, they brought it up, he would be perfectly happy to lie his cute little ass off about his abilities to put their minds at ease. Until then, they could think on it as much as they like.
After making sure that he put his shirt on properly, far too many embarrassing incidences for him not to, he walked out the door with Natasha trying to replace his shadow. Ever since the revolt and after she was done crying her eyes out, she was all but attached to his hip.
He didn't mind, not when she was also teaching him how to speak the language of the land, and not when she was wearing so little. Natasha was attractive; no other way to say it. Red hair, bright blue eyes, light freckles that made it endearing, a kissable mouth and cheekbones that some women would murder for. As for her attire, it was one long strip of cloth that was faintly see through. Down her back, it made a giant V that dipped so low the dimple where her spine met her hips was visible while the two stripes were pulled forward to 'cover' her breasts before it was all tied down with a simple string at her waist.
The rest of it went down to her ankles, but it did little to cover her modesty. Her entire sides were exposed to the elements, not even connecting at the hip, and Allen knew the reason for it. Easy access to the, ah, tools of her trade.
She was beautiful and she was doing wonders for the image he was trying to cultivate.
As Allen walked onto the deck, he thought about another reason that he didn't mind her sticking so close. Those on the deck looked at him with respect, awe even, but when they saw Natasha, their eyes were quick to narrow into glares. Some of them were filled with anger for her involvement with both the slavers and her betrayal of them. In the others, there was lust mixed with anger.
That was a very dangerous combination, so Allen made sure that Natasha was in his sight at all times.
Allen walked to the floor door and gazed down at it. In the evening sun, he saw a bald slaver look up at him with sunken in eyes that were almost pitiful. Upon seeing Allen, he swallowed thickly and Allen could almost feel it himself how dry his throat was.
[We wish to surrender, m'lord,] He said in a raspy voice and Allen frowned lightly. Apparently, Bonn was right, four days of no food or water had a greater effect than he realized. He looked terrible, weak even, thought Allen made sure not to underestimate what a desperate man was capable of.
After all, more often than not, Allen had been the desperate man.
"Tell him that I accept his surrender. They will be allowed up one at a time to be bound. Once they are all secure, they will be given food and water," Allen said in a neutral tone as Natasha repeated his orders to the slaver. Something flashed in his eyes and Allen repressed a small smirk.
"If any of them resist, we'll wait another three days. Either they eat their dead or be too weak once we come down there and slit their throats," he tacked on and Natasha didn't even bat an eyelash as she relayed the message. That got a reaction out of the slaver, grimacing so hard that several drops of sweat fell off his face.
Having spent a few days in the hold himself, Allen could attest to how hot it became in the ship. It was a solid ninety degrees outside but in the ship it had felt even hotter. One would think it would be cooler because of the shade, but it was a lot like sitting in a car in the heat with the air conditioner off for several days.
The more he thought about it, the more he understood why they were surrendering so quickly.
[You're a right cunt, but aye, we accept. Do we have yer word than we won't be harmed?]
"Tell him no. I can only promise that they won't receive worse than what they deserve," Allen answered, his face blank as he stared down at the slaver dully. The slaver met his gaze as Natasha repeated his words for a long moment before he looked away muttering a few choice words underneath his breath.
Allen wasn't sure what it was about his gaze that unsettled people so. He stared at himself for hours on end just to try to figure it out but he never did. However, every time he settled his heavy gaze that told the receiver that he was done with their shit, almost every single time they backed down. The few who didn't were those that had a gaze to match his own.
Still looking away, the slaver nodded and Allen allowed himself a small grin. It was a lot like a scimitar; curved and sharp.
"All of you, get ready. Bronn and Clyde," Bronn and a young man snapped to attention, "lift up the gate enough that he can slip through. If they try anything, pin him." He ordered and the two men walked on either side of the floor door, each grabbing an edge.
Allen grabbed a thin rope that they kept up here for when they did surrender before giving Bronn a small nod. With that, they lifted the door a few inches, a sign for the slaver to squeeze through, though Allen could only imagine that this wasn't going to how he had planned it. With a half dozen weapons aimed at him, the slaver slipped through the small opening before Bronn and Clyde closed it.
The slaver held out his hands, doing his best to seem intimidating, but that stopped when Allen began trying his hands. He wrapped the rope around his thumbs and in between his fingers; not only would it be very uncomfortable, but it would stop him from loosening the knots until they could afford to put the chains on them.
The slaver grunted in discomfort as he finished the knot and Allen gave him a pat on the cheek, a universal smile on his face as he did so. The one that said, 'I won and you lost.'
One he was done, Allen passed him to one of his...underlings? Minions? Yeah, minions, he passed the slaver to one of his minions, who kept a spear at his throat before tying him to the railing. Once he was secure, not looking too happy about any of this, Allen nodded at Bronn, who lifted the floor door in response.
The process repeated itself for what felt like an hour. Until there was a row of slavers, all very secure and tied to the railing.
Cocking his head to the side, he summoned his mini map. There were another three red arrows bellow them, yet no one was stepping forward to surrender.
"Is that everyone," Allen asked but he knew the answer. The first slaver confirmed that they were all up here, so Allen had to fight to keep the smile off his face.
The slavers plan was easily guessed. Once they went down with their fellow slavers the remaining three would ambush them, free the slavers before rushing up. They knew most of them hadn't used a sword before and if they got to the top deck, then they would loose the battle. Depending how many Allen sent down with the slavers, they could tip the numbers back in their favor.
It was actually a decent plan, especially considering how narrow the fighting space was and that they had all the bows and arrows. It would have worked if Allen wasn't such a suspicious bastard or had a nifty enemy detection device.
"Bronn, there's three more down there. Find something that you can use as a shield, and grab one for me too. We'll take care of the stragglers," Allen ordered and Bronn just sighed as he shook his head.
"And how in the seven hells do you know that?" He asked but based on his tone, Allen could tell that he wasn't expecting an answer. Smart of him.
"Because I know everything not counting the things I don't know," he answered and earned an exasperated eye roll from his bodyguard.
"Right of course," Bronn muttered as he started his search for a makeshift shield. "Why did I expect anything different," he wondered to himself as he walked away.
Thoroughly amused, Allen turned his attention to Natasha. "Will you be accompanying me down or will you stay in the captain's quarters?" He asked, an unspoken implication that she couldn't stay out on the deck present. Not that it even needed to be there because he barely managed to finish his sentence before she answered.
"If I may, I will go with you, m'lord," she said quickly, gladly facing the prospect of an ambush over spending any time alone with Allen's minions. Not exactly surprising.
Bronn came back a minute later, carrying two shield-like planks of wood that were ripped out of the side of the ship. He was going to have to put a stop to that since this was now his ship and he didn't fancy swimming the rest of the way to Myr.
As if his eyes were drawn to it, he looked up and gazed out to the land mass in the distance. There was a spec of white and Allen knew it was the city of Myr. It was too far to tell, but it seemed nice enough. The water was a lovely shade of blue, the beaches were white and the city seemed large and rich on his map filters. Despite knowing better, Allen decided to hold out some hope that all of this would be worth it once he got there.
Taking the shield, Allen opted to pull out his pocket knife from his pocket. A spear wouldn't do much good in confined spaces. Bronn pulled out his sword, which he got back from a slaver that tried to kill him with it. Natasha, on the other hand, pulled out a dagger and awkwardly held it her hands, trying to copy how Allen was holding his.
"Alrightly then. Let's kill these three and were off to Myr," he said to Bronn but when he glanced up at the rest of his minions, he said. "We'll dock at Myr and all of you will be given coin to return home. Oh, and I'll personally make sure that the boats you get on aren't slave ships," he added as he gestured for Clyde to open the door.
His minions wished him well, their gratitude flowing like water from their lips as Allen descended first. It continued until he gestured for Clyde to close the door once Bronn and Natasha were clear.
With his eye's trained on his mini-map, he saw that there was one on his right while the other two were on his left. Given the layout, the one on the right had to have the crossbow while the other two would attack in the behind when they turned to face them. Again, a fairly decent plan. It might have worked on anyone else.
Behind his back, he held up a finger and pointed it to the right as he nodded at Bronn. He got the message and answered it with a nod. Natasha patiently waited for her orders and Allen realized she fully expected to take part in the fight.
Allen glanced at her level again and saw that she was only thirteen. Still higher than him, but not high enough.
He shook his head and pointed at her and then to the ground. Her jaw twitched, unhappy about that but years of training kept her from showing it. Allen gave her a half smile before he picked up her hand and used his thumb to space out her fingers to a proper grip. Natasha looked confused for a moment before she came to the conclusion that she was guarding the stairs. Allen let her believe it instead of him not trusting her.
Natasha didn't voice it, didn't say anything at all about it, but Allen went out on a limb and guessed that she suffered a great deal at the slavers hands. People liked to believe it was easy confronting your tormenters but they couldn't be more wrong. If it were easy then they wouldn't have tormenters in the first place. Allen didn't want to risk her freezing up, at best, or planting the knife in his spine out of instinctual fear or out of habit if one gave the order.
Giving Bronn another nod, he went right and Allen went left.
Thunk
Thunk
Allen brought the shield up in time and blinked in surprise as a bolt punched through it while another tried to find it's way to his gut.
'Huh, I had it backward,' Allen thought with some surprise, idly thinking that was much less effective before he lowered the shield past his eyes. It was just in time to see the slavers reach over and grab two preloaded crossbows. Okay, that was clever. He'd give them that much.
Quickly charging into the room he tried to close the distance before they could fire off another shot. However, before he could even cross half of it, another bolt slammed into his makeshift shield, right in a split and ended it's short lived life. The second bolt came a moment after, just long enough that the shield was broken and slammed into his arm.
Allen grunted in pain but he ignored it long enough to sling the ruined shield at the two men, smacking one of them in the head. The other one was unharmed and met him as his friend recovered with a spear. A poor choice.
Allen grabbed just below the head of the spear, ignoring the flash of pain in his bicep, before pushing it away from him. The slaver took a half step backward, not expecting for Allen to slip behind his guard so quickly. It was too little and too late, Allen stabbed him in the stomach once and the slaver let out a howl, but he still managed to wrap his hands around Allen's throat in an attempt to choke the life out of him with his final act.
He ended that by kicking the slaver in the balls, getting his grip to loosen a fraction before stabbing him in the throat. As the slaver gargled on his own blood, Allen tried to throw him at the remaining slaver but the best he managed was an awkward shove in his direction. Though, it was lucky that he did because the blade of a cutlass sliced into the slavers collarbone, earning another scream.
Ignoring the scream of pain that sounded like it was happening underwater, Allen grabbed the blade and shoved the soon to be corpse with his shoulder. Allen drove the last slaver into the corner, the man cursing all the way as he smacked into wood.
Allen was about to stab him in the face, intending to end the long stream of curses that were coming out his mouth but stopped when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The slaver that Bronn was meant to kill was standing behind him, a bloodless sword ready to be plunged into him.
"Shit," Allen muttered, preparing himself for the pain. Depending on where he was stabbed, he might still survive this. Hopefully, he would go for the gut, he had enough health that he could survive it, probably. It would be close but-
The slaver let out a strangled cry before he turned, revealing Natasha. The slaver cursed and Allen saw that her dagger was stuck into his back, yet his face showed something he hadn't been expecting. Betrayal? Whatever it was, it quickly turned to anger as the salver raised a fist and hit her so hard that her head snapped to the side before falling to the ground unconscious.
Allen didn't waste time, letting go of the cutlass blade he tossed his pocket knife into his newly free hand and stabbed the slaver in the heart as he turned around to finish him off. He looked down at in confusion for a moment, dropping his cutlass to touch it lightly before Allen yanked it out and gave him a kick. The slaver collapsed like a sack of potatoes, letting Allen turn his attention to the last slaver.
With his cutlass still buried in the slaver that was almost dead, Allen curled his hand into a fist and used Power Strike on his face. His nose flattened in a spray of blood, like a water balloon that had a brick dropped on it. Allen used it again, and again, and another time to be sure before he took a step backward.
The two men collapsed, one dead and the other unconscious. Shaking his fist lightly, he noticed that the bolt was still in his bicep. Seeing that his hand was bloody and not wanting hep C, Allen used his teeth to pull it out. Only then did he pay any attention to the windows that appeared during the fight.
Shields Mastery lvl 1 exp: 0%- using an object, in some cases people, to protect you from harm.
Dagger Mastery has leveled up by 1!
Physical Endurance has leveled up by 1! 1% more damage will be reduced from physical damage.
"That went as well as expected," he muttered to himself before he walked over to Natasha, who's eyes fluttered beneath her eyelids, showing that she was still alive. A bruise was forming around her eyes, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage. Allen picked her up bridal style, sending a curious glance at the corpse next to her before he pushed his thoughts away for more pressing matters.
Stepping into the room that Bronn had fought, he saw the sell-sword laying on the floor. At first, Allen thought he might be dead, but he heard a faint groan coming from him. Much like Natasha, a bruise was going to find its way around his eye. That was good. They were both alive...meaning that slaver had spared them both.
All it would have taken was a simple stab once Bronn was unconscious or using the sword in his hand instead of his fist to kill Natasha.
Yet, Allen killed him...
He let out a sigh as he lightly kicked Bronn so he'd wake up. There was no point in crying over spilled milk and the man was still a slaver, regardless if he wasn't a killer. One good deed didn't wash away a lifetime of wrongs, sparing two people didn't absolve him of selling countless others into slavery. He might not have been a killer, but he was still a slaver so Allen didn't regret killing him in the slightest.
"Wha-?" Bronn muttered, confused as to why he was drooling on the floor before it all came rushing back to him in an instant. He reached for his sword as he rolled to his feet, recovering from his unconsciousness quickly but lowered the weapon when he saw Allen standing there, one eyebrow raised and a grin playing at his lips.
"Is it over?" He asked and only lowered his sword when Allen nodded. A slow creeping blush was making it up his neck, showing that he was thoroughly embarrassed, though he was trying to hide it, that he had been defeated. It was just bad for business; Bronn knew he was young by most people's standards, though he was a few years away from being a man, so it made getting people to take him seriously, read giving him a job, much more difficult.
However, seeing him in such a pitiful state...?
"How'd that happen?" Allen asked as he shifted Natasha in his arms when he noticed some of his blood was getting on her...dress.
Bronn did his best not to fidget where he stood, he had plenty of practice thanks to his sack of shit dad. "I was expectin for him to shoot with an arrow since he was the only one on that side. He didn't have one and he knocked me on my ass," Bronn explained a little too quickly.
Ohhhh...! They had been doing the unexpected thing, making it an even better plan. Good on them, it wasn't often that Allen was outsmarted, though it was mostly because his intelligence was in the single digits. At least that was the story he was going with.
"Make sure it doesn't happen again. The next guy you lose to won't be so nice," Allen warned and Bronn nodded his head, a lot like a child agreeing with a scolding. Bronn seemed to have gotten the point, so Allen wasn't going to press the issue. Considering that Bronn was meant to be his bodyguard, and his number one minion, he wouldn't allow this again, even if Bronn was just, technically, a child.
There was remarkably little point in paying someone to protect him if he wasn't being protected.
"Now, come on. Let's deal with the rest of them," Allen said as he began walking up the stairs. With a quick confirmation that the deed was done, the door was thrown open and his minions rejoiced of his victory. The tied up slavers, which looked a little more bloodied than he remembered, despaired that their plan hadn't worked.
"Put them in chains," he ordered over his shoulder as he walked towards the captains quarters. His minions scurried to obey and the shuffling of feet disappear when Allen closed the door behind him. He went to put Natasha on his inflatable bed, but she stirred when he was removing his arms.
She groaned lightly before she forced her eyes open, ignoring the flash of pain that felt like she was being stabbed in the eyes, "master?" She muttered, her vision clearing in one eye but the other was beginning to swell.
"Nope. Just me, Allen," he informed with a grin before he finished removing his arms. However, before he could withdraw one, she grabbed his wrist with the strength of a newborn. Allen could have broken her grasp on accident, so he stilled as she looked up at him with pleading eyes.
"Durzo...did I kill him?" She asked in a small voice and Allen had a name to go with the face.
"No. I did," he said and Natasha only blinked in response.
"Oh...," the word slipped out of her mouth as she let go of his wrist. Allen didn't know what to make of that reaction. She clearly cared that he was dead, but there weren't any tears nor did she look particularly broken up about it. Out of curiosity, Allen asked who he was.
"He was A-Alim's first mate...he was...nice," she explained with a small shrug. "He stopped the others when they got too rough or when they used me for too long. He always made sure that I had moon tea so I wouldn't have to carry their child..." she said almost wistfully. Allen felt a pang of guilt try to rise before he crushed it mercilessly. Durzo might have been a niceish guy but he wasn't a good one.
"I think he loved me," she added, earning a look of surprise from Allen. Natasha blushed, her eyes darting down as she continued, "as much as he could. I was everyone's whore...but he treated me like I was his lover." Natasha finished her tone blank.
"Are you mad that I killed him," Allen asked, thinking that if she was then she sure wasn't acting like it.
Natasha shook her head, "no, ma-'lord. But...was his death quick," she asked, looking back up at Allen.
"Yeah, it was. Anything through the heart kills you pretty quick," he said, absent mindedly rubbing his heart. He could attest to that; though, his death had more been because he took an anti-tank missile to the chest rather than his heart being pierced. At least it hadn't exploded, that would have been a mess.
The motion wasn't lost on Natasha, who opened her mouth to ask about the scar that she saw but quickly closed it. It wasn't a slaves place to question their master.
Seeing that she wasn't going to ask, Allen grabbed a wet towel from his inventory and cleaned off his hands. "I have to go deal with the slavers, but real quick; why did Alim have his canine teeth ripped out?" He asked on a hunch. When he was up and close with the other slavers, he saw that they were also missing their canine teeth.
"It marks them as slavers, so they can't be captured and sold," she explained, resisting the urge to touch her cheek that marked her as a pleasure slave.
"That's what I thought...," Allen hummed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of pliers. "Well, in that case, things might get a little messy. Do ignore any screams you might hear and try to get some rest," he informed, doing nothing to alleviate the slowing growing pit of nervousness Natasha felt form in her stomach.
"Toodles," he waved goodbye before closing the door.
