But for a Slime

Chapter One Hundred Twenty One

Ilyelanralo burned with rage for the first time. This eccentric plays with my responsibilities! He Must… he WILL learn his place! Ilyelanralo had cried out several times, even given the bait almost a small bell of time to return, but still he did not come. Rage grew and burned and finally he cried out once again.

"All slaves, return now!"

The guards, trained and taught to echo the command at the perfect beat following his cry echoed out the same, shouting in time with Ilyelanralo's cry to reinforce and increase its volume, "Return now!"

But, their shout snapped Ilyelanralo's last patience and he cut them all off with a burning hatred, "Silence! Do not shout or overtop my cry!"

Ilyelanralo glared around at the other guards before bellowing out again, "All slaves, return now! Mustering yard!"

Ilyelanralo waited, but heard no returning footsteps and struggled to maintain the propriety of his station even as he stared down with imperious rage upon those beneath him. The rest cowered before him, as they should. And even the few that had aligned themselves to the eccentric were wise enough to keep respectful silent attention. The eccentric, however, continued to play the fool, gaze easily distracted and no respect given as he stood lazily and without concern. Rage spiked, and Ilyelanralo almost allowed his anger to take him. His teeth ground together in absolute frustration even as he closed his eyes to try and regain control before he snapped them open again and glanced at his primary slave guard.

"Bring me the eccentric's controller!"

A guard scrambled off back to his villa while Ilyelanralo turned back to the crowd, "Our resident eccentric believes he is clever. He believes he can beat me. He believes he can beat dozens of galyears of slave guild and collar artifacts. He will learn that such a belief is foolish. Shall we teach this to him?"

Ilyelanralo allowed his vindictive glee to shine through as he looked across the crowd of slaves in the mustering yard, all but one despairing.

* * *

Joe watched on as the slave master grew angrier until he began shouting at everyone. Maintaining his disinterested insanity was simple and ignoring the itch to obey burned just at the edge of what was acceptable. The slave master never asked, so he could continue to keep his mouth shut. To distract himself, he began keeping an eye on those around him as well as the slave master. Worry grew as he noted how disturbed or enraged some of the slaves were getting. It got even worse when he quickly noticed the vindictive glee of the slave master. This… isn't going to be good. Even as he knew it was going to be bad, the immediacy of the moment hammered home the reality; knowledge becoming real adding fear and nervous tension.

The slave guard the slave master had sent running came back with the tool that was used against him and Joe struggled to keep his face passive. Not going to be good! Joe struggled to maintain his passivity even as the slave continued haranguing the crowd. Then, it began.

Joe collapsed to the ground even as the slave master used his controller to inflict pain. He twisted up into a fetal curl but fought to maintain awareness and quickly noticed that some of the slaves were on the ground in pain like him and some were moaning in pleasure. The pain lasted a long, long time and it clouded his mind, making it difficult for him to think. However, the pain numbed and soon his mind began to clear, slightly, and he quickly realized that those in pain were the ones who sided with him. The rest got pleasure rewarded. Joe breathed deeply, focusing, and the pain faded into the background even as he maintained the fiction of the amount of pain he was actually experiencing. Pain titles working … I guess…

Joe basically worked to duplicate the painful performances of those around him and then kind of just let himself go into the experience. Zero out of ten, would not recommend… Joe stifled the chuckle to himself. Ironically, the longer it went on, the easer and easer it got for Joe, pain becoming a kind of burning itch more than anything else. Despite the reduction of the actual pain, something was happening in the collar that essentially locked him up, bodily. That did not make him happy, so he began working against it, mainly only trying to control the way his limbs moved.

As luck would have it, the slave master was incredibly angry and the session went on for some time taking up most of the morning. Lots of time to practice… thanks man… Sarcasm quickly became a refuge, the feeling of mockery giving him some subtle sense of superiority and strength to add to his resistance. Still, he kept most of his focus on the others and matched his performance to theirs.

Finally, the event ended, the slave master still in a cold rage, but he turned away and returned to his villa. The rest lay panting on the floor in pain or pleasure and a lot of exhaustion. Joe did not move, moaning and rolling around similar to the rest. The first few began to rise, but he waited until he was in the middle of the pack and one of the last of those who had pain inflicted upon them. Then, things quickly went back to normal. A completely screwed up and unpleasant normal. And deep within Joe a small kernel of glee and vindictive success hardened within his rage.

* * *

Things really didn't change much after that except that Joe now wandered the camp multiple times each day, whittling and practicing his mana, albeit personal and not system. He even began to add in some exercises for his arms, unique skills and abilities now that he no longer had legs. And throughout it all, a certain lightness buoyed him up. He'd gotten one over on the slave master and that gave him hope and joy much more than anything else. It wasn't much, but it didn't need to be for on the other fronts, Joe found himself stymied. He wasn't finding any new information about the collars nor was he able to do much of anything with them. Any attempt to use mana on them incapacitated him, no matter what he tried, and nobody was bringing out any of the collar balls or speaking about them. He also couldn't think of any new meaningful ways to seek freedom, and soon was growing both frustrated and anxious. He couldn't sneak away to the dungeon very often, many of the guards now actively following after him. Probably want to know where the kid is!

On the other hand, Joe was making significant progress into his mana skills and casting a couple of different healing spells. The night torture session was giving him plenty of healing practice and regrowing his limbs became almost a normal part of his life. It also began to feel normal to delimb himself; something that he found quite disturbing simply because he wasn't finding it disturbing. Despite that, he was also getting a lot of practice in on a variety of skills, including keeping a lot of his jobs with passive 'char:' skills equipped to get them up to hit level one and free up as many of the 'char:' skills as possible.

Things went very well for the next week until the next muster call. He came out as he always did, and then froze on the way to the muster when he saw Johnnie waiting for him at the mustering yard. When Joe resumed his march towards the mustering yard, he felt nothing. What emotion he'd had was flat and gone. Only a deep burning slowly swelling rage was left and a certainty of soon despair. He marched to his spot and stared straight ahead without care or emotion, attempting to maintain a passive look.

When the slave master looked at Joe, it was easy to see the satisfied conviction with just a hint of mocking vindication. Joe did nothing. He said nothing. He knew there was nothing he could do. It was too late, especially when his body was controlled so easily. He couldn't run. His own collar would force him back by the evening. It was unlikely he could even leave in the first place because he doubted he could get the proper mentality to make it beyond the compound's magical version of a shield fence. He couldn't get the kid to follow him either. The slave master would just command the boy back and there was nothing he could do. Even if he did try to take him and run, he would likely have to knock the kid out cause the kid would fight tooth and nail to stay, obeying the slave master. It would also likely mean that if he did get away, the kid would run back as soon as he had a chance. Not sure I want to tie up the kid every day and night to force him to not run back.

The slave master had won, and he had no response. So, he simply stared straight ahead and desperately tried to shut off all his senses. He didn't even try to continue in his insanity, but simply shut down. Time dragged on. The slave master gloated in a lengthy speech, equal parts disappointment and grandfatherly concern tinged with hints of mockery and bitter satisfied anger.

Time passed so quickly, and soon Joe found the boy directly in front of him. The slave master said a few more things, and grew angrier with the passing of time, but Joe simply stared straight ahead without blinking. He didn't want to look into the boy's face. So he didn't. And guilt dug into his heart and clawed at him, shredding him so deep Joe wasn't sure what he felt. And then, his body moved without his command. His hand grasped a knife. His offhand gripped the boy by the shoulder. And in an especially vindictive mood, Joe found his head forced down and eyes pinned upon the boy's even as a dagger in his had sliced across the boy's neck. He couldn't blink. He couldn't close his eyes. The boy stared at him betrayed and terrified while tears flooded his cheeks and a horrified cry of pain wailed high and went higher until the blade cut through the boy's windpipe and all sound died. Except for a soft wet gurgle of desperation seeking air.

Violent rejection heaved up within Joe even as his stomach roiled, what little was in his stomach seeking ejection at escape velocity but nothing came out. His body did not move. His mouth did not open. The boy slowly collapsed in his arms, red warm liquid oiling his arm and the front of his body. Time froze. Joe froze. Nothing happened.

* * *

Joe blinked, then blinked again in shock when he realized the boy in his arms and lap was freezing cold, body stiff and blood hardened all across his arm and abdomen. Joe looked up and found the mustering yard empty. He looked up further and saw the sun had already moved to mid-afternoon. Joe's stomach roiled. His heart evaporated, replaced by a simple never ending expanse of solid white crystal clear ice without end; nothing breaking it's expanse.

Wisdom and caution warred with rage and Joe stood up. Caution sought to drive his body down, to curl over with head to the ground while seeking inane objects in a play dedicated to insanity. However, he remained upright, strong. Rage shook his core, and tried to drive him to gaze with challenge at the villa, to stare into the eyes of the slave master with promises of exquisite violence and torture. But wisdom finally rallied to caution and he kept his gaze forward before finally turning away, leaving the corpse of the boy behind. Wisdom drove him back home and caution slowly, step by step, bowed his shoulders into a slump. He bent over and walked into his tent, retrieved some washing items, then headed to the small stream of water that supplied the water for the camp. At least don't need to double check if this is the same stream the kid was getting his water from…

He washed his clothes. He washed his body. He sought comfort, finding none. Then, he returned home and slept, wasting the afternoon of a perfectly good day.

* * *

Gwenvair woke with a shout even as a burning rage, overwhelming in pain and burning hotter than the sun, snapped her to awareness. Kilniara was there from her own room only moments later, quickly followed by Xylarnae and Stephliquen shortly after from each of theirs. Kalia dragged herself in quite a bit later. They all came in with concern, questioning and worried, but Gwenvair simply held a hand up and quickly Heard.

What she Heard broke her heart, and she quickly dove in to caring for her husband. The razor blades of pain and rage shredded her but could not compare to the pain that Joe was obviously feeling. She did not hold herself back in anyway, diving deep into caring for the man she was already deeply in love with. She shuddered, fear welling, before she beat it down. Joe… first!

When things had calmed, she spoke to the others, explaining things quickly. All stayed with concern although Kalia returned to bed once she knew Joe was alright. She didn't stop her meditation, however, Joe's pain requiring ever more work from her. It was a very long early morning.

* * *

Ilyelanralo watched with some satisfaction as the eccentric finally came to realize his position and who he was. The man needed to learn that he was nothing more than a tool, completely controlled by any master he would come to find himself under. There was no exception. There was no escape. The man was now and forevermore nothing more than an extension of his master's will. He no longer had to worry or care for his future. His master would take such a burden on. He only needed to become one with his master's desires; nothing more, nothing less.

Ilyelanralo glanced down at the eccentric where he had collapsed back onto his rear after the bait boy had died in his arms. The boy's corpse rested in his lap, and the eccentric proceeded to waste his master's time. However, Ilyelanralo was kind and understood just how big of a shift in position the eccentric must be experiencing. To go from being an independent great young master of a wealthy clan to being the well prepared and honed tool of another; such a change would be staggering for any.

Ilyelanralo sighed with piteous compassion, understanding the eccentric's unusual position and waved off a guard that had come forward to teach the eccentric his place. He has learned. I will allow him his peace for the night. Ilyelanralo turned away from the eccentric and then quickly called over the eccentric's assigned guard.

"Allow the man his moment. He has learned. Leave him until tomorrow."

The slave guard nodded then indicated a need for clarity without inserting his person impudently into his master's time and space. Ilyelanralo recognized the usefulness of his tools so did not begrudge the slave guard's question, nodding slightly in acceptance.

"Does this include the guiding session tonight?"

Ilyelanralo paused at that, considering, then nodded. Ilyelanralo was a kind and good master. The eccentric had learned. There was no need to be vindictive.

The next morning, however, Ilyelanralo found himself enraged. He'd been so certain the man had broken and learned his place, but it seemed the eccentric was still just as stubborn and recalcitrant. The only time the man was obedient was in the mustering. Otherwise, the man wandered off ignoring all other activities. Ilyelanralo found himself pacing his balcony in an uncouth display of impatient rage until he'd calmed himself. The man seeks to be stubborn! Then I shall be stubborn.

Ilyelanralo returned to his villa, resting in his office as he considered long and hard. The solution was rather easy, simple really. But Ilyelanralo struggled against it for several days, unwilling to waste such a precious connection, a precious favor, on such a simple problem. Despite his efforts, however, Ilyelanralo was unable to find any other way, and it was with a sigh of resignation he prepared a message to be returned to the guild and from there on to its destination. Ilyelanralo sighed with disappointment. Sending a king to kill a peasant!

* * *

Joe walked the absurdly clean streets of a small city on the southern tip of Okinawa, Japan. It was a beautiful city, with the people there meticulous in their cleanliness while relatively free in allowing the vegetation in the area to grow rather wild. The beaches that surrounded the entire island and the subsequent number of resort hotels made the island a popular tourist location for the Japanese. It was known as the 'Hawaii of Japan' but that wasn't why Joe was there with his family.

It had become home for his family because of another reason that Okinawa was famous for: being the birthplace of karate. His family, especially his father, had traveled there both for his son and for his own personal training. The time there had been peaceful and enjoyable, and the memories of the place swam past his thoughts in lazy circles and passes.

As in all dreams, strange shifts in location and being flashed in lightening jerks that his mind simply accepted as the norm. He walked the streets of the city of Tomigusuku, running to his favorite local convenience store he often frequented then suddenly found himself traveling down the long empty stretch of road that lead to one of his favorite beaches simply because it remained rather empty of tourist visitors.

Then, suddenly, he found himself on that beach, walking the white sands beside his father. He smiled up at his father, grinning before turning to chuck a rock off into the waters down the beach. They wandered without purpose for a time, a rare moment where father and son simply enjoyed each other. His mom and sister were there, he knew, like a certainty printed upon the memory but they were not in sight, off down the beach enjoying their own moments of time together. And the memory dream jumped again.

Light shifted, quickly fading to brilliant orange and red in the west, turning to bruised purple then black as the night rose to chase the sun's fleeing form. Joe and his father sat on the beach, his mom and younger sister on the other side of his dad with his sister probably leaning against mom like she always did.

"Dad?" Joe began.

His dad took a bit to rouse, lost in his own thoughts and enjoyments of the sunset, "Hmm?"

"So… you and mom teach us a lot about fighting."

"Hmm," his father replied without much thought.

"And I like it, don't get me wrong. But, we spend a lot of time traveling and learning fighting from all these places but … I guess they all do this too, but… you spend a lot of time teaching us not to."

His father remained silent for a time before his mom bumped his dad's shoulder. His dad blinked and jerked around to his mom before turning back to him.

"Huh? What?"

His mom chuckled, ignoring his father's return to the conversation and spoke again, "First off, Joe, why don't you ask a question in all that."

Joe ducked his head with chagrin, a soft half smile on his face, "Sorry, mom."

His father smiled with a hint of gleeful mockery and copied his son, "Yeah. Sorry, mom."

His mother shrieked in indignation, punching his father on the arm and he winced in pain when the hit landed with a meaty thunk that rocked his father back. His mom was small and short and would be absolutely wrecked by his father, but that didn't make her punches a joy to experience. Her technique and power were enough to easily rock most. His father, however, had seen it coming easily enough and tensed his bicep and when his mother's punch landed against his upper arm, his mom winced and cradled her hand even as his father turned to her and wrapped her in his arms as he began to tickle her with a grin, laughing as he turned the tables on her.

She growled at him with mock anger even as she turned to a kitten in his father's arms and she ineffectually pushed him away with an odd happy smile on her face, "Honey! The kids!"

"Yes. The kids, what about them?" Joe's father asked as he bent down and planted a kiss on his mother's lips.

Joe grimaced and turned away, moaning, "Daaaad!"

His sister on the other side did the same, her cry much more drawn out and insistent, "Mom! Daaaaaaad!"

His dad chuckled and took a quick peck from his mom's lips before he retreated from his mother and sat back beside him; all this he noticed and assumed from the noises he was hearing and not by sight. His father bumped a shoulder into his when he settled back in beside him.

"So… you feel… Well, wait a minute. First off, sorry for not catching what you said. Got a bit lost in just enjoying the moment. But, despite the lack of a question, you're asking about being taught to fight while also being taught not to fight?"

Joe chuckled at that, finding a humor in it before nodding, "Yeah, kinda. I mean, I understand that you and mom practice and fight for competitions and stuff like that, but you … we all still practice to actually fight and not just the competition stuff."

"Hmm. Yeah."

"So… I just… yeah."

His dad fell silent and Joe waited, used to the long thought process of his father and knowing an answer would come soon. His mom and sister started their own conversation while dad thought and got lost in thought until a few minutes later, his dad began. His mom and sister, despite being in their own conversation, soon hushed and listened in.

"So. You know about the whole 'do to others as they do to you,' yeah?"

Joe nodded quickly but said little else and his father noticed and nodded back as he continued, "A lot of people give that to Jesus, but it really came from a lot older. Some people say Buddha said it, others are certain Confucius was the author. Even Moses has a form of it long before either of those two, but what a lot of people don't know is that the original rule is pretty passive. Or… written negatively."

Joe frowned at that, "Huh?"

"Well, it said something like 'Don't do to another what you don't want to happen to you.' Or maybe a bit more easy to understand it was something like 'do to other people what people do to you.' Basically, the first version kinda goes like 'don't do bad things if you don't want people to do bad things to you.' The second is about the same, if worded a bit differently: respond in kind. The first warns against doing bad things so that others don't do bad things to you. The second is a bit more positive, saying to give back to others what others give to you. But both are rather passive. They tell you to not do anything bad, or at the very least, do nothing to others if they leave you alone."

Joe nodded slowly at that before nodding as understanding came. His father watched carefully before nodding and continuing.

"The stronger version of the golden rule is usually given to Jesus, but actually goes back long before him. Moses references it but in a different but still famous way: love your neighbor as yourself. If anything, the golden rule is the practical expression of the philosophical second statement. It says to actually do for others what you want to be done for you. So if you want kindness and love from others, give it to them first. What do you think the ramifications of that would be in comparison to the first?"

"Uh… I guess…" Joe thought for a bit, carefully, then responded, "I guess the first is passive. You wait for the others to do something first, then you respond. The latter… you go first, … and I guess you go first and do the right thing regardless of what the others do. That's… huh…"

Joe found himself getting lost in thought as his mind wrestled with how such a thing would play out. The beauty of it warring with his knowledge of reality. His father gave him a time to consider before a soft sly grin came to his face and he continued.

"And let's start looking at all the variations you can find from India and China going back to the ancient eras before the Roman Empire. You can find…"

Joe groaned, sighing as his father turned his question into a history lesson, a common occurrence across multiple disciplines; sometimes history, sometimes philosophy, sometimes science or math. While it was often frustrating, Joe also found a joy in it, joining in his father's passion to learn a bit more.

* * *

Joe woke with a start, then grimaced, clenching teeth even as he struggled to hold back tears. It was easy to believe… when the world was a good place, dad. But… He blinked away the tears and the pain on his face faded to nothing even as it blanked to impassivity with all the passion of a statue. He sighed and turned away and took in his tent in the cold dim light of the morning sun. He lay in bed for a long time before he finally roused, unfeeling and unmoved.

Joe wouldn't say he was broken by what the slave master had done, but he couldn't say that he was unchanged. He found himself hard, rejecting of all others and brittle in his rejection of anything occurring outside himself. Any belief that goodness existed vanished before the increased torture he was subjected to.

Almost the day after the second boy died in his arms, his torture grew even more insidious, turning to his fingers. His legs were left alone, now, all focus of the nightly torture now placed upon his hands and fingers as he lost knuckle after knuckle every night. The only silver lining being that his fingers were healed to full health before each morning, allowing him to still have his hands throughout the day. Staying awake while his knuckles were completely healed was a struggle, but he forced himself so that he could heal his legs and then practice his katas in the still pitch black of his tent every night after the healer was gone.

However, in a stomach churning display of insidious mockery, he would open his eyes every night after the healer left and find all his knuckles set into a neat pile right in front of his face, obviously left there and meant to be seen when he woke in the morning. So, just as his legs continued to pile ever higher and higher in his inventory, the knuckles began to take up slots in his inventory as well. He didn't need to. He could have taken them out and thrown them away because they knew where all the extra fingers were coming from. However, a certain meticulous vengeance drove him to collect the knuckles, piling them up in his inventory in a macabre display of his history.

And Joe spent another three months or so in this fashion, even more withdrawn and focused upon self. His hidden peace he'd gained from people watching vanished as he cared less and less for any around him. The only thought that remained was an obsession with beating the collar and escaping this ever more hellish existence. The only time he ever thought to focus on people was any time he felt there was a significant moment amongst the guards or leadership. He also began becoming foolish, even desperate, as he flipped on his language skill and listened in carefully during such moments. But he was still wise enough to always keep the slave master in his peripheral vision if he ever reengaged his language skill. Fear of losing what autonomy he had made him obsessive in keeping track of the slave master. But no other in the camp did he care for.

He also cared little for the guards or their now overt shadowing of him, so soon found himself diving into the dungeon much more often, simply to escape the ever present gaze of so many on him. The other slaves' curiosity didn't bother him, but the burning gaze of guards and the slave master itched away at him. The slave master seemed angry, but so did the slave guards for reasons that Joe could hardly understand. Even in the few moments he was able to engage his language skill and hear what the guards and other slaves were saying of him, no explanation could be found for their ever increasing vitriol.

Despite that, he still had his sycophants in a small group of men and a single woman who crowded around him as if he were some kind of shelter. These spoke of him with high praise, the kind that made Joe very uncomfortable and proud at the same time. Still, all of it was pageantry that Joe found depressing for its content and a constant reminder of his current situation and powerlessness.

Still, Joe was able to gain some with his return to going into the dungeons a bit more regularly, if only once a week or even less. And if Joe had been in any other situation, he'd have found the advances he'd made with the system over the next three months incredibly exciting, but he found himself unwilling to care at all for the mediocre system. Every moment was focused on struggling against his collar with a passion that long passed obsession. But it seemed that no matter how he explored the system, slavery and the collar had nothing to do with each other, neither interacting with the other or offering some kind of control over the other despite the existence of the slaver class. If anything, the slaver class seemed like the manual way to accomplish the same as what a collar did automagically except for a few skills which seemed more related to the mercantile. That seemed odd although given the economic nature of slavery, it did make some sense.

But, Joe's diligence didn't allow him to ignore what he learned about the system and in the three months that passed, he learned several things about skills, opened up several jobs, and gained a couple titles which became vital to his continued growth. The two crucial titles he gained during his efforts to help Johnnie were Endless Mana and Endless HP. They were essentially identical to his Endless SP title and they offered the same ability which proved crucial to further developing his personal MP and HP. Help, show me Endless SP, MP, and HP. The popup flipped up even as he considered the three new titles and skills.

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