Rahal sat in the small office, bitter at the task he had been burdened with. His brother, the patriarch, was a petty man. Although Rahal's suggestion had been ultimately accepted, that didn't stop Janhalar from enacting an unbelievably childish punishment upon him.
He had been tasked with sorting through the five hundred prisoners and judging where each of them was supposed to go.
There were many different sectors he could send them to, and depending on their individual prowess and their talent, he was to decide where they belonged.
The lowest among the prisoners, those without notable talents and backgrounds, would be placed into the miscellaneous project pile, where they would be sent into indentured servitude doing manual labor.
As for those with greater individual power, they were to be handled more... delicately. If judged to be too dangerous, they were to be executed immediately.
Granted, nobody would even make it out alive from any of the projects they could be allocated to, but Janhalar didn't like the idea of even the tiniest possibility of a miracle happening regardless. Anyone who escaped was bound to become trouble in the future.
Thus, he slowly worked through the large pile of papers, quickly reading through them and putting them in different piles.
Eventually, he stumbled upon one that immediately caught his interest.
Freddy Stern.
The man who kept silent for nearly half a year, enduring through practically every form of torture they could throw at him.
Personality-wise, this was the exact type of person who would immediately go on the execution pile, no questions asked, but...
This man had absolutely nothing going for him—zero background, was judged to be incompetent in all forms of combat, and on top of that, the man was practically crippled with all the damage the excessive torture had done to him.
Glancing at the talent, Rahal paused.
1% Lifesteal.
Information on it had been gathered right from the source, or rather, the person who sold this man the prime. The trader had been quite pessimistic about the prospects of this talent.
The only case where it could be of notable use would be if the healing quality was first aid or minimal quality. That would make it act fast enough to have some utility in combat, but... even in that case, the user would die if they suffered too much damage unless they were healed immediately afterward. Coupled with the water affinity, it became even worse.
If it was fire or death, it could be at least passable with an evolution or two, but water?
If the healing quality was natural, the situation became even worse. That was the worst healing quality by far, and having it forced on a user during combat was akin to an anti-talent.
And if the quality was higher than that, at supernatural or even supreme quality... would it do anything? Water's inability to do damage, the low percentage, high quality... and with that mangled body?
At that point, he might as well not even have a talent at all.
Rahal sighed. "Pitiful bastard," he muttered into his chin as he put the paper on the miscellaneous pile. For a moment, he entertained the idea of having the man executed just to put him out of his misery. But no.
The man had nobody but himself to blame.
Had he cooperated, he would have been granted the mercy of death a long time ago.
***
Freddy sat in his dark cell with a small globule of water floating around his body in an unstable orbit, losing a few drops every few seconds. As the last of the liquid left the grasp of his essence control, he used Create Water again. His arms were trapped in a profoundly filthy straitjacket, and the burst of water from his right hand flowed into the dirty clothing.
With all the focus he could muster, he extracted a few drops of the conjured water before they could disappear, while the rest vanished, returning to essence. The liquid he grasped formed yet another ball, and that sphere again made its way around his body.
Reaching the peak of a stage zero ability and preparing it for an upgrade wasn't an awe-inspiring achievement. But it frequently required a lot of time. Combat-oriented abilities grew optimally in, well, combat, and tempering techniques needed a vast investment of time, effort, and essence to grow.
Given that he had nothing but time and essence in this dingy cell, it took him nearly no time to perfect the ether shell for Hundred Wet Hells. By now, whenever he used the tempering technique, the surface of his body visibly vibrated under the intense forces raging inside him.
But, as he continued using the ability, the less and less that turbulence could do to him. The ability was no longer growing; consequently, his resistance had drastically outpaced it.
So then he had moved on to Abyssal Depths. Yet again, it took close to no time to max it out and for the effect to drastically slow down. His body was shriveled, thinning, and withering under the lack of movement and calories, but he was still at least as heavy as he had been before losing all that body mass, purely due to all the water that had been compressed into his form.
And finally, he had maxed out Water Body as well. While 1% Lifesteal made this ability obsolete, in his circumstances, he was sure that it was likely the only reason he could even think straight. It was fantastic at eliminating inflammation, easing joint and muscle pain, and improving his health.
Hell, given how long he had been restrained here, it was likely that he would have already died from septic shock had he not been using it.
Surprisingly, Create Water had not been maxed out yet, but it was getting close.
Despite his impressive overall growth, given his utter lack of freedom and resources, he barely progressed in growing his star. The capacity had only reached 55% despite the countless hours of work he had spent gathering.
But that was far from surprising. He barely had more freedom than an industrial farm animal, let alone enough to train properly.
The gag that filled his mouth had a hole in it. When it was time to "feed" Freddy, an employee or servant would walk in, put a funnel to the gag hole, and pour disgusting slop into it. Or, occasionally, passable slop.
He guessed that his meals were a product of blending all the leftovers of whatever the employees and clan members ate that day. The quality and amount of food he received varied, and occasionally, he received none.
He was shackled right above a hole in the ground, and his suit had a just-barely-convenient-enough gap for whenever he had to do his business.
For a long time, his life had come down to seeking ways to entertain himself. Once he ran out of abilities to grow, he resorted to practicing his essence control. As the ball of water accidentally touched his shoulder, a good part seeped into the cloth, and the remainder collapsed as he lost control of it.
Just as he was about to Create Water again, the giant steel door of his cell opened with an all-too-familiar screech, immediately causing his mouth to water as his saliva glands got to work.
It was feeding time.
A large man dressed in muted red robes walked in. This was nobody he had seen before. The man wasn't hauling the slop bucket, either.
For a brief instant, every cell in his body exploded with terror as he assumed they were returning to torturing him. But there was little he could do to prevent it.
"No, I mean..." he started but had to cough a few times. The man patiently waited as he spent a few seconds warming his throat before finally asking, "What is Faralethal?"
"Oh!" the man realized after a second. "I apologize. Yes, you aren't the first client to not know. Faralethal is the name of the passage realm C-000421. You might be more familiar with that term."
The irony momentarily stunned him. The passage realm he had discovered would now be where he would be sent into slave labor. So much for stardom and being written into history.
"Now," the man said, interrupting his thoughts again, "as I said, your debt isn't as large a concern as you might believe. The mining expedition is a highly lucrative business; I estimate it could take you ten or even as few as five years to pay off your debt!"
Now that was some grade-A bullshit. Thirteen million in five years? This man must seriously be taking him for an idiot.
"I know this sounds surprising, but believe me when I say that the money won't come easy," the man said, a glint of severity appearing in his tone. "The mining expedition is frighteningly dangerous, and the death rate is staggering. We cannot and will not force you into participating if you do not wish. This is the fastest way for you to repay the debt and the job I was instructed to offer to every captive, but it is far from your only option."
The man then quickly listed a lengthy collection of possible jobs he could do to repay the debt. All of them were factory work. And they all had ridiculously long debt-repayment periods, averaging well over a hundred years of labor.
Clearly, these offers were presented to make the mining expedition appear more palatable, but he had other plans. "This job here." He pointed at an offering. "Gutting fish in a factory. I think I'd like to do this."
Sure, it would take him a hundred and seventy years to repay his debt through this job, but that was no big deal. If anything, it gave him plenty of time to form and execute a proper plan. Besides, there was the whole part about him being practically immortal. What was a hundred and seventy years to a man who would never die of old age?
The man's eye subtly twitched at that, and he suddenly looked deep in thought. "Actually," Stephen said, "I just realized something."
He felt a prickle at the back of his head and a strong desire to punch the man in his nose as he had a solid premonition of what he was about to hear.
"Most—no, all of these factories would run a general health test before allowing you to work there." Then, glancing at his numerous scars and missing finger, he added, "No offense, but I believe you stand no chance of passing them."
I could pass them with flying colors given a few days in the woods was what Freddy thought, but he was forced to keep that to himself.
It was likely that the Kraven Clan didn't fully understand how his talent worked. He based this assumption on the fact that they hadn't already turned him into a living organ farm.
So, with a hint of bitterness, he was forced to swallow his words and ask, already knowing the answer to his question, "If that's the case, can you just show me all the jobs I qualify for?"
And, as expected, the man only put aside the mining expedition.
He wasn't done taking the piss yet, however. "And this expedition won't have any general health requirements?"
The man laughed at that. "Well, as cruel as that might sound, no. It does not. But!" he said as he segued into what would likely be a bullshit excuse. "People like you need some method to repay their debts, and this might just be the best option."
Fucking called it! He mentally high-fived himself.
"All right," he said, still not done annoying Mr. White. "I'd like to run every health exam in all the factories."
The man winced at that. "I'm sorry, sir, but that won't be possible."
"Why not?" he asked with a sly grin.
"Well... you can only register for one position, and if you fail to pass their test, you will be left without a job."
"So... what happens if I am left 'without a job?'"
The man frowned at that. "That is not up to me to decide. But given that this offer results from the clan cleaning up their business as they prepare to move their headquarters... that will be their decision."
He smirked. "That's what you should have said from the start, dickwad," he mocked as he got up, had the shackles placed back on his hands, and walked out the door.
***
In a small, barely human-sized box, Freddy lied uncomfortably.
Given that the entrance into Faralethal was the roughly double-door-sized passage he had discovered, it was obvious that it would constantly be busy with archs going in and out. Naturally, this meant that getting over five hundred prisoners through wouldn't be a cheap ordeal—unless they transported them like this, apparently.
Luckily, at least, he was alone in his container and had been provided with a generous supply of water and snacks.
For the vast majority of his trip there, he scoured the Netherecho. Not only did it spare him the constant turbulence, but it also allowed him to gather to his heart's content.
The moment they entered the passage was easy to time, judging by the density of wisps that poked into his box. He briefly wondered how these wisps made it in when he was in a moving object, which should, by all means, not even be actively visible in the Netherecho, which yet again reminded him of the conceptual nature of the underlying layer of reality and its stubborn refusal to follow coherent rules.
As the journey continued, his mind wandered to one subject—Bloodshed's arrival. Judging by what he discovered, it had been over half a year since he made his deal with the skeleton.
After several hours of what seemed to be quite a turbulent flight, they reached their destination. The lid on his box popped open, and he was allowed to leave. As soon as he did, his breath caught in his throat.
A sky that had no sun but still shone bright midday, a horizon that went far further in all directions than should have been possible, and a scale that made breathing difficult. They were currently located at the foot of an enormous mountain, one of many in a range of spiky, dark gray masses of stone that stretched so far into the sky they faded into vague, blue outlines at their peaks, which might even be stretching further than that.
The growth surrounding them appeared normal at first glance, but every plant was at least slightly exotic in one way or another, and the air smelled like nothing he had ever experienced.
The soil beneath his feet felt harsh, and everywhere he looked, his attention flitted from one insane sight to another; often, a flying monster would appear in the distance and disappear too fast for him to see what it was.
A collection of floating islands was located to the left of the mountains, a forest of gigantic, coiling trees further in the same direction, a massive desert beside that, and, finally, vast, seemingly never-ending golden fields to the right of the mountain.
Numerous fascinating structures teased at the edges of the horizon, but before he could pay them enough attention, the man who had opened his box shoved him, pushing him toward the gaping entrance of an overgrown cave.
Freddy had no idea if he could survive this "mining expedition," but he knew one thing.
To the bastards who underestimated him, to those who tormented him, to the rotten world that had betrayed him over and over and over and over and over and—
He had a debt to repay, indeed.
So, no matter what it took or how rotten he had to become himself...
He would do anything to make it out alive.