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"Hey, newbie, Wake up."
A rough shake yanked Reon out of unconsciousness.
He realized he was lying on the ground, The floor beneath him was hard enough to make his whole body ache, as if every bone had been knocked loose.
"Hugh, something's wrong with his face., Don't shake him so hard."
Another voice spoke up, a little gentler this time.
Reon forced his eyes open, His vision stayed blurred for a while before it finally came into focus. What he saw first were cold, dark iron bars, A thin strip of torchlight seeped through the gaps, casting the whole place in a dim, oppressive glow.
His throat was so dry it felt like it had been scraped raw. After coughing a few times, he managed to rasp out, "Where... am I?"
A boy with a messy mop of chestnut hair squeezed in front of him, surprise lighting up his face. "Oh, he's awake."
Another boy, a little older and dressed in prison rags, gently pulled the chestnut-haired one aside.
He had short blue hair and a striking tattoo beneath his right eye, Crouching down, he lowered his voice and said to Reon, "This is the Tower of Heaven, A dark magic cult brought you here... We're all..."
He paused for a moment before finishing quietly.
"Slaves."
"Slaves?" Reon repeated automatically, thinking he'd misheard.
What century is this? Slaves still exist? And a dark magic cult? It sounded more like something out of an anime or a game.
He was just about to make some sarcastic comment when he looked up and froze.
All around him, a group of people in the same prison clothes were staring at him, some standing, some sitting.
Most of them were very young, yet every single one was pale, thin, and hollow-eyed. They were obviously malnourished.
A chill ran through Reon's chest, and he instinctively looked down at himself.
"Why am I wearing the same outfit too?"
What was worse, his arms, legs, and his whole body had shrunk. His wrists were slim, his fingers small and unformed. He looked like a child who hadn't finished growing yet.
"So I really got isekai'd..."
He muttered the words in disbelief. If this wasn't a dream, that was the only explanation that made any sense.
"What's going on over there?"
Just as his mind was spiraling, a savage roar suddenly came from outside the bars, followed by the shrill clang of an iron rod smashing against the metal.
The crowd that had gathered to inspect the new prisoner scattered in silence at once. Each of them retreated with practiced speed into the shadows by the wall, lowering their heads as if trying to disappear into the stone itself.
Not wanting trouble, Reon dragged his heavy body over and leaned against the wall too.
The freezing stone at his back made him shiver.
Ever since waking up, he had felt how abnormally weak this body was. It felt like it hadn't eaten in days. Even the slightest movement made his head swim.
"Looks like the overseer is in a decent mood today."
The tattooed boy carefully shifted closer and whispered into Reon's ear, "When he's in a bad mood, he'll just drag someone out of the cell and beat them to vent."
"But don't worry." He paused, then added in a softer voice, "We're powerless slaves, Nobody cares about us. He'll pace around a bit and leave. As long as you don't draw his attention during that time, you'll be fine."
After speaking, he fell silent, In the dim torchlight, Reon could feel the other's gaze resting on his face.
"My name is Jellal Fernandes," the boy said suddenly. "What's yours?"
Reon blinked and turned his head in mild surprise.
Jellal's voice was steady, his face hidden in shadow, impossible to read.
But for some reason, Reon got the feeling the boy was trying, in his own way, to ease the nerves of a newcomer.
Is he worried about me?
After all, he'd just warned him to stay quiet, yet he still took the risk to come over and talk. That didn't exactly add up otherwise.
Reon scratched his head, a little unaccustomed to this kind of kindness. So being turned into a kid meant getting treated like one too.
Still, he didn't dislike it.
"Reon," he said. "Reon, as in... Reon."
He answered first in crisp English out of habit, then immediately repeated himself in the world's common tongue, a language that somehow rolled off his tongue with suspicious ease.
"No family name? Or just... a strange name..." Jellal wondered to himself. At first, hearing the unfamiliar sounds, he thought it might be some kind of slang from a distant region and felt momentarily confused. Only after Reon repeated it in the common language did he relax.
If they couldn't communicate, that would be a problem. In a place like this, people who couldn't even understand what was being said around them usually died the fastest.
But soon Jellal realized his concern might have been unnecessary.
Most children who learned where they were broke down on the spot. This newcomer, though, was strangely calm, without the slightest sign of panic.
That's one hell of a steady mind.
Jellal was surprised by Reon's composure, but the thought quickly turned bitter.
What good was staying calm?
The people who ran the Tower of Heaven wielded magic. The gap in power between them and the prisoners was immense. No matter how clear-headed someone stayed, finding a chance to escape was nearly impossible.
With that, Jellal seemed to lose interest, He merely gave a small nod and ended the conversation.
Reon was more than happy with that, This really wasn't the time for chatting.
He had things he needed to confirm.
The cell fell quiet again in an instant. No one spoke, Only the distant sound of muffled sobbing and chains scraping in other cells remained, a constant strain on the nerves.
Taking advantage of the silence, Reon looked into the empty space before him.
A book hovered there, plain and unadorned, glowing faintly.
Yeah, that settles it. Nobody else can see this thing.
Even though he usually didn't spend much time online, Reon immediately realized this had to be the cheat ability that came with his reincarnation.
That was one of the reasons he had stayed so calm. It wasn't just his personality, This thing gave him something like confidence.
He knew exactly how bad his situation was.
A slave, after all, was not like the household servants of some old noble estate who at least had room, board, and a stipend.
A slave was cheaper, lower, and infinitely more disposable.
You were either sold like property or thrown into forced labor. Human rights were out of the question.
If you were sold, life might be marginally better. At least as property, your owner might care a little about wear and tear.
But if you were worked as labor...
That was the worst category of all: a life treated as a consumable. Conditions so brutal that they were basically a slow death sentence.
Backbreaking work, Endless hours. Food barely enough to keep you alive. Disease left untreated until it finishes you off.
The great Roman latifundia. The silver mines of Potosí in the New World. Different eras, same hell.
Reon still didn't know which kind he was about to become, but it hardly mattered, It was the difference between chocolate-covered filth and filth-flavored chocolate.
Either way, he had to get out.
As that thought formed, the book flipped open to its first page.
---
Name: Reon
Alignment: Neutral Good Human
Strength: E-
(Raising a slightly larger stone would likely be an exhausting struggle.)
Endurance: E-
(Your body is as fragile as fine glass. Your chances of surviving harsh conditions are deeply concerning.)
Agility: E-
(Your mobility is nearly nonexistent. Evasion through your own physical ability is not a realistic option.)
Mana: E-
(Completely untouched by Mystery. An ordinary person with no magical energy.)
Luck: EX
(Bearer of the Book of Heroes, cannot be measured by ordinary standards. Maximum resistance against "predetermined fate.")
Skills: None
---
His status was laid out clearly on the title page. Aside from Luck at EX, everything else was a miserable E-.
Reon lifted a hand and slowly clenched his fist, feeling the pitiful weakness in his body. The book's assessment was dead on.
He wasn't surprised. This body really was pathetic, A soft college kid from his old life could probably knock out two versions of him with one punch.
Still, he didn't dwell on the ratings themselves, More than judgment, Reon cared about what was actually possible.
"If this book exists, maybe there's a way out."
Reon focused inward, Through the vague but undeniable connection he felt with the treasure-like volume, he gradually understood what it could do.
It could track changes in the bearer's condition in real time and issue trials suited to the current situation, trials that aligned with the path of a Heroic Spirit.
Complete them, and you would receive corresponding rewards.
"Let's see..."
With a flicker of anticipation, Reon moved the thought through his mind, and the pages turned soundlessly.
[Path of the Heroic Spirit: Beginning]
[Even the greatest champions of legend, before carving out their feats and glory, need a place to curl up and rest, a meal to fill their stomach, and a companion to watch their back.]
[Secure food, shelter, and a friend to unlock the first summon.]
"So I just need to fulfill those three conditions?"
Maybe it was beginner's luck, but the first trial was absurdly simple.
What surprised him even more was that both "shelter" and "friend" were already glowing, marked as complete.
"Shelter" was easy enough to understand. Sure, this place was a prison, but the walls blocked the wind and the roof kept off the rain. Barely, but technically, it counted.
But "friend" being completed too left him baffled.
The page clearly showed that he already had one.
No need to guess who that was, it had to be Jellal.
The problem was that becoming friends was supposed to require mutual recognition. It wasn't enough for Jellal to think of him as a friend. Reon had to acknowledge him the same way.
Reon was speechless.
"So what, I'm just that easy to win over?"
They'd exchanged a few words, and somewhere in his subconscious he'd already accepted the guy as a friend. He tugged at the corner of his mouth, unsure what to think.
If I'd landed in some twisted underworld instead, I'd probably have been tricked and stuffed full of cream puffs in five minutes flat.
Just imagining it sent a weird chill down his spine. Reon hurriedly reminded himself that in a strange world like this, he needed to be a lot more careful from now on.
Then he turned his attention to the final condition.
Food.
He looked around, Black iron bars. Damp stone floor. Nothing nearby but filth and cold.
Where the hell was he supposed to find food?
Reon swallowed hard, genuinely stumped.
And as if the reminder itself had triggered something, his body, starved of fuel, finally noticed the problem too. The hunger he'd been forcibly ignoring came crashing over him all at once.
A burning twist of pain clenched in his stomach. His gut growled loudly, embarrassingly loud in the silence of the cell.
A powerful wave of dizziness rushed to his head. His vision darkened, and his arms and legs went weak.
"Here... Eat."
Just as he was on the verge of blacking out from hunger, a voice suddenly spoke.
Half a chunk of black bread was held out from the side.
Reon didn't even see who had offered it before his hand moved on instinct. He took the bread, mumbled a blurry thanks, and lowered his head to eat.
It had long since gone cold, and it was as hard as stone, almost tasteless.
He had to tear it into tiny pieces and soften each bite with saliva before he could force it down.
Honestly, even at the edge of starvation, Reon couldn't bring himself to call it good. But every rough mouthful that slid into his stomach brought with it a heavy, almost tangible sense of support.
As if a mountain stood before him...
Wait.
A mountain?
Where did that come from?
Reon jolted.
In his daze, a towering mountain had truly appeared in his field of vision, growing larger and larger until it seemed ready to crush him.
[Trial complete. Summoning Heroic Spirit...]
At the same time, the pages of the book in his mind lit up, lines of flaming text burning their way into his awareness.
The world around him twisted, The dim prison dissolved in silence, replaced by a vast and desolate wilderness stretching endlessly in all directions.
The mountain that had once been only a phantom was now real, massive, and overwhelming before him. Its ridges were jagged, its summit white with snow, as if it had stood there since the dawn of time.
Where the hell have I been dropped now?
Before Reon could sort out his thoughts, the burning script shifted again.
[Response complete]
[True Name of Heroic Spirit: ???]
[Corresponding Class: Archer]
The information flashed by and vanished.
In the next instant, the barren world shattered like a mirage reflected on broken glass. The mountain, the wasteland, the sky, everything rapidly faded.
The dim light of the prison returned to his eyes. The familiar smell of mildew filled his nose again, as though everything that had just happened had been no more than a split-second hallucination.
Reon instinctively touched the center of his brow. There was nothing there, nothing unusual at all, and yet he could clearly feel that something new now existed deep within his mind.
He steadied himself and searched inward.
There, suspended silently at the center of his consciousness, was a dark gold card he had never seen before.
On its face was the image of a figure drawing a bow toward the world, resolute and unyielding.
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