Rise of the Hegemon

Do I even have a choice?

The fuck is this?

My eyes blink rapidly as I blankly stared at the parchment sitting atop the table in front of me, my shaking hand tightly gripping the quill given to me.

There's a list of what seemed like signatures written in the parchment, a collection of markings resembling signatures yet devoid of any semblance to names, like a scribble that appeared as if a two-years old child had written it.

Signatures only?... No names? do they find it acceptable to merely rely on our signatures as a means to document our identities and maintain a record of our existence?

I look up and stare at the two men behind the table, patiently waiting for me to write my signature, though I could still find them occasionally stealing a few glances at the outfit and sling I'm wearing.

I'm sticking out like a sore thumb, I better get myself a new set of clothes... I'm not comfortable with this attention I'm receiving right now.

I could still remember the astonished looks of my fellow inmates, including Little Fish, as I showed them how the zipper in my pants work, it's as if they've witnessed a working time machine.

I suppressed a smile from forming in my face before turning my sights towards a group of my fellow prisoners standing in the designated area, their ragged and filthy appearances standing out amidst the bunch of men within the vicinity, though I doubt it would still be the same story once they're sent beyond the second wall.

And that's when a thought suddenly crossed in my mind.

When I was brought in the dungeon, they didn't bother changing my clothes, just like the others, all wearing rags and tattered clothes, including Little Fish. Then that means these guys already belong to the bottom of the society before they arrived at the dungeon?

Are they all illiterate? that's probably the case, their ability to write appears limited to only writing a signature, a chaotic mess of doodles barely resembling a recognizable symbol.

I wonder what's the literacy rate of the people in these lands, moreover, does Saragonian and Artanian's written structure different from each other?... Well, I'll probably find out about them eventually.

Anyway, the men in front of me seems to anticipate that I'll just write down my signature like everyone else, guess they're always bound to deal with prisoners like them, which probably implies that all of the miners who came before us in the quarry are just like us; brought in for petty crimes, I'll wager my life that some of them were probably framed just like me.

A fucking quarry run by slaves then... I guess slavery and forced labor don't seem all that different to me now.

With a defeated sigh, I begin to write my signature on the parchment, my hands struggling to keep the quill firm in my fingers. It feels quite strange, using a quill for the very first time in my life, its delicate feathered end felt strangely foreign against my fingertips.

When I was done, I took a small moment to admire the result, a unique mark of loops and curves over my written full name.

When I glance up, I could see that they were clearly stunned at my signature, it is clear they were not expecting such a unique signature, especially coming from me.

Subsequently, they shifted their attention to one another and engaged in a rapid exchange of words. Yet, I couldn't help but catch the occasional mention of the terms 'Saragon' or 'Saragonian' slipping into their conversation.

It took them half a minute before they were finally done, afterwards, one of them stood up and began to make his way towards me.

He's going to search me now...

I tense up as the man halted just half a meter before me, he had an amuse and curious expression on his face, it was as if he was looking at an object, a thing to study and inspect.

I quickly shook my head from such thoughts... no damn reason to complicate things more.

After waiting for him to do something, in a gentle and calm manner, he slowly reach out his hand and touch my sweater, seemingly inspecting the fabric used to make this.

As seconds ticked by, he tentatively tugged at various sections of my sweater, starting from the collar and tracing his fingers down to the hemline, I could even now see the growing interest inside his eyes.

Then, he suddenly crouch down, his eyes quickly fixing towards the crotch point in my pants, on the zipper part specifically.

Oh fuck!.. my heart begins to race now, various thoughts and possibility popping up after another.

He's just interested in the zipper right? after all, with the current technology in here, it's not everyday you could find someone wearing a pants with a zipper in these lands.

Still, as much as I want to run away from this uncomfortable position, I have no choice but to let this man continue his job or else I'd be risking another round of getting beaten up again.

For a moment, his gaze drifted from the zipper and instead begins to focus tracing his finger on my pant's fabric, I breathed a small sigh of relief at this.

After a minute had passed, his gaze suddenly shifted back towards the zipper once again.

What the fuck does this guy want?!

Suppressing myself from smacking the vulnerable man before me, I notice him as he narrows his eyes at the zipper for a few seconds, seemingly intent on studying it, before he sighed and looks up at me, a defeated yet still curious expression on his face.

What?

By the looks on his eyes, I can tell he's restraining himself... but restraining from what?

I couldn't ponder more as he suddenly stood up before patting my shoulder, he gave a quick nod at a nearby guard as he made his way towards his partner's side.

I took one last look at him before the guard began to lead me towards the designated area.

By this point, the growling of my stomach and my thirst for water begins to get unbearable, my lips are dry and my sweater is soaked with sweat. Not to mention the never ending heat of the sun above, my body weight seems to multiply four times, each step seems like a monumental feat for me now.

Ever since arriving in this place, my body appears to tire too fast compared to back home, its like something in my immune system changed, was it the lack of healthy food and the frequent beatings?

Hell if I know.. As of now, it's entirely up to me to manage my own health until I find myself a doctor.

If I find myself one...

Luckily, the designated area is not too far away and only took us half a dozen seconds to arrive there. After leading me towards my place, the guard said something to me before walking away, poor guy probably forgot that I don't speak Artanian.

After another few minutes, I found the same guard ushering Little Fish to take his place besides me.

He gave me a nod to which I returned back.

Upon arrival, Little Fish spoke something before pointing at his stomach, compressing his belly while rubbing it at the same time. It is clear what message he's trying to convey.

He's hungry..

I chuckled in response, then mimicked his actions by pointing to my own belly before rubbing it, I also included my throat, trying to convey that I was also thirsty.

He rapidly nods at this, also mimicking my actions before another set of words left his mouth, this time they weren't phrases anymore.

I rose my brows at this, a small frown on my face due to the frustration at not being able to understand Artanian.

"Carillus" Little Fish mentioned my name the moment he saw the look on my face, he seems to be thinking on what to respond as he went silent for a few seconds.

Before any of us could do anything, another one of our fellow prisoners were led to stand besides Little Fish, they exchanged glances before he turned his head back to me again, but this time I could now see the tired look on his face.

He then sighed before picking a small pebble at the ground.

I couldn't help but stare at him and the pebble on his hand in curiosity.

What's he going to do with it?

Suddenly, his legs shifted with a purpose, his waist coiled and then he extended his right arm, the pebble poised for a precise throw, his entire stance radiating the anticipation of a skilled hurl.

He's going to throw it!

But to where?

FUCK!

I'm not going to get myself killed just because of a restless friend!

Fueled by raw instincts and a surge of adrenaline, I tap into the last reserves of my energy. With my free right hand, I lunge forward, determined to seize his right arm before he can carry out his intended swing.

But before I could reach it, he suddenly drops the pebble and turned towards me, a teasing smirk on his face.

This fucking..

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CHAPTER DONE!!