Subhuman

Ever since I could remember, things had always been like this. Sometimes, I wondered if I had committed some terrible deed in a past life to deserve such suffering in the current one.

“Faster, you worthless piece of shit!”

The booming crack of a whip tore through the air as it found its intended mark.

Another exhausted slave collapsed to the ground after a heavy blow landed on his naked, scarred back. He was an elderly man, barely able to walk beneath the weight he was forced to carry. Apparently, his slowness constituted a disservice to his master—my master.

The spectacle of the writhing old man did not seem to bother the perpetrator in the slightest. The poor soul was lashed several more times while still on the ground.

He pleaded for mercy.

Alas, his cries fell upon deaf ears.

But that was to be expected, I told myself.

That ruthless bastard was notorious for his savagery. He never showed remorse for his actions, and whether it was his own soldiers or his possessions, he indulged his sick, sadistic tendencies without restraint.

I dared not look at the scene directly. Not only was this a recurring phenomenon that hardly stirred a reaction within me anymore, but to do so would only invite the same fate upon myself.

That thought interrupted my stirring mind for only a moment.

I was stuck inside my head, again!

Well, there was no use contemplating possible past existences—at least not when tomorrow itself was more of a probability than a certainty.

The day was nearly over. After burdening my body with yet another cycle of relentless manual labour, I was finally granted permission to rest—for five hours.

Tomorrow, I envisioned with gloom, would be no different at all.

For as long as I could reminisce, things had always been bleak. It wasn’t that I was angry at my situation. Perhaps disappointed was the more accurate word. My younger self—the one still clinging to whatever scraps of vitality I once possessed—would surely have rioted. Internally, at least. I was never foolish enough to rebel openly.

Honestly, I was surprised I had survived this long. Still, I felt my end drawing near. Tomorrow, I might cease to exist entirely. Cast into this inescapable ordeal, death seemed inevitable.

That thought alone should have brought me solace.

It didn’t.

The truth was—I was afraid.

Always used, never achieving anything of worth throughout my years. Well… not entirely. After all, I had lasted longer than expected, hadn’t I?

You there!

Oh no…

“Who told you to stay awake?”

“My sire, you are right. I will go to—”

“I’ve had enough of you. If you are so full of energy, subhuman, then perhaps I will place you on the front line at dawn.”

“Yes, my lord…” I managed to mutter.

“Hmph.”

I fell defeated.

What was the point of my existence? Had I been placed in this world solely to kneel beneath the boots of rulers? No use dabbling in philosophy now.

At first light, when the march to battle commenced, he said I would serve as cannon fodder. I might as well play my final role well—make the knights look good once again.

Why?

Tears stained the dirt beneath me.

I didn’t want to—

The sun began to illuminate the fields.

Before I realised it, soldiers were mobilising. I was dragged from my cell, handed a mockery of a blade, and shoved into the thick of battle.

I thought it would be worse. Perhaps I had steeled myself the night before. Maybe I had needed that release after all.

The first wave of enemies crashed upon us like a tidal wave.

I flailed my half-dulled sword desperately, striking nothing but empty air. With no military training to support me, I was thrown onto my back almost immediately.

I scrambled to my feet, forcing myself to continue.

I fought with everything I had—not out of honour, nor in service of any higher duty.

I fought, just to survive.

A blow came. I parried it instinctively, but my brittle sword shattered upon impact. Shards of metal embedded themselves into my flesh.

Then—

The first volley of poisoned arrows was unleashed.

I understood.

I spread my arms wide and closed my eyes.

Maybe... this was how I had always wanted to go.

Finally free.

I awoke!

I felt encumbered.

An immense weight crushed down upon my body.

The stench was unbearable.

Cadavers stretched as far as the eye could see.

In this world, one’s worth was predetermined early on. Those who displayed promise in their control of mana were elevated above creatures like myself.

While they mastered the most advanced principles of magic, I could barely manifest the dregs of the most elementary of skills.

Born into a hardly noble family, even they refused to tolerate my existence.

Always her—never me.

Somehow, clinging to memories of my past, I found the strength to claw my way out from beneath the pile of corpses they had discarded me into.

Perhaps, that occurred because of rage!

I was still baffled though.

Like them, I had been certain I died on that blood-soaked battlefield.

The gleaming dining hall of the Maksa villa buzzed with laughter and idle gossip. An orchestra performed magnificent compositions, their elegance sharply contrasting the shallow conversations of the assembled nobles.

Suddenly, the grand doors parted.

Silence fell.

The Arch Duchess of Maksa entered.

Escorted by an entourage of nobles, the icy ornament of power herself, she moved with effortless grace to the head of the dining table and took her seat.

Her posture perfect, her prowess palpable!

She exuded an air of absolute authority!

“My Arch Duchess,” General Hifes began, bowing deeply. “We did not expect you to grace us with your presence. Forgive our transgression in starting without you. We believed you were still recuperating from—”

“Enough,” she cut in coldly. “Speak only to inform me of the outcome of the kingdom’s war effort. Spare me your excuses and pleasantries.”

“O-of course, my Lady. Everything has proceeded smoothly thus far.”

“Well then,” she said calmly, surveying the room. “Those are good tidings. Commence.”

With her permission granted, the feast resumed.

By the early hours of morning, the banquet had all but faded. Guests offered exaggerated farewells to their hosts, and especially to the Arch Duchess herself.

At last, the final noble passed through the villa gates.

The Arch Duchess summoned her personal military adviser.

He appeared in a flash.

“You called, my Lady?”

“Indeed. Report the enemy’s capabilities as you documented them.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

They spoke at length—of fortifications, defensive magic barriers, and weaknesses hidden within spell-casting patterns. When all details had been exhausted, she posed one final question.

One that gave him pause.

“Did he make it through?”

Anton hesitated before understanding who that inquiry was pertaining.

“No, my Lady. That subhuman didn’t survive. The General placed him on the front line as a cruel joke.”

She laughed.

“Hahahahaha… I see. That is rather amusing.”

She leaned back slightly.

“Well, I can hardly fault the General for that now, can I?”