Awakened: SSS Ranked Soul king

Chapter 1 Slave boy

"Stay in a straight line!"

From a bird's-eye view, in the depths of a dark, gloomy forest, a group of young men and women in tattered clothing trudged along a crooked path leading into the shadows.

"Move!" An arm covered in steel-plated armor shoved one of the young men forward, the guard's face twisted in annoyance.

These slaves had no discipline at all. What was so hard about walking in a straight line? Were they so unaware of their surroundings?

His frustration, of course, stemmed from a superiority complex etched into his mind, convincing him he was better than them. After all, they couldn't even manage something as simple as walking in a straight line—even though they had bags over their heads.

"Argh!" Feeling the force of the guard's push, one of the slave boys grunted, hate burning in his eyes.

Did these men expect them to march willingly to their deaths? What right did that guard have to feel annoyed by their resistance?

A few days after being bought, several of the slaves had started disappearing—either taken in the dead of night by a guard or outright slain in mock battles for sport. Both fates were horrible.

However, if given a choice, he would rather die fighting in one of those sham matches than like this. He was sure many of the others felt the same.

"We're here. Slow down at the back!" At the front of the line, a guardsman barked, waving his hand to signal the others to halt.

They had arrived at a forest clearing surrounded by towering pine trees, bathed in the eerie crimson light of a blood-red moon. Despite the scene's haunting beauty, the air was heavy with dread, sending chills down the slaves' spines.

Something was definitely wrong.

"How weak is it?"

As the slaves wrestled with the foreboding in their hearts, a sharp, commanding voice echoed through the clearing. Footsteps cracked through dried leaves and twigs as a young man stepped forward.

"It's weak enough, but we still need to wear it down a bit more. After that, you only need to swoop in for the kill. Then you'll have your powerful Beast Echo," an older woman with gray hair said reverently, standing beside him.

Tonight, they were here to secure a powerful Beast Echo for the family heir—a weapon to ensure he could compete with the other prodigies of his generation.

To achieve this, they had already sacrificed about twenty slaves to weaken the creature in the cave ahead. Tonight's sacrifice would be the final and most crucial one.

"Okay, let's begin," the young man said, taking a deep breath. His heart pounded with anticipation as his gaze locked onto the twenty-foot cave at the clearing's edge.

From the cave, a pair of glowing red eyes slowly opened, staring at the newcomers as if warning them that stepping closer meant death.

"You, move!" The guards, armed to the teeth, shoved the slaves forward with the butts of their spears, herding them toward the cave. The guards themselves followed at a cautious distance.

Despite their armor, they let the unarmed, unprotected slaves take the lead. The cruelty of it was almost laughable. Yet, this was the fate of slaves: disposable but undeniably useful.

"Grrrr..."

As the slaves inched closer to the cave, a low growl rumbled out—a clear warning. But with the monster ahead and the spears of their captors behind, they had no choice but to keep moving.

"This was a suicide mission from the start," the slave boy muttered, his voice grim.

Unlike the other slaves, he understood exactly what was happening.

The Blackberry family was under immense pressure at the shelter's third outpost. Years of producing talentless fighters had put them on the verge of losing their standing.

In a desperate bid, the family head had sent his son into this forest to claim the Beast Echo of a Grade 3 Sacred Beast. Success meant survival; failure meant death.

"Argh!"

A scream interrupted his thoughts as a figure was flung into a tree nearby.

Thud!

The slave boy glanced over and recognized the young heir, now lying motionless. Blood pooled beneath him, and his injuries seemed fatal.

"Perfect."

Ignoring the pain in his ribs, the slave boy approached the unconscious heir and crouched beside him.

"Still breathing? That's unfortunate."

He rifled through the heir's belongings, searching for anything of value.

Suddenly, a weak hand gripped his arm.

"Get me out of here, slave boy," the heir croaked, his voice trembling. "I'll give you anything you want—money, women, revenge. Just get me out."

He didn't want to be here. This was all his father's fault, forcing him to face this beast. He wanted to live.

The slave boy raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Yes... anything," the heir wheezed, his desperation palpable.

"Hm. No thanks."

Without hesitation, the slave boy smashed the heir's head against the tree, knocking him out cold.

"A dead man can't help me," he muttered, turning back to the battle.

The direwolf, despite its injuries, had utterly dominated.

...

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