underkingdom trash awaken my void system

Chapter 6– marks

Night.

Forest. Fire. Small. Hidden in a ditch, smoke going sideways.

Milkit sat across from me. Knees to chest. Staring at the flames. Not at me. Never at me. Like looking at people was forbidden.

I pushed bread toward her. The last of it. Hard. Stale. From my Kamui storage.

She didn't move.

"It's not a test," I said. Quiet. Careful. Like talking to a kicked dog. "You don't have to earn it. Don't have to trade. Just… eat. Please."

One second. Two. Three.

Her hand shot out. Grabbed it. Shoved the whole thing in her mouth. Cheek bulging. Like I'd take it back. Like it was a trick.

She choked.

I gave her water. Cracked canteen.

She drank. Then stopped. Looked at the canteen. At me. At the water level.

Waiting for the price. For the "now you owe me."

"There isn't one," I said.

She didn't believe me.

But when exhaustion hit, when her eyes couldn't stay open, when *END: 0* finally meant _collapse_, she didn't crawl away.

She leaned.

Into my side.

Because she couldn't stand anymore.

Because I was warm.

Because I was _there_.

My chest did that thing again. The thing it did when I killed the B-rank. The thing that wasn't quite a sob.

It just… rested. Against a log. Like it was tired too.

And I thought: Maybe zero and nothing can still add up to something.

Even if it's just two broken things keeping each other breathing.

Even if it's just garbage plus garbage equals _not alone_.

The next day I woke up to Milkit staring at me.

Not asleep. Not blinking. Just… watching. Like I'd vanish if she looked away. Like I was a dream she didn't trust.

"Morning," I said. Voice rough. Throat dry.

She flinched.

Right. Words. Too loud. Too close.

I sat up slower. "We need a well."

Her head tilted. Confusion.

"Water. Food. Room." I tapped the three silver in my palm. "This buys nothing. We need coin. Coin means work. Work means…"

I looked at the collar marks. Hers.

Fake, but they looked real enough. I'd used * Partial Teleportation* last night to shift the iron through our necks for a half-second. Left red rings. Slave brands without the magic. Because slaves get ignored. Slaves get _through_ gates.

Slaves also get hate.

We found that out fast.

We walked to Alden.

The walls were white-washed and peeling. Guards at the gate, bored, armor rusted at the elbows, spears used more for leaning than fighting. They didn't stop us going in.

They stopped us coming back out.

Because that's when they saw the necks.

---

Hers was worse.

Fresh. Red. Scabbed. Mana-burned from where I'd torn the collar off with Kamui. The iron had been hot. The skin underneath was raw, still weeping, still spelling out _Property. Escaped. Thief._ The collar was gone. The message wasn't.

The first shop was a baker.

Smell of bread made Milkit's legs stop working. She swayed. I caught her elbow. She went rigid, then forced herself to relax. Rule One of being owned: Don't show weakness. Weakness gets exploited.

The baker saw us. Saw her neck.

The wooden shutter slammed down so fast it nearly took my fingers.

"No slaves," he barked through the slat. "No cursed. Guild won't cover your coin. Move on before I call the Watch."

Second shop. General goods.

The woman didn't bother with words. She spit. On the ground. Near Milkit's bare feet. Near the blood. "Collar-burn brings Watch. Watch asks questions. Questions cost money. Go. _Now_."

By the fourth, people were watching. Civilian. Merchants. A mother pulled her kid behind her skirt when we passed, like we were plague. A man with a dog made it growl, like we were meat.

"Church says they steal souls. Says they're born from sin."

Milkit walked behind me now. One step. Eyes down. Shoulders in. Making herself small. Making herself _gone_.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking

I bit my tongue until I tasted blood.

"Keilan," Milkit whispered. First word in hours. Hoarse. Like she'd swallowed glass and lived. "Not… worth. Punishment."

She thought I was going to fight. She thought I'd get us killed. She was _apologizing_ for being _born_.

"We're not fighting," I said. "Come on," I whispered. Pulled her sleeve. Gentle. "We're leaving."

*Fifth shop. A tavern.*

The man looked at us. At Milkit’s shaking. At my shaking. At the way we stood—her one step behind, me one step too far forward, both of us wrong.

“Please,” I said. Keilan. Boy. Voice low. Practiced. “We have silver.”

Three silver. All we had. Pulled from Kamui this morning.

He looked at the silver. Then at our necks.

“Stolen?” he asked.

“No.”

“Fine,” he sighed, thumbing the coins. “Sign the guest book. One night.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and grabbed Milkit’s hand. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. We stepped inside.

The tavern smelled of burnt bread, stale ale, and damp wood. Safer than the street. Louder than the street. Noise meant people weren’t looking too hard.

Keilan ordered the stew I’d seen Milkit staring at earlier—eyes tracking it like she’d forgotten hunger was allowed. She went rigid when I said “two bowls.”

“Master, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I cut her off, voice flat but low enough only she heard. “Eat. I know you want to try it, so I ordered it for you.”

She stared at the bowl when it came. Didn’t touch it for a full minute. Then her fingers trembled around the spoon.

While she ate, Milkit glanced at the innkeeper. “Do you have a vacant room? I… I can pay.”

The man wiped his hands on his apron and shook his head. “Room’s two silver a night. You’ve got one left after the stew.”

Keilan froze.

“You don’t care about the marks?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He shrugged. “As long as you don’t cause trouble and you pay up, I don’t care. Besides, what’s there to be worried about? It’s not like you’re some runaway property.”

That word hit wrong.

“We’re not property,” I said. Keilan. Boy. Voice sharper now.

He just sighed, like I was a stubborn kid. “If you don’t want to attract unwanted attention, you’ve got to blend in. Know how this works? People who gossip, who disturb you, they back off if you look like what they expect. A noble boy and his slave girl. If people see you as that, you won’t have trouble.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to throw the table.

But Milkit’s fingers were still shaking around the spoon. The guards outside were still looking for ‘runaways’.

I sighed. “I guess you’re right. Doing that will stop unwanted attention. I think we’re going with that plan.”

Milkit’s fingers curled into my cloak. Not holding. _Anchoring._

We needed a place to stay.

That meant the Adventurer’s Guild.

Gods help us.

I finished the last of my stew, stood up, and left one silver on the counter.

“We’ll be back for the room,” I said. “If we’re not, keep the coin.”

I didn’t wait for a reply.

Milkit followed, one step behind, and I set out for the guilds.

---

The Adventurer's Guild in Alden was smaller than Linus. Dirtier. Meaner.

It smelled like sweat, ale, old blood, and desperation. Quest board took up one wall, paper yellow, edges curled, promises peeling. Reception desk took up the other, wood scarred from knives and worse, from people who didn't get paid. Between them: tables. Men. Women. All with real numbers over their heads when I used _Observation_. D-ranks. C-ranks. One B-rank drinking in the corner with a scar across his face and mana like a thundercloud.

We walked in.

The room went quiet.

Not because we were strong. System hide my stats. I looked like F-Rank trash. Eighteen, human, auburn hair to my shoulders, thick bangs, wide amber eyes, plain collared shirt, cloak hiding nothing.

Because of our necks.

"Oi. Slaves on the floor."

"Since when do we let collar-trash in here?"

"Looking for your master, girls? He's not here. Try the brothel."

Milkit went still. Statue-still.

I stepped in front of her.

"Job," I said. Kept my voice flat. Boy voice. Low. "We need a job."

Slaves ain't allowed," said the man at the desk. Receptionist. Badge said _Gorm_. D-rank. Fat. Sweating. Stank of cheap wine and cheaper power. "Guild rules. Chapter 3, Section 2. Runaways especially. You bring Watch, you bring trouble. You bring trouble, I lose my cut. I lose my cut, you lose your _teeth_."

"I'm not a slave," I said. Keilan. Boy. Voice low. Practiced. "She's not either. Not anymore. Collars are off. See?"

I tilted my head. Showed the _absence_.

Gorm laughed. "Marks say different. Collar-burn don't lie. You're property. Someone's gonna want you back. Someone with gold.

A laugh from the tables. "F-Rank boys don't live long. They die tired. They die _begging_." said a woman with a spear. C-rank. Mana sharp, green.

Milkit went rigid beside me. Doing the thing. Making herself small.

My hand went to the cloak. To where the sword was _not_. To where Kamui was _always_.

_Eye Strain: 65%_. I could kill this room in four minutes.

Then I'd be blind. Then Milkit would be alone. Then we'd both be dead, and the collars would go back on her corpse. And they'd sell her again. And again. And again.

So I swallowed. Blood and pride and _hate_ and _eighteen years of it_.

"Job," I said. "Any job. F-rank. D-rank. We'll do it"."

"F-rank jobs are for _adventurers_," Gorm sneered. "Not for garbage that crawled out of a collar. You want work? Whorehouse is two streets down. Alley called Red Lantern. They take all kinds. Even broken ones.

Laughter.

A big one stood. Axe on his back. C-rank, maybe. "She's right, boy. This ain't a place for you and your toy. Jobs here kill people. Real people. Not collar-rats."

My teeth hurt from clenching.

"That's enough."

Young voice. Clear. Not loud, but it cut the room like a blade. Like _Observation_ cutting through lies. Like truth cutting through _collar_.

A boy stood up from the corner table. Maybe seventeen. Maybe less. Leather armor, cheap, patched. No rank badge. F-rank, probably. Or unranked. Black hair, messy. Tired eyes, but the kind of tired that comes from caring. Straight back.

"You can't judge a book by its cover," he said. Looking at Gorm. Then at me. Then at Milkit. His eyes lingered on her bare feet. On the scars. On the auburn hair framing her face in loose, soft waves, on the heavy bangs shadowing wide amber eyes. And something _hard_ went into his face. Something _old_.

"Guild law says anyone can take a quest," he said. "Anyone with mana. Anyone breathing. Section 1, Article 4. Read it sometime, Gorm. If you can read."

Gorm's face went red. "You vouching for collar-trash, Ren?"

Ren. The boy's name was Ren.

"I'm saying the board's for everyone," Ren said. "Or we ain't a Guild." He jerked his chin at the door. At the city. At the world that made collars. At the world that made _Gorm_.

Silence.

The B-rank in the corner looked up. Looked at Ren. Looked at me. Looked at Milkit. Then went back to his drink. Not his fight. Not his _problem_.

---

Ren walked to the board. Pulled a sheet. Yellow. Old. Edges frayed. Slapped it on the counter. Wood cracked.

“undead skeleton,” he said. “F-rank. Clear the old well outside the east wall. Six undead minimum. Pays three silver. Easy. Safe. Even _girls_ can do it.”

He slid it to me. Paper scraped wood.

“Take it,” he said. Quiet.

I stared at him.

_[Observation: Passive]_

His mana was green and Calm. He had calluses on his hands from work. He had a scar on his chin from falling as a kid, not fighting as a man.

He just seem… _good_.

And good got you killed in places like this.

“Why?” I said. Before I could stop myself. Before I could remember that some kindness had a _price_.

Ren shrugged.

He walked out. Didn’t wait for thanks.

I looked at the quest. Undead skeletons. South wall. F-rank. 4 silver._

I took it.

Gorm stamped it. Hard. Ink splattered. Like he was signing our death warrant. Like he _knew_. “Don’t come crying when the beasts eat you, collar-trash. And they will. F-rank trash always does. Always _did_. Always _will_.”

I didn’t correct him.

Milkit and I left.

Outside, the sun was too bright. _Eye Strain: 66%_. I pulled the hood lower.

I looked at the map. At the three silver we’d have. At Milkit’s bare feet, bloody, cracked.

The quarry wasn’t close yet, but I could feel it.

The air went wrong about a hundred paces out from the old south wall. Heavier. Wet, like a storm was breathing up through the cracks in the stone. Milkit walked a half-step behind me, her bare feet careful on the broken rock. She hadn’t said anything since we left the road.

Until now.

Keilan,” Milkit whispered. Second word today. Third word ever. She was using my name. Not _Master_.

“Yeah?”

My name. Fourth word she’d ever said to me. It still hit harder than it should.

I stopped and looked back. Her amber eyes were fixed on the way the ground sloped down toward the quarry mouth. She was holding Caleaum’s dagger like she wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

“Have you… ever done this before?” she asked.

Her voice low, not scared. Concerned. Like she was asking if I’d ever jumped off a cliff before, and wanted to know if I knew how to land.

I grinned. It felt good to grin. For the first time in eighteen years, it felt like I had something to grin about.

“Done this?” I said. I rolled my shoulder, felt Garren’s sword settle against my back. “Yeah. I’ve done this.”

I let a little of the old weight bleed into my voice. The weight of three years in Kamui, of things that didn’t have names and things that did and died anyway.

“I’ve taken down dozens of B-rank monsters, Milkit, Solo. In worse places than this.” I tapped my temple. “An F-rank quest that’s lying about its rank?”

I shook my head, proud, honest, and a little cruel because I needed her to stop looking at me like I was about to get us killed.

“They don’t compare.”

Milkit didn’t answer right away. She looked past me.

Then she said it, low. Like she was talking to the ground so it wouldn’t echo back:

“I see.”

There was no anger in it. Just flat, tired disbelief, the kind that comes before you accept that this is how you die.

Like it was our doom.

And like she couldn’t argue with it.

“Stay behind me,” I said. Softer now. I couldn’t stand the way her shoulders did that thing—shrinking, like she was already making herself small for the cage she thought was coming.

She just kept holding the dagger, and followed.

Stone. Broken. Empty.

And the system screamed.

_[DUNGEON FIELD DETECTED]_​