A Slave Career Planner Can Be A Successful Profession

Decide to take a seat on a relatively empty train vehicle and get some light sleep for a few dozen minutes to the time of meeting up with the counterparty.

Close your eyes for a while, your consciousness goes away.

That was the beginning of the reincarnation of Toshiki Mitsuji.

(What, what's going on? Where am I?

When I noticed, the sight in front of me was completely different. It's not inside the train I was sitting on until earlier, it's turning into a darker place.

Apparently in the tent as far as I can tell. It is a tent of construction that desert nomads seem to use, and it is torn everywhere whether the skin of the material is deteriorating. As for the size, the canopy was made wide, and it seemed possible to accommodate between 30 and 40 people inside.

(No, so is this outfit. What the hell is this all about?

It's not just the place. I was dressed differently again.

The quality suit I was wearing just now is sometime brown thin dirty robe. By analogy, the beggar of otherworldly fantasy, or the outfit of the lower working class.

Of course I don't have the watch I was wearing until just now. I don't even have a cell phone. Without a business card holder, there's no business bag.

On the contrary, it seemed like my body was getting smaller about a turn. I don't feel a shaved beard when I touch my mouth. The feeling of the skin itself was also that of the unhardened skin when I was younger.

I tried to make sure he was young, but I didn't see anything mirror-like around him.

(... and what is this sight?

The sudden change of place, the change in my appearance, both were major changes if you take it from me, but there were more things to worry about than that.

It is the anomaly of the surrounding sight.

Naked people lined up in shifts.

In total, there are about thirty people on the count, and they look variant. There were people there with big statures, poor nutritional status, body covered with beast hair, terribly long lengths, each with a characteristic appearance.

No, humans...... should I say Demonic or Subhuman exactly, I don't know the exact words, but I obviously don't see them in modern society anyway, there are different humans there than homosapiens.

Common only in that everyone is not clothed.

He remains naked and deprived of his dignity as a person.

(What the hell is that?)

I can't grasp the situation at all.

No, the situation makes sense. There's a warcat beast girl in front of her, and she's starving and malnourished, like that.

But what I don't know is, "Why is that happening?"

Why is such a girl in front of you? Naked, starving.

It's like this.

You're a slave.

The moment I came to that idea, I took a step backwards.

"... good..."

Warcat's whispering voice.

I looked at her face seriously by accident. There was something in his eyes that looked back at him.

Who is she? What was good? What is that outfit?

Various questions have passed the back of my brain, but I have no answers.

Fortunately, the words make sense, so I thought I'd ask her a lot, but that was blocked by voices heard from behind.

"Hey Toshiki! How long will it take you?

"Yes! Uh, that"

Looking back, a grumpy looking big man is there pissing off his shoulder.

Toshiki. He seems to know my name. But tracing a memory doesn't make sense to the Lord of that voice.

Who the hell are you, but narrow your wits to try to connect conversations so they don't get unnatural.

"Sorry, I wasn't sure"

"Ah? You can't even sort slaves!

All of a sudden, the big man couldn't use it, and he put his fist in my face.

A blow. My nose gets hot and my eyes seep into my tears.

Brace for impact and strike hard in the back of the head. I can't stand up right after my head teases me.

As I sat back, I looked up at the big man and I was frightened.

The big man was looking down at us.

The grumpy, distorted look was like a face when you were staring at an unpleasant smell. The colour of the nose is red on the liquor and the thinness of the eyes that seem to be deep.

Desert merchant, I guess. Slightly better quality embroidered robes. But he didn't look the way people liked him, he reminded me of a ning-roe fierce creature.

The big man yelled in his wild voice.

"... hey, you look so busy. Who told me to fly cancer!

Now kick it.

I'm stubbornly kicking the same spot on my thigh. "What happened to your reply! ♪ And the rage flew in ♪

I couldn't stand the pain. I bowed down and apologized, "I'm sorry, too."

Eventually tired of it, the big man stopped kicking his leg along with a grumpy voice saying "... okay".

"I'm not free. I'll tighten you up later, so stay back now."

"... I understand"

Keep your head down and keep your distance.

Suddenly, it was only at first that I didn't have time to get angry, but now I'm angry at the irrational manipulation.

No, I was angry, but I didn't think I could fathom it.

I'm sure you shouldn't go for the blade. Lose by the difference in power. Because of the large difference in stature to see, it was clear that even if we fought, we would lose.

Even though I was still a little confused, I sighed inside.

I can't even think about it. I decide to think of something else to distract me.

(... what the hell is this situation)

The first and foremost question was that.

What does this situation mean? Is this a dream? I'll think about it a lot, but the answer is unlikely.

If I insist, in my dreams I have never realized that this is not a dream. It was only after I woke up that I realized it was a dream, and until now I had never questioned anything in my dreams.

Maybe it's not a dream. Then what is it?

different worlds, the word crossed the back of my brain. But I didn't get judgment at this stage.

(And sorting slaves?

When it comes to the next thing that bothered me, it's the word sorting slaves that came out of this big man's words.

Slave.

I mean, I guess in this world slaves are accepted as something that normally exists.

That means it's not the real world called Earth.

…… Maybe it's a dream, maybe it's a different world, I don't have a clue)

I thought as I rubbed my sore nose.

The observation of human disorientation cannot be reasonably made.

That's because I have experience as a career consultant.

Career consultants are like professional counseling.

Work close to counseling, using different data, such as qualifications, aptitudes and psychological approaches, to consult on the basis of one's aptitude and wishes.

So much so that it's a national skill test system, that I'm just qualified as a career consulting skilled person.

So if you want to do it, you probably can't do as much as observe human disorientation. But.

(Being a slave to another world is a pain in the ass. I have no idea how this world works)

I'm in.

It makes no sense if you don't know how this world works when you say that you have honed your people observation skills in your previous life because of this.

Let's say, for example, if we assume that this world is a different world, it was a world where there was magic. To a man of muscle bones, he said, "You're good for architecture! Even if we decide that civil architecture in this world can magically cover everything, it makes absolutely no sense.

We need to acquire common sense in this world first and foremost so that this does not happen.

But how can that be the sorting of slaves? If you dream, wake up soon, I thought.

"Damn, he's a kid with appraisal skills, so he hires you as an apprentice, but you can't use it at all."

"Excuse me....?

"Why did Kubella, the treasure god, give such a guy appraisal skills? Don't make me use my magic to bore you. -" Status Open ""

Kubella, the treasure god.

When I heard the words, I thought maybe.

Kubera, the treasure god, is a pillar of a certain game god.

"fantasy tale". It's a fantasy RPG that I was a bit into, and it boasted worldwide sales as a mobile app for social games.

I'd better get in there, too, and that game would give me a pretty good idea of the world view.

If this world is with 'fantasy tale'.

As soon as I knew I was, I felt all kinds of pieces fit into my head.

Demon Slave, Beastman Daughter, 'Status Open' Spell. They all match the world of 'fantasy tale'.

Could I have been flown inside the 'fantasy tale'?

(Oh, I see.... I mean, I don't know if it's a dream, but I'm in "fantasy tale")

I'm sure. Speaking of which, there was a species called Warcat in "fantasy tale," which also explains the presence of that girl's beast man.

The moment I realized that hypothesis, one hope sprouted in me.

Dreams are fine anyway. But if it had been reborn into a completely different world, it would have been an unparalleled opportunity.

We can start over.

And then I started over and I took a breath.

(- Dreams are fine anyway. But if I can start over, I want to be born in this world)

Those words were naturally floating in me.

"Ha, this guy looks like he could use it. This guy... you can't, okay, this one."

While the big man was sorting like that, I made a sneak decision.

Let's do something about this big guy first.

You're gonna use it inside, Marc.

I vomited evil in my heart, carrying water in the midst of a raging flame.

Desert sunshine is strong as it burns. Yet the crowd continues uninterrupted, so hot and painful.

The boulder is only the country of grace (Bakaristan) and the most populous country in "fantasy tale".

Its trading centre, the trading city 'Oasis Street' (where the name of the city is really Oasis Street), is crowded and passing races vary with humans, sub-people and demons alike.

The Beast Man is selling meat. The Dragons buy it. Gold coins exchanged are, of course, unfamiliar currencies, and it's small-time goblins who smile and receive them.

It's a sight to be shown to be a fantasy world even if you don't like it.

I was the one walking around the city carrying heavy water.

(Of course, if you don't draw water from the oasis, you can be sure that drinking water is irresistible. But how far do you think there is from Oasis Street to Slam Street... eh)

What I have been rough about since earlier is the cruelty of that big man Marc's manipulation.

Simply because the amount of water you carry is unusual. Marc's store holds nearly thirty slaves, so even if you consume two litres a day, it's sixty litres.

Right now, besides me, I'm driving out three human slaves to carry that water, which means nearly fifteen litres on my own, carrying it from Oasis Street to Slam Street.

This is pretty impressive.

Normally, water pumping is something that lets a slave who is good at manual labor, not the kind of job that lets a 15-year-old kid like me make a thin line (he was actually fifteen when he hung his appraisal skills on himself).

Marc is daring me to do that too. Apparently, the reason is "to correct your business".

It's ridiculous.

(Damn, I can't set up a store in Oasis Street, so it's like a slaver's habit to set up a store on the border with Slam Street)

When I set up a shop in Oasis Street, I thought it wasn't a long way from carrying water.

If you say slum city in a nutshell, you are correct in stating that you are not well.

People were flourishing in Oasis Street, but in contrast, the shadows are long neglected when it comes to slums.

There are people who fall asleep in the corner of the alley, shops selling suspicious food, etc., with a unique air, close to the representation that the city is depressed.

The starving side of Oasis Street. That was Slam Street.

The residence of the slave trader Marc lies halfway between the Oasis and Slam streets (precisely within one large town, 'Oasis Streets', there is an 'area called Oasis Streets' and an 'area called Slam Streets', which exist halfway between them).

A little further away from the heart of Oasis Street and on the way to Slam Street, in the middle of that somewhat more than Slam Street, there is a shop in a slightly different shade than the decadent atmosphere of Slam.

I think it's such an exquisite positioning that people with elegant but dark desires seem to prefer it.

(... Finally, you see Marc's shop...)

Hold your legs and take a breath.

When I finally put down the heavy water, I went inside the store and called Marc out, "It's over".

Marc was sitting there like a rock.

In reply to me, my big eyes are staring at me. "Han," I heard him snort, and I was ready to be beaten up quickly.

It's always like this. When you're in a bad mood like this, you decide to hit me.

"You know what to do when you're done pumping water!

"Huh..."

It wasn't a beating, it was a kick. I was fortunate to be slightly below the dovetail and never stopped breathing. Instead a firm pain ran like I thought my abdominal gut might have been scratched.

Ugh, the groan leaked unexpectedly.

"Don't you understand if I don't say one word! Don't bother me!

It was a spitting and barking marc, but then I reduced the number of reports so that I wouldn't be bothered for a while. So this guy said, "What's not to report! Do the same thing."

The point is, you just want to yell at me.

Either way, if you're going to get beat up, it's better to do it less often, so I'm only going to do the part where I can make my own decisions and summarize the report briefly. Marc would also be a plus with less annoyance for a while.

If I thought so, then I did, and now it's up to me to say, "Fuck your businesslike attitude."

(… not to be bothered)

"Got it? Ah?" Marc, grabbing his hair and getting me up, had no longer hidden his desire to behave violently.

I was convinced it would taste bad if I didn't get out of this situation.

Whiplash your painful body to work.

After water pumping, it is the care of the fine and junior slaves.

Clean the interior of the tent gently, cook the meals of the slaves, and if there are any missing supplies, go ahead and buy more.

(... slave of slaves, you're doing something like that, I am)

Cleaning the tent with a rag in one hand brought such self-derisive words to my mind, but alas, it is not a mistake.

I'm a small-timer. He's just a small-time kid with no power whatsoever, who's being used by Marc physically.

If I could escape, I might have escaped, because at any rate wages are not paid for in the mysterious theory of "I'm educated as a merchant, and I even provide meals and beds," and on top of that, I get violent for unreasonable reasons.

Unwaged labour, corporal punishment.

Still, the only reason I don't escape is because, for one thing, I don't know how to live where I escape.

Who the hell is going to take care of a kid from Slam Street who doesn't even know his identity? Even if there was an understaffed shop somewhere, and you wanted to hire a small-timer, you'd buy and hire slaves, not guys like me who don't even know who you are.

I mean, it's not like peace is promised where you fled.

(Whether you want to escape or do anything, you need knowledge and means first...)

Fortunately, I'm not a slave. It would have been possible to turn to Marc if it had been difficult.

That means you won't be restricted by the slave imprint that's carved on my back right now, you won't suffer as much intense pain or death as you'd be mad if you disobeyed my husband's orders.

Marc doesn't realize I'm not a slave, and if I have to, he believes the slave print on my back will hold me back.

Slave prints, very useful sorcery, I think.

Even violent slave traders like Marc have the most reason why the slaves don't escape because they have slave marks.

Slave prints are a kind of contract magic, and the existence of a slave print carved into the body restricts the action to the master of that contract. Absolutely obedient to the order, if you disobey the order, the slave imprint will hurt like you had a fever, and you will suffer the slave.

It's painful, it drives people crazy, and in the worst case, it can even be shocked to death.

(But the slave print doesn't work for me. Apparently the slave contract is broken without knowing it.... this is a fairly important fact in my independence from Marc)

I was watching the opportunity to make the most of this. I can strip my fangs if I have to.

For example, I have an accumulation of about three gold coins despite my unpaid work.

This is a stack of things that Marc made money from buying something cheaper than usual and saving a few percent of the difference when he asked you to use it, or from buying cheap Oasis Street merchandise and selling it high elsewhere, or from buying only quality things from scrapiron pickup boys in his spare time.

Three gold coins I've managed to get in the last four months.

You can do something when you have to.

The question is, when are you going to strip your fangs?

(... I have appraisal skills and the protection of the treasure god Kubella. Conversely, that's all I have now)

status open, and the status screen is opened in mind. It is very convenient to be able to display without having to speak up just to remember.

--------------------------------------------------

Name: Toshiki Mitsuji

Age: 15

Level: 6

HP: 20 MP: 7

Muscle Strength: 5

Jun Min: 7

Magic: 4

Endurance: 6

Unique Protection: Protecting the Treasure God

Unique Skills: Appraisal Options

Special Skills: Appraisal Lv.10

--------------------------------------------------

Check the overlay, but as this status screen shows, I'm not a slave. Because if you're a slave, you should be labeled (slave) next to the name field.

I don't know why I'm not in slavery, but it's only thanks to the protection of the treasure god. "Search Options: Advanced Search" for the part called "Protecting the Treasure God" on the status screen and popping up a more detailed description said:

[Unique protection: protection of the treasure god]

Protection of the treasure god Kubella. Subsidies are created for commercial talent.

Negotiative Growth +

Invalidity of agreements without agreement

(Apparently, at some point the lack of agreement meant that he had annulled the slave contract)

I'll have to thank you for all this luck. If I had stayed under a bond of slavery, I couldn't have done anything.

See the other slaves. The status screen specifies that you are a slave like "Name: Meena Celianthrope (Slave)" and "Name: Cayenne Leptilian (Slave)".

If you believe in the display of my appraisal skills, I'm apparently not a slave to them.

I find myself uncomfortable with the fact that the slave imprint is carved on my back but not a slave.

(The problem was that if Marc used his appraisal skills on me, I wouldn't be a slave...)

That was my biggest concern, but apparently, Marc's appraisal skills and mine 'look different (...)'.

He didn't see Marc with all the information I was supposed to see.

Skills, for example. A special skill labeled "Special Skills: Appraisal Lv.10" is called a skill in the world of "FANTASY TALE".

This skill, skill level, is information about the person's stunts and areas of expertise.

But Marc doesn't seem to see what kind of skills the person has, how high the skill level is, etc., unlike me.

(Thanks to the appraisal option for that and this. Whether this can be manipulated would be quite different)

[Unique Skill: Appraisal Options]

Allows setting of options when using appraisal skills.

Name Display: ON

Age Indication: ON

Lv. View: ON

Status numeric display: ON

Protection/Skill Display: ON

Confidence indication: ON

Psychograph display: ON

Advanced Search: ON

The addition of an appraisal option is apparently a so-called config screen.

Apparently, you can set options to use with ON/OFF, and now you can customize your appraisal skills.

We still don't know what the hell a homemade option is, but anyway, it was a pretty big advantage to know information like "Name," "Age," "Lv.," "Status Numbers (Muscle Strength, Endurance, etc.)," Protection/Skills, "" Confidence, "" Psychograph, "etc.

Meanwhile.

The only information Marc can tell is apparently "name" and "status numbers".

It was also seen from the fact that they sell skilled and unskilled slaves for the same price because they have the same status.

I mean, I get a lot more information than Marc does.

Marc's appraisal skills are very low compared to Lv.2 and my appraisal skills Lv.10.

Based on this, I can predict that Marc's appraisal skills are far worse than mine, and I don't know if I'm a slave, what skills or protections I have, etc.

Of course I don't know why Marc knows that 'I have appraisal skills' (maybe the old me accidentally leaked the word). But assuming you see that information just like I do, you realize I'm not a slave.

(... poking around alarmed that I'm a slave and putting him in a trap?)

Continue cleaning the tent while still rubbing the painful belly.

I worked out the idea of how to fit the marc in my head, and I grinned lightly.

(Oh, I'm tired today...)

Night.

I looked around as I warmed myself up to the bonfire I lit for the night police.

Slam Street is insecure. That is the anomaly to the extent that it is handled in the form of 'accidents of accident', even if at some point it was clearly murder at the hands of a person, as someone was killed.

Inevitably, this Marc shop, halfway between Slam and Oasis streets, also needs to be alert to raids and such.

That's why Marc keeps his slaves on guard.

Day or night, time shifts, pairs of people, weapons possession.

Basically, a good physical slave is in charge of these things, but for some reason, I'm also entrusted with the night police.

Shall I show you, or shall I belly you? Either way, "for education," Marc would twitch.

(I don't hate watching like this myself at night)

I didn't want my sleep to be shredded, but I didn't want to alarm you at night.

I can also say I would have appreciated it.

Because you can warm your body in the name of the Night Police when it hits an incendiary fire.

My bunk was a narrow warehouse tent, unlike the slaves. The night is terribly cold, and the body is not stretched out satisfactorily and the saving hurts.

That's why I couldn't sleep satisfactorily along the way and woke up.

So you can still get a better quality sleep by heating your body with one end of the fire. In that sense, the Night Police was one of the few jobs I wanted to do.

Originally, I was a nocturnal person before I was reincarnated, so I don't really enjoy sleeping long enough.

This time of boiling water and drinking white water, watching the blurry stars (though vigilance around them, of course) while warmed by the bonfire, was in a way healing.

(... Now, what we should think about by hitting the mark is how to break the current situation...)

Second, Marc glanced at the shopkeeper's tent where he was sleeping now. I've never stepped inside that tent, but I know there's a lot of valuables in there.

For example, a business license for a merchant guild, a contract with a customer, and numerous slave agreements.

(Exercising strength?

Let's say you restrained Marc so he couldn't move.

And I'll have my license reissued in my name, and I'll rewrite a bunch of contracts in my name. Then I can take over this store?

The answer is no.

Marc formally relinquishes management or needs to be stripped of management in formal proceedings.

Just because I was forced to rewrite my name, that's just a robbery.

If Marc picks on me, I'll rarely get caught.

So will there be any such thing as Marc waiving his right to manage?

I wouldn't say no.

From his character, he's a man with a strong appetite for birth and no eyes for money. There's no way the heavens and the earth could have flipped over if he'd given up management.

(Then, how can you let them strip you of your right to manage...)

The incineration makes a dry noise and rocks.

I can't believe how it strips me of my management rights, that seems such an impossibility challenge that it seems easier to escape from Marc without a single person.

Take over or run. Or do you sweeten it as it is?

(... at least you don't have a third. You could get killed if you stay like this)

Reflect on your usual treatment. Just hit him, yell at him repeatedly. Sometimes there comes a blow that really reminds me of a life crisis (I saw HP with appraisal skills and it was pretty much down).

If you suffer from a disease, such as a cold or a fever, you will naturally not let me rest. I can't buy medication satisfactorily either because I don't have a salary, and if I get violence from a body that doesn't have the strength, I have a good chance of dying as it is.

This is not a good idea.

Even if you don't, I can't believe you're sweetening up the way you are, and that's why you're inadvertently giving me a chance to get my life back together.

(Should I escape or take over)

Either way, we need the knowledge of this world first. I have to purchase knowledge -.

"Um, okay?

"Hmm?"

I was distracted by my thoughts, etc., and I was called out.

Meena Celianthrope. She tends to make a quiet impression because she doesn't usually smile, but once she gets along she laughs people-friendly, a daughter with that side.

She is the daughter of Warcat's Beastman, and the same (though not exactly me) slave as I am.

--------------------------------------------------

Name: Meena Serianslope (Slave)

Age: 15

Level: 6

HP: 21 MP: 6

Muscle Strength: 8

Jun Min: 9

Magic: 2

Endurance: 4

Inherent Protection: Witch of Dreams

SPECIAL SKILL: Skill Lv.3

Special Skill: Dance Lv.2

Special Skill: Physical Enhancement Lv.1

--------------------------------------------------

It was also clearly labeled Meena Serianslope (Slave) in her appraisal skills and it was a fact that she was definitely a slave.

Although some of the descriptions of concern were scattered (especially the fact that there is also LV.3, the intrinsic protection of the witch of dreams, etc.), she is nevertheless only a slave to Marc.

And it was me and Meena who were in charge of the night watch at this hour.

"What's up, Meena?"

"Um, are you hurt okay? Because it's what I've been working on all day rubbing my stomach."

"Oh, no problem. It's been four months... No, I'm used to it anyway."

Apparently, she was watching my tricks for the purpose, perhaps in an occasional belly-covered motion while cleaning the tent.

In fact, that Marc kick was a pretty tough blow and had quite a bit less HP. However, by applying the appropriate treatment (according to the appraisal skills, I should take an anti-inflammatory painkiller, so I am now simmering the grass with that effect and drinking it from white water), I am managing to head for comfort.

"Oh, speaking of which, it's been four months."

……

"? What's wrong?

It was Meena peeking in with a strange face, but I couldn't utter a word.

Four months, which means I've been in this world four months.

There is something emotional about the fact that we have endured violence and irrationality over the past four months. But I'm the only one who should know how hard those four months have been.

There's no way that an outside person would know that I've been reincarnated for four months.

(What does this Meena statement mean?

To Meana's remarks, I drank white water while returning only a "oh" raw reply.

In exchange, I decided to ask you something else, something you wanted to hear.

"Hey, speaking of which, it was four months ago. Talk about when I forgot how to appraise and poke. Remember that?

"Uh, yes. I remember."

"Didn't you whine then, Meena, good? What does that mean?

Yes, that time, she must have whined to me, "... good..." What the hell is the sincerity of that statement?

It's only a hypothesis, but maybe she knows that I'm a reincarnator, and that's why she remarked at that time that it was "good".

I can't help wearing it, so just listen and see how it reacts over there.

"It's a secret."

From her somewhat mysterious grin, I couldn't (...) read at all. But the appraisal skills (...) read her psychology almost exactly.

This is a psychographic move when you're hiding something important - and I thought as I read the psychographic meter that pops up. There wasn't much rush or agitation, but there are strong indications of surprise emotions.

"It's a secret, but the good news is true"

"So you wonder what's good for you."

"Ugh, I had a bad dream, but I thought it might not be a real dream this time, Lord"

"What is it... Lord? I'm not the Lord."

"Come on, what is it?

"What is it..."

It's like being teased, like telling the truth. I gave up reading deeply into what she said that didn't come with either.

But I'm sure he's going to be the Lord, and I thought I heard the word, but I couldn't take anything like the sentiment put in there.

"More than that, Lord"

"What is it, my lord?"

"If you're thinking about independence from Marc, can I help?"

"Huh...?

"Because I'm a witch, me"

I thought if I were a witch, what was it, but that tone was unmistakable. Seriously, that's why I couldn't hear her say that word as a joke.

"Hey, how about that?

Meena, who comes just a little closer with a nostalgic smile, had the look of a child when the prank succeeded.