Hope Amid Despair

Wang Wu regained consciousness. Tears had long since streamed from his eyes; he did not know whether Harrot had shed them or whether they were his own.

It felt like a dream, yet also like he had lived another life. In a haze, Wang Wu absorbed the memories of Harrot, the original owner of this body after his transmigration.

He also understood the meaning of the cries he had been unable to comprehend before:

"Don't die. Live on in my place. I promised Father that I would survive, that I would find happiness, that I would live happily!"

His consciousness returned fully to his body. Wang Wu wiped away his tears and found himself lying on the floor of a cell. Looking around, he saw no one else. It was probably a solitary cell. When he tried, he found that he could stand up with surprising ease.

The cell had walls on three sides, while the fourth was made of more than a dozen iron bars. The door itself consisted of four iron bars. He could stick his limbs through them, though his head would probably get stuck.

Across from his cell stood other cells of similar design. Strangely, they were not in a basement or inside a building. He could see a huge sun hanging in the sky.

He did not know how many days he had been unconscious. He felt hungry and thirsty, but his body seemed to have healed. After moving around a little, he found that nothing appeared to be wrong.

After personally experiencing Harrot's tragic life, Wang Wu felt sorrow, resentment, and fury.

His homeland had been invaded and destroyed by beastmen. His mother had not escaped in time. His younger brother had died on the road. His father had been devoured by a magical beast before his eyes. He had lost his freedom and become a slave, then inexplicably lost his life. Any one of those disasters alone would have been agonizing.

Yet when all of them were piled together, the sheer depth of the tragedy gave it an absurd quality instead. Yes, Harrot's entire life had been a joke. Fate had played a cruel joke on him.

"I absolutely won't let the rest of your life become a joke too. I'll survive. I'll definitely attain the happiness you longed for! I promise!"

Wang Wu's gaze hardened as he made up his mind. This was for Harrot, who had called him back from the brink of death, and for himself as well.

The guards outside the cell noticed Wang Wu getting up and ran off to report it.

Before long, a bald middle-aged man entered Wang Wu's cell with several guards.

The Bald Man was huge and muscular, somewhat like the protagonist of the game God of War.

A guard opened the door, and The Bald Man walked over to Wang Wu, saying in amazement:

"You survived being struck by that kind of monster, and after sleeping for less than three days, you're already back on your feet. This is the first time I've ever seen physical qualities this strong."

"I'm very interested in you. What's your name? How does your body feel?"

In Harrot's memories, this was the man who had bought him from the slave traders.

"My name is Harrot. There's nothing seriously wrong with me. I'm just a little hungry and thirsty."

Wang Wu decided that he would use Harrot's name from now on. If he could rise to prominence and live a good life, it would count as fulfilling Harrot's wish. Besides, Harrot was also the one who had saved his life.

When The Bald Man heard Wang Wu say that he was fine and saw Harrot moving about as though nothing had happened, he found it hard to believe. He called over someone who looked like a doctor to examine Wang Wu's injuries.

The doctor-like man felt around Harrot's body, then finally patted Harrot's back, probably where he had been struck that day. He confidently gave The Bald Man an affirmative reply.

"There's no major problem. All the bones are intact, and there are no signs of muscle tears."

The Bald Man's face filled with shock upon hearing the doctor's reply, but it quickly turned into delight.

"Unbelievable. Your injuries really have completely healed. Those were fatal wounds!"

"It's good that you're fine, very good. I'll have someone prepare some food and drink for you right away. Rest and recover peacefully. You won't need to participate in any gladiatorial matches for the next few days. Just do some training. I'll arrange a fight for you next week."

After saying that, The Bald Man happily patted Harrot on the shoulder, as though he had high expectations for him.

Harrot felt a twinge of pain where he had been patted. This bald man was exceptionally strong, though his attitude toward Harrot was quite friendly.

Harrot silently nodded without replying. His mind was a mess right now, and if he opened his mouth, he might say something he should not.

The Bald Man did not seem to mind Harrot's silence. After confirming that Harrot truly had no serious issues, he happily left with the guards.

After The Bald Man left, Harrot sat on the floor and thought in silence. Once he sorted through the memories, he clearly understood the circumstances he faced after transmigrating.

This was a Western fantasy world. There were social divisions between nobles, Commoners, and slaves; demi-human races such as elves, beastmen, and dwarves; and fantastical creatures such as magical beasts, dragons, and Ogres.

What was strange, however, was that in the original Harrot's memories, there was no trace of any supernatural human powers. He had no impression of magic, Battle Aura, divine arts, or anything of the sort.

That meant that, at the very least, ordinary Commoners could not possess supernatural powers in this world.

There were beliefs in gods, though. Whether human or demi-human, nearly all intelligent beings worshipped the Sun God.

The phrase people said most often was, "Praise the sun!"

For some reason, Harrot always felt that there was something odd about those words.

The kingdom he was currently in was called the Kingdom of Lucanir, a human-dominated kingdom with virtually no demi-humans within its borders.

Although he had been sold to the Gladiatorial Arena and become a gladiator, fortunately, that bald man seemed to value him highly.

His treatment was much better than that of ordinary slaves. He could receive treatment when injured and was even given time to recover.

However, that treatment was based on the Gladiatorial Arena's confidence in his combat ability. They had spent fifty gold coins to buy him, after all. Naturally, he could not receive the same treatment as gladiators bought cheaply from prisons.

From the original Harrot's memories, he understood the value of fifty gold coins. Harrot and his father had saved for years and accumulated only eighty-five silver coins, not even one gold coin. Fifty gold coins was a genuinely exorbitant price.

Several attendants brought him food and drink, passing them in through an opening.

As Harrot ate, he considered the predicament before him and pondered a way forward.

"The original Harrot was tricked into slavery by that bastard lord. How can I cast off the status of a slave?"

From the original owner's memories, he learned that slaves in this world could work as hard as they wanted, earn as much money as they could, or render however much service they pleased—it was all useless.

All profits belonged to their masters. Even if a master died, the slave would be transferred as part of the inheritance.

Other than running away, there was basically no way to gain freedom. And escaping from the Gladiatorial Arena was more than a level harder than escaping from a noble's hands.

Thinking of that gave Harrot a headache, but that was not even the most troubling problem. The most urgent matter was his next gladiatorial match.

"That bald man probably really thinks I'm an extraordinarily powerful fighter. He definitely won't arrange a weak opponent for me. Can I win?"

After Harrot's soul transmigrated, he received the original owner's memories and had adapted to this body. But the problem was that the original Harrot had merely been a farmer with no real skills.

The original Harrot was very strong and physically robust, but his reactions were slower than other people's, and he was terribly uncoordinated. He had often been toyed with by animals while hunting.

Moreover, he did not understand moves or techniques at all. The original Harrot had only learned some basic moves from the village militia, while Wang Wu before transmigrating had been even more useless. As an obedient student, he had not even gotten into a fight after entering university.

Harrot thought that with his strength and sturdy body, dealing with a few ordinary thugs should not be a problem. But could he really gain an advantage against elite gladiators?

If he lost, the consequences would be unthinkable. Once a gladiatorial match had been decided, the victor had the right to choose whether to kill the opponent. Both execution and mercy were common outcomes.

The Gladiatorial Arena surely hoped that gladiators would show mercy after a winner had been decided. After all, gladiators were bought with money. But the spectators who came to watch often did not want things to end peacefully.

"If an amateur like me goes up there and gets brutally beaten one-sidedly, with the match completely tilted to one side, the crowd will obviously shower me with boos and curses. They won't be satisfied unless I'm killed!"

Even if he got lucky and encountered a merciful opponent who did not execute him, he might still not have a good outcome.

Just think about it. If you were the owner of the Gladiatorial Arena and had spent fifty gold coins only to buy a useless piece of trash who could not defeat a single opponent, would you not be furious?

At that thought, Harrot sighed helplessly, suddenly overwhelmed by despair.

But he quickly pulled himself together. Man could change his fate through effort. If he gave up, there truly would be no way out. If he kept striving and persevering, perhaps there would still be hope.

The battle was next week. If he trained hard over the next few days, it should help at least a little.

"I finally made it back from the brink of death, and I promised the original Harrot that I would live well in his place. No matter what, I can't give up like this!"

Harrot fiercely swallowed a chunk of meat, driving away the despair in his heart.

Wait. Harrot suddenly realized something was wrong.

Made it back from the brink of death?

Just as he had been about to lose consciousness completely, it was the original Harrot's final cry that had awakened him again.

But while he had luckily recovered his life, how had his injuries healed as well?

Before he fell unconscious, he clearly remembered being grievously wounded, with half his body nearly smashed apart. How had those injuries healed?

Because the transmigration, the threat of death, his return from death, and the reception of memories had all happened too densely and too quickly, Harrot's mind had been in chaos. He had not immediately noticed this abnormality, but now he found it utterly unbelievable.

Going from grievously injured and near death to completely healed was not something a few days of sleep could possibly accomplish. This world did not have miracles like priests who could heal injuries simply by chanting a spell.

Then how had he recovered?

The original Harrot had been injured many times before, but he had only recovered a little faster than ordinary people. There was absolutely no way he could have healed wounds to such an absurd extent. The reason for his recovery was not Harrot himself.

The Bald Man had also been astonished by how quickly his injuries healed, which meant the Gladiatorial Arena was not responsible either.

In other words, this was a special effect brought about by my transmigration!

Suddenly, Harrot recalled the sound he had heard before receiving the memories: "Ding. System activated."

Could it be?