A Thrall in need is a Thrall indeed: Unlikely Reunion

Thrallship began as a desperate solution.

Dungeons had been steadily increasing across Halvas and the heroes were utterly useless. With each new outbreak came more wounded, more dead. The Kingdom was literally running out of healers and funds. Every drop of Magna, every rune anchored into a body, came at a cost. The Crowns could pay for it until it couldn’t.

Servitude.

A life purchased in exchange for labour. That was the logic. If you couldn’t pay for the miracle of healing, you became a miracle’s slave. The Church approved, called it balance. The nobles called it mercy. The common folk called it what it was: Chains.

It had been seven days since I woke up, no one had come to claim me yet so it couldn’t be helped. I was a thrall and they couldn’t wait to bound me. The way it works, a Heart-Seal was anchored directly onto my chest using a bone rod, infused with blood-ink. As long as I was bound, I could not refuse orders and I did, the seal manifested faint red patterns under my skin. Trust me, I tested it by refusing to wear their robes and it was excruciating. And through that pain all I could think was: Where the hell is everyone? Keiji, Lira? I’ll take even Mira at this point.

Someone please help me.

Two more days passed before they came for me, slave waiting for their master. The Red Mage appeared with two apprentices trailing behind. She carried a wooden case shaped like a child’s coffin, its surface etched with runes.

“It has been decided,” she said flatly. “You are Silver Thrall rank. Debt: 1,600 crowns. Assignment: corpse retrieval.”

I almost smiled. “So…. back to digging graves? Glad to know my career’s skyrocketing.”

The apprentices didn’t laugh.

“You will not be digging,” she continued. “We already have scrap pickers. Your task is to recover warriors and mages slain in raids before Dungeons close.”

That shut me up. New scrap pickers? What the fu..

“Wear this around your neck when on duty.” She flicked open the case revealing a black collar made of leather stitched with silver thread.

I stared at it. “Isn’t this a….?”

“It amplifies the seal and keep you from escaping. It can also serve as a beacon to signal your comrades when in need.”

“It’s a leash….”

She looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language and proceeded to fasten it around my neck before I could argue. The Seal beneath my chest pulsed violently and for a heartbeat I couldn’t breathe. My throat tightened, eyes watering.

When it loosened, I sucked in a ragged breath, glaring at her. “That...was that necessary?”

She ignored me, handing the apprentices a scroll. “You’ll accompany squad Four into the Copper Ring High-tiers. Recover the corpses swiftly and quietly. Failure will extend your debt.”

“Good to know,” I muttered

I forgot to mention, Thralls are ranked by the value of their debt.

· Iron Thralls (1–500 coins): Errand boys, cleaners, menial duties.

· Bronze Thralls (500–1,500 coins): Patrols and low and high-tier dungeon expeditions.

· Silver Thralls (1,500–5,000 coins): Dangerous tasks, higher dungeon floors and clean-ups.

· Gold Thralls (5,000+ coins): Disposable weapons of the Guild. Thrown into the jaws of death where survival odds are lowest.

In theory, debt shrank with each task. But from what I heard, the Guild often added fees for equipment rentals, rations and “healing after service.” I was escorted like a prisoner for my first task. Away from the magical Silver to the Copper Ring’s smoke-stained air. The difference hit like a slap. The mages escorting me pressed perfumed cloths to their noses, as though the very streets carried plague.

The first Dungeon was waiting: High-Tier, designation A.

Thralls clustered outside in ragged groups. They shuffled like cattle, collars glinting faintly. The mood was as gray as ash.

I tried to be friendly, leaning in to a nearby group. “So, what’s the story with this dungeon? Been out of touch for…let’s say a couple of months.”

A scarred thrall spat to the side. “You really don’t know? The New hero and his crew have been burning through high-tiers like wildfire. Boss after Boss, floor after floor. He saved countless of villagers in Copper, even gaining a nickname - the Dungeon-Breaker.”

My stomach sank. The kid’s already become a legend.

“And casualties?” I asked.

The thrall smirked without humor. “Plenty. That’s why we’re here. Hey, even the hero can’t protect everyone.”

A booming voice cut across the murmurs.

“All of you are assembled here to work. The purpose is clear: complete your Thrallship and work off your debt. My name is Mazze and I will be the lead scrap picker today.”

Wait, what? Lead scrap picker? Since when was there a lead scrap picker? That’s my role. My only role. you get incapacitated for two months and suddenly someone’s stolen your damn job title.

Mazze —a broad man with a shaved head and eyes like an idiot—hauled up a long black bag.

“Inside, are the tools we’ll use. Tarps. Ropes. Hooks and Pack-stones among others. you’ll be divided into groups of three, with an addition of two, a warrior and a healer for protection. Groups of five in total. Work fast, before the Dungeon collapses but beware of Rovers that have overtaken some of the floors. If you can’t recover the bodies for any reason…” He let the pause linger, dramatic as a child telling a ghost story. “…burn them. It’s better than letting the Rovers get them.”

I hated to admit it, but he wasn’t wrong.

Still, that bag? A cheap knockoff of my Mourner’s pack, right down to the side pockets. He even had the same wax-lined folds for ropes, except stitched crooked like some guild apprentice made it while drunk.

Corpse work was corpse work though and I had to give him credit —it was a decent plan. We had five dungeons scheduled today. If I played along, bagged enough stiff necks, maybe I’d even shave down the mountain of debt hanging around my throat. And then—then—I’d finally have time to focus on the real task.

Finding the Shield Hero.

Mazze barked, orders, shuffling groups around like cards, then tossed the black bags to whichever unlikely thrall looked most likely to trip carrying them.

“Group Seven,” he roared. “Two Thralls, one Silver Thrall, one Warrior, one Mage.”

That was me. I was apparently the highlight attraction. Silver Thrall. Ooooh. Fancy. They should’ve given me a crown and a chair to match.

I shuffled forward, the collar warm against my throat, it was starting to get itchy.

The two other thralls already waiting looked like they’d been dragged out of a gutter and polished with spit. One was rail-thin, eyes twitching every time Mazze spoke. The other was broad-shouldered but pale, his collar glowing faintly red from an earlier misstep. Both avoided my gaze. Good. I wasn’t here to make friends.

Then the Mage stepped forward and I nearly forgot to breathe.

“Ash?”

The voice was familiar —too familiar. He wore a blue-robe reinforced with runes, staff strapped to his back. His grin was the same stupid grin as the day we met in the Copper Ring taverns, the one that made you want to punch him and laugh at the same time.

Thomlin.

Gods damn it, Thomlin.

Back then, he couldn’t cast a Waterwalk without blowing up the barstools. Now? He looked…different. Sharper. The kind of man who’d seen his own guts spill and decided not to waste the second chance. Even his hair was trimmed down low, revealing his elf ears more clearly.

And standing beside him, bulkier than I remembered, was Grinn. The same greenhorn who once vomited at the sight of a corpse, now carrying a sword big enough to split a wagon. His face still had that optimism stitched into it, only now it was tempered by something else. Resolve, maybe.

“Talk about a reunion, huh?” Thomlin said, winking.

“…Grinn. Thomlin.” My voice felt heavy, like gravel. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Thomlin shrugged, almost sheepish. “After the Spinehound’s attack that day… I woke up in the Guild Arms were healed…except the bill was bigger than I could handle, so they bound me by debt. After a few days of menial work, I paid my dues. I tried to find you guys. Heard you’d been summoned by the Church, so I waited a day by the Barracks but you didn’t come back. That’s when I ran into Grinn here, waiting for you too.”

My chest tightened. That was the same week Keiji and I got trapped in that damned mirror dungeon for two days. Two days of scraping at illusions while these idiots actually looked for us.

“You…waited for me?” The words slipped out sharper than I intended. “Why? Did you have something important to tell me?”

Grinn stepped forward, sword clanking against his side. He wasn’t the wide-eyed farm boy anymore. His shoulders carried weight now. But his voice—his voice was the same.

“We wanted to thank you. For…that day. If it weren’t for you, we’d all be dead like….Sera.”

Her name landed like a stone between us.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. It just hit me all at once, the dungeon, the corpses, the stink of the cheap copycat bags —all of it faded.

And all I could see was Sera’s green aura flickering out, intestines unspooling like wet rope. That day I didn’t think much about it. Me digging another pit in nameless dirt. I was more preoccupied with my resonance ability back then. How vain was I, huh?

Maybe I still am. But now looking at them, I wasn’t sure if I was relieved…or terrified.

Because in this Kingdom, the only thing more dangerous than losing people—
was getting them back.