"Come on, get up."
"Why?"
"Because you'll die if you don't," Alexander said, looking around at the foreign terrain.
"What other point is there to live?"
Ignoring the urgency and fear in Alexander's voice, Barth remained seated, gritting his teeth. Alexander squatted, threw the old man's right arm over his shoulder, and, wrapping his own arm around Barth's waist, lifted him to his feet.
The chains around their necks and wrists clacked, but thankfully, they were on their feet by the time a bare-chested man with tribal markings, thick pants, and cloth wrapped around his waist walked up to their side.
This style of dressing wasn't unique to the man—it was the same with his dozen or so colleagues. One of Alexander's biggest questions was how they weren't affected by the biting cold that pervaded the air.
With his huge frame, the man towered over both Barth and Alexander, and he made his thoughts known with a threatening growl.
"Move."
"Thank you," Alexander said, and urging Barth along, they moved and fell in line with their fellow prisoners. Their bare feet met the damp earth, moistened by the early morning dew.
For someone like Alexander, the stones on the ground dug painfully into the soles of his feet, but he could do nothing but persevere.
"Why march on, Alexander? Ma is gone, and they'll just sell us into slavery."
Alexander wanted to say something inspiring, but what could he possibly say to an old man like Barth?
Aside from the atrocious journey they were being forced to endure, their destination promised even more gruelling torture.
Looking ahead at the other men in the line, whose hands and feet were chained, clothes tattered and torn, and some even bleeding from their feet—Alexander found a few words.
"The women and children," Alexander muttered, glancing behind at the carriage that held the most loved ones of the village.
"Alexander, I'm tired. Go on," Barth said, and then his legs gave out.
Grabbing the old man's body with both hands, Alexander tried to lift him to his feet, but his and Barth's resistance had clearly gotten on their captors' nerves.
Crack!!
A long whip fell from the sky, landing on Alexander's bent back. It tore through his clothes and left a third bloody line on his skin.
"Leave him," a heavy voice commanded.
"Let me go, boy," Barth whispered, weakness flooding his body.
The heavy stomps of a large body reached Alexander's ears, but he didn't let go of Barth. Instead, he bit his lip as the whip cracked again, pain lashing through his back.
"I said leave him."
Crack!!
Crack!!
Alexander was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and felt numbness across his back when he woke up.
Without making a sound, the blonde-haired youth stared up at the darkness surrounding him, his breathing heavy but gradually calming.
"System."
Alexander waited, hoping this time to see the scroll, but a minute passed with no change.
"Slavers."
The concept of slavery wasn't new to Alexander, and he more than understood that he didn't want to become one.
At first, Alexander had tried to ignore the words on the scroll, but with the continuous nightmares, he no longer needed convincing.
The question now was: what should he do next?
The system had said the slavers would arrive in two weeks, and judging by how fast he was recovering, Alexander predicted that he would be much stronger before that day came.
Leaving the village was the smartest course of action, but Alexander couldn't just abandon Ma and Barth.
"I'll escape with them, then," the great commander simply concluded.
As plans and scenarios swirled in his mind while drowned in darkness, Alexander once more drifted off to sleep.
When morning came, Alexander stepped out of the room quite early. Heading all the way to the back of the compound, he placed a stool down and sat to bask in the sun.
The doctors and sorcerers always spoke of how the morning sun refreshed the mind—especially strengthening the bones. And while Alexander remained sceptical, at this moment, he wasn't in any position to doubt them.
In a group consisting of him, Ma, and Barth, there were two liabilities: Alexander and Ma. And for something that might entail even being pursued, that kind of statistic was suicide.
Someone had to stop being a burden and Alexander wanted that person to be him.
Under the sun, Alexander's skin slowly warmed, and minutes later, a tall man, this time wearing long brown trousers and a rough top, walked up to his location.
For a second, Alexander became lost in how vastly different the people's dressing in Beckle was compared to Macedonia and all the other lands he had conquered. But then he quickly shook his head as the old man stopped in front of him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you."
Just like the village's fence, the one surrounding the compound was old. It had an entry and exit where there should be none, the opening located behind him.
"Why? Ma could be back in the room now, waiting for you."
"Slavers are going to attack the village in a week and five days."