Chapter 3: Great reception 2
After unloading everyone from the carts, the captives were split into small groups, as if each group was its own shipment. A handful of people were gathered together while the kidnappers stood nearby, watching them like hunters sorting through their prized catch.
Among the tired faces and torn clothes, one man stood out effortlessly. A young man with a noble air, he looked like he belonged to a completely different world. His demeanor was a bit distant, his gaze arrogant—like he couldn't believe he was stuck in the same place with these others. His clothes were fine, clean, embroidered carefully with golden threads along the cuffs and collar. It was as if time had spared him, as if his kidnapping was just a minor inconvenience.
(Who is he?) Daniel wondered quietly from a distance, though he didn't show much curiosity.
They were led into the building, which from the outside looked like a simple stone structure buried in sand from every side. There was no hint it was once a palace—the sands had buried its features, and dust blinded anyone who passed by.
But gradually, the truth started to reveal itself. Passing through the first door—leading to the palace's upper balcony—signs showed this place hadn't always been this way. Carved columns covered in dust and a high ceiling hinted at former glory, though much of its decoration had been stripped away. The balcony above was wide and open on both sides to a large room now used to shelter horses and carts. The cracked floor was scattered with straw and horse manure.
They entered from the balcony door into the room, then down a long corridor lined with several closed rooms. Thick, worn wooden doors, a heavy scent of mold in the air. On the walls, remnants of paintings—torn and stained—and old furniture thrown carelessly to the sides. The kidnappers hadn't bothered to fix anything; they used the place as it was, likely having lived here for a long time.
They moved further until they reached a staircase going down. With each step, the place transformed from a noble palace into a dark den. Down below was a large hall that had probably once been a grand reception room. In its center stood battered wooden tables, around which a few kidnappers sat, eating, drinking, and laughing. The cracked walls and the chandeliers that once hung grandly now dangled haphazardly or were missing altogether. This place had been stripped of dignity—turned into a ruin on purpose.
From there, they were led through a small door tucked behind a corner into a narrow, dark hallway barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through sideways. They passed in heavy silence until they reached the real secret corridor: the dungeons.
A long hall lined with narrow iron cells, more like cages for animals. The air was damp, the walls bleak, and the only sound was the muffled breathing of the captives. Clearly, this part of the palace had never been meant for living or hosting—only for this terrible purpose the kidnappers had forced it into.
The rich captive was placed in the first cell at the corridor's entrance, as if under special watch. Daniel was put in the second cell, right next to him.
From the adjacent cell, Daniel heard a man mutter in frustration, "Even the rich, when kidnapped... get special treatment."
Another replied quietly, with a mocking tone, "Isn't that normal? To them, he's their golden fish."
Daniel smiled bitterly and leaned his head back against the cold wall.
Daniel's cell held seven people. With a quick glance at their clothes, their posture, and how they interacted, it was easy to tell who came from his world—and who belonged to this one. He and four others looked out of place, while the remaining three seemed more comfortable, as if they'd known the rules of this strange reality for a long time.
Once everyone had been assigned a cell, most of the kidnappers withdrew from the corridor, leaving behind just three of them. The trio sat at a small table at the far end of the hallway, directly facing the cell of the wealthy man. It was clear they were stationed as permanent guards for this section.
The men began to talk, and it wasn't hard for Daniel to hear them. Their voices echoed in the heavy silence.
That's how Daniel first learned how the slave trade operated here. Sales happened in one of two ways: either buyers came directly to this place—trusted clients, major criminals with solid reputations in the black market—or the captives' information was sent to external contacts, who handled the deals elsewhere. Once the transactions were done, the slaves would be moved to the agreed locations.
Then they started talking about the rich man. They said he was from the noble Ismara family. The moment that name was spoken, Daniel noticed the expressions on the three locals in his cell shift. Their eyes widened in visible surprise.
(So the name carries weight… even here,) Daniel thought.
The guards kept boasting about the success of this round. One of them proudly declared that they had captured a large number this time, and they were going to make a fortune from selling them. They were even planning a night-long celebration to honor what they called "the precious catch."
Daniel sat quietly in the corner of the cell, eyes fixed on the rusted bars, his breath slow and heavy. (What luck. I didn't expect this world to greet me so warmly. First step: a prison cell...)
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He sat there, back pressed against the cold stone wall, studying the six other men who now shared his uncertain fate. Their faces were unfamiliar, but something in their expressions made him feel slightly less alone.
The first one who caught his attention was a chubby young man with a round, soft face and a disarming smile that looked more confused than calm. Next to him sat another young man wearing delicate glasses, eyes alert with quiet curiosity. The third from Daniel's world said nothing at all—his gaze followed the others, watchful and silent.
From the locals, there was a massive man—easily larger than the rest—his body like a moving mountain, face rough with an unkempt short beard. He looked to be in his forties, and his eyes burned with a quiet intensity, as though he carried the weight of an entire world. Beside him sat a wiry man in his mid-thirties, with sharp eyes and twitchy movements. The last was a man with a short mustache and a piercing, hesitant stare.
The chubby man broke the silence, speaking to the three locals:
"Has everyone who shows up in this world been getting kidnapped lately? Like, in the past couple of years?"
The big man answered with a heavy voice, "Not always... but in the past two years, it's been happening more and more. I don't know how they managed to take this many people without anyone finding out."
He continued, "Last year, I heard about two or three disappearances. But the year before… that one shocked everyone."
The chubby man looked slightly relieved, but the worry in his chest hadn't faded. He asked, "Do you know... what's going to happen to us now?"
The twitchy man with the sharp eyes replied, tone dry and edged with warning, "Depends on your luck. And who ends up buying you."
The guy with the glasses jumped in, almost desperate: "Can we escape? What the hell even happened? When we were in the cart, someone punched one of the kidnappers, but it was his hand that got hurt—not the guy's! And what is that thing they keep calling 'the tower'? And what did they put in my body?"
Everyone turned to him. It was as if the question had unlocked a door in their minds—one they hadn't realized had been shut. Even Daniel, who'd come in with him, felt stunned. (How did we forget that?)
They were all staring at each other now, wide-eyed, lips dry, as though waiting for someone—anyone—to pick up the thread of a story they'd all somehow lost.