Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge-Chapter 35: The Blood That Sleeps Not

><"Wrong!" the skull cackled, spinning upside down. "It’s eight hours of sleep a day, yes—but nowhere in the contract does it say it has to be all at once. And you assumed you had to stay the full time in one session too? Tsk, tsk. You really should read the fine print."

Oliver glared. "And you couldn’t tell me this earlier?"

><"Where’s the fun in that?" it said smugly. Then dodged left as Oliver half-lunged at it. "Also, violence isn’t the answer. Except when it is."

Oliver groaned and dropped to a crouch, observing the space again. "Why are you even talking this much now? You barely spoke before."

The skull floated closer, voice softer. "Because... you stopped running. You actually fought. I thought you were just a monumental coward. But you surprised me, Oliver. You earned my sarcasm." He spoke with justification.

Oliver frowned, unsure whether to feel insulted or proud.

Then he noticed something. Above him, glowing crimson numbers floated in mid-air.

"What’s that?"

><"Ah, yes, the timer of your slow demise! Or, as I like to call it: Your Aether Regeneration Clock."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "Regeneration?"

"You drained it all with that pretty little armor trick. Carcass Mail is flashy—but expensive. That up there," the skull spun, pointing a bony nose, "says it’ll take five days of real-world time to recover your Aether naturally."

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Oliver’s mouth dropped. "FIVE DAYS?!"

><"Yep! And that’s if you do absolutely nothing but sit around like a mopey scarecrow. Its not my fault aether is going thin in the world."

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"I can’t afford that!" Oliver snapped, pacing. "Anything could happen in five days—they could think I'm dead and throw me over board. Or we reach the Somara empire and—"

><"Relax," the skull advised casually. "You have options. You could enter the Night Trial now and farm some more Bellied Desert Bloody Scorpions. Their deaths feed your Aether faster. A bit of death and poison. Light cardio."

Oliver clenched his fists. He didn’t want to—but what choice did he have?

"Fine. I’ll kill some more."

"Atta boy!" the skull chirped as the space twisted around him.

The mists warped. In seconds, Oliver was back atop the spined poisonous tree in the desert, the last place he'd had been.

"Ouch!" The spine entering his ass was a reminder of where he had left off.

Distant screeches echoed. Below, crawling with menace, the scorpions waited.

He sighed as he repeated the same process of throwing the fruits at the scorpions.

And then he went below to absorb their blood that truly added to his Aether.

Oliver was really glad by this. He could both heal and restore his Aether with the blood of his victims.

This was much better than having to wait five whole days.

In this manner, his grinding continued. He also allowed himself time to think.

And one subject that had bugged him more than most was this one. 'I don't know how to fight.'

This was a reoccurring sin in his mind. His inability to be able to defend himself properly now weighed more than ever in his heart.

In his previous life, he had seen what those nobles were capable of doing. The skills and abilities they welded. While the Nightmare Sigil had given some, and hinted at more in the future, Oliver could not help but internally lament his fate.

Even though he had won the fight with Barka, he did not let it get to his head.

Barka had underestimated him, and that was why he died the way he did.

But what if he had to battle beasts, and demons?

Even Accra had been sceptical of making the contract with him, because of his fear of Richie Von Rich.

That kind of power and ability could even sway a demon.

The Bellied Desert Bloody Scorpions were another example. Now, using his head, he managaed to get through.

—But what if he had to stand and fight one day.

Beasts did not have the same kind of minds that humans like Barka did.

How did the saying go?

'A lion would use the same effort in striking a rabbit as it would an antelope.' Oliver sighed, throwing yet again, another fruit.

This one hit the target, and sizzled like the others.

He was also sure that after this night trial, another was going to pop up. The night trials did not care if he was capable or not.

He would no doubt be thrown in a situation that would make him wish he had not become the Heir of Blood and Nightmares.

Oliver suddenly thought back to a particular object he had told Accra to get for him. Hopefully, the demon held its own side of the bargain. If not, he would have to find other means to achieve his goals.

Those other means were not going to be easy.

His goal was to bring down the somara empire. He wanted each and everyone of them to pay for their sins. His hatred ran very deep. He needed more—He needed more power.

At such a time, he realized that he had killed enough to restore his Aether.

Finally, he could return to reality.

—

However, when Oliver opened his eyes again, the world was dim and cold. His tongue felt dry, but when he licked his lips, they were salty. Something was wrong.

His arms dangled. His head throbbed. His view was upside down.

His ankles were bound by rusted chains, suspending him from the ceiling of a metal chamber.

The air was thick with the stink of blood, rot, and oil.

He sniffed, recognizing the smell to be whale oil—A lot of it too.

This vessel was simply to transport the slaves across the sea. But no doubt, the soldiers saw it as an opportunity to make extra income for themselves.

While Aether was fundamentally a part of many people's lives, not many could afford having aether used for lamps.

This was something even the prosporous somara empire could not stop.

Whale Oil was a good alternative. It's meat was also very good.

If Oliver remembered correctly, it should be illegal for these soldiers to hunt it though.

But that was not his problem right now.

There were other things in the room.

Like that long table below cluttered with cruel tools—blades, hooks, red-hot brands. Some of them were freshly used.

This was no doubt a hidden torture room.

Oliver twisted slightly, pain flaring up his ribs. The Carcass Mail had protected his body, but the trauma had left its mark. The skin at his sides felt bruised and battered.

—Just then, Voices approached.

“About damn time the bastard woke up,” one grumbled.

“Cheh. All that salt water wasted–the little f**k did not wake up no matter how much I poured on him. Took him forever,” another hissed. “And thanks to him, I lost thirty bronze coins. The big one should’ve crushed him."

"Better you. I and bruno lost a 100 each. This little screw up, could not just let the big one kill him in peace."

Two soldiers walked in, armored lightly, their eyes bloodshot with annoyance. One of them picked up a curved knife, slapping it into his palm.

“Still breathing. Guess that means we can finally have our fun.”

"Hey, you little 'shit'. You made me lose a lot of money today. I never lose. You are going to pay for that."

Oliver’s eyes narrowed....