Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge-Chapter 46: The Forest Path of Fools and Fortune

Chapter 46: The Forest Path of Fools and Fortune

Roderick didn’t explicitly tell them where to go.

But no one was a fool. With the Southern Sea behind them, the only path was forward.

Two differ roads stretched out ahead.

One was wide and smooth—meant for carriages and chariots. It was the main path, clearly the route every citizen used. It wound upward in a lazy curve, leading directly to the Empire’s outer wall. A tempting option. Safe. Obvious.

But it was too obvious.

Oliver knew better. It was just not possible for them to transverse that far in the amount of time that had been given to them.

They were meant to crawl. Not to run, jog or even walk. Pain and sores will come. And they would have to keep moving no matter what.

There were also other problems. Again, this path was shared with chariots and the like. Getting crushed by a chariot or two was not uncommon, many times, intentionally.

But that was the trick with this particular training.

Obedience was valued above all else. The Vaelcrest were not there to guard them.

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They were there to train them, and ensure that regardless of pain, even by the empire and it's citizens, these slaves were still loyal.

It was psychological, as much as it was Physical.

In other words, there were supposed to be problems on this trip. It was a fundamental part of the appeal.

In his past life, broken slave men and women would sit around campfires and exchange what little wisdom they had, trying to forge some kind of bond in a world that wanted them dead. One of those stories came from an old slave who’d taken the woods on this particular day instead of the road.

He had survived not by skill, but by chance.

That old man had spoken of crawling on all fours like the others, dodging the roots, thorns, and hidden terrors. Incredibly enough, he had been the first to reach, and had done it in just under four hours.

Meaning that Roderick was not entirely ridiculous when he said that he wanted them to make in five hours.

Oliver planned to do the same.

Basically, the main road was a trap in disguise—winding, behind hills, and huge stones, check points that caused traffic on the way, and even citizens that intensionally caused problems, just to see the look of humiliation on the faces of the slaves.

The main road was slow, and exposed. The best path was a straight shot through the dense woods.

Was it also dangerous?

YES. Yes it was—but it was also faster. And far more rewarding.

There were other reasons Oliver chose the forest. In fact, he would have picked this path whether the timer was given or not.

Firstly, he needed herbs—Aether grown herbs—specific ones that could guarantee his survival in the coming trials. Secondly, if his memory served him right, there was a hidden object waiting to be found: a dungeon shard.

Dungeon Shards were usually found in dungeons through efforts, and of course, as long as it did not have specific conditions, the shard could be taken out.

Seraphina’s guards had shards, and even the Vaelcrests used them.

Since they could come in many forms, a stick on the ground might actually be a shard, and the common man without a strong Aether sense might not know this.

In this case, it was a rag.

In his previous life, that same old man that followed the forest had unknowingly picked it up—used it to wipe his sweat, then tossed it aside like trash. Only later did he realize that it had been the reason for his safety back to the outer wall. Oliver had no intention of wasting that opportunity.

He would use it properly—He already planned to take advantage of all those stories, and the treasures they provided.

Thirdly, Oliver could see the timer in his Nightmare Sigil. He had to sleep for eight hours daily.

The Nightmare Sigil did not care whether he was a slave or not. The rules of a Demon deity's bloodline must be obeyed.

Oliver reckoned that he could get at least a couple of hours of rest if he made it in time.

Also, in his own experience, a slave under these masters, sleeping for eight hours a day was highly ridiculous.

He would have to find a way to ensure that he managed to get it. While that was a continuous problem in the future, he still had to make it through today.

If Oliver made it to the Outer wall in two hours, that would give him three to four hours of rest before the deadline of the Slave Sigil.

If he made it in two, he would get even more time.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

This was his goal. Make it to the Outer wall in an hour.

This hurdle was not something that most could easily perform.

But Oliver was different. His night trials had increased his speed, strength, and Aether.

With the slave beta Sigil on them, there was no need to bind them with chains anymore.

Those that had Aether and could use it to further finish the task at hand would do so. But there was the problem that they had not been fed well throughout their trip through the sea.

Well, most had not eaten well. Oliver was different. With the Bellied scorpion pouch, he was able to store food, and ate enough.

The moment the order was given, Oliver didn’t wait. He dropped low and shot into the woods like a beast unleashed, crawling on all fours with savage urgency.

To his surprise, Garron followed behind him.

Oliver glanced back once, just to be sure. He didn’t know what that man’s deal was—and frankly, he didn’t care. Not right now. There were bigger things at stake.

Both of them could not even fight if it came to it. Also, the man's smiling eyes just pissed him the hell off.

On seeing Oliver move as he did, Roderick laughed loudly in amusement and praise.

On the far side, a noblewoman under Thalia’s training stayed stiffly, arms crossed. “I refuse,” she said. “I will not crawl on the ground like some dog.”

The orders had already begun their journey.

Thalia gave her one glance, rolled her eyes, and turned away. “Suit yourself.”

The noblewoman smirked, believing she’d called Thalia’s bluff.

A second later, her head exploded like a ripe fruit under pressure.

Nobody saw what triggered it. One moment she was standing. The next, her corpse painted the docks red.

That was all the warning the others needed.

Fear surged through the crowd, and one by one, bodies hit the ground, crawling forward like insects scurrying from light.

There was nothing in the beta Sigil saying that refusal to the order would get one killed.

All it said was Decapitation for not reaching the wall in time—Head bursting like a crushed Watermelon was too compelling to ignore.

There were two others that their fear made them rush to their feet. Similarly, their heads blew up.

No doubt, they were secret rules to follow. Standing up was not allowed. Crawling only.

Oliver was already deep in the woods.

He moved swiftly, ignoring the branches that whipped at his face or the stones that bruised his knees. His Aether sense stayed sharp, sweeping the area as he moved. Occasionally, he’d spot a familiar herb—Silverroot, Glowleaf, Hymnar bark. Anything useful, he plucked and tossed into his inventory.

Back in his former life, Oliver had a decent understanding of herbalism because of his masters. But his contract with Accra had deepened that knowledge. The demon’s power provided a strange clarity—an instinctive grasp of plants, their properties, and their dangers.

Two herbs might look identical to the untrained eye, but one caused hallucinations, the other boosted strength. Oliver couldn’t afford a mistake—and thanks to Accra, he didn’t make one.

The first twenty minutes passed quietly.

The climb was rough. Steep, forcing them to crawl on hands and knees was really a headache.

Someone behind him cursed and tried to stand up, thinking—just because they were in the forest, it was now suddenly safe.

His head detonated immediately.

No one said a word.

Oliver looked far behind, at the corpse of the unfortunate fellow.

He shook his head.

The Beta Sigil showed no mercy.

Oliver pressed on. Stones tore at his skin. His arms burned from the incline. But he moved with purpose.

While it was easy to think that the forest would be cool because of the shade it provided, the opposite was the truth.

The flora here, were in a constant competition for resources, including Aether.

Some of them had developed evolutionary traits to secure their survival.

Oliver's nearness to the ground did not help. It was incredible hot.

But compared to the heat in the night trial, it was nothing.

Then—he sensed it.

His Aether sense flared.

Something fast. Sharp. Headed straight for his temple.

He rolled to the side instinctively—just in time to avoid a massive log, bound to a vine, swinging through the trees. It slammed into another poor fool behind him with a sickening crunch. The body flew, crumpled mid-air, then fell limp to the earth.

Booby traps.

Garron frowned, and Oliver cursed.

“Shit,” Oliver's heart pounded. 'Those asshole Vaelcrests.'

They had to just fill the short cut with traps too.

There were more traps, but Aether sense played an important role.

Those behind, like Garron, tried to follow Oliver's steps as he moved.

That man was really smart. Oliver was like his 'forward dummy' in case he ran into any trouble.

They continued and soon–

The forest had gone silent.

Not the kind of silence that brought peace—but the one that pressed against your ears, tightening your lungs with every breath. The kind that made even the birds forget to sing. Oliver slowed his crawl, brushing aside a cluster of leaves and peering forward through the underbrush.

The smell hit him first. Faint, musky… but underneath it, the sour stench of rot.

He froze. Eyes narrowing.

There were corpses ahead—four, maybe five. They were bloated, greyed, partially hidden under moss and leaves. One had its limbs twisted the wrong way, like it had thrashed against something before dying. The others looked frozen in place, unmoving for days, maybe weeks.

Old slaves. Long forgotten.

Some had the beta sigil glowing faintly on their bodies, still pulsing with cruel irony. Their deaths hadn’t been swift. But it was great to note that it was not the sigil that killed them.

No! it was something else.

Oliver’s lips curled—not in fear, but in satisfaction.

He was close.

The story of this place came rushing back to him—the words of that grizzled old slave beside the campfire, when his voice trembled not from fear, but memory.

> “Deep in the woods, just after the second rise… there lives a beast. They call it the Fangborne. Its den hides a shard—glowing like blood under moonlight. It was a rag and I took it. Barely made it out if not for that shard. I didn't even know it was a shard at the time. I even Lost my leg. Worth it though… I lived.”

Oliver’s eyes gleamed.

Did the old man lie or not?

This test would let him know how true the stories the others gave around the campfires were.

The Fangborne—that was what the creature was called. A mutated panther, larger than a bear, its fur black as pitch and lined with silvery scars, as though even blades refused to kill it. It wasn’t just strength—it had learned. The Vaelcrest had captured it years ago and let it roam these woods to serve as a test for the slaves.

A true predator.

Oliver crawled further, lowering his heartbeat, his breathing, his Aether flow. And then…

A rustle.

His head turned.

And from the fog-covered thicket, the beast emerged.

It was beautiful in the way nightmares are—graceful, deliberate, monstrous. Muscles rippled under its black fur, and its yellow eyes fixed on Oliver and Garron's direction with a chilling intelligence.

Oliver could not stop the man from following him, but he still turned and gave a 'shush' signal with a finger to his lips.

Garron was too smart, and cautious to disobey

Old blood stained the beast’s fangs, and around its paws, the earth was thick with clawed trenches.

It didn’t growl.

It watched.

However—suddenly, behind Oliver, branches snapped. He didn’t need to look. Someone else that had followed–had been stupid.

Poor fool.

The Fangborne pounced. No warning, no mercy.

A sharp scream echoed through the woods. Bones cracked. Then silence.

Oliver didn’t flinch. That man was not his business.

“There you are,” he whispered, a grin pulling at his lips.

He didn’t need to kill the beast. All he needed… was its lair. The shard would be there. The challenge was not surviving the beast, but surviving its awareness.

Maybe it was over confidence, urgency, or greed, but Oliver moved too quick.

Branches snapped, and the beast turned.

'Shit! I'm screwed.'