Trafficked: Reborn Heir's Revenge-Chapter 34: Nightmare Heir Vs Commoner

If he had any ounce of doubt left at all, then the punch cleared it all up.

"You’ve awakened your Bloodline," Oliver whispered, staring at Barka through blurry eyes.

The brute didn’t reply, only grinned.

Oliver coughed, clutching his side. He couldn’t survive another hit like that. He felt as if he had been hit by a charging bull.

Not that it had happened to him before, but he was sure of the feeling.

Oliver did not hold back any more. He needed safety. With a thought, he willed it in his mind.

<Activate Carcass Mail.>

A chill passed through his body. A faint shimmer–entirely invisible—coated his skin.

This was the armour he had gotten as a result of completing the blood shard.

[-50 Aether Points. Remaining: 22]

Oliver nearly screamed in frustration.

"Too expensive…" he muttered.

Worse still, he saw the points trickling away. The armor had a time limit. From the drain rate, he had just about a minute. Maybe less–definitely less.

Barka charged again.

This time, Oliver tried to dodge, but Barka caught his arm and hurled him against the iron bars.

BOOM.

Pain flared in his back. His breath caught. But the armor absorbed the worst of it. Still, he felt the impact.

Five more hits, he thought, then the Mail fails.

Barka’s fists flew. One, two, three.

The Mail blocked each blow. But Oliver was slammed against the wall, dragged down, thrown to the floor.

Gasps filled the cage.

Above, on the decks, soldiers peered through the holes. They didn’t stop it. Some began throwing coins into makeshift pots.

"Five copper on the brute!"

"Ten on the runt—if he lives another thirty seconds!"

Garron watched silently, arms crossed, smiling like a proud puppeteer.

Oliver tried to stand, but collapsed.

His body screamed in pain. His ribs burned. His mouth filled with the taste of copper.

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He tried to spit it out, but the blood refused to leave his body, which really vexed him.

The Mail had blocked most of the damage, but it didn’t erase it. It didn’t erase fear. Or despair.

Was this it?

He saw Velma screaming his name, thrashing in the broken man’s grip–which was impressively firm, holding her arm.

And then—something changed.

Oliver paused, 'what I'm I doing?'

He suddenly remembered the pain. The nights in the sand. The trials. The beasts. The voices of the damned that hunted his nights in his previous life. He remembered the terror and the rage. And he remembered why he was still alive.

'Screw this.'

He gritted his teeth and kicked off the ground, pushing forward with everything he had...

By now, Barka had become too cocky. In truth, it was already a miracle that Oliver was still in one piece. He did feel a hard substance everytime he hit the boy. But he simply thought it was one of those tricks–something nobles cooked up as a result of their Bloodline.

Considering the fact that the first hit to reach Oliver’s body performed wonders, he did not think too much about it. There was no trick this so called royalty was going to pull that would shield him from this. But it was not a problem for him.

These nobles and royals–They had suffered his kind for a long time. Back in the home country, he would work day and night. And when he came back, he would watch as the baron of his county would come and take half his spoils without complain–simply because he was a commoner.

The fat Baron had said, "We bleed differently."

Those words, since he was a boy had stuck with him always.

That fat Baron and his fat children would do nothing all day, except play, and they still get their tummies filled. To top it off, he would have to act as a guard while they slept at night– a responsibility of a commoner with an awakened bloodline.

He and the rest like Garron, standing in the cold night, regardless of season.

All this because he was born with a different grade of blood?

He had always envied, hated and despised them. Yes, he despised them a lot.

He was bigger, stronger. Was it not only right for them to serve him?

They were days he dreamt himself in that baron's sweet sofa, dishing out orders, and all in the county bowing to him, presenting food, and their women–yes, expecially that.

The night the kingdom had fallen, his baron, like many nobles, had ordered them to fight. But the fat man had given those orders from behind while the other commoners died in front.

An opportunity presented itself that day.

Barka had wasted no time to turn around and attack the baron himself. The fat man had not expected it. Barka had slammed hard on the chest of the fat man until jets of blood shot through his mouth and chest.

How disappointing to see that the fat noble man bled the same.

But Barka was far from being done. He went for the fat wife and children, pouring out his many years of frustration on them. Yet again, disappointing to know that they bled no different.

When he was done, he sat on the fat man's sofa, and drank his wine till he was drunk.

It was possibly the most satisfying he had ever been in his entire life.

It was on that nice sofa that the Somaran soldiers had found him and cuffed him, bringing him here.

All the while, Barka had thought it sad that he never had the opportunity to crush royalty, just as he had done a noble. But who could have known that fate would grant him such a blessed opportunity.

But this was a child!

And so what? He did not care about that. He was going to open the child's chest with his fingers and check if the heart really pumped the same colour of blood.

Today, he was going to know by himself.

He grinned wildly. "Show me! Show me!! If you bleed the same!!!"

His foot came down again to crush Oliver. But Oliver had moved. His size contributed to his nimble form as he turned to the man.

Oliver’s fist crashed into the brute’s gut.

The punch wasn’t clean. But it had power.

Strength from the points he had achieved so far.

And the Carcass Mail, with its ability to cover parts of his body–was forced to his fist, focusing the last aether points into his arm.

BOOM. Right on the stomach.

Barka grunted, breath caught, as he opened his mouth in response to the sharp pain. He didn’t move.

And then, with lightning precision, Oliver brought his second hand forward–it gripped something tightly.

Oliver rammed it into Barka’s opened mouth.

Barka’s eyes widened. He stumbled back, trying to cough it out, but he could not. Instead, he was choking.

His arms flailed. He grabbed at his throat, gasping. Veins stood on his face, as his fingers tried to dig into his own neck, but failed miserably at it.

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And then—he fell.

Hard. He struggled for a while, but then all that came from his mouth was form.

No one moved, confused as to what was happening. Whether it was the soldiers that placed the bets or the other prisoners in their cages, all were confused.

And in their confusion, they watched the big man struggle, until he struggled no more.

Dead silence filled the cage.

Barka lay still. No movement.

The person with the biggest surprise on his face was Garron.

He immediately ran over, crouching beside him, inspecting.

He pried Barka’s mouth open.

There–within were dead cockroaches.

Shells and legs, jammed deep into the back of the throat.

Garron looked up, expression unreadable.

Oliver, swaying, his depletion of Aether was getting to him, and his vision swimming in grey and red. Still, he gave a sly smile.

And then, he collapsed.

The last thing he heard was Velma screaming his name again.

And the howling storm outside, still hungry for blood.

The Broken man saw this. His fingers still fidgeted, and so did his eyes but he gave a slight grin.

After all, he remembered it well. He had seen Oliver move.

That time Oliver had gone to drink from the trays yesterday, the young prince had seen one of the commoners choking on a cockroach shell.

The old woman that helped that man had clearly stated that these kinds of cockroaches developed their shells such that they choke their predators that intended on feeding on them–it was their survival mechanism.

Oliver had been fortunate enough to have time to think while he was in the night trial.

When he awoke, and eaten–just before the fight, he had gone to drink water. But that had not been true. Instead, his hand searched within the mulky water for as many dead cockroaches as he could gather...