After this painful and traumatic experience, James lost his courage. For the next few months James settled in to life as a slave. At first he was put to work in a mine dug into the side of the mountain with the other slaves. At the crack of dawn they’d awaken in the lean-to on the side of the mountain and head into the mine. They did not want to have the overseers be forced to wake them. They’d spend the first hour or so clearing up rubble and dirt between the entrance of the mine up to the point where they had been actively working the day before. This wasn’t directly required by the overseers, but if their work pace slowed throughout the day because of unstable footing or rubble blocking the path out of the mine, they’d be collectively punished. In the end, after trial and error, the slaves had figured out that the optimal way to conduct their work was to wake early, clear the path, and then start mining when the overseer arrived and handed out the pickaxes. Of course, they did this clearing with their bare hands. Then until midday, they would hack into the side of the mountain, seeking out veins of iron ore. The overseers were primarily interested in iron ore, and although they lacked a skill in [Ore Identification], they still knew what iron ore looked like. On his first day mining, James noticed that there were several other ores present in small quantities, but as soon as he had tried to dig some out, before he even put pickaxe to stone, another slave stopped him. Taller than James, he jerked James closer to him by grabbing his shoulder, throwing James off balance.

  “What are you doing.” he hissed quietly. Dirty, slightly greasy hair hung limply in front of his eyes. Grey eyes, James noted.

  “There’s-” James started to explain. “Hush!” the older boy said. He tightened his grip on James shoulder.

  “Listen. We’re here to dig out iron. Just iron. If you start digging out something other than iron ore, everyone has to start digging out other stuff. Understand? You think we don’t have enough work to do?”

  James nodded. His shoulder was starting to hurt. The other slave’s cheeks were sunken, and he was altogether too thin, but his grip was strong. “I understand.”

  “Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  The grip tightened even harder.

  “Say we’re just here to dig iron. Quietly now, but I need to hear you say it.”

  “We’re… we’re just here to dig iron. I won’t go digging up anything else.”

  “Good.” The older boy walked away and resumed mining the current vein of iron ore. It was a fat one, but there were enough slaves that not everyone could work it at the same time. James headed to another area where the tunnel into the mountain was being expanded.

  The slaves were generally forbidden from talking by the overseers, but here and there, while working side by side in the mines, they managed to get to know each other. Almost all the slaves were mages in one class, with a labor class as a second class. Everyone wore mana-sealing shackles, James included. These slavers favored this type of class combination, as dual-class mages were usually too weak for the intense physical labor of mining. There was a period of time, shortly after class selection, where mages were vulnerable and if their mage class was their only combat class, that they could be captured, have their magic sealed, and enslaved.

  James was unaware of this, but almost all combat classes include a [Danger Sense] skill that makes them perceptive to hostility and potential foes. Over time, with varying levels of effort, the skill can make one aware of any human that enters within a certain range of oneself. Brawlers, incidentally, develop this skill very quickly, enabling them to fight like they have eyes in the back of their head, and making it very hard to get the drop on them in a fight in melee range. Smiths and Enchanters, of course, being labor classes, do not develop this skill at all. In fact, although research into the matter is still ongoing, because both classes require intense focus, it is believed that both classes actually reduce general situational awareness in combat, although no skill has been identified as a root cause. Mage classes, however, do develop the [Danger Sense] skill, but it develops slowly, and only with effort. A mage’s [Danger Sense] leans more in the direction of identifying hostility associated with build-ups of mana, indicating an incoming magical strike. Physical combat classes that rely more on skill and [Skills] that don’t involve mana are much harder for mages to detect, especially brand new mages fresh from their Class Selection.

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  For this reason, the bandits who captured slaves to sell to this mining operation in the wilderness between two kingdoms preferred boys shortly after their Class Selection who had chosen a mage class and a labor class. In James’ class, they assumed he was some sort of mage/smith combination, and did not realize his other class was actually Enchanter. Not that it mattered for his work at the mining camp, nor did James tell them, or anyone at the camp. It made no difference.

  The slaves would mine ore or expand the mining tunnels until midday, at which point they would eat their first of two meals. It was a thin porridge, cooked by one of the slaves, whoever was on the rotation for that day. There were no days off at the slave camp, but each day a different slave would do general tasks around the camp: fetching water, preparing meals, tidying up the campsite, digging latrines, and smelting ore. It was slightly less physically intense than digging in the mines, so it was something of a rest day for the slaves.

  After lunch, the slaves would return to the mine until shortly before sundown. At that time, they would all gather the remaining ore that had fallen among the rubble that had not already been carried out, and place it in the pile next to the smelter. They would then eat a dinner of thin porridge and as the sun set and darkness fell, they would return to the lean-to and pass out. For the slaves, every moment of rest, every moment of sleep, was precious.

  The slaves who couldn’t sleep, who were unable to rest, didn’t last long.

  After a period of observation to ensure that James was being compliant, lasting almost two weeks, the duty rotation was adjusted. Before, the slave on duty rotation would spend the evening feeding ore into the smelter and forming lumpy, somewhat ingot-shaped blobs of low quality iron from the iron ore until the overseer told them to stop several hours after the rest of the slaves had gone to sleep. Now, James would be on smelting duty daily. This gave the slave who was on duty that day more time to sleep, and for a time the health of the slaves in general improved. For James, however, he was still woken up at the crack of dawn and working a full day in the mines. The first morning of this new routine, he had been woken up by the older boy who had grabbed his shoulder when he first tried to mine something other than iron. He gave James a stern look as James awoke, and after a moment James nodded. Even if the overseers didn’t explicitly say anything, he didn’t want to risk the wrath of his fellow slaves.

  James’ daily routine now looked like this: On normal days, he’d awake at the crack of dawn, then clear rubble until tools were handed out. He’d then mine until the midday meal, then mine again until the evening meal. Finally, he’d work the smelter until he was told to stop. At least, that’s how it went for the first few days. One evening, the overseer with the whip came up behind James while he was working the smelter.

  “Oy.”

  James nearly leapt out of his skin at the low growl coming from behind him. He spun around.

  “Y-yes sir?”

  “Do you have the [Smelting] skill yet?”

  “Yes.” James replied nervously.

  The slaver backhanded James across the cheek. Although the air resounded with a sharp crack, the blow didn’t actually knock James off his feet, and after this long in the camp, James knew that the man wasn’t even particularly angry with James at the moment. He just wanted his attention. The slaver then held up one of the lumpy blobs of iron James had produced the previous day.

  “Then what is this trash?”

  “It- it’s iron, sir.”

  “I know it’s iron, idjit.” The man sneered down at James. “What I’m saying, is why’s it look so bad? I’ve seen proper ingots before, they’re more square and easier to stack. Yer a smith, why’re you making the same trash any other slave can make?”

  James glanced at the smelter. It was a slipshod piece of work that barely got hot enough to melt iron out of the ore, and the molten iron didn’t pour neatly into the ingot mold at the bottom, which produced lumpy blobs rather than crisp iron ingots. Until now, this had been good enough for the slavers.

  James explained that that was the best the smelter could produce. He was prepared to be beaten for this, but surprisingly the slaver listened and thought for a moment.

  “Hrmmm…” he grunted, flipping the iron lump over in his hand. Eventually, he stopped.

  “Make a new one, then.”

  “A new… smelter?” James asked. The slaver cuffed him over the head with his free hand.

  “Yes, don’t make me repeat myself. Make a new smelter that makes better ingots. Yer outta the mine for the next five days, get it done by then.”