The Least Common Denominator

III.I Remainder

"Ughh..."

A dull pain from my stomach woke me up from my slumber. I was on my back; what seemed to be a bed of straw serving as my bed as every feeling in my body slowly started to make itself known to me. I winced as I struggled to even begin to sit up from my position.

"Are you okay?" I heard a voice call out to me, a woman. "You need to rest, lady."

My everything hurts...

Using my arms as leverage, I ignored the call for rest as I slowly and agonizingly sat back up. A shot of pain sprang forth from my stomach as I blearily opened my eyes, the dim sight of cobblestone and darkness greeting me. It didn't help that the only light source seemed to be a burning torch just above me. But at least it was enough to show the sight of a worried, albeit childish face situated just a few centimeters away from where I laid.

"That looked like it hurt," the woman- no... girl spoke with worry. "What happened to you?"

"Just got my parents killed right in front of me," I answered back, sarcasm masking my grief as my tone came off a bit standoffish. "How 'bout you?"

"Oh!- Uhm... I'm sorry..."

My annoyance deflated as the girl shrunk into herself at my flippant tone. I sighed as I pushed the grief out of my mind in favor of at least trying to converse with the poor girl.

"It's alright," I reassured with a small wave. "You don't get to meet fresh orphans every day after all."

That came out a bit too strong.

"I-I'm an orphan too," the girl shared meekly, her hands using her brown locks to hide her own face. "I mean- I was raised in the orphanage."

"Huh." What a riveting conversationalist you are, Crimson. "Do you know where we are, currently?"

"Uhm... We're in the Imperial Barracks... I think," the girl replied to the best of her ability. "I just got here. Sorry."

In a habit ingrained into me even after years of not living in the modern world, a hand found its way to my chin as I mulled over the information currently available to me while ignoring the dull pain shooting from my still injured stomach.

From what I recall, fucker number one, that I now know to be Arjay, mentioned that I was bound to be sent to the capital and that I was either a...

Num or a Den?

Shortened versions for Numerator and Denominator, perhaps. The brunette all but confirmed to me that I was in the capital of the Empire right now. So I guess I have been forcibly drafted to the military.

Can they even do that? Draft me while I was unconscious?

"Did you get drafted too?" The brunette asked innocently.

"I guess so," I absently replied.

The question then would be: Do they already know that I'm a Denominator?

Mother never told me how they checked for potential when the Imperials drafted from the civilians. Was there some kind of magical bullshit item that just told them? Or was it simply a case of 'show them what we've got' and then they'll sort us out?

"Uhmm..."

Highly unlikely. It's possible then that they already know, and that the girl I'm with now was also a Den. If so-

"Excuse me?"

"Yes?" I distractedly respond, my mind still on a train of thought that I can't derail at the moment.

"What's your name?"

My name...

Nobody could possibly know my name here, now that I thought about it. Only my parents called me Crimson, and I never really found the need to introduce myself beyond the occasional 'blacksmith's daughter' shtick that I used to tell the store owners during my brief trips to the nearest town square. I don't think even think my parents' killers know my name beyond me being 'Flame's daughter' to them. If I really wanted to, I could use my original name. A name that I'm honestly very fond of even back then.

But do I really want to?

"It's Crimson."

No. Not really. That was my old life. It had no place in this new world beyond as a memento of times past. Besides, my parents gave me this name. I'll honor their wishes. It's the least I could do after I failed.

...

......

I failed...

"I'm Olivia."

I failed......

"Uhm... Crimson?"

I couldn't stop them... What was I supposed to do... All of that training, for nothing. It's not like I'm well equipped for this shit. I didn't even want to be reborn in this world. But they're still my parents and I loved them and they gave me everythingandtaughtmeevenafterInaggedthembuttheystilllovedmeandIletthemdieohmygoditsallmyfaultallmyfaultallmyfaultallmyfault-

"D-don't cry..."

A small hand placed itself on top of my head. Who even-

"It's gonna be all right."

Was it?

"It'll be fine."

I highly doubt it. After all, I don't even have the power to fight those people on even ground.

"I don't know who you want to fight, but I'm sure you'll do fine, lady."

I guess I voiced that last thought out loud.

I raised my head back up, my teary eyes greeted by the purest sight I've ever seen since I got into this hellhole. The girl beamed at me, an innocent smile on her face as she flashed her crooked teeth. Her hand never left my head, my hair surely ruffled into disarray from all of her admittedly soothing headpats.

"The older girls in the orphanage did this to me once," the girl, Olivia, was it? Adorably regaled her reasoning for her actions. "It helps make the bad feelings go away."

I'll have to thank those girls for teaching this adorable munchkin proper soothing techniques.

"Thanks, Olivia."

"No problem, lady~" Her smile seemed to just light up the drab room.

God... Am I squeeing in real life?

"I'm no lady," I snorted, mostly to myself. "I barely qualify as a proper woman."

"But you're so pretty," The petite brunette whined, her cheeks puffed up like steaming hot rice buns. "I wish I can grow up to be as pretty as you."

A reluctant smile showed itself on my face as I ruffled the brunette's hair in gratitude and appreciation.

I felt that statement in my heart. It was almost enough to let me forget that it was still my fault my... parents got murdered right in front of-

*SLAM*

I sluggishly turned my head towards the telltale sound of a wooden door being slammed open. There was a guy in full armor standing on the doorway. Maybe we're being taken away now...

"Out of the room, trash!"

I sighed as I slowly forced myself off of my makeshift bed. My wounds weren't fully healed as far as I can tell, so I grit my teeth in preparation for what is to come. It's no use fighting back against authority now. No matter how much I wanted to slug this tin can's face in for calling us trash. Beside me, Olivia visibly looked distressed at our captor's orders.

"Let's go, Olivia."

The petite girl nodded as she held onto my hand, keeping pace with me as she walked just behind me.

"Hurry up! The Empire's time is too precious for you to waste!"

"I'm injured, tin can." Fucking idi-.

*Smack!*

"URGH!"

I tasted blood as I felt my stomach cave-in at the sudden impact of his halberd's pole.

"Crimson!"

"I don't know what you just called me, Dirt Eater, but don't you dare talk back to your betters!"

My knee hit the ground as I struggled against the pain, my bandages already turning red as my wounds opened up again. At least I'm still alive, I guess.

I waved off the worried Olivia beside me as I pushed myself to stand on my own two feet once more, my knees shaking as we slowly made our way out of the shabby room. I gave the tin can a brief glare as I passed him.

He'll have his day. Of that I'm sure.

"Where to next, sir?" I asked sarcastically as the armored man closed the door behind us.

"Follow, Dirt Eater."

The halberd-toting tin can didn't even spare us a glance before walking right past us towards some destination I still didn't know about. The passageway we found ourselves in was stoned to perfection, with torches lining the walls, illuminating the various other doors littered throughout the hall. Seeing as we didn't have much of a choice, I led my charge behind me as we followed the tin can to wherever he wanted to lead us to.

So... Dirt Eater, huh. Haven't heard that insult in the extensive years I had surfing the internet. And here I thought I've heard of every possible insult in the book.

"Where is he taking us?" Olivia asked, apprehension marring her youthful tone.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. It wouldn't do for me to answer definitively to something I didn't know the answer to. "But we'll find out eventually."

The girl nodded, the torchlight making some of her tears shine against the dark confines of the hallway. I held her hand reassuringly, if to at least give comfort to this kid that's surely not ready for what may yet to come.

The armored man stopped at a large door in front of us. Already, I can see an orange glow seep underneath the crevices, as well as residual heat emanating from the large wooden doors.

"Go inside, Dirt Eaters," The tin can ordered, his voice booming as he stood by the door. "Make yourselves useful for the Empire."

I swallowed a lump as I pressed my hand on the wooden door. Immediately, the heat made itself known as my left palm sweated simply from laying my hand on it. With a push, I slowly opened the door, the creaking sounding a tad too ominous for my liking as the identity of the room revealed itself to me.

*CLANG!! CLANG!!*

"You two will be staying here from now on, with the rest of the Dirt Eaters."

*CLANG!*

The echoes of metal beating on metal rang in my ears as I took stock of what seemed to be a medieval sweatshop from hell; gigantic furnaces as far as the eye could see as I saw other people, Denominators, working their own anvils. Some were shirtless, even the few women that I could see, as sparks flew from their hammers with each swing.  

Behind me, Olivia did her best to hide behind what little dress I still had left on me as we let ourselves into the blisteringly hot room.

*SLAM!*

I didn't look back as the door closed behind us, only focusing on the literal hell furnace that we'll apparently be living in for the foreseeable future. Inside me, the fires of spite grew even bigger at the mere fact that I was going to be subjected to such kind of labor. But that's not even the worst part:

These guys were 'drafting' minors into what essentially amounted as child labor!

I wiped the sweat off my brow as I led us deeper into the glorified workshop, the pain in my stomach the furthest thing on my mind as I tried to find a place for us in this oven. If this was how they treated the people that made their weapons, then I'm surprised there hasn't been a revolution-

I paused in my tracks, a brief flash of what I hoped to be brilliance entering my mind.

"Crimson?"

"It's nothing, kid."

A revolution... Now that's an idea I'd wholeheartedly support.

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