Three years old. That's my current age. That's when a child should be the happiest, surrounded by the loving care of their parents, but right now? I'm being beaten by a slave merchant. You might be wondering why my words sound so mature when I'm just a three-year-old.

Well, that's because I regained the memory of my previous life. Previous life. Reincarnation. These words must sound quite familiar to those who adore novels of this genre. It seems that I was one of them.

The past "me" seemed to adore novels, so "I" similarly enjoyed otome games due to the interactive storyline. It seems that "I" didn't really care for the ikemen, but still appreciated the beautiful graphics. The reason why I'm emphasizing that it was the past "me" is because I am not "her."

Unlike "she," who is was raised in a decent environment under the care of her loving parents, I was raised in a cell full of slaves who worry about whether they will live to see tomorrow with my mother.

Now, I'm not saying that my mother doesn't love me and that I don't love her, but she simply can't give me what "her" parents gave, so I decided to find a way to escape slavery and live comfortably with her.

Also, I have no emotional attachment to the world that "I" previously resided in. I only have the accumulated knowledge that "she" gained, so I only have more knowledge than most, however, it does not change the unfortunate fact that my mentality is still that of child's.

And I must emphasize the fact that my intellect is my own and that my maturity is the result of experiencing her memories! "She" was a fool who only knew how to play around while had to scramble for food with my mother. I find it offensive that "she" was my previous incarnation! Does "she" not know how blessed "she" is? "She" can spend her time on reading nonsensical things and playing games while I struggle to live until tomorrow! 

Anyways, I regained my memory when I saw the opening of the otome game playing out in front of my eyes.

The five-year-old heroine Lilliana Meadows visited the slave merchant with her mother who was a wealthy merchant. Her soft blonde hair was blown by a nonexistent breeze and she tearfully stared at the slaves in the cell. Her green eyes glistened as she murmured softly, "You poor things. I'll free you all one day."

She turned around resolutely to face her mother and declared, "I shall free all of them one day with my own power!"

Her mother replied, "Very well, my daughter. I trust that you will be able to do that one day. Let us go home." And so, the mother-daughter duo left with the door slamming behind them, signaling the start of Lilliana's journey to the top.

That was when I regained my previous life's memory. Despite the pain, I only wanted to criticize the heroine and "me."

Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. First, she treats them like "things." Then, she declares that she'll free them with her own power, expecting that they'll all be alive by the time that she gathers enough power.

Perhaps I would have found it awe-inspiring if it were just a novel or game, but I am unfortunately one of those mob child slaves in the very back who have to face the fat slave merchant's abuse. Also, my foolish past self never made it past the opening, so I have no knowledge of important things.

The fat slave merchant has the tendency to abuse the slaves whenever he's in a bad mood. He gets especially furious whenever a customer that doesn't buy anything comes, but he can't vent it on them because it would ruin his reputation, so he vents it on the slaves. Due to the fact that children have less capabilities and value, he abuses child slaves so as to not damage higher quality "goods."

As soon as the two left, the fat slave merchant scanned the group of slaves in the cell before landing on me. "You'll be coming with me today," he stated while sneering. My mother's worried eyes looked at me, who was chosen for the first time.

Frankly, my mother's looks weren't too extraordinary, however, she had this tranquil aura on her. According to what I've heard, my mother was impregnated with me by another slave and both of them were punished. It seemed that my father was separated from my mother.

I patted my mother's back gently to reassure her and followed the merchant down the stairs to the basement. The stairway was damp and dark since the only light source was the torch that the slave merchant held.

Despite my short legs that were a hindrance, I dared not to slow down as I made my way down the crumbling steps because I was sure that it would provoke his rage and my mother or other slaves that had treated me well would fall victim towards the merchant's abuse in my steed. 

When I finally saw the basement, my legs could not help but tremble and I had to do my best to suppress the scream that threatened to be released from my throat. What I saw was a cell with shackles and a variety of torture tools. On the ground and walls was supposedly the blood of previous victims of the slave merchant's abuse.

As I was led closer to the chains on the wall, I saw the corpses of children piled up. It finally sunk into my mind that the slave merchant wasn't just a fat pig, but a monster!

Upon seeing the frightened look on my face, he only let out boisterous laughs, making his fat jiggle, and pointed at the pile of corpses. "Did you see that? That's the fate of people who annoy me." He licked his greasy lips. "So, if you don't help me vent my anger, that'll be the fates of whoever you care about! Right! Your mother was the b*tch named Leanora, right?"

I didn't dare nod in fear that she would be identified as the next victim, but he continued, "I remember her. She's the one who got together with that b*stard slave Reynold. So, you're their child?" The slave merchant dragged me roughly to chain me to a wall. The originally large chains shrunk to fit my small wrists and ankles. 

"That's perfect. I can vent my anger from the time that b*tch tried to run away when I ordered her to serve me. It's an honor that I wanted that b*tch to serve me. It's too bad that I can't torture her directly, due to that person's orders." Before I could ask who "that person" was, the fat slave merchant had already gotten out a whip. 

I heard a crack before something hit me. The places where the whip hit burned and I couldn't help but let out screams. As my whole body hurt all over, the cold sensation of the chains reminded me that I couldn't escape from this.

Several times throughout the torture session, I lost consciousness only to be awakened by a bucket of salt water. My wounds hurt even more and eyes stung, however, I couldn't even scream because my throat had gone hoarse.

After a long time of floating between consciousness and unconsciousness, the brutal torture session finally ended. I was left without the strength to stand and the only thing that kept me up were the chains on my wrists. The already tattered sack that I wore was in pieces and full of the blood from my wounds.

I could see the blurry, satisfied figure of the perpetrator of the wounds on my body.