I Became the Teacher of a Troll Tribe

Chapter 3: Zul Dron (1)

Six months had passed since I woke up in a cage and was brought to Zul Dron.

On the first day, after Stinson stabbed Pedro with an ice spike, we were taken to a cabin where a basic interrogation took place.

Name, age, previous occupation, and assigned abilities—everything was recorded.

Thankfully, my head wasn’t lopped off because [Master of Languages!] was deemed useless.

On the contrary, they found my ability amusing, chatting among themselves for quite some time.

Afterward, I spent my days undergoing what could only be described as "indoctrination" in prison.

“...That concludes today’s lesson. Please make sure to complete your homework, even if you're busy.”

I had become a teacher at a troll language academy in another world.

“Thank you for your hard work…”

The human class was over.

Around twenty humans, each with their own story, quickly left the room.

Among them was Evelyn, who had been brought here on the same day as me.

“...Are you managing okay?”

Managing? Sure, it’s better than doing manual labor with the others, but... Does this life seem even remotely tolerable to you?

“...I feel like dying.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration.

In the mornings, I taught trolls their language.

In the afternoons, I taught humans how to speak Trollish.

This was my life within the troll tribe.

Rest? Aside from a short lunch break where I had to chew on some sketchy-looking mushrooms, there was none.

After “work”? I had to prepare teaching materials and grade piles of overdue homework.

Weekend special lectures were mandatory, and if a high-ranking troll summoned me, I had to rush over no matter the hour.

In the real world, at least I’d be paid for this.

If I had worked this hard back then, I’d probably have landed a position at a major academy.

“I-I see. I’m sorry. It must sound ridiculous for me to ask that.”

Evelyn, who had been classified as a high-value individual thanks to her [Magical Engineering]

ability, had been assigned to a research facility.

From what I’d heard, she worked on studying this world’s energy and creating magical tools.

Having never played as a mage in the game and being clueless about science, her work was beyond me.

To put it simply... She had a “cushier” job, with at least a semblance of work-life balance. Maybe that’s why she was one of the few students who excelled in my classes.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it since you’re busy… See you tomorrow! I’ll make sure to do my homework!”

Evelyn discreetly handed me what was called “troll bread” before leaving the classroom.

Even that was a luxury I couldn’t easily obtain.

This wasn’t a metaphor.

The rank assigned to me was quite literally “slave.”

Who would’ve thought I’d end up like this?

I had hidden traits.

Not just one or two, but seven—each of them an overpowered ability that others could only dream of.

Well, six if you exclude [Master of Languages!].

With [Master of Black Flames] and [Descent of the Shadow], I could easily defeat a guard or two and escape the village.

And yet, I continued enduring the grueling work at the language academy for one reason.

[The hidden trait Survival Instinct warns you!]

Damn it.

Every time I contemplated escaping, a splitting headache hit me.

An excruciating pain, far worse than what I had experienced before the adjudicator during my first day here.

It’s like my body is telling me not even to dream of escape.

After pinpointing the cause of the headaches, I avoided such thoughts altogether.

Even with top-tier hidden traits, I couldn’t use them freely.

Frustrating as it was, I accepted the reality.

I’d seen how others with extraordinary abilities met their end.

...

The classroom was empty, and I stared blankly at the attendance sheet.

Click.

An older man from Australia had been absent for ten days.

Assigned as a scout due to his detection-related ability, he had been exploring fissures in the area.

All transferees were required to take language classes for a year, regardless of rank.

Yet, without warning, he hadn’t shown up for almost two weeks.

The reason was obvious.

Scratch—

I drew a line through his name on the attendance sheet with a heavy heart.

It felt like I was committing a grave sin.

He could return tomorrow, couldn’t he?

He had been just an ordinary person—utterly unremarkable, like the rest of us.

I’ll never get used to this.

As I prepared to leave the classroom, burdened by mixed emotions, a booming voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Seong Jinyu! You are a clever and admirable human!”

A large troll blocked my way.

Lactomar.

He was a native speaker who taught Trollish to humans, essentially my co-teacher.

Although he mostly conducted classes in Trollish, his Humanish was quite fluent for a troll.

While his rank had initially made him intimidating, he was now just a typical workplace colleague.

At least within the academy, I could momentarily escape the chains of slavery.

“Grrk, I have two pieces of news.”

“...Spit it out. I’m starving.”

“Stone Grunder has learned to read!”

He learned to read? That was certainly an accomplishment, considering Stone Grunder meant “blockhead” in Trollish.

“The promising warrior Stone Grunder has now gained intellect and will reign even more fearsomely on the battlefield!”

...Yeah, not exactly thrilled about that.

“Grrk! But the next news is even more astonishing.”

Lactomar twitched his lips as if itching to spill the beans. What was he about to say?

“Recently, you assisted in the library of Chief Fangtusk, correct?”

Technically, I was dragged there.

I had spent an entire weekend translating over 300 documents.

Why?

“Congratulations! Upon Chief Fangtusk’s recommendation, the high chieftain and elders have recognized your contributions!”

“...Contributions?”

“Rejoice! Clever and admirable human Seong Jinyu has been officially promoted to a ‘Moiran,’ a full member of the tribe!”

In simpler terms, I had been elevated from an untouchable slave to a commoner.

Lactomar handed me a leather armband, the symbol of a Moiran.

“What the hell?”

Language skills earned me a promotion.

Apparently, I was the first to achieve a rank upgrade simply for being good at languages.

It was a significant achievement—six long months in the making.

Lactomar gave me a hearty slap on the shoulder, encouraging me to keep up the good work in my afternoon classes, and then walked off.

‘...’

Promotion.

It was a promise—a shift in my status from a slave to a recognized member of the tribe.

I was now to be treated as one of them, just like Stinson and Evelyn.

But it didn’t feel like a victory.

For transferees who escaped the "human slave" rank and joined the "Moiran" class, there was a catch…

The age-old tradition carried on from India’s caste system.

The duty to pay taxes.

Suddenly, my head throbbed.

***

After Work.

I hurried to catch Lactomar as he packed up his things.

“Hm? Becoming a Moiran doesn’t change your position at the academy. You should know that better than anyone, right? You’ll be given a house and meals. That’s all the tribe provides.”

Room and board.

No pay.

That was all I’d received for pouring myself into this language academy.

At first, I was furious at the injustice.

Being enslaved despite having overpowered abilities was bad enough—now, I wasn’t even getting paid?

However, having a personal space at the academy was a massive privilege.

Before that, I’d been crammed into a shared barrack with 28 people, infested with mites disturbingly fond of humans.

One night in the barracks was enough to understand.

That’s why I’d been gritting my teeth and enduring day after day.

But now, what?

“Moirans of human origin who fail to pay taxes are executed. Surely you knew that?”

This was why I had cornered Lactomar after hours.

If I failed to pay taxes by the first of each month, the tribal chief’s sentence would be carried out.

For pureblood trolls, this meant being sent to the most dangerous fissures as cannon fodder.

For nobles, unlikely as it was, it meant losing their title.

For humans, it was simple: execution.

No matter how amazing your abilities were, no one would trust a human who couldn’t pay taxes.

For Moirans, the tax was 300,000 gold.

“Surely someone as clever as you can figure something out—”

“No. I can’t think of anything.”

“Maybe you could tutor in your spare time—”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

This place was infected with the private education craze.

“Lactomar, does that even make sense?”

Lactomar looked down, avoiding my gaze.

Even he knew.

I didn’t have any spare time.

“Now that I’m officially a Moiran, would you prefer I leave the academy and find another job?”

I knew there was nowhere else for me to utilize [Master of Languages!], but I had to take control of the conversation.

I was the only native Humanish speaker at this academy.

I couldn’t afford to back down.

“N-no! Humans as clever and admirable as you are irreplaceable! Even the principal has said so! You… you must never quit!”

“And yet, to keep working here, I have to pay taxes. Do you understand what ‘execution’ means?”

“I do! But nothing will change—”

“Grrk, enough.”

The principal.

Why was he still here this late?

“This human is considering leaving the academy! If you don’t stop him—!”

“I’m not quitting. At least, not yet.”

I’ll be "quitting (reason: execution)" soon enough if things don’t change.

“You’re aware of my situation, right? You were involved in this promotion. What happens to me now?”

For the record, there’s no concept of honorifics in Trollish.

Even if there were, I couldn’t care less—my life was on the line.

“Grrk, calm down. The academy needs you.”

Yeah, I get that. But what about the money?

“Tutor.”

For the love of—this again? Would this cursed obsession with private education ever end?

Suppressing my rising anger, I laid out my situation calmly and logically, as any human would.

“Principal, as you know, I don’t have time. I’m already teaching four classes as the primary instructor, plus special lectures, preparing materials, and grading homework. It’s not my body that’s the problem—it’s time.”

“I’ll reduce your Troll classes.”

“By how much?”

“Only the afternoon classes. You can tutor in the evening. Toka will take over the evening classes.”

So, I’d gain about two hours.

Considering the extra time saved from fewer preparations, it wasn’t the worst deal.

“Fine. But are there even people looking for tutors?”

“Finding students is your responsibility, Grrk. How much more do you expect me to spoon-feed you? This is as far as my generosity goes.”

You old geezer. How hard would it be to ask around?

“Starting next week, you can drop the evening classes. But you’ll have to inform the warriors yourself. Make it sound good.”

“Does Toka know?”

Toka was a female troll who had joined as a teacher around the same time as me.

“I’ll inform her right away. There shouldn’t be any issues. Oh, and make sure the handover is thorough.”

Typical academy chaos, whether in this world or mine.

Maybe it’s just the nature of small-time institutions.

“Oho! This is great news. A clever human like you will surely find students! And even if you don’t, don’t quit! Mushrooms are no fun to eat alone!”

What’s he on about now?

He clearly doesn’t understand the meaning of "execution."

With the situation somewhat resolved, it was time to head home.

As I left the staffroom, my eyes caught the calendar hanging on the wall.

Today was the first Thursday of the month.

Which means I have…

21 days.

If I can’t gather the money by then, I’ll be dead.