The slaves who had witnessed the scene slowly approached. There were three male slaves among them, excluding the female slave who kept her head down, weak because she hadn't eaten since yesterday, and was now feeling nauseous.
The three male slaves had different builds. One had a thick beard and looked to be about fifty years old. The second had the body of a thirty-year-old man, slightly more muscular than the other slaves. And the third was so thin his bones protruded, visible, as if he hadn't eaten for months. Judging by his face, he was around thirty years old.
Meanwhile, the female slave had a beautiful figure, with thick but coarse hair as if it had never known water. Her body was also thin, but not excessively so, and she had two rather large mounds of flesh hanging on her chest.
Let's call them the Oldest Slave, the Muscular Slave, the Skinny Slave, and the Female Slave.
The Oldest Slave crouched in front of Lian and extended his hand, which was also handcuffed, to help Lian up.
Lian stared at the Oldest Slave's hand, his gaze shifting to his missing middle finger while breathing heavily.
He could still feel and imagine the pain when his middle finger was cut off. Although the pain was far worse when his left arm was crushed fighting the bear, that had passed quickly. And now, with his left arm miraculously restored for reasons Lian didn't understand, it was the middle finger of his right hand that was missing. Lian felt incredibly frustrated and full of hate. The main reason wasn't his lost finger, but his inability to fight back, his inability to move. He felt he was still too weak. That was why he hated—hated himself.
Not wanting to look weak, Lian chose to remain silent and get up on his own. He sat for a moment before finally standing fully, ignoring the hand extended by the Oldest Slave.
The Oldest Slave awkwardly pulled his hand back, cleared his throat, and said, "Are you alright, kid?"
The Muscular Slave and the Skinny Slave asked the same thing. Lian didn't know if they truly cared or were just pretending. He didn't know them. He didn't even know where he was right now. The last thing he remembered was when he was dying, seeing a strange creature like a cricket, beautiful with gold and dark blue colors, entering his chest, and the strange voice and hologram he saw just before arriving here.
As before, he tried to look strong. He didn't want others to worry about him, including strangers.
"I'm fine." Lian nodded, assuring them that he was okay.
In reality, Lian could still feel the pain, and the slaves probably knew it, but they chose to remain silent.
"Alright, kid, if you say so. But if you feel pain, or if the stump turns black and rots, you can tell me." The Oldest Slave glanced at the freshly severed finger stump, still bleeding with white bone visible, making him shudder imagining it was his own finger.
Lian just replied to the Oldest Slave's goodwill with a nod.
"Sit down. We are resting now. Use this break to calm yourself." The Muscular Slave joined in, looking at Lian with a softened gaze.
Lian followed the Muscular Slave's words and sat on a fallen tree trunk. He stared at the severed finger; he could still feel the throbbing pain, and blood was still seeping from it.
Argh... Lian groaned and grimaced silently. I have to stop the bleeding and cover the wound. If this were the Harmonious Alba forest, I could look for a Sirus plant to relieve this pain. Since this is a strange place, I don't know if that plant exists here, but I have to look for it for my own good. To stop the bleeding, I'll tear a strip of cloth from the pants I'm wearing now—wherever they came from, I don't know—and bandage it.
But before he could look for the plant, Lian remembered the Muscular Slave's words about this being a break time.
Remembering the incident earlier, Lian could guess the nature of the fat man; he was probably similar to the Captain or Roy. So, if Lian went looking now, he might be considered trying to escape. Besides, he couldn't go far because his legs were shackled and connected to something inside the cabin, just like the other slaves.
Sigh... Looks like I can only bandage it with cloth. I can't go too far; my feet are tied by this strange device. Lian moved his feet while making a decision. He then picked up a small stone with a sharp edge nearby.
Luckily there was such a stone; otherwise, Lian would have trouble tearing his pants. Even though the fabric was thin, it would still be difficult with handcuffed hands.
The Skinny Slave, leaning against a tree, saw Lian struggling to tear his pants. Seeing his difficulty, the Skinny Slave approached Lian and offered help.
"Let me help!" The Skinny Slave took the sharp stone from Lian's hand without asking permission and tore the pants vertically into a strip of cloth.
Not stopping there, the Skinny Slave bandaged Lian's severed finger tightly and neatly. Lian winced in pain as his finger was wrapped.
Lian looked at his bandaged finger, then looked at the Skinny Slave.
"Thank you!" Lian expressed his gratitude sincerely.
The Skinny Slave just gave a small smile and returned to his original spot.
"I didn't think you could bandage a wound like that," whispered the Muscular Slave, who was lying on the ground with his hands supporting his head.
Instead of answering, the Skinny Slave shot a sharp glare at the Muscular Slave, whispering in a barely audible voice. "This is all because of you... Why did you do something stupid like stealing the Master's food? And what's even stupider, why did we eat your stolen food? If you want to die, don't drag others along. Die alone."
Life as a slave like them was the bitterest depiction of human suffering, a harsh reality stripping naked the darkest side of the world and our own conscience. There was no happiness, no freedom, only remnants of breath maintained by the need to survive under the whip of power. They worked twenty hours a day, wringing out sweat and tears to build the grandeur of others, while their stomachs were left empty, filled only twice a day with scraps that even a dog would feel nauseous looking at.
Most of them were male slaves, their bodies turned into tireless machines, and female slaves deemed "unattractive"—those whose faces did not meet the master's standards of lust were forced to bear the same heavy workload without ever being acknowledged as human. Meanwhile, female slaves called "beautiful" suffered a crueler fate. The bodies of these female slaves were made offerings to the depraved lusts of the rulers, who drank their suffering like wine, as if pleasure and power were divine rights that could not be challenged.
That is the true face of the world. A world that glitters on the surface but hides a dark ocean in its depths. A world where human value is measured not by the soul, but by appearance and utility to those in power. Behind the glitter of palaces, behind the laughter of nobles, there is always a scream muffled underground, there is always a wound covered with gold. This is the dark side of the world often ignored, a place where morality dies, and humanity becomes merely a fading shadow.
And perhaps, what is saddest is not the existence of suffering itself, but the reality that the world keeps turning as if nothing happened. As if human suffering were merely dust lost in the wind of time, while tyranny and greed remain eternal in their various faces and forms.
"Tsk..." The Muscular Slave clicked his tongue; he stared back at the Skinny Slave sharply. "You ate it yourself, why are you blaming me? Didn't you enjoy the food back then and thank me? But now when we get caught, you blame me instead?" The Muscular Slave sat up while keeping his gaze on the Skinny Slave.
Although his physique was completely opposite to the Muscular Slave, the Skinny Slave seemed unafraid as long as their status was equal. "Yes, and if you hadn't stolen it, maybe we wouldn't have eaten it! Why? Because you're stupid. You stole the Master's food, making our lives last only until the top of this mountain before finally being used as sacrifices."
The Muscular Slave's face turned red hearing this. He suddenly stood up and approached the Skinny Slave. The Skinny Slave became a little scared, but he still stared back at the Muscular Slave sharply. He tried to stand up. His scrawny body contrasted sharply with the Muscular Slave's somewhat burly build. The Muscular Slave then grabbed the Skinny Slave's collar, pulled him forcibly, and punched him right in the face.
Due to their significant size difference, the Skinny Slave fell to the ground with a loud thud. His cheek was scratched by a piece of sharp wood as he fell, causing blood to flow from the deep wound. The Skinny Slave's vision blurred before slowly fading to black.
The Oldest Slave, witnessing the event, immediately stood up and separated them. He grabbed the Muscular Slave's shoulder and scolded him, issuing a warning. "What are you doing? Do you want to be whipped with chains? Don't do things that could endanger your life."
The Muscular Slave shook off the Oldest Slave's hand. He spat on the ground and said, "Die now or later, it ends up the same. And I'm sure that pig must be laughing hearing us fight. He probably considers it entertainment."
The Muscular Slave walked away and sat leaning against a tree, about ten steps from where Lian was.
Meanwhile, the Oldest Slave could only remain silent. He didn't refute the Muscular Slave's words; everything he said was the truth... The truth that they would still die when reaching the mountain peak to be used as sacrifices. The truth that the pig must be laughing.
Lian, who witnessed the argument, became wary of the Muscular Slave. He pretended to look away when the Muscular Slave glanced at him. To drive away the discomfort of being watched, Lian thought to himself.
From what I understand, it seems we have to climb this mountain to its peak. And it seems the peak is still very far, especially with bound hands and feet. Walking will be more difficult, not to mention the uphill path that will make every step feel heavy.
Sigh... Lian breathed heavily. Before I arrived here, I saw a strange object floating in front of my eyes—not the insect that entered my chest, but an object like a strange box—and a strange voice echoed in my ears at that time. As for that strange insect, I've checked my body, but there's nothing strange except my left hand growing back. And that voice mentioned a trial... A trial... Is this the "trial" that strange voice mentioned? If true, then I must get out of this strange place and return. I must return. Meilin is still not healed. I must return.