Before even getting close to the castle, the evening wind carried a strange scent.
The slaves smelled an alluring aroma of meat, so rich and intense that it astonished them.
The slaves, whose faces were usually numb and movements uniform, raised their heads. Their noses twitched, sniffing towards the castle a few times as if to confirm they weren't hallucinating, then they took a long deep breath, enjoying that greasy scent as if doing so allowed them to taste the meat that made them drool.
That's right, yesterday a new Lord had arrived; surely the female cook was cooking a premium delicious dish for the new Lord to enjoy.
Although the slaves themselves had never seen what that delicious dish looked like, just smelling it made them very happy; it was like spiritual medicine soothing their hunger.
Following this meat aroma, their footsteps seemed a little faster.
There were already slaves secretly imagining that tonight's bowl of thin bean porridge might also be tainted with some leftover meat smell from the kitchen pot, or if lucky, cooked with meat broth; if they rounded it up, they could count it as having eaten meat themselves.
The woodshed was not far from the kitchen, also built sketchily with thatch and miscellaneous wood, but thanks to the unceasing efforts of the slaves, the woodshed that had been depleted in winter was full of firewood again.
The firewood logs were stacked neatly, towering high.
If only provided for the kitchen to use for daily cooking, the firewood here was enough for them to use for several months.
However, winter in this land was extremely cold, consuming a huge amount of firewood to warm the entire vast castle.
The Old Butler, though strict, was kind in nature and allowed the slaves to burn wood for warmth in winter at their living quarters.
Otherwise, for the crowd of slaves who lacked food and clothing, with only ragged and flimsy clothes, without a warm fire, even the Minotaur with his thick skin and relatively good health would find it very difficult to survive the bone-chilling winter.
Therefore, during the relatively safe season of the forest, when snow hadn't fallen yet, the slaves absolutely dared not be lazy for a single moment; they needed to gather enough firewood for the castle's whole year before getting some rest.
The slaves lowered their heads and lined up in order, taking turns stacking the firewood from their backs into the woodshed.
Although they all greedily and secretly smelled the fragrant meat scent wafting out from the kitchen next door, saliva welling up in their mouths, no one had the guts to raise their head to look inside or stop to listen.
For those who were slaves from generation to generation like them, absolute weakness and submission had become a nature ingrained in their blood, and the fear of the whip was always present.
But today things seemed a bit strange; the atmosphere in the castle was also quite different from usual.
After putting the firewood away, the Old Butler didn't tell them to line up to receive the portion of thin bean porridge today like usual, but distributed to each person a piece of hollow wood as big as a hand, the outer shell still retaining the rough bark.
This type of wood was a special tree species in the Black Dragon Forest; the trunk looked segmented somewhat like bamboo but much harder and a bit different from bamboo. The hollow part in the middle was quite small, and the outer wood wall was still too thick, needing tools to process further and chisel away to be used as a wooden bowl holding food.
Slaves had no private property belonging to them; they didn't even have a bowl or a spoon.
Normally when eating thin bean porridge, they just used their dirty hands to scoop a handful and brought it to their mouths to slurp hurriedly.
After finishing dinner, even a bit of porridge stuck in the cracks of their fingers or mud stuck on their hands would be licked clean by them, not wasting a bit.
At this moment, looking at the rough block of wood distributed in their hands, many slaves looked at each other blankly, their eyes bewildered, clearly not understanding what this block of wood was used for, wondering if it was a new punishment.
"You go find some sharp stones, grind or plane the wood block in your hands into a wooden bowl, make the inside of the bowl deep and smooth. After this, this wooden bowl belongs to you, it is your private property." The Old Butler stood in front of the slaves, hands clasped behind his back, loudly ordering the slaves: "How much meat soup you can slurp today depends on whether the wooden bowl in your hands is made well or not; the deeper the bowl, the more it can hold. If you don't know how to do it, you can go ask Angus."
The Old Butler pointed at the large Minotaur next to him, who was also holding a wooden bowl that had been crafted quite completely.
Slaves had no names; they were only called by nicknames or codes. Between themselves, they rarely interacted or talked because they were too tired, and others paid even less attention to what their names were.
Today the Minotaur helped Jasmine do a lot of heavy work in the kitchen, but because she didn't know how to address him properly, Jasmine just randomly called him Angus.
The Old Butler saw this and followed suit, also calling the Minotaur that to easily distinguish him.
Hearing the words "meat soup," those two magical words made the space seem to freeze.
The black and cloudy eyes of the slaves, which were originally numb, instantly flared up with a ray of hope. The look they gave the Minotaur became hotter than ever, as if seeing a savior.
After the Old Butler turned and left to check other things, the slaves clamored around Angus like a broken beehive.
Although the slaves were afraid of nobles who held the power of life and death like the Old Butler or the knights, they were not afraid of the Minotaur, who, despite his huge body and sharp horns, was also a hard-labor slave like them.
Perhaps due to not speaking for too long, his throat dry, a slave who looked elderly with white hair and beard stammered on behalf of the others, his voice trembling: "Is... is there really meat... meat soup to drink? It's not pot-washing water, is it?"