Chapter 296: Rebellion
Chapter 296: Rebellion
Carter Duchy, outskirts of Denar City.
“Snap—”
“Get to work!”
“You worthless peasants without status! Animals!”
The sharp sound of a whip, angry reprimands, and the crisp sound of workers striking ore intertwined.
In the dimly lit mine, filthy miners toiled arduously while overseers wielded whips to enforce their labor.
Among them, one miner bore the nickname “Sparks” over his head.
Clearly, he was a player, or as the natives called them, a Starfaller.
“These damned bastards—”
“Sooner or later, we’ll get back at them. We’ve got to find a way out of here.”
He swung his pickaxe with force, but his gaze towards the overseers was dangerously sharp.
Sparks was a moderately well-known player. Unlike speedrunners, he preferred exploring the storyline and uncovering hidden secrets within the game.
Thus, he had not chosen the more popular Northwind Fortress starting point but instead opted for the unassuming capital of the Carter Duchy—Denar City. He wanted to experience the unique culture of the Northlands.
However, Sparks had poor luck.
Shortly after arriving in Denar City, he was arrested by city guards for lacking identification. He was then sold to slave traders by corrupt officers colluding with underground factions. After many twists and turns, he ended up as a slave laborer, mining for a Northern noble.
Such incidents were all too common in the Northlands.
Serfdom was deeply entrenched in the Northland countries, having lasted for centuries.
To Northern nobles, slaves were not considered the same species as them. They were cheap consumables, contemptuously referred to as “grey livestock.” The collusion and trafficking of slaves were tacitly accepted by all parties. Even local sheriffs turned a blind eye.
After all, these were nameless refugees. Their capture might even improve public safety in the cities, and they were hardly worth more than the bribes paid by slave traders.
Beside Sparks was a stranger, another slave laborer. He was skinny, dark-skinned, and appeared to have just been captured. His inexperience with mining often earned him lashes and verbal abuse from the overseers.
Sparks patted the slave’s shoulder and asked softly:
“What’s your name?”
The slave paused his work, using his coal-stained hand to wipe the sweat from his face. He bowed his head and smiled sheepishly.
“I don’t have a name. My old master used to call me Firewood.”
“Snap!”
“Lazy animal, get back to work!”
Barely pausing to rest, the overseer’s whip struck again.
Firewood braced himself, trembling under the pain. His already scarred back bore another deep wound.
Despite the pain and humiliation, he seemed accustomed to it, silently picking up his pickaxe once more.
Sparks, however, was not whipped.
His owner had specifically instructed the overseers to make full use of this rare strong slave, maximizing his utility.
Sparks lowered his voice and said to Firewood:
“Aren’t you angry about how they treat you?”
Firewood did not dare stop his work. Hearing such “blasphemous” words, he was too frightened to respond coherently, stammering:
“No, of course not. They’re noble masters.”
Sparks sighed helplessly:
“Speak your mind. I won’t tell the overseers.”
Firewood recalled his companions who were flayed alive for defying their masters, the noble masters’ regal bearing, and the elders’ warnings.
He instinctively trembled, shaking his head repeatedly:
“N-no, not at all.”
“They are noble masters. Their households have endless food and gold. Who would dare hate them?”
Firewood’s limited worldview allowed him to think only this far.
Sparks glanced around. Seeing no one paying attention, he continued probing:
“These gold and silver coins are mined by us. The food is grown by us. So why do they end up in the nobles’ hands? Are they inherently superior to us?”
“O-of course.”
Firewood cautiously replied.
To him, it was a strange question. Nobles being superior to slaves was a given.
Even the manor’s priests preached that slaves were created from mud, while nobles were divine beings crafted from gold and spring water.
Sparks asked again:
“What about the overseers? Are they superior to us, and that’s why they get to lord over us?”
“Perhaps, maybe? The overseers were sent by the noble masters. If the nobles are made of gold, then maybe the overseers are made of silver?”
Firewood hesitated before answering, feeling that Sparks’ questions were rebellious and strange. But his words planted a seed in Firewood’s mind.
“What are you two talking about?”
“Who allowed you to speak? Get back to work!”
The overseer’s angry roar echoed nearby, his fury seemingly endless.
Firewood hurriedly resumed his mining, swinging his pickaxe with numb hands.
This time, Sparks did not obey. Instead, he stepped forward, surveying the other slaves.
The long-toiling slaves in the mine seemed to harbor a long-suppressed emotion in their eyes, and they stopped working in unison.
In this eerie silence, even Firewood stopped instinctively.
“You damned animals, pigs! Are you planning a rebellion?”
With his absolute authority challenged, the overseer’s face darkened.
Enraged, he disregarded his master’s instructions and swung his whip at Sparks, hoping to subdue the slaves as usual.
“Snap.”
The whip was firmly caught, though it left Sparks’ hand bloodied.
Sparks ignored his injury, wrapping the whip around his hand and yanking it away.
The overseer collapsed to the ground. Seeing Sparks’ fierce gaze, he recoiled in fear, muttering, “I was sent by the count. I am…”
But behind him, dozens of slaves blocked his retreat, pinning him to the ground.
“What are you doing?!”
“You animals! Do you want to die? I was sent by the count—”
The overseer struggled and shouted, but the slaves’ numbers were overwhelming.
“Damn you—”
“Damn you to hell!”
Sparks roared, veins bulging in his arms.
He swung his pickaxe with all his might, striking the overseer as if mining ore.
The force pierced flesh and fat, shattered bone, and crushed the overseer’s brain.
“Bang!”
Blood splattered and brain matter flew.
The overseer, stuffed with intestines, died with a dumbfounded expression.
He never imagined he would be killed by the lowliest slaves he despised.
“Good!”
“Well done!”
“Kill this beast!”
The surrounding slaves erupted in exhilaration, rushing to trample and tear the corpse, venting their pent-up anger.
Yet deep down, a sliver of fear remained. A dead overseer meant the noble master would hunt them mercilessly.
But they recalled Sparks’ promises, rekindling a faint hope.
Sparks, with the overseer’s bloody head in hand, turned to Firewood and flashed a triumphant smile.
“I told you, they were never superior to us.”
Firewood froze, his legs trembling. Yet deep within, a faint spark of defiance ignited.
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