Chapter 297: Fireseed
Chapter 297: Fireseed
“What should we do next?”
“You decide. We all trust you.”
Behind him, a previously silent laborer spoke up.
His cheeks were sunken, his tall, lean frame clothed in tattered, filthy rags. His skin, having not seen sunlight for years, was pale, with visible veins.
Years in the dark had given him trachoma, making his eyes murky. Yet, at this moment, they gleamed with an inexplicable determination, faintly glowing in the mine’s darkness.
This laborer’s name was Nick. Born a serf, he had once served as a scribe. His parents had been trampled to death by the count’s son’s horse, and he himself was sold into the mines. Deep in his heart, he harbored a profound hatred for the Northern nobles.
Nick was one of the first to accept the new ideas and spread the call to rebellion. Now, he had become Sparks’ trusted right-hand man and a key figure in this long-planned uprising.
Sparks scanned the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the confused, angry, and fearful eyes of the laborers.
“Continue.”
“Continue what?”
Someone in the crowd asked in confusion.
Sparks replied firmly, “Continue freeing the workers here. Turn them into our strength. And—kill every noble dog in the Valir Mines!”
He held up the overseer’s head and raised it high.
“We will show them who truly owns this place!”
“Yes!”
“Kill them all!”
A few laborers shouted passionately, infecting the rest. More joined the chant, turning it into a frenzy.
But Sparks knew only a few among them were truly reliable. The others still carried deeply ingrained fears. Under enough pressure, they could easily waver.
The scale of the Valir Mines was much larger than this pit. As one of the count’s most prized assets, it housed over a thousand laborers and nearly a hundred overseers, continuously extracting gold and silver for the greedy count, producing thousands of gold coins annually.
For Sparks, this was the ideal recruitment ground.
Firewood, trailing behind Sparks, mustered his courage and weakly asked, “But… we have no weapons or food. How could we possibly…?”
Sparks lifted the overseer’s head again, shaking it in the air. With a grin that revealed his white teeth, he said, “But they do. All we have to do is take it back. No—reclaim what was rightfully ours.”
The bloody head made Firewood’s legs go weak. He nervously swallowed.
Sparks addressed the miners loudly, “If anyone has ideas, speak up! After all, many hands make light work.”
He paused, his gaze turning sharp.
“But let me be clear: having killed the overseer, there’s no turning back. Any thought of surrender is a fantasy!”
“We could steal the nobles’ golden shovels! Then they can’t farm anymore!”
“Let’s take their piglets!”
“…”
Sparks gave a wry smile. “Um… creative ideas. Any others?”
Nick spoke up again:
“We need a name.”
“Those damned nobles always fancy themselves as righteous and just knights. We should have a resounding name of our own, one that will spread across Anzeta.”
“Yes.”
“Nick’s right.”
“But what should it be? We’re not well-read.”
Dozens of expectant eyes turned to Sparks.
Sparks looked into the eyes of the laborers, seeing within them countless embers, buried deep within their suffering.
These embers could ignite into a roaring flame, perhaps even change the world.
After a moment’s thought, Sparks finally spoke:
“Fireseed.”
“No matter what they call us—devils, beasts, or scum—we will call ourselves Fireseed. Our organization will have ranks but no hierarchy. Everyone will address each other as ‘comrade,’ symbolizing our shared ideals.”
Though many of the terms were unfamiliar, the laborers felt the passion in his words and nodded in agreement.
Sparks threw the overseer’s head to the ground, shouldered his bloodied pickaxe, and was the first to step out of the pit, calling to the others:
“With weapons in hand, follow me.”
“Free the entire mine!”
He wiped the blood from his face haphazardly, his eyes filled with excitement.
As a story enthusiast, Sparks had never felt such blood-pumping immersion from any game before. He had always been an observer.
Now, however, he felt like a shaper of history, living fully in this world. Every laborer around him felt vivid and alive.
“What are weapons?”
“All we have are pickaxes.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Surrounded by the crowd, Sparks wiped the blood from his pickaxe and looked toward the light streaming in from outside. In a barely audible voice, he said:
“I’m just an ordinary story enthusiast…”
“How did I end up leading a rebellion?”
Days later, what would become known as the “Valir Uprising” shook the Northern nobles.
A laborer killed their overseer and incited over a thousand workers in the Valir Mines to stage an unprecedented revolt. They called themselves “Fireseed,” slaughtering nearly a hundred overseers sent by the count, including an honorary baron.
Pursued by knights, the rebels fled into the mountains, becoming savage outlaws.
According to the Carter Duchy’s count, the rebel leader was possessed by a demon, gaining strength from consuming human blood and flesh. He was labeled a menace that had to be eradicated. Nobles across the Northland offered assistance, vowing to annihilate the demon-possessed laborers.
“Demonic cult.”
“Man-eating monsters.”
“Hyenas on the run.”
These were some of the “honorifics” bestowed upon them by the Carter Duchy.
In the Northlands, serfdom was deeply rooted, enduring for centuries and ingrained in everyone’s bones.
Though sporadic resistance had occurred over the years, there had been no revolts of this scale for decades. This spark of rebellion terrified the Northern nobles, who sought to crush it at all costs.
However, the Northern nobles underestimated the gravity of the situation. Among the twenty thousand players scattered across the Northern lands, many were disruptors, and the lack of military dominance like that of the Ember Kingdom allowed rebellion to sprout like mushrooms after rain.
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