Iron Powder and Spellcasters Chapter 340

Chapter 340 Ordinary People and Demons

Jiangbei Province, Xiaolu City.

Xiaolu City is famous for two things, one is painted pottery, and the other is the notorious "Stone Mountain Prison".

Stone Mountain Prison is a debtor's prison for the indebted bankrupt and the poor with tax arrears.

Unless relatives and friends are willing to lend a helping hand, there are only two outcomes for the unfortunate person locked up in Shishan Prison: either die of illness in a dark and crowded cell, or die violently in the hard labor day after day.

After the military government took over Xiaolu City, Shishan Prison was also requisitioned, and it was no longer limited to the collection of debtors.

The identities of the new prisoners include [deserter], [Red Rose supporter], [public official who refused to swear allegiance] and so on. They have two characteristics in common: first, they are regarded as criminals and enemies by the military government; second, the military government does not care if they live or die.

In October alone, nearly a hundred deserters and farmers who deserted military service were sent to Shishan Prison; in November, the number rose to two hundred.

The influx of new prisoners has overwhelmed the already overcrowded Stone Mountain Prison, and the junta's solution to the problem is simple—not enough prison space? Wouldn't that make room for it?

Therefore, after the winter, the main job of the warden at Shishan Prison is to execute the prisoners who were imprisoned in the prison last month, so as to make room for the prisoners who were imprisoned in the prison next month.

Theoretically—that is, on the premise of acknowledging the validity of the decrees issued by the military government—the "deserters", "enemies" and "traitors" who were imprisoned in Shishan Prison have all been sentenced to death.

On the first day of every week, inmates at Stone Mountain Prison wait in utter terror for their guards to be called. If you are named, you will be hanged on the gallows. If you are not named, you can live for another seven days, and then the next time you will be named.

Pierre Girardnovich Mitchell can't remember how long he was incarcerated, a week? two weeks? a month?

Anyway, in this worldly **** like Shishan Prison, time has no meaning.

Pierre was ill, very ill.

In Shishan Prison, everyone gets sick, and it's weird not to get sick.

There is no need to say more about what to eat, drink, live, and just go to the toilet.

The buckets of feces and urine can only be emptied every other day, and it only takes one day to fill them up. More than 60 people crammed into the space that could only accommodate 20 people, eating, drinking and leasing, and the filthy cell was a breeding ground for the plague.

Fortunately, a kind old man took care of Pierre.

The old man bribed the jailer to get hot stones to warm Pierre every day. Pierre's throat was so swollen that he couldn't eat bread, so the old man chewed sour brown bread—the only food the prison gave to prisoners—and fed it to Pierre in warm water.

The old man is a native of Xiaolu City, and was imprisoned in Shishan Prison because he owed a lot of debt.

The old man said to Pierre: "Now I think that being deceived may also be the Lord's grace to me. At least before the money is repaid, no one wants me to die. What can be scarier than waiting to die? That devil is deliberately torturing you. ."

That devil is what the old man called the new jailer.

For the prisoners, the “roll call” every Monday is the most tormenting.

When the warden walked into the dungeon with the roster, the prisoners were silent, and the air seemed to be frozen solid.

The warden will stand in the middle of the corridor, slowly spread out the roster, and name one after another, repeating each name three times.

The prisoners listened with pale faces, not even daring to let out the air.

The prisoners whose names were named were either weeping, or passed out with dark eyes, and there were a lot of people who completely collapsed. They will never leave the cell on their own initiative, nor will the warden and guards take the initiative to enter the cell and capture almost insane prisoners.

The warden just told the other prisoners "he, or one of you to take his place" and had the guards have their arquebuses ready.

The words of "that demon" are by no means a pale and empty threat, but an objective description of what happens next. Therefore, most of the named prisoners were forced out of their cells by other prisoners.

As for the prisoners who have not been named, although they will have a brief period of happiness and joy, these emotions will be swallowed up in an instant.

Because they understand that there will be next time, next time, next next time... As long as they are still in Stone Mountain Prison, bad luck will come to them eventually. By that time, they too were dragged out of their cells by others, and abandoned by others like garbage.

Suffered from brutal mental torture, some prisoners have become crazy, and even some would rather commit suicide and other blasphemous crimes than continue to live.

Pierre didn't know if the warden did it on purpose, but the demon was obviously satisfied with the effect.

"Yes, he is torturing us." Pierre answered the old man hoarsely: "[Old language] The sinner has been punished."

"What?" The old man didn't know why: "What did you say?"

"It's an old saying, meaning that he tortured us as punishment for sinners—something the devil himself said, in front of us and the jailers. Well, he probably thought no one would understand."

Pierre seemed to be laughing, but the anger and resentment in his eyes made the old man want to fight: "We are sinners? What crimes have we committed? To be treated like this? What does he think he is? An angel of judgment? He just A sick one! A sadistic beast who can't wait to hold on to a little pathetic power..."

The old man's attention was not on what the demon said. He asked in surprise: "Old language? What the master said? You can say it?"

Pierre smiled noncommittally.

The old man was overjoyed: "Then...then you are also a master? Hey! I knew you must have a background!"

Pierre laughed at himself: "If I were the master, would I still be here waiting to rot?"

"Hey!" The old man protested with a long tone, and said happily, "Good horses also have time to pull carts!"

Through the small window of the dungeon, Pierre could see the gallows at the other end of the prison, where the frozen corpses were always hanging.

Crows hovered in flocks over the gallows, like a flowing black cloud.

"Any horse will die." Pierre's throat was so swollen that it made it difficult for him to speak: "Here, sooner or later."

The old man comforted Pierre and said, "Don't worry, I haven't called you so many times, and I won't have you next time."

"You don't think so, old man." Pierre smiled bitterly.

"I'm not talking nonsense!" The old man became serious: "I really don't think there will be you."

Pierre was a little tired. He leaned his back against the fence, tried to get a comfortable sitting position, and planned to take a nap.

The space in the cell is not enough for everyone to lie down, so the prisoners can only sit with their legs curled up to rest and sleep.

The old man saw that Pierre didn't want to speak, so he didn't speak any more, and closed his eyes and dozed off.

After a while, Pierre's weak voice came into the old man's ears: "Old man?"

"What's up?"

Pierre wrapped his coat tightly, and the stone used to keep him warm was long gone: "I, I may not be able to endure it any longer. If I don't get hanged, I will die of illness sooner or later."

The old man reached out to Pierre's forehead with one hand and pressed the other hand to his forehead: "Hey, what are you talking about? Your fever has subsided! In a few days, in a few days you will be a great guy again. ."

The high fever made Pierre unable to exert himself. He pulled up his sleeves with difficulty, and without answering the old man's words, he said to himself: "Look, old man, this has an armband, made of sterling silver, I am twelve years old. My father gave it to me on my birthday..."

The old man pressed Pierre's sleeve, his face flushed, very embarrassed: "That...that...that is no longer there..."

"That?" Pierre wondered.

The old man licked his lips and hummed: "Bracelet."

Pierre touched it in disbelief, and repeatedly confirmed it several times, only to realize that the armband was really not on his arm.

Not daring to look at Pierre, the old man coughed and explained coyly: "It's not stealing, I didn't steal you. Your silver armband...I'll put it on the jailer. The stone you use to warm up...and The bread we eat is all bought with that armband... Otherwise, how could those few snake-like jailers be so kind? Do you think so?"

Pierre was stunned for a moment, then touched the earlobe in shock: "Then my earrings..."

"It was also stuffed to the jailer."

"The one with the hair tied?"

"Too."

"and also…"

"All." The old man was very embarrassed: "What the hell."

"This...you...when did you..."

"Some days, when you're asleep."

Pierre was dumbfounded, and suddenly, he sat up straight as if he had just woken up from a dream, quickly took off his boots, and groped inside them frantically.

"Hey." Pierre stopped, sighed helplessly, and put on his boots again: "The armband or something... I can't keep it anyway... Thank you, old man. Good bribe, good bribe."

Hearing that Pierre was not angry, the old man hurriedly helped Pierre put on his boots: "Hey, I knew you could figure it out. Gold is good, but it's not very hungry! It's better than a loaf of bread in prison. It's useful! Don't worry, if it really doesn't work, I'll try to get it back for you."

"It's okay." Pierre leaned on the fence wearily, his face flushed a little from the "vigorous" exercise just now: "I planned to give it to you anyway."

"what?"

"I calculated my inheritance." Pierre laughed at himself: "Except for the gold and silver on him, this coat is the only thing left."

Pierre patted the coat he was wearing: "Although it's a little dirty, the material is good. After I die, you can wear it, don't waste it."

"Don't be silly."

"I have something to ask you too."

"You say, you say."

Pierre coughed in pain, his cheeks an odd red. After he stopped coughing, he straightened his back and said to the old man seriously, "I'm Dussack, you should know?"

"Of course." The old man scratched his thinning hair: "You Dusa people...it's quite obvious."

"After I die, I want a Dussac funeral, not a Paratus funeral." Pierre then added: "It's not that I despise the Paratus... but... I just want... to be A Dussack buried in the earth..."

"I can understand you, don't worry, don't worry, I don't want to be buried indiscriminately after I die." The old man vaguely felt the weight of Pierre's words, and unconsciously became formal.

But he scratched his hair again and asked angrily: "But what is the funeral of the Dusa people like?"

"This." Pierre was stunned: "I, I can't say a few words."

The old man was lost in thought.

Pierre was silent for a long time, and suddenly clapped his legs and laughed: "Then do whatever! It doesn't matter! Where can't people be buried in red soil? What can I pick and choose?"

He grabbed the railing and struggled to his feet.

The old man looked at Pierre with concern.

Pierre looked at the gallows in the distance through the window, gritted his teeth and said to himself: "I am Dussac, I will never die on the gallows, never!"

The old man took Pierre and sat down: "Don't worry, I'm sure you won't be called by name. No one will call you when the devil calls you."

Pierre grinned and sat back down again.

"It would be nice if you had a pen and paper." Pierre curled up and muttered, "If you have a pen and paper, I would like to ask you to pass on a few letters."

"Can you still write?" The old man was very surprised.

"Of course."

"Can you teach me? I want to know how to write my name. The parish priest taught me once, but I forgot it within a few days."

"That's not easy. What's your name?"

The old man swallowed: "My name is..."

At this moment, there was a crunch, and the door of the dungeon opened.

The stinking dungeon, even the jailer didn't want to stay long. So there are only a few cases in which the cell door will open. For example, lunch is served every day, three unstoppable inspections in the morning, noon and evening, toilet flushing time once every two days, and… roll call.

But the current time is obviously not suitable for any of the above situations.

The dungeon became silent for a moment, and the prisoners stood up one by one.

The "seat" of the old man and Pierre was in the corner of the cell, so they couldn't see what was going on in the hallway. But there's nothing wrong with that intense suffocation.

The temperature of the air dropped suddenly. I don't know if it was because of the cold wind blowing into the dungeon, or because of a human illusion.

"Da"

The sound of the heel of the boot hitting the ground.

This way of walking, where every step is like hitting a nail with the heel of a boot, Pierre can't get it wrong.

Both the old man and Pierre were stunned, they saw the same answer in each other's eyes - roll call.

But today is not Monday!

The two stood up, supporting each other, but there were people in front of them, and Pierre and the old man in the corner still couldn't see anything clearly.

The name was called, all the prisoners understood, and the name was called.

On Pierre's left, a prisoner who was usually not easy to mess with was sweating profusely. The vicious prisoner shivered and saluted, wiping away sweat, and reciting prayers incessantly.

In front of Pierre, another prisoner tugged at the sleeves of the two beside him, and said frantically: "I already know the law of the devil's name! I know it all! I have figured it out! This time without me, next Not once..."

And more prisoners just stood silent and stiff.

The sound of the heel hitting the ground disappeared, followed by the sound of the roster being spread out.

All prisoners swallowed their saliva subconsciously.

The devil made a soft "um" sound, as if hesitating. Immediately, the devil slowly uttered a slightly tongue-in-cheek name:

"Pierre Girardnovich Mitchell—Mr."

The old man changed his face and looked at the young man beside him tremblingly. When the old man saw the young man sitting down slowly, "he was scared" - this was the first thought that jumped into the old man's mind.

Next, the old man saw the young man take off his boots - which was completely beyond the old man's expectations.

"What is he going to do?" The old man wondered why.

Then the old man saw the young man tore open his boots and draw a knife.

a knife?

It is not so much a knife as it is a blade without a handle, but it is indeed a sharp blade shining with a faint cold light.

All the saliva in the old man's mouth disappeared, and his heart hit his chest like a hammer. Every cold hair on his body stood up from top to bottom. He wanted to speak, to stop the other party, but his body was stiff and unable to move.

There were several other prisoners who also saw the sharp blade in Pierre's hand. They were equally shocked, and they did not speak or move.

"Mr. Pierre Girardnovich Mitchell," repeated the demon.

Pierre put on his boots again, stood up, and replied, "Here."

"Please get out of the cell."

The old man felt that he just blinked his eyes, and the sharp blade disappeared in Pierre's hands.

Pierre took off his coat and handed it to the old man, then walked towards the cell door with his head held high.

The prisoners made way for Pierre, who walked steadily forward, as if strolling on the veranda of Mitchell Manor.

No one has ever walked to death so calmly after being named, and the prisoners looked at Pierre with a mixture of awe and pity.

The old man also stared at the young man's back. He wanted to shout and go with him, but he couldn't make a sound or take a step.

Pierre walked to the door of the prison, and the demon signaled the jailer to open the door for him.

Pierre took a slow breath. His body was very weak, his strength and flexibility were far less than before, so he had no second chance, he had to be patient and decisive.

The demon looked Pierre up and down and nodded.

Then the demon showed an unprecedented smile, turned to look to the left, and asked humbly, "Your Excellency, is that this gentleman?"

Pierre subconsciously followed the demon's gaze and saw a middle-aged soldier in the uniform of a colonel.

And the middle-aged soldier was looking at another soldier in a captain's uniform with inquiring eyes: "Is it him?"

Pierre seemed to be struck by lightning. He was trembling, stiff, and his hair stood up like the old man just now, and the sharp blade hidden in his hand almost fell to the ground.

And the Captain ignored the Colonel at all, he strode to Pierre's side and hugged Pierre tightly.

"It looks right." The school official was not annoyed and nodded.

"That's good." The demon agreed with a smile, almost flattering. He bowed his head and said, "That's good."

At this moment, Pierre suddenly discovered that the devil is not a devil at all, the devil is just an ordinary person who can be seen everywhere.

A sadistic common man who can't wait to get a little sad power, bends over flatteringly to the uniform of the Colonel.

"Let's go." The Colonel wrinkled his nose. Apparently, the stench of the cell made him uncomfortable.

"Let's go." The captain held Pierre tightly: "Your father, Vasya, Priest Kaman...and your mother, Scarlett...we are all waiting for you."

Pierre's throat was clogged and his chest was stuffy. He looked back at the cell and saw numb, envious, resentful, pained, twisted faces.

He bit his tongue so hard that he didn't even realize that he had bitten blood.

The colonel covered his nose and walked out of the dungeon, and the captain was also urging Pierre: "Let's go."

Pierre stared at the face of the "ordinary person", holding the sharp blade in his hand.

"Ordinary People" smiled at Pierre.

Captain also noticed Pierre's strangeness and asked with concern: "What's wrong?"

"I..." Pierre was in so much pain that as long as there was a spark, he would shove a sharp blade into the chest of an "ordinary person": "I...you...can you take one more person? Just one, just one..."

When the colonel heard this, he turned his head and frowned slightly: "Is it a deserter too?"

"No, no, it's the debtor."

Captain asked simply: "How much do you owe?"

The school official smiled and waved his hand. The "ordinary person" reopened the roster and asked politely, "Excuse me, what's the name of that debtor?"

Pierre was stunned, for he realized that he never knew the old man's name.

"Vogart! My name is Vogt!" the old man rushed to the fence and shouted with tears in his eyes: "I only owe twenty-three silver shields and a chip!"

[Supplementary update chapter 2]

[My donkey sauce is going to dry the grinding disc today...? ]

(end of this chapter)

Chapter end

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