Chapter 140 Chapter 138 Prevalence of the Uprising
The blacksmith awaited food. A half-man-high bamboo frame was set up around them, piled high with ore.
Despite the exhausting, hungry, and wet task of repairing the flood defenses, returning to the pit, the guards did not give them a moment’s rest, continuously urging them to mine. Only ore could be exchanged for food. Hunger drove the miners more than the whip, dragging their fatigued, fevered bodies to continue mining.
The blacksmith opened his eyes wide, silently counting the time. Theoretically, the guards should have brought food by now, but today was a festival, and they were preoccupied with drinking and feasting. The blacksmith hoped that the guards would remember their duties.
Even he, the strongest in the pit, could not guarantee that he would survive until tomorrow.
Time passed slowly.
Finally, the noise above gradually subsided.
A hint of orange light appeared at the edge of the pit, the sleeping face of a guard appeared at the edge, the light spilling into the dark pit, and twenty or so faces raised together, looking up at him with hunger.
“It’s so late, and you’re not asleep yet.” The guard yawned widely while holding the lamp. “Let’s do it tomorrow, we won’t change today, the festival is tiring for us guards too; we want a break.”
Laziness is the nature of all things.
The reason the guards were so late was due to amusement and laziness, only remembering when it was time to sleep. Oh, we haven’t changed the ore yet. It was like a lazy pigeon that made a living off writing novels.
The blacksmith quickly got up from the ground and said:
“Sir, please have mercy, we haven’t eaten for a day, someone is sick, if there’s no food, we won’t survive the night.”
“There are plenty of people who want to be miners; one day without food means they’ll be replaced, just perfect to weed out the weak.” The guard said as he turned to leave, “Anyway, you’re all so tired, you definitely won’t make your quota, wait until tomorrow.”
The blacksmith, dizzy from hunger, shouted:
“Sir! We have the ore ready; the basket is full of silver ore!”
The guard paused, bent down, lifted the lamp, and was surprised to see the basket full of ore:
“If you’re using stones instead of ore, just wait to starve. Pull up the ore.”
“Okay!”
The blacksmith quickly agreed, fearing the guard would change his mind. Several miners stood up unsteadily, ready to push the winch.
At that moment, a male voice came from above:
“Gwenth brand! We’re missing you; losers drink, are you in?”
The guard replied:
“Oh! I’m busy trading food for them.”
The male voice boomed: “One day without food is no big deal!”
The guard hesitated.
The blacksmith quickly whispered, “Brothers, push harder.”
The blacksmith momentarily forgot his hunger, pushing the winch with all his strength, his hands aching. All the miners exerted themselves for food; one feverish miner swayed and fell to the ground, but no one had the leisure to help him.
The blacksmith poured out all his strength, feeling like his chest would burst, shouting hoarsely: “Sir, it’s almost done, almost there.”
He was afraid of not getting a response.
The guard urged: “Hurry up, you lazy ones, move faster!”
The heavy lift slowly moved upward.
“We’re not waiting for you anymore, hurry up!”
The guard turned and shouted: “Almost there, almost!”
The miners feared they wouldn’t make it, increasing their efforts. The blacksmith had only the winch in mind, straining his legs to squeeze out the last bit of energy from his muscles. Finally, with a click, the lift reached the top.
The blacksmith collapsed, breathing heavily, slumped on the cold ground, his eyes fixed above. Around him, none of the miners stood; some lay exhausted, some leaned against the winch, but all eyes were on above.
The guard shouted: “The ore is here, quickly call a few slaves to move it for me.”
No one responded; it was very quiet outside.
“Damn it!” The guard cursed, “So engrossed in the cards, not taking me with you! So slow, wait until you all starve to death!”
Saying this, the guard turned and left, the orange light disappearing at the edge of the pit.
The blacksmith grew anxious, yelling: “Sir, sir!”
Footsteps grew fainter. Everyone’s spirits dimmed, and the raised faces lowered.
But unexpectedly, the edge of the pit lit up again with orange light, the guard’s face appearing above.
The blacksmith shouted: “Sir, give us some food!”
The miners’ pleas followed.
The guard said nothing, and at that moment, the blacksmith noticed the guard’s expression was strange, frozen in fear as if he had seen a ghost. The next second, his head fell off his neck, dropped to the pit bottom, rolling to the blacksmith’s feet with a thud.
He touched his own face, wet and discovered, in the dim light, it was blood, a metallic scent rushed into his nose.
The miners quieted down, seeming to digest the reality of the guard’s death. The headless corpse fell into the pit, breaking the silence.
At the edge of the pit stood a man dressed in dark gray armor and cloak, his silver hair tied in a ponytail, fiddling with a coin—he was the Shadow King.
He stepped onto the edge of the pit, bending down to say:
“Hello everyone, tonight’s dinner is headless pigeon meat; as everyone knows, those who don’t keep time often end up like pigeons—short-lived.”
Is this strange man here to rescue us, the free men?
A thought sprang in the blacksmith’s mind, but he quickly suppressed it. Nothing that good ever happens; perhaps he was a madman, perhaps just an illusion.
The miners shared this sentiment to varying degrees; some believed it was their own hallucination, and everyone fell silent, quietly watching the Shadow King Arkanis.
Shadow King Arkanis shrugged and said:
“Alright, my jokes are usually terrible; now I give you two choices: one is to stay in the pit, eating raw corpses to fill your stomach. The other is to come up, enjoy a nice fake dinner, but if you eat my bread, you’ll have to join me. The task is very simple, known as a slave uprising. So, which will it be?”
They lowered their heads, exchanged glances, and immediately rushed toward the winch to lower the lift.
In under five minutes, the pit was left with only the guard’s corpse.
Ten minutes later, in the silver mine barracks, a group of freed miners sat at a long table, grabbing leftover dishes with both hands, shoveling food into their mouths. The guards’ corpses lay at their feet, but the miners were indifferent.
“Are you the blacksmith?”
A hand patted the blacksmith’s shoulder; he turned his head with great effort to see the silver-haired Shadow King. This small half-elf looked quite excited, a constant smile on his face, occasionally waving the short sword in his hand with glee.
The blacksmith felt scared, instinctively bowing his head, saying:
“Yes, I am.”
“I remember you; among the free men, there’s your good brother who tricked me into saying you’re an informant for the free men. The free men decided to rescue you, this counterfeit; don’t be afraid; as you know, our free men got wiped out by the good Lord.” Shadow King Arkanis said, “You look like a traitor, just like a chubby friend of mine.”
The blacksmith hurriedly replied: “Sir, I am a genuine slave—a free man; I am one of us.”
“Tut, tut, even though you look like a traitor, you’ve supplied weapons to the good Lord’s soldiers, so you must know some information about the massive armory, right?”
The blacksmith shook his head: “I’m just a blacksmith, I don’t know anything.”
“Don’t be too quick to refuse, traitor.” Shadow King Arkanis patted his shoulder and looked up, saying, “You surely know the name of the person who knows the location of the armory. Tell me his name.”
…
…
The highly anticipated Rainbow Festival arrived.
In the evening, as the sun had just sunk a little, the sky darkened. The dazzling fireworks of the opening ceremony soared into the sky, exploding and blooming with green light.
A tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed youth looked up at the fireworks in the sky. He was dressed in a porter’s clothes, his skin dark, with a shoulder pole resting at his feet.
“Porter, seeing you so diligent, I’ll give you a silver coin.”
Beside him, an old woman who had just hired him to carry bricks took out a silver coin and said: “Go buy a good spot to watch the Flower of Shalin City. Let me tell you, this time the Flower of Shalin City is particularly beautiful; even the poet Don Juan says so.”
The blond youth did not take the silver coin, saying: “Thank you, but we agreed on five copper coins beforehand. You don’t need to worry; I’ve already purchased a good ticket.”
“How old-fashioned.”
The old woman shook her head.
The blond youth shouldered his pole and walked out of the old woman’s gate. In a short while, he had acquired a package of “goods” under his shoulder pole; as he walked away, the thickly wrapped goods gave off a low, metallic clashing sound as he headed towards the direction of the bursting fireworks.
