Volume III: The Gate of the Gods

Chapter 1 Galo Island

The sky was as grey as ever, with no clouds and no sun, which made it feel unreal. If it weren't for the damp and salty sea breeze lapping on his face, Old Potter would have thought he was dead. Thinking of this, Old Potter couldn't help but laugh at his delusions in his heart, how could it be so easy to die?

In the distance, the sound of the bone demon overseer shouting and whipping on his skin made Old Potter tremble subconsciously, and the sea-blue fins attached to his neck behind his ears shrank like a fan.

He hurriedly bent down, lifted the pale yellow ore under his feet, and walked towards the flat ground beyond the rocky quarry, not even having time to smile bitterly, or maybe he didn't dare.

The whipping and scolding continued, not since he had been shackled at the age of twelve, and certainly not even when he thought he was finally dead and out of misery.

Perhaps this is his fate, like his ancestors, born in slavery and dying in slavery for generations.

Old Potter shook his head, a wry smile on his lips, but this slightly desperate and bitter smile just appeared, and then immediately disappeared.

Hiding the wry smile in time, Old Potter couldn't help but rejoice in his heart, otherwise if he was discovered by those fierce overseers with whips, he would inevitably be beaten.

If old Porter remembered correctly, he was over four hundred years old.

He still had to carry the ore piece by piece in the mine, the whip would still whest him when he was weak and his movements slowed down, and the overseer's scolding and saliva would never spare him as a worthless slave, and none of this would change until the day he died.

The pale yellow ore in his arms was sharp and sharp, cutting through the bone scales on Old Porter's skin. Horrific blood marks were left on the bony upper body of Old Porter, stuck between the bones in his chest. But Old Porter didn't seem to feel any pain, and continued to walk step by step, with great difficulty, toward the wide flat area where the ore was stacked.

Placing the pale yellow ore neatly on the flat ground, Old Porter, who didn't have time to catch his breath, didn't dare to stop, and walked towards the mine reflexively.

The shackles under his feet made a screeching sound. Old Potter glanced down at the shackles and chains on his ankles, the black, heavy shackles had long since been smoothed out by time, and his feet had become twisted and deformed from the shackles he had worn for nearly four hundred years.

Old Potter was a sea tribe, as evidenced by the bone scales on Old Porter's body, the fins behind his ears, and his dark blue eyes. Not only that, but Old Potter is also a sea tribe who is about to reach the end of the day, because the average life expectancy of a sea tribe is only five hundred years old, and he is already more than four hundred years old this year.

Since he was twelve years old, the shackles on his feet have never left him. It can be regarded as the thing that has been with him the longest in this life.

Why is it said that shackles are the thing that has been with Old Potter the longest, because Old Porter's parents died under the overseer's bone whip before he could put on the shackles.

After a hundred years in the mines, Porter Sr. finally reached adulthood and gave birth to two sons with a Sea Tribesman woman at the king's behest, but when Porter Sr. was more than 200 years old, one of his underage children died of exhaustion in the mines, and his wife died under the overseer's bone whip.

Finally. When Potter Sr. was nearly four hundred years old, his still living son gave birth to a Sea Clan slave for the king. It wasn't long before his son and daughter-in-law were beaten to death in the mines by an overseer because they had angered one of the overseers.

That is, because of the king's policy, the sea tribe under the age of twelve did not have to wear shackles and did not have to suffer the pain of scourging. Otherwise, his grandson would not have escaped the wrath of the overseer.

Today, only Porter Sr. and his grandson, who is not yet twelve, are still alive, still adrift in this sea of misery, and they are not allowed to die.

So, that's why he wore shackles for nearly 400 years. It was the thing that had been with him the longest.

On the island of Galo, or in this world, the most terrible thing is not death, but living.

It is better to be a slave than to die, which is why Old Potter felt that he was dead when he just looked at the sky and wandered, because in this world, death is really a luxury.

Although Old Potter also wanted to anger the Overseer and beg for death, the bone whip in the Overseer's hand was whipped on his body, and it was really more painful than living. The honest old Potter had hardly been whipped by the bone whip, but every time the bone whip was whipped on his body, the pain of the skin opening the flesh, the bone scales flying, and the abyssal demonic qi soaking into the bone marrow was enough for him to remember for a lifetime.

The horror of the bone whip must have been experienced and feared by every Sea Clan slave wearing iron shackles on his feet. In this world of slaves, the horror of the bone whip is almost second only to the wrath of the king.

"Smack!"

There was another sound of bone whipping, and the distracted old Potter trembled.

Old Porter shook his head, his heart is really old and always likes to think blindly. He quickened his pace and headed towards the mine, not wanting to be whipped for his efficiency and stupidity.

In a few hours, he would be able to go home and escape the terrible hell of the mines, and Old Potter didn't want to be whipped with a bone whip in the last hours of his break.

Moreover, the average lifespan of the Sea Clan is about five hundred years old, and Old Potter is already more than four hundred years old, and the relief of death is not far from him, and he does not want to leave any regrets before he dies.

............

In this world, known as the Holy Land, Galo Island is a medium-sized island inhabited by millions of slaves and less than 10,000 overseers. Among them, the slaves on the island were mainly sea tribes, and there were also a small number of human races and other races.

These slaves have been slaves for generations, living on the island of Galo, in the Holy Land world. The slaves followed the king's will, mining, collecting medicines, making weapons, and so on.

It is no exaggeration to say that the Holy Land is actually an out-and-out slave world.

Among the holy places, there are countless islands like Galo, and the holy land is a living hell, a hell of slaves. Of course, the Holy Land was also a paradise for kings and overseers, for there were countless slaves of all tribes, living under their coercion.

For example, the Sea Clan, who have been enslaved for generations, has lived in the Holy Land for thousands of years, and after a long time, the Sea Clan has forgotten what the real Sea Clan is and what a normal life is.

After thousands of years of slavery, the sea tribes living on the islands of the Holy Land only knew to follow the king's will and live a life of slavery.

On the eastern coast of Galo Island, millions of slaves lived and rested. This flat land, which occupies less than a quarter of the island, is full of dilapidated tents, large and small, and the tents are almost never close to each other.

Because millions of slaves were crammed into the area, there was hardly any open space between the tents, except for the roads used for walking.

The tent dwelling area stinks, and even the strong sea breeze can't blow away the smell left by generations of Sea Clan slaves. Because the sea water around Garo Island is full of deadly abyssal demonic energy, the sea clan slaves never go to the sea to swim or bathe, after all, the abyssal demonic energy is a very terrifying energy for races outside the abyss clan, which can almost kill.

The slaves who traveled between the mines and the settlements every day like the walking dead lived at night in this crowded land full of dilapidated tents.

Of course, Old Porter's home is also in this residential area. The dilapidated tent next to the sea was Porter Sr.'s home, and for more than 400 years, Porter Sr. was born, raised, born, and grew old in this broken tent that was patched with seams.

For more than 400 years, Porter Sr. lived a hellish life as a slave in this tent, waiting for death to come.

Porter Sr.'s dead parents, wife, two sons, and a daughter-in-law also lived in this dilapidated tent, and Porter Sr.'s grandson, Parker, was now in the tent, quietly waiting for Porter Sr. to return.

Parker sat on the ground, looking out at the sea through the curtain of his tent, his eyes hollow, not knowing what he was thinking.

Suddenly, a hoarse moan was heard behind Parker, causing the fins behind Parker's ears to shrink rapidly.

Parker hurriedly turned his head and looked back, and saw a gray-haired man lying on the bed whose body was constantly trembling, as if he was experiencing unbearable pain, but just as Parker wanted to get up to look at the gray-haired man, the gray-haired man in the coma moaned a few times, but there was no sound anymore.

(The new volume is opened, I hope you will support you!) )