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It is estimated that someone from the Chamber of Commerce mixed some other strange powder into the sulfur, ignited it, and sent it down the well. The smoke was unsettling, but the slaves around me, though coughing occasionally, had been silently enduring it, clutching their weapons and staring at the tunnel in the distance.

All activity in the mine has stopped. In the past, it was crowded with working slaves, the smell of sweat was permeating, and the horns pulling the minecarts came and went, and the slaves were like ants digging caves in the dark." At that time, the greatest happiness of the slave was to be able to lie down on a torn blanket and rest after the end of his labor, and to escape from this miserable life for a while.

At that time, it seemed that the whole world was leaking, ticking and dripping on the slaves. The slave's hair was moldy, and the wood used as a pillow gave birth to white mushrooms. The slaves huddled in small caves, no matter how close and open their eyes, all they could see was darkness, and darkness was not enough, there was still endless labor. This level of labor is not available even in Vekia, let alone the rich kingdoms of the West. And even the most miserable serfs in Vecchia were able to rest for a while with their farm tools when they were exhausted, laughing at each other or cursing at their lords, and at nightfall there was a cool breeze and wheat cakes to relieve their fatigue, and wives and children welcomed them home, while the slaves had nothing.

Someone once told me that workers on the docks were not considered. And what about these slaves? I suspect they are not even in God's consideration. Why do they believe in God? What does the Salander believe in the existence of four priests in the world, and Creel only recognizes the last one, what does this mean for slaves? People say that the Lord is all-knowing and all-powerful, but what does this have to do with slaves? No one cared what these slaves believed, and no one tried to share their faith with them. Slaves don't have anyone to save them, slaves only have slaves, only themselves save themselves.

But these slaves got some gods and ghosts that I couldn't understand to motivate themselves, and made me feel that this kind of organization was quite unreliable. Historically, many eloquent people have been able to exploit people's grievances. By making gods and ghosts. Incite a large crowd to follow him. But these gods all failed in the end. Even if they succeed many times, people only think that this is a gift from the gods, and once they fail, the majesty of the gods will be gone, and those gods who pretend to be gods and ghosts, but in fact accumulate wealth or jiān women, will be torn to pieces by the believers in an instant.

Rhodok is different. They revolted against the Svadians, never united by religion. They believe that unless they win, they will not be able to live better, or even live, and they are determined to lead their nation to prosperity and strength. Such a people, from officers to soldiers. Everyone from burghers to merchants, from lords to farmers, had the same beliefs, and a few years later, Rhodok succeeded in obtaining the ziyou from the hands of the Svadian Emperor. However, the republic established by the townspeople lacked experience in power struggles, and was soon hollowed out by the alliance of the old nobility and soldiers, and the state system of the republic was soon transformed into a grand duchy. This made Rhodok's rebellion less significant to the commoners: it had previously been a country of nobility. After the commoners fought for themselves a period of autonomy. It was ruled by another group of well-trained nobles.

Despite the setbacks, Rhodok remains a role model for the various peoples of the continent. Every hero who is overwhelmed by oppression and rises up will unconsciously follow in the footsteps of his Rhodoc sages. What about the slaves? Let's hope they'll get out of this mine first. After that, learning from the experience of the Rhodoks and finding a better way to resist is the guarantee of victory.

My head was dizzy for a while, and the smell of the smoke and dust was so strong that it didn't change anymore, but it made people want to vomit for a while, and my head became unclear. I don't know how long it will take for our men to lose their ability to fight, and the slaves around us, persuaded by me and Paul, have found puddles, wet rags, and wrapped their noses. These slaves already had amazing endurance, and at this time they were as silent as a group of stone statues, and even the sound of coughing disappeared.

In the darkness there were at first scurrying slaves, and soon they fell silent. The mine is slowly recovering from the poisonous smoke, and the slaves are regrouping, but the White Dove Merchant will not give us this chance, and the mournful whistle can be heard from afar.

I heard this whistle when I was in the North Sea, and it was blown when the overseers beat up the artisans or helpers, and it was blown when the patrol of the Jill family on the docks dispersed the vendors who were occupying the road. The whistle made a madly screeching sound, which was confusing, and then the overseers would be whipped or struck with sticks, and later, when the craftsmen and townspeople heard the whistle, they would feel the pain of being beaten, and the overseers needed this majesty. The whistle came through several different places, and it sounded as if a whole wave of troops had gone underground.

The black leader glanced back, said a name, or perhaps an order, and then a diminutive black child slipped into the darkness with a cat.

The cries and rushes were poignant from the start, and the slaves seemed to be suppressed one-sidedly. We hid inside the cave and looked ahead, and it was the crack that Paul and I had just jumped over. A few slaves who walked with a limp did not see the cracks, and fell straight down, and the screams made the hairs stand on end. One of the slaves jumped over and stumbled in front of the cave, falling to the ground with a face on the ground. The two black men beside me, when they saw that no one was on the other side, rushed out and pulled the slave in.

The people looked at the slave and saw that he had been poked through two large holes in his chest, and blood was gushing out; His elbow was hit hard, and he was limp on it, the back of his hand almost touched his arm, and the bones of his hand were almost shattered; And the most terrifying thing is his eye, the left eye socket is beaten to a bloody blur, and from the eyeball comes a transparent and blood-mixed yèti.

"Eye-drop," said Paul, "I've met a group of Creelians before who took old people and children to serve as beggars. In order to make the child look pitiful, they poke their eyes and release the eyelash, after which the child's eyeballs will wither and resemble rotten wood. The child will look emaciated and poor, and people will be kind enough to give the child a loaf of bread or two, or even a piece of meat. ”

The chief did not seem to be touched at all after hearing this: the child was tortured, for the slave. It's no longer painful. He tested the slave's snort. "Dead."

The surrounding slaves immediately took off the clothes on the slave and distributed them to the people around him, who held a broken stone spear in his hand.

Paul took a closer look at the wound on the slave's chest, "This is a marching hoe that was cut out" and "It doesn't seem to be a regular soldier who went down the well." ”

"How do you see it?" The slave leader asked him.

"An experienced soldier, using a marching hoe against an unarmored man, can kill him instantly with a single blow to the head." Paul said, pointing to the corpse. "But this guy was hit twice in the chest, and he must have been hit during the fight, and the person on the other side must have been flustered, just relying on the advantage of weapons, and fighting indiscriminately. You're looking at the wounds on his arms and eyes, which were blunt force injuries. If I guessed correctly, it was a short stick with an iron sheet, and the cavalrymen liked to use this weapon to catch prisoners. But you see, beating people like this is no different from street brawls. ”

"What advice do you have?" The chief asked Paul.

Paul was talking about this with all his might, and it seemed that his vaunted experience in the Riverlands was not entirely bragging. "An army that relies on weapons and equipment to win is most afraid of physical exhaustion and lacks discipline. It's simple to deal with them. Avoid when they are in full bloom. When they are tired, it is enough to attack immediately, and then they will be crushed at the first touch. Just be patient for now. ”

"Wait?" The black leader smiled cruelly. "Okay. I don't want to wait that long, though. ”

The chief stood up and roared a few words, and several black slaves immediately walked out. The surrounding slaves handed over their stone spears to these people one after another, and some of them also handed short spears to these people. These spears were wrapped in strips of cloth and tied behind their backs, and each of them carried five or ten stone spears or short wooden spears on his back, and the leader himself carried a few of them.

"White-skinned boy, and your friend, my brother!" The chief said to me, "Come with us." Tired them, we've got a good way to do it! ”

I stood up, but no one handed me the spear.

The leader led us quickly towards the cave on the side, and I followed. These slaves flickered like spirits in the darkness, and I could only tell by the sound of light footsteps and gasps that I had not lost them. We strung through a narrow gap, the narrowest part of the gap, my back was against the stone wall, my stomach was pressed against the stone, I almost thought I was going to be stuck, but after tensing my belly, I still wore it, I don't know how these adult slaves got through, maybe the slaves were already thin as bones, not much fatter than me.

After a while, we came to a high platform.

I wonder if I haven't discovered this platform in a while, it's like a grandstand for a gun duel, and the wide mine below looks like a huge horse farm. There was a mess below, with several slaves lying in the middle, not knowing whether they were alive or dead, and a group of about twenty slaves, sitting on the side with their knees crossed, and a male overseer in a half-chain mail and a saucer-shaped helmet, beating the group of slaves with a short stick. The slaves' weapons were tossed aside, and two other men in full-body chainmail were looking at them curiously, laughing that they were rubbish.

The leader drew a spear from behind his back, stretched out his left hand flat, and curled his right arm, making a spear-throwing motion.

Then he threw out the spear in his hand.

The overseer in the saucer-helmet was grabbing a slave's ear, shoving a stick down his throat, and shouting at his companions to see the slave's stupidity. Then, he was flipped to the ground, a short spear in his thigh. Because the spearhead was too soft, it did not penetrate deep into the flesh, and after hitting him, it fell softly to the ground. But the blow caused the overseer to scream in pain.

The leader looked down coldly, and behind him, the black slaves all made a spear throwing motion.

They are natural hunters and warriors, and in the scorching heath of the wasteland, they can jog for hours and then throw spears to kill Jing's exhausted deer, and now it is no different to kill these villains.

A rain of spears poured down, and the overseer in the saucer-shaped helmet curled up and struck a few more shots, barely saving his life. The remaining two crouched down beside a rock, whistled loudly, and called out to their partners.

The slaves did not miss this opportunity, and they swarmed up, drowning the three men in an instant.

The slave who had just been grabbed by the ear took the overseer's short stick, sat on the overseer's chest, straightened it, and smashed it several times, poking the overseer's eyes into pieces, and then pinching the overseer's mouth and shoving it into his throat, almost dislocating the overseer's jaw.

Beside me, the black chief, hearing the whistles around him, motioned for us to retreat, while the slaves below continued to torment the three men, unaware of the approaching danger.

As I left, the slave who had killed the overseer stood up, twisting the bloodied stick in his hand, and looked up at me.

I couldn't make out what that expression was.