Ashen Dragon

Chapter 302: Chapter 225: Uprising
 

Carter Duchy, outskirts of Dena City.

“Snap—”

“Get to work!”

“You lowly scum! Beasts!”

The sound of a cracking whip, angry curses, and the sharp sound of miners striking ore intertwined.

In the dimly lit mine, grimy miners labored desperately as the overseers swung their whips, overseeing the work of these unfortunate souls.

Among the miners was one with the nickname “Spark” above his head.

Clearly, he was a player, or as the natives called them, a Starfallen.

“These damned creatures…”

“Sooner or later, I’ll kill them. I have to find a way to get out of here.”

He swung his pickaxe with all his might, but his gaze toward the overseers was particularly dangerous.

Spark was a somewhat renowned player. Unlike those who preferred speed runs, he enjoyed experiencing the plot and discovering hidden secrets in the game.

So he didn’t choose the most common starting point of Northwind Castle. Instead, he chose the lesser-known capital of Carter Duchy—Dena City. He wanted to experience the unique charm of the North.

However, Spark’s luck was not so good.

He had just descended into Dena City when he was captured by the city guards for not having any identification. He was then sold to slave traders by the colluding military commander and, after several twists and turns, ended up as a slave laborer in an underground mine, digging for a Northern Noble.

Such things were all too common in the Northern Countries.

Serfdom was deeply rooted in the Northern Countries, having lasted for centuries.

In the eyes of the Northern Nobility, slaves were not of the same species as them. They were considered cheap consumables, lowly “Gray Beasts,” and these collusions and slave trades were tacitly accepted by all parties. Even local sheriffs turned a blind eye to it.

After all, those were just unidentified vagrants. Capturing them might even improve city security. How could it compare to the gold coins bribing the slave traders?

Next to Spark was an unfamiliar slave laborer. His body was skinny and his skin dark, seemingly just captured. His mining actions were still inexperienced, frequently earning him whippings and curses from the overseers.

Spark patted the slave’s shoulder and whispered:

“What’s your name?”

The slave stopped his work, wiped the sweat off his face with his coal-stained hands, and smiled sheepishly with his head lowered.

“I don’t have a name. My previous master called me Firewood.”

“Snap!”

“Lazy beast, get back to work!”

After only a brief rest, the overseer’s whip came again.

Firewood braced his body, trembling from the beating, adding a deep bleeding gash to his already scarred back.

Despite the pain and humiliation, it seemed as if he was used to it. He kept silent and raised his pickaxe once more.

But Spark was not whipped.

His owner had specifically instructed to make good use of this rare strong slave and to maximize his value by extending his usage time.

Spark lowered his voice and said to Firewood:

“Don’t you hate how they treat you?”

Firewood dared not stop his pickaxe for even a moment. Hearing such “treasonous” words, he was too scared to speak. He hesitantly replied:

“No, of course not. They were sent by the noble masters.”

Spark sighed helplessly:

“Just speak your mind. I won’t tell the overseer.”

Firewood recalled the companions who had been skinned and displayed for disobeying their masters, the dignified appearance of the noble masters, and the warnings of his elders.

He instinctively trembled and shook his head repeatedly:

“N…not even a little.”

“They’re noble masters. Their homes have endless grain and gold. Who would dare hate them?”

With Firewood’s limited knowledge, that was all he could think of.

Spark looked around cautiously, seeing no one paying attention, and continued to guide him:

“All this gold and silver we dig up, all the grain we produce, why do these things end up in the hands of the nobles? Are they naturally more noble than us?”

“Of c…course.”

Firewood replied cautiously.

To him, it was indeed a strange question. Nobles being superior to slaves was a principle beyond question.

Even the priests in the manor said that slaves were scum made from mud, while nobles were creations of gods made from gold and spring water.

Spark asked again:

“Then what about the overseers? Are they also more noble, which is why they can step on us?”

“I suppose. It’s like that, right? The overseers were sent by the noble masters. If the nobles were made of gold, perhaps the overseers were made of silver?”

Firewood pondered for a moment, answering uncertainly.

He felt the person before him was very strange for asking such rebellious questions and even daring to doubt the Northern Nobility. However, Spark’s words also planted a seed in Firewood’s heart.

“What are you two talking about over there?”

“Who allowed you to talk? Get back to work!”

The overseer’s angry roar came from a distance, seemingly never-ceasing in their fury.

Firewood quickly resumed swinging his pickaxe. Even if it made his hands numb, he did not dare to stop.

But this time, Spark did not obey the order. Instead, he took a few steps forward and looked around at the other slave laborers.

Those who had been laboring in the mine for a long time seemed to have some long-suppressed emotions in their eyes, and they simultaneously stopped working.

In this eerie silence, even Firewood instinctively paused.

“Damn beasts, swine! Do you want to rebel?!”

The overseer’s face turned extremely ugly as his absolute authority was broken.

In extreme anger, he even disregarded his master’s orders and swung his whip at the most prominent Spark, hoping to use this tried-and-true method to make the slaves submit.

“Snap.”

The whip was firmly caught in Spark’s hand, causing his hand to bleed profusely.

But Spark, without regard for his injured hand, wrapped the whip around his hand a few times and forcibly pulled it away.

The overseer collapsed to the ground, looking up at Spark’s fierce eyes, retreating in fear, mumbling, “I was sent by Lord Earl. I was…”

But several tens of slave laborers blocked his way. They pinned the overseer to the ground, rendering him unable to move.

“What are you doing!”

“Damn beasts, do you want to die! I was sent by Lord Earl—”

The overseer struggled and shouted on the ground, but the sheer number of slaves overwhelmed him. He couldn’t break free.

“Damn person—”

“It’s you, damn it!”

Spark gave it his all, veins bulging in his arm.

He fiercely swung the pickaxe down at the overseer, just as he had struck the ore numerous times.

The force was so immense that the sharp pickaxe pierced through the fat and flesh, cracked open the tough bones, and turned his brain into mush.

“Boom!”

Blood splattered, and brain matter flew.

The overseer, full of bloated intestines, died with a stunned expression.

He never imagined that he would be killed by the lowliest of slaves he despised the most.

“Good!”

“Nice kill!”

“Kill this beast!!”

The surrounding slaves were instantly invigorated. They rushed forward to trample and tear at the body, venting their accumulated frustrations.

But a sliver of fear lurked in their hearts. A dead overseer meant, just as he had said before dying, that the noble master would stop at nothing to hunt them down.

However, they recalled Spark’s promise and a flicker of hope rekindled in their hearts.

This “strong slave” had a special status in the mine. Over the past few days, he often told the slaves new and unheard-of stories, including those of toppling the old order and changing the world.

Although it sounded like a fairy tale, they had no other choice.

Spark held the overseer’s bleeding head and turned to Firewood, revealing a satisfied smile.

He said word by word:

“I told you, they were never more noble than us.”

Firewood stood there in shock, his legs trembling. But in his heart, a weak flame began to burn.