Karl frowned as he watched the young beastman endure the violent lashings of the Task Enforcer.
Blood streamed down his bare back, his black-furred tail thrashed wildly as if caught in a frenzied dance. Despite the faint growls he let out, the pain inflicted by the iron-inlaid cane was evident. It was excruciating. But the beastman could only growl and whimper, as he was unfortunate enough to have been born non-human.
His only crime? Resting for thirty seconds. Being a beastman meant such a luxury was forbidden.
The others did not protest. They kept their heads down, returning to their monotonous labor of slaughtering pigs. The rough mountain stone walls, slick with thick, dark blood, exuded a pungent scent—a blend of death and iron that was both nauseating and numbing.
Karl had grown used to it over time, though he still preferred not to smell it.
Soon, the beastman's growls were drowned out by the resounding booms that echoed through the cavern. The cave, dimly lit by eternal lamps hanging high on the walls, radiated an oppressive atmosphere. The lamps were hung at a height deliberately out of reach of the beastmen—a precaution against rebellion.
In the center of the spacious room stood a massive stone cauldron, its surface streaked with fresh blood trickling over layers of dried stains. Above it, a black stone pillar was slowly retreating upward.
Ropes connected to pulley wheels on the ceiling guided its movement. Several beastmen hauled on these ropes, muscles straining, their bodies glistening with sweat, as they raised the pillar higher and higher above the cauldron.
They let go.
Boom!
The pillar crashed into a wider cauldron below. Blood and chunks of flesh flew outward, splattering onto the cold stone floor. Beastwomen quickly rushed in, gathering the scattered flesh into black basins with frantic efficiency.
One might think it impossible for beastmen to be subservient to humans. But reality, it seemed, often defied logic.
Karl looked down at the squirming pig between his knees. His eyes were cold and detached as he pressed his small, well-sharpened knife into its fat neck. Warm blood gushed over his hand, but he didn't flinch. He held the pig steady, watching as the life drained from its once-vibrant eyes.
This had been his existence for the past two years. Now sixteen, Karl had not grown any fonder of it.
He turned, hefting the pig's lifeless body into an iron-netted basket. Standing across from him was a young beastwoman with auburn hair—a striking rarity among the predominantly black-furred beastmen. Her name was Astrid, the girl who always smiled.
"I hear the Cultivator is visiting today," Astrid said, her tone light as she bent down to lift the basket.
She carried it awkwardly, balancing it between her hips and stomach while straining against its weight. With a grunt, she tottered over to the cauldron and heaved the pig inside. Blood splattered as it hit the surface. Moments later, she returned to Karl, sweat trickling down her brow, though the same persistent smile clung to her dry, cracked lips.
"No need," Karl said as she approached, his voice calm. "I'm done with my quota."
Astrid glanced past Karl, confirming the truth of his words. The small square barn was empty.
This was where the pigs were kept each night, only to be slaughtered by morning. No one could leave until they had completed their quota. By that logic, Astrid's work was also done—her tasks were tied to Karl's.
"That's nice!" Astrid said with her usual smile. Now, all that remained was to inform the Task-Enforcer of their completed work. But seeing as he was occupied, she simply grinned, unwilling to approach him.
From the cave entrance, located within Karl's line of sight, a figure appeared, bathed in the contrasting hues of the white sunlight and a faint red glow. As the newcomer stepped into the gloomy cave, his features became strikingly visible.
A black cloak flowed behind him, dragging red dust and streaks of blood as he walked. He had the telltale black hair, dark eyes, and a faintly pale complexion that marked him.
Rumors say he's undead, Karl thought. That he evolved into one.
What thoughts could linger in the mind of such a man? Karl's hands instinctively adjusted his black-furred tail, tucking it tightly between his legs—a silent declaration of fear.
The other beastmen reacted similarly. This was Tobias, a nobleman and the flesh cultivator who owned this pig farm. His mere presence was enough to send shivers of dread through the room. His reputation for ruthlessness was legendary.
Everyone feared him.
The Gu will feast today, Karl thought, right on cue as a translucent, finger-sized worm began crawling out of the ground near his feet. The creature wriggled past him, moving toward one of the beastmen whose own tail was tucked low in terror.
Dozens more worms followed, writhing and slithering toward the frightened beastmen. None of them approached Karl.
The sight of the Gu triggered panic among the beastmen. One of them yelped and leaped away, followed quickly by others. They pressed themselves against the cold stone walls, shivering as they watched the swarm of fear-eating Gu close in.
It was a bitter irony—beastmen, predators in their own right, terrified of creatures that thrived on their fear. For the Gu, this was a feast.
Karl moved swiftly, curling up against a wall beside another terrified beastman. He whimpered softly, mimicking the behavior of the rest. Yet none of the Gu came near him. Instead, they crawled toward a trembling young beastman whose ears lay flat, his tail shaking violently.
Tobias observed the scene, his pale face twisted into a scowl. How dare these creatures be more afraid of the Gu than of me! His fury simmered, barely contained, as he shot a glare at the Task-Enforcer.
"Kill four!" Tobias barked.
The Task-Enforcer flinched, though only slightly. A fear Gu perched atop his shoulder wriggled in response before settling again. The enforcer was a tall man with jet-black hair and eyes of the same hue. A deep scar ran diagonally across his face, from his left eye to his cheek—a mark shared by all who bore the title of Task-Enforcer.
To give pain, they must first know it.
Though he was unopposed to such tasks, this order troubled him. The flesh cultivator rarely called for the random slaughter of beastmen.
Usually, it was the old, weak, or disabled who were dispatched—not able-bodied workers. Something had clearly angered Tobias, and the enforcer suspected it wasn't the beastmen's behavior.
Still, the Task-Enforcer knew better than to question his master. He gripped his iron-inlaid cane tightly as his cold eyes scanned the room. His gaze fell upon a young girl with rare auburn fur who stood shivering at the edge of the cave, her ever-present smile lingering even now.
A cruel grin spread across his lips. That one.
She had embarrassed him before with her defiance—mocking him with that infernal grin, even when he had offered her the "honor" of his bed. Now, the idea of silencing her permanently felt intoxicating. These creatures should be grateful to serve, not mock their betters.
But as the enforcer began moving toward her, Tobias shifted his gaze to a different target. The Task-Enforcer stopped, redirecting his steps toward another beastman—one already dripping blood from the lashes he'd endured earlier.
In one hand, the Task-Enforcer drew a blade. His steps were heavy and deliberate as he approached the young beastman, who couldn't have been older than seventeen. The boy's wide, terrified eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape.
Sneering, the enforcer grabbed the boy by his scrawny neck, his large hand easily encircling it. He squeezed, cutting off the boy's air supply. The blade hovered menacingly near his skin.
"You should pray to your gods," the Task-Enforcer sneered. "Which one is it? The Pure White? The Desire? Or maybe the Untamed Storms? Or do you bend to those filthy pagan ones?"
The boy clawed weakly at the enforcer's hand, his legs kicking feebly against the stone floor as he gasped for air.
The enforcer's lips curled in sadistic delight.
The young beastman thrashed desperately, his hands clawing at the Task-Enforcer's arm. But with his claws long cut and unable to regrow, his frantic efforts were futile. To the enforcer, the weak taps felt like little more than a nuisance.
The fear Gu swarmed the beastman, writhing over his trembling body and digging into his fur. Fear consumed him—a potent mix of terror for his life and dread of the worm creatures now festering on him.
The overwhelming sensation reduced him to a pitiful state: his eyes bulged, tears streamed down his face, and saliva dripped uncontrollably from his mouth as his body convulsed against the crushing grip on his neck.
The Task-Enforcer smirked in delight. He loosened his grip slightly, giving the beastman a fleeting moment of relief, before tightening it again.
The beastman gasped, hope flickering briefly as the pressure on his throat eased. But it was snatched away as the grip returned with crushing force. This cycle of pain and reprieve repeated—a cruel rhythm that broke the boy's will.
"No!" the beastman croaked. "I… don't… want to… die!"
"Oh? You don't want to die?" The Task-Enforcer's eyes gleamed with sadistic amusement. "Then you shouldn't have been born as something less than human. You're nothing. You might as well not even exist. And do you know the worst part?" He leaned in closer, tightening his grip further. "It's that you dared to rest—to rest, instead of working to repay the debt of your miserable existence. And now you tell me you want freedom?"
"I… just… want… freedom!" the beastman managed to choke out, his voice breaking with desperation.
Around the room, the beastmen pressed against the walls froze. Their gazes, wide and filled with sorrow, locked on the young lad whose life was fading fast. They all knew him—Volker.
Volker was a kind soul, born on the farm and motherless from the moment of his birth.
Despite his hardships, he had once smiled often, a beacon of light in this grim place. But the weight of life here had worn him down, stripping him of that joy. Yet, his kindness endured.
Volker frequently took on the quotas of the weak and frail after finishing his own. It was this selflessness that had landed him in trouble with the Task-Enforcer.
And now, the young beastman was on the verge of departing into the dark Sea of Souls—all because he was born something other than human.
The other beastmen could do nothing. Their heads lowered in silent resignation as a low hum filled the room—a mournful tune, their quiet way of honoring the lost.
Volker's struggles grew weaker until, at last, his body fell limp. The light faded from his dark eyes as the final breath left his lungs.
The Task-Enforcer let the body fall, his expression unchanging. With practiced ease, he drew a knife and sliced off Volker's ears and tail. These parts fetched a good price in the market. A few extra ments would make the task worthwhile.
Tobias watched the scene with cold satisfaction. Yet behind his calm exterior, he felt a pang of relief. Thank the heavens there are no swordsmen here today.
Such a spectacle could not reach the capital, he knew. Killing beastmen is one thing—no one cares—but killing them without justification, especially when they're my workers? That could tarnish my reputation. I'd be painted as a ruthless, erratic murderer. Tobias clenched his jaw. In the Empire, appearances were everything.
Murder, of course, was illegal in the Empire. But beastmen were not considered people. Their lives were meaningless except as tools to wash away the sin of their own existence. How dare they be almost human? Such blasphemy demanded recompense. And besides, if no one reported a crime, had it even occurred?
"Lord Tobias! The notary has arrived!" A voice broke the heavy silence, jolting everyone from their somber mood. A figure stepped into the cave's entrance, his polished boots echoing against the stone floor.
An elderly man, dressed in a pristine black coat adorned with golden buttons, approached Tobias. His face was lined with age, yet his eyes were sharp and his lips fresh and moist—a stark contrast to the cracked and dry lips of the beastmen.
"So soon?" Tobias asked, his tone annoyed. "Wasn't he due tomorrow?"
"He was," the butler replied, slightly out of breath. "But the notary mentioned he came early for a similar arrangement with Lord Walter."
"What?" Tobias's expression darkened. His eyes burned with barely contained anger. "Am I so insignificant that a notary prioritizes Walter over me? That pompous fool can't manage anything without hiding in the Pleasure Pavilion."
"But, sir," the butler interjected cautiously, "he is a Pleasure-Master."
Tobias glared at his servant, his irritation only growing.