The hot sun provided a surge of warm air, while clouds covered the blue sky, giving them refuge from it. The gentle breeze of the wind countered the heat, giving a sense of calmness to those around.
"Hubert?" a soft, warm voice called out to him.
Hubert looked and smiled at her. A straw hat on his head gave Hubert another layer of protection from the unforgiving sun, as his legs began running toward a man in the field of grains.
"Be careful out there!" she shouted as he darted farther away.
"Hey, what's my boy doing here?!" a man asked, holding a plow in his hand and sweat running down his tireless face.
"Dad!" Hubert exclaimed.
The man smiled back, then placed his hand on Hubert's hair and patted him.
"Do you want to go to the city with me next time?" the man questioned, his voice full of hope.
"Yes!" Hubert joyfully responded.
"Ask your mother for permission first. Only then can we go together!" the man said, his voice accompanied by a strong breeze of wind once again.
The man began swinging his plow again while Hubert ran toward a house. A simple wooden cabin of which he called home.
"Mother! Mother!" he called for his mother with a mind full of expectation.
Crooooow
"Hey, Hubert, wake up," a voice urged, softly shaking his sleeping body as a chicken crowed from the distance.
His eyes opened, and at the same time, the large door of the building opened, bringing in a cold surge of air inside the building. Light from the torches flickered, disturbed by the cold morning breeze.
Slaves began waking up from their bed of hay on the floor.
Then the bald monk, accompanied by two guards on his side, entered the room.
"It's time for work!" the monk mentioned with a face full of glee.
Slaves began standing up, some sighed, and some quietly began making their way outside the building.
"Ro-robert…?" Hubert called softly. His body trembling from the cold air surrounding him.
"Yes, wake up Hubert." Robert quickly said, before he too stood up and walked outside.
Hubert's mind began clearing. He looked around him, searching for Ron everywhere. Then he found Ron already sitting beside him, waiting patiently and dreadfully for whatever action Hubert would take.
Hubert stood up and walked toward the monk, with Ron following him closely from behind. The monk noticed them.
"Ah, you are the new slaves that came just yesterday, right?" the monk spoke.
"Yes… We are," Hubert affirmed.
"Follow me," the monk ordered.
Just then, the four slaves that also came together with them from yesterday showed their presence to the monk. Then he also told them the same thing, and all six of them followed the monk around the parish.
"Today is a special day for you all," the monk hurriedly led them into a smithing room, his voice showcasing his naked excitement.
In that smithing room, a man wearing a leather apron waited for them while sitting on top of an anvil. He smiled as he turned his back and began grabbing his tools: first, a custom branding iron; second, a cloth.
The slaves began murmuring toward each other, their voices shook and trembled at the sight. Hubert felt his heart drop to his stomach, but he already knew from his conversation with Robert the day prior.
Hot iron branding.
"Come, you all," the monk said, then closed the door and locked it.
The smith placed the branding iron on top of his already lit forge.
Then they waited, accompanied by not only the dreadful feelings of a wet and damp room, but also the smell of rust that struck their noses and minds full of anxiety.
The four slaves mumbled under their breaths to each other, but they too knew that there was nothing that could be done.
"It's ready," the smith mentioned.
Then the guard took one slave from the six of them, fortunately, it's not Hubert. The guard brought him toward the anvil, then placed the slave's hand on the anvil.
Originally, the slave resisted, every muscles of his body tried to pull his hands from the anvil. His struggles were futile. The smith aimed the hot iron at the back of the slave's hand.
In an instant, a mark was created. Sound of boiling flesh and smell of burned tissue filled the room.
"ARGHHHH" a blood-curling shriek filled the room.
Then another, and then another, and then another, and until it was Hubert's turn
The guard roughly grabbed him by the shoulder, then he guided Hubert toward the anvil like others before him. Hubert also tried to resist, his speck of muscles were no match for the brawny guard.
"N-no… No…" he yelled. The monk only smiled and the smith continued his work
Pshhhh
Hubert had been to a room alike before. A room filled with nightmares where even the most benevolent of angels couldn't hear him. The place where he was repeatedly called a coward and deserter by the knights of Trilly.
A room where every moral he believed in had been betrayed by those very same people who vowed to protect the populace. Where even his body was merely an object of entertainment by them. Yet, he cried again.
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHH!" a bone-chilling howl came out of his mouth.
A new brand, a new identity, and a new life for Hubert awaited him. His hand was now marked with the V surrounded by a circle, a sign of slaves for the Church of Visions.
His life as a freeman, as a citizen and as a watchman had just ended.
"Welcome, to the life as a servant of the Goddess!" the monk announced.
Though Hubert's mind were congested from pain, all he could hear around him was the frightening laughter of the guards and monk, then the pitiful wail of the other slaves beside him.
His free life had just ended.
"Hey! Be careful with those mana stones, they are worth more than your life!" a guard shouted angrily at a coachman. In his hand, a leather whip he held tightly beside him at all time.
There were several more of the guards with the same attitude and whips, present all around the place. But the number of slaves far outnumbered them by threefold.
Mana stones continuously delivered from the underground mine of mana stones by wheelbarrows. Then stockpiled into several meters high under the scorching sun. Then loaded into wooden carriage, driven by the coach to their destination as per the contract.
Coughs of dust could be heard anywhere, present in the air and the lungs of the cheap slave workers used by the church. Sweat fell of their body as their hands turned red and calluses began to form on their hands.
Some had pickaxes, some brought carts and some had shovels.
"Haa… Haa…" Hubert let out his warm breath of exhaustion. His hand clenched the shovel of which he hefted the tool, lifted the mana stones from the stockpile and swung it over into the open carriage.
The repetitive clinks of mana stones bouncing off against each other and the wooden carriage were the only thing that entertained them.
Ron beside Hubert did the same. His face straight and his eyes stared intently to what he was doing. Sweat came out of his body but his muscles moved without signs of exhaustion and his breath still.
"A-are you no-not tired, Ron?" between gasps for air while continuing his duty, Hubert asked.
"No…" Ron responded. His answer short, showing sign of focus toward the meager task given to him as a slave.
Countless others beside them did the same. Working as slave workers for the church. Like ants in a massive system working until the end of their lives for something so in vain for them.
Signs of malnourishment were present in the workers, though some had thick and strong looking muscles. Most had thin muscles that would struggle to lift two buckets of water. Yet, the work as slaves continued.
"Stop workinggg!" a guard in the watchtower high above, overlooking all of them, commanded.
Sound of life died down, leaving only the sign of breeze and occasional sound of pickaxe clinking from deep inside the mine. All gazes were focused on the watchtower, some already dropped their tools and sat down on the ground.
Thump Thump Thump
The ground shook ever so slightly, sweats vibrated and left the faces of workers. The sound of hooves came from afar, then got closer and nearer.
The slaves waited, some full of anticipation and some with anxiety.
"Stand up!" a guard shouted toward those sitting on the ground. Some were too tired from their work and half-ignored the guard's order.
The guard gritted his teeth and clenched the whip in his hand. He raised it and dropped it down. The whip cracked, a loud sound akin to explosion landed on a slave's back. The slave jolted and immediately stood up.
The air filled with intensity and fear that none dared to put their bums on the ground again.
Then the sound of hooves came close, until it was loud enough that it drowned even the songs of wind. Four horsemen atop their white horses, carrying the banner of the Church of Visions, the word V with a straight line horizontally piercing the character.
Behind them, a white carriage pulled by four horses and driven by a coachman in suit. The white carriage, majestic, like a carriage that came out of the royal mansion of a princess.
The coachman left his seat and rushed to open the door of the carriage. There, a woman stepped out.
A holy woman.