Sunlight glinted at her white, silky hair, her eyelids opened, showcasing a mesmerizing silver eyes under it. Her snow-white eyebrows and a beauty mark under her left eye captivated workers and guards alike.
Her skin similar to the fine white jades, embellished not by the dirt of this world and as soft as silk, her body akin to an hourglass used by the nobles in their rooms of work.
Her steps careful and graceful, coming down from the carriage like an angel descending from the stairways of heaven. Her gloved hands lifted her skirt as she slowly made her way down.
The coachman extended his arm, meticulously, like a prince asking for a dance. The woman accepted.
"Thank you, Henry," the woman said to the coachman.
The coachman smiled, placed his hand on his chest, and bowed, before closing the door of the carriage and standing still beside her.
"Who is she?"
"How beautiful…"
"I wish I was the coachman,"
Murmur began to spread among the slaves, their cheeks red not from the heat of sun but from the smile of her.
"Whoa…" Hubert's mouth gapped. Surprised by the beauty displayed in front of his eyes. His grip of the shovel in his hands began withering away.
Her petite lips trembled as she spoke.
"Servants, I'm Priestess Anna, thank you for your great work," she glanced a smile at them.
"…" A small moment of quietness.
"PRIESTESS ANNA!"
"PRIESTESS ANNA! PRIESTESS ANNA!"
"LET US BE YOUR FAITHFUL SERVANT! PRIESTESS"
Crowd of workers rejoiced and shouted to her.
She let out a warm, loving glee at them. But then, many heart were pierced by the mighty arrow of Cupid.
The coachman opened the carriage's door once again. The priestess made her way inside, her hand waved the workers goodbye. Truly, she was an entertainment for the cruel and boring workplace.
Thump Thump Thump
Then the carriage and its guards drove away. The sound of the hooves slowly died out and the place oppressive nature of the guards returned.
"Get back to work!" the guard on the watchtower shouted.
"Shame it only lasted for a while," one worker mentioned
"Yeah," another replied, picking up his tool.
The workers murmured among themselves, lamenting the brief respite as they grabbed their tools and returned to their stations again. Soon, the sound of work and dread continued.
"I-if only she could stay here longer…" Hubert shoulders slumped, murmuring under his breath as he hefted mana stones with his shovel.
Ron looked at Hubert, his expression unreadable.
---
"Ah…" she sighed, her arms and legs crossed.
"Disgusting!" Anna exclaimed. Her earlier warmth replaced by cold disdain.
Henry gave her a glance.
"What, Henry?" she asked with a hint of disgust mixed with anger in her tone.
"Anyone interesting?" Henry asked, his eyes peered far on the dirt road.
"Just a bunch of slaves! What do we even expect?!" Anna questioned their motive.
"…" he stayed silent.
"If only the bishop here do his own job well! Then we won't need to come into this sorry place to begin with!" She raged on.
"Sir Tristan commanded, we shall deliver," the coachman mentioned.
"Hey," Anna called.
"Don't forget who's your master,"
Flick!
A volt of electricity surged in the coachman's body after she flicked her finger. His body endured the jolt of pain that was running in his nerve, coming from a mark that glowed purple light on his back, visible through the layer of black suit.
"Ye-yes, priestess,"
---
"Good job for today!" Robert friendly said to Hubert while patting his back.
They were in the line for their dinner of soup of fish after dropping their tools off and a hard day of work. The evening sun slowly drowned in the background, giving its last light of the day for them.
"Than-thank you," Hubert responded. He took his soup of fish and sat down on a ruck under a tree. Ron followed closely behind him.
He placed his plate on the ground, Ron did the same, and the two waited until Robert came. It wasn't a long wait.
"You were waiting for me?" Robert joyfully asked. His face, though covered by debris and dust, gave an honest smile.
Robert sat down beside Ron, the three of them had their plates on the ground by now.
"Before we start, let us pray together," Robert said to them.
"Oh yea, le-let's do that," Hubert said back.
"Yea…" Ron too affirmed.
"Oh Goddess Astia, we pray to you today, thanking you for the food we have received and for the forgiving punishment you gave to us, your servants. We hope that with this, we shall be reminded in every seconds, every moment of our lives, that you are always here with us," Robert prayed.
"Alright let's eat!"
As the moon rose high up in the sky replacing the bright star of day and wind howled moving inward from the east. The three of them ate their food quickly, their back covered by one another in the midst of slaves.
"He-hey Robert," Hubert called while chewing on his food.
"Yea?"
"Ho-how is life in he-here?" Hubert asked hesitantly, delivering another mouthful spoon full of soup into his mouth again.
His thoughts were directed at the view clear from the place they sat. The mines of mana stones full of dust, the church that stood proud against the wear and tear of time, the large building akin to a barn where they slept.
He then looked at his hand, with a surrendering look in his face. Maybe, just maybe, he's beginning to accept the reality, once a slave always a slave.
"Ey, it's not that bad, except from the countless work hour, you get sufficient food and a place to sleep. It might suck at first, but you'll adapt. Many people come here because they are in debt after all." Robert confidently told.
"…" Ron silently looked at the two of them conversing while his spoon slowly emptying his bowl.
"But… There are rumors about some slaves missing in the mines? Brad usually keeps tab on them though!" Robert continued.
Hubert raised one of his eyebrows ever so slightly.
"Brad?" he asked.
"Yea! Brad, he's the leader of all of us, at least that's what I've been told since I came here. He slept further back in our quarters, and I heard he has quite the luxury there! But it's not like he treats us badly!" Robert answered.
"Maybe you'll meet him today!"
"Sleep time! Sleep time!" the guards shouted, filling the quiet night sky. The slaves heeded and returned their bowls, then walked to their quarters.
Robert, Hubert and Ron made their wat to their previous sleeping spot, surrounded by many of their fellow slaves. The torches were not yet blew off and chatters of people echoed against the walls.
"Hey. Follow me," Hubert and Ron had barely just sat down when a brown haired man called for them.
Hubert and Ron looked at each other.
Hubert's mind was filled with anxiety, unclear and blurry from all the things he had experienced today, rendering him incapable of making a quick decision. Ron waited for Hubert.
"That's Brad' underling, go on," Robert whispered at their ears.
"You too, Robert," the brown haired man said.
Following Robert's suggestion, Hubert stood up, with Ron following close behind. The two walked deeper in the crowd of slaves.
The once chattering hall of slaves filled with silence as onlookers placed their sight and attention to the two of them. Their eyes filled with caution and preparedness, like a jungle full of spirited animals ready to fight for the throne.
Upon the furthest place in the hall, a man sat on a wooden chair closely resembling a throne.
His head rested on his calloused fist, his bright red hair attention-seeking, the face shape sharp, and going over his eyes was a scar caused by sharpness that once struck it.
His face gave out a boring look but his gaze like a cautious tiger, examining every aspect of Hubert and Ron. In front of the man, the four slaves that came from the same carriage kneeled, with their heads down and face facing the floor.
"That's Brad," Robert murmured to Hubert and Ron.
"Kneel," the brown haired man commanded, his voice full not of authority. Robert quickly dropped to his knees.
Hubert gulped his saliva down, his legs and arms trembled, and his shaky chest and nervous face showcased his emotion. He slowly bent his knee.
Ron kept standing, with his head raised.
"Kneel!" the brown haired man commanded again, this time shouting with rage filling his voice.
"…" Ron, defiantly, stood there silently, his continuous blank stare, looked at the man on the wooden throne.
"Stop!" Brad said, slowly raising his head from his fist.
"We got an interesting one this time," his face lit up with energy, a wide grin from ear to ear began to show.
"…" Ron stood silent.
"Are you not going to respond? Well… Anyway… Bring him out!" he flicked his finger. The brown haired man came forward.
Thump Thump Thump
The wooden flooring vibrated as a sleeveless man came out of the crowd of slaves, with a bag made of rags stitched together to fit his huge head. His muscles were thick as a bull, and his body built like a male gorilla on top of its pack. His wrist was as thick as a hand cannon's barrel, and veins bulged out from the restraint of chains.
Ron glanced.
With each breath the man took, his chest rose and fell, and steam came out of his nose and escaped the bag over his head. He looked down on Ron as the torchlight glinted from his eyes.
Ron looked.