Translator: Cinder Translations
...
A long and loud whistle rang out, seemingly enlivening the atmosphere of the entire coal mine, signaling the end of today's work.
The workers—or rather, the prisoners—stopped their tasks, turning and bending to stretch their bodies.
After allowing their tense muscles a moment of relaxation, the prisoners gathered in small groups by a nearby flowing stream to wash up. They stripped off their upper and lower garments, baring their chests and backs. Since the camp was filled with men, they first washed the sweat towels they used while working, scrubbing them clean in the water, then soaked them and used them to wipe off the dirt from their bodies.
Doug was also washing himself. Just a moment ago, when he stopped shoveling coal, his entire body was covered in black coal dust. For that reason, he first returned to the dormitory to fetch a clean shirt to change into. While cleaning himself, he also tossed his dirty clothes into the wash.
After finishing his wash and changing into clean clothes, Doug felt a wave of relaxation wash over him; the fatigue accumulated from a day's work had already dissipated significantly.
"Hey, Doug!"
A hushed voice called from behind. A guy, sporting a similar buzz cut but with somewhat shifty eyes, emerged from somewhere.
Doug looked around to see no one was paying attention to him, then pulled the newcomer aside into a secluded corner.
"Patton, you scoundrel, I've been waiting for you. How did it go?"
"It's done."
The newcomer took out a small ceramic vial from his pocket and carefully handed it to Doug.
Doug took it and held it up to his ear, giving it a gentle shake, which produced the sound of liquid swirling inside.
Doug frowned in dissatisfaction, saying, "Is this all? We collected so much coal."
Patton replied, looking dejected, "Doug, this isn't my fault. The newcomer was too greedy; his heart is blacker than the coal I've ever seen, and he raised the price by double."
Doug's brows furrowed tightly, the creases on his forehead resembling mountain ranges. He gritted his teeth and said, "Despicable Police, cunning Police. Sigh, what can we do? We're just fish on the chopping block."
He picked up the small vial, focusing all his attention on it. It was just an ordinary yellow-brown bottle, its mouth sealed tightly with a cork. However, in Doug's eyes, it seemed to contain some miraculous elixir.
"Oh, I'll be relying on you for the next week."
With that, he popped the cork with a bang, bringing the bottle to his nostrils and taking a deep breath.
The rich aroma of alcohol filled Doug's senses, and his mouth began to water.
He slightly parted his lips, gently placing the bottle against his lower lip, and slowly raised it, allowing the life-saving "nectar" to flow into his mouth, instantly filling his mouth with that long-lost flavor.
Doug didn't swallow right away; instead, he swished the first sip of liquor around his mouth like mouthwash, letting the liquid moisten every corner of his mouth.
After a full minute, he finally moved his throat, reluctantly and carefully swallowing the first sip.
"Ah, nectar!"
Doug smacked his lips, looking blissful and nostalgic.
Patton, watching his boss drink, could only sniff the air, trying to catch the scent of the alcohol, swallowing his own saliva in anticipation.
"Gulp!"
Doug took a second sip, this time not lingering in his mouth for too long but swallowing it down immediately.
Third sip, fourth sip…
After taking a total of ten small sips, Doug set the ceramic bottle down.
At that moment, he looked radiant, full of energy, and his gaze regained its sharpness, as if the former mercenary captain had returned.
"Here!"
Doug handed the bottle to Patton.
Patton poked it with his finger, laughing, noting that a third of it was left.
"Thanks, boss! Thank you, boss!"
He quickly nodded and bowed to express his gratitude.
"Hurry, don't let the guards catch you."
"Right, I'll take care of it!"
Patton raised the bottle, mimicking Doug, first taking a small sip to savor it, then downing the rest in one go.
Finally, he pulled out a water pouch, poured some water into the bottle, shook it gently, and then drank it all in one gulp.
"Ugh! Those Police are so strict, locking us brothers up here forever! That guy, what was his name, Grayman, really lacks the demeanor of a noble."
Both of them felt invigorated, ready to curse the Police again.
Since being captured during the Usurper War, they had been confined to this hellish place called a labor camp, spending their days amidst the dark coal.
Initially, Doug and the others thought they would either be tortured to death or wear themselves out from exhaustion here, but surprisingly, they were faring quite well—of course, this "well" was relative to their initial pessimism.
They were fed twice a day, with breakfast mainly consisting of "brick bread" made from barley or rye served with pickled vegetables. Although it was somewhat hard to chew and occasionally had a taste of sawdust, it was filling. Lunch consisted of two slices of bread and unlimited vegetable porridge—a mushy soup mixed with veggies.
On certain days of the month, the porridge would be mixed with minced meat or eggs.
They could also secretly gather some leftover coal and, when the guards weren't looking, trade it with villagers outside the wall for some alcohol.
However, freedom was lacking here, though this lack of freedom was not the same as the carefree days before being captured. The lack of freedom came from the Police' excessive control.
The Police imposed extremely strict internal regulations for them. For instance:
- First, the prisoners were required to keep their living quarters clean; guards would conduct surprise inspections of the dormitories at random times.
- Secondly, prisoners were expected to maintain a good mental attitude; being unkempt was absolutely not allowed.
Once any violation of the regulations was discovered, the punishment could be a whipping or being thrown into a small dark room for confinement and starvation.
After being a mercenary for over a decade, Doug was perplexed. Were the Police managing prisoners or an army? Even if they were training an army, maintaining hygiene and personal appearance was something only royal guards and similar military units had to adhere to.
Having rolled around on the battlefield for so many years, he was quite familiar with what an average military unit looked like. Living habits that were messy and being infested with lice were the norms for ordinary soldiers.
As for prisoners in other places, oh, their living conditions could only be described as a dung pit; that would be an exaggeration.
As Doug and Patton walked back to the dormitory, they cursed the Police' peculiarities, yet deep down, they also felt a strange sense of relief.
(End of the Chapter)
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