The slave remained on the ground, covering his head with his hands as he lay in a fetal position. His body trembled, bracing for the inevitable blow, the accustomed brutality of the guards. But time dragged on, and the pain never came.
The other slaves continued working without daring to turn their heads. Fear dominated them; any distraction could attract the guards' wrath toward them. Yet something was strange. The usual sounds of muffled groans mixed with the whip cracking against flesh were absent. That noise, which had almost become a sinister background music, had disappeared, leaving an oppressive silence that filled the room like a shadow.
One of the slaves couldn't resist lifting his gaze, furtively, to see what was happening. What he saw left him frozen. The guards lay on the ground, motionless, surrounded by a red pool that reflected the dim light of the torches. Near them, like specters emerging from the darkness, stood five hooded figures. Their forms were imposing, almost unreal, as if they were part of the shadows themselves.
The man swallowed hard, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. He wasn't alone. Other slaves began to notice the strange scene as well, their terrified and confused gazes fixed on the hooded figures. The figures said nothing. They remained still, as if evaluating the situation with an inhuman calm.
Finally, one of the figures approached the slave still lying on the ground. Their steps were silent, almost ethereal. The man on the ground curled up even more, his body visibly trembling. But the figure didn't raise a weapon or make any aggressive gesture. Instead, with slow movements, they extended a hand and revealed their head.
The slave's face was marked by terror. Not even when the guards beat him had he been so afraid. His eyes met those of the hooded figure, but he found neither anger nor hatred in them. Instead, the shadow drew a small wooden plaque from their tunic and held it a few inches from his forehead.
The air grew tense, and everyone present held their breath. Then, something happened. The slave mark etched on the man's forehead began to fade. As if an invisible force were erasing it, the symbol that represented his status as property disappeared, leaving his skin clean.
An overwhelming silence fell over the room. No one understood what had just happened, but the feeling of the impossible spread like an echo through the slaves' minds. Finally, the figure spoke, their deep and resonant voice cutting through the air:
"If you wish to escape this hell and know true freedom, you must stand up and seek it for yourselves. No one will do it for you."
With those words, they threw a small cloth sack to the ground and, without another word, turned to join the rest of the hooded figures. In complete silence, the shadows retreated, disappearing into the dimness of the mine as if they had never been there.
The slaves remained frozen, their minds caught in a whirlwind of disbelief and confusion. The only sound was the faint crackle of fire from the torch hanging on one of the walls. Some stared at the ground, others exchanged quick glances, but no one said anything. The scene they had just witnessed was too surreal to comprehend immediately.
Several minutes passed before one of the remaining guards, still in shock, dared to move. With cautious steps, he approached the cloth sack left by the hooded figure. His hand trembled slightly as he picked it up and opened it.
Inside the sack, he found four more wooden plaques, similar to the one that had erased the first slave's mark.
As they walked away from the scene, the leader of the hooded figures couldn't help but recall his own past, specifically the moment someone had given him freedom. Seeing the fear and terror in the slaves' eyes, observing their pitiable state of despair and helplessness, he wondered, "Is this how we looked that day?"
He had been the one to incite his companions to ask that person to train them, to prepare them for this moment. He had been the one who longed to rescue others from that hell, but the reality before his eyes was much harsher than he had imagined.
He had prepared words to inspire, speeches to motivate. But when faced with the hopeless, vacant stares of the slaves, he was left speechless. Those men didn't seem to have any will to fight. They were resigned, trapped in the routine of their misery. It was as if they were living dead, their bodies functioning purely out of inertia.
He remembered then the day he himself had been locked in a cage. He had been torn from the place where he was born, sold like an object, first as a servant in a city and then as a slave in a castle. His life had been a continuous cycle of being bought and sold, until he was sold once more and sent toward an unknown fate with others like him. He had lost all hope.
Until a black shadow appeared in the night, eliminating the guards with cold precision. That day, he witnessed his savior erase the slave mark from one of his companions, break the locks of the cages, and give them a choice. The savior hadn't helped them escape, nor forced them to do anything. They had simply left the decision in their hands. He had taken that choice, and now he wanted to return the same gift to others.
While some continued fighting the guards and others freed slaves, 1765 moved ceaselessly through the mine's intricate passageways. His speed and agility set him apart from the others. If a guard stood in his way, they were eliminated before they could react.
Time wasn't exactly a pressing concern; after all, this mine was in a remote region, far from any major city. News of what happened here would take days to reach any significant destination. However, this operation was just the beginning. His companions had already expressed their intent to carry out more raids on similar sites. This mission wasn't just a rescue; it was practice for something greater.
At Silas's insistence, they had established a rigorous schedule that they had to follow. The idea wasn't to act impulsively but to coordinate and maximize the efficiency of each move. This precision had proven its worth in previous weeks, when they began intercepting convoys passing near the valley where they lived.
During one of those raids, they stumbled upon a crucial discovery. One of the convoys was transporting not only goods but also valuable documents. Among them was a simple yet revealing letter: it indicated that gold had been discovered in the mine. This metal, it seemed, was as highly valued in this world as it had been in Silas's. However, here its utility was not limited to wealth; it was an essential component in the creation of magical devices, something 1765 had learned by reading a book during his visit to the city.
Alongside the letter, the documents also contained detailed plans of the mine, including maps of its passageways, the number of guards and slaves, and the overall logistics of the site. According to the records, there were 200 slaves working underground and a garrison of 120 guards tasked with supervising them and maintaining control.
Initially, this information didn't mean much to 1765. But for the other ex-slaves, it was the spark that ignited their passion to free others. Their enthusiasm and determination ultimately convinced him to lead this mission. It wasn't something he had planned, but the circumstances had thrust him into this role.
While his companions carried out their respective tasks, 1765 focused on his own. After traversing several passageways, he reached a room that stood out from the others. Its entrance was sealed by a massive metal door that contrasted against the crude rock walls.
The metal door posed little challenge for 1765. After all, the locks in this world—or at least in the Empire—seemed quite antiquated to Silas's sensors. A tool specially designed for the task made quick work of the lock. With a faint creak, the heavy structure swung open, revealing the room's contents.
Upon entering, 1765 saw several wooden crates placed on shelves lining the walls. Wasting no time, he moved quickly, opening one after another. Inside the crates, he found numerous books and scrolls. His eyes lit up slightly under the dim torchlight as he realized this was exactly what he had been seeking.
For some reason, the owner of this mine had thought it a good idea to store important documents in this remote location. Perhaps they believed that being deep within Imperial territory and far from any apparent danger, the site would be secure. But now, all those documents were about to change hands.
1765 gathered as many books and scrolls as he could and stuffed them into a sack he carried. He then took a scroll from his pocket and unrolled it on the floor. This wasn't the only one; soon, he assembled a sort of matrix using several more scrolls, anchoring them in place with small metal rods. At the center of each scroll, he placed cylinders that seemed to fit perfectly within the circular drawings traced on the paper.
The night wore on as the assault on the mine continued. An hour had passed since the operation began when 1765 emerged from the passageways with an enormous sack of books and scrolls on his back. As he exited, he surveyed the area. Aside from the lifeless bodies of guards lying motionless, there was no one else. This meant the others were still inside. His task was complete; now, he only needed to wait for the other groups to emerge with the freed slaves.
1765 wasn't one to remain idle.
"Silas, it's time. Summon the transport," he ordered in a calm yet firm tone.
Silas didn't respond with words, but 1765 perceived a faint confirmation in his mind. Five minutes later, several cargo wagons arrived, pulled by enormous beasts resembling horses, though they were more robust and had scales covering their skin. The wagons were being guided by golems, which moved with precise, mechanical motions, following Silas's instructions.
1765 nodded in satisfaction as he watched them arrive. He knew he couldn't use the same route he had taken previously with the ex-slaves. If they managed to extract all 200 slaves, moving through the forest would be a death sentence. Even with 46 experienced combatants, the forest was teeming with ferocious beasts that would undoubtedly be drawn to the movement of such a large group.
Instead, he had planned a different route, longer but safer. Everything had been calculated in detail. However, it had already been two and a half hours—half an hour past the scheduled time—and no one had yet emerged from the mine. Tension began to build in the air.
Fortunately, the first team finally emerged. There were five of them, their hoods soaked in blood, though it was clearly not their own. Their gazes looked tired but filled with determination. Upon seeing 1765, they nodded, a gesture he returned silently. The five stepped aside to wait for the others.
One after another, the teams began to emerge. Alongside them came some freed slaves, their slavery marks erased and their faces marked with confusion. They dared not speak or move much; they simply watched curiously as the hooded figures who had challenged the mine's guards continued their work.
The scene repeated several times until, finally, the last group emerged from the dark interior. In total, there were 180 slaves, along with the 46 attackers who had participated in the operation. Unfortunately, 20 slaves had lost their lives before they could be freed, victims of the guards' cruelty.
1765 nodded silently, acknowledging both the mission's success and its losses. Without wasting time, he placed a scroll similar to the one he had used in the sealed room. This one was placed at the mine's entrance. It wasn't the only one; his task had been to place these scrolls at strategic points throughout the mine.
As he turned away, he noticed his companions watching him intently. There was something in their gazes—a mix of respect and expectation. As the freed slaves took notice of this, they too began to look at him closely. They recognized that expression; it was the same they saw in the guards when someone of high rank visited the mine. Slowly, they reached the conclusion that he was the leader, the one who would decide what happened next.
The silence grew heavy, but 1765 didn't break it immediately. He simply looked at the slaves, exhausted and filled with doubt, and then at his own men, who awaited his next command.
The night carried on as the assault on the mine continued. An hour had passed since the operation began when 1765 emerged from the tunnels, carrying a massive sack filled with books and scrolls on his back. As he stepped out, he scanned the surroundings. Aside from the lifeless bodies of the guards lying motionless on the ground, no one else was in sight. This meant the others were still inside. His part was done; now all that remained was to wait for the other groups to emerge with the freed slaves.
It wasn't that 1765 relished being in this position. He had never asked to be a leader, but circumstances had thrust him into this role. He took a deep breath and began to speak.
"My name is 1765. As you can see, I'm currently the one leading this group of… well, I suppose for now, we could call ourselves bandits, right?"
Some of the hooded figures couldn't help but stifle quiet laughs at his remark.
"If you're wondering about my peculiar name, I suppose it comes from my past. Like many of you, I originated from a mine. I was just a simple slave, born and raised in a place like this. By some twist of fate, here I am, leading a group of madmen who want to change things a bit."
He paused, letting his words sink into the minds of those listening. Then, he gestured toward the wagons that had been parked a few meters away.
"I'm not going to force any of you to join us, but I doubt you'd want to stay here. So I'll make it simple: get on the wagons. We're heading west. We won't be entering any cities within the Empire, but we can drop you off near one if that's what you want. Or, you can come with us to our makeshift camp. The choice is yours. For now, I recommend getting on and resting. The journey won't be short."
The night enveloped the surroundings with its dark mantle, and a faint whisper of the wind accompanied the scene. The carriages were aligned, their drivers—golems—standing motionless like wooden and metal statues, silently waiting for the order to begin the journey. The beasts pulling the carts snorted softly, shifting their scaly legs with an almost supernatural patience.
The 180 freed slaves stood hesitantly, observing the unusual spectacle. They had never seen anything like this: golems with movements almost human and creatures as imposing as the animals pulling the carriages. Their eyes reflected confusion and fear. Some even stepped back instinctively, but the hooded figures didn't stop. Without exchanging words, they began climbing into the carriages with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the uncertainty of the slaves.
One of the younger hooded figures, a former slave known as 2876, stepped forward with determined strides toward the group of slaves, noticing their confusion. He raised a hand in a calming gesture.
"Stay calm," he said, his voice firm yet friendly. "These carriages and the golems aren't dangerous. They are tools created by 1765 to help us, and they'll take us to a safe place."
The explanation didn't immediately dispel the slaves' fear, but 2876's words carried a certainty that resonated with some of them. A young slave, still trembling, took the first step and carefully climbed into the nearest carriage. That solitary action seemed to break the spell of uncertainty, and little by little, the others began to follow his example.
The golems, which had remained motionless until that moment, began adjusting the reins of the beasts and ensuring that each slave found a spot. Their efficiency was disconcerting to the newly freed, who murmured among themselves as they climbed aboard.
"They won't hurt us, will they?" asked one slave, glancing nervously at one of the golems, whose wooden and metal form seemed almost alive.
"No," 2876 replied confidently. "These golems do what they're commanded to do. They don't think, they don't feel. They're just tools."
With that brief exchange, more slaves gathered the courage to climb aboard. Soon, all of them began filling the carriages. The creak of wood under their weight was constant, and the beasts shifted slightly, as if sensing the load.
Meanwhile, 1765 observed the scene from a distance, letting 2876 and the other former slaves handle the situation. It wasn't that he disliked speaking, but he simply didn't know what to say.
Finally, when the carriages were full, 1765 climbed into the last one alongside a group of hooded figures who closed the formation. He cast one last glance toward the mine, now silent and surrounded by shadows. The scrolls he had left behind were ready to complete their purpose, but that moment would come later. For now, the journey was the priority.
With a simple gesture of his hand, the golems reacted in unison. The reins tightened, and the beasts began to move forward. The sound of hooves striking the ground echoed in the quiet night, accompanied by the creaking of carriage wheels. The slaves looked back, watching as the mine disappeared into the distance until only the dark road ahead remained.
As the group traveled further, 1765 sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.
"It's time," he murmured to himself.
Back at the mine, the final scroll 1765 had left at the entrance began to glow intensely. This triggered a chain reaction, lighting up one by one the scrolls placed at strategic points within the mine. The lights, faint at first, grew in intensity until they became blinding. The symbols on the scrolls seemed to vibrate with pure energy, filling the tunnels with a supernatural radiance.
Minutes later, the light reached its peak, and suddenly, a series of explosions resounded within the mine. The roar was deafening, and the interior collapsed in a controlled manner, sealing forever the passageways and chambers that had served as a hellish prison for so many.
In the distance, the group traveling in the carriages heard the echo of the explosion. Most didn't know what had happened and looked toward the horizon with fear. The sound was a thunderous blow that shook the night air, but none of the hooded figures seemed fazed. The slaves exchanged confused glances as the beasts calmly continued forward.
1765 opened his eyes and looked at the road ahead. He said nothing, but deep down, he knew he had fulfilled a silent promise. The mine was sealed, and with it, a dark chapter in the lives of many had come to an end.