Chapter 276: The Mine Outside the City

"This Gemstone?" Ron held up the Erosion Gemstone, shaking his head with a smile. "It’s no use. Its effect is to cast Otherworldly Knowledge once a day, establishing a mental link with a mysterious entity to ask questions."

"It’s completely useless against a slave instructor who used to be a bandit. I should just go with you all tomorrow."

The workforce in the mines outside Carolina City consisted almost entirely of slaves, or commoners who were on the verge of becoming slaves. These people weren’t considered "citizens" in Carolina and were forced to perform heavy, dangerous manual labor. The dismal wooden huts they lived in surrounded the mines, serving as both their homes and their cages.

A faint, yellowish smog perpetually lingered over the entire mining area. Any living being that stayed here for too long would invariably contract a severe lung disease. For this reason, not even the foremen supervising the slaves, or the instructors, would willingly venture into the area enclosed by the wooden huts.

As long as the slaves didn’t try to escape, no one cared if they slacked off. At sunset, the day’s haul of ore was collected from each laborer outside their wooden huts. Anyone who failed to meet their quota received no thin, sawdust-laced gruel and was subjected to a harsh beating.

To survive, the slaves had no choice but to work with all their might just to earn enough food to fill their bellies.

"Wouldn’t some of them just give up?" Delaford’s face wrinkled as the delegation drew closer to the mines, listening to the Zor’s account. "Back where we’re from, some slaves would occasionally do nothing at all, letting us kill them just to get it over with."

"Oh, there are. But others stop them," Seymour shrugged. "There’s supervision within the mines, too."

"Even in a place so devoid of humanity, some people will always find a way to live better."

"The stronger slaves," Silvia said, raising her Walking Stick and motioning for the Goblin Hunter to look toward a burly, pot-bellied man who had just emerged from a wooden hut. "See that man over there? He’s likely one of the ’Stewards’."

"Though they’re slaves just like the others, they’ve figured out a better way to live: by using their strength on their fellow slaves instead of on the rocks, they can get more provisions."

"They force the other slaves to work harder to earn food for them. If you try to give up, an even more wretched fate is all that awaits," Seymour said with a sneer. "It’s pathetic, isn’t it?"

"They’re being oppressed by the slave masters themselves. Look at that man’s sallow, blackened skin—he’s suffering from the lung disease, too. But as long as they see others who have it worse, this place might as well be paradise."

"Have you dealt with them before?" Ron glanced at the Zor. "You don’t seem affected by the environment."

"The dangerous places underground are far worse than this. You see, Benefactor, I am a male Zor, born to venture into perilous lands for the female Priests," Seymour said with a humorless smile. "But you’re right. I did deal with the Stewards. In fact, I eventually became one of them."

"That’s how I got the chance to contact Silvia and find an opportunity to escape. An ordinary slave, exploited from both sides, has neither the time nor the Energy to think about such things."

Aive, who was walking ahead, stopped and fell silent for a moment. "Tell me, Seymour, what was it like, going from the oppressed to the oppressor?"

"It was awful. I’m serious," the Zor Assassin said, holding his hands out. "I actually enjoy training and teaching others, but definitely not like that. Otherwise, there would have been no reason for me to leave the Dark Territory, right?"

"...I believe you’re telling the truth."

On the training grounds at the edge of the mining camp, Ron and his group met the one they called "Scythe." It was one of the few areas nearby unaffected by the hazardous mine dust, so many slaves were desperate to join the training ranks just to breathe some fresh air.

However, under these conditions, the vast majority of the members here were "Stewards." The other slaves, lacking proper nutrition and replenishment of their Energy, had almost no chance of passing the selection.

"You’re the Lord from Delusional Land?" A brawny Half-Beastman, dragging a giant scythe in one hand, swaggered over and looked Ron up and down. "Looks like Delusional Land isn’t as intimidating as the stories claim. Even a pansy Caster can claim a mountain and call himself king."

"But that’s none of my business. I’m ’Scythe.’ Heard you’ve been asking around about me. What do you want?"

The Half-Beastman had a thick, patchy beard that seemed to prickle him whenever he spoke, forcing him to scratch at his chin frequently.

"We heard you’re one of the best slave instructors here. Not only are the Death Squads you train exceptionally skilled, but you yourself are also incredibly valiant," Quest said, standing behind Ron. "That’s why our Lord wished to come and observe, and to let our own instructor learn from your experience."

"Ah, you’ve got that right. I am indeed the best in Carolina." Hearing Quest’s flattery, the scowl on Scythe’s face instantly brightened. "I heard you took out an entire Death Squad? Too bad it wasn’t one of mine. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had the chance to be here today!"

"Hey, you lazy maggots, get your asses in gear! This Lord here wants to watch you train!"

"As for you lot..." After berating his men, Scythe turned back around. His suspicious gaze swept over Ron and his companions, finally landing on Sera. "Your instructor who’s here to ’observe’... it couldn’t be her, could it?"

"Hah."

Sera shot the Half-Beastman a ferocious grin. Scythe felt as if he’d been targeted by some colossal beast and couldn’t stop himself from taking half a step back.

While he was dismissive of Ron and his group as a whole, he felt a sliver of primal fear toward this powerful woman.

’Look at that greatsword she’s carrying on her back. If they ask for a ’spar,’ what excuse could I use to refuse? An upset stomach today?’

This instructor, long accustomed to beating and berating slaves, was well aware of his own limits. ’This wild woman in front of me looks like she could tear a demon apart with her bare hands. How could I possibly be her opponent?!’

Fortunately, Ron’s first words dispelled his fears. The young Lord took a step to the side, revealing the Zor Assassin behind him. "Apologies, Sera isn’t responsible for training. *This* is our instructor. Seymour, this is Mr. ’Scythe.’"

"A pleasure, a pleasure," Seymour said, a strange smile spreading across his dark face as he stared intently at Scythe. "I believe we’ve met before. Am I right, Scythe?"