Chương 60: Chains of Hope

Down in the village, Giles led the newly unchained workers away from the square. Corin walked near the front of the group, keeping his broad shoulders tense. Lyra and Elara, the twin sisters, walked directly behind him, gripping each other's hands. The red snowflake mark on the back of their right hands still glowed faintly, a constant reminder of the magical Imperial Bond-Stone. Corin was bracing himself for the worst. He had been an Imperial siege engineer. He knew how logging camps housed their slaves.

He expected Giles to lead them to a massive, drafty barn with a freezing dirt floor, where they would be forced to sleep on rotting straw and fight the rats for warmth. Giles stopped in front of two long, newly built wooden buildings.

"These are your bunkhouses," Giles announced, gesturing to the structures.

"Men in the right building. Women in the left. Go inside and claim a bed." Corin stepped forward and opened the heavy wooden door to the men's bunkhouse. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes widening in surprise. A wave of intense, dry heat washed over his face. In the exact center of the long room, a large stone hearth was burning brightly with high-grade, smokeless coal. The walls were built from thick, heavy pine logs. But what shocked Corin the most was the floor. It wasn't dirt.

Giles and the carpenters had built a raised wooden floor, lifting the entire building a few inches off the freezing ground to stop the winter chill from seeping inside. Lined up along the walls were twenty-five simple wooden beds. They were narrow and crowded closely together, but resting on top of every single bed was a thick, clean wool blanket.

"This isn't a slave pen," Corin realized, his engineer's mind quickly analyzing the sturdy construction.

"This is a military barracks. It is built to keep people alive and healthy." The male slaves rushed inside, moving toward the heat of the central stove. They were shivering in their rags, but as the warmth of the room hit them, several of the men actually dropped to their knees and wept with relief. While the new laborers settled into the unexpected warmth, a very different scene was taking place up in the castle. The Great Hall was quiet.

Jack sat at his long wooden table, eating a simple meal of roasted meat and bread. Sitting across from him was Merchant Vane. The merchant was carefully wrapping the last of the raw, uncut mountain gems into a piece of dark velvet. Vane tucked the velvet pouch securely inside his gray coat. He picked up his wooden cup of water and looked at Jack across the table.

"The delivery is complete, Lord Jack," Vane said, his voice calm and professional.

"Fifty healthy bonded laborers, exactly as promised. The magical contract is sealed, and your gems are perfect."

"You did good work," Jack replied, cutting a small piece of meat.

"I appreciate your discretion." Vane hesitated for a moment. He had dealt with hundreds of nobles, mine owners, and logging camp masters in his life. He had sold thousands of slaves across the Continent. But he had never seen a buyer act like this young lord.

"I must ask this once again, My Lord," Vane said, leaning forward slightly.

"I understand wanting to keep your workers healthy. A starving man cannot swing a heavy hammer. But granting them a magical guarantee of freedom? Promising them land after twenty years? It is highly unusual. Most lords simply work them until their bodies break, and then buy new ones." Jack chewed his food slowly and swallowed. He set his knife down.

"Most lords are lazy," Jack said flatly.

"They rely on fear and whips to get things done. But fear is a terrible motivator for long-term growth. If I buy fifty people, chain them to a wall, and tell them they will die as slaves, what do they have to lose?" Vane remained silent, listening closely.

"A man with nothing to lose is a highly dangerous man," Jack explained.

"He will steal from the food stores. He will try to murder the guards in their sleep. He will try to burn this castle down just for a chance to escape. I would have to hire armed mercenaries just to watch them work." Jack picked his knife back up.

"But if I give them a real promise? A magical contract that guarantees they will be free citizens with their own land in exactly twenty years? Suddenly, they have something to lose. They will put their heads down and work. They will even police each other to make sure no one ruins the deal. I don't need whips, Vane. I just need to give them a finish line." Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Vane stared at Jack for a long moment.

A look of deep, profound respect settled over the merchant's forgettable face.

"You turn desperate captives into willing pioneers," Vane said quietly.

"It is a brilliant strategy. The Continent could learn a lot from this frozen valley." Vane stood up and smoothed his gray coat.

"I will be leaving with the rest of my caravan shortly," Vane said, bowing his head respectfully.

"If you ever need anything else, Lord Jack—more hands, rare materials, or things the Holy Church forbids—send word to the shadow guilds in the western cities. Ask for Vane. I will always answer your call."

"Safe travels, Merchant Vane," Jack said. A few hours later, a loud horn blew from the village square. It was time for the evening meal. The fifty bonded workers were led out of their bunkhouses and marched up the mountain path to the castle. They were brought into the Great Hall. The room was massive, but with ninety-four people now living in the fief, it felt incredibly crowded. The social divide in the room was instantly obvious.

Near the back of the hall, closest to the massive, roaring stone fireplace, sat the original forty-four villagers. They were wearing fur coats. They looked healthy, proud, and entirely confident. Giles directed the fifty new slaves to sit at the long wooden tables near the front entrance, where the air was draftier and colder. Two original villagers, a large farmer named Thomas and a young militiaman, carried massive iron pots out from the kitchens. They did not look happy to be serving slaves.

Karen was nowhere to be seen; Jack had strictly forbidden his personal maid from waiting on the new laborers. Thomas slammed a heavy wooden bowl down in front of Corin, sloshing thick, dark stew over the edges.

"Eat up, debtor," Thomas muttered, wiping his hands on his apron. As Thomas and the guard walked back down the table, Corin listened to their hushed conversation.

"I still say this is too good for them," Thomas whispered angrily to the guard.

"They are slaves and guild debtors. We are the true citizens here. Why do they get our good meat?"

"Keep your voice down," the guard replied, glancing toward the head table.

"Lord Jack ordered it. He said a starving man can't swing a pickaxe. If feeding them means I don't have to break my back in the dark coal mine anymore, I'll gladly hand them a bowl. But they better remember who built this place. We are the masters here. They are the hands." Corin ignored the insults. He looked down at his bowl. Lyra and Elara were sitting across from him. Elara took a small sip of the stew from her wooden spoon. Her eyes widened. It wasn't watery gruel or moldy oats.

It was a rich broth packed with tender chunks of heavily seasoned meat and wild root vegetables. Lyra began to eat ravenously, tears streaming down her dirty face. For the first time in months, she realized she wasn't going to starve to death. Suddenly, the snowflake mark on Corin's hand pulsed with a very faint, warm light. Corin looked at it. The magical artifact was verifying that Jack's promise—to provide three hot meals a day—was being actively fulfilled. The contract was real.

At the head of the Great Hall, Jack stood up from his high-backed chair. He leaned firmly on his wooden cane. The entire room instantly went completely silent.

"Welcome to the Frost-Grip fief," Jack said. His voice carried effortlessly over the quiet crowd.

"You have seen your beds, and you have tasted our food. Now, you will learn our laws." Jack pointed his cane toward the men sitting near the warm fire.

"The people sitting near the hearth are the Winter Survivors," Jack declared loudly.

"They bled for this land. They built the walls. They are the true, original citizens of this valley. Because of their loyalty, they hold authority over you." The original villagers sat up straighter, their chests swelling with immense pride. The young lord was publicly honoring their suffering and placing them at the top of the new social hierarchy.

"Giles, Barnaby, and Old Miller," Jack called out.

"Stand up." The three men stood up quickly.

"You are officially promoted to Foremen," Jack announced.

"Giles will command the builders and the woodcutters. Barnaby will command the forge and the miners. Old Miller will command the farms and the food processing. The bonded workers will follow your orders absolutely." Jack turned his gaze back to the fifty slaves sitting at the cold tables.

"You will follow the orders of the citizens," Jack told them strictly.

"You will work hard. But in return, you have my protection. I strictly forbid any physical abuse in this valley." Jack looked directly at Thomas and the other original villagers.

"There will be no whipping. There will be no beatings. If a bonded worker refuses to work, or if they break a law, you do not strike them. You bring them to me. We will handle the punishment. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Lord Jack," the original villagers answered in unison. Jack nodded and sat back down. The social divide was perfectly established. The original villagers felt superior and rewarded, which kept them happy. The slaves were firmly placed at the bottom, but they were protected from cruel abuse, which kept them happy as well. The next morning, the real work began. Corin and fifteen other strong male slaves were assigned to the mining crew.

Barnaby the blacksmith met them in the village square and handed them heavy iron pickaxes.

"Follow me," Barnaby grunted.

"And keep up." Barnaby led them toward the old coal mine. Corin gripped his pickaxe tightly. Mining was usually a death sentence for a slave. Tunnels collapsed, and toxic gas suffocated men in the dark. They reached the entrance of the mine. Corin stopped and stared. He saw the massive, vertical ventilation shaft that Jack's skeletons had dug during the spring. He could feel the strong draft of fresh air actively pulling into the mountain. Barnaby led them deep into the main tunnel.

As they walked, Corin looked at the side-tunnels. They were completely blocked off. Corin stepped closer to one of the doors and touched the edges. The frame was permanently sealed to the solid rock using capital-grade alchemical cement. It was completely airtight. Corin looked back toward the entrance of the tunnel, thinking about the young lord with the cane. Jack wasn't a fool. The warm bunkhouses, the rich food, the safe working conditions, and the twenty-year magical contract...

it was all part of a massive, calculated plan. Now Corin didn't wanted to die. He wanted to see what this valley would look like in twenty years. Corin turned around, raised his heavy iron pickaxe, and struck the black coal vein with everything he had.