Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
A sense of insecurity lingered in the air; the orc invasion was looming. John sighed, realizing he had to find a way to escape his identity as a Serf.
The creaking of the door caught John's attention. A Serf, dressed in tattered burlap, entered the barn, carrying a steaming bucket of porridge while muttering curses under his breath.
"Damn it, they all pick on me. I'm the only one delivering food."
Seeing the newcomer, John quickly pretended to lie down. He wasn't sure what was happening, but playing dead seemed like a safe bet. The Serf inside the barn scooped porridge into wooden bowls in front of each injured person, moving swiftly to leave. He didn’t want to catch any diseases from the wounded; who knew if any of them had festering wounds?
John cracked one eye open slightly, surveying his surroundings. Confirming there were no outsiders, he hurriedly got up and grabbed his bowl of porridge.
Though it was called porridge, there were only a few grains at the bottom of the bowl; the rest was wild vegetables and tree bark. He struggled to bring it to his mouth, pinching his nose to swallow it down. If it weren't for the need to survive, he wouldn't have been able to eat such slop after getting used to takeout meals every day.
Hmm? Surprisingly tasty.
Perhaps due to the memories of his previous life, John found the flavor quite pleasant. Before he could savor it further, he gulped down the watery mixture. His stomach felt fuller and warmer.
Being just a teenager, that thin porridge hardly satisfied him; it only made him feel hungrier as it opened up his appetite. A glance around revealed that none of the ten or so injured Serfs in the room were awake; they all seemed destined to return to their ancestors' call sooner rather than later.
Struggling to prop himself up against a post, he stumbled over to another person's bowl.
"Sorry, but it looks like you can't eat this either. I'll help you out."
He lifted the wooden bowl and gulped down its contents in quick succession, scraping up the last few grains at the bottom before eyeing another Serf's porridge nearby.
After finishing another bowl and leaning against a wooden post for support, he finally felt full. Perhaps because he had eaten some porridge, John began to feel alive again.
Looking at his companions who resembled corpses, John realized there was nothing more he could do but wait—wait for someone in charge to notice him, to see that he could stand up and was still alive, unlike these Serfs who would end up tossed into a mass grave.
Time dragged on slowly; what felt like hours stretched into what seemed like centuries. Finally, the barn door swung open, and bright sunlight flooded in, hitting John's face and causing him to instinctively shield his eyes.
At the entrance stood a tall, thin old man dressed in proper attire.
"Is there anyone who can breathe?"
John leaned against the post and weakly replied, "Yes."
As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, John could see the newcomer clearly. The figure appeared to be in their teens, resembling a character from a European TV drama set in ancient times, dressed in a gray outer garment and leather boots. He didn't recognize the person, but instinct told John that this was a leader. Just one living soul.
John was about to mention that the people inside were still breathing when he saw two soldiers clad in leather armor leading a group of serfs into the granary, dragging others out behind them.
Indeed, they were being dragged out, faces down, the rough stones of the ground tearing at their skin and leaving long trails of blood in the direction they were pulled.
John had never witnessed such a scene before and quickly covered his mouth in shock.
Comment 0 Comment Count