In the last carriage of the train, the overseer carried a lamp and gave the slaves a lecture. In truth, he hardly needed to say anything. Ever since they had been captured, the Han Tribe had already killed all the ringleaders among them. The remaining prisoners of war were commoners at the bottom, and they had long since figured things out.
What were the Xin Tribe and the clans? Compared with the Han Tribe, they were nothing. If the Han Tribe was willing to let them go and give them commoner status so they could live decent lives, they would have agreed a hundred times over—let alone now that they had seen the Han Tribe's train and even taken part in building the railway.
Just as the overseer had said, once this line was completed, they would be the most experienced—and the only—batch of railway workers.
They were not afraid of being used. They were afraid of having no value even to those who wanted to use them, because then they might be abandoned or killed, like trash being thrown away.
But once they learned this craft, they would no longer be ordinary slaves. They would become valuable road-building workers. Such a life and job might not be very respectable, but it gave them peace of mind. They knew they had value and would not be killed so easily anymore.
The workers nodded repeatedly, all indicating that they understood. They were not fools. They would certainly seize such a good opportunity with both hands.
The sky grew darker and darker. From the locomotive two hundred meters away came the sound of a mournful whistle.
Whoo—whoo—whoo—whoo-whoo—whoo-whoo-whoo
Steam drove the pistons, which turned the wheels. Because the load was so heavy, the driving wheels even slipped a little on the steel rails.