This Isn't Krypton

The horn call echoed over the basin, creating the desolate, tragic atmosphere of a lone swordsman facing hundreds of bandits beneath the smoke of the desert.

Naturally, the current situation was Tang Luo and the other two facing a mass of mine guards.

The slaves merely came over for a glance before shrinking back again.

Nearly all the slaves were men, bare from the waist up and rather thin-looking. However, it was not the emaciation of starvation—they still had some flesh on them.

That was only normal. Without meat on their bones, they would not have the strength to mine ore.

No matter what, the Wen Family and the managers of the various mines had to ensure the slaves had enough strength to work.

They would never deliberately starve them.

But if they were injured or fell ill, they would be left to fend for themselves—unless other slaves were willing to care for them.

Yet the slaves' food was rationed by person and by workload. No work meant no food, and less work meant less food. If they shared their own food with someone else, they would go hungry.

Going hungry meant having no strength to mine, which meant even less food, creating a vicious cycle.

Their numb faces showed no emotion. They would not get involved.

Even the slave squad leaders and lackeys with a slave-owner mentality kept far away.

The guards were different. They were well equipped and fully armored.

Over a hundred of them swiftly closed in, reacting with remarkable speed.

The Wen Family placed enormous importance on its mines. Even though the possibility of slaves rebelling was extremely low when someone came to cause trouble, they had never relaxed their vigilance.

The guards' training had never been perfunctory.

In terms of combat strength, these guards even