Southern Slave - Isidore

When Kas stepped into the Black Ember Tribe, what shocked him was not the clamorous, deafening sound of hammers striking anvils, the oppressive heat, or the toxic gases and dust particles permeating the air.

It was the slaves.

Foreigners dressed in lavish robes had lined the slaves up, forcing them to stand with their hunched, rib-protruding bodies exposed for the War Chief's inspection; there were men and women among them, and even young children.

They were disheveled and filthy, standing on the hard street with numb eyes, like livestock waiting to be slaughtered.

The foreigner wore a deep purple velvet robe and a round felt hat inlaid with peacock feathers; a brass necklace embedded with turquoise, agate, and emeralds covered his rotund belly, and his sharp handlebar mustache was slicked with pomade.

He trotted over to Kaike's side, bowed, and greeted him in accented Reshman:

"Respected War Chief, it is truly a pleasure to see you. I must lodge a complaint against an injustice: the forge master refuses to accept the raw materials I have prepared for your great conquest.

This is a disgrace. He keeps insisting that this batch of materials is too fragile to support the flames of the furnace."

The merchant pinched a slave's chin, his fingers prying open the mouth to reveal teeth that were still relatively intact:

"But look for yourself, these materials were hand-picked by me; each one is high-quality firewood capable of burning for a long time."

Kaike glanced at the slaves the merchant had brought. Their disheveled, filthy appearance was proof they hadn't been fed in a long time; their frail bodies were only fit to be kindling for the Blood-Ash Furnace.

Kulan stepped forward to whisper in the War Chief's ear, relaying information about the merchant.

The War Chief nodded, took the merchant's hand, walked over to one of the slaves, and said with extreme courtesy:

"Respected Schnecke, I am very grateful that you traveled thousands of miles to bring this friendship to the Black Ember Tribe. Yes, they are very precious—more precious than gold to me.

I am deeply sorry for the injustice you have suffered. Please, hand them over to me. When you set off to return to your homeland, I believe your carriage will be filled with the friendship of the Black Ember Tribe."

"Of course, of course. Thank you for your understanding, Excellency."

Schnecke was overjoyed. He had risked his life bringing a batch of slaves across the Sorrow Mountains, visiting several tribes back and forth, but no one would take them because they were too thin.

He had come to Iron Peak Mountain on a whim, hoping to sell the slaves before winter set in; otherwise, he would have to absorb the losses himself and sell them at a low price to the clans that operated the mines.

The merchant left, full of joy, while Kaike shook his head in disappointment, scanning the substandard "materials" back and forth.

Keeping slaves was a luxury in the Sorrow Mountains. With food shortages and scarce supplies, aside from the War Chief and clan leaders who had the surplus to feed a few female slaves or servants for labor, no one would consider keeping slaves through the winter.

"Kas, pick a woman who looks decent. You are a warrior; you shouldn't be distracted by trivial chores."

Kaike lifted the chin of a woman with flaxen hair; her fierce gaze made him feel a bit intrigued.

"I don't like your eyes. Slaves shouldn't have their own thoughts, but I know young lads love to tame unruly bitches."

He pushed the woman toward Kas:

"Learn to tame her. If she can't satisfy a strong lad of the Zagwell Clan, all the women here are yours."

Honestly, Kas knew this was a gesture of sincere goodwill, but he could not accept it.

He pressed his hand on the woman's shoulder and smiled as well: "My wife is right here, Kaike."

"She is just a slave. If Seneya is jealous that you care too much for a slave, she is free to exercise her rights as a wife and kill the slave who has gained her husband's favor. It would make for an interesting anecdote."

Kas shrugged, noncommittal about the matter. He scanned the line of slaves and pointed to a black-haired man who looked relatively healthy:

"Him. I want him."

"Oh..."

Kaike suddenly realized, wearing an expression that suggested he understood everything. He pushed aside the woman Kas had rejected and whispered in his ear:

"Boys will always have a longing for one another due to their roughhousing in their youth, leading to relationships that transcend mere carnal desire.

I can understand that, but as Malik's blood-sworn brother, I must remind you: you need to leave a seed for the clan..."

He glanced at the werewolf, who had transformed into a dark, misty haze:

"I mean a seed that falls from the branch of an oak tree onto the ground."

Kaike walked behind the man, pulled the leash around the slave's neck, and placed it into Kas's hand:

"Fine, just don't break him. It's very hard to find fresh playthings in Ferode Canyon during the winter, haha."

The War Chief clapped his hands and ordered the slaves to be sent to the Blood-Ash Furnace. A fool had died today, and a set of precious blood-forged armor had been ruined.

He needed to take some time to find someone he trusted to replace the black-hearted fool.

"Kulan, take our guests to the White House. The children of Ferode Canyon don't like the noisy dust of Iron Peak Mountain."

The White House was clean. Located on the edge of the Black Ember Tribe, the specially planted oak trees were covered in dust particles, sealing the toxic smelting gases outside.

Clearly, this was a residence built specifically for guests.

Kulan lit the charcoal in the fireplace and glanced at Kas, who was observing the decorations of the wooden house: "The banquet will begin at dusk. We look forward to hearing the poet recount the legend of Iron-Bone Morse once again."

This simple hint received a nod from Kas.

He knew the Ancestor had to attend at least once; the honored guest of the Black Ember Tribe was the legendary Iron-Bone Morse, not some obscure clan boy.

"I will be there on time."

Kulan left, leaving only him, Seneya, and the slave he had requested from Kaike in the room.

As for Morse... in Kas's eyes, the dead did not count as people.

Kas let Seneya rest for a moment, then sat on a bench and beckoned the slave over.

The slave wore a look of fear; having witnessed the terror of the Sorrow Mountains barbarians along the way, he kept his head bowed as he approached the Iron Tower, who was twice as stout as an average man, and spoke in a hoarse voice.

"My lord."

"You speak our language?" Kas asked with some curiosity.

"I learned some from listening to Stad and the other lords... I am not yet fluent."

"What is your name?"

Seeing that there was no murderous intent in Kas's eyes, but rather a sense of curiosity, the brown-haired man quickly replied:

"Isidore, my lord. My name is Isidore. I am from Riverside Town in the Bashkui Kingdom, and I was a teacher at a school..."

Perhaps thinking the barbarian would not understand the concept of a school, he continued to explain: "A school is a place where children sit together to learn knowledge and culture..."

"Isidore, I certainly know the concept of a school. Please, continue. I am very curious about your story. What caused a respected teacher to fall into slavery?"

Kas leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, and observed the man kneeling on the ground.

He looked to be about twenty-five years old, and the numb look in his eyes had become much more vibrant now that he had found hope.

Isidore's throat bobbed several times; he felt that Kas seemed different from all the Sorrow Mountains barbarians he had encountered. Beneath his reckless demeanor, his eyes held a clarity untainted by custom.

"War. My hometown was captured by the Haman Mercenaries. Those savages drank blood and ate raw meat; they burned our churches, schools, and libraries to the ground, killing the men and abducting the women and children."