"Work? Getting whipped?"
Those two words felt so distant to Sir Deville.
"Wasn't I rich? Wasn't I a major capitalist? Why would I need to work?"
"And who in Loen would dare lay a hand on a great philanthropist and knight like me?"
Smack! A slap landed squarely on Deville's head, jolting him awake.
"Deville, what nonsense are you talking about? Morning's no time for pleasant dreams. Get up and get to work."
Deville sat bolt upright. "That hurt!"
Then he discovered he was sleeping in a dilapidated little hut. The only thing that could be called a bed was a wooden plank covered in straw, with more than a dozen people crammed onto it. He was one of them.
Deville also saw that he was gaunt and dressed in ragged, tattered clothes, hardly looking human at all.
A man much like him was standing in front of him. "Who are you?"
"And where is this?"
Smack! The man gave Deville another slap on the back of the head.
"Are you still half asleep? I'm Vincent. We grew up together."
"As for where we are, this is an estate owned by Earl Corodo. We're hired farmhands here, responsible for picking the cotton."
For a moment, Deville felt dazed.
That was right. He was an orphaned street child who had made a living begging in the city with Vincent. Then Earl Corodo had bought them to work as hired farmhands on his estate. They worked fourteen hours a day, and he provided them with food, clothing, lodging, and transportation. In return, however, they were paid only one penny a week.
Deville had the persistent feeling that something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Hurry up!"
"If we don't leave now, we really will get whipped."
Deville hurried to his feet and followed Vincent.
Ten minutes later, he walked toward the cotton field with a piece of hard, dry black bread in his hand, using all his strength to gnaw at it. But the moment his left foot entered the field, a whip landed on him. Crack!
"Ah!!!" Pain instantly spread through Deville's entire body.
An overseer rode over on a tall horse, a whip in his hand. He pointed it at Deville and said viciously:
"How many times have I told you? You only get to eat on the way here!"
"If you can't finish your food in the three minutes it takes to get from the dining hall to here, you don't need to eat anymore."
Crack! The whip sent the black bread flying.
"Now get to work!"
Deville was just about to say something when Vincent hurriedly grabbed him and ran. "Don't get into a conflict with the overseers here. A farmhand did that before, and he was dead the next day. We'd better just pick the cotton obediently."
Deville came to the cotton field and looked at the cotton in front of him, somewhat at a loss, because he didn't know how to pick it.
Crack, crack, crack! Ten lashes fell on Deville in a single second, tearing his skin and flesh open.
"Argh!!!" He rolled about on the ground.
"Don't slack off! Get to work! Every second you waste is a loss for Lord Earl Corodo!"
"Remember, Lord Earl Corodo saved your lives, and His Lordship gave you this work. You should be grateful, make money for His Lordship with all your hearts, and repay him!"
Deville struggled to his feet. He began learning to pick the estate's cotton like the others, to eat the hard black bread on the way, and to sleep on the crowded wooden plank.
The days passed, one after another. Deville grew thinner from the grueling work, and his mind gradually grew numb.
Just when he thought he would go on like this until he worked himself to death, cheers suddenly rang out across the estate one day.
Vincent ran happily up to him, shouting, "Deville, good news! Good news!"
"Earl Corodo didn't have enough funds, so he sold us to a great philanthropist."
"We're going to work in a factory next, a lead factory. They'll pay us ten soli a week. What a fortune!"
The scene shifted, and Deville appeared on an assembly line in a factory.
"Cough, cough, cough!!!"
He felt as though his lungs were about to burst, and he struggled to breathe. This was the result of working in the lead factory for years on end.
A supervisor walked over. Seeing Deville coughing up blood, he shouted to everyone in the factory:
"Lead is poisonous. If any of you have blurred vision or feel unwell, you can tell me. I'll transfer you to another assembly line away from the lead. Of course, your wages will also be reduced to five soli a week."
"If you become seriously ill because of the lead, you can tell me that too. I'll apply for relief funds for you and transfer you from your current post. The relief funds are two soli a week, and the new post pays five soli a week, for a total of seven soli a week."
Deville wanted to raise his hand, but he thought of his seriously ill wife, his four-year-old daughter, and his five-year-old son. In the end, he said nothing, silently enduring his illness and continuing to work in the lead factory.
A year later, Deville collapsed from lead poisoning.
As he collapsed, he saw the factory owner who had come to inspect the lead factory: the major capitalist and great philanthropist-Sir Deville.
"Deville? Why does he have the same name as me?"
Deville discovered that the man not only shared his name but looked exactly like him. The difference was that the man wore splendid silk, was full of vigor, surrounded by attendants, and imposing without anger.
Deville himself wore faded, tattered clothes. He was at death's door and as thin as a rail, and even though he had collapsed on the ground, no one paid him any attention.
Filled with unwillingness, he closed his eyes...
"Huff, huff!!" Sir Deville woke up in the carriage and rubbed his forehead.
"Didn't I get enough rest yesterday? I even fell asleep riding in a carriage."
With that thought, he opened the carriage curtain and happened to see a young woman with lead poisoning lying on the ground outside.
Sir Deville frowned, then drew the curtain shut, cutting himself off from the world outside as though nothing had happened.
Afterward, Sir Deville's factory grew bigger and bigger, and he accumulated more and more money. He obtained a seat in the upper house by donating to the kingdom and enjoyed boundless glory in his lifetime, until he closed his eyes at the end of his old age...
Sir Deville opened his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar place. The surroundings were gloomy and terrifying, and green ghostly flames floated in the air. His heart immediately tightened.
"Where is this? Didn't I die?"
"Keep moving." Someone shoved Deville from behind.
"You're already dead. Now you're going to see the Judge, who will judge the good and evil you did in life!"
Sir Deville instinctively turned around, then was so frightened he nearly collapsed to the ground.
He saw two strange fellows. Their bodies were normal, but one had the head of an ox, and the other had the face of a horse.