The Slave's Rescued

In the corner of the damp and silent room filled countless whitish and translucent ant's eggs, laid a pile of unconscious humans. Captured miners from the mana stone cave of the Parish of Darly.

Ron crouched near it, his eyes darting, observing the pile with a blank stare.

Henry that followed him to that room out of curiosity and interest, stood there in silence as he scanned the room.

"Antidote…" Ron muttered softly but demandingly to Henry.

Above the ground.

Before dawn. When the sky was still dark and dim.

A maid woke up from her bed. Getting ready, she tidied her bed, brushed, and tied her brown long hair with a ribbon.

Then she left her quarter, and directed her way from it into the barely torched stone hallway leading into the bishop's office, her first stop of the day.

Her steps echoed through the hallway, a single symphony, accompanied by the chirping of crickets. Then she stopped in front of the room.

Knock knock

It was a habitual routine for her, every morning, she would come into the room, serving the bishop of all his needs, including ordering of food or a new pair of clothes.

"Bishop, may I enter?" the maid asked in her usual dutiful tone after knocking, waiting patiently for an answer.

Yet, only the sound of the breezing wind entering from the hallway's balconies that appreciated her effort and discipline.

Knock

"Bishop?" she asked again, now slightly curious of the unusual response.

Her hand slowly slipped and gradually made its way into the round door knob. 

"Bishop, are you up?" she questioned even more. Slightly getting impatient and afraid of the worst situation. 

This was not the first time she came here, after all. The bishop had been increasingly ailing from the ant's queen poison, at least, that was what Livius told her.

Creak…

The creaking sound of the old wooden door sounded, filling her ears as her hand sweated and her mind in tension. In her thoughts, she feared for the worst but reminded herself of her duty

Then she was greeted by the sight.

"N-no…" her eyes widened, the color of her face diminished, turning pale. She covered her mouth with her hands, in disbelief at such a sight. 

The putrid smell of blood filled the room, the ventilation from the window lacking.

The bishop sat on his chair, his face laid on the table, facing to the right, his favorite window. Green liquid leaked out of his still and open mouth, his eyes closed in respite. 

His face, slightly stressed from the poison, but too was peaceful in the embrace of death. His lance sat on display above him.

"HELP!!!" the maid's high pitched voice flew in the early morning. Birds that sat on the roof of the church and owls that camped in the nearby branch scattered, scared of her voice.

The night guards of the parish rushed to her.

Crow

The chicken crowed, its voice carried by the cold breezing wind. The morning dew formed on the leaves, and the sun began to bless the land with its rays.

Creak

A large creaking sound rang in the slaves' ears. The door of their barn-like quarter was opened by the usual bald monk and soldiers, greeting them for another day of laborious and arduous hard work.

Hubert woke up, familiar with the routine. He quickly stood, his motion the exact same with the crowd of slaves.

"Ron, wake up," Hubert called out, his warm gaze looking at the soft snoring Ron.

"Before you leave though, there is some good news for all of you useless slaves!" the bald monk exclaimed, his voice loud and degrading.

The slaves gritted their teeth and clenched their fists. But the sight of the soldiers, armed and armored, changed their mind.

"As you all know, two days ago, the mine was attacked by the ant colony, some of… eh, what's it called? Ah yes, deadweight, were captured by them," the bald monk continued.

Ron slowly awakened, his eyelids gradually opened as the chattering of the crowd filled the room.

The chatters were filled with questions.

"Did the church rescue them?" one slave asked, curious of the fates of their fellow slaves.

"Does that mean the ants were defeated?" another questioned about the fates of the ants.

"Yes! The church indeed rescued them! And yes! The church indeed defeated the ants! Ah… How kind of us, the servants of the Goddess!" the monk said, slightly fanatic.

"Then, what is the use of you delaying us from breakfast? Annoying," Brad came out from the crowd of slaves. He placed a finger in his ear, trying to clean it while his eyes remained sleepy and barely opened.

The monk slightly trembled in front of Brad. The guard quickly grabbed their spears with both hands. 

Brad, though still a slave, was a huge and intimidating man with a gaze akin to a tiger. His presence, overwhelming among the slaves, was something that the monk and soldiers had been wary of.

"N-no, I mean, everyone is allowed to visit the slaves in their free time! They are located in tents near the mana stone stockpile. Don't forget the kindness of the church!" the monk said, his tone hurried and slightly nervous.

Then he walked away with two of the guards, leaving the slaves to chat and murmur among themselves.

"Ah… I'm hungry, let's go eat," one slave muttered.

"Yeah, Brad did us a favor this time," another thankful.

"Of course! That's why he's the leader," another exclaimed.

Brad walked out first, his stomach growling as he rubbed it with his hand. Truly, he was the apex among the slaves. His group, underlings, followed him, affirming their superiority.

The slaves left soon, grateful of what Brad did in quickening up the progress of them getting food in their stomachs. They all walked in the same direction, the food station.

"Let's go, Ron," Hubert said.

Yet, Hubert, accompanied by Ron, headed into a different direction. Their steps directed into their usual workplace, the mana stone's stockpile, the place of the tents.

A few mere minutes of walking and the tents were reflected in their eyes. Though the place was not silent.

Cries everywhere. Women, along with their children, from baby to teenager, knelt over the sea of corpses, blanketed by white cloth, beside the erected tent.

"Wh-what…?" Hubert stuttered upon seeing the place.

Nuns, sisters and soldiers continued carrying the corpses out of the cave. Guards guarded the corpses from the flock of crows that awaited among the branches.

For the soldiers, they treated the corpses akin to fallen heroes, placed neatly and tidied, then blanketed them with white cloth.

For the slaves, they were thrown into a pit dug by the soldiers just a few moments ago, evident from the shovels sticking out on the ground.

Though Hubert gritted his fist upon the unfair and discriminatory treatment of the two kinds of casualties. He was surprised by the amount of soldiers that fell in the fight.

Then Kira was carried out from the cave. A large hole in her stomach, restless eyes that hadn't closed yet, green liquid that oxidized near her mouth.

Clasius soon followed, his armor bathed in red blood. His head, detached, carried out by a nun. His huge and tempered sword was carried by two soldiers because of its weight.

Hubert met them, though his memory with them was not that of a fond one. 

He remembered, begging for Kira to heal the slave that died in his arms, yet she refused. He remembered the demeaning and stern tone of Clasius that humiliated him.

A part of him said that they deserved such destiny, another pitied and praised their death in battle.

Though disturbed by the amount of death he had not seen since the fall of his outpost, Hubert knew all was done. He clenched his fist as he made his way into the tent as the putrid smell of rotten blood struck him.

The guard that stood beside the entrance of one of the tents paid them no attention as Hubert and Ron moved the flap out of the way and entered, hoping that Robert was there.

The situation inside the tent was much milder and lighter from the grim and dreadful atmosphere outside. Though the slaves were weak and pale, they showed signs of recovery.

Hubert's eyes darted searchingly for Robert, though he didn't know if his friend even survived. Sweat trickled down his forehead and his heart beat skyrocketed as he hoped.

And through some sort of fate, Robert, though his gaze was weak, greeted Hubert with a vibrant smile as he laid on his mattress near the corner.

He had hoped for the best and the best he had gotten.

Sigh

A loud sigh of relief could be heard coming out of him. Finally, the sleepless night or the unfocused work hours he had spent, worrying over Robert.

His friendly smile, welcoming as always, was a relieving moment for Hubert.

Then he walked to Robert.