CHAPTER 158: REMAINING DEBTS

"Tch, he even has a last name?" a grizzled mining slave sneered as Aires introduced himself. The man’s voice dripped with disdain, his ragged frame hunched in the dim cave.

"Should we beat him again?" another growled, cracking his knuckles.

"Stop!" the lady shouted, her voice cutting through the tension. She stepped protectively in front of Aires, her dirt-streaked face set with determination. Aires, still sore from his earlier beating, tensed, ready to defend himself.

"Haa, don’t mind them," she said, offering a faint smile that softened the gloom. "They’re just bitter."

Before Aires could respond, shouts echoed from the cave’s entrance. "Time to work!" Guards in gleaming armor appeared, their presence commanding immediate obedience.

The slaves rose wearily, their movements mechanical. Aires followed, joining the long line filing out of the cave. They descended the mountain, its rocky path winding toward the base. From their vantage point, a grand white cathedral loomed atop a distant peak, its spires piercing the sky.

’Is that the temple?’ Aires wondered.

"That’s the parish’s temple," the woman replied, as if reading his thoughts.

"Um, sorry, I don’t know your name."

"Oh! It’s Charis." She smiled but offered no last name. Aires noted the omission but didn’t press.

At the mountain’s foot, a small shed stood with a counter where slaves reported their daily work. "That’s where we record our progress and get our daily reward," Charis explained.

Aires nodded, joining the line to collect an axe and some sacks. The slaves were divided into groups, each led to a different mining shaft. Aires’ group entered a cavernous chamber within the mountain, its walls studded with countless black, glossy objects that shimmered faintly in the torchlight.

"Begin your work!" a guard barked.

The miners set to work, hacking at the black objects with practiced swings. After ten minutes, the objects fell free, and the miners moved to the next.

Aires observed their movement before lifting his axe. With five precise strikes, the first object dropped faster than most. His eyes lit up.

Of course, almost no one noticed. The fastest miners were already on their third while he’d only felled one.

He examined the object, wondering, ’What is this? Is this a mineral or a gem?’ Before he could ponder further, a guard’s shout jolted him. "Hey, you!"

Aires flinched as two guards approached, their expressions stern. "Why aren’t you working?"

"Um, I’m new," Aires stammered, gripping his axe.

The guards exchanged a glance.

"If you’re caught slacking, your sentence increases," one warned.

Aires nodded sharply and resumed hacking. In seconds, five more objects fell, piling behind him. His speed was uncanny, and as time went on, a heap was forming behind him.

"See that newbie?" a miner whispered to another, drawing eyes. With three or four strikes, Aires felled each object; his movements were fluid and relentless.

"How strong is he?" another murmured, stunned. The same man they’d ganged up on as a "wimp" was now like a force of nature.

Murmurs of awe spread, but a guard’s shout silenced them. "Why are you stopping?" The miners returned to work, casting wary glances at Aires. The guards, too, watched him before moving on.

During the hour-long break, five burly miners approached, their faces hard with menace. "Hey, kid," one called, eyeing the heap of black objects behind Aires. "Why don’t we take that off you?" He grinned, reaching for the pile.

"Stop," Aires said, his voice calm but firm.

"Or what?" another sneered, his glare fiendish. "What are you gonna do?"

"Then don’t blame me," Aires replied. In a blur, he threw an uppercut, snapping the man’s jaw. The miner crumpled, unconscious.

The remaining four froze, shock turning to rage.

"Tch, this bastard!" one roared, swinging his pickaxe.

Aires met it mid-air with his own, the clash ringing out. The force pushed the man back, and Aires dodged the others’ swings with a nimble leap. A roundhouse kick connected with their heads, dropping them like stones.

The onlookers stared, dumbfounded.

"Phew," Aires exhaled, brushing off his hands. He resumed packing his mined objects into sacks, his thoughts drifting. ’Where’s she?’

Minutes later, the five men woke up and fled.

When work ended at sunset, the slaves lined up to submit their hauls for debt reduction.

"Hey, Aires," Charis called, her hair more disheveled than before.

"Oh, Charis," Aires said, his eyes narrowing. ’Where was she?’ He held the question back.

"How many bags did you make?" she asked, her voice bright despite her weary appearance.

"Um, Ten," Aires replied, glancing at his sacks.

"That’s impressive!" Charis clapped, genuinely surprised.

"What about—"

"You’ll pay off your debt in time," she interrupted, hurrying back to her place at the front of the line.

Aires frowned. ’Is she hiding something?’ Her abrupt cutoff felt deliberate.

When his turn came, a gruff man at the counter eyed him. "Show me your mark."

Aires lifted his shirt, revealing a cross-shaped tattoo on his right shoulder—the slave seal. If one didn’t know any better, they would think it was just a tattoo of a cross.

The man touched it, and it glowed briefly. "Your debt is 15,000 gold. We found 10,000 gold on you, leaving 5,000 gold left."

Aires sighed in relief. The 10,000 was his prize from the Darkan tournament, a bitter loss but manageable compared to Charis’ 400,000-gold debt. ’What did she do to owe so much?’ He glanced at the man’s ledger, searching for answers.

"Name?" the man asked.

"Aires Perseus."

"How many bags did you bring?"

"Ten."

"Ten gold," the man recorded.

Aires reeled. ’Ten gold?’ Meaning he had 4,990 gold left to go, and if he brought ten bags each day? ’That’s 499 days, over a year.’ The thought of enduring slavery for that long was unbearable.

The man handed him a single silver coin as his "daily reward."

’Ten gold for one silver?’ The absurdity stung.

"You can leave," the man said, but Aires lingered, his eyes scanning the ledger for Charis’ name. The man raised his voice. "I said leave!"

Aires snapped out of his thoughts and turned to go.

’It’s not possible, right?’ He tried to shake off the thought, but it came every time.

Charis, 40 gold. She’d turned in 40 sacks.