Chapter 451 Nine Years I (1/2)
VOLUME XIX
ORIGIN WAR
CHAPTER 451
NINE YEARS (I)
A distinctly long valley cut between two mountain chains, decorated with gorged gashes of molten lava flowing, burning away any trace of life. Both mountain chains repeatedly billowed black soot and gray ash into the sky, volcanic maws spitting out burning rocks that came upon the earth down below like rain. Throughout the valley itself, hundreds of thousands of tents, brick-built barracks, independent encampments, and a myriad of strange-looking stoneworks resembling a dwelling, sprung out regardless of their surroundings.
The mud-laden pathways cutting through and in-between the dwellings bore a paradoxical nature, being perpetually wet yet doused in hot air and winds carried over from the surrounding mountaintops. Though it did rain here, frequently at that, the clean droplets, on their way down, were corrupted by thick ash and soot, winding up dried compounds of filth by the time they hit the earth. Yet, wet it remained all the same.
A crusade of tall beasts erect on two legs and draped in thick, brown fur stomped through the narrow cuttings, their bodies clad in thin, leather armor, shins angled and exposed like hind legs of the wolves. There were over forty of them altogether, their walk causing faint thump even within the muddied pathway.
Behind them, similarly numbered, was a group of wholly naked women, their necks bound with iron rings strapped to chains lingering in the dirt. They had their heads hung low, arms modestly trying to cover the private parts meekly, shaking in the whizzing cold. They were led into a circular opening propped by singular stonework, a four-story building looming over its surroundings, barren of windows and decorations.
Upfront, four guards clad in full plate approached and inspected the women briefly before handing the beastmen a clinking satchel and sending them their marry way.
”Pull them in,” one of the guards called to the nearby serfs standing still. ”Basement, Lord Vorks chambers.”
”Yes, Sire!” the serfs cried lowly before speeding over, taking the chains and guiding the women too weak to weep inside.
The two guards watched with seemingly detached, cold expressions, their eyes consciously peering past the bare skins and into the black-fogged horizon. They remained standing so long after the women vanished, and long past the hymn of screams and voices that would occasionally trickle out the arched gateway upfront that they were guarding, and long into the night when the same, naked women were sent out piled on crumpling wagons; neither dead nor alive, someplace in-between, inside a limbo where their own selves have been stripped of all energy and meaning.
The two men knew better than to question and discuss what transpired within the stoned, cold walls of the 'Hub', as such actions would merit more than just a beheading.
They were replaced just before the crack of the following dawn by two other souls they didn't know, rapidly vanishing from the spot and trailing through the diverse architecture of the Hallowed Valley to find their way over to the Guard Barracks – not a singular building, but rather a self-contained encampment cornered in the north-west of the valley where a variety of buildings, be it straw, wood, or stone-built, rested on the faint, mountainous slope. Handing the weapons and the armor to the scribe in the Armory, they hardly entertained a thought of a meal before rushing to gray stonework and onto the first floor, where their room was.
Like all other rooms, it was narrow, cold and empty. The sole source of light was a barely-functioning candle propped above a frame where a mirror once stood, opposite of a bunk-bed that was a few feet short of covering the entire room in all directions.
They closed the doors carefully and sat in silence for a distinct while, as though ensuring the silence was true. Both had similar appearances, though distinct lack of blood relation was evident in their jaws, eyes, and shoulders; one of the guards was broad and tall, black-eyed like a raven, while the other was on the lean end of things, blue-eyed. Both sported short, brown hair and clearly broken noses that failed to heal properly, leaning to one side a bit too much.
”—should… should we accept it?” the blue-eyed man was the first to crack, mumbling tepidly into the somber silence.
”… I don't know,” the black-eyed man sighed heavily, shaking his head. ”What if we get caught? We won't have a second to even beg before being beheaded!”
”… I… I wouldn't mind…”
”Shane!”
”Think about it, Dan!!” the blue-eyed man exclaimed softly, turning toward his shocked companion. ”What… what are we even doing here?! For five years… for five years… I haven't heard laughter, Dan. Laughter. For five years.”
”…”