Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Night of Raw Flesh (4)
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Boiling sunset.
The decline of light heralds the rampage of darkness.
Even in the Beauvoir Mine, where humanity could not survive, night was settling in.
A prisoner standing watch at the mine entrance shouted.
"Young Master Federback has returned—!"
Then, splashing footsteps echoed from deep inside the mine.
Sancho came running with the most fawning expression he could muster.
"Young Master Federbaaaack—! Where have you beeeen, and now you're finally baaack... Gah!?"
He tumbled backward mid-stride.
Because Federback had kicked him square in the chest.
"Rebellion? Assassination?"
"N-No, sir! I-I-I was just so happy to see you that I ran over, so why!? That's too much! Waaah—"
"...Not a rebellion, then."
Federback slowly removed his hand from the sword hilt.
Sancho gulped dryly at the sight, which somehow looked disappointed.
'Why does he seem disappointed? Is he actually waiting for a rebellion?'
He couldn't fathom what went through this man's head to anticipate a prisoner riot.
The frail, pretty boy before him felt like an endlessly vast and terrifying monster.
"A-Ahem!"
Sancho cleared his throat awkwardly and got to the point.
"Um... Young Master Federback. There's something I must report to you."
"What is it?"
"Please take a look at this."
Sancho gestured, and prisoners hauled over a massive iron stake.
The stake's condition was visibly poor at a glance.
Rough, uneven surface, mixed colors, cracks everywhere.
But this was the only result they could produce.
Sancho pointed at the stake and said,
"Could you inspect the quality? It's embarrassingly low right now, but if you just give us a little more time with our utmost devotion..."
"This is good enough. Keep producing them."
"R-Really? Even with this cheap quality... No, even with this mass-produced level, it's acceptable?"
"Don't make me say it twice. Unless you have two necks."
"Eek!?"
Sancho buried his head between his shoulders at Federback's irritated frown.
Then, Federback asked,
"You followed the precautions I mentioned before, right?"
"Of course! Naturally!"
Sancho nodded vigorously.
The one extra instruction Federback had given during stake production was this:
'Cut off a handful of hair and toss it into the boiling molten iron, then spit in it three times.'
The prisoners had done it without question.
Some older ones had trembled, whispering it was related to forbidden sorcery.
Meanwhile, Sancho opened his mouth with a resolute expression.
"Young Master Federback! As a mid-level manager, I humbly make one request! The current harsh working conditions are preventing efficient production! The prisoners need food to exert themselves... Kyaa!?"
Sancho clutched his nose in agony and rolled on the ground.
Federback's small, slender fist was hard as a brick.
"Your tongue's too long."
"Waaah—the kids say they can't work because they're starving."
"Hm."
Federback finally nodded.
And then.
Ku-woong!
He dragged in the corpse of a massive lizard from outside the cave and tossed it down.
A gray lizard sprawled with its head severed.
Pink muscle and yellowish fat gleamed on the cut surface.
Federback waved them off.
"Divide it up and eat."
"Th-Thank youuu—!"
The starved prisoners swarmed and tore into the lizard corpse.
Federback said casually, as if he'd forgotten.
"Oh, right. The organs have deadly poison, so extract them separately."
"...!"
Several prisoners flinched.
Among them.
Thud—thud—thud—
A few frothed at the mouth and collapsed.
Federback crooked a finger at the still-healthy prisoners.
"Bring the poisoned parts here separately."
"?"
The prisoners tilted their heads.
Why collect what can't be eaten?
But soon, they donned thick gloves and began extracting the lizard's guts.
Long intestines, lungs, liver, gallbladder, poisoned innards piled up layer by layer.
The lizard was so huge that the organs were plentiful.
Federback stared blankly at the nearby prisoners with his usual expressionless face.
"...We're making special treats now."
For whom?
The prisoners dared not ask.
They just hoped it wouldn't go into their mouths.
About two more days passed.
Besides forging stakes, Federback started another task.
Hunting monsters in the area, extracting their innards, gathering and mashing them into balls.
Meatballs made from monster guts.
A few prisoners conscripted by Federback kneaded them into spheres without rest.
"Ugh... there's fur in this one."
"Fur? This intestine is full of shit and piss."
"The smell alone makes me want to puke. This can't be for human consumption."
The filth-encrusted meat dough looked like cursed flesh.
Every nauseating whiff made the prisoners think stake-forging was preferable.
It was that grueling.
"Damn it. Lost command of the stakes to that Iwan bastard... and now I'm kneading this disgusting dough. Ah, those were the days."
Sancho wiped tears while fiddling with the meat dough.
Just days ago, stake production had been under his command.
But Federback swapped him out overnight, deeming Iwan superior.
Now Sancho made meatballs.
"Sigh. Time to take a shit."
Sancho stepped out into the blizzard-whipped cave exterior.
Dig a snow pit, shit, cover it—done.
Wipe with a packed snowball for some hygiene.
Even as his asshole froze, Sancho pursued cleanliness.
Then.
'Hm?'
Sancho heard murmurs behind a rock.
Stake team prisoners plotting something beyond.
"So, three days from now?"
"Yeah. At dawn. Pour molten iron on Federback while he sleeps..."
"Everyone, start skimping meals bit by bit from now. We'll need strength to descend the mountain later..."
It was a rebellion plot.
Sancho pressed close to hear more.
That instant.
"Hey, Sancho. Eavesdropping?"
"Gah—!?"
Someone gripped his shoulder hard.
Turning, he saw Iwan's ugly mug.
Iwan's gang of over ten loomed behind Sancho.
Iwan grinned.
"You heard, so no choice. Was gonna share later anyway."
"W-What? I didn't hear anything!"
"Then listen now."
Iwan stepped forward with sickle and hammer.
His beady eyes gleamed as he continued.
"In three days, we kill Federback and head down the mountain. I told you—I'd give him a taste."
"A-Are you insane? How do you kill that monster young master?!"
"Plenty ways. Molten iron while he sleeps, or trigger an avalanche with stakes when he's out. Point is, do it or don't."
"..."
Sancho was speechless.
But in this situation, no choice.
"I'll do it."
"Obviously. Only makes sense."
Iwan grinned and slung an arm around Sancho.
"Just between friends... betray us, and you're meatball fodder. You know how much we've made lately."
"W-Why would I?! That brat's only beaten and worked me—no loyalty there!"
"True. No reason for you to betray. You've suffered most."
Iwan patted Sancho's shoulder.
"Let's do this, friend. For freedom."
"F-For freedom."
Sancho nodded with an awkward smile.
Two more days passed.
One day until Federback's deadline.
Meaning the rebellion was tomorrow.
At dawn, as all slept.
"Haa..."
Sancho tossed under his ragged blanket.
Worry kept sleep away.
He finally rose.
Torchlight on mine wall illuminated sleeping prisoners.
Sancho clawed his hair frantically.
'What the hell do I do?!'
For two days, Sancho kept silent.
Prisoners trusted him—no surveillance.
To them, no reason for Sancho to oppose.
Yet unease lingered.
'Why? What's bothering me?'
He couldn't grasp it himself.
To sort his thoughts, Sancho wandered the mine.
Soon reaching the entrance.
There, a familiar silhouette stood.
'That's...'
A boy's back gazing quietly at the snowy mountains.
Didn't need his face.
White hair, red eyes—beautiful demon.
Federback.
'Same damn mountains—what's he seeing? Something there?'
The outside was monotonously identical.
Ice peaks like blades, devouring darkness, howling blizzards like ghosts.
Then.
"...What."
The voice ahead startled Sancho like a leap.
Federback's gaze fixed on him.
Red eyes flashed through snow-white hair.
Blood-soaked or not, his look evoked "Bloody Lily."
Sancho bowed in panic.
"C-Came for a progress report."
"At this hour?"
"Y-Yes. Stakes and meatballs hit your quota. One more inspection day, and we'll meet deadline."
"...Hm. Good work."
"N-No, just doing as ordered. So, what now?"
Federback stared blankly at Sancho's question.
"Do as you like. Run with the others, stay. I don't recommend tomorrow's plan of thrusting a blade at me, though."
"Y-You already knew?"
Felt like a hammer to the head.
He knew the plot but did nothing.
Sancho gulped.
"A-Aren't you too complacent? These aren't the slimy nobles from before. They've been tempered to the extreme in this hell..."
"Hell? Extreme? Hahaha—"
Federback laughed for the first time.
Seeing it, Sancho felt strangely off.
Federback looked away.
Continued in his usual flat tone.
"You don't know hell. Never experienced the extreme."
"...?"
Sancho felt slightly wronged.
Wasn't the march to Meurso Mountain hell?
Wasn't Beauvoir's labor extreme?
He couldn't comprehend Federback.
But.
"Then what will you do now, Young Master?"
Sancho blurted unwittingly.
Surprisingly laced with 'worry.'
Federback eyed him, surprised.
Mistaking it for a warning, Sancho babbled.
"I-I mean! What if the prisoners go wild? If even I run, who'll serve you on return? Not me, Sancho, who knows the territory..."
"No need. I survive fine alone."
"I-I know, but... that is..."
Sancho hesitated.
"That is..."
"Annoying. Get lost."
Federback punched the hesitating Sancho's face.
Pa-ruk!
Eye socket hit, Sancho's vision flashed.
That moment.
Paht—
His late father's apparition appeared.
'Huh? Dad? Why here suddenly?'
Before Sancho could ask, father spoke.
'Do it, son. Do it!'
The day he fought over inheriting the smithy and ran away.
Hadn't seen him since.
The father he'd failed even at deathbed urged desperately.
'Tell him, son! Now or never!'
The vision vanished.
Regaining senses, only Federback remained.
Sancho blurted.
"I-I can't clearly explain what I want to say or think."
"..."
"But Young Master Federback! One thing's certain! I, Sancho, want to serve you! Don't know why! Just... ah, no idea! Never felt this before! Even if you beat and abuse me, you're still you! And I'm your servant! Yes! Saying it clears my head! I'll follow you to death, Young Master! Yes! That's it! I've decided—ack!"
Words dragged; Federback's fist flew.
...Puk!
But Sancho thought this punch lacked its usual cruelty.
'Why am I like this?'
No logic in his words.
Reason to follow Federback?
Absurd.
Who'd want to serve that monster?
Yet he did.
Slave conditioning?
Grudging affection from the expedition?
Awe at one bearing a massive burden alone?
As Sancho pondered inwardly.
"Tomorrow noon. Be on the tallest peak opposite."
Federback's low voice echoed.
"Pardon? On the opposite peak? Suddenly why...?"
Sancho looked up.
But.
"Huh? Young Master? Young Master Federback?"
No one there.
Father gone, Federback vanished.
As if a dream.
"..."
Sancho stood blankly alone for a while.