十八书屋自由阅读小说

Chapter 1: Small men have great shadows(1)

He was a slave, the lowest of the lowest on each society.

Step after step, tremble after tremble, and curse after curse, the young slave trudged forward his step aimed at a big tent.

As he approached it t, the clanging of steel on steel could be heard from outside , mixed with angry shouts. Despite the pain and exhaustion, the young slave took a deep breath and entered the tent.

In a normal occasion, the presence of a slave in the kitchen tent would warrant a brutal punishment - most likely a whipping. The cooks and camp followers glared at him with disdain and disgust as he cautiously entered the tent.

\'A second time and I will be three meters underground\' he thought as those gaze fell on him \'Actually cut that, the bastards will not dare to even bury me , as they will throw me to the dogs\'.

Suddendly , a raspy and high-pitched voice echoed from the depths of the tent. It belonged to a large and intimidating woman, her cruel eyes boring into the slave\'s very soul. Her hair was greasy and unkempt, just like her attitude towards him.She was Virvana , and right now there was not a person in the whole world that he would have desired to kill more.

"I\'ll have you know that if you dare break another sack, even hell itself will not match the horrors I will unleash upon you," she bellowed in warning

\'I wonder if the bitch will be gentler, if she get a good fuck, I bet the only thing she doesn\'t eat are dicks"

he gently brought down the sack. The last thing he wanted was to be whipped again.

He probably would not survive another one.

And with those same pitiless and merciless eyes watching his every move, he made his way out .

The intense rays of the sun relentlessly beat down upon his face, forcing him to squint his eyes against the blinding light. He slowly lowered his head, his gaze falling upon his hands. They were calloused and rough, bearing the marks of hard labor with ragged fingernails and dirty skin. Blisters and untreated cuts adorned his fingers, evidence of the grueling work he had endured for years.

He couldn\'t help but let out a humorless laugh at his current situation, though he quickly stifled it, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. As he forced himself to look at the sun once more, he couldn\'t help but think about the irony of it all. "Five years," he thought bitterly, "For five years I have known peace, even if I treated it as hell. And now that I am in hell, I realize the heaven I was in."

But even as he cursed his current state, the rays continued to beam down upon him, their heat intensifying and causing him to wince in pain. His back ached from the long hours of physical labor, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart for the life he once had.

He had known luxury , he slept on a warm and comfy bed, he had loving parents . He was a student, history was his subject. He had loved it so much , story of conquerors and kings, wars and betrayals.

They always sing about the heroes, the kings and emperors, none sing about soldiers, so who is to weep upon the slave\'s pain? He had once lived in a city where food would never lack, nor entertainment nor friends.

He met his end and was reborn in a foreign land, filled with customs and language unknown to him. He lived on as a simple farmer, the son of two humble people whose names he couldn\'t recall. Poverty was his constant companion, hunger an ever-present ache in his belly. Yet, amid all this hardship, he found peace. Until even that peace was brought away.

He could not discern which king or lord they served, but it mattered little as they swept through the village on horseback, dragging bound and helpless people behind them as they rode. These were not invaders, but slavers . Instead of pillaging their homes, they came with silver coins in hand, offering to buy slaves. And just like that, he was sold for a single coin – the fifth son with four others still needing to be fed. He must have been ten or nine years old at the time; it was hard to remember amidst the six long years of torture and misery that followed. He was sold for a silver coin , that was his worth-

His name was Alpheo , it was a mythical name, albeit the context was missed on him , it was a strange name and the fate of the one he belonged to was even stranger.

If Alpheo had to choose a word to summarize his existence, it would be that of a pet, after all, throughout his life just like a mere pet , he was bought and sold at the whims of his masters.

He had lived in many homes, his First master was a noble , his son liked his stories and the father bought me , his sister instead liked his body . Despite his cute appearance with warm brown eyes and an endearing puppy-like face, Alpheo was not that cute to defile a noblewoman. And the sister was \'that\' type of person. The only thing she did not hit was the face, she liked it too much to ruin it.

Each morning, Alpheo would entertain the boy with his stories, only to be tortured in the evening for her pleasure before being sent off to sleep. This routine continued on until the sister was married off and he was sold once again.He smiled when he sas her being shipped to a fat man. The boy stopped liking his stories after six month and he was sold again and again until he reached the age of twelve when he was purchased by a soldier.

The soldier died during a campaign, leaving Romio to be kept by the army. This time, he was relegated to working in the kitchen as a carrier and cleaner.

The boy learned to act weak and meek,punches, slap and whips were his master, yet he never forgot who he was , nor what his desire was , freedom , that was what his desire , to be free.

Yes free...free to bring steel and fire to this nation.