Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended

CHAPTER 70: The Mhaledictus

Hands of various sizes busily worked the mines of a dimly lit carven. Callused hands gripped pickaxes and shovels while blackened, cracked, and blistered fingers restlessly loaded rocks and dirt into buckets that were being carried off to be filtered for precious metals and stones.

The crack of a whip by an impatient overseer was both a driving force and a stark reminder for the slaving Beastfolk that the lives of freedom they once enjoyed was but a distant memory. Now, it almost seemed like a dream.

Emaciated and dehydrated, a small child helplessly keeled over. The pair of pales that hung from a length of wood across his shoulder fell to the ground with a clatter, spilling the contents onto the roughed cave floor.

The racket, in a bizarre way, was a sound more unnerving than even the crack of the whip. The whip, for the most part, was a symbol of authority and control—but in the wake of a blunder, it quickly transformed into a frightening tool with which to administer severe punishment.

WHUU-PISHH!

The whip lashed out with dark purpose, peeling the flesh from the back of an old man who defensively threw himself over the helpless boy.

"Gra-Grandpa!" the boy cried out frantically, his grandfather's pained grunt weighing heavily on his heart.

The other Beastfolk looked on like frightened sheep. Bound by cuffs, it was virtually impossible for them to rebel against the wicked tyrant.

A middle-aged man, obviously the bravest of the lot, looked down at his shackles with a furious frown. Even if their limbs were free, they wouldn't have had enough energy to fight back as they had received little to no food and water since they were imprisoned and forced into manual labor.

The overseer had made it quite clear that—

"You ungrateful mongrels! After giving your insignificant lives meaning, this is how you repay me?"

Everyone stiffened at the venomous words.

"...Water."

Out of the silence, a small voice courageously spoke up.

"If we had some food and water—"

WHUU-PISHH!

The man cracked his whip again, enraged by the child's outspoken manner. And once again, the old man used his body to shield his grandson at the alarm of the others.

"You impertinent little shit!" the overseer barked, completely disregarding the old man who had an uncanny resemblance to a dried-out mummy. "I expect you to work yourselves to death! That's the purpose I've given to your worthless lives! Don't you get it?" he said as he unmercifully kicked the child aside. "Food and water would be wasted on your kind!"

Despite the visible discomfort of the Beastfolk, the man reached down to clutch the bloodied and motionless elder by the neck and lifted him clear off the ground as if he weighed less than a leaf.

Despair soared among the Beastfolk as they noted the direction in which the tyrant brought the elder. The boy desperately clung to the man's leg, trying to impede his movement, only to be sent crashing to the ground by a backhand.

"Normally I would make an example out of you for your insubordination," said the overseer to the panting child, "but you evidently have more use than the old man. After the lashing, it looks like he already has one foot in the grave."

Tears streamed from the boy's eyes as grief unfurled in the pit of his stomach. The middle-aged Beastkin looked down at his restraints again, his expression chagrined. The rest of the Beastfolk continued cowering like a herd of sheep cornered by a ravenous wolf.