Underneath A Thousand Skies ✔️

66 Foster Son, Don't Be So Crazy (3)

Princess Bai Xue had not picked that child randomly. As a person who had been reborn, she knew exactly what this child was capable of. Later, this child named Xiang Feng would become her most trusted right-hand man, obeying her every command and slaughtering those who opposed her.

This is why Song Jia needed to find and snatch Xiang Feng before the slave auction.

"Is this the right place?"

Song Jia lowered her hood and studied the worn map. The parchment was brittle with age, its edges singed and curling, but the markings were clear enough. Her gaze lifted toward the horizon — where an expanse of wooden fencing, reinforced by iron spikes, cut through the pale dust like a scar. The smell of iron, smoke, and rot hung thick in the cold air.

Men in plated armor with leashed hounds paced the perimeter, their helms glinting under the sun. Long pikes rested on their shoulders; some carried weighted flails at their belts. Now and then their gazes lifted toward the raised platform near the gate, where a woman in a lacquered coat stood with her hands behind her back. Below, the camp sprawled in rows of barracks, latrine trenches, and open pits where smoke rose from slow-burning fires.

 Every once in a while, a prison wagon would slowly enter the gatehouse, packed to bursting with slaves.

Song Jia saw that there were only two buckets placed inside the prison wagon, one for water and another to use as a toilet. Song Jia counted about fifty slaves of different ages compressed inside one of the prison wagons, with the youngest being two years old. This infant was being carried by a young girl, who was also crying along with him.

Song Jia's expression hardened. She used the already tattered cloak that she stole from the traveler to cover her blonde hair and fair skin.

Especially as this body was slender, it was easy enough for her to disguise herself as another slave by only brushing a bit of soot to hide her delicate features. Song Jia didn't think she could easily sneak in using her anti-gravity boots since this place was too open. After covering her blue eyes with brown contact lenses, Song Jia leaped away from her hiding spot and disappeared.

...

It was the last prison wagon that was to be taken in to the slave encampment that day. Because it was the last, it held the greatest number of slaves than all the other prison wagons before it.

"Hiya!"

The driver used a thick cloth to cover his nose, his forehead furrowing from the unbearable stench that came from the slaves. He whipped the horses with the reins, urging them to run as fast as they could. When the prison wagon pulled around the bend, the wagon bounced along swiftly, creating a dust cloud behind it.

All of a sudden, a ball of fire exploded in front of them.

The horses became terrified and tried to run back the way they came. No matter how much the driver fought with the reins to control them, it was to no avail. The prison wagon listed dangerously to one side, and then the other. The horses threw up so much dust that amidst the chaos, nobody noticed the shadowy figure that quickly unlatched the door and slipped inside the prison wagon.

Success!

Song Jia made a secret victory fist pump.

Song Jia crouched low between the slumped bodies, holding her breath. The smell was overwhelming, a mix of rot, sweat, and despair. Some of the captives were already unconscious, others whispered to gods who never answered. Their faces were slack, their eyes vacant and dazed. The wooden boards beneath her feet were sticky with old blood.

Song Jia huddled deeper into the corner and pulled the cloak around her. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. After a while, she heard the driver's exclamation of relief as the horses calmed down and they continued on their way.

When the wagon finally stopped, it was nearly sunset. As Song Jia climbed out with the rest of the slaves, those who had died along the journey were tossed into the ground like sacks of garbage. The foot soldiers herded them to a crudely constructed wooden barrack, and those who were not quick on their feet and ended up on the rear received a beating.

Each wooden barrack was intended to accommodate about two hundred slaves, but more often than not, they exceeded their maximum capacity by a large margin. Song Jia's heart ached as she watched these people get treated worse than animals.

All around her were the sounds of other people merely hanging on to life. There were sobs and moans, rattling coughs, and whispered prayers that went unanswered. The place reeked with the odor of dozens of unwashed bodies. Some had been slaves from birth, while others were orphans, prisoners of another kingdom, peasants, or children that had been sold by their parents for money. Song Jia wondered which category her future foster 'son' would belong to.

"Ey, there you go."

Song Jia's back was pushed, and she stumbled into a straw-stuffed mattress laid on the floor. She noticed that she was going to share this mattress along with three other people. The room was so overcrowded that they could only sleep on their sides, in four rows.

"There's wells outside if you want water, and latrine pits that were dug if you need to relieve yourself. Don't make too much of a mess or you'll be thrown to the hounds."

The foot soldier who made this stern warning emphasized his point by grinding his foot on the head of a sickly-looking man who had been coughing.

There was a sickening 'crunch', and Song Jia knew that the man's nose had been broken.

"Aughhhhh!"

The slaves buried their heads into their chests and retreated, pretending they didn't see anything. Song Jia bit her lip and looked away. She had learned her lesson well. Even if she had brought 23rd century gadgets with her, to fight by herself against hundreds of soldiers armed with weapons...it was no different than committing suicide.

The foot soldier waved his hand.

"You, come here and orient this new batch."