Han Yu grimaced. He could almost picture it... the sigil burning through someone's skin, veins glowing red before their body simply collapsed into dust.
"So that's how they maintain control," he muttered softly.
He continued reading, each line adding a new layer of grimness.
While rare, there exists a path to freedom. A slave may be elevated if their master petitions the sect on their behalf, or if they accomplish a feat so extraordinary that it earns the Patriarch's or the Elders' recognition. Such cases, however, are seldom. In the last thousand years, only six slaves have ever been freed, and only one of them became a disciple.
Han Yu let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Once every few centuries, huh? Sounds fair," he said sarcastically. Then his expression darkened.
"If my sect's survivors are still alive, they'll probably be kept like this…" he thought grimly. "As slaves."
The thought twisted his stomach.
