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Chapter 121 - Chapter 121: Harsh Reality

Hamstung: Slaver's Bay

The sun rose early in the morning, its golden glow slowly pushing through the horizon, yet the clouds above still lingered in darkness, unwilling to give way.

The air was cool and damp, filled with the quiet hush that always precedes full dawn. Prator stepped out on his wooden deck, arms stretched out as he let out a long yawn, stretching his arms high above his head.

The movement pulled the fabric of his shirt upward, bunching it around his ribs. For a brief moment, the morning light caught the lean lines of his masculine stomach, the muscles tightening as he arched his back.

It was early in the morning; some of his men were still asleep, and there was no sign of anyone on the lonely paths.

Prator was the highest-ranking officer; he was a masculine man with thick dark hair and grey eyes, and his voice was deep and commanding. Veins stretched on his hands and neck, lining his muscles from within his skin.

There was a birthmark on the upper part of his left hand and another on the right side of his chest. A small scar stitched by an unprofessional herbalist was evident on the lower part of his stomach.

It was a daily routine for Prator to stroll around the slavers' bay; he took notice of the number of blocks used mentally, calculating how long it would take for the construction of the new fighting pit to be finished.

Today Prator allowed his legs to wander; there were brown sandals strapped to his feet, his hands were crossed behind his back, chest out… He was shirtless.

He was making his way to the small riverbank available only for the officers of the slavers' bay; he was always the first to have his bath every morning.

After walking for a while, he stopped by a corner, close to the river, then decided to ease himself.

Glancing around to be sure no one was watching, he loosened his pants and then relieved himself; the sound of urine spraying on the ground was all he could hear until…

He was halfway done when a sound reached his ears.

From the bend of the stream came the gentle rhythm of water splashing. A soft humming floated through the air, a woman's voice.

Prator finished up and then dragged his pants up. He trudged towards the small riverbank, his sandals kicking up little clouds of dust from the dry ground.

Thorny bushes and dry grasses clustered thickly along the water's edge. He pushed through the overgrowth, his hand brushing aside coarse leaves and bending branches out of his way.

As he parted the last of the bushes, the sound of splashing reached him more clearly, mingled with a low humming. He finally got to an opening and then halted…

His eyes roamed about for a while before catching sight of a woman.

He froze, peering through the veil of leaves.

There, near the edge of the stream, a woman bathed, her movements unhurried, arms sending ripples across the water as she hummed to herself.

The morning light touched the surface of the river, and the rays of the rising sun radiated on her milky skin.

Droplets of water were falling from her hair, trailing down her body, as she sponged her skin with a sea sponge. Her lower body was deep in the water; her waist up to her head was in full view.

Joya's hair was already growing back, reaching up to her upper neck, barely touching her shoulders.

Prator didn't know when he started gawking; normally he didn't, not just after any of the women—they didn't befit his status, but this woman here was breathtaking.

He allowed his eyes to trail down her curves, up to her navel… Slowly crawling his gaze up to her chest, his gaze paused there.

He wanted to say something but couldn't find any words to utter. This riverbank was meant for only high-rank officers; the riverbank for slaves was smaller and dirty.

She had a nice voice; he could tell from the way she was humming a song. He finally allowed his eyes to rest on her face; she was….

She was almost unrecognizable. The first day Joya had stepped foot into the slavers' bay, her face was covered in dirt and her hair was moldy. All her beautiful features were hidden under pain and suffering; now he was taking a look at her.

He didn't know what to say.

Prator was hidden among the overgrowth near the river, so Joya didn't spot him. He slowly retreated, without making the slightest noise.

Without saying a word, he took his leave.

After taking her bath, Joya stepped out of the river and then grabbed her clothes from where she left them on the riverbank. She dressed up, wearing the only piece of cloth she had…

A worn-out, tattered-looking, plain white gown. Her feet were bare; she had no sandals, so she walked on bare feet.

By the time it was fully dawn, all the slavers were already awake; some of them didn't freshen up, and they were immediately put to work. Heavy burdens lifted on their shoulders, as they trudged from one point to another.

The officers didn't fail to give the slaves their daily dose of lashes. Any crooked slave was straightened by the whip.

Merlin and Joya worked side by side, a block weighing their shoulders down.

"How did you get here?"

Merlin asked between gritted teeth. The block on her shoulder was terribly heavy.

"I came here willing."

"No, Joya. You didn't come to take your bath this morning; how come you are this early?"

Merlin asked, struggling to balance a heavy block on her shoulder.

I was the only one at the riverbank; there was no one there." Joya answered after giving it a thought.

Merlin blinked her eyes twice, then came to a swift realization.

"You had your bath at the officers' riverbank?! Joya, I can see you do not love your life."

Merlin said, and Joya gave her a puzzled look.

"Wait, I do not understand. Speak your word plainly."

Joya said, trying to clear up the misunderstanding. Merlin shook her head from side to side. before turning to look at Joya.

"Whenever you want to have your bath from now on, wake me up and I will come along with you." She retorted, and Joya nodded tiredly.

Joya answered, using her hand to wipe away the sweat trickling down her face before putting the block down. She was already getting exhausted, and they had barely even started.

Pick up the block; they are watching. They will use the whip on you."

Merlin urged, her pupils dilating. Joya swallowed hard before crouching down and picking up the block. Her muscles strained as she struggled to lift it on her shoulders.

"What is the limit count for the number of blocks?"

She asked as they continued to walk side by side.

"Fifty…for each slave."

Joya felt her heart constrict; she inhaled sharply.

"These people are merciless!

"Sshhh."

Merlin made the sound while placing a finger on her lips. Joya didn't care; she was bitter.

"You know, I worked in the castle."

She started off putting down the block as they got to where the construction was taking place, which was a mile away from where the slavers' bay was located.

"Liar."

Merlin said, dropping her block in the ground too; her shoulders snapped, and she whimpered in pain.

"I am not telling lies; I worked as a maid."

Joya simply smiled; her gaze inadvertently darted ahead, and she saw an officer marching to where they stood. The smile on her face faltered; she quickly straightened up.

"Merlin."

She called out softly; Merlin raised her gaze and also saw the officer approaching. Their faces became scripted with fear.

"I see you two like to talk; your lips are always moving." The grumpy man with a gruff voice said when he got to where they stood.

Joya's breath was a bit unstable; she was terribly exhausted, and the blazing sun up in the sky wasn't helping either. She crumbled to her knees, and Merlin followed suit.

"Spare us…"

Merlin was about to say something when the whip landed on her back; she hissed, shutting her eyes in pain. It was Joya's turn; the whip descended on her back as swift as lightning, and the tingles of pain penetrated to her soul.

She gasped, feeling the intense sting of the whip. The officer gave them two lashes each without batting an eye, then took his leave.

Joya was now weaker than ever; obviously she wasn't built to carry heavy burdens. They both dragged themselves up to their feet, which burned against the hot ground.

Joya turned to look at Merlin but was ignored like her whole existence was just a wind. Merlin trudged past her without saying a word; it was, however, for the best, because when Joya darted her eyes ahead, she found out the officer still had his eyes on them.

The whole day continued in absolute misery; with every passing minute, Joya grew tired. She wasn't adapted to such suffering.

Her lips were cracked, the skin around them white with dryness.

Her tongue felt like sandpaper, swollen and useless in her mouth. Each breath drawn was filled with dust. Her throat burned with a raw sting that begged for even a single drop of water.

Her steps faltered, knees trembling, and when she tried to swallow, nothing came, only a hollow ache as though her body was consuming itself in its hunger for water.

It came to a point she could no longer bring herself to lift another block. The number of blocks carried each day was supposed to be fifty, but she had just dropped her thirty-fifth block.

Joya's eyes, sunken and dried, darted longingly toward a nearby bucket; it was empty. Her eyes roamed around desperately until they landed on a bucket filled with water… She smiled wearily.

But her smile was short-lived. The bucket was placed near some group of officers who seemed to be busy drinking wine from a big wooden cup. They passed the cup around, drinking and laughing to their heart's content.

Joya dragged her feet along the dusty ground; her feet were now bruised badly, but she didn't mind. She walked up boldly to where the bucket of water was, next to the officers who were seated around a table under a wobbly canopy made from sticks and palm leaves.

"Please water."

Joya begged when she got to where they were seated, but their high-pitched laughter drained her voice. They didn't hear her or even take notice of her presence.

"Please… I need water." She said more audibly. A man who was laughing his guts out while slapping his hand against his stomach suddenly took notice of her.

"Hey, get the hell out of here."

He spoke with a foreign accent, but Joya didn't flinch.

Another man turned towards her direction.

"Get lost!

The man said, already reaching out for his whip. Joya staggered back in fright when she saw that the man was about to use his whip on her, but a strong hand quickly reached out for the whip and snatched it from the man's grip.

It was Prator.

He was also seated among his men. His gaze rested on Joya, and he immediately recognized her, the same woman who he had seen bathing in the river.

"Let her have some water."

His voice was calm, but the authority was enough to shut the other men up.

"But the other slaves will begin to demand water; what then do we tell them?" The man who wanted to use his whip on Joya questioned out of turn, and he received a deadly glare from Prator.

The man understood his foolishness and decided to remain mute. Joya waited until she was given a go-ahead signal from Prator before staggering to where the bucket of water was.

She crumbled to her knees just beside the bucket of water; there was no cup. Using her shaking hands, she scooped a handful of water before quickly bringing it to her lips.

She kept scooping the water with her hands until she was satisfied.

The men seated around the table continued their discussion, ignoring her whole existence, but Prator's watchful eyes were darting towards her direction from time to time.

After Joya had finished drinking the water, she slowly regained strength. She had thought she would either be whipped to death or even thirst to death, but none of that happened.

Here she was, still very much alive. Is that a good thing?

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