WorldCrafter - Building My Underground Kingdom-Chapter 183 - Slavery

183: Slavery

183: Slavery

The Dwarrow’s mouth hung open, eyes wide with disbelief.

‘Just who is this Nephirid…?’

He had appeared out of nowhere and crushed the Gravenhold soldiers like they were nothing but street thugs.

To the Dwarrow, it was unthinkable, a single Nephirid overwhelming a whole squad with nothing more than a face slap.

And this is not random nephirid, it’s one that already have training.

A Gravenhold soldiers.

They were elite, veterans of border raids and many clash.

Each one trained from youth, fed with great potion, and armed with relics that turned ordinary men into living weapons.

Even a single Gravenhold Nephirid could hold a chokepoint against a small battalion of dwarrow knight.

Their relic-enhanced strength were the stuff of legend.

Most merchants knew better than to even look at one the wrong way.

And yet… this stranger had torn through them with ease.

Now, that same figure crouched beside the last surviving soldier who’d barely escaped death, bleeding and coughing on the scorched stone.

Ben grabbed him by the collar and lifted him like he weighed nothing, dragging him away from the riverbank.

His voice was calm, almost too calm.

“Tell me, who sent you here?

What’s Gravenhold planning?”

The soldier choked on his breath, blood mixing with the ash on his lips.

“Y-you…

monster…

do you even know who you’re, ”

Ben’s hand clamped down on the soldier’s wrist, a burst of strength followed by a sharp crack and a strangled scream.

“I didn’t ask who I am,” Ben said, his voice low.

“I asked about your masters.

This isn’t Gravenhold territory… so should I take this as a declaration of war?”

The soldier writhed, then fell into ragged silence, his will unraveling breath by breath.

From the boat, the Dwarrow watched trembling, not with fear, but with excitement.

‘Is that him?

The new city lord?’

He’d heard whispers, a new ruler coming to claim Krahal-Zir.

That’s why he’d risked the blocked route, gambling everything on a single journey.

And now, watching this Nephirid dismantle elite Gravenhold troops like children playing soldier… he knew he’d made the right bet.

‘If he really rebuilds this place… I’ll be rich.’

In a land ruled by the Ashking’s iron grip, where most lived day to day in soot and hunger, opportunities were rare.

For the non-Nephirid races, just not becoming a slave was already considered a great fortune.

That was the baseline, servitude hanging over their heads like an executioner’s blade.

The system was designed to crush them.

Heavy taxes were levied on every non-Nephirid household, but the worst of it was the soldier levy tax, a cruel policy where entire families were charged simply because their blood might produce someone “militarily useful.”

It didn’t matter if they ever held a weapon.

If you had the strength to lift a tool, they said you had the strength to lift a sword, and that was enough to justify the toll.

Every minor action, opening a shop, transporting goods, even drawing water in some of the border towns, required Nephirid approval.

The process was deliberately slow, tangled in endless red tape unless greased with coin.

Bribes weren’t an act of corruption anymore; they had become standard practice, something that ben familiar with, just like in his old world.

Failing to pay meant fines, and those fines were never still.

They grew, rapidly, mercilessly, until even the smallest debt became a sentence.

Interest piled on interest, compounded weekly, sometimes daily, until it consumed everything a family owned.

When the debt became unpayable, the outcome was inevitable.

Enslavement.

Legal.

Permanent.

Generational.

Once branded, a slave’s fate was sealed.

Freedom was not earned by good behavior or faithful service, it was bought.

And to buy it, they had to reimburse their masters for the full cost of their “ownership” food, clothing, housing, upkeep, work losses.

The total sum was always inflated, always impossible to meet.

Even the rare few who managed to scrape together enough were often denied on technicalities.

Any slave who was freed owed that miracle not to justice, but to the fleeting whim or vanity of a generous master.

It was never their right.

They had no rights.

No name of their own.

No voice that mattered.

They were tools, living instruments, meant to serve, obey, and be discarded when no longer useful.

In the Nephirid’s world, that was the natural order.

And under the Ashking’s reign, it was law.

It wasn’t uncommon for a Shavralk stoneworker to wake up one morning and find a slave brand on his eldest child, not because they’d committed any crime, but because their parents missed a grain shipment quota during a bad season.

The Dwarrow, the Draknir, the Shavralk, and others all lived like second-class citizens in a land they helped build.

They manned the forges, dug the channels, and grew the food, yet they were kept at arm’s length from true power, their rights dangling by a thread controlled by Nephirid governors and enforcers.

Meanwhile The soldier’s body trembled in Ben’s grip.

Blood trickled from his mouth, but his eyes still held a spark of defiance.

Ben’s voice was steady, cold.

“Answer me”

The Nephirid spat blood, then met Ben’s gaze with a broken smile.

“Doesn’t matter,” he rasped.

“Just kill me already.”

Ben’s frown deepened.

For a moment, the air around him seemed to darken.

His instinct flared to use the skill consume.

Don’t want to tel him?

So what he can get it directly from his brain.

But then his gaze drifted to the boat.

The Dwarrow merchant was still watching.

With a quiet sigh, Ben reached down and yanked the amulet relic from the soldier’s neck.

The enchantment sputtered and died in his hand.

Without the relic’s fire enhancing him, the Nephirid warrior slumped like a sack of stones.

Ben casually put the relic aside, then dragged the soldier away from the edge and flung him across the stone with a flick of his arm.

The man landed hard, groaning but alive.

“I’ll deal with you later,” Ben muttered.

He turned toward the boat, his eyes settling on the stunned Dwarrow merchant.

The Scorchkraken shifted again, its scaled arms coiling tighter around the hull.

“You there.

Merchant.

What’s your name?”