Rearing Demons
Chapter 67: The Slave Camp

Chapter 67: The Slave Camp

Yur and his group flew through the air—of course, Yur was unable to fly without his wings, so Jisvruul helped him out. Luckily, Jisvruul could use his essence to wrap Yur in it, giving him the ability to fly until Yur figured out his own way.

High above the forest, they flew for a while, searching for the slave camp. Back then, when Yur was blindfolded and led out, he hadn’t known the exact direction.

"Master, is that it?" As they flew, a large opening appeared—a ginormous crater in the center, with mud houses along its edges. People were climbing up and down the crater; some were falling and eventually dying as well.

The number of people numbered in the thousands at least. Most of them had chains wrapped around their ankles and arms while being naked.

With narrowed eyes, Yur scanned the scene and eventually nodded. "Yes, this is it." Despite his dulled emotions, he could feel something bubbling within him.

Just staring at the sight brought back memories of a past that would have been haunting—yet it no longer did.

"Come, let us free them all," Yur said as he landed just outside the large slave camp. The rest of his group nodded, landing alongside him.

Stepping onto the grass, they all walked casually toward the entrance.

Two guards stood in front of a booth, with two tall wooden planks forming the entrance. Both guards seemed distracted, playing with some sort of cards in their hands.

"No way, you’re cheating!" one exclaimed.

"I’m not! You’re just garbage!"

"My ass, let me see your sleeves!"

"Take a look."

The two continued arguing as the group of five approached. When they heard the footsteps, the guards turned alert, their eyes scanning Yur’s group—shocked by the appearance of each member. Their breaths hitched when they saw Velmira.

"Holy fuck..." one whispered aloud.

Velmira frowned at their stares. Normally, she would have been ecstatic that people looked at her with pleasure, but now things seemed to have changed. Her eyes caught sight of the tents being erected in their pants—disgusting.

Zul, scan the area. What’s the max strength you can sense?

With such a large camp, Yur was curious to know who was running it and how powerful they were. He knew this wasn’t the only camp; there were thousands of others, and he had seen a few himself back in the day.

[Scanning...]

[Complete!]

[Rank 3: Ignited Core human detected!]

That would do it. Yur was sure that even a Nascent Orb cultivator would be enough.

Compared to regular humans, someone at the Nascent Orb realm was very powerful—while next to half-dead slaves, they were essentially superhuman.

"Who are you?" One of the guards, finally controlling his lust, looked at Yur, who was in the lead. The very aura Yur exuded was commanding—most likely the aftereffect of the Ritual of the Successor, which gave him great control over demons and influence over weak humans.

"Take me inside," Yur said simply—or more like, commanded.

The two guards, as if hypnotized, nodded their heads and turned around, leading Yur into the camp.

Yur then turned his head and stared at Nyz. "Go and kill anyone with any sort of strength. Waste no time—just kill them. But bring me the strongest."

Scrr (Yes, Master.)

Nyz suddenly appeared behind one of the guards. Using his two hands, he tore the guard’s back, ripping him apart, yet the guard seemed unmoved, standing casually as if he didn’t feel a thing.

So, this is his unique ability—Fading Echo? It is a very odd move. Ever since the evolutions or creations, all of the demons under Yur had gained or upgraded their unique abilities.

Nyz possessed a secretive and repulsive ability known as Fading Echo. This ability allowed him to bury himself within the bodies of others, wearing them like clothes as a disguise. The victims never felt the infiltration; despite the horrific way he entered, they would speak and move in the echoes of their past selves.

When Nyz left, they would live a little longer, as if they had never truly died—echoing themselves until they eventually dropped dead. A spectacular method of infiltration.

The group watched as Nyz entered one of the bodies, stitching the back with his own hair. Then, he began to walk away from the group, disappearing deeper into the slave camp.

"Alright, with that, let’s free all of the slaves ourselves." Yur walked over to one of the guards and grabbed his nape. "I don’t need anyone causing me issues later. I shall grant these slaves freedom." With a slight squeeze, he pulled the head off the guard’s body. "Zhal, clean this up."

Traa (Yes, Master!)

Zhal walked over and immediately opened his jaw wide, devouring the man’s body without delay. His tongue also grew in size as he licked the blood off the ground, leaving no trace behind.

Yur ignored this and continued forward. "Spread out. Allow each slave the freedom they desire." Velmira and the rest quickly dispersed, extending their help to the slaves with great fervour.

————————————————————————

"Mom, you’re bleeding." In a faraway slave camp, two people were bound by thick ropes. Behind them, a large stone was being pulled with all their might. Both were girls—one older, the other a teenager.

"Bleeding?" the older woman asked in shock before looking down. Her body, barely covering the vital parts, was bleeding profusely. Her eyes widened in horror as a single tear fell.

"Are you alright? Do you need to rest?" the teenage girl asked, her voice trembling with worry. Though resting would result in severe punishment, her mother was injured, and she didn’t know what else to do.

"No, no, this is normal." The mother lifted one of her hands to wipe away a tear. "Don’t worry, honey, I’m alright." As she spoke, blood continued to soak her legs, but the older woman ignored it.

"Mom, you’re bleeding a lot," the teenager insisted, fear thick in her tone.

"Luna, calm down," the mother said, her voice gentle yet cracking from held-back tears. "Just know that you will be my only child for a very long time. So, take care of yourself, okay?"

"What about my baby sibling?" Luna asked, uncertainty lacing her words.

The woman patted her stomach gently, biting her lips softly, yet she continued to pull the rock with all her remaining strength.

"Next time. I promise." An ugly smile, tinged with pain, crept across her reddened face, on the verge of breaking.

Luna, though not fully knowledgeable about the ways of the world, understood that her mother did not wish to discuss the matter further, so she did not push.

"Just be careful, Mom," Luna said, pulling the rope even harder, trying to take on as much weight as she could.

The mother, noticing this, felt an even deeper bitterness. Tears threatened to spill again so she lowered her head, allowing them to fall while she struggled to pull the rope with her weakening body.

Another one! Another one dead! she thought, internal rage mixing with her silent tears—a pain she had endured countless times. Luna was the only lucky child, the sole survivor. This cursed world! Why can’t we be free from these despicable humans! she silently raged.

Meanwhile, as the mother and daughter pulled the large stone, a few other slaves watched with pity. Most sighed, avoiding her gaze; some bit their lips, their fury building up.

In the distance, a man watched the scene with tears in his eyes. Rage filled his mind, and he longed to run over and embrace the woman, yet he could not. Bound by chains and forced to pull large stones alongside many others, he remained in place.

My wife, I wish I could do something! he thought, feeling himself break from within as he witnessed a scene he desperately hoped would never recur.

The other men noticed his distress and patted his shoulder. "I’m sorry for your loss," they said, their voices heavy with bitterness.

"Walk!" he suddenly commanded, his voice choked. "Feel the chains, but take a step." He bit his lips, gritted his teeth, and pulled with all his might.

"Feel the hurt!" another man cried out, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "But don’t forget—"

"One day!" The slaves’ voices echoed in unison, the only poem, the sole source of hope they knew: "We will run!"

Like thunder, the words reverberated across the hills. The mother heard this and gritted her teeth amid the tears.

"Walk!" she exclaimed. "Hear the shouts, but don’t turn back!"

"Hear the cries! But stay on track!"

"One day!"

"We will run!"

As if something possessed them, the slaves recited their poem of hope, their prayer for freedom, together.

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