Dungeon Miner Slave

DMS Chapter 179

Flinx and the middle-aged bandit leader watched as the five young men slowly sat up. Their healthy complexions and rosy cheeks were proof that they had fully recovered.

"What happened?" one of the young men asked in confusion.

Hart's eyes welled with tears, greatly surprising Flinx. The bandit leader turned to the young men and smiled.

"A powerful healer came and cured all of you."

He gestured toward Flinx.

"This is Flinx. He's the one who healed you. Thank him."

"My clothes are clean! Even my underclothes!" one of the youths suddenly exclaimed.

"My body and hair are clean too! Even my teeth feel clean!" another shouted in amazement.

"Thank you... thank you," Hart said.

To Flinx's astonishment, the bandit leader suddenly dropped to his knees before him.

The five young men immediately followed their leader's example, kneeling as well.

Flinx became thoroughly flustered.

"Please, stop that!" he said as he hurriedly reached down to help Hart back to his feet. "I already told you this is simply the mission my teacher assigned to me. Besides, my work isn't finished yet."

"What do you mean?" Hart asked after reluctantly standing.

"The illness those young men had was somewhat contagious. That means the rest of you have probably been exposed as well. The safest course of action is for me to heal everyone."

Flinx looked around the hut.

"May I use this place as my treatment room? I'll need each of you to come in one at a time so I can make sure everyone is healthy. For now, please ask these young men to leave."

Hart immediately instructed the five recovered youths to carry their now spotless bedding outside.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"I want you to bring everyone here one by one. Each person should bring all of their belongings with them. I'll purify both them and their possessions. I don't want any disease lingering on their clothing or equipment."

Flinx smiled.

"We'll start with you."

Hart stepped outside to inform the others.

Several minutes later, he returned carrying all of his belongings.

Flinx almost recoiled.

Everything Hart owned was filthy, and the foul odor coming from his possessions was overwhelming.

Without saying another word, Flinx began casting Prestidigitation.

As he cleaned Hart's belongings one item after another, he asked, "Why did you let everything become this dirty? Poor hygiene causes many illnesses."

Hart gave a weary smile.

"It's difficult to keep things clean while living in the middle of the forest. Whenever we manage to hunt an animal, we use every part of it. There's never enough fat left to make soap. We also haven't found any soapwort or similar plants nearby. Water alone simply isn't enough."

Flinx carefully cleaned every possession until it was spotless.

Afterward, he cast Prestidigitation on Hart himself before finally using the sixth-level cleric spell Heal to ensure the man was free of any hidden illnesses.

Hart thanked him before carrying his belongings outside.

A few minutes later, he returned with another man carrying all of his possessions.

Flinx asked Hart to remain inside while he treated the others.

As he repeatedly cast Prestidigitation to clean the second man's belongings, Hart quietly began explaining how they had ended up living in the forest.

"We may look like bandits, but we haven't robbed anyone."

He paused.

"Not yet."

"We've considered it, but every group of travelers we've encountered has been stronger than us. Even merchants usually travel with guards. If we tried to rob them, we'd only get ourselves killed. We're simply too weak."

Hart explained that they had all once been serfs from the Kingdom of Nemronor, which bordered the Kingdom of Ilinestor.

"We served different lords, but our stories are all the same."

His expression darkened.

"The women in our families were taken by our lords... and eventually killed."

Flinx remained silent.

"We wanted to rebel, but we were powerless. Those of us here are simply the ones fortunate enough to escape."

One by one, Hart's men entered the hut, each carrying every possession they owned. While Flinx cleaned and healed them, Hart continued telling their story.

As serfs, they possessed virtually no rights.

To Flinx, they were slaves in everything but name.

Hart explained that because they were runaway serfs, returning to Nemronor meant certain execution.

"Then why don't you seek refuge in Ilioven?" Flinx asked.

Hart answered by pulling aside his shirt.

"We carry this."

Branded into the man's chest was a scar left by a red-hot iron.

"It marks us as serfs."

Every serf in Nemronor bore the same mark.

Hart explained that Ilinestor had signed a treaty with Nemronor. Any escaped serf discovered within Ilinestor's territory had to be returned to Nemronor.

According to Hart, Ilioven willingly honored the agreement because Nemronor paid generously for every runaway serf who was returned.

As the treatments continued, Hart recounted countless atrocities committed by the nobles of Nemronor.

Every story made Flinx's anger grow.

He knew Hart had every reason to portray the nobles in the worst possible light, yet looking at the miserable condition of the twelve men, Flinx found little reason to doubt him.

At least the Torbal slavers had understood that starving slaves were unproductive slaves.

They never allowed the Earthling dungeon miners to go hungry because weak workers couldn't gather valuable resources from the dungeons.

Thanks to Prestidigitation, the poor-quality meals they had received became tolerable, while the spell also allowed them to remain clean. The slavers even distributed healing potions whenever someone became ill.

That did not make the Torbal slavers any less monstrous.

Neither their cruelty nor the suffering inflicted upon the Earthlings was any less severe than what these runaway serfs had endured.

There was no point comparing one form of oppression to another.

In Flinx's eyes, anyone who enslaved other people deserved to be annihilated.

Hart explained that they had survived in the forest near Ilioven for three months by scavenging for edible plants and hunting wild animals.

Unfortunately, none of them had ever been hunters.

They had all been farming serfs.

Since they hunted in groups to protect one another, they made far too much noise to stalk game effectively.

Most of the animals they caught had fallen into traps they had painstakingly constructed.

Hart lowered his head.

"Once winter arrives, we'll almost certainly die."

His voice remained strangely calm.

"We have nothing left to live for anyway. Our families are dead."

He looked around the camp.

"All we have left... is each other."

Flinx's heart ached.

Hart wore the same expression he had once seen on fellow Earthling dungeon slaves who had completely surrendered to despair.

It was the expression of someone who had accepted death long before it arrived.

"You can't give up," Flinx said quietly.

He looked toward the younger members of the group.

"Some of the people depending on you are still children. Are you really willing to let them grow up believing they have no future?"

Hart and the man Flinx was treating merely shrugged.

Once everyone had been cleaned and healed, Flinx stepped outside to inspect each of the men and their belongings one final time, making sure he had overlooked nothing.

Satisfied, he used the remaining Prestidigitation spells he had prepared to clean the entire camp.

The wooden palisades, huts, pathways, tools, furniture, and every other surface became spotless.

To explain his actions, Flinx simply smiled.

"I need to cast one final Purify spell over the entire camp," he said. "That way, no disease will be able to survive here."