Chapter 61: Thunder rumbles
The break had finally been announced. A short break, but long enough for the slaves to catch their breath and superficially heal their wounds. Mordred had dropped his pickaxe heavily, wiping the sweat dripping down his dirty forehead with the back of his hand, discreetly observing the groups beginning to form around him.
The change in mood among the slaves was palpable. Small groups were gathering, speaking in hushed tones, exchanging quick, cautious glances, regularly casting furtive glances around them. Mordred clearly sensed that something was going on, but it was obvious that he was excluded.
Determined to find out what was going on, Mordred slowly made his way towards the first group within range, pretending simply to catch his breath beside them. But no sooner had he approached than silence fell abruptly among them, as if an invisible hand had just cut them off.
They stared at him, their faces closed, their gazes filled with obvious distrust.
Mordred frowned, annoyed but deciding not to insist immediately. He tried a second group, a little further away, but the result was exactly the same: immediate silence, suspicious and hostile glances, and tightly closed mouths.
They see me as an enemy," he realized slowly, his heart clenching in frustration. As a spy infiltrated among them...
The cold rage he now felt was painful, almost palpable. How could they think he was a traitor? After all he’d endured at their side, after every blow, every humiliation, every day spent plucking those precious stones from the merciless rock...
Finally, unable to bear this brutal exclusion any longer, Mordred decided to go and see the only person who could perhaps provide him with a clear explanation. His gaze fell on the old man, the one who had told those inspiring stories about ancient human warriors during a previous break. The old man was sitting against a rock wall, his gaze lost in the void, his features drawn by fatigue and age.
Mordred approached slowly, his presence causing the old man’s shoulders to tense slightly.
- I need to talk to you," Mordred murmured in a cold but controlled tone, slowly kneeling before him to look him straight in the eye. I want to understand why everyone here looks at me like a stranger. Like a traitor.
The old man slowly looked away, a heavy sigh escaping from his chapped lips.