Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

A long, loud whistle signaled the end of the day's work at the coal mine, invigorating the atmosphere.

The workers – or rather, the prisoners – stopped their tasks and stretched their bodies, easing the tension of their muscles after a day's hard labor.

By a stream flowing through the camp, they gathered in small groups for a wash. Stripping to their waists, the men, unconcerned in the all-male camp, first scrubbed their sweat-soaked handkerchiefs clean in the water. Then, they drenched the handkerchiefs and used them to wipe off the grime from their bodies.

Doug, too, was cleaning himself. When he had stopped shoveling coal, his body was covered in black coal dust. He had gone to his dormitory to fetch clean clothes, and while washing himself, he also cleaned his coal-stained clothes.

After the wash and changing into clean clothes, Doug felt a sense of relief, the fatigue of the day's work significantly lessened.

"Big Doug!"

A hushed call came from behind. A man with a crew cut but a somewhat sly appearance emerged from somewhere.

Doug looked around to make sure no one was watching, then grabbed the man and pulled him into a secluded corner.

"Patton, you damned soul, I've been waiting for you. How did it go?"

The man produced a small clay bottle from his bosom, handing it to Doug with great care.

Doug took the bottle and held it to his ear, shaking it gently. The sound of liquid sloshing inside was faint.

"Doug grumbled, "That's it? After all the coal we saved up?"

Patton replied with disappointment, "It's not my fault, Big Doug. The new guy is too greedy. His heart is blacker than the darkest coal we've mined. He doubled the price."

Doug's brow furrowed deeply, cursing under his breath, "Despicable Ordo folk, cunning Ordo folk. Ah, what can we do but accept our fate as fish on the chopping board."

He looked at the small clay bottle, focusing intently on it. It was just an ordinary earthen-colored bottle, sealed with a cork. But to Doug, it seemed to contain some miraculous elixir.

"Oh, this will sustain me for the next week."

He abruptly pulled out the cork and brought the bottle to his nose, inhaling deeply. The fragrance of alcohol brought a sense of comfort, salivating his mouth.

He slightly opened his mouth, gently touching the bottle's mouth to his lower lip, then slowly tilted the bottle, letting the life-saving "nectar" flow into his mouth. The long-missed taste filled his entire mouth.

Doug didn't swallow immediately but swished the first sip of alcohol in his mouth, allowing it to soak every corner.

After about a minute, he reluctantly and carefully swallowed the first sip.

"Ah, nectar!"

Doug smacked his lips, intoxicated by the taste.

Patton, watching his boss drink, could only sniff the air, trying to catch the scent of alcohol, swallowing his saliva repeatedly.

"Gulp!"

Doug savored the second sip of alcohol, not lingering in his mouth too long before swallowing it directly.

The third sip, the fourth sip…

After about ten small sips, Doug put down the clay bottle.

At that moment, Doug radiated with vitality, his spirits lifted, and his eyes regained their former sharpness, resembling the mercenary captain he once was.

"Here!"

Doug handed the bottle to Patton.

Patton examined it, pleased to find a third of the contents still remaining.

"Thank you, boss! Thank you!"

He bowed and thanked Doug profusely.

"Hurry up, don't let the guards catch you."

"Right, I'll take care of it now!"

Patton raised the bottle, imitating Doug's earlier actions. He savored a small sip, then quickly finished the rest in one go.

Finally, he pulled out a water skin, poured some water into the bottle, shook it lightly, and then drank the water too.

"Ah, these Ordo folks keep such a tight watch. What's the endgame of keeping us brothers locked up here? That Grayman lacks the grace of a true noble."

Both men, reinvigorated, regained the energy to curse the Ordo people.

Since their capture in the Usurper War, they had been confined to this so-called labor reform camp, surrounded by pitch-black coal.

Initially, Doug and his fellows expected to be either tortured to death or worked to death, but surprisingly, their living conditions were relatively tolerable – 'tolerable' relative to their initial bleak expectations.

They were fed twice a day; breakfast mainly consisted of hard bread made from barley or rye, served with pickled vegetables. Though it was tough and sometimes tasted like sawdust, it was filling. Dinner included two slices of bread and unlimited vegetable porridge – a mushy mix with vegetables.

Once in a while, the porridge included bits of meat or eggs.

They could also secretly save some coal fragments to trade with villagers outside the fence for a bit of alcohol when the guards weren't looking.

However, their lack of freedom was stifling, not in the sense of their pre-capture days of unrestrained living, but because the Ordo people were overly strict.

For example, the Ordo people imposed harsh internal regulations:

Firstly, the prisoners' living quarters had to be kept clean and tidy. Guards conducted unannounced inspections of the dormitories.

Secondly, prisoners were expected to maintain a decent appearance. Unkempt beards and similar conditions were strictly forbidden.

Violations resulted in punishments ranging from whipping for minor offenses to solitary confinement and starvation for more severe infractions.

Doug, a mercenary for over a decade, was puzzled. Were the Ordo people running a prison or a military camp? Even military discipline, such as maintaining cleanliness and personal grooming, was usually reserved for elite royal guards, not the average soldier. He knew too well that slovenliness and lice infestations were common among ordinary troops.

As for prisoners elsewhere, describing their conditions as 'cesspits' would be an understatement.

As Doug and Patton walked back to the dormitory, cursing the Ordo people's oddities, they harbored a strange sense of relief amid their discomfort.