Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

Yes, they had indeed become, in fact, slaves of Count Paul Grayman.

And deep down, they had already accepted this status.

Other than the absence of a physical brand, what difference was there between them and actual slaves?

"Our count… is a kind and generous lord," said Major Erwin.

"He believes in fully respecting your free will, so he has offered you two paths to choose from."

"The first path is to willingly accept his mark and return to Horn Bay to resume your roles as mercenaries—of course, as mercenaries of the Grayman family. Under the condition of completing assigned combat missions, you can live like normal people, just as you did before coming to the Northwest Bay. However, you must be ready to answer his call whenever there's a mission."

"The other path is to continue working here and wait for the day when Lord Grayman is in a good mood. Perhaps then, he might forgive your offenses."

"Consider well which path you want to take."

Major Erwin maintained the smile he had earlier, leisurely strolling to an armchair nearby and sipping tea prepared by the labor camp officials, waiting for the responses from the two prisoners before him.

The autumn sun shone warmly and tranquilly through the south-facing windows of the office, casting patches of light and shadow on the floor.

Belo Doug twisted his stiff neck, following the sunlight to look outside the window.

Thanks to the office's location on the second floor and its positioning, the mercenary leader was fortunate enough to observe the camp from a perspective different from the usual.

He saw the camp's perimeter walls, topped with sharp wooden spikes to prevent escapes, and watchtowers at the corners. At the southernmost part of the camp, a dark, gaping hole caught his eye—the entrance to the coal mine. Coal was mined daily, and he had been toiling for these black stones all along, the area around the pit stained black with coal dust.

On the nearby open ground, rows of prisoners stood quietly—his mercenary comrades, unaware of the developments, not knowing the choice their leader faced, their fate hinging on this decision. Perhaps Ferguson's men were also standing somewhere out of his sight.

Doug's gaze then moved beyond the camp's confines. The green forest, golden wheat fields, winding country roads, and distant homes with their wisps of smoke captured his view. A few years ago, these scenes beyond the wall would have been mundane, but now Doug suddenly found them extraordinarily beautiful. If only he had a paintbrush… Wait, since when did he start having the sensibilities of an artist?

Doug opened his mouth, "I…"

"Major Erwin, may I answer you tomorrow?" he was interrupted by Ferguson.

"I also don't want to decide immediately," Doug said.

Erwin stared at them intently for a full half minute.

"Alright, I'll give you time to think. I will be waiting in this room until the sunset tomorrow. Once you've decided, you can come to me anytime. Oh, and don't forget to inform your comrades about the two options I've presented. I believe everyone should have the right to choose freely."

Ferguson and Doug left the office one after the other.

In the corridor, Doug asked with feigned confusion, "Tell me, Ferguson, why didn't you immediately accept that Ordo's proposition? It's just a brand, and you could return to the longed-for Horn Bay."

"Hmph!" Ferguson replied disdainfully, "I was just playing along with that Ordo guy. Who do you think I, Ferguson, am? A proud warrior! A free-spirited bird! How can I accept the humiliating mark of a slave just for a bit of apparent freedom? If I return to Horn Bay with that thing, what would those who know me think? As the leader of the Rhino Mercenary Group, I'd never be able to hold my head up high again."

He turned to Doug, "And you, Black Hound, why didn't you agree? You shouldn't care about these things."

Doug angrily retorted, "Don't look down on me, you brute. My ancestors were nobles, my bloodline far more noble than yours. Even if physically imprisoned, I refuse to be spiritually subdued."

If it weren't for the strict prohibition and severe punishment of fighting within the camp, Doug would have risked everything to punch holes into the head of the annoying man beside him.

After saying this, he no longer paid attention to Ferguson and quickened his pace, striding away.

Behind him, the irritating man's voice echoed, "Still got some of that Horn Bay man's spirit…"

Doug returned to the open ground where his comrades were still standing. He explained the situation to the guard supervising nearby and then conveyed Major Erwin's two options to everyone.

Instantly, the ground erupted into a frenzy.

"I want to go back to Horn Bay, I need to return!"

"Exactly, I'm fed up with this place."

"But, do we have to become slaves?"

"Don't be silly, aren't you a slave right now? Would you rather be a slave confined to toil every day or one that can move freely outside?"

The area was filled with discussions and arguments.

Doug quietly estimated, noting that the majority seemed to favor returning to Horn Bay.

While everyone was busy talking, he slipped behind a building. Using it as cover, he circled around and returned to the front of the camp administration building.

When he stepped inside, Doug let go of all his previous hesitations. He had made up his mind to return to Horn Bay, even if it meant bearing a shameful brand.

In fact, when Erwin initially presented the choices, he was almost ready to say he would return to Horn Bay. It was only Ferguson's interference that had plunged him back into uncertainty.

Now, Doug was resolute. To hell with face or dignity, he just wanted to go back.

Feeling a sudden relief in his entire being, even his steps became lighter. Unknowingly, he arrived at the door of Major Erwin's office.

Doug stretched out his right hand, grasping the doorknob firmly, thinking to himself: Forests, wheat fields, smoke from chimneys, here I come… Ah, I need to knock first.

After three knocks, a voice like a siren's song responded from inside: "Come in."

He tightened his grip on the knob, exerting a slight force, and pushed the door open.

"Ferguson?"

An unexpected person appeared in his sight.

Ferguson also saw him. The broad face of the Rhino Mercenary Group's leader rapidly changed color, turning red, redder, and even redder, eventually looking like a boiled crab shell.

"Doug, you big-browed, big-eyed…"