Chapter 86 - 82: A Good Time
Chapter 86: Chapter 82: A Good Time
The morning after the act was announced, the wasteland west of Newly Town looked much the same as it had the day before.
Over eleven hundred contract workers were scattered across it, most of them moving as sluggishly as if they were sleepwalking.
"Get a move on, you bunch of weaklings! A hoe is for tilling the earth, not for you to use as a crutch!"
Laine’s throat was nearly raw from shouting, but the group of new serfs continued to poke listlessly at the ground.
He had been a farmer for over a decade and had been through his own share of aimless days, but wasn’t a better life now within reach? Why were these people acting as if they couldn’t see it?
’I hope Lord Velin’s "Citizen Redemption Act" will wake these lost souls.’
"Laine," another technician next to him leaned in and lowered his voice, "I’m afraid the lord got it wrong this time. The only way to deal with these people is with a whip. Nothing else works."
Laine spat impatiently. "Of course I fucking know that! But the lord won’t allow it!"
As he scratched his head in frustration, he caught sight of an outlier from the corner of his eye.
A burly man, built like a bear, was shirtless, prying a stubborn, millstone-sized boulder from the soil. He then heaved it onto his shoulder, rolling it step by halting step toward the edge of the plot.
The muscles on his body bulged, and the sweat mixed with dirt glistened under the sun.
This one man was doing more work than the ten people next to him combined.
Laine’s eyebrow shot up. He strode over and asked with a smile, "What’s your name? Working so hard, is it to buy your freedom?"
Barton didn’t even look up, squeezing out two words from between his teeth, "Barton. Points."
Laine’s eyes lit up. "Hey! Finally, someone who gets it! What are you planning to trade your points for? I suggest you get some meat. That way you’ll have more energy and can clear the land faster."
Barton silently shook his head, not slowing his pace in the slightest. "Mother... sick. Points... for medicine."
Laine’s heart skipped a beat. ’So that’s why. Another poor soul.’
Beside the wasteland, a clerk sat behind a long table.
Whenever a serf finished clearing a small section of land and had it confirmed by a technician, they could come here to register it.
The clerk would use ink infused with faint Magic Power to write the number of merit points on a small wooden plaque, which he would then solemnly hand over to the serf.
The entire process was filled with a sense of ceremony.
It was a silent declaration: your labor is recognized; it has value.
As night fell, the people who had toiled all day gathered in the square.
The light from the torches dispelled the darkness, illuminating the weary yet hopeful expressions on everyone’s faces.
A crowd had already formed around the huge [Merit Point Leaderboard].
A clerk walked onto a high platform, cleared his throat, and began to announce in a loud voice.
"Green, reclaimed zero point two mu of wasteland, two merit points."
"Sam, excavated two hundred pounds of stone, one merit point."
As name after name was called, small stirs of commotion rippled through the crowd.
Most people’s points hovered between one and three.
This number left many feeling dejected; three hundred merit points seemed like an unattainable goal.
"Barton!" The clerk’s voice suddenly rose. "Reclaimed one mu of wasteland, ten merit points!"
Ten merit points!
The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted in a massive uproar.
Everyone’s eyes were searching, wondering who could have possibly reclaimed an entire mu of land in a single day.
But after asking around, they discovered that Barton wasn’t in the square.
At the dinner distribution point near the contract workers’ living quarters.
Barton had the wooden plaque engraved with a "10" tucked into his waistband, and he held two new wooden bowls in his hands.
The line was long, and the air was filled with the smell of sweat and the bland scent of pea gruel.
The people around him, their expressions either numb or optimistic, spoke in low voices about food and work.
"Can someone at the front see if there are any meat shreds in the pea gruel today?"
"A debt of two Golden Suns... we’ll never be able to pay it off in this lifetime..."
Barton paid them no mind; he was just waiting to get his food.
He needed food. A full stomach today meant more merit points tomorrow.
After receiving his dinner, he moved like a wild animal guarding its food, clutching black bread under one arm while carefully carrying the two bowls of pea gruel with both hands. He cautiously made his way through the crowd and back to the place he called home.
It was a small, hollow-square building with a central courtyard.
Barton quickly crossed the small central square on the ground floor, making a point to detour around the reeking public latrine.
He walked up quickly, heading straight for the top floor, the fourth floor.
A familiar neighbor was leaning against his doorway. Seeing Barton return with two meals, he sneered.
"Well now, Barton. Your mother is that sick, and she can still stomach a full portion? Might as well save yourself the trouble."
Barton just shot him a fierce glare, and the man shrank back, not daring to say another word.
He squeezed into the corner where he and his mother stayed. It was the innermost bunk. Just as he set down the wooden bowls, a gray rat SQUEAKED and darted out from under the bed.
Barton stomped, missing it, but he managed to scare away the little food thief.
"Ma! Ma!"
He pushed a still-warm piece of rye bread into the withered old woman’s hand. "Quick, eat this! It’ll give you strength!"
The old woman coughed, looking weakly at her son. "Barton... don’t... don’t waste merit points on me... You should be saving them... for your freedom..."
"What’s the use of freedom!" Barton’s eyes were red, his voice hoarse. "If you’re not here, what’s the difference between freedom and dog shit! Ma, just hold on a little longer. I earned ten merit points today. Soon, very soon, I’ll be able to get you medicine!"
"The cheapest herbal mixture at the exchange post costs fifty merit points. I can earn that in five days! No, four days!"
Tears streamed from the old woman’s cloudy eyes as she stroked her son’s rough hand.
"Silly child... my silly child..."
Just then, a gruff voice called out from outside.
"Barton! Is Barton in there!"
Barton stood up warily. Through the window, he saw Laine, the foreman from earlier in the day.
"What do you want?" Barton stood at the window, his eyes guarded.
Laine grinned, tossing a small vial filled with a brown liquid back and forth in his hand.
Barton’s heart leaped, and he bounded down the stairs.
As soon as he reached Laine, Barton cried out in surprise.
"A Healing Potion!"
Of course he recognized the potion; he had stared at it countless times at the "Exchange Post" just last night.
Laine flashed a toothy grin. "Kid, you’ve got a good eye. For a common flu, this stuff will have you back on your feet and working the next day. Want it?"
Barton was stunned. "But I... I don’t have enough merit points."
"I know," Laine said, clapping him on the shoulder, his tone sincere. "I fronted the points for you with my own. A hundred merit points. Just pay me back when you’ve made it big. Lord Velin said that Newly Town doesn’t abandon anyone willing to work hard."
Barton looked at the potion, then back at Laine. The man who had been barking orders at him all day now wore a smile warmer than a furnace.
He clumsily took the potion as a tear PLOPPED onto the ground. He dropped heavily to one knee.
"Brother Laine... I... My life, Barton’s life..."
"Alright, alright! A big man like you!" Laine pulled him up. "Hurry up and give your mother the medicine! And tomorrow, you’d better work even harder for me!"
Barton nodded fiercely and ran back to his room with the potion.
Laine’s smile gradually faded. With his hands behind his back, he started walking toward his own home, muttering to himself.
"Guess you and your mother got lucky. You came along at a good time."