Chapter 54: Slaves of the Barbarian Tribe (3)
Aiyen is the youngest hunting leader of the Balak.
She leads the young men of Balak through the jungle without fear.
However, she has met a foe that has surprised her.
His name is Vikir, a slave who was recently captured in a raid on Imperial territory.
"...."
Aiyen stared at Vikir with a blank expression.
Vikir moved swiftly with his uncomfortable body, building a tent for himself, as if he didn't need anyone's help.
Chug-chug-chug-chug...
A dozen wooden sticks, each just over two meters long, are lined up in a row, and a mixture of inky black, stone dust, lime powder, and water is applied to the sides.
The structure was a mixture of dry and wet, the walls lined with leaves and covered with animal skins.
The tents were quickly fitted with doors and windows, and the floors were lined with sawdust and fallen leaves.
The few building materials given to the slaves were enough.
In less than half an hour, the tent was ready for Vikir to sleep in alone.
"Order fulfilled."
Vikir looked back at Aiyen, his voice hard and dry.
The first order Aiyen had given to Vikir was to make him a home of his own.
Aiyen peered into Vikir's tent in disbelief.
There was a small hole in the ceiling and a flap that could be closed if it rained.
There was even a small fire pit on the floor inside, and a hole for the smoke to escape extended outward across the floor of the tent.
When the fire was turned off for a meal, the smoke would pass under the floor and heat up to the bottom of the tent.
The smoke would escape, the heat from the residual fire would be trapped, and the ventilation and light would be perfect.
Aiyen was dumbfounded.
"...How do you build tents so well?"
She was actually looking forward to hearing Vikir grunt in protest.
Aiyen quickly hid the building materials that Vikir had been trying to give away to make his life more colorful.
Sturdy wooden sticks, oil for baking bricks.
But Vikir didn't need any of that; he found calcareous soil, scooped it up, and hardened it with water.
He also built a shelter of large leaves to protect against rain and wind.
"...It's been a while."
Swordsmen from the Age of Destruction were not just good with swords.
They had to be skilled in all sorts of survival skills to be able to camp and survive in the hot and cold polar regions.
As such, Vikir was also a master of many domestic tasks.
After building the tent, Vikir trimmed the piles of leather near Aiyen's tent and hung up the torn fabrics.
He also cleared a drainage ditch near the tent, and laid out some firewood for tonight.
Chug-chug-chug-chug...
A slave who thinks and acts on his own before his master asks him to do anything, and takes care of all those pesky chores.
Literally a class A slave.
"The bricks under the chieftain's tent look unstable."
"...My mother's house?"
"Yes. The way it is, the ground beneath the center pole of the tent could shake and leak water during the next rainy season. If you give me the order, I will mix the limestone soil down there with stone dust from the hill across the street, make bricks, oil them, bake them, and reinforce them."
"...Yes, do that. I was just thinking of that myself."
Aiyen scratched his head.
Vikir had indeed done so.
Moving on his limp legs, he scooped up white dirt from the hills behind him and flew in stones from the hill opposite, cracking and breaking them to mix into the soil.
Then he added water to make a dough, shaped it into a rectangle, baked it over a fire, and dried the bricks with hyena oil.
The bricks were then used to form the base of the tent, making it even stronger.
Even Aquila, who was initially annoyed at the extra work, was pleased with the results.
"The ceiling won't leak anymore. It was annoying that no matter how many leaves or hides I put on the ceiling, it would still leak, but it must have been the foundation."
Aquila still didn't pay much attention to Vikir.
He merely ordered him to make his usual rounds around the chieftain's barracks, observing, maintaining, and repairing the shabby things.
Aiyen was unhappy that his slave should spend most of his time maintaining the chieftain's barracks, but he didn't protest.
He just kept whimpering behind him as Vikir dug drainage ditches around Aquila's barracks and set up gutters to keep leaves and dirt from piling up on top.
"Hey, man. Are you okay working alone?"
I'd say, and then do some nervous shuffling.
"So, are we gonna do it alone or in a group?"
which is usually followed by a few unintelligible words.
"Hmmmm, do you enjoy your job? You've been working all day."
"It's the rainy season, you're already digging gutters."
"You don't have this at home, do you? Eat it."
"... The owner is talking to you, why don't you answer him?"
Vikir had been steadily ignoring him as a distraction from his work, but Aiyen continued to hover around him, disappearing for a moment and then reappearing.
At this point, it was hard to tell who was master and who was slave.
...Puck! ...Puck! ...Puck! Thud!
With lye and a bat, Vikir finished his laundry.
He'd been a Pathfinder, a herbalist, a healer, a cook, an assassin, a cleaner, a laundress, a cook, and everything in between from the youngest crawler in the field to a seasoned veteran, and his experience was coming in handy here.
'I know I keep using the Age of Destruction excuse, but... it was just as fierce.'
Bikir took a moment to reminisce about the old days while doing laundry.
"...Khhhh. Hmmm, hmmm."
Beside him, Aiyen, who had stepped forward to give a demonstration, hid her torn leather skirt behind her back as she watched.
* * *
... Meanwhile.
Vikir, whose experience of surviving the Age of Destruction has made him good at keeping to himself.
But even he, who was quite content with a day in the life of a slave, much more so than he would have been in Baskerville or Underdog City, had one opponent who might be a little embarrassed.
"Uh, cool."
Her name was Aiyen, princess of the barbarian tribe of Balak.
She was peeing in the drainage channel Vikir had dug earlier.
"I've been holding it in for a long time."
"...."
"Ugh, master, are we supposed to watch you pee like that?"
Aiyen was peeing with his legs open, right next to where Vikir was working.
Vikir was dumbfounded and asked.
"What are you doing?"
"Marking the territory. This is my slave's house, so it's also mine."
" ... doesn't cover it?"
"It's not like there's any shame in open excretion. There is no such thing in my tribe."
Aiyen lifted her skirt further, as if to show him.
Vikir covered her face with her hands and turned away.
He remembered seeing a research paper on barbarian tribes once.
"The barbarian tribes of the Red and Black Mountains practice free sexual intercourse among their members. Both men and women have no qualms about exposing their sexual organs to each other, as they must first know if the other person is capable of reproduction and does not carry a sexually transmitted disease before engaging in a relationship."
'Did I mention ...?
It was a real thing and a culture with its own reasons, so Vikir tried not to be prejudiced.
"But don't be cheap, at least around the house."
"Why, didn't your empire just throw feces out the window a few hundred years ago, and you wore these things called high heels because the streets were covered in filth, and you sprayed yourself with perfume."
It was true enough.
Vikir didn't know what else to say, so he kept his mouth shut.
As they chatted, the chores were completed.
Balak was a very laid-back place when he wasn't fighting or hunting, and the ever-diligent Vikir couldn't help but think that life as a slave here was much more comfortable than it would have been in Baskerville or Underdog City, where he had to combine training and work.
Aiyen, however, had a strange look on her face.
"Hey."
"...?"
"Don't you want to officially become a member of our tribe as soon as possible?"
What was he talking about?
Vikir frowned, and Aiyen scooted closer to him and sat down.
She was still spreading her legs wide enough that he could see through her skirt, so Vikir kept his gaze fixed upward.
Aiyen said.
"Not bad for a slave, huh?"
"Not bad."
"You're getting a good education in speech, I suppose, though I dare not complain from a slave's point of view."
"...No, it really isn't that bad."
"It can't be bad, for all the hard, dirty work."
Aiyen waved her hand in the air, not even wanting to think about cleaning or doing laundry.
"'Come on. Come with me."
"...?"
"I will help you. To help you fit in with this tribe."
There's no refusal when you're already enslaved.
Aiyen patted the leash still around Vikir's neck.
"If you're good, I'll take this off too."
The offer is a bit tempting.
As if I wasn't already annoyed by this irritating rope at the corner of my neck.
"...What can I do?"
Vikir asks, and Aiyen answers with a twinkle in his eye.
"Hunting."
"...hunt?"
"The big one."
Apparently, you go hunting and catch big prey.
The Hagiya, or Balak, are a tribe that accumulates food primarily through hunting.
To feed their nearly 300 members evenly, they need to consume a boar weighing over 200 kilograms a day.
That's if they're able to supplement it with mushrooms, berries, and edible roots.
In recent years, he says, warriors in his tribe have been eating nothing but mushrooms and berries for days at a time because they haven't been able to find enough meat.
"In times like these, if we can bring back a large chunk of meat, your freedom is not out of the question."
Aiyen's words gave Vikir a strange look.
It was a bit ironic to hear the word "freedom" from a barbarian.
But it wasn't a bad offer.
"All you have to do is assist me. Apparently you don't have much trouble getting around or carrying light loads."
Aiyen said with a gleam in her eye.
It was impossible to tell if her intentions were truly to take down the big game, or if that was all she wanted.
"Alright. Let's go."
But Vikir decided to go along with Aiyen's suggestion for now.
As a slave, he had no other choice.
Vikir nodded, and Aiyen spoke immediately.
"We will leave at dawn today."
"I see, but why were you laughing so hard earlier?"
"What? When did I laugh?"
Aiyen laughs self-consciously, but when he hears Vikir's words, he turns serious.
...Something about his attitude was a little suspicious.
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