News that the King of Pradi was about to dispatch troops quickly spread among the refugee settlements, causing widespread panic. The refugees, unable to sit still any longer, began urgently searching for a way out.
But aside from becoming a serf or a slave, there were no other options. If there had been, they wouldn't have remained stuck here for so long in the first place.
Life here had already been hard enough. Now, faced with the prospect of confronting armed forces once again, just the thought of it sent chills deep into their bones.
Compared to awaiting death, the idea of losing their freedom no longer seemed so dreadful.
Thanks to the help of the new serfs who had voluntarily returned to persuade their family and friends, the Sardinson recruitment team managed to leave with a large number of registered refugees—over two thousand in total. Most of them came as entire families. While these family units included both young and old and weren't necessarily all fit to work, they were seen as more trustworthy than lone, able-bodied individuals. With family around, trouble was less likely to occur.
Though not all the refugees agreed to leave, the fact that they were able to recruit nearly half of them was already a massive success compared to before. The Sardinson recruiters were more than satisfied with the outcome.
And once their large-scale recruitment effort began showing results, other slave traders quickly followed suit. They stopped only buying slaves and started accepting those willing to become serfs as well—offering even more money than Sardinson did. This tempted some of the remaining refugees to turn their attention toward them instead.
Some of these people had been swayed by false rumors about Sardinson and believed that the returning serfs were merely bribed actors sent to deceive them. Others had no choice but to turn to the slave traders after being rejected by the Sardinson team.
One wise old man watched them celebrate after receiving their money and shook his head in sorrow. So what if the slave traders offered more? In the end, they would still be sold off to foreign nobles, whose treatment remained a complete unknown. Especially for these non-Pradi refugees, it was difficult to find a noble who would even accept them as serfs. What fate awaited them now—only God could protect them.
Worse still, some slave traders used the pretense of recruiting serfs only to brand and sell people off as slaves once they returned. That kind of deception wasn't uncommon. To distrust the genuine offers from Sardinson, yet place their faith in slave traders, was not what anyone would call a wise decision.
Sardinson's recruiters, acting under the Earl's direct orders, had said they'd stay for two or three days, and they kept their word. On the third day, they left with the registered refugees without hesitation. Their clean, decisive departure made those who had been dragging their feet feel deep regret. When they rushed over to the Sardinson camp in a panic, they found nothing left—just scattered traces and extinguished campfires, the only evidence that people had once stayed there.
No matter how those who hesitated might now regret it, the fact remained—they were gone.
Escorting so many refugees on the road was no easy task. Fortunately, a larger support force soon arrived. Felix couldn't spare any more manpower, so he had told the recruiters from the start to handle things themselves. If they recruited too many people, they were allowed to hire trusted mercenaries to escort the group back.
Thus, while the knights were still leading the new serfs toward the western border, they had already contacted two reputable mercenary groups. One of them had previously worked with Felix to escort serfs from the capital to Sardinson County. Since then, they had often received commissions from the county and had even settled there permanently, now working as guards or freight escorts for visiting merchants—a far better life than the constant brawling over jobs back in the capital. This time, their team happened to be available, and as soon as they heard the Earl needed help, they immediately agreed. They even helped contact another well-regarded mercenary group to join.
Later, because the number of refugees recruited was higher than expected, they hired a third mercenary company for the return journey. Along with the soldiers led by the knights, the escort force now numbered five hundred strong—enough to safely accompany all the refugees back to Slot County.
They traveled by land again. Although they hired many carts to speed up the journey, it was still slower than traveling by sea. Fortunately, it was now early spring, with flowers blooming and the snow melted, so there were no weather-related delays. Their pace was quicker than the last group's, and after pushing hard, they managed to make the journey in just over a month.
But that month happened to be the key time for spring plowing. Because of the journey, they had missed the best planting window.
This made the refugees anxious as they neared Slot. Even though they had finally arrived, they feared they had already missed the spring planting season. That meant even if the promised tax-free land was still available, they would need time to settle down before they could begin clearing the land. At that rate, by the time they were ready, it might already be too hot—summer was hardly ideal for planting.
These refugees, originally from the western parts beyond Pradi, had lived in much colder regions. Even though it was just early spring now, Pradi's climate felt more like early summer in their home countries. They had long since shed their heavy clothing, completely unbothered by the temperature—much to the envy of the local escort personnel, who still felt chilled.
However, their unfamiliarity with the warmer southern climate did cause some mild health issues, mostly due to differences in water and diet. Thankfully, the gradual transition from cold to warm during the month-long journey gave them time to adapt. With special care provided by the Sardinson team, no one died along the way.
As they neared their destination, they finally reached the paved cement road built by Sardinson. Shortly after, they turned at a fork and headed south—straight into Slot County.
At the northeastern edge of Slot, where the new town was planned to be built, the land had been set aside for future development. No one had been assigned to live there. The area had been abandoned for several years, and now that it was spring, wild grass had grown everywhere. Amid the overgrowth, collapsed structures could still be faintly seen—evidence of once-inhabited homes. The desolation and decay were hard to ignore.
At first, the refugees were excited upon realizing they had finally reached Slot. But the further they traveled, the more barren and lifeless the surroundings became. It didn't look anything like the prosperous place described by their returning relatives.
Their hearts began to sink.
Had they been… lied to?
The new serfs who had come to persuade their families were sitting together with them on the carts. They, too, had experienced this same uncertainty before. Remembering their complicated feelings upon arriving in Slot, they hurried to explain: "No, really, we didn't lie to you! Slot didn't have a lord before, so the land was abandoned. After the Earl took over, he planned to build a city here, so all the returning freedmen and serfs were settled in the southern coastal areas. That's why this place looks deserted—honestly, we're not tricking you!"
Despite their earnest reassurance, most people remained uneasy. But at least the Sardinson escorts hadn't mistreated them along the way. Though they were urged to travel quickly each day, they had ridden in carts and didn't need to walk. They were given one full meal per day—just one, but since they weren't doing any labor and spent most of the time chatting or napping in the carts, it was enough to get by.
The knights weren't being cruel—everyone, including the escorts themselves, was in a hurry to get home. They rarely stopped to rest, and with so many people, preparing two meals a day would've been difficult. Instead, they provided one hearty meal to sustain them through the day. Even the knights mostly just snacked on dry rations while on horseback.
So although they only ate once a day, no one was truly starving. Despite lingering unease, the refugees remained calm—no one tried to flee, and even if they had, the armed escorts wouldn't have let them get far.
Finally, after trudging through overgrown fields for most of the day, they began to see signs of life. In the distance, they spotted people busy working—exactly as described by those who had returned before. Construction crews bustled around, building what looked like a new settlement, with rows of temporary wooden shelters nearby that seemed to have been in use for some time.
A new serf pointed excitedly and shouted, "That's the construction team building the new city! They're hiring strong men for labor. If you know carpentry, masonry, or any trade related to building, they'll take you too! Not only do they provide food, but the pay's pretty good!"
Those with skills were tempted—until someone doused their enthusiasm.
"Don't talk nonsense. We're serfs—we can't just leave our lord's land to find work. And you're talking about getting paid? Dream on."
"I'm not lying!" the new serf retorted. "The Earl hasn't enclosed any manors in Slot. As long as you stay within Slot County, you're free to move around. If the construction team picks you, you'll be working for the Earl anyway. It's considered labor duty—it even reduces your taxes! After that, any leftover wages go to you."
"You'll see when we get there. Some of the guys who came with us—older ones, too—got picked because they knew how to build houses. They're living pretty well now."
In this era, the average life expectancy wasn't very high. Dying at forty or fifty wasn't considered premature. While people of that age were still working in modern times, here they were already seen as elderly. Initially, the construction team only wanted able-bodied men in their twenties and thirties. But with labor shortages, they gradually relaxed the age limits—so long as you could work or had useful skills, they'd take you. Wages were adjusted based on capability, but still enough to make people happy.
So, it wasn't surprising that some new serfs were recruited by the construction crew. Felix hadn't set strict limitations on the movement of the serfs, nor had he assigned them specific jobs. As long as they didn't leave Slot County, they were free to do as they pleased.
The refugees remained skeptical—but after seeing signs of life, some of their fears began to fade.
As they moved further south, the midday sun grew hotter. Many began sweating under their heavy clothing. Then, at last, they saw something familiar—thatch-roofed houses.
"Look! That's the village for freedmen. A few more li ahead, past that paved road, and we'll reach the fishing village. That's where we serfs live!"
Over time, the freedmen's settlements had grown from two to three villages, gradually expanding from south to north. Even though the returning serfs hadn't seen this new village before, they immediately recognized it.
The new arrivals leaned out to look. Their carts passed near the village, revealing houses that were newly built. Though made with thatch, the layout was neat and orderly. The straight roads had been planned, and though they were dirt paths, they were wide and well-maintained.
"All those house foundations were provided free by the Earl. Every family got land based on its size—no cost at all! Even the houses were built with help. Look at the size of those homes—you can tell how many people live in each."
The refugees gasped in amazement. "There's such a good deal?!"
Pleased by their reaction, the speaker launched into a proud explanation of all the benefits freedmen enjoyed, making the former-freemen-now-serfs green with envy.
"Of course, being a freedman has its perks, but life as a serf here isn't bad either."
Though the refugees had been placed in the fishing village's vacant homes—technically temporary housing—there were now far too many of them to fit long-term. They couldn't stay there forever. Rumor had it that serfs near Sardinson Castle also received free land, just like the freedmen.
As they admired the freedmen's village, they noticed the newly tilled fields nearby. Crops had already been planted, and sprouts of green were emerging. The growth was average, but far better than expected. Considering the land had been previously abandoned, this was quite good.
The new serfs had only been in Slot for a month and hadn't experienced the spring planting season themselves, so they didn't comment much on the crops. Instead, they excitedly talked about life in the fishing village—stories that everyone listened to with great interest, since this was where they, too, would soon live.
Along the way, they passed a patrolling squad of knights. The two groups' leaders simply nodded politely to each other—there was no need for conversation—but the sight of the well-armored, orderly cavalry still left the refugees awed. Though they feared soldiers, they couldn't help but admire the knights.
Crossing a broad cement-paved road and walking a little farther, they finally arrived at the fishing village where the serfs lived.
Coming from inland areas, none of them had ever seen the ocean. Their idea of a "fishing village" was something like a small settlement on a riverbank—homes falling apart, with every household drying and salting fish. The houses, they assumed, would be as shabby and poor as their own back home.
But the fishing village before them shattered all those assumptions.
Even before entering, they saw rows of inns and taverns made of stone and cement, freshly built and lining the cement road. Merchants came and went, creating a bustle that was totally unexpected, a sharp contrast to the desolation they'd seen earlier—so striking it felt like a dream.
Beyond the inns and taverns lay two neighboring fishing villages. Though the houses there looked a bit worn, they didn't seem poor. The serfs living there wore clean, tidy clothes. Their appearance was neat and spirited, and not a single one looked worried or miserable. Even while handling smelly salted fish, they chatted and laughed cheerfully.
Most of the houses were still thatch-roofed, but on closer inspection, they showed signs of renovation. Some were made of stone, and many half-finished stone houses stood at the village edge—just needing roofs before they were ready to be lived in.
Even the new serfs noticed the difference. Slot had changed since they left—it had grown. The village was now noticeably larger.
"Good afternoon, Sir Knight!"
Such a large group of newcomers couldn't go unnoticed. Word was quickly sent to the village chief. Shortly after, the chief arrived with a few stewards to greet the arrivals—they had been informed in advance and were waiting.
"Lunch is already being prepared. Sir Knights, would you care to eat before heading back?"
The knights, soldiers, and mercenaries would all be leaving soon after dropping the refugees off. The knights needed to report back, and the mercenaries had to collect their final payment from the castle.
A good meal wouldn't delay things—and they were hungry.
"That would be perfect. We've had few chances to eat well along the way. I've heard Slot's seafood is excellent—don't let us down."
"Of course! We guarantee you'll be satisfied." The locals were proud of Slot's food. Even passing merchants praised it and often lingered longer just to enjoy the cuisine.
Naturally, not everyone would enjoy the same delicacies. While preparations had been made for the refugees, the knights and their attendants—and even the mercenaries—would receive special treatment.
The knights' meals were prepared by cooks from the inns and taverns, many of whom were the best chefs among the serfs. After receiving advanced training from the castle's head chef and learning unique recipes, they could now cook dishes that even Weiwei praised—let alone locals who had never tasted such flavors before.
The knights, having completed their task, didn't mind drinking a little. They'd been drinking throughout the trip. Clean water was harder to find than wine in this part of the world. Slot might not have fine wines, but beer was abundant. Almost every peasant woman knew how to brew it. Not knowing how to brew beer was considered a disadvantage in marriage.
With cold beer and freshly steamed seafood, this was easily the best meal the knights had enjoyed in weeks.
Meanwhile, the refugees were led to the docks under construction, where they joined the other serfs for a communal meal.
The so-called "communal meal" was prepared by village women for the dockworkers and any other serfs who didn't have separate jobs. The main dishes were stewed beans and various thick porridges—but the beans were cooked in bone broth with bits of meat, and the porridge was rich and flavorful, with added fish and vegetable strips, seasoned with salt. Every bite had a real taste—and even hints of meat.
In addition to the main dishes, there were vegetable salads and even fruit on occasion. Recently, every two days, they added a boiled egg per person, and once a week, they served a bowl of stewed meat—real chunks of it! Afterward, you could even go back and ask for the radishes cooked in the broth—infused with meaty flavor, they were nearly as good as the meat itself.
Today, the refugees were lucky—it was meat day. Even before they reached the village, the delicious aroma of simmering stew floated in on the sea breeze.
The slightly salty air mixed with the rich scent of meat made the long-starved refugees unconsciously swallow.
"Doesn't smell like mutton…"
"No, it doesn't—but it smells amazing."
Despite the tempting scent, none of them dared hope for meat. They figured a bowl of beans or porridge like the others got would already be generous.
But the returning serfs' eyes lit up.
"Ah, today's pork day! They're getting better at this stew!"
"Must be. I heard the knights caught a few wild boars in the forest and brought two of them here this morning—hundreds of pounds of meat!"
"Come on, let's hurry! If we're late, all the meat will be gone!"
The returning serfs urged the refugees to pick up bowls from a basket and get in line. Most were confused, but followed. Then they saw it: a wooden pavilion near the sea, where ten massive iron cauldrons were bubbling atop stone stoves. Long lines formed in front of each other, where women served food to those who approached with bowls. After receiving their stew, each person joined another line to collect that day's boiled egg.
Some eager serfs had no patience to help the refugees, but others, instructed by the village chief, guided them through the process.
Soon, the refugees each held a bowl of stew and got in line. They peeked at the portions in front of them: mostly radish, yes—but each bowl had three chunks of meat, each two fingers wide, too large for children to bite through in one go. The meat was fall-off-the-bone tender and mouthwateringly fragrant.
"Is this… real meat?" one refugee near the front couldn't help tapping the shoulder of the serf in front of him.
The serf, standing on tiptoe to see when his turn was up, replied impatiently, "Of course. It's meat day. Everyone gets some."
"Even us?"
Finally turning to glance at him, the serf answered, "Of course! Why else would we tell you to line up here? Eat fast—when you're done, you can come back for more radish stew. Tastes just as good!"
The refugee said nothing more. His mind echoed with just one phrase: we get meat!
Word spread quickly. All the refugees fell silent, hoping their turn would come soon. Those at the back prayed there'd still be meat left when they arrived.
In the end, every one of them received stew. Even the last person in line saw there was still meat in the pot—though the rest was reserved for the cooks and dock supervisors.
Still, no one was disappointed. They had not only eaten meat and flavorful radishes—each child even got an egg. The woman handing out eggs apologized, explaining they'd underestimated the crowd—otherwise, adults would have gotten eggs too.
Even when they were still free people, they'd never been treated this well. Here, they'd eat meat once a week and get an egg every two days. Wasn't this heaven?
Even without homes of their own yet, or any sign of the promised tax-free farmland, the refugees finally felt at peace. Their fear and uncertainty were gone.
They were safe now.