Hearing these agonizing cries and wailing pleas.
The peasants working around took the opportunity to glance at this scene while turning during their labor.
Under the constant arm swings of the robust man.
The whip made sounds like cracking through the air, landing precisely on the peasants kneeling in the field.
Each lash caused a bloodstain to open on the peasants' exposed skin.
With distorted expressions, dry and cracked lips emitted painful moans.
Despite everything.
These peasants did not stop their work at all.
Only coldly sneaking a look.
Being peasants, they were used to it all.
Naturally.
Today, the punished peasant is someone else, tomorrow it could be them.
Numb, indifferent, without a ripple in their hearts...
As peasants, they were shackled and confined in thought since their ancestors.
As Manor Lord's property, they were to cultivate and plant for the Manor Lord, offering everything, only surviving by clinging to the Manor Lord.
