On a green leaf, a drop of pure water slides gently, reflecting within it an inverted image of a road winding between the trees. Suddenly, the drop trembles, seemingly unable to cling to the leaf any longer. It falls to the ground, and dust soon covers what remains of its trace.
Nearby birds begin to flee as the noise rises. Dozens of people appear, accompanied by horse-drawn carts. At the front walk a group of eight men carrying hunting rifles. Behind them are two medium-sized carts, each pulled by a single horse. The carts have simple, unremarkable designs. Following them are twenty men, each carrying a sword and a shield. Some of the swords gleam brightly, reflecting the rays of the sun, while others are dirty and dull. Their armor covers every part of their bodies except their eyes.
After these twenty men comes a large cart with massive wheels, radiating an air of nobility. It is red, adorned with golden decorations. Behind the cart walk twelve men whose appearance is no different from the twenty at the front.
Then come thirty-seven people walking in pairs, their hands and feet bound with chains. Their faces bear looks of despair. From them emanate sorrow, hatred, resentment, and regret. They are slaves. Despite the heaviness of their chains, they walk at a fast pace—there is no other choice. Behind them are six men holding leather whips, watching anyone who dares to slow down.
Among these slaves is a man in his thirties. He is of average height, thin from malnutrition, with short curly hair, a sharp nose, and deep eyes in which the fluctuations of life can be seen. As he walks, he suddenly pulls his chain backward, causing the man in front of him—already exhausted and barely able to walk steadily—to stumble.
A guard notices his behavior and approaches. Without warning, the whip cuts through the air and strikes the back of the man who nearly falls. Blow after blow rains down upon the poor man, giving him no chance to defend himself.
From behind, black eyes observe everything that has happened.
"This is the last guard. He doesn't seem to be carrying any keys. Of course, what fool would place the keys in the hands of these idiots? Still, it was worth a try," the man in his thirties mocks silently in his mind.
It seems that all along, he has been using those around him in search of a way to escape—grasping at any hope for survival. He has cast his morals aside. He feels intense resentment toward some of the people around him.
"It seems they hate me more than the guards do. That doesn't matter. As long as I'm here, I'll try every possible way to survive. With perseverance and effort, I will achieve my goal. I refuse to believe that my fate is to live as a wretched slave."
A sharp glint flashes in the man's eyes.