Chapter 711.2: Are You A Pig?!

Kapil stared blankly at him. His outstretched right hand fell weakly back down. Only after the man had gone far away did he finally come back to his senses and begin examining his surroundings with difficulty.

He appeared to be in a field hospital. The cramped tent contained over a dozen beds, all occupied by heavily bandaged men. The atmosphere was utterly lifeless.

Slowly turning his gaze to himself, he saw that the portion of his body sticking out from beneath the blanket was wrapped tightly in bandages. What horrified him even more was his right hand.

Only then did he realize that everything past his elbow had been replaced by a heavy metallic prosthetic.

The memories from before he lost consciousness slowly flooded back into his mind.

He remembered being knocked unconscious by a mortar shell during the assault on the Governor’s Manor.

Soon, a man in a khaki uniform lifted the tent flap and walked straight to his bedside. “... 12 pieces of shrapnel entered your body. We only managed to remove 10. The fact that you’re still alive is practically a miracle.”

Looking down at the man lying in bed, he sneered, “Of course, your teammates weren’t nearly as lucky. Nine of them together couldn’t even make up one intact corpse.”

All dead...

Kapil’s throat bobbed, yet no words came out for a long time.

For some reason, when he heard those words, the anger he should have felt never came. All that remained was numbness and confusion. If only one person had died, he would remember that person’s name, visit the grave from time to time, and even reminisce about what they had been like while alive.

But when the number of dead became so great that it could only be summarized by a rough figure, the weight assigned to each individual name suddenly seemed insignificant.

Perhaps General Alyang had felt the same way when facing those numbers...

Kapil only felt that his own survival seemed unreal.

“... Who are you?” Though he had already guessed the man’s identity, Kapil still forced the question painfully from his throat.

“Clerk of the Prisoner Affairs Division under the Civil Defense Office. As for my name, you don’t need to know it. You only need to remember that you’re a prisoner.” As he spoke, the man flicked his thumb and tossed a metal tag the size of a coin onto the blanket. A string of numbers was engraved on it. “This is your ID number. Once you can stand up, take it outside to register your name and address. You’ll need it when collecting meals, assuming you still want to eat.”

After finishing his instructions, the man turned toward the tent exit. Suddenly recalling something, Kapil hurriedly called out to stop him. “Wait, my arm...”

“The original one was ruined, so we replaced it with a new one.” The man claiming to be from the Prisoner Affairs Division glanced at his prosthetic arm before continuing, “The cost will be paid by your emperor as part of the war reparations. No need to thank us.”

Watching the man leave, Kapil tried moving his body. Feeling mostly recovered, he slowly climbed out of bed.

The registration office was not far from the tent. Carrying his metal tag, he went over and quickly completed the prisoner registration process.

He was just in time for dinner.

Following instructions from a logistics worker, he found the camp assigned to him. After collecting bedding supplies, he carried his mess tin over to a giant pot where a long line had formed.

Two men who appeared to share the same prisoner status were working beside the pot, constantly stirring whatever was inside using enormous wooden ladles.

The entire camp was filled with a rich, sweet aroma, causing Kapil to unconsciously swallow as he muttered under his breath, “What are they cooking?”

He had not expected anyone to answer, yet the man standing ahead of him turned around. “Heard it’s corn.”

A trace of anticipation shone in the man’s eyes as he spoke.

Kapil froze briefly. “... Corn?”

He had heard of that crop before. It was apparently common in the central and southern regions of the Sunset Province. A small amount had also been introduced into the Poro Province, though nowhere near as widely planted as beans.

“That’s right. They say it was shipped from Silvermoon Bay, same as the doctors treating you...” The man looked over the bandaged newcomer before continuing, “My name’s Akhta. I used to serve under Commander Manu... Ah, whatever. We’re all in the same camp now anyway.”

Kapil swallowed before introducing himself as well. “... Kapil. Prince Dilip led us in the assault on the Governor’s Manor.”

Akhta let out a soft whistle and glanced toward the nearby militia guards before curling his lips slightly. “Really? That was a disaster... Heard only a little over a thousand of you survived. If you made it out alive, then the Wolf God must truly be protecting you.”

Kapil forced out a bitter smile. After remaining silent for a long while, he finally asked, “What exactly happened here?”

“As you can see, we lost, and then became prisoners of the New Alliance... though technically it’s mostly the militia managing us.”

Apparently unwilling to discuss the details of that battle, Akhta brushed over the topic vaguely before he continued, “... For the first three days, those monkeys locked us in cages, pissed on us, and dumped food on the ground for us to lick up. In the end, even the New Alliance guys couldn’t stand watching anymore, so they moved us here. Anyway, you woke up at the perfect time. The labor camp outside the city is finished now. We only work eight hours a day, get three meals, and even earn two Gallons in wages.”

Kapil frowned. “Gallons?”

“The new currency.” Akhta pulled out a coin and shook it before stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Ever since the Empire cut off supplies to this place, this stuff works way better than the old currency. Sure, two Gallons won’t buy much, but it’s better than nothing. Oh right, I heard that if you’re literate, they’ll assign you easier work. The pay’s slightly better too, maybe five or six Gallons a day.”

Though he had no interest whatsoever in the so-called new currency, Kapil still instinctively asked, “... How are assignments handled?”

“How are they handled? They assign you however they like, obviously. Did you think prisoners get to choose?” Akhta gave him a strange look, as though his brain had truly been blown apart. After some time, he continued, “Anyone who refuses to work gets sent to shovel shit. Don’t lose your mind and talk back to them. Though honestly, you’re different from the others. Everyone else who woke up like you seemed completely insane.”

“Maybe my brain’s broken too.” Kapil gave another bitter smile. After a long pause, he quietly continued, “I feel like I’ve already died once.”

Akhta stared at him silently for a couple moments before saying nothing further, because it was finally his turn for food.

One bowl of fragrant corn porridge, a spoonful of pickled long beans, and two slices of soft yellow bread.

That was dinner after a day of labor.

Akhta happily thanked the fellow prisoner serving the food, then carried his overflowing mess tin to the side and began devouring it eagerly.

And he was not the only one. Everyone in the camp ate with enormous enthusiasm. Not only because they had spent all day performing hard labor on construction sites and wasteland fields, but because they had never tasted food this delicious before.

Especially the bread. It was soft and fluffy.

Things like that did not even seem like food that should appear on an ordinary civilian table, yet these iron men generously fed it to prisoners of war!

What kind-hearted people!

Akhta nearly wanted to kneel down and kowtow to the iron men who had freed him from the cage and fed him full meals.

Without exaggeration, the food they were given in the labor camp was even better than what they had eaten while crouching in the trenches before!

Kapil also went forward and filled a bowl.

Perhaps because he had not suffered through those previous few days, he was nowhere near as emotional as the former comrades around him. Instead, he silently carried his tray to the corner of the camp and found a quiet spot to eat alone.

Back in the Xilande Empire, his family had belonged to the fairly well-off citizen class. He had never lacked nutrition growing up. Logically speaking, he should not have reacted so strongly to food. Yet when he lowered his head and tasted the first spoonful, his pupils widened in shock.

A rich sweetness spread across his tongue, a flavor unlike anything he had ever tasted before, almost like milk mixed with honey.

It was not overwhelmingly delicious, but the unique flavor and texture made him unconsciously swallow another mouthful.

Before he realized it, he had already finished the entire bowl of corn porridge, along with the two pieces of bread and the tangy pickled beans.

Feeling full and satisfied, Kapil sat down on the ground. He glanced longingly at the spotless empty bowl in his hands before raising his head toward the gradually brightening night sky.

So delicious... I really want another bowl.

Resting his steel prosthetic on his bandaged stomach, he leaned the back of his head against the camp tent and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

The peaceful evening breeze brushed against his face, almost like the songs of his homeland. The deafening explosions now felt like a distant dream, buried far away alongside the boiling blood and souls of the battlefield.

For the first time since waking up, he realized... Being alive could actually feel wonderful!

...

At that very same moment, it was not only the Gray Wolf Army in the labor camp who were enjoying themselves. Prince Dilip, locked inside the detention center of the Harbor DistrictGuard Station, was equally enthusiastic about his meal.

Even though he had led the Xilande Empire’s finest forces into the dumbest battle imaginable, it did not stop the imprisoned prince from having an excellent appetite. One bowl was never enough, he always wanted another.

Truthfully, he was quite the connoisseur, especially when it came to food. He could even arrogantly claim that the Wislanders themselves would have to admit defeat before him in matters of cuisine.

For example, when eating roast lamb, he would only eat freshly weaned lambs, and only a tiny portion from the spine. The rest would be handed to servants.

Yet after being imprisoned the past few days and forced to eat several meals of meatless vegetarian prison food, he had unexpectedly discovered an entirely new world.

Who would have thought the New Alliance not only possessed astonishing technology, but also such profound culinary skill? To create such uniquely delicious dishes from such humble ingredients and simple cooking methods!

Passing his tray back through the little barred window, Prince Dilip looked eagerly at Mandar and asked awkwardly, “Can I have another bowl?”

“Are you a pig? You eat more than the people doing actual labor!” Looking at the prince, who had visibly gained weight, Mandar could not help cursing.

It was precisely pigs like him ruling the Xilande Empire that had caused people like him to suffer humiliation again and again.

Mandar felt both angry and delighted at the same time. Angry because he realized he had once been ruled by pigs. Delighted because now he was the one riding on the pig’s head.

Even if it was only temporarily.

Waving a finger arrogantly, he signaled one of his uniformed subordinates to refill the prince’s bowl once more.

Watching the corn porridge being poured into the bowl, Prince Dilip himself seemed a little embarrassed. His face reddened like a monkey’s backside as he tried to salvage some dignity. “And a bit more of that sour thing too... Ahem, the meal fees can just be added onto my ransom. I’m not eating for free... I’ll pay.”

“Wait until your emperor signs the ceasefire agreement first.” Mandar rolled his eyes, treating his words like nonsense. After handing matters off to his subordinates, he glanced at his watch.

It was already time to get off work.

He had finished feeding those important criminals, but his own stomach was still empty.

That corn porridge really smelled amazing...

Mandar gulped unconsciously, but ultimately restrained himself. It was not because he was too proud to eat prisoner food, but because even better delicacies awaited him at the banquet later.

To thank the merchants supporting Port Gallon’s reconstruction efforts, and for various investment attraction purposes, the Port Gallon authorities were preparing to hold a grand banquet at the most luxurious hotel in the harbor district to entertain the guests who had resolved the settlement’s urgent crisis.

Not only would the traveling merchants attend, but also all the important figures within the settlement, as well as several key representatives among the iron men. Though the banquet food itself was worth anticipating, eating had never been the true purpose of such events.

Getting closer to those iron men was what truly mattered. After all, his future prosperity depended entirely on them!

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