Chapter 1268

"You! Break time’s over! Get moving!"

The overseer’s sharp eyes locked onto Kiole as he shouted. Kiole groaned as he pushed himself upright using the shovel for support. Just getting to his feet sent aches and pains radiating through his whole body, and he couldn’t help but let out a string of pained grunts.

Today’s labor was street maintenance. They had to lay fresh stones over the ground they had spent all day compacting, then plant grass and trees in a pleasing arrangement. They’d been planting for days already, yet the pile of unplanted vegetation still looked endless.

Damn it. If it weren’t for that damn lake, there wouldn’t be a need for so many trees...!

He used to think those paths—smoothed for wagons, carefully paved with patterned stones, shaded by trees and dotted with blooming flowers—had always been there like part of the natural world.

It was a shock {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} to learn every bit of it had been planted and maintained by someone’s hands.

“Hey! Don’t slack off! You’ve been told—it has to be planted precisely in the designated spots or it could impact the Seventh Wall of Luma! If you’re planning to bring down the capital’s thousand-year-old wall with your bare hands, by all means, keep that up!”

The overseer had a sixth sense for spotting the slightest laziness and pounced with a flurry of scolding.

That damn Seventh Wall! What even is it!

Kiole was sick of the name Luma. He was just as sick of the lake his father used to stroll around. He resolved that once he escaped this hell, he would never set foot here again.

Sweat poured down his face like rain as he worked, and soon his stomach let out a loud growl. He tried to ignore it, but it just kept getting louder—and more frequent.

He was ashamed, miserable, and hungry.

This is driving me mad... There’s still a long way to go until dinner.

He tried not to think about the hunger, but it was no use. His stomach ached more and more with each passing moment, and images of food started floating through his head.

Those cold drinks and sweet snacks his servants used to bring him during training—what he wouldn’t give for just one right now. He wouldn’t leave a crumb behind.

“Ugh...”

Just as his eyes were starting to well with tears, someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey, kid. Don’t cry. Here.”

A middle-aged man working alongside him slipped something into Kiole’s hand. He accepted it on instinct—it was a piece of steamed corn, the same kind they’d been given at breakfast.

“How did you...?”

“I stashed an extra. Eat it before the overseer sees.”

“B-But... if I eat this...”

It was clearly something the man had set aside for himself. If he gave it away, he’d have nothing left. Kiole hesitated, but the man simply chuckled and patted him on the back.

“I can wait until dinner. But you’ve been carrying the heaviest loads among us—you must be more exhausted. I may be a criminal, but I’ve still got some conscience left.”

Half a cob of corn. Normally, Kiole wouldn’t have given it a second glance. It had been wrapped in a scrap of leaf and carried around in someone’s clothes... yet in this moment, it didn’t feel dirty at all. Kiole forced back the lump rising in his throat and took a bite.

Ah. That rich, sweet taste.

The gourmet delicacies that had been swirling through his mind vanished in an instant. Was steamed corn always this delicious? Overwhelmed by emotion, Kiole devoured it.

“Tsk tsk. Don’t know what landed a kid like you in here, but let me give you some advice. Folks like us—no one mourns when we die. So you’ve got to look after yourself. These little things—corn and the like—they’re easy to sneak. Keep them handy. Best place to hide them is inside your pants. No one checks there.”

Wait... inside his pants?

Kiole froze. But he was still starving. He glanced down at his own wretched self—filthy, ragged—and closed his eyes tight before finishing the rest of the corn.

Damn it. Whatever. It would’ve been the same even if I’d brought it.

The man who’d laughed at the sight of Kiole shoving the corn into his face turned away to resume work. He knew better than to stick close to another inmate for too long—that only drew the overseer’s attention.

“Gk—kugh.”

The frantic, unceremonious way Kiole ate, completely forgetting his noble pride, unsurprisingly caused him to choke. He clamped down on his coughing so the overseer wouldn’t hear, but the other inmates around him sent him some rather displeased looks. Even in that dazed state, their gazes felt like those of hungry hyenas eyeing prey. Kiole instinctively curled in on himself, clutching the corn.

But they weren’t trying to take it from him.

“Tch, someone tell that kid we’re not going to steal it. Slow down.”

“The overseer went that way. He won’t be back for a bit.”

“Seriously? He choked trying to eat in secret? Want me to share some water?”

“You have water?”

“This is my thirteenth labor sentence. I always keep a little flask on me.”

“Whoa, this guy’s a total veteran. I gotta learn from you.”

Their voices were gruff and blunt, but their words... were shockingly kind. The shared struggle, the mutual ignoring of each other’s trembling legs and heavy loads, had somehow brought them all together.

Kiole took a sip from the dented flask one of the inmates handed him. The water was warm and tasted a little off—but it was enough to wash down the dust and calm his coughing. The others kept watch and shielded him with their bodies while he drank.

“Give me the corn husk. I’ll bury it—it’ll be completely untraceable.”

The husk was promptly disposed of. Unless the entire path was dug up again, no one would know a prisoner had eaten corn here.

It had only been half a cob, but Kiole no longer felt hungry. The grumbling in his belly was gone. Feeling awkward, he glanced around and muttered,

“Uh, th-thank...”

“Forget it. We’re all in the same damned boat.”

The other prisoners waved him off. Kiole was overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn’t describe. These filthy, smelly criminals felt more like true comrades than the posturing knights of the Imperial Guard ever had. He’d never experienced this kind of feeling before.

Maybe... maybe they were tricked into this too... Maybe they’re not really criminals, just like me.

The thought was absurd, and yet it genuinely crossed his mind.

After that moment, the prisoners began talking to each other more freely. Most of the conversation centered around how they had ended up with labor sentences.

“Me? I got caught skimming a little from the merchandise at work. Should’ve known something was off when that bastard Jay stuck around unusually late that day...”

“My wages kept getting delayed. The officials wouldn’t do a damn thing about it, so I flipped a desk. Got tossed in here immediately. Hah!”

“I pissed off someone important at work. Why, you ask?”

“Borrowed money. Paid back the principal, but couldn’t handle the interest. It was insane. I come in, do my labor, get out—it’s like a yearly ritual now!”

Their reasons varied, but they generally fell into two main categories: financial crimes like theft or embezzlement, and assault or defamation stemming from fights. And both of those struck Kiole hard.

First, the amounts of money they needed... were so small.

Second, in every case involving a fight, the other party had been a noble.

Some had even committed both offenses—getting into fights after receiving “charity” aid from noble-run programs, only to be harassed for repayment.

And Kiole... recognized every name they bitterly muttered.

Baron Mildre, the famed philanthropist. Viscount Clomier, known for hosting lavish charity events. Count Rubecully, respected for employing capable commoners...

All people Kiole had often seen around Duke Diarka.