Chapter 150 The Orcs Weep and Wail
What kind of life can be considered a happy life? For some, it's a life of luxury, free from the worries of survival, only concerned with how to enjoy themselves.
For others, it's as simple as having enough to eat, a basic necessity that sometimes required exhausting all their means.
When Henry arrived at the dock, the usual place for storing wheat and parking carriages, he found it occupied by orc slaves. They squatted on the ground, their eyes fixed on the cooking wheat porridge, and the scent of wheat in the air, who couldn't help but lick their lips
"Henry!" David ran over and saluted. "Only a few orcs have left; the rest are all here."
"Alright! Do we have enough wheat?"
Henry looked at the several large iron barrels, each enough to feed fifty people. They had already used three.
"Not enough," David shook his head and said in a deep voice, "We only brought enough wheat for a hundred people for six days. We spent two days on the road..."
Henry waved his hand, interrupting the dull report, and said with a smile, "The Lord of Hyratos has agreed to our wheat purchase request. We will buy enough wheat for five thousand people for four months at ninety percent of the market price. If there aren't enough boats, we can rent some."
David was momentarily stunned, then his eyes lit up, and he replied in a deep voice. "Yes!"
He had been worried about the shortage of food, but Henry brought good news. Now David also had the courage to let those orcs have a full meal.
"Go and arrange for them to eat, make sure they line up properly, and maintain discipline," Henry said lightly.
"Yes!" David nodded vigorously. Anyone who dared to cause trouble would be met with a whip. If they wanted a mouthful of food, they had to follow the rules.
"If they cause any trouble, I'll take care of them," Mila said coldly, her military knife appearing in her hand. She wouldn't hesitate to deal with those troublemakers.
"Don't be so aggressive," Henry said, holding onto Mila's cat ears, gently rubbing them and smiling. "People are not saints; if they makes mistakes. Minor mistakes will land them in the 'small dark room' for a few days, but only serious mistakes warrant death."
"The 'small dark room'?" Mila was confused. People were sent there if they made mistakes? Was it a dungeon?
"It's a small, completely sealed, pitch-black room, less than five feet in height, just enough for one person to lie down. No sound can be heard from the outside. It's commonly known as the 'small dark room.'"
Henry explained briefly, "Those who make minor mistakes are locked in for three to five days. During those days, they have no communication with anyone, and there is no light. Even when food is delivered, it's done in complete silence."
Upon hearing this, Mila shivered. If one stayed in such an environment for a day or two, it might be bearable, but for three to five days or more, those without strong wills would likely go mad.
Everyone was afraid of loneliness, no matter who they were, except for psychopaths, of course. A psychopath could have a great time all by themselves.
"Henry, if I make a mistake, you won't lock me up too, will you?" Mila asked timidly.
"Why would I?" Henry laughed, "If you make a mistake, I'll just spank you."
Mila's cheeks turned red, and she nervously twisted her clothes, wondering if she should make a mistake. What would it feel like to be spanked by Henry?
Henry looked at the increasingly red cheeks of the catgirl and couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking.
"Get in line, or there will be no wheat porridge for you," David's loud voice rang out, echoing far into the night.
As soon as they heard there was food, the orcs snapped to attention, all of them becoming active, immediately standing up and eagerly looking at the three large steel barrels.
At the soldiers' request, all the orcs formed three lines, and anyone who dared to cut in line would be met with a soldier's boot.
At such a critical moment, it was necessary to use force, or else if someone started a riot, those who were ravenous would do anything.
While the orcs were lining up, several soldiers carried large wooden barrels to the sides of the line.
"Everyone, wash your hands. If your hands aren't clean, you won't get any wheat porridge," David shouted.
The orcs were a bit confused but didn't dare to say anything. They all obediently washed their hands, rubbing them hard until their skin turned red.
The orcs who had washed their hands were stopped by the soldiers when they were about seven or nine feet away from the wheat porridge.
"Take this!" The soldier handed three small pieces of paper to the orc with clean hands and instructed. "Don't lose them. You can go eat the wheat porridge now."
"Okay!"
The orc carefully took the pieces of paper and then eagerly approached the steel barrel, looking at the thick wheat porridge inside, unable to help but swallow.
The soldier guarding the wheat porridge held out his hand and said, "Give me a piece of paper!"
The orc looked at the soldier in confusion. What was a piece of paper?
"This is it!" The soldier suppressed his laughter and took a small piece of paper from the orc's hand.
"Here, go eat over there!"
The soldier handed a wooden bowl the size of an adult's palm to the orc, pointing to an empty space nearby and said, "After you finish eating, if you're still not full, go back and line up again. One piece of paper is good for one bowl of wheat porridge."
This made the orc unable to help but tighten his grip on the piece of paper. So, the orc understood that he could still eat such a large bowl of wheat porridge? And it was three bowls.
"Hurry up, don't block the others," the soldier urged.
"Okay!" The orc went to the side with the wheat porridge, looking at the thick porridge in the bowl.
The orc felt as if he were dreaming. This large bowl of wheat porridge was more than the orc had in the past three days combined.
"So delicious, really delicious..."
Tears streamed down the orc's face as he ate, flowing into the wheat porridge. It might be salty, but it warmed the orc's heart.
With this bowl, the orc was thirty percent full. The orcs looked at the empty wooden bowl in their hands, then at the steel barrel, and nervously lined up again, clutching the piece of paper.
Soon, the first round of orcs had all received their wheat porridge, and it was already the second round. The orc had one less piece of paper in his hand, and he received another bowl of wheat porridge.
Tears streamed down the orc's face, and he choked and sobbed. They had forgotten how long it had been since they had eaten a second bowl of wheat porridge, and they still had a piece of paper in their hands.
If this was a dream, they hoped they would never wake up.
