Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Jiangbei Province, Xiaolu City.

Xiaolu City is famous for two things, one being its colorful pottery, the other being the notorious “Shishan Prison”.

Shishan Prison is a debtor’s prison, specifically for incarcerating bankrupt individuals and the poor who owe taxes.

Unless friends or relatives are willing to lend a hand, there are only two outcomes for those unlucky enough to be locked up in Shishan Prison: to either die of illness in the gloomy, overcrowded cells or to perish from relentless hard labor day after day.

After the military government took over Xiaolu City, Shishan Prison was also requisitioned, and no longer just confined to locking up debtors.

The identities of the new prisoners included [deserters], [Red Rose supporters], [civil servants who refused to pledge allegiance], and so on. They had two things in common: firstly, they were regarded as criminals and enemies by the military government; secondly, the military government did not care about their life or death.

Just in the month of October, nearly a hundred deserters and farmers dodging military service were sent to Shishan Prison; in November, the number rose to two hundred.

The influx of a large number of new prisoners led to Shishan Prison becoming unbearable due to the already severe overcrowding, and the military government’s method of solving this problem was simple — not enough space in the prison? Then make space, right?

Therefore, after winter arrived, the main job of the warden of Shishan Prison was to execute prisoners who had been incarcerated the previous month, to make room for the new prisoners of the next month.

After all, in theory — under the assumption that one acknowledges the validity of the military government’s decrees — the “deserters,” “enemies,” and “traitors” locked up in Shishan Prison had already been sentenced to death.

Every first day of the week, the prisoners of Shishan Prison would await the roll call by the guards in extreme fear. Those whose names are called would go to the gallows, those not called would live another seven days, and then there would be another roll call.

Pierre Gerardnovich Mitchell could no longer remember how long he had been locked up, a week? Two weeks? A month?

After all, in the hell on earth that was Shishan Prison, time had no meaning.

Pierre contracted a severe illness.

In Shishan Prison, everyone would get sick; not getting sick would be strange.

Not to mention the food, drink, and living conditions, just take going to the restroom.

The buckets for feces and urine could only be emptied every other day, but it only took a day to fill them up. Over sixty people crammed into a space meant for twenty, eating, drinking, and defecating, the filthy cell was simply a breeding ground for plague.

Fortunately for Pierre, a kind old man took care of him.

The old man bribed the guards, managing to get hot stones every day to warm Pierre’s body. Pierre’s throat was so swollen he couldn’t swallow bread, so the old man chewed up the sour black bread — the only food the prison provided to prisoners — and mixed it with warm water into a mushy gruel to feed him.

The old man was a local from Xiaolu City, locked up in Shishan Prison for a mountain of debt.

The old man said to Pierre: “Now I think, being deceived might also be a grace from the Lord; as long as I haven’t paid back the money, no one wishes me dead. What could be worse than waiting for death? That demon is just intentionally torturing you all.”

…

That demon was the nickname the old man used for the new warden.

For the prisoners, the “roll call” every Monday was the most torturous experience.

When the warden entered the dungeon with the register in hand, the prisoners fell silent as if the air itself was frozen solid.

The warden would stand in the middle of the corridor, slowly unfolding the register, calling out each name one by one, repeating each thrice.

Prisoners listened with ashen faces, afraid to even breathe heavily.

Prisoners whose names were called would either burst into tears or faint from shock, many completely collapsed. They would never voluntarily leave their cells, nor would the warden or guards enter the cells to drag out the nearly insane prisoners.

The warden merely informed the other prisoners, “Let him, or any one of you in his place,” and ordered the guards to prepare the matchlock guns.

The words of “that demon” were not empty pale threats, but an objective description of what was to come. As a result, most of the named prisoners were forcibly pushed out of their cells by other inmates.

As for those not named, though they felt a brief sense of relief and joy, these feelings were quickly devoured.

Because they understood there would be a next time, and the time after that, and the time after that… As long as they were in Shishan Prison, eventually misfortune would fall upon them. When that time came, they too would be dragged out of their cells by others, discarded like trash.

Enduring such cruel mental torture, some prisoners had become deranged, and a few even preferred to commit the grave sin of suicide rather than continue living.

Whether the warden did it on purpose, Pierre was not sure, but the demon clearly took pleasure in the effect.

…

“Yes, he is tormenting us,” Pierre answered the old man hoarsely: “[An old saying] the sinner has received his due punishment.”

“What?” The old man did not understand: “What did you say?”

“An old saying, meaning he takes tormenting us as meting out punishment to sinners — the words of that demon himself, in front of us and the guards. Heh, he probably thought no one would understand.”

Pierre seemed to be smiling, but the rage and resentment in his eyes made the old man shiver: “We are sinners? What crime have we committed to deserve such treatment? Who does he think he is? A judging angel? He’s just a sick man! A beast eager to inflict suffering with a pitiful little bit of power…”