Final Lord

Chapter 292 The Slave Mobilization

Before he finished speaking, Keynes had already transformed into a blur and rushed towards the edge of the swamp. The residual force of the self-destruction of the Dharma Form tore a scorched trench behind him, slowing down the pursuers.

In a cave far from the poisonous fog, the surviving minotaurs huddled in the shadows. Their armor was shattered, their skull ornaments on their nose rings were covered in mud, and their heavy breathing was punctuated by painful groans.

As Keynes appeared at the cave entrance, a warrior with a broken horn struggled to his feet, a hoarse sob escaping his throat: "Chief...too many of our people have been poisoned. Our people...only thirty percent remain..."

"Damn it!" Upon hearing the news, Keynes slammed his fist against the rock wall, sending rubble flying. He scanned every ashen face. Those warriors who had fought alongside him now had an unprecedented fear in their eyes.

"Chieftain, those arrows are too powerful," a minotaur said tremblingly. "We need to think of something, in case those Medusas catch up..."

"Shut up!" He ripped off the remaining fragment of the golden nose ring from his neck and threw it into the depths of the cave. "As long as the horns are not broken, the minotaur will never bow his head!" But when he looked down at his cracked horns, his knuckles trembled for a moment.

In the distance, Medusa's triumphant cry could be faintly heard. Keynes gritted his teeth and slammed his battle axe into the ground: "Let's get back to the labyrinth... We'll settle this score with them later."

……

In the dimly lit Minotaur labyrinth, the glow of fluorescent moss flickers, as if foreshadowing an impending storm.

Just as the main force of the Minotaur was trapped in the poisonous fog swamp and forced into retreat by Medusa's rain of arrows, pairs of gray-brown eyes quietly lit up in the darkness of the caves and huts deep within the labyrinth. The caveman Shakt the Spear stood in a secluded cave, his scales trembling slightly with tension, but his gaze was more resolute than ever before.

The slaves before him had long been subdued by the minotaur's force, but at this crucial moment, they lacked the courage to take a desperate gamble.

And now, Shakert is going to give them that last bit of courage!

Shaker Gunslinger leaped onto a protruding obsidian, its jagged scales gleaming with a vengeful cold light beneath the fluorescent moss.

He took a deep breath, and the suppressed anger in his chest transformed into a thunderous declaration:

"Slaves! Open your hearts, worn down by chains, and see—"

He tore open the festering skin on his chest, revealing the slave mark branded by the minotaur's iron. "This filthy brand, I have it, and you have it too! Our ancestors all had it! It is the source of all suffering, the beginning of all evil."

Suddenly, cries echoed through the cave. The elderly caveman trembled as he touched the same brand on his body, while the cubs huddled in terror between their mother's tail.

"Remember Tok from the third level of the cave? He was a cheerful young man who could play all sorts of random music on a mud flute, and the children all loved him."

Shaker's tail lashed out at the ground, splashing up blood-tinged mud.

"He could have survived the mine collapse last month—but the minotaurs thought rescuing slaves was too much trouble, so they simply sealed the passage with molten iron!"

His voice suddenly rose, causing rocks to fall from the cave ceiling. "I heard him and my people screaming in the cave, but we weren't even allowed to approach the mine."

The minotaurs were watching us, telling us to keep working in other mines. That's our fate!
We are slaves, and slaves must obey, so we have to watch our people die in the cave!

Suppressed sobs erupted from the crowd. It wasn't just the cavemen crying; several Shadowscale lizardmen dug their claws deep into the rock walls, and the dwarves breathed heavily.

We are all slaves, and the fates of slaves are always similar.

“Look at your children!” Shaker suddenly grabbed a emaciated cub, peeled back its skin to reveal some horrible parasites.

He ripped the parasite off the cub's skin and shouted:

"Do you see these maggots? These maggots drink our blood and eat our flesh! We are already riddled with holes from being eaten by maggots, must our offspring suffer the same fate as us?"

The cub cried out in pain, its cries heart-wrenching, like a rusty saw slicing through the hearts of all the cavemen.

Shaker slammed a spear into the ground, the sparks from the tip illuminating his scarred, grotesque face.
"When I was tending the furnace for the dwarves, I wanted to jump into the fire countless times to end my suffering, but I gritted my teeth and endured it."

Because I've been waiting, waiting for hope. Not for my own hope, but for the hope of our people's future generations!

"Today! At this moment!" With each word Shakert took a step forward, the calluses from the chains shattering beneath his feet. "Our future lord has torn open a rift in hell! The minotaur's battleaxe is crumbling under Medusa's fangs!"

This may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for us, perhaps even a once-in-a-generation opportunity for our entire people!

Suddenly, Shaker ripped off the iron collar around his neck, oblivious to the rusty metal cutting through his flesh. "Will you choose to continue decaying in this abyss, or seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so that our descendants can proudly say, 'I am a caveman'?!"

"Charge—!" The roar of three hundred warriors shook the entire maze, and the sound of their spears striking their breastplates was like the sound of ancient war drums!

The elderly cavemen used their broken teeth to bite open the chains binding their cubs, and even the most timid Shadowscale Lizardmen broke the shackles on their tail fins.

The moment Shaker leaped off the rock, all sound ceased. He picked up the rusty pickaxe from the ground and, under the watchful eyes of a thousand burning eyes, slammed this tool—which had tormented generations of their ancestors—against the rock face carved with the minotaur totem!

"I swear by the blood of my ancestors flowing through my veins!" His roar, like lightning cleaving through the darkness, echoed with the thunderous crash of the pickaxe against the rock. "Let our bones pave the way for our descendants to escape!"

Let's give it our all! Let's fight! Not for ourselves, but for our children!

"rush!!!"

The slaves, who had already been organized, poured out of their hiding places, armed with rudimentary weapons—rusty pickaxes, broken chains, and even sharp bone fragments. The Shadowscale Lizardmen glided silently across the underground river, while the Dwarves used smuggled furnace tools to pry open their chains. The goblins, though mad, were surprisingly cooperative at this moment, using their agility to scale the rock walls and scout the way for the group.

(End of this chapter)