Chapter 2
He tightly tied the sack filled with black charcoal and tried erasing the red-haired girl who kept flickering in his head. Thinking of her is only an illusion that's made for him to feel like he wasn't alone.
Riftan pulled out firewood from the storage and stacked his sack in a barrow. He then grabbed the handles and pushed his load forward. He did the same routine over and over without stopping that he was able to transport all the charcoal before the sun reached the middle of the sky. With his raggedy sleeves, he wiped his sweat and pumped water from the well to quench his thirst.
The only fortunate thing about his damned life was that he was stronger than his peers. He couldn't get the nutrition his body needed so his limbs and legs were thin, but he was tall and big enough to meet the height of boys two or three years older than him.
From eight years of age, he never suffered from any major illness despite being subjected to rigorous labor. There were times he would hope he's sick when faced with a mountain of work but seeing people dying from unknown causes made that thought disappear.
If he gets sick, it's all over. He couldn't afford to go to a healer, let alone a priest, nor couldn't expect someone to nurse him back to health because taking a day off work also means starving on that day.
Most poverty-stricken people just leave the sick unattended until they die, even their family. There's no other way or choice for them anyway.
Merchants, craftsmen, and architects were better off, but tenant farmers such as they are, had to pay enormous amounts of rent every season.
It was common for peasants to renounce their freedom and become enslaved serfs because they couldn't afford to pay taxes. Despite being able to pay taxes, putting food in the stomach is another difficult burden.
The taxes and rent implemented by the Duke of Croiso was particularly expensive. It wasn't only once or twice did he see his stepfather haggling with the tax collector.
Whenever his father opened his mouth, it would be complaining about the expensive rent and moving to a land with lower taxes and rent. However, Riftan was well aware that there was no way that they'll be able to leave the Croiso Manor.
Outside the walls were forests and lands infested by horrible monsters and it would require at least thirty silver coins to hire escort mercenaries to bring them to safety.
Even if he worked and farmed his whole life, he would never be able to save that amount of money. The only way to escape was to risk his own life, but Riftan knew that his stepfather doesn't have the guts to do so.
Riftan stretched his waist and massaged his throbbing shoulders. Despite all the profanity that his stepfather spat out complaining about the hefty rents and taxes, he went out at dawn everyday carrying a plow to the fields. There was no other choice for him. He'll wake up and do the same work over and over until he's old and ill, until his body can no longer work.
It was not difficult to picture his stepfather lying on the bed, waiting helplessly for the day that he dies. And soon, it will be him. Like most peasants, his life will end that way too.
Riftan's mouth twisted bitterly as he washed his soiled hands with the water from his canteen. But he was born strong, he will be able to withstand the hardships for at least thirty more years.
If he's fortunate, he might even be a blacksmith like his stepfather intends for him to be. However, at this rate, it was a shot to the moon for him to become a master at the craft.
There was a distinct hierarchy in the smithy. The blacksmiths of highest rank are the ones who make armors and weapons, the ones in the middle rank make the cauldrons, pots, doorknobs, and candlesticks; the rest had to hammer horseshoes all day long.
