Chapter 277: Chapter 240 Hell’s Toll Chapter 277: Chapter 240 Hell’s Toll Shepherd Star Demilo rode the Serpent-Scorpion Dragon, leading his legion in an orderly fashion into Compound Resource Point No. 73, the Caverns.
Arriving at the cave’s entrance, he still saw no sign of the Ferocious Wolf Dragon, likely it had already been ransacked.
Was it a passing Mage or a nearby Crystal Flying Dragon?
Either was possible, as after all, the troops assigned to defend the resource point were doomed to become expendable items on the reimbursement list… how many Serpent-Scorpion Dragons should he leave to guard this spot?
Seemingly aware of the impending personnel changes, the Serpent-Scorpion Dragons grew restless, while the Whitedove Bird Dragons stood on one leg resting unconcernedly, even taking the time to preen each other’s feathers—being the only long-range accompanying troop under Demilo’s command, they naturally enjoyed treatment comparable to lovers.
Entering the grand hall of the cave, Demilo waved his hand, instructing the Serpent-Scorpion Dragons to move supplies.
The keen youngsters sensed that their subsequent work performance might determine whether they would rot in this cave or continue enjoying the best with the Shepherd Star, immediately searching the cavern energetically, their scorpion-tails held high.
Demilo could clearly sense the mood shift among his followers but didn’t care, gesturing for his mount to sit down. The Serpent-Scorpion Dragon obediently lowered its body, its scorpion tail curving into a roller-coaster-like arc, its tip perfectly landing on its back, serving as Demilo’s pillow.
Demilo closed his eyes, picking distracting snippets from his memory album. Yet, his gaze settled back on that dream he had already visited thousands of times and would likely revisit countless more.
It was when Demilo was 13 years old, the most miserable moment of his life.
Born into the Rebba clan, the surname meant nothing after his family was annihilated at age eleven due to an uncle’s corruption, implicating his parents. In that era, nobles played a cat-and-mouse game with the royal family, a competition between corruption and capture.
The young Demilo had narrowly escaped to a maid’s home to avoid legal punishment and then seamlessly transitioned from a noble’s son to an orphan harboring under the maid, living in the filthiest, crampiest storage room. He quickly matured, ate less, worked more, kept his head down—doubling his previous decade’s suffering in two years.
Clearly, Fate was a ruthless usurer, and double was merely the interest. At 13, when the maid found him a suitable Apprentice position, two men resembling blacksmiths took him away, and the destination was the locally famous “Whitedove Cage.”
A place known for its flesh market.
Male workers were called Whitedoves, and female workers were Grass Carps; young Demilo didn’t yet understand the origin of these names but soon would.
When the evil-hearted gang boss revealed the truth to Demilo, he felt no fear or other emotions but calmly accepted the reality. Perhaps, foreseeing Fate’s intent to reclaim his principal, he had anticipated this when hearing the maid couple’s increasing complaints and witnessing the husband’s evil expression and the maid’s apologetic eyes.
Being a wanted fugitive, he had the liberty to consent or die.
The gang boss also outlined his future work scope: a boy slightly handsome like him could not only sell his body but also gather intelligence, assassinate key figures, frame others—perhaps if lucky, he might get bought by a rich man enamored with his beauty… clearly, overtime was the norm here, and if ever caught by the police, he couldn’t claim innocence.
Holding onto the hope of eventually surviving to become someone’s bedmate, the teenage boy in distress entered one of the upper rooms of the Whitedove Cage, which was the staff dormitory.
The warm yellow walls, a clattering furnace, several tastelessly stitched burgundy sofas, a low table cluttered with snacks and drinks. Due to being on the highest floor, the warm light of the Star shone unreservedly through the balcony’s French windows, providing a stage for dancing dust particles.
But the floor was immaculate, cleaned often.
Compared to the storage room, living conditions had vastly improved; at least he wouldn’t wake up to rats visiting at night.
“Hey, your skin is so white!” A tall, voluptuous girl approached Demilo, reaching out to touch the precious legacy of his first ten years as a noble: “So smooth and tender, oh…”
“Is there finally a newcomer?” Another seemingly younger charming boy jumped up, clenching his fists excitedly: “Am I finally becoming a senior?”
“No, you still seem to be the youngest here.” Sitting far on the sofa, the quiet girl put down her book, “Drink more milk and grow taller.”
Demilo glanced, inside the quiet girl’s book, there were no words, only blood-pumping images… studying diligently after work?
The charming boy looked bitter: “But milk tastes fishy…”
The French balcony door swung open, and a breathtaking figure walked into the room, dressed in a baggy shirt and shorts, carrying a freshly hung load of laundry, exuding a homely yet seductive aura.
The orange-yellow warm light greedily clung to him, casting a divine glow.
Was he male? Or female? Gender seemed to lose its meaning at that moment.
“The boss only told us this morning that a newcomer would be joining the dormitory, everyone was barely awake, no time to prepare food. But since work starts in the evening, how about we throw a welcome party this afternoon?”