Chapter 24 The Girl in the Cellar

Gloomy, dark clouds obscured the sun, and low rumbles echoed periodically across the sky. A fine, misty rain fell upon the earth, washing away the filth on the ground, yet it could not cleanse the atrocities committed by the Karluks at Sanhe Fort. Dried blood, stirred by the rain, gathered once more on the ground, flowing like a river.

Within the fortress, constructed of loess and stone, the marks of sword slashes and arrows remained clearly visible. In obscure corners, fragments of flesh, bones, and even severed limbs were occasionally unearthed by the rain. Nature’s tears failed to wash away the foul sins of Sanhe Fort; instead, they exposed the truth of it all.

"Boom—"

A low, thunderous roar suddenly detonated across the land. The Karluks, having just seized Sanhe Island, were momentarily startled by this display of celestial power. Some knelt in terror upon the ground, while others rushed out of their houses to stand in the rain, as if praying to the gods. A portion of the Karluks followed Nestorianism, but most were adherents of Shamanism. In their tribal culture, the supernatural force of thunder and lightning was beyond their comprehension. The deafening sound and immense power filled many herdsmen with awe and dread, driving them to devout, fearful prayer. They believed it to be a manifestation of divine wrath.

Not far from these herdsmen, inside a house built of adobe and stone, a woman lay naked on the floor. A chain was bound around her neck, its other end tethered to a pillar. Her body was covered in bruises, wounds, and filth. Two dried trails of red tears marked her face, and her hair was disheveled. Like a soulless corpse, she lay motionless on the cold ground, her vacant eyes staring at the ceiling, devoid of any expression.

A minute later, a burly, ugly man rose from her body, panting heavily. Feeling unsatisfied, he kicked the motionless woman viciously.

"Damn it, you’re like a corpse!"

"Can’t you make a sound? Scream for me!"

The man cursed in the Karluk language and struck the woman with a horse whip, adding countless welts to her already scarred body. Yet, even so, the woman remained motionless on the floor. She did not utter a sound, and there was not even a flicker in her eyes. It was as if she no longer felt pain, or as if the connection between her mind and body had been severed entirely. She seemed already dead.

But after a few more lashes, a miracle seemed to occur in the woman’s eyes. Her pupils shifted, the muscles in her face trembled, and she slowly turned her stiff neck to look toward the door. She thought she heard a child crying.

Right, she still had a son. He was still alive.

For the first time, color and hope returned to the woman’s face. She wanted to find her son, but she was trapped. She could only pin her hopes on the ugly man before her, staring at him with eyes filled with hatred.

"Where is my son?" she rasped, her voice like a broken bellows.

Seeing the woman finally speak, the Karluk man grinned in triumph, tossed the whip aside, and sat down carelessly beside her.

"Don't worry, he's still alive."

"I haven't had enough of you yet; how could I let him die?" the man laughed.

In the beginning, the woman had tried to commit suicide, and it was only by threatening the child’s life that he had forced her to submit. To him, the child was of no consequence, save for his utility in controlling the woman. He certainly could not let the boy die.

However, the man suddenly realized he hadn't fed the boy in two days. He decided to go check on the brat later, just as one would feed a cat or a dog.

With that thought, he put on his round-collared robe, draped a wolf-fur coat over it, and wrapped a necklace of wolf teeth around his forehead to project his ferocity and strength. He took a gold-inlaid scimitar he had looted from the Khitans, opened the door, and strode out.

He asked the two guards outside in a rough voice, "Have those fellows arrived?"

"They have, my lord, waiting for you ahead," a guard replied, bowing his head.

"Let’s go."

The man nodded slightly, cast a glance at the closed door behind him, mounted his horse, and left the courtyard.

The sky was still shedding a dense, fine rain, yet on the streets, one could occasionally see Karluks kneeling in the muddy ground. Though the weather was cold, they were shirtless, indifferent to the wind and rain, their faces filled with piety as they mumbled to themselves. These were the Karluk herdsmen, convinced that the thunder was a sign of divine rage, praying for atonement.

"Hmph, a bunch of brainless sheep!" the man muttered with disdain as he looked at the herdsmen.

His name was Aslan, the chieftain of this Karluk tribe. Even though most of these kneeling men were his own, he still viewed them as sheep misled by the Shaman priests. Divine wrath? It was nothing more than thunder. If one survived it, one was fine. If there truly were gods, why would they watch as their loyal Karluk people were oppressed by the Khitans? If there were gods, his father would never have been forced to commit suicide by the Khitans.

"Damn the gods," Aslan cursed under his breath.

Yet, he would not stop the herdsmen from kneeling. Shamanic culture was, after all, part of the tribal rule. The herdsmen were ignorant and superstitious, which only worked in Aslan’s favor. After all, the great Aslan was the gods' messenger on earth.

Regardless of the herdsmen’s piety, Aslan and his men rode straight past them toward a courtyard not far away.

Meanwhile, in the fortress occupied by the Karluks, a frail, small child struggled for survival like an ant. She appeared to be only eleven or twelve, dressed in blood-stained rags, barefoot, her hair a tangled mess of weeds and mud, resembling