Chapter 702: Chapter 40 Prison_3 Chapter 702: Chapter 40 Prison_3 “`

Apel’s voice seemed to have a magical effect. Although Adam was glaring, panting heavily, and his face was blood red, he clamped his mouth shut.

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Among the captive officers, only Apel and Asko could earn a full portion of bread; the other prisoners who refused to work could only get half. When Adam was dizzy with hunger, it was Apel who always shared his bread with him. So when Apel spoke, Adam complied even though he did so reluctantly.

“Stop disgracing yourself!” Apel said sternly, “If you want to die, go kill yourself. If someone truly wants to die, who can stop them? Sit down!”

Adam felt his nose tingle, the tears swirling in his eyes, as he walked back to the corner, defeated, and sat down on the floor. The clinking of his chains made a cold sound.

“Winters.” Istvan leaned against the prison door, asking with a playful smile, “You don’t really expect to subdue us with this sort of method, do you?”

“What are you talking about? I have never thought of reforming you through labor.” Winters smiled too: “I could not possibly use you because I do not trust you. You are like what I once was, and your everything is tightly bound to Paratu. If one day I take Maplestone City, perhaps I will have the standing to ask for your help. Now? Forget it. The reason you are made to work is because my soldiers work hard in the fields, and if you were to get food and drink without laboring, it would be unfair to them.”

“Alright then.” Istvan laughed, “If you conquer Maplestone City, remember to come find me.”

...

Winters just nodded with a smile.

Still, Adam couldn’t resist asking sarcastically: “Work? So you’re going to have us make baskets?”

“Exactly.”

“[Incoherent expletive of frustration]!” Adam suddenly jumped up, “You just want to humiliate us! Making baskets! Making baskets? Making baskets is women’s work!”

Winters raised an eyebrow, countering, “Women’s work? Have you ever seen a basket weaver?”

Instinctively, Adam wanted to say “Yes,” but as he searched his memory, he realized he had not indeed seen one. His desire to preserve his dignity tempted him to stubbornly say “Yes,” but a deeper sense of self-respect prevented him from lying.

He fell silent, and his bravado diminished instantly.

“Basket weavers can be men or women, but it is mainly men who do this work; who says it’s women’s work?” Winters’s presence climbed slowly as he continued, “Making you weave baskets is because it’s the simplest, easiest task. Weave one basket a day and you get your bread, sometimes even meat and wine. Where else would you find such a good deal? Go to the labor camps and see. See how many baskets the prisoners have to weave there just to fill their stomachs!”

“Come on!” Winters took a semi-finished basket and expertly wove three layers. His weaving was crooked, but he managed to produce a basket: “I would never force you to do something I couldn’t do myself! If I can do it, why can’t you?”

“That’s easily said, but you could give us some carpentry or blacksmith work which is much better than basket weaving,” Istvan suggested with a smile still on his face.

“Carpentry? Blacksmith work?” Winters scoffed, “If I give you an axe, will you not strike it upon my soldier’s head? I’ve made it clear, I don’t trust you. My people’s lives are more important to me than your dignity, so you will just weave baskets.

I also have a question for you that troubled me for a long time—aside from killing and destruction, what else can you do? What else are you capable of doing? What else do you want to do?”

Istvan’s smile gradually solidified. The question made his body stiffen, his chest felt as if it were struck by a hammer, stifling him.

Those who think more on regular days have a stronger reaction to this question.

Adam didn’t seem to care as much, as he stubbornly shouted, “Then I refuse to weave baskets too!”

“You don’t want to weave baskets?” Winters asked coldly.

“I won’t weave them!”

“Fine! I’ll find you another task!” Winters declared and started to leave.

Before he left, he paused briefly at the door of Apel’s cell: “Many records from the towns in Iron Peak County are missing, and you used to manage these records. Bard would like to ask for your assistance there. If the Legion were to return to Iron Peak County, they would need these records too.”

“No need to console me.” Apel, head down weaving a basket, replied, “Tell Bard to come and talk to me in detail.”

“Thank you.” Winters left the prison without looking back.

…

After visiting Wolfwood Prison, Winters was ready for the journey back to Revodan.

He had arrived with a large contingent, and he returned with an even larger one.

Thus, Winters instructed Samukin to lead the captives on a slow march, while he himself proceeded ahead with the Mitchell Family and the “accounting school preparatory students.”

Bard, following the principles of “honesty, intelligence, and numerical literacy” in ascending order, selected thirty young people from the farms across the towns. The youngest was barely sixteen and the oldest twenty-two. The best prospects were both honest and numerate, the least promising merely honest. They were to become the first students of the accounting school—or part of the first cohort, as Winters was also actively recruiting students from among the families of Revodan and the military.

When Winters helped Mrs. Mitchell into the carriage, Caman, just like during the days when the Hundred Men of Wolf Town set out for battle, led a riding horse and a packhorse and approached the town square.

“Don’t ask!” Caman’s eyes blazed with anger: “And I won’t answer.”

Winters nodded expressionlessly, but inside, he was pleased.

Just what was the relationship between Caman and Ellen Mitchell? Winters was not sure yet, but he was certain it was not romantic. Even assuming such a thing gave Winters a sense of offending two respectable individuals.