"Waaah!"

The whistle blew as evening fell, and everyone in the camp cheered.

"They're here! General Mike has finally arrived!"

Dozens of large warships slowly approached, and bonfires were lit in the camp.

The officers were already waiting on the dock.

As the gangway descended, a group of high-ranking officers disembarked.

Leading the group was a robust man in his fifties, whose identity was none other than Mike, a five-star general from the Taqi Kingdom.

Upon stepping onto the dock, his first glance fell upon Finks, who was among the group of officers waiting there.

"Long time no see, Finks," Mike greeted with a smile.

Finks said calmly, "Welcome, General Mike."

"We are ready to take action immediately."

Mike smiled and nodded, casually taking off his unique hat.

The hat was embroidered with a tricolor pattern in silk thread, just like the drooping national flag stuck next to the wine barrel.

The three-color pattern together form a lighthouse, which also symbolizes the national spirit.

Red represents courage.

White represents justice.

Blue represents freedom.

The combination of these three elements forms the proud motto of every Taqi resident: "A guiding light illuminating the world."

A group of people went ashore, and the logistics officer shouted excitedly:

"The banquet has begun!"

Then he grabbed a soldier and instructed him, "Make those filthy natives get back to where they came from, so they don't spoil our fun!"

Slaves are not qualified to serve high-ranking generals.

They were driven back to their shacks.

Laughter and the clinking of bottles filled the camp.

The young soldiers even joined hands and danced a lively cha-cha. Despite the lack of women to entertain them, they were still very happy.

Meanwhile, in the shacks outside the camp.

The slave boy was still clutching his aching stomach.

But in this filthy, dark shack, she finally gained a brief period of freedom.

So she stopped suppressing her tears and let them fall.

She wept bitterly, freely.

He groaned as he spoke the names of his loved ones, whether they were dead or still alive, from his distant homeland.

The slaves beside them sat or lay on the ground, their eyes vacant; they were already used to this kind of weeping.

In the early hours of the morning, the banquet, filled with laughter and joy, finally came to an end.

The soldiers returned to their tents, tipsy, ready to get a good night's sleep and recharge for the upcoming battle.

The slaves, exhausted, left their huts.

They needed to fill their stomachs with the leftovers and also clean up the mess left behind after the dinner.

If it's not tidied up by sunrise tomorrow, they will be hung on a cross and whipped.

The slave boy followed them out of the shack, but quietly headed towards the steep cliff.

Reaching the edge of the cliff, she stared blankly at the black sea below.

It's already late autumn, and in five days it will be October.

In my hometown, October is a busy season, a time to stock up on food for the coming winter.

The father needed to hunt wild ducks and turkeys, while the mother would take them to the fields to plant corn and pumpkins.

But it's no longer needed; there will never be another October.

The slave boy closed his eyes, clasped his hands together, and silently recited the names of his father, mother, brother, and sister, praying to be reunited with them.

After she finished praying, she opened her eyes. The sea breeze blowing from below the cliff was icy cold. She shivered and mustered her courage, but her legs were still weak.

But they still reached the edge of the cliff.

But then suddenly a human voice rang out:

"Hey, what are you doing?"

The boy, regaining his senses, was startled and quickly took a few steps back, saying nervously and fearfully:

"No...no...I..."

Her courage to commit suicide was defeated by the fear of enslavement, and she collapsed to the ground in terror.

But the person in the darkness only threw over a piece of pork leg.

The slave boy swallowed hard; the aroma of delicious food had stirred his will to survive, and the courage he had finally mustered had already faded.

She looked at the man nervously.

After seeing the face of the person sitting on the rock drinking, her fear subsided considerably.

That was Mr. Finks, who was always kinder than the others.

So she asked in a trembling voice:

"Mr. Finks, is this for me?"

Finks took a sip of beer and stared blankly at the sea: "If you can't finish it, take it if you want."

The boy quickly picked up the meat and started eating it.

After taking several large bites, she remembered to thank him and hurriedly said gratefully and timidly, "Thank you, Mr. Finks!"

Finks remained silent.

The boy continued eating, but as he ate, he burst into tears. He hadn't had such a big meal in a long time.

"Are you homesick?" Phinks's voice suddenly rang out.

The boy nodded, crying.

Finks downed his beer in one gulp, stood up, threw the empty bottle into the sea, and muttered:

"I miss home too."

The boy wiped away his tears and asked instinctively, "Aren't you...?"

Before she could finish speaking, Phinks seemed to have guessed what she was going to say and gave a self-deprecating laugh:

"Can't you tell? I'm from out of town."

As he spoke, he pointed to the sea ahead:

"That is my hometown."

The boy looked in the direction he was pointing, but all he saw was darkness; he couldn't see anything clearly as the night swallowed everything.

Finks stared blankly in that direction and said:

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