He happened to have another skill: he could speak several languages. The children in the cage came from all over, and he could converse with almost every one of them. Coupled with those sensational rumors, he would also put on a variety of expressions and gestures.

“Some masters like to eat children, especially ones our age. Every year, these slave traders pick a batch of tender-skinned kids just for those adults with special tastes. They’ll claim you’re disobedient, defied your master, or tried to escape, then tie you up tight, wash your butt clean, and while torturing you, they’ll cut off pieces of flesh to eat—some roasted, some boiled, all kinds of ways. And while the master eats, you’re still alive, watching it happen.”

The sharp-faced boy bared two rows of white teeth and stuck out his tongue to lick around his lips. “Wash your butt clean” was his favorite catchphrase.

It wasn’t until a child of about eight or nine burst into tears that he finally shut up, satisfied, and rested for a while.

Before long, Samuel Cooper got used to the sharp-faced boy’s acerbic tongue and endless chatter. His mood now was like that of a terminally ill patient—since he knew the end was near, he had no will to live. If there was anything left to hope for, it was only to wonder when death would finally come.

The caravan moved slowly, day following night. The slaves were occasionally let out to relieve themselves. Samuel Cooper moved like a walking corpse, offering no resistance, not even attempting to escape. He had completely lost hope—even the divine will had abandoned him, giving him not the slightest hint.

Yet the mood in the caravan grew more and more cheerful. Jade Wall City was just ahead, where wealthy buyers, endless wine, and intoxicating pleasures awaited them. Most importantly, the caravan had entered the territory of Golden Roc Fort, so there would be no danger.

But that last assumption was shattered at noon on the third day. At that time, the caravan was just over a day’s journey from Jade Wall City. The road was getting smoother, the greenery thicker, and villages began to appear—nothing like a place where bandits would lurk.

And yet, right here, a group of bandits blocked the front of the caravan. Those in the back couldn’t see what was happening, but bad news kept spreading:

“There are bandits blocking the road up ahead.”

“How could there be bandits here?”

“What about the Golden Roc Fort assassin? Wasn’t he leading the way?”

“Don’t worry, there are more of us. The bandits are just a few dozen people.”

“Big Head God? It’s Bighead, oh my god.”

Samuel Cooper had some impression of “Bighead” too. This person always appeared in terrifying stories—stories so bizarre that Samuel Cooper had always thought of him as a mythical figure. He never expected such a person to exist in real life.

“We’re done for. Bighead loves eating children the most. He doesn’t care if your butt is clean or not—he’ll eat you all the same.”

The sharp-faced boy’s face turned deathly pale as he repeated this in four or five different languages. His expression was no longer flippant, and his voice trembled, making his words seem all the more real.

Almost every child in the Western Regions had heard stories of Iron Mountain Bighead. Once reminded, they all fell into panic. The timid ones curled up in the hay, trembling uncontrollably, not even daring to lift their heads.

At first, it wasn’t Bighead himself who negotiated with the caravan. Just as everyone was gripped by fear, a huge, terrifying voice finally spoke:

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’m on good terms with Walker King. I don’t do business on his turf. I’m not here to rob you—I’m here to buy something.”

Iron Mountain Bighead actually wanted to “buy” something. The merchants were even more shocked. No one dared to respond, afraid it was some kind of bandit code—if they eagerly stepped forward, they might end up with a swift, clean cut instead.

Not until Bighead’s men threw two large bags of gleaming silver on the ground did the caravan leader muster the courage to ask:

“May I ask, Your Excellency, what would you like to buy? We have…”

“People.”

At these words, everyone in the caravan stepped back three paces at once, huddling together, all wondering who had offended this fiend so badly that he’d actually pay money to buy them.

To their surprise, Bighead really was just buying people. A skinny middle-aged woman emerged from the bandit cavalry, leading a small team to inspect each slave wagon, pulling out anyone she fancied.

The merchants finally relaxed, but the slaves who heard the news were terrified. The sharp-faced boy was first dumbfounded, then frantically grabbed handfuls of dust from the hay and smeared it all over his face.

His actions reminded everyone else—even the utterly hopeless Samuel Cooper joined in the scramble for dust, trying to make himself as ugly and unnoticeable as possible.

But the skinny woman seemed to have a special ability to see through anyone’s disguise at a glance, no matter how thick the dust on their faces. When she reached this cage, she swept her gaze over them and picked out two children.

Samuel Cooper steeled himself and jumped down on his own. The sharp-faced boy slumped in the corner, still clinging to a sliver of hope, but was dragged out by a bandit anyway.

The skinny woman made her selections quickly. In the end, she picked ten boys and ten girls, all around ten years old. The two boys who had been hunted by the Snow Mountain Swordsman Dylan Ford were among them.