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“Here… we… go!”
Zhu Gang energetically carried large bags of cement.
‘Just how many of these bags are still there? It’s practically endless!’
Even though Zhu Gang was a martial artist possessing a physique far surpassing that of average men his age, his life still remained a tough slog.
The reason for that was simple enough.
Slap! Plop! Plop!
One by one, cement bags began piling on the specially-constructed jige on Zhu Gang’s back.[1]
“What the…?”
Slap! Plop! Plop!
Even before he could say something, ten-plus cement bags piled up on the jige first.
Zhu Gang frowned deeply. “I’m still a human being, you know…?”
“Nah, you can do it, fella. You can do it!”
“Come on, now. Don’t say that. I’m…”
“No. You can do it.”
Words weren’t getting through, it seemed!
While most proficient laborers could lug around three, maybe four cement bags in one go, the demon cult's 'workforce', including Zhu Gang, could carry a dozen of them.
‘Gimme a break. I’m dying here!’
Being a martial artist didn't mean one's body was made out of solid forged steel, though! The more one pushed one's body, the sooner it'd break. And past a certain point, even a martial artist would fall ill.
Unfortunately for Zhu Gang, these bastards seemed to think of martial artists as all-purpose slaves that would never break, no matter how severe the work was!
“Urgh…!”
Zhu Gang let out a pained groan while sliding himself into the packed jige's straps. However, his eyes were still burning sharply.
‘Only a little more to go, and then…!’
It was reality, not hard labor, that drove many people insane. No matter how tough or unforgiving the work was,...
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