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The noises of the pickaxe hitting the soil rang nonstop. Sweat trickled down the forehead, forming a single dro on the chin. The slaves, once, and then one more time, smashed their pickaxes on the hard soil, after ten minutes, half a square meter was softened and could be shoveled away.

This process was repeated unceasingly, through all the twenty-four hours with no pause. As there was only night, the sun was of no problem but the eeriness of being inside a dim-lit tunnel with beasts hidden, forced a person to look front, back, left and right, every time the wind whistled a little differently.

At any moment a beast might jump out and attack.

The pickaxe came down tearing the air apart as it neared the tough wall. But suddenly a dull sound came from the other side of said wall. A small hole appeared, with another pickaxe tip. The slaves saw each other through the hole and smiled. They were twenty meters deep on the swamp, three slaves died attacked by a swamp crab spiders alrr@@