Chen Rong studied the four slaves standing in the crude enclosure beside his tent.
Their thin clothing fluttered in the cold wind, and their faces bore the hollow look of men who had endured long hardship.
If he intended to cultivate his vegetable seedlings properly, he would need capable hands.
Tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and watermelons might not seem remarkable in the modern world, but here, in the 13th century, their yields and resilience could far surpass local crops.
If he managed to cultivate them successfully, the long-term benefits would be enormous.
Food meant stability. Stability meant influence.
Chen Rong was already planning several steps ahead.
"Mr. Chen," one of the Mongol soldiers said hesitantly, "we do not understand Persian or the languages of the Western Regions.
If you wish to question them, we can find another slave who speaks Persian and bring him here to translate."
Most Mongol soldiers spoke only Mongolian. Communication with captives from Central Asia was often difficult.
Before Chen Rong could reply, one of the slaves inside the enclosure suddenly raised his hand.
"I… I understand Mongolian, sir. I also speak Persian. And… some Chinese as well. I can serve you."
Chen Rong turned immediately.
The speaker was a bearded middle-aged man, perhaps in his early forties. His frame was lean, almost gaunt, and his ragged clothes barely shielded him from the cold. Yet despite his miserable appearance, his eyes remained sharp and alert.
"You speak Mongolian… and Chinese as well?" Chen Rong asked, stepping closer.
"Yes, honored sir. My name is Bamuyi. I am not from Khwarezm.
I came here seeking refuge. I received a good education in my homeland.
Caravans often traveled between our lands and the Central Plains, so I learned some Chinese."
His pronunciation was rough, but understandable.
Chen Rong immediately recognized the value of such a person.
"Then where are you from? And how did you become a slave?" Chen Rong asked.
Bamuyi lowered his head slightly before answering.
"Sir… I once served as a Great Mentor of the Assassin sect at Eagle Fort.
I failed in a mission assigned by the Old Man of the Mountain.
I dared not return, fearing punishment, so I fled to Khwarezm to hide.
But when the Mongol army invaded, I was captured… and became a slave."
Chen Rong's eyes narrowed slightly.
The Assassin sect.
The Old Man of the Mountain.
These names carried weight, even for someone from the modern world.
The Assassins — the secretive order from the mountains of Persia — had long fascinated historians. Their reputation for stealth and fanatic devotion was legendary.
Even in later centuries, stories about them would spread widely.
Some claimed their warriors feared no death. Others described them as masters of infiltration and assassination.
But looking at the man before him, Chen Rong felt skeptical.
If Bamuyi truly possessed exceptional martial skills, how had he been captured so easily?
Still, the man's linguistic ability alone made him useful.
"Come inside," Chen Rong said. "I have questions for you."
Two Mongol soldiers entered the enclosure, dragged Bamuyi out, and pushed him toward the tent.
"Do you require us to remain inside, sir?" one of the guards asked.
"No," Chen Rong replied calmly. "The four of you guard the entrance. If anything happens, I will call."
The soldiers nodded and withdrew.
Chen Rong stepped into the tent, gripping his electric baton discreetly in one hand. He kept a cautious distance of several paces from the slave.
Bamuyi's attention, however, had already shifted elsewhere.
His eyes locked onto the table inside the tent — where leftover beef and mutton from the previous night still remained.
His throat moved as he swallowed.
"Master… may I eat something?" he asked carefully. "I have not eaten properly for a long time."
Chen Rong studied him briefly, then nodded.
The moment he gave permission, Bamuyi lunged forward like a starving wolf.
He grabbed a sheep's head from the table and began tearing at the meat with desperate hunger.
He ate without restraint, gnawing bone and flesh alike. His movements were almost frantic, as if afraid the food might vanish at any moment.
Within a short time, the entire sheep's head and remaining scraps were gone.
He even drained the last of the kumis left from the night before.
Chen Rong watched silently.
This man had clearly endured severe hardship.
"Are you full?" Chen Rong asked.
"May heaven bless you, generous master," Bamuyi said, wiping his mouth. "It has been a long time since I last ate meat… or had my fill."
Chen Rong nodded slowly.
Then he spoke.
"I have heard that your Assassin sect trains warriors who can leap from heights of dozens of meters and land safely in haystacks. Is that true?"
Bamuyi froze.
His eyes widened in shock.
"Sir… I do not know where you heard such tales, but they are not true."
Chen Rong raised an eyebrow.
Bamuyi continued.
"Once, an envoy visited Eagle Fort to meet the Old Man of the Mountain. To frighten him, several young assassins were ordered to leap from the cliffs above. They fell… and were crushed to death. None survived."
Chen Rong felt a flicker of disappointment.
"So they were… expendable (dead soilders)?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
Bamuyi hesitated briefly, then continued.
"They were deceived from childhood. The Old Man of the Mountain would purchase children from poor families or traffickers.
They were raised in isolation, trained strictly, and taught absolute obedience."
He lowered his voice slightly.
"They were also given certain herbs… substances that created illusions. When they reached adulthood, they were taken — while dazed — into hidden chambers."
"In those places, there was fine wine, delicious food, and beautiful women. They lived in luxury for several days."
"Then they were drugged again… and taken out."
"When they awoke, they were told they had visited paradise."
Bamuyi gave a bitter smile.
"They were told that if they died completing their missions, they would return to that paradise forever."
Chen Rong remained silent.
So the legend of fanatical assassins had been built on manipulation and deception.
Bamuyi sighed.
"My role… as Great Mentor… was to oversee training and reinforce their belief. We taught them loyalty. We shaped their minds."
To put it bluntly, these great mentors are just responsible for brainwashing these young people.