CHAPTER 814: CHAPTER 814: SEEDS OF HATRED

"Move faster!"

"A bunch of useless people!"

"Did none of you have breakfast?!"

The overseer’s crude yelling and the crack of a whip echoed across the port.

The laborers, carrying boxes, shuffled back and forth tirelessly between the cargo ship’s deck and the dock warehouse, like upright-walking donkeys.

Forget about eight silver coins an hour, even taking a break here is a luxury; if you want a bathroom break or a sip of water, you have to plead with the foreman.

This is West Sail Port.

Or as the players mockingly call it, Western Port.

Here, a healthy slave costs only 1000 dinars.

Even though the prices for people have dropped so low, merchants from Triumph City still prefer leasing.

In the eastern part of the Central Plains Continent, many survivors have a naive "fantasy" about the army, thinking that the army is actually quite well-behaved.

However, in reality, it’s only because they’ve had too little contact with the Vellanteans and don’t yet understand their nature.

Every old resident of Falling Leaves City clearly remembers what the Vellanteans were like when they first came to the River Valley Province, and how they were after getting a painful beating.

The reason they behave so well in the eastern part of the Central Plains Continent is only because they’ve been beaten into obedience.

But at West Sail Port, which is out of the Alliance’s influence range, they don’t even bother to put on an act.

Interestingly, although they work hard at exploiting the locals, they are still far short compared to the native nobles of Poluo Province.

So much so that every time General McCullen passes through here, he can’t help but feel that he was too merciful when he was in the River Valley Province and didn’t fully tap the potential of the local survivors.

The local residents primarily consist of Vellanteans, followed by traveling merchants from places like Silver Moon Bay, and local nobles from Poluo Province and some freemen.

Since slave trade is not banned locally, after Jinjaron Harbor fell, some nobles from Lowell state migrated here.

As for the players, they’re almost invisible here.

After all, there are no airports here, nor any save points opened by a big shot; it takes ten to twenty days by sea to get here from the Alliance’s port, and it’s another ten to twenty days to return.

Here, if you die even once, not only is your unsaved experience reset to zero, but your equipment and assets are all lost. The risk and reward are completely disproportionate!

However, although this place is unimpressive to players, it holds a completely different significance for the Vellanteans.

Ever since the civil officials from Triumph City borrowed this territory from the Empire, they have brought clean streets, beautiful houses, and bright streetlights here.

Bennott and a group of civil officials have high expectations for the future prospects of this place.

Even though the Empire’s nobles have become stubborn and inflexible to the point of decay, it seems that no one can refuse the civilized promise of a decent life.

They can influence the nobles of Lion State through the abundant life at West Sail Port, and in turn, influence the nobles of Tiandu through the nobles of Lion State.

They don’t expect to civilize the locals too much, nor are they interested in charity, but they need a sufficiently intimidating ally to share the pressure from the Alliance for them.

The port paved with gravel and bricks.

A bearded Vellantean frequently checked his diamond-encrusted pocket watch, anxiety written all over his face.

His name is Yarman, a merchant dealing in sugar and tea, whose main business is transporting sugar and black tea produced in West Sail Port to Triumph City and ports controlled by the Southern Legion, occasionally moonlighting as a slave trader.

According to the original plan, his fleet should have set off this morning to head to "Evernight Harbor" on the southernmost side of the Great Desert controlled by the Southern Legion, then detour to the western part of the Central Plains Continent to bring the finest tea and lumps of sugar back to Triumph City’s port.

But plans can’t keep up with changes.

Just yesterday, a message from the governor’s office caused all the Vellantean merchants in West Sail Port to become excited!

The army’s expedition to Haiye Province has ended, and a large amount of equipment stranded on the front line is for sale at a discount!

All it takes is spending 10,000 dinars to purchase a voucher from the governor’s office and paying a certain amount of deposit, and you can pack and transport those treasures piled up in Haiye Province at a super low price of less than 10,000 dinars per ton!

The only requirement from West Sail Port Governor’s Office is that these ammunitions purchased through vouchers must be shipped back to West Sail Port!

And the sale target must be West Sail Port’s Weapon Reserve Bureau or the Empire!

Although this condition means the selling price will be somewhat suppressed, it still doesn’t dampen the enthusiasm of West Sail Port’s Vellantean merchants.

After all, a price of less than 10,000 dinars per ton is just too tempting, almost as if it were a gift!

They’ve been in business for so many years and have never seen ammunition sold by weight!

Even if all the good stuff is picked over and only some bullets are left, that’s still over 50% in profit.

And if they can get the Eastern Legion’s Conqueror tank, the profit would multiply several times over!

Such an easy profit, how could Yarman miss it? Even though he doesn’t have the connections for the arms trade, does this kind of no-brainer deal need any connections?

Moreover, if it really doesn’t work, he can still sell it to West Sail Port’s Weapon Reserve Bureau, so there’s no fear of it getting stuck on hand.

Praise Marshal! Praise Governor Hue!

This was almost unequivocally a New Year’s gift from the West Sail Port’s Governor’s Office for them!

However, as luck would have it, Yarman was clearly not the only one thinking this way.

The entire West Sail Port seemed to have gone mad, with every dock berth packed to the brim.

The workers on the docks barely finished loading a ship before they were urged by the overseers to unload into the warehouses, not even having time to take a bite of dry food, as a slight delay would invite a whipping.

Yet, despite this, given the intense loading and unloading demands, the laborers’ frantic efforts were still a mere drop in the ocean.

It’s really the slaves’ own fault, after all, they’re so enduring and so cheap that West Sail Port’s docks never needed electrified unloading equipment. When faced with such a peak in demand, they could only push themselves further.

With too many ships anxious to unload, the port authority and "labor intermediaries" had to mobilize another batch of slaves and serfs from nearby estates and plantations.

Watching the busy docks, the full-bearded captain frowned and said.

"At this rate, we’ll probably depart by tomorrow morning."

Yarman interrupted without further explanation.

"Too slow, no matter what, we must depart today!"

The captain’s eyebrows gave a violent twitch as he looked at Yarman with a wry smile.

"I understand your eagerness to make money, but... you also have to consider reality."

"Reality?" Yarman put down his rolled-up sleeves and looked sharply at the captain. "I’ll tell you what reality is! Excruciating amounts of weapons stacked up in Haiye Province, and they’re regular army weapons! The fools in the east have never been this generous! Every merchant vessel along the route is running there, and if we’re late, we won’t even get the scraps!"

Facing the captain’s stern gaze, the captain swallowed.

"Alright, even if assuming these laborers could finish unloading by dark, are we to go empty-handed—"

"Exactly, go empty-handed!" Yarman interrupted him without hesitation, his voice full of excitement. "Apart from supplies, we don’t bring anything else! We haven’t got time to hesitantly waddle over. We’re not there to do business; we’re there to collect money! Do you understand what it means to collect money?"

At this point, Yarman softened his tone, clapping the captain on the shoulder.

"Prepare as I said, this venture will benefit you greatly... I can assure you, your take from this deal will be at least 1 million dinars!"

Hearing this generous reward, the captain instinctively held his breath, his neck subconsciously nodding down.

"Alright..."

One million dinars!

The ransom for thousands of leaders isn’t even this high!

Compared to this fortune, going home for the New Year is nothing.

Watching the captain leave, Yarman turned his gaze to the Lion Clan foreman, and his smile, as warm as a spring breeze, immediately crumbled.

"How much longer until my fleet is clear?"

Facing the urging of this Weilante master, Nagi wiped the sweat from his forehead, smiling apologetically.

"I will urge the overseers again, trying to finish by tomorrow at the latest—"

"Try?"

Yarman raised an eyebrow, staring at him intently, and said word by word, "I don’t care what method you use, you must unload all the goods before dark!"

Hearing these words, the freshly wiped sweat reappeared on Nagi’s forehead.

"By dark, but sir, it’s only three hours until nightfall—"

"That’s your problem." Yarman didn’t even glance at him, saying coldly, "The most I’ll allow is until eight o’clock tonight. If you can’t manage that, I’ll have to have a chat with your boss—or should I say, my partner."

Upon hearing this, Nagi felt a chill creeping up his back.

Although he was a Lion Clan person, he was just a civilian, nothing compared to those with titles.

So even if this request seemed a bit difficult to achieve, he could only grit his teeth and promise.

"I’ll find some more people..."

"Go ahead."

Yarman waved his hand impatiently, shooing him away like a fly.

It proved that urging them a bit did produce results.

Under the frantic urging of the overseers, the slaves exerted all their strength and somehow managed to clear the last two ships before the Sun sank below the horizon.

Nagi was in a rush to report their success to Lord Yarman, only to be blocked by the crowd at the dock.

A circle of laborers had formed on the narrow dock, with a skeleton-thin figure lying in the middle, frothing at the mouth and convulsing.

The fellow was so thin, his skin baked by the sun to a black and red hue, that he resembled a smoked sausage.

Nagi pushed his way into the middle of the crowd, kicked the guy on the ground, and seeing he was motionless, he asked the dock workers beside him.

"What happened to this guy?"

A tall, thin man lowered his head and said.

"His name is Orisa—"

Before he could finish speaking, a whip struck his forehead, causing him to stagger back a few steps. Fortunately, a coworker caught his arm, preventing him from falling into the sea.

Blood oozed from the gash in his skin, blinding one eye and covering half his face, a shocking sight.

The man seemed stunned by the blow, touching his forehead and standing there bewilderedly.

"Who cares what his name is, get him off the dock! Damn it! Don’t you know how busy we are today? Don’t just stand there blocking the way!" Nagi scolded angrily, swishing the whip in his hand to disperse the crowd of laborers.

The crowd finally dispersed, and the port returned to its usual hustle and bustle.

Seeing the wooden box already sunk in the sea, Nagi’s lips twitched in pain.

What a pity for that fine tea...

One package could easily cover half his month’s wages.

Luckily, he didn’t have to compensate for the lost goods; these bigwigs had long anticipated the clumsy nature of these rough workers, and a couple of lost boxes were within an acceptable range.

Otherwise, even selling him wouldn’t cover the cost...

The reprimanded laborers carried the poor guy named Orisa to the labor registration office, as was the usual procedure; the dead had to have their names crossed off, or it would be considered an escaped slave, bringing disaster to their family.

Checking the roster, the staff found that this guy wasn’t a slave at all but a freeman.

Of course, he was only slightly surprised.

After all, freemen without land might not live better than slaves.

Especially if the former had a family to support, they might very well have nothing but dirt in their stomachs.

"Does he have any family here?"

Everyone exchanged glances and shook their heads, indicating they didn’t know where this poor fellow lived.

The staff couldn’t be bothered, and upon hearing he had no family there, closed the registration book.

"Let his family come."

A laborer, unable to bear it any longer, asked in a hushed voice.

"...What about this man?"

The staff rolled his eyes.

"He’s dead. Bury him somewhere. Do you think he can come back to life?"

He continued urging them.

"Move it out quickly, don’t just leave it here in the way."

Fixed in their gaze by two guards, the laborers had no choice but to carry Orisa’s body back out.

A group stood helplessly on the street, unsure where to go, debating whether to look for his family first or to find a place to bury him.

After all, everyone ends up buried. The red soil outside the city was prepared for just that, wasn’t it?

Everyone sympathized with Orisa’s plight and were surprised that this typically silent old man was actually a freedman.

No wonder he worked so hard!

Some faces were filled with envy.

After all, if you died as a slave, you wouldn’t have anything. But if a freeman died, the family could at least receive compensation.

dinars weren’t much, but to them, it was already a fortune.

This was one of the few benefits the Weilante people had secured for them.

However, while some envied, others gazed hatefully toward the port.

These were mostly believers of the Silver Moon Sect.

They were mostly listeners of the "Silver Gospel Report" and had mostly heard "Awakener Bol" translated and read aloud by Mr. Melgio, the pastor from Silver Moon Bay.

It was their primer on literacy.

Though they had never been to Giant Stone City, they clearly remembered how the people there acted.

Perhaps due to extreme anger, a spark finally flared up in the stifling silence.

"Look, this is what they call a ’freeman’..."

A hoarse voice floated from the crowd as a tall, thin man stepped forward.

He was the same person who had been whipped on the dock earlier.

The alarming scar etched on his forehead stained the white bandage red.

Looking at the ferocious appearance, people involuntarily took two steps back, showing a fearful expression on their faces.

Yet that person did not stop, his hoarse voice gradually turning hysterical, thoroughly releasing the anger in his chest.

"They took everything from us and then labeled it! One thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand... West Winds coins or dinars, go buy it! With our blood, with our sweat, buy what was rightfully ours! To fulfill their greatness and wisdom!"

"And then... when we finally buy back what was originally ours, when they finally drain the last drop of our blood, we will be able to lie in the red soil like Orisa."

The surroundings were silent.

That desperate fate was suffocating.

If in the end there was nothing left worth mourning for, what was the point of them working themselves to death?

What freemen...

That sumptuous bait was a scam from the start!

Perhaps the people’s silence gave him the courage to continue speaking, he clenched his fists tightly and posed a soul-searching question to the onlookers around him.

"Tell me! Why do we have to buy what is rightfully ours!"

"But what can we do..."

Amidst the crowd, finally, a suppressed complaint broke the silent quiet.

Looking at the agitated crowd, the man instead of backing down shouted out in the heat of the moment.

"What can we do! Bol already told us what to do! We must unite!"

"And then?"

This time he didn’t speak because someone in the crowd shouted it out for him.

"Isn’t it obvious! Of course, it’s to take back what’s ours!"

The angry roars rose and fell, vengeful emotions amplified as they spread.

The increasing numbers dulled the fear, as if the thousand pillars that sealed their courage had vanished.

Even the most timid person now displayed an uncontainable look of anger—

And hatred!

"This isn’t over!"

"That’s right!"

"Orisa can’t die in vain!"

"They must pay the price!"

The clamorous voices grew louder, finally attracting the guards of the port area.

These guards usually rarely enforce laws outside the port’s slums, but after all, it was a special time, and manpower was lacking everywhere on the docks. They couldn’t allow so many people to gather here to cause trouble.

Leading the guards was the foreman Nagi, holding the whip he had used earlier tightly in his hand, loudly shouting at the gathered laborers.

"What are you all gathering here for! Does it take that long to carry a person? Hurry up and get back to work!"

The crowd was on edge, and someone among them shouted.

"We’re not working anymore!"

"Not working? Ha! You’re rebelling!" Nagi’s eyebrows shot up, and he swung his whip, but he didn’t hit the troublemaker; instead, he accidentally whipped a bystander, bursting the person’s eyeball.

Only to see the person clutch their eye in pain, kneel down as blood gushed out.

Seeing the blood, the crowd erupted in an uproar, with over a thousand people swarming onto the street, shouting and surrounding Nagi.

Never having seen such a scene before, Nagi was startled and took an involuntary step back.

But he quickly realized he had backed down too soon.

From behind him came the sound of gunfire, the guard holding the Ripper Rifle fired a few shots into the air without a word of nonsense.

"Bang-bang——!"

The gunshots were like cold water splashing on red-hot iron, sizzling and extinguishing the fiery emotions completely.

This was not Giant Stone City, after all.

Bol was not a person of the Poluo Province either.

The people who were fervent a second ago showed fear on their faces, scattering and fleeing, and within moments the street was empty.

Nagi was also stunned for a moment before laughing complacently and looking at the high-nosed officer behind him.

"Hehe... Sir, I told you, this bunch is as timid as mice, they can’t stir up much trouble."

The Weilante officer cast a scornful glance at him, silently loading bullets into the rifle.

He was a person of the Southern Legion and had been a colonial guard for a dozen years, suppressing at least two or three violent riots, the most intense of which forced them to bring out the 902mm heavy artillery.

The situation here was indeed rare; the gunfire ended without a single death.

He was certainly very satisfied.

However——

He couldn’t help but feel a little disdainful.

...

The night over West Sail Port deepened, bringing a slight chill from the sea breeze blowing toward the port.

The chaos at the labor registration office entrance did not affect the bustling activity there in the slightest.

The docks were still bustling with coming and going, and the shimmering shop windows remained resplendent.

That statement "we’re not working anymore" seemed like a joke.

Only the poor bystander with the burst eyeball was left with no one to complain to.

Finally having made all the preparations to set off, Yarman stood at the port, saying a reluctant goodbye to his family.

"...It’s almost Birthright Day, can’t you wait until the holiday is over to go." The little girl in a floral dress pouted slightly, her dark brown hair tied in a princess braid, looking like a true princess.

The second weekend of January every year was Birthright Day, and for the Weilante people, it was a holiday more important than New Year.

It was said to be the day of their birth, marking the beginning of all their glory and legends.

Precisely for this reason, no matter how busy things were, the Weilante people would choose to make time to spend this day with their families.

Yarman originally planned the same, even having planned to return to Triumph City to participate in the Birthright Day celebrations.

But unfortunately, the big shots in Triumph City offered too much...

Yarman patted his daughter on the head, speaking indulgently.

"Be good, when dad comes back, he’ll bring you a gift."

"Ugh..." Rube grumbled reluctantly, "Your taste is too unique, who gives their daughter a mutant’s head specimen."

"Haha! Sorry! Dad didn’t think it through!"

Yarman laughed as he picked up his adorable daughter, making her giggle as he spun her around in the air a few times before setting her down.

He gently pinched his daughter’s nose and continued affectionately.

"So, what gift does my lovely Ruby want?"

Ruby’s eyes lit up and she immediately said.

"I want to play with An Su Ya!"

An Su Ya is the daughter of Count Sharma.

The latter is a well-known noble in Lion State, not only owning a plantation of hundreds of thousands of acres in the outskirts of West Sail Port, but also having an extensive social circle in Tiandu, and is also a business partner of Yarman.

Every time discussing business, Yarman would always bring his daughter along.

Ruby didn’t know how big An Su Ya’s estate actually was, nor did she care much, but she was deeply impressed by the garden that was like a maze.

Every time she went there with her father, she would play hide and seek with An Su Ya and other kids in the estate.

Hearing such a simple request, Yarman dotingly patted his daughter’s head.

"Alright! I’ll take you there when I’m back!"

He paused and then smiled and said.

"Of course, Daddy still needs to bring back a gift... Just stay home and look forward to it, my lovely Ruby!"

Speaking of which, after this trip, he also planned to contact Count Sharma, to see if he could, through some manipulation of power, turn this batch of goods into something of even greater value.

By then, he would take his daughter to bother that guy.

"Come back soon!"

The little girl tiptoed and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then ran back to her mother’s side.

Gently patting her daughter’s hand, Margaret gazed affectionately at her husband, her face adorned with a radiant smile.

"Take care on the road."

"Don’t worry! This isn’t my first time running this route! Expect my good news!"

After giving his wife a kiss, Yarman grinned, picked up his suitcase, and stood back on the quay.

"See you next month! Wait for me!"

With that, he turned back every three steps and boarded the deck with his captain and crew, gradually moving away with the elongated sound of the whistle.

Meanwhile, less than 500 meters away from the quay, a mother and daughter arrived at the entrance of the labor registration office.

As the docks didn’t hire women, it was rare for women to appear here.

Unless it was one particular situation...

People unconsciously made way, and the hunchbacked woman, saying thanks while tightly holding the little girl’s hand, hurriedly walked to the counter.

The previous staff members had gone off duty, and now a young lad, slicked hair combed back, sat there, eating sunflower seeds while chatting and laughing with his colleague beside him.

Many minor nobles who couldn’t make it big liked to place their children here to work.

After all, Tiandu was too far for them, but Weilante people were right in front of them at the port area.

Especially the position at the labor registration office, often dealing with Weilante people.

Being appreciated by Weilante people was equivalent to an instant step into a promising future!

The little girl tiptoed to peek her head out from under the counter, speaking ahead of her mother.

"Where’s my dad?"

Hearing that timid voice, the young lad turned his head with a smile and asked.

"Your dad? Who’s your dad?"

The little girl continued to say.

"Orisa... He’s very tanned, the pastor of the Moon Church said his lungs aren’t good, he’s always coughing."

Worried that the staff might not know what her dad looked like, she energetically mimed his features with her hands.

However, because the description was too abstract, the only result was the growing impatience of the young lad behind the counter.

"Sorry... for bothering you."

The hunchbacked woman remained silent, subtly tugging her daughter to stop her from speaking further and hurriedly placed a crumpled paper ticket on the table.

It was proof of identity.

Earned by her husband through his illness, and it was the only thing that proved they had no owner.

Seeing this document, the young lad’s impatience eased slightly, and flipping through the register, he looked for the name on the document and indeed found Orisa’s name.

"A laborer registered here last month."

"The name sounds familiar... Oh, oh, it’s the one just brought in!"

The colleague beside him remembered, then laughed as he opened a drawer, took out a pre-prepared money pouch, and tossed it onto the counter.

"I was just telling you about this! It’s the old guy who worked himself to death..."

Hearing the "clang" of the coins, the mother and daughter froze, and a buzzing filled their ears.

The hunchbacked woman moved her lips, but ultimately remained silent, pocketing the money pouch tightly in her hands.

In that moment, her body seemed to shrink even smaller.

Not wanting to stay there for another second, she quickly pulled her daughter’s hand and left the counter, escaping the suffocating atmosphere to the street outside.

The evening breeze blowing from the port area was particularly chilly.

With her black eyes gazing at her mother, the girl softly asked.

"Where’s dad..."

Her mother, who usually responded, said nothing this time. She only quickened her pace, pulling her towards home, her lightly trembling shoulders seemed to suppress something.

As if finally understanding where her father had gone, the little girl lowered her head and stopped speaking, but no tears came out; she only gripped her mother’s calloused hand tightly.

Her father always hoped she would grow up soon, and she was always confused about what growing up meant, but now seemed to understand a little bit.

She had two much younger brothers.

She needed to learn to be strong.

Both mother and daughter passed by the Silver Moon Church without a word, like a raindrop before a storm quietly merging into the silence of the night.

Standing at the entrance of the humble church, Mr. Melgio looked at those injured laborers and sighed softly, joining the other pastors in tending to their wounds.

He wanted to help these pitiful people.

But he also worried if he might be harming them.

"Silver Moon Goddess above... please bless your pitiful believers, saving them from misfortune and disaster."

And also protect me from making regretful mistakes...

With his index finger touching the silver moon hanging on his chest, he softly chanted, praying piously in his heart.

He always had a bad premonition.

Something significant was about to happen at West Sail Port...