Chapter 818 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 818: Usurped? If one were to rank the moral standards of the various factions within the legion, the civilian officials close to the Marshal would undoubtedly top the list. While the Eastern Legion was still figuring out how to extract every last ounce from their contract slaves, the civilian officials had already devised a "systematic" way to convert these contract slaves into debt slaves, based on the Southern Legion's colonial management strategies. In the desolate world of the novel's setting, transforming people from livestock into commodities could arguably be seen as a merciful act. The poor in the Bugra Free State might complain about long refrigerator ads or intrusive iris scanners, while the slaves in the Bola Province, upon hearing such complaints, would be dumbfounded. They’d wonder what refrigerators and ads were and why wasting 75 seconds of life didn’t cost money. In Kophen City, while the officials didn’t give the survivors of Sifan Harbor access to refrigerators, at least they opened a window of hope for their otherwise bleak lives. The officials collaborated with the nobles of the Lion Province, renting the nobles’ slaves for a monthly fee of 50 dinars. Additionally, these officials would award the slaves an extra 50 to 150 dinars monthly, based on their performance. These rewards were not added to the slaves' pockets but were credited to their accounts, allowing them to buy their freedom — and their family’s — once they had enough. Once the slaves freed themselves, they became skilled workers with vast experience and higher motivation. The legion continued to employ them, and the rewards transformed into their monthly wages. For the Villante, their outlay in wages didn’t change. Instead, they saved the 50 dinars monthly rent paid to the nobles, effectively securing a trained workforce at a lower cost. For the nobles, the amount of work done by the slaves did not alter their income. While selling a skilled worker might seem a pity, a freedom purchase price of 1,000 dinars made it worthwhile, equivalent to buying out 20 months of profits. Moreover, they could profit from the labor registry, a thinly-veiled labor agency. The only ones who lost were the free people. They used to live on nobles' estates; now they had to fend for themselves... *** Sifan Harbor. Unlike its usual bustling activity, the docks were enveloped in an unusual and eerie atmosphere today. A sea of people crowded the port, blocking the path from dock to warehouse, faces marked by suppressed fury. These were the first laborers at Sifan Harbor. Every brick in the harbor was laid with their sweat. Yet not only were they to step on these bricks, but also on their dignity and hope. Olisa wasn’t the first laborer to die in Sifan Harbor, nor the first free citizen to die on the job. However, his death was the straw that broke the camel’s back, igniting the wrath of all the free citizens in the harbor! Why did they endure backbreaking labor like donkeys? Simply to obtain the slip proving their freedom. Human beings are sustained by hope. Given hope, they can survive on almost nothing. “Work earnestly and gain freedom" was like a carrot dangled before them. For that carrot, and to let their families taste it, they endured overseers' whips and insults, accumulated ailments, and burdened themselves. But the lords of Sifan Harbor had ruthlessly snatched that carrot away, shattering their hope. And what if they got it? Would the slip prevent them from being controlled? In the end, true freedom at Sifan Harbor belonged only to those who didn’t need a slip at all. Villante people didn't seek such things from the nobles, nor from the priests of Silvermoon Bay or the merchants of the southern seas, possibly due to some Communion agreements. Olisa spent 1,000 dinars to buy his freedom, and who knows how much for his family's—perhaps borrowing from the Villante. Yet his death compensation was a paltry 800 dinars! Eight hundred! At worst exchange rates of 1:5, it was barely 200 silver coins! The compensation neither paid off debts nor maintained his family's expenses for long. Once buried, his family might repeat his misery or face the same fate. Or— They could sell themselves anew and enter another cycle of despair. If the winds of change never reached this wasteland, its people might have endured all, awakening only upon death, where momentary pain could be a form of happiness. However, luck was not on their side; ships from the east carried not just wealth and technology but also the thoughts that enlightened all. The free citizens may have been illiterate, but from Silvermoon Bay priests, they learned about the settlement of Boulder City and a man named Bol—the Awakener. An individual's power is minuscule, yet united, 500,000 survivors could shake giant walls and topple skyscrapers! Sifan Harbor had not just 500,000 but a million survivors! Inspired by this example, those once scattered at the sound of gunshots united once more... They’d had enough of the lies. They would claim their rights with their hands. Facing the growing crowd, Najji, dripping with cold sweat, mustered the courage to shout. "What are you all doing here? Get back to work… or do you have a death wish?!" The crowd remained silent. Unlike last time, they didn't provoke the Villante soldiers but stood quietly, eyes fixed on him. Under their unyielding gaze, Najji swallowed nervously. His right hand, clutching a whip, trembled like it was afflicted with weakness. Thousands, maybe two or three men gathered, far more than a couple of days ago. They weren't just refusing to work, but blocking the road back to the warehouse entirely. The port was like a broken clock, unloading operations fully halted. If he couldn't unload the cargo before nightfall, he’d face problems from Villante shipowners and local nobles! The thought had cold sweat trickling down Najji's forehead, prompting him to look pleadingly at the nearby port guards. The guards were whispering among themselves, seemingly discussing a plan. “Should we disperse them first?” “But we need them to do the work.” “They're just in the way staying here.” “But if they leave? Even lazy slaves won't finish by tomorrow.” “The Governor said to maintain order… We need them back to work, truly working.” The guard captain looked at the laborers, deeply frowning. He had underestimated them. Though timid as mice, they weren’t helpless. They were cunning. Workers' strikes did happen in Villante’s colonies, yet usually only when debts far exceeded income—not at the initial stage of transition from contract to debt slaves. This should've been a honeymoon phase. But it was like someone alerted them to the scam’s next step, jolting them from illusion and teaching them the worst habit—striking. You could herd them at gunpoint, but couldn't force them to work earnestly. During such times, even the Villante had to compromise, albeit grudgingly. Sadly, the Governor was in Triumph City for New Year, probably still at sea. The guard captain strode to Najji, addressing the ashen-faced man. “...We can't keep this up. Talk to them, find out how we get them back to work.” Najji hurried back to face the crowd, trying to muster his usual authoritative demeanor but failing to find the fierceness he needed. Eventually, he adopted a more conciliatory tone, pleading earnestly. "Standing here won't solve anything. What is it you really want? You need to tell me something!" Emboldened by his companions, one laborer stepped forward, glaring intensely at him. "We lost Olisa." Najji gritted his teeth and retorted, "We've already paid compensation. What more do you want?" The laborer responded angrily, "…It’s not enough! Eight hundred dinars aren't nearly sufficient for his family to survive in Sifan Harbor!" "Then let them return to the countryside—" Najji started to rebut, but was immediately cut off by the other's fiery interruption. "Stop pretending! The fertile lands of Lion Province are covered with plantations. Where is there land for them to survive?" This statement resonated with many, especially those who originally worked on plantations. If they had a choice, they wouldn't want to toil in this wretched place. They knew how to farm, but there was simply no land available to cultivate. "Exactly! They have no homes to return to!" "Should Olisa's wife and children go back to the plantation of his former master?" "Then why did we buy our freedom if, in the end, it amounts to nothing!" The clamor grew louder, and people's emotions heightened. Panic set in for Najji, who desperately shouted, "What do you want, then? Are we supposed to support them forever? On what grounds?" The crowd erupted at his words, their anger intensifying. "On what grounds!" "Because Olisa died working for you!" "We’ve shed sweat and blood for this harbor. Why isn’t there a place for us here!" "Exactly! We’re not just seeking justice for Olisa; we want justice for ourselves!" "Our wages need to increase!" "Either pay us at least 10 dinars a day, or let us organize ourselves and contract the docks! We promise fair competition and no laziness if you let us!" The dock echoed the laborers' furious demands, even causing slaves trying to push through the crowd to pause in their tracks. Hearing their increasingly outrageous demands, Najji felt his scalp tingle. These guys and their absurd demands! Ten dinars a day! That would mean 300 a month—double the previous maximum wage! Moving a few boxes for that much? Why not just rob us! Letting them organize to contract the docks would be even less feasible. It wasn’t just about profits; there were other, more complicated issues at play. Neither Villante nor the nobles would agree to let these lower-class individuals organize. If they demanded to operate the docks today, what would stop them from claiming the city hall, banks, and post offices tomorrow? Would Sifan Harbor still bear its original name, or that of these commoners instead? Najji's brow twitched violently. He gathered all his strength and yelled at the crowd. "Are you insane? Do you even understand the demands you're making? Why don't I just hand this harbor over to you then!" "Then do it!" retorted the lead laborer, showing no desire to back down. Najji sneered, as if hearing a punchline of a bad joke, "Hand it over? You’d destroy everything here in less than a day!" The dockworker glared at him intensely. "Then let it be destroyed! It never belonged to us anyway!" Seeing the crowd's emotions flaring, the Villante guardsmen, who had been watching from the sidelines, finally intervened. The captain walked to Najji's side, pulling him aside and, looking him square in the eye, spoke firmly. "Are you an idiot? I told you to negotiate and coax them back to work, not to start an argument! Do you need me to spell it out for you?" Seeing a Villante angry, Najji quickly tried to explain. "S-sir, you don’t understand… we can’t show them any kindness! If they taste blood, they’ll climb up your arm like snakes." The captain snorted, patting Najji’s head, "You think I don’t understand? How many colonies have you been to? How many days have you been foreman, to speak to me like this?" Najji, sweating profusely, hung his head. "I wouldn't dare…" The captain looked at this flustered subordinate with increasing disdain. He didn’t mind a loyal dog, but at least it should be useful, right? With over ten years in the Southern Legion's guards, he was no stranger to the local native chiefs and colonists. Even if not directly involved in high-level games, some basic understandings were clear to him. Whether the Southern Legion, the civilian officials, or the local native chiefs or nobles, they all preferred to fatten the cow before milking it. This was beneficial to everyone. Yet this group of people, like they'd never seen money, just wanted to stab the cow in the neck and drink its blood without waiting, skipping the milking. Not wasting time waiting for Najji to figure things out himself, the captain instructed in an undeniable tone. "Increase the death compensation standard, raise their wages, but don’t give it all at once. Bargain if you need to… That's something you handle. My only requirement is for work to resume quickly and to keep the peace, or if the Governor finds out, none of you will have a good end!" Hearing this, Najji pleaded with a mournful face. "But sir, our profits are already so thin. If we raise their wages, how will we make money?" "Don't play dumb with me!" The captain couldn't contain himself anymore, pointing at Najji's nose and berating him. "You charge based on cargo weight! The wages you pay them are less than a tenth of what you earn! If you give up even a tenth, so what? The time and money you're wasting now far exceed that! Do I really need to teach you how to do business?" Seeing Najji cowed into silence, the captain sighed and softened his tone. "Treat your compatriots a bit better, don’t press them so hard, don’t chase after the last dinar, or it will be bad for everyone." "Yes..." Reluctantly, Najji agreed, though he hardly considered these desperate people his compatriots. After all, he was of the Lion Clan. Even if not a noble, he certainly saw himself as above these people. Urged by the captain, Najji faced the crowd once more. "…Thank the merciful Governor! We’ll increase your wages! But don’t push it. How about 8 dinars a day? That's 240 a month! Damn, even I envy your wages; after five months, you could even buy a wife!" Hearing the wage rise to 8 dinars a day, some anger gave way to hope in the crowd. Like Najji said, 240 dinars a month was no small amount! However, not everyone was so easily swayed. Many still stared defiantly at their foreman. "What about Olisa?" one demanded. Najji hesitated, but realizing more money had already been promised, he braced himself. "The Labor Registry will donate an additional 3,000 dinars to his family… This isn’t compensation; it's a benevolent and kind donation! Those who shed blood and sweat for Sifan Harbor deserve care; his family will be supported by the harbor!" Three thousand dinars was quite significant! Even with the increased wages, it equated to a year’s salary! Hope returned to the eyes of many, and whistles of admiration and applause even began from some who were persuaded. Even the more defiant individuals started to waver, leaving only a handful still glaring. Seeing the softened crowd, Najji soothed them further. "Alright, let's disperse. If you want today’s wage, get back to work. Or do you expect gold to fall from the sky?" The crowd slowly dispersed, allowing Najji to finally breathe a sigh of relief. Yet the thought of all the money spent left a painful ache in his heart. He hoped the overlords wouldn't hold him accountable... If they did, he'd have to use the Villante as a scapegoat, claiming it was their guards who pressured him to increase wages. Seeing the troublemakers return to work, the Villante guards stationed in front of the port disbanded and went about their own affairs. With the New Year approaching, followed by the Birth Day, none of them were particularly eager to stir up trouble and their thoughts had already drifted back home. The captain of the guards returned to the station and sent a [Crisis Averted] telegram to Evernight Port. He then reported the incident to the governor's office secretary. Governor Huye had returned to Triumph City, taking half of the governor's guard with him. General McClenn and a host of instructors had sailed to Evernight Port in recent weeks, leaving Sifan Harbor defended only by port guards and a local militia, rendering the defense alarmingly sparse. If possible, he wished the governor's office could borrow a company from the Southern Legion. Even a troop of auxiliary forces would be welcome. However, the problem was that there were no available ships along the route—all had been dispatched east by the civilian faction, making it difficult to transfer personnel... Meanwhile, Najji returned to the Labor Registry to report the port situation and wage increases to the major shareholders. No sooner had he finished enduring their scolding than one of his subordinates rushed in, shouting urgently. "Sir, there's trouble!" His seat barely warm, Najji felt his heart sink as he stood up, cursing, "What's gone wrong now? Didn't I already raise their wages!?" His subordinate, pale with desperation, quickly explained, "It's not the docks this time, sir—it's the steel mill and the cement factory. The factory workers heard about the dock wage raise and are refusing to work, demanding raises of their own." Hearing this, Najji nearly spat blood in rage, cursing under his breath. "These greedy vultures!" Just as he expected. He knew it would come to this! The Villante knew nothing of the Bola Province situation; those peasants couldn't be pampered—it'd only lead to chaos once they got comfortable. If factory wages were increased, dockworkers would likely start grumbling that handling cargo was more arduous, demanding higher wages. If this cycle continued, they might as well shut down the harbor factories entirely! Sweat beaded on Najji’s forehead in anxiousness, while the Labor Registry director frowned, muttering quietly. "This whole thing seems off, like someone’s fanning the flames." Najji stiffened. "You think it's the Alliance?" The director shook his head. "Not likely—they have nothing to gain." Alliance merchant ships also bought steel and cement here. The demand for building materials in Golden Galleon Port and Fry Port was significant, as were the reconstruction efforts in the southern seas and Seacoast Province. Causing chaos in Sifan Harbor would do them no favors, only making headaches for the legion and the empire. Just then, the reporting servant's eyes lit up as he chimed in, "Right, I heard that the ringleaders are supposedly followers of the Silver Moon Church! Even the loudest were among them earlier!" At Najji’s outburst, he spat curses, "Those clergy madmen!" The Labor Registry director narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "The Silver Moon Church teaches mutual aid among its followers—the extent of this unrest might indeed have their influence." The servant eagerly agreed, "Right! I never trusted those clergymen. I heard Olisa was a follower, and those leading the rabble often worshipped with him." Najji’s eyes narrowed, a hard-to-detect glint of malice within them. "So it's because of this..." Indeed he'd overlooked something. He almost forgot that churches were organizations too. Let alone the unruly Silver Moon Church, which educated its members and even ran a newspaper. Having seemingly identified the root of the problem, he contemplated his next move. "…We need to find a way to root out that church." The director, however, shook his head. "That's tricky—Silver Moon Bay residents are protected by Communion treaties. We can't act against them without a valid reason, or who knows what trouble might ensue." "Who said anything about us acting..." Najji gave a sinister grin, suggesting in a leisurely tone. "The residents of Sifan Harbor themselves chased away those clergymen. That can’t be pinned on us, right?” *** The steel mill had its order demands, but unlike the harbor, it wasn’t urgent. Before the Villante guards could intervene, Najji assembled a “Longstick Team” of about a hundred slaves borrowed from the Labor Registry, enticing them with promises of freedom and dinar rewards for their service. Hearing about money and useful employment from the overlords, these slaves wasted no time grabbing clubs to break up the non-working crowd. Watching the chaotic lot flee with hands covering their heads, Najji wore a triumphant and sinister grin. No work, no work then! They could close the steel mill for two days—see who starved first! The harbor incident taught him that he couldn’t hesitate. Resolve had to be met with force, action taken decisively. Acting first was always better than reacting! Even if casualties occurred, it was better than having the Villante overlords punish them all. Having settled the steel mill issue, Najji repeated the approach at the cement factory, directing his loyal club-bearers to handle those causing trouble. With his decisive measures, the powder keg that was Sifan Harbor seemed to return to its former tranquility, yet beneath the calm, it bubbled with the potential for a larger crisis fueled by relentless greed. Over the next three days, the dockworkers, working diligently, finally unloaded all the cargo ships clogging the port, leaving the docks empty once again. Merchants, freshly freed from cargo, clutching governor-issued authorization letters, set off for the fabled land of dreams—the Seacoast Province in the distant east! Meanwhile, Najji, exhausted from dealing with relentless dockworkers, finally exhaled in relief. The toughest days were behind him, and he could finally address other matters. Whether it be the striking laborers or the Silver Moon Church that encouraged laziness… He vowed to make them pay! As days passed, Sifan Harbor fell into a period of quietude. Simultaneously, the first merchant caravans departing from Sifan Harbor for the Death Coast began arriving at their dreamed-of shores. After eleven days at sea, upon witnessing the port appearing on the coastline, an excited expression crossed Yalman's face as he stood on the deck. A port! They had finally arrived! The Eastern Legion’s nearest unit was stationed a hundred kilometers from the coastline at Haibei City. Presenting the governor-issued letters, they could obtain the munitions sold by weight. "Hurry! Bring the ship in!" Yalman shouted to the crew behind him, grabbing his binoculars eagerly. Yet as he peered through the lenses toward the shoreline, astonishment gripped him. Black armored vehicles were neatly lined beside containers, waiting for professional equipment to load them onto ships. Each model— Why did they look so familiar? To be continued...