Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: To Meurso Mountain (2)
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One hundred prisoners pulled the cart.
The frozen ground stretched out endlessly.
The sky seemed to have collapsed utterly, smothering the earth.
Crunch—crunch—crunch—
The prisoners dragging the cart by their chains were a pitiful sight.
Every time they took a step, the snow compressed beneath their feet with a chilling sound.
"……."
"……."
"……."
The prisoners trudged through the frozen silence.
The wind broke their anger, and the cold planted seeds of servility.
Creak—creak—creak—creak—
As the blizzard intensified, snow piled up on the cart, making it even heavier.
Pale faces floated like buoys on the endless white expanse.
They sank into the snow and pulled free, only to grow whiter still.
At that moment.
"Halt."
A voice colder than the frost came from behind.
Federback.
The teenage boy leading this expedition emerged from the cart.
Federback looked at the prisoners and spoke.
"I'm thinking of giving you trash one chance. Any interested, step forward."
Who would dare ignore those words?
The prisoners flung off their chains and rushed over, kneeling before Federback.
Clad in tattered rags, barefoot and barehanded on the snowy plain—it was agony.
The prisoners thought.
'Right. No one could treat people like this. Up till now, it must've been for show.'
'If I die, they won't find the money I've hidden. So they can't kill me.'
'It's about time for a proper negotiation...'
They trusted in the assets they'd hidden away.
Federback wouldn't kill them if he wanted to seize that wealth, they believed.
Federback tossed something before the prisoners.
...Thud! Clang!
It was a small wooden chest.
The prisoners stared at it, trembling.
"……?"
The wooden chest brimmed with jewels and gold coins.
Federback scratched his ear, looking annoyed.
"My entire fortune. Got it as a performance bonus wiping out trash on a big scale."
It was a considerable sum.
With it right there, Federback asked the prisoners.
"Anyone want this? Raise your hand if you do."
At his words, the prisoners glanced at each other.
The gold and jewels in the wooden chest.
But in this moment, this situation—they were utterly useless.
About to freeze or starve to death, what good were they?
The prisoners hesitated, eyeing each other warily.
Federback shrugged.
"Guess no one's interested."
With that, he hopped down from the cart and kicked the chest hard.
Gold coins and jewels tumbled like trash down the mountainside cliff.
Clatter—clatter—clatter—clatter—clatter—clatter—clatter—clatter—
The clamor of metal striking stone shattered the snowy silence.
Then Federback picked up the wooden chest.
...Crack!
He smashed it into splinters.
He pulled flint from his pocket and lit the wood scraps.
Whoosh—
Warm firelight spread everywhere.
The prisoners' jaws dropped at the sight.
Fire. Warmth. Comfort.
Their eyes glazed over, entranced.
But Federback's voice remained icy.
"Looks like you trash aren't cold enough yet. Right?"
A bonfire blazed atop the shattered chest.
Federback filled a tin cup with snow and set it over the flames.
Bubble... bubble... bubble...
The snow melted into water.
Federback lifted the steaming cup.
The shivering prisoners' gazes followed the boiling water upward.
Then.
Federback upended the cup.
The melted snow poured out, extinguishing the fire.
Hiss...
Just like that, the brief spark of desire in the prisoners' eyes cooled.
Federback said.
"What did you just see?"
No one answered.
In the silence and cold, Federback continued.
"The wooden chest held treasure. You lot were the type to see only the treasure and ignore the chest, right?"
The prisoners stayed silent.
Federback narrowed his eyes at them.
"But now? Did any of you keep staring at those gold coins rolling off the cliff? From what I saw, not a single one."
He was right.
In this situation, gold and jewels were no better than trash.
Whether they rolled off a cliff or into a dung heap, who cared?
Federback went on.
"Right now, that wooden chest holding it all is worth far more. Even you trash saw it—I made a fire with the chest."
...What was truly essential?
...What aligned with the primal goal of survival?
The prisoners' eyes changed.
They finally realized.
Now, a wooden chest or leather pouch was worth more than billions in wealth.
Gold and jewels helped survival not a whit, but a chest could be splintered for firewood, a pouch wrapped around frostbitten feet.
The prisoners began to murmur.
Federback caught the white breath from their mouths, the flicker of unrest within.
...Thud!
From the cart came dried jerky and warm fur gloves.
Federback dangled them before the prisoners.
"This is dried rat meat. Gloves from rat hides, too."
The prisoners swallowed hard.
They stared holes through the jerky and gloves in Federback's hands.
Federback continued indifferently.
"Just months ago, you'd have scorned this as worthless. Slum trash, right?"
"N-no, sir!"
One prisoner blurted out.
Seemed he hadn't meant to.
Federback ignored him and pressed on.
"But now it's different. I trust you can see their value. Like with the chest earlier."
The prisoners had seen.
Gold and jewels were useless garbage; a wooden chest was precious fuel.
Their old values were flipped completely. Adapting to the new ones was the only way to survive.
Federback drove it home.
"Alright. Trade your useless junk for my useful stuff. If you can't see the opportunity, go ahead and end yourselves now."
Prisoners shot up their hands frantically.
"Me! I'll buy!"
"All the rat jerky, please!"
"Gloves! Sell the gloves, I beg you!"
"No boots? I need ointment for frostbite too!"
Hands shot up like mad.
Before that fervent wave, Federback nodded.
"Cash upfront. First, list your assets in detail and write a deed surrendering them gratis to House Meursault. I'll tie it to a messenger bird and send it to the castle. Once confirmation of transfer arrives, you get the goods."
"Anything! We'll do it!"
The prisoners were ready to sell organs and souls for a scrap of rat jerky.
Federback added to them.
"Oh, right. Forgot to set prices."
"……!"
The prisoners' eyes bulged.
Price. A touchy subject.
They started glancing around.
How much would Federback charge for food and cold gear?
Tension hung thick as Federback spoke.
"We'll auction them. Starting bid per jerky piece: 100,000 gold."
100,000 gold.
For dried meat from a filthy sewer rat.
Hesitation rippled through the prisoners.
Right then.
"110,000 gold!"
A hand went up.
A sleazy-looking man with a goatee.
Sancho's eyes were wide.
Federback nodded.
"Good. 110,000 gold. Anyone higher?"
"……."
The prisoners' eyes shifted again.
Auctions stirred competition, after all.
Soon, another shouted.
"Tw-twelve thousand—wait, 120,000 gold!"
"130,000 gold!"
"Damn it all! 140,000 gold!"
"150,000 over here!"
"S-si-sixteen—160,000 gold!"
"You bastards! 170,000!"
"Shut it! Haven't eaten in three days! 180,000!"
"Screw you! 190,000!"
"Please yield! 200,000! That's my limit!"
"Bullshit! No money? Die then! 210,000!"
Hands popped up everywhere.
Federback stroked his chin.
"Raising bid increments. From now on, 100,000 gold jumps only."
Absurd gouging that dizzied the mind, but no one cared.
In the end, one rat jerky scrap fetched 500,000 gold.
"Eek! Thank you! Thank you!"
The winner was Sancho, first bidder at 110,000.
Federback asked him.
"What do I tell the messenger bird?"
"......My cousin Ashkan farms garlic fields in Osodoks Village. There's a red scarecrow; dig under it for a coffin buried with gold bars inside. Illegal gains anyway—no way to prove origin. Just seize it. No need for a deed."
"Fine. Jerky once confirmed."
"Thank you! Thank you, young master!"
Sancho wept rivers, though he hadn't gotten the jerky yet.
His display fueled anxiety, rivalry, and envy in the others.
Soon.
"Next auction. Cold gear. Starting at 1,000,000 gold."
Federback held up crude fur boots and gloves.
Enough to set every prisoner's eyes ablaze with madness.