The Arrow of Freedom (3)

"I don't know if this is a misfortune or a stroke of luck for you, but I will not inflict any direct harm upon you."

"I-is that true?"

"Yes. No matter what, I do not go back on my word."

Contrary to the notoriety spread about him, John Brown spoke in a calm tone as he sat on the chair where Duncan had been sitting just moments before. Duncan, finding hope that he might live, struggled desperately to squirm and pull himself up.

I'll just play along for now, pretend to be repentant, and as soon as the sun rises, I'll call the sheriff and report them.

As Duncan wore the most pitiful expression he could muster, John Brown's verdict fell upon him.

"The decision regarding your treatment will be made by the Black people you believe to be your subjects."

"The slaves... decide my fate?"

Humiliating as it was, Duncan was certain that the slaves wouldn't dare do anything to him. This wasn't baseless confidence. How could those dim-witted monkeys, who knew nothing but obedience, dare to bare their fangs at the master who provided for them?

However, the words that came from the slaves' mouths were the exact opposite of his confidence.

"Mr. Brown, does that mean we are allowed to kill this bastard?"

"You don't necessarily have to kill him, but are you saying you wish to?"

"Of course. When I think about what we've suffered at his hands until now..."

"My friend Matt died after lingering in pain from the aftereffects of the severe whipping he received from that man. My anger won't be appeased unless we do the same to him!"

"Do you see this severed ear here? That bastard cut it off. Just because I planted a fence post a little crooked!"

Duncan's mind reeled at the voices filled with malice pouring in from all sides. Wait? This can't be? Those ignorant fools remembered all of that and held a grudge? To think they kept track of things I don't even remember—how could there be such petty people in this world?

"Y-you people! Think carefully before you speak! Do you have any idea what will happen to you if you do something to me? This is a rebellion! It will be treated as an insurrection, and a search warrant will be issued across all of Mississippi! You'll never be able to escape to the North! Just tie me up in some corner and run away. That's the only way you'll survive!"

No matter how stupid the Black people were, surely they would understand what the best choice was after he'd spelled it out for them. But unfortunately, even after he had said all that, the wretched n-words did not loosen the intensity of their glares.

"Mr. Brown, you said it doesn't matter whether we kill him or not as long as we leave this place, right?"

"Yes. You will be able to safely go to the North with us."

"Then we will handle it."

The decision was made, so no further conversation was needed. The slave who had struck Duncan in the back of the head earlier gripped his club again. He approached Duncan without a word and struck his legs with all his might.

CRACK!

"AAAAAAH!"

Duncan's scream erupted along with the horrific sound of bones shattering.

"Y-you crazy sons of bitches! You'll all hang from the gallows!"

As he spewed curses and insults, a whip wielded by another slave flew across his mouth. It was the very whip Duncan had used, habitually shouting that n-words only listened when they were beaten.

WHIP!

The pain of his flesh tearing turned his curses into meaningless screams.

"This is for my younger brother who has to live as a cripple for the rest of his life because of you!"

"This is the price for selling out my father, you devil!"

One blow, then another.

THUD! CRACK! WHACK!

The sound of the club dulling against flesh and the sharp sound of the whip slicing through the air filled the office in turns. Eventually, all traces of his initial bravado vanished, and Duncan began to roll in the blood and dirt, begging.

"I was wrong! I did everything wrong! Spare me... please, if you just let me live, I'll do anything... *gack!*"

But naturally, his pleas could not move anyone's heart.

"Die! Die! You son of a bitch!"

"Did you ever stop the whipping even once when we begged you like that!"

Instead, the rage-filled beating grew more intense, and as time passed, his screams gradually faded. Before long, no sound came from his limp body. The man who had reigned as the king of Cedar Grove for the past six years met his end at the hands of the very violence he had so cherished.

The office was filled only with blood splattered everywhere and the heavy breathing of the slaves. John Brown looked at them, stained red, and spoke calmly.

"That was a magnificent vengeance. You have reclaimed your dignity with your own hands."

At that heart-stirring declaration, a Black man asked in a tearful voice, as if overcome with emotion.

"What... what should we do now?"

"What do you wish to do from here on?"

"We... we will go with you, Mr. Brown. Please, lead us."

John Brown nodded silently and took two items from his coat. One was a small silver arrow emblem with wings, symbolizing freedom, and the other was a parchment scroll. He quietly placed the silver arrow on top of Duncan's cooling corpse and spread out the manifesto right next to it.

Having finished everything, John Brown turned around without a shred of regret.

"Let's go."

Following John Brown and his companions, the dozen or so Black men vanished quietly into the darkness. No one looked back. There was no meaning in belated questions now.

In the place they left behind, only blood, silence, and a massive spark that would shake the entire South remained.

It was the day after I returned from the horse racing club meeting that the murder at Cedar Grove became known. The slaves working on the farm hadn't seen the overseer by morning, so they went to the office, found his corpse, and hurriedly reported it to the authorities.

Naturally, Mississippi, and indeed all of Natchez, was plunged into a crucible of chaos and terror. It wasn't just anyone; it was a farm where a state senator was a trustee and I had agreed to participate in management improvements. The overseer here had been murdered without anyone noticing, and the culprits had boldly left behind their own mark and a manifesto.

The authorities tried to downplay the incident to prevent panic, but journalists and citizens starving for dopamine wouldn't let such a massive event slide.

Rumors spread not only through Mississippi but across the entire South and into the North, and articles flooded in like a deluge; everyone came to know about the farm called Cedar Grove.

The facts regarding why Duncan Skinner was murdered and how he was killed were mostly made public, and Mississippi became a place where, no matter where you went, the topic of conversation was Duncan's death.

"Those Northern bastards are truly cruel."

"No, but they say the ones who killed Duncan were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the slaves on the farm? How pathetic of an overseer do you have to be to get beaten to death by your own slaves?"

"Well... that may be, but shouldn't all those traitorous slave bastards be hanged? Why on earth can't the authorities catch them?"

"Exactly. They say ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they're checking everything thoroughly to stop them from crossing into the North, but maybe they've already fled to another Southern state."

Because it was such a massive event, the incident where my overseer Jonathan beat up another white man drew no one's attention and quickly cooled off. Right now, the topic people were interested in was just how severely Duncan had worked his slaves for them to come down from the North and finish him off, and where the culprits had vanished to that they still couldn't be found.

In fact, it was only natural that no one could find them. Because...

"Mr. Brown, your name value is truly immense. In every article, the speculation that the Arrow of Freedom is an organization related to John Brown is dominant."

"I did intentionally include the Bible verse."

Because John Brown and the escaped slaves were currently lounging around at the Sett Plantation, the heart of Natchez, sleeping soundly with their legs stretched out.

"Ah, so that verse was inserted with the intention of saying, 'Yes, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it is I, John Brown.'"

Since it was a well-known fact that John Brown was a devout Christian, quoting the Book of Isaiah was a masterstroke. Furthermore, by quoting the Bible, the organization's intent—that they had delivered judgment upon one who committed evil—was revealed even more clearly, and thanks to that, they were becoming an even greater object of terror to the planters.

If it had been a simple murder, one wouldn't know if it was for property or an accidental killing, but a religious group delivering judgment was clearly a crime of conviction. Planters or overseers who worked their slaves harshly couldn't help but overreact out of fear that they might be the next target.

"By the way, what's this rumor about your management staff beating up a white Dickie for the sake of the Black people? Is that some smear campaign by that bastard Duncan?"

"...That part is actually true. I advised him to handle things more sophisticatedly, though I told him it wouldn't be a big problem since he claimed he was enraged because he felt insulted, not because of the Black people."

"Tsk tsk. It's fortunate it got buried by this incident, but in normal times, it could have been quite a headache."

"Yes, well. It's not a big deal, but I'll make sure he handles things more convincingly in the future."

Anyway, now that the horse racing club, the gathering of the great planters, had completely turned to my side, no one would dare mention the Jonathan incident. Above all, the Cedar Grove farm incident, which was a hundred million times more sensational, had completely covered it up.

"Then it seems the work here is finished; when should we head back?"

"A boat heading to Cincinnati will arrive at the landing soon. Our farm always fills the empty space with supplies we send out after receiving deliveries. I'll put food, water, and small boxes for them to relieve themselves in the crates, so even if it's uncomfortable, you can hide in there and head North."

"A perfect plan. No one would ever expect the notorious John Brown and the escaped slaves to be hiding in the cargo being sent North from the Sett Plantation."

"That's how it is. Inspections would just be rummaging through wagons at the border crossing into the North anyway. Anyway, the reaction is bigger than expected, so there will be quite a few people looking for you, Mr. Brown, even after you return to the North."

John Brown had always received unusual attention for his shocking actions, and this time was no different. They said he killed slave owners with a sword instead of a gun, and this time, they said he beat a man until he died with only a whip and a club. Because of this method of killing, the speculation that the culprit was John Brown gained even more weight, and the terror grew in proportion.

Of course, this wasn't an action John Brown had orchestrated, but purely the behavior of slaves whose resentment had reached their marrow, but people usually don't distinguish between such things.

On top of that, as the icing on the cake, John Brown had written that he would continue to keep a close eye on Cedar Grove Farm in the future. With the overseer having gone to the afterlife like that, who would apply for that position? With the slaves having sent the overseer off like that, who would dare take over this farm?

Along with the stigma of being a farm targeted by Northern radicals, the land value of Cedar Grove began to plummet like the forkball thrown by Peter, our farm's left-handed ace.

Quite rapidly.

Very sharply.

To the point where it would become dirt cheap, so much so that no one would even want to buy it.

Down, down, down.