Chapter 293
Chapter 293
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 293
>Chapter Title: Divine Might (1)
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“If we let them live as you say, Azadi, merchants will steadily flock here. But will all that wealth truly be ours? Have you forgotten who they came to Merv with?”
“…With the Majid family of Samarkand, my lord.”
“Exactly. So which family will seize the greatest fortune?”
“…The Majid family.”
Azadi answered cautiously, crushed by the family head’s presence, and Arslan nodded before speaking.
“If Samarkand prospers, it’s the law of the world that our Merv will face danger no matter how much it grows. Remember this well. Gaining profit for ourselves is important, but even more crucial is ensuring our enemies gain nothing at all.”
“I shall engrave your teachings in my heart, my lord.”
“I trust a wise man like you won’t forget.”
Azadi bowed his head at the family head’s words and asked,
“Then, is ambushing them also a way to check the other families in Merv?”
“Hahaha. Truly, teach one thing and you grasp two.”
Arslan burst into hearty laughter.
The same logic applied to them buying up every item at great expense.
They couldn’t allow another family to snap up those high-value Eastern goods. Any wealth gained by the other families in Merv was a direct threat to House Omar.
“We don’t know when those bastards will leave Merv, so pass the word to Zafir.”
At the family head’s command, Azadi replied with his own guess.
“To keep our raid hidden, I’ll tell him to slip out of Merv at dawn and lie in wait.”
“Heh heh heh. Do so. If they’re disguised as victims of desert bandits, who will suspect us?”
Azadi paid his respects to the family head once more and left the room.
Arslan watched Azadi’s retreating figure as he went to find Zafir, who was deep in training, and pondered the aftermath.
Zafir.
Arslan Omar’s most trusted nephew and Merv’s finest warrior.
With just a bit more growth, he could become one of the rare ‘Great Warriors’ said to exist only once across the entire East.
Giving over a hundred soldiers to such a man meant dealing with a mere fifty or so heretics and reclaiming their money would be child’s play.
Thus, the aftermath Arslan envisioned stretched far beyond that.
‘Recover the money, sell the Eastern goods for even greater wealth, and gradually swallow up Merv.’
His first goal was to turn Merv—not governed by a council—into a city fully ruled by House Omar.
And if Zafir truly surpassed his limits to become a Great Warrior someday.
‘Heh heh heh. By then, even setting our sights on Nishapur wouldn’t be a pipe dream.’
Arslan dreamed grandly.
He refused to settle for the mere title of ‘family head’ and yearned to be called ‘Sultan.’
If he could seize control of the East with Nishapur and Merv as his base and found the Omar Dynasty, it wouldn’t seem so far-fetched.
* * *
As the sun began to set.
Thanks to the extravagantly generous fool—no, guest—Il-mok had sold every last item in one go and made a tidy fortune.
With the hour late, they returned first to their pre-booked lodgings.
“Now that we’ve got a big sum in hand, we should stand watches and rest in shifts.”
“We’ve already set the rotation, so don’t worry, Young Master.”
After a brief talk with Goo Yang-hyeok, Il-mok headed to his assigned room.
Under the Black Tiger Squad’s guard, he slept soundly through the night. The next morning, he set out for the market again.
Having sold Central Plains goods for profit, now he sought items to take back and sell there.
‘I need things that store well and fetch a high price in the Central Plains.’
Focusing on those two points as he wandered the market, a curious sight caught Il-mok’s eye.
People with bound limbs, surrounded by others shouting in the Huihui tongue.
Among the bound were nomad-looking folk, people resembling Huihui faithful, those the Central Plains called black ghosts, and even some with pale skin and blue eyes.
He had a rough idea what it was, but just to be sure, Il-mok asked.
“Slave traders.”
The expected answer came back.
Right after hearing it, oddly enough, the first person who came to Il-mok’s mind was Wi Jin-hak.
Not that he wanted to sell his senior brother into slavery.
It was just that the last image he recalled was that overworked face, eyes red and bloodshot.
Already considering the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult’s talent shortage, Il-mok thought of Wi Jin-hak the moment he spotted the slavers.
As a modern man, he wasn’t without qualms about slave trading.
‘But I’m not here to be a human rights activist in the Middle East.’
Reality was reality.
No, buying these slaves might even be a mercy compared to their current fate.
Given how the Huihui had treated them so far, it seemed unlikely they’d live well once sold.
Il-mok pondered.
‘Hmm. Once the Silk Road trade takes off and we rake in the cash, it’ll massively boost the Cult’s growth down the line.’
Traveling between the Central Plains and the West for huge profits—buying grain and food in the Central Plains, slaves in Huihui lands to stockpile talent—could sustain the Cult’s explosive growth.
With that big picture in mind, Il-mok headed toward the slavers.
Nomads, Huihui folk, whites, blacks. He paid no heed to those who looked Huihui.
Not due to his tastes.
Most slaves here were men anyway.
Especially the blacks and whites captured from the far West—women were usually sold off at western port cities.
Il-mok shied from Middle Eastern slaves likely Huihui due to prejudice.
The first thing that came to mind seeing them was, bizarrely, ‘refugees.’
Muslim refugees, a hot-button issue even in the modern day.
After the incidents on the Silk Road journey, Il-mok felt uneasy.
What if buying them led to Islamic doctrine spreading in the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult?
‘If Islamic extremism takes root in our already cultish Heavenly Demon Divine Cult…’
He shook his head hard at the vision of Allah’s magic wand evolving into the Heavenly Demon’s—awash in blood and explosions.
‘Ugh.’
It felt like a horrific abomination that shouldn’t exist in this world would be born.
* * *
After finishing his deals with the slavers, Il-mok continued prowling the market for goods to sell in the Central Plains.
He haggled simply and bought extra spices before he and his group left Merv around noon.
It was a journey of seventy souls now.
Buying every non-Middle Eastern slave had added twenty more.
Plus spices and sundries, over half the massive gold and silver earned yesterday vanished.
But he felt no regret.
‘The goal this time was just to open the trade route anyway.’
Next time, they’d bring even more goods. The profits would surely dwarf this haul, he expected.
Il-mok had no idea their items had sold for far above market price.
After crossing a desolate landscape of yellow and green blending to the horizon—save for distant mountains—for some time.
Il-mok rode his camel to the rear.
There, slaves rode in empty carts and wagons after selling the goods.
“Ohallak, interpret for me.”
Heading to the nomads clustered together, Il-mok instructed him and said,
“Hard to believe, I know, but work for us five years, and I promise you freedom then.”
Il-mok, averse to human trafficking, wanted to free them now, but it wasn’t feasible.
They desperately needed talent either way.
‘Still, after five years, they’ll breathe easy.’
The Cult was currently training children across New Frontier Province.
In at least five years, middle school graduates would emerge, eliminating the need for this talent pipeline.
But even after Ohallak translated, the nomads’ response was lukewarm.
Their dull eyes suggested they didn’t quite buy Il-mok’s words.
“Tch.”
Being captured and sold as slaves, trust wouldn’t come easy.
‘Well, they’ll adjust bit by bit living with us.’
He intended to keep his promise, so he let it slide for now.
“The issue is over there…”
Il-mok turned to another cart and wagon.
Blacks and whites gathered there.
He could talk to nomads via Ohallak, but how to communicate with those?
After a moment’s thought, Il-mok grabbed emergency brush and ink, scrawling on tree bark.
- can you speak english?
Showing the bark to them, several slaves gaped, eyes widening.
A few whites who recognized English suddenly shouted at the top of their lungs, and Il-mok sighed lightly.
“What’re they saying?”
He’d half-expected it, but it was hard to understand.
Like Joseon-era speech differing from modern Korean, their English pronunciation and meanings felt subtly off.
Some seemed to yell in other European tongues—utterly incomprehensible.
Opting for simple conveyance over talk, Il-mok scribbled again on fresh bark.
Short and clear to avoid misunderstanding.
- if you work 5 years, you can be a free.
“!!!”
Several whites’ eyes bulged as they yelled something.
“Does that mean you’ll free us after five years?”
“Then send us back home!?”
It might’ve been crucial to them.
“What’re they saying.”
Il-mok still couldn’t understand.
“Whew. Guess I need to teach them our language first.”
Communication was key to assigning tasks.
“Black Tiger Squad, from now on, each of you pair with one and teach them basic words, one by one.”
At Il-mok’s order, the squad divided duties swiftly.
Twenty stood guard around the perimeter, while the other twenty approached carts and wagons, picking one each to start talking.
Then, Jin Ha-yeon, who’d watched it all, approached Il-mok and asked.
“Young Master, when did you learn those blue-eyes’ tongue?”
He’d anticipated the question since writing in English, so Il-mok replied without batting an eye.
“Picked it up in Gansu Province. One of the street books I read was about their language.”
She had no memory of him reading such a book, but Jin Ha-yeon accepted it.
From observing him so long, anything Il-mok did now just elicited, ‘As expected of the Young Master.’
“I never imagined you were painting such a grand picture.”
At Jin Ha-yeon’s out-of-left-field remark, Il-mok tilted his head instead.
“My grand picture? What do you mean?”
“Buying them, learning the blue-eyes’ language, teaching them letters now—it’s all part of the big plan, isn’t it?”
“…….”
As her increasingly baffling words nearly drew a ‘What nonsense is that?’ from his throat and back down.
“You’re not content just returning to the Central Plains—you aim to spread our Divine Cult’s doctrine across the world. Even mastering the blue-eyes’ tongue to preach to them.”
Jin Ha-yeon expounded her version of the grand, twisted scheme.
“Traveling the West has truly opened my eyes. I never dreamed so many nations and cities existed. While the Cult dreams only of reclaiming the Central Plains, your wisdom gazes farther. I’m in awe once more.”
As she spoke with fervent faith ill-matching her stoic face, Il-mok let out a hollow chuckle.
‘The whole world dyed in the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult? What a horrifying thought.’
Just imagining it made his head spin.