Chapter 186
Chapter 186
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 186
Chapter Title: Sugar Rush 2
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A corpse hung from a crane at the docks near the Vanema estate.
Unlike other plantations that engaged in human trafficking, the Vanema family was rumored to pay proper wages, drawing in laborers who had fled from those other farms.
But someone had murdered those laborers and strung them up on that crane.
“You filthy union bastards!”
Randa Vanema was purely outraged by the deaths.
It was the consequence of her own actions. Of course, the union scum had done the killing, but she never imagined her impulsive decision would create such a massive ripple effect.
Randa felt as if those deaths were her own responsibility, which only fueled her anger and grief.
“President Vanema, what should we do?”
“Take down the bodies. And give each of their families a sack of rice, a sack of beans, a basket of dried fish, and eight silver coins as condolence money to help them afford proper funerals.”
“This has to be the work of those other plantation scum. If we let this slide, they’ll come for all of us!”
“We have to hit back first!”
“Open the armory! And spend some money to hire mercenaries!”
The laborers shouted excitedly. But Randa Vanema remained calm.
“Don’t talk nonsense. Are you saying we should go to war against every other plantation by ourselves? Just wait. I’ve called in someone who specializes in this sort of thing.”
As she spoke, a small boat pulled up to the dock. A masked young man stepped off and approached Randa Vanema directly.
“You’re the petitioner?”
“From the way you say that, you must be one of the Herald Clan.”
“That’s right. 2nd Herald Azadin, at your service.”
“Hmm. Eight different guys claiming to be Heralds have shown up since yesterday. Are you the real deal?”
“What?”
Azadin was stunned by the unexpected statement.
Imposters pretending to be Heralds?
‘There have always been a few, sure. Drunken braggarts or con artists threatening people usually drop the Herald name to sound tough, but ones actually coming to petitioners? Never heard of that.’
As Azadin looked flustered, President Vanema gave a wry smile.
“It’s a disruption tactic by the other plantation owners. So take off the mask. I need to see your face first before I decide.”
“…This one? It’s not exactly a pretty sight. But sure.”
Azadin removed his mask.
“Gasp?”
President Vanema was taken aback. Where eyes should have been on Azadin’s revealed face, there was only a large scar.
“No eyes? But you can still see?”
“I was born with that ability. Sorry to show you something so gruesome.”
“You might actually be a real Herald. For now, at least.”
“Thanks for believing me. I was half-tempted to show off my archery skills.”
Azadin put his mask back on.
“You can shoot a bow without eyes?”
“What kind of Herald couldn’t? Anyway, mind guiding us somewhere less crowded? This doesn’t seem like a conversation for a busy public spot.”
“Fine.”
Randa Vanema called her servants. Armed men promptly surrounded Azadin’s group.
“Right this way, then.”
It felt less like guidance and more like an escort under guard.
*********
Azadin’s group was led by Randa Vanema’s servants to an arena pit called the Bloodpit. The floor was covered in sand, surrounded by wooden barriers, with spectator seats arranged around the edges looking down from above.
“This place…?”
“We usually hold dogfights here, and sometimes human brawls. You’ve heard of Brtuma Brawling, right?”
Randa Vanema said this while looking down at Azadin’s group.
She stood in the VIP section of the arena, high above the pit where they were. Jiswa felt uneasy at the intimidating height difference.
“What happens if that woman decides she doesn’t like us?”
“Then that’s her last day. Didn’t you see our boss fold those naga bitches in half backward?”
Scott, trusting in Azadin’s skills, yawned and lay down on the ground. He was conserving his stamina and mana as much as possible, letting it recover.
“Doesn’t look like you petitioned us from a welcoming mood toward the Herald Clan. Still, let’s hear the details of your request. I’ve got a rough idea, but I want the full story.”
“It’ll be a long tale, but I’ll tell you everything.”
Randa Vanema explained how she had inherited the plantation and changed its business practices, which led the neighboring farms to start attacking her.
“Ah, so that’s why the fake Heralds came sniffing around. Which means there’s a traitor among the people who were there when you made your gold coin petition. Your rivals knew about it.”
“Exactly.”
Randa Vanema nodded at Azadin’s words.
She now had the support of the laborers she had freed, turning them into freemen, and the workers who backed her for the higher wages.
But with so many people involved, spies and traitors were bound to be among them.
Even among those who had served the Vanema family since childhood, who knew how many were betraying her.
In this situation, the only ones she could truly trust were the Heralds summoned by her gold coin petition.
“I’ve heard the big plantation lords of Brtuma have more money than stars in the sky. Ever thought about hiring adventurers?”
“I’ve got the money, but throwing it at a fight would be idiotic. They have even more cash. They can’t even hire tinsmiths to fix their pots—why would sellswords come to me? The silver lining is they already have massive private armies, so they don’t need sellswords. They can just crush me with brute force.”
“That’s the situation, huh? Got it.”
Azadin nodded.
“But you studied abroad with the Order of Salvation Knights?”
“I trained as a holy knight under Saint Mallory on the Whibris Peninsula. My mother was a concubine. This plantation was originally meant for my half-brother, but he died of a venereal disease, so I left the order and returned.”
“A Salvation Knight? Lucky you.”
Azadin’s eyes lit up when he heard Randa had been a Salvation Knight.
“Hmph. Salvation Knight? Just a fancy name for trash. Every time we faced the Royal Church’s holy knights, we got crushed—and there’s a reason for that. But why are you jealous?”
At that moment, Jiswa excitedly said to Azadin.
“I was worried we’d waste time on a petition like this, but it turns out the petitioner is a Bell Hoda plantation owner. Perfect, Master. Bell Hoda owners are richer than most nobles. If we gain their backing, it’ll greatly aid our pursuit of the Heavenly Path.”
“Heavenly Path? Aren’t you Heralds? Don’t tell me you’re in the Azure Bamboo Gang too?”
“Ended up taking a side gig as an Azure Bamboo priest.”
“Ended up how?”
“On top of that, I’m a devotee of the angelic faith. I grew up on tales of the Three Great Archangels’ devotion to humanity, and the heroic, virtuous knights of the Order of Salvation. That’s why I’m jealous—I wanted to be a Salvation Knight too.”
‘…Is this guy really a Herald? Suddenly I’m drowning in doubts.’
As Randa began doubting Azadin, he unstrung his bow and nocked an arrow. Her bodyguards flinched.
“Y-You bastard! What do you think you’re doing?”
They aimed crossbows and bows at him.
“Since that comment made you doubt me, how about a little parlor trick?”
Azadin swiftly loosed his arrow.
“Huh?!”
Randa’s shocked bodyguards fired back, but something even more astonishing happened.
Azadin’s arrow struck the arrow on one bodyguard’s bowstring dead center, knocking it away.
And not only that…
Azadin deflected the arrows flying at him from the front, letting them drop, then flared his cloak to swat away those coming from behind.
In the arena pit’s design, arrows shot from the spectator seats would hit the center only if perfectly aimed—otherwise, the walls created blind spots, so attacks only came from one side.
Azadin exploited those blind spots to deflect the incoming volley, protecting himself and his comrades single-handedly.
“One arrow becomes many. Nice.”
Azadin picked up a fallen arrow from the ground.
The brief exchange of shots had been deadly for any ordinary person.
Indeed, Randa’s bodyguards were drenched in cold sweat.
Yet Azadin casually collected arrows.
“P-President.”
“Stand down. He’s the real deal—a true Herald.”
Randa dropped her suspicions of Azadin.
“Then let’s get serious. Shall we define the scope of your petition?”
“Scope?”
“Yeah. What exactly do you want?”
“What do I…?”
Randa was at a loss for words.
“You want me to wipe out your rivals and seize control of Bell Hoda’s entire sugar industry? Kill the other plantation owners, exterminate their families, and butcher even their nursing infants so no one’s left to inherit?”
“That’s…”
She had considered assassination. Straight-up confrontation was impossible.
Bell Hoda’s sugarcane plantation owners always joked about this over drinks.
‘With enough money, you can hire anyone.’
‘We’re the ones who choose Brtuma’s king.’
Drunken boasting was common, but given their wealth and power, it wasn’t entirely empty talk.
Formally opposing them was out of the question, so assassination had crossed her mind—but killing one or two owners would just pass it to their heirs, and furious successors wouldn’t let her live.
But kill every possible heir?
Down to the infants?
Then what was the point of her freeing the slaves?
As Randa hesitated, Azadin sighed.
“Not what you’re after, huh. You’re a tricky petitioner.”
“Tricky?”
“Your actions—improving worker welfare and rejecting the kidnappings, trafficking, and slavery around here—were good and noble, no doubt. But to the other plantations, it was a declaration of a systemic war: follow your model or die.”
“……”
“You threw down the gauntlet without being ready to kill. That’s why you’re in a tough spot.”
Randa felt Azadin’s words cut her to the bone.
This outsider who had just arrived in Bell Hoda understood the plantation owners’ situation far better than she did, having been born and raised there.