Chapter 187
Chapter 187
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 187
Chapter Title: Sugar Rush 3
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"I'm sure the other plantation owners have warned you plenty of times to stop what you're doing right now. And yet you ignored those warnings and let things escalate this far. You probably thought something like, 'This isn't war—I'm just doing the right thing. I want to prove that even treating farm laborers decently can still turn a profit. It's a problem that could be solved if I just took a little less for myself. Why are they making such a fuss?' Right?"
It was exactly as Azadin said.
Randa Vanema had viewed the other plantation owners' warnings as the empty greed of people who could never get enough, no matter how much you shoved in their mouths.
She had mocked their greed and folly, overlooking the fact that it was infused with the wicked wisdom handed down through generations to protect their fortunes.
She had dismissed them as blind with avarice and recklessly raised the curtain on battle without any resolve to kill or be killed. And now, flustered and caught off guard, she had resorted to summoning the Herald Clan with the emperor's gold coins.
Azadin saw through every part of Randa Vanema.
"Are you blaming me now? I only did it with good intentions!"
"Good intentions without the backing of strength and cunning often lead to the worst outcomes."
"......"
Randa Vanema was at a loss for words in the face of Azadin's rebuke.
"So what am I supposed to do? Just give up, enter a political marriage, and run a slave plantation like them? Betray the farm laborers who followed me and crush their hopes at this point?"
"S-Sir."
The bodyguards panicked at Randa Vanema's weak tone. But some inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
There was no reversing this situation without going to war against every surrounding plantation.
But war?
Those who had lived their whole lives in Bel Hoda knew all too well. Starting a fight over something like this would plunge the entire region into an endless blood feud that could only be washed away with more blood.
The sugarcane plantations of Bel Hoda had amassed enormous fortunes, each one essentially a grand noble in its own right. Once war broke out, no one would yield until the money ran dry, ensuring the land would never dry of blood.
Wouldn't surrendering at least bring peace?
That was when Azadin spoke.
"Ah, rest easy, petitioner. What I said was just to share an understanding of the current situation. I'm not trying to break your spirit."
Azadin smiled and pointed at Randa Vanema.
"I like people like you. Most folks lack both goodwill and wisdom. Someone with at least goodwill is precious."
"......"
Was he cursing or praising her? No, he was straight-up calling her an idiot to her face, so it was a curse—but the eyeless bastard was grinning as he said it....
That kind of smile usually came off as mockery. But this man's smile seemed genuinely satisfied.
"Your emotions are bouncing all over the place—I don't know what tune to dance to. I get it: I lacked the strength and wisdom, so I overreached. But I can't compromise with them. Herald Clan, lend me your strength and wisdom. How far can you go?"
"Hmm. Then let's define the scope of the petition like this: At minimum, ban the kidnapping of people from Bel Hoda's sugarcane plantations to use as slaves or in equivalent conditions. And Randa Vanema, I guarantee your family won't be ruined by armed clashes between plantations. How's that?"
"Huh?"
Randa Vanema was stunned by Azadin's words.
She had braced for a scolding from the start and worried she'd have to concede a lot, but the scope he proposed was close to the best outcome she could imagine.
"Is that even possible?"
"Of course, with enough strength and will."
"...Will."
"First, let's persuade the rival plantation owners. It's better if we can settle it without bloodshed. So, can we leave this arena now?"
Randa Vanema nodded at Azadin's question.
And then...
*Shwick!*
Azadin's body blurred for a moment before he lightly kicked off the ground, leaping up to grab the railing of Randa Vanema's VIP box.
"My god."
Too fast. Even with the arrow earlier, if Azadin had wanted it, Randa Vanema would never have survived. Even negotiating from this supposedly secure spot sent chills down her spine.
"Then I'll accept the petition."
*********
The Bel Hoda Sugar Industry Association soon learned of the Herald Clan's arrival.
The fox clans who had put down roots in Bel Hoda long ago were connected, no matter which plantation they worked for—cousins, in-laws, friends, colleagues, seniors, juniors, and so on, tracing back through family ties.
Even people from Vanema Plantation had connections to someone in another plantation under the Sugar Industry Association, keeping Randa Vanema under constant surveillance.
"The Herald Clan, eh. What do you think?"
In the association's clubhouse, the plantation owners chatted while playing billiards with ivory balls.
Billiards and bowling were all the rage in Btuma, and billiards especially let them flaunt their extravagance.
These owners competed to outdo each other in hedonism and luxury by crafting billiard balls and cues from the finest materials, boasting their rotting wealth.
"So, the Herald Clan showed up? They actually exist, huh."
"Of course they do. Haven't you heard the rumors that the Heralds recently took Coral Sahar?"
"I heard, but rumors are all over the place. Some say nagas raided Coral Sahar."
"Those soulless blasphemers, the Godslayer Clan—it's impressive their organization still holds after centuries since the emperor's fall."
They marveled at the Herald Clan's appearance, but their reactions lacked any sense of crisis.
Rumors of the Heralds' formidable prowess or the efforts they put into missions didn't faze them.
Why? They had money—enough to field armies rivaling nobles' and hire top-tier adventurers.
The Heralds' infamous reputation and their soul-mocking moniker now piqued their interest in a different way.
"I hear the Herald Clan has a hierarchy. What's this one's rank?"
"2nd Herald."
The reporter's words made the billiards-playing owner's hand freeze.
"2nd Herald?"
"Isn't that insanely high?"
A cigar-cutting owner lit up, hawked a loogie, and spat. A servant with a silver tray caught it politely with both hands and carried it out of the clubhouse.
"A 2nd Herald from the Herald Clan. How many came?"
"Uh, one Herald, two men, one woman."
"Two men and one woman? Just four?"
"Yes. One man's wearing a blue scarf—probably Blue Turbans. The other's a massive musclehead who seems like a Taina zealot, always sprawled on the floor. And the woman's a stunning beauty, but she's got a naga curved sword and chain veil."
"A female naga?"
"She looks human, at least on the outside."
Curved swords were large and heavy—not ideal for women unless augmented by magic for strength, or an actual naga.
"I'm not sure about the woman, but the others don't have bows, so it seems like the Herald's just the one guy."
"One Herald and the rest riffraff. A 2nd Herald should have a bunch of underlings. What are they doing?"
"Well..."
The servant reporting the news hesitated.
"They're just waiting around, mooching off Vanema Plantation's food, from what I hear."
"Mooching food?"
"They arrived yesterday, so probably shaking off travel fatigue."
"Makes sense."
It was a reasonable explanation. Travel wore you down. No one could do much while exhausted.
But even refreshed, what could they do?
"Waiting for reinforcements, maybe?"
Some offered cautious takes, but a young, ambitious plantation owner stepped forward boastfully.
"Who cares? I'll handle it."
"You?"
"Yes. My plantation has contracts with adventurers who hunt the monsters that pop up around here. They're pretty damn good."
"We've got our fair share too."
The owners hadn't just armed their serfs into private forces—they'd hired A-rank or higher adventurers from the Sellsword Guild with their own coin.
Though mercenaries at first, long-term contracts bred loyalty and attachment between employer and hire. The owners took pride in their adventurers' fame and skill.
And now, the Herald Clan made a perfect trophy. If one of their hires took down a Herald?
Already numb from indulgence, the owners' desires and vanities stirred with long-dormant vigor.
"A 2nd Herald. Knocking that out would give our adventurers a killer title."
"So, what do we do? Should the guys I sponsor take first crack? I'd love to see a 2nd Herald in action...."
"Cheating by going first?"
"Hey, we don't know their capabilities. Taking that risk first... If I fail by some fluke, the challengers after get the intel and it'll be easier, right?"
"We can't make you suffer like that. I'll take the vanguard."
"Oh, Sir Sarko, with your age? Time to rein in that pit-fighter excitement."
The plantation owners bantered and joked, competing over who would claim the Herald Clan first.
That was when it happened.
"Knock knock. Anyone home?"
A voice came from outside the door.
And then... the clubhouse door exploded inward like it'd been smashed by a catapult, shards flying everywhere.
But the servants rushed in, catching the flying debris with astonishing skill.
This clubhouse was where jaded owners gathered to flaunt their vile hobbies to each other. Bodyguards were already posted everywhere.
They deftly absorbed the momentum of the incoming door fragments and set them down gently.
"Whoops, my bad. Nice reflexes."
The one who entered—making a knocking sound with his mouth—was a young man in a mask.