Chapter 188
Chapter 188
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 188
Chapter Title: Sugar Rush 4
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“Phew. Cigarette stink. You mix cigarettes with weed or something? How about airing the place out and living like civilized people?”
“What? What the hell?!”
“This bastard...!”
The plantation owners jumped in surprise at the sudden intruder.
They had the area around this clubhouse crawling with skilled mercenaries, and among the farm laborers, they’d handpicked the big, strong ones, the ones talented in martial arts, and posted them everywhere.
They even had guard dogs patrolling, making the place as impregnable as a dragon’s lair—not even a rat could sneak in. Yet here was this young man strolling in bold as brass.
“You all children of darkness, huh? Air it out and get some sunlight for once.”
The young man flung open the windows. Light poured in from outside, illuminating the clubhouse interior.
In the shadows, they were power brokers who could name the king of Ptuma on a whim. But under the light, they were just bloated, corrupt old men steeped in debauchery.
“What an insolent whelp.”
“Step back, masters.”
The servants who had blocked the exploding door earlier advanced on the Herald clansman. Their movements betrayed real martial prowess—nothing ordinary about them.
“This clubhouse of the Bell Hoda Sugar Business Consortium is reserved for esteemed guests only.”
“You, who smashed through that mahogany door—you’ll pay for it with your life.”
“I’ll slice your ankle and let the hounds play with you for days!”
The servants drew their weapons as they spoke. Hidden blades within divine-use canes—cane swords.
“Ooh, fancy.”
The Herald clansman admired their weapons.
“Your blood on the blade will make it even fancier!”
One servant shouted and swung his cane sword...
But the young man casually flicked his middle finger. Normally, snapping a fingernail against solid metal would shatter the finger. But...
*Crack!*
The blade snapped in half and flew off. Then his hand whipped like a serpent, coiling around the servant’s arm as he swung, before lightly tossing him aside.
“Gah!”
The servants faltered for a moment. The direction the Herald clansman had flung their comrade just happened to be toward the couch where the plantation owners had retreated.
Protect the masters first? The whole clubhouse if they guarded the masters? Or just the ones who paid their wages?
As they hesitated in confusion and rushed to catch their flying comrade, they all tumbled together in a heap.
“Hmm, those cane swords look cool, but they’re too thin—poor durability. I’d want one, but practicality’s lacking.”
“You little shit!”
Another servant stepped up. The clubhouse servants, men and women alike, had to be exceptionally handsome. Among them, the burliest, most muscled one—the head servant—charged the Herald youth and unleashed a lightning-fast punch.
*Our head servant’s stronger than most sell-sword mercs!*
*He’s killed drunkards with one punch...*
The servants thought as much, but the Herald man blocked the head servant’s fist with absurd ease, then countered with a light jab using the same arm—barely a shoulder twitch or body turn.
Yet the sturdy-framed head servant suddenly crumpled to his knees.
“Urk?! M-move! Move, damn it!”
He clutched his legs, shaking them desperately with his own hands, writhing in agony. His mind was alert, but his body wouldn’t obey.
“Ugh...”
With that single exchange, the servants realized this intruder was leagues beyond them—a true master.
“So, shall we talk now?”
The Herald clansman turned to the plantation owners.
“Talk?”
“Killing you here wouldn’t change a thing—others just like you would take your places. That’s why I want to talk.”
“......”
The plantation owners were startled that this Herald clansman was approaching them with words instead of their expected violence.
“I know my petitioner insulted you without thinking and picked a fight. And that you’d try to crush her with force—that’s your order of things, right?”
“Y-yes.”
The plantation owners were briefly thrown by this Herald youth voicing their position so perfectly, then broke into smiles.
It had always been this way. The Bell Hoda sugar plantation owners wielded immense wealth, and even nobles and priests groveled before them to win favor.
Was this Herald clansman groveling too? If so, it was worth hearing out.
“So, what deal are you proposing, Herald clansman?”
“I’m here to resolve the petition. Convince you to honor my petitioner’s wishes, and we’re all happy.”
“And how do you plan to convince us? What conditions?”
“Abolish slavery, and there’s no fight between you and my petitioner. She’d be satisfied too. Sound good?”
“Pfft. You sane?”
The plantation owners burst into laughter. But the Herald clansman was dead serious.
“Slavery’s banned by imperial decree and the laws of the Eight Kingdoms. Giving it up now and following the law won’t hurt your pride. They’d praise you as merciful instead.”
“Do we look like idiots to you?”
“Praise like that’s worth less than a copper coin!”
“Think about it. The cost of hiring slave hunters and maintaining private armies—replace slaves with paid wages, and are you really losing out?”
“We need private armies anyway. Why do you think nobles respect our vast wealth? Without them, the king and nobles would seize our operations.”
“Training and feeding those soldiers costs money. Can’t just let an army sit idle. Without work, they’d test if they could take our wealth with their spears and swords. So give them jobs—hunting slaves to manage, using the profits to fund themselves.”
In short, they didn’t trust the king or nobles, so they raised private armies; they didn’t trust the armies, so they kept slavery.
“We don’t enslave healthy folk out of sadism. It’s to protect this empire of wealth, our independence—for our survival and freedom.”
“Ah, right. You strip others of freedom and enslave them to protect your own wealth and freedom. Truly noble words.”
“We’re different from them.”
“How so?”
“They don’t deserve freedom. We do.”
The Herald clansman sneered.
“Disgusting nonsense. That’s why we’re called king-slayers—we kill nobles every time they spout it. My ears are worn thin from noble drivel, so spare me from non-nobles like you.”
“Talks over then?”
“No. There’s still room to negotiate.”
“Room to negotiate?”
“Yes. Abolish slavery and pay wages. In return, we Herald clansmen—Aragas—will ensure your farms don’t fall into noble hands. No need to feed useless soldiers or keep a bad reputation. I swear it on the name of Emperor’s Herald, Second Rank Azadin.”
The Herald clansman Azadin made his pitch. But to the plantation owners, it sounded ridiculous.
“Hahaha. What a clown. You Herald clansmen dare claim Bell Hoda’s sugar?”
“Countless kings and nobles have coveted Bell Hoda sugar. And now you Heralds demand it, trampling our dignity—like you’re doing us a favor?”
The plantation owners mocked Azadin’s offer.
They had even rejected royal armies offering protection for their sugarcane fields and sugar mills.
And now Heralds wanted to be protectors of the Bell Hoda Sugar Business Consortium. How was that a negotiation?
“You seem smarter than that little girl since you came to deal, but you’re an idiot after all. No soul means no brains?”
“Hmm? You think my terms are that bad? You’ll change your mind once you see what’s coming...”
Azadin shrugged.
At that moment, the clubhouse door exploded inward. Even the remnants that hadn’t flown off when Azadin kicked it in earlier now scattered completely.
Through the shattered doorway stepped a group of figures.
A dwarf with a blunderbuss, a young human man with sword and shield, an elf woman with blue war paint on her face, and a pale-faced human man with a long staff.
The adventurers the plantation owners had hired.
“I was hoping to avoid the clubhouse if possible.”
The elf woman wrinkled her nose, waving a hand in front of it—the stench itself repulsed her.
“Bear it, Beldrass. The employers are in danger. Chance for a bonus.”
“But it’s a Second Rank Herald. Be careful. Even half the rumors true, we’ve got a monster on our hands.”
The dwarf gunner warned his comrades and aimed his blunderbuss at Azadin.
“Ahh.”
“The sell-swords are here...”
The servants rejoiced at the mercenaries’ arrival.
Clubhouse staff were banned from arming, so their best weapons were kitchen knives at most.
Even the head servant’s cane sword had shattered against Azadin in one go. Now properly armed mercs had shown up.
But Azadin warned the mercenaries in a bored tone.
“Aiming that muzzle at me’s dangerous, no? Won’t your employer get hit too?”
Truth be told, Azadin was tense inside. Guns were weapons even he couldn’t underestimate.
*Saw them fired from a distance during Herald training, that’s all.*
As Azadin tensed—
“Employers, this way.”
A young human woman in a mask had slipped in through the window unnoticed and was pulling the employers against the wall.
Smashing the already-broken door that posed no barrier had been to draw Azadin’s attention here, making it easier to rescue the plantation owners afterward.
With the employers now away from Azadin, more adventurers poured in.
*Thud thud...*
Footsteps echoed from the ceiling too—adventurers had climbed up top.
The clubhouse was fully surrounded in moments.
Roof-climbers ripped off ceiling panels and shoved crossbows inside, ready to strike anytime.
“We’ll help too.”
As servants stepped forward, the mercenaries puffed up and held them back.
“Stand down. Loyalty to your masters is admirable, but now’s the time for blades that taste blood.”
“You’ve got some skill, sure, but you’re not warriors out to kill.”
The sell-sword guild mercenaries strutted, shoving the servants behind them.