Chapter 689.2: Don’t Get Your Blood On Me |
Whether it was the dockworkers loading and unloading cargo, the pedestrians hurrying along nearby streets, or the hawkers shouting their wares in the roadside markets, everyone was straining to make the clink of coins in their pockets ring just a little louder.
Yet in the port where legends of sudden wealth were born every day, stories of overnight riches rarely had anything to do with the busy majority.
Take Mojave, for instance. Having just struck it rich, he was sprawled drunk in a tavern early in the morning, bragging loudly to a group of fellow alcoholics who were just as hungover as he was. “You lot who’ve never gone to sea in your entire lives could never imagine how shocking it is out there! Crates and bundles of gold just lying on the beach with nobody picking them up! A single assault rifle can be traded for a crimson saber pelt worth a fortune!”
Listening to that dry, hoarse voice, a drunkard at the next table downed a mouthful of watered-down alcohol and chuckled mockingly.
“Buddy, we don’t need to go to sea.”
“Exactly!”
Another drunk chimed in with a laugh.
“I’ve got five shops in Silvermoon Bay’s port, all rented out to New Alliance merchants. The rent they pay me every month has to be carried in sacks. I can sit here drinking all day and never worry about money.”
“Same here, pal. I’ve got thousands of dairy cows and tens of thousands of pigs on my farm at Oasis No.9. The more those blue coats eat, the more I make.”
Good grief!
They could brag even harder than he could!
The tavern owner behind the counter had had enough. He slammed a polished mug onto the table and snapped, “If you’re all so rich, how about paying your tabs first? I’m closing in two hours.”
The drunk with tens of thousands of pigs waved his hand. “We go way back. Same old rule, just put it on the tab, ”
Before he could finish, the owner cut him off with a glare. “Don’t even think about it! You already owe me 1,147 Camel Coins. If you don’t pay today, I’ll sell you to the docks as a laborer to work it off!”
The drunk’s face twisted like a bitter gourd as he begged, “Oh, please, don’t send me there! I’ll pay it back in a couple of days, I swear!”
Watching the drunks wail, Mojave pinched the bridge of his nose, then slammed his fist hard on the table.
“Damn it… what rotten luck!”
A bunch of poor bastards!
Wasting breath on them was just a waste of time.
He had been sitting there all night, bragging all night, nearly turning that French Fry Harbor, barely bigger than a fishing village, into a gold mine piled high with treasure.
Of course, he wasn’t advertising the place so enthusiastically out of altruism or gratitude toward its generous residents. He was doing it purely to drum up investment for his next deal.
That port sat right by the Baiyue Strait. Even if he didn’t reveal its location, someone was bound to discover it sooner or later.
Besides, there had been so many sailors and mercenaries on deck at the time. He never expected those hired hands to keep any secrets for him, after all, he hadn’t shared his profits with them.
Maybe over a single round of drinks, they would have already sold off every detail of his fortune.
Since French Fry Harbor was bound to be discovered eventually, the smart move was to exploit the time gap and information gap to grow his business as much as possible before others trampled the port’s threshold flat. To do that, the little capital he had on hand was nowhere near enough. He needed to rope in some fools with more money than sense.
Ideally, a prince or noble would take a fancy to his venture, throw a massive sum at him to buy an entire fleet, or better yet, lend him the royal navy to haul cargo.
At least then, he wouldn’t have to suck up to ship captains anymore.
Unfortunately, his business had only just started. Even if the goods themselves could please royalty, someone of his status still wasn’t qualified to appear at their banquets. All he could do was try his luck in small taverns near the port.
Just as Mojave shook his head and prepared to pay up and leave, two men in black robes walked into the tavern.
The owner looked toward the door, assuming they were there to drink, and said politely, “Sorry, gentlemen, we’re closed. We’re cleaning up now.”
The man in front didn’t reply. He simply swept his gaze over the drunks inside, then stopped on Mojave. The two exchanged a glance. One stayed near the door, while the other walked to the counter, pulled out a hundred-unit note, and tossed it onto the table.
“I’ll pay his tab.”
The owner froze for a moment, then hurriedly pocketed the money and set the change on an iron tray.
The man didn’t even glance at it. He walked straight toward Mojave.
From the moment the two men entered, Mojave had been secretly watching them.
Especially when he saw one of them casually pull out a bill, pay his tab, ignore the change, and walk straight toward him, his heart began pounding so hard it nearly jumped out of his throat.
Good heavens!
Searching everywhere and finding it without effort!
The deep-pocketed patron he’d been waiting for had finally arrived!
As the black-robed man stopped in front of him, Mojave cleared his throat, pushed his chair back, stood up, and extended his right hand with a friendly smile. “May I ask how I should address you, sir?”
The black-robed man looked at him expressionlessly, shook his hand once, then released it. “Singer. Someone is interested in your business. I wonder if Mr. Mojave would care to do us the honor?”
Mojave paused. As it turned out, the man wasn’t the real decision-maker, but an intermediary. Realizing that only made the eagerness in his eyes burn brighter.
“And who might your employer be?”
Singer replied calmly, “He’s staying nearby. Please, follow me.”
Watching the man turn and head for the door, Mojave saw nothing amiss and eagerly followed.
They left the tavern and walked south along the crowded streets. They passed several luxurious hotels, and each time Mojave thought they had arrived, only to see the pair keep going.
When one of them slowed down and fell in behind him, a faint sense of unease crept into Mojave’s heart.
Still, he forced down his doubts. They were in Silvermoon City. Even if security wasn’t perfect, kidnappings in broad daylight were rare.
Besides, the two men didn’t look like thugs at all, more like retainers of nobility. Having dealt with royal servants often, Mojave was confident in his judgment.
After about half an hour, they left the bustling markets and arrived at a corner of the port district. Two warships flying the twin-blade banner were moored at the pier. A dozen muscular men stood on shore, Eviscerator rifles slung across their backs.
The entire pier seemed to have been claimed by those two ships. Other vessels kept well away, and even dockworkers and patrol officers avoided the area.
At that moment, Mojave finally panicked. He glanced at the man close behind him, then at Singer ahead, and asked in a trembling voice, “W-who exactly is your employer?!”
Singer smiled faintly, stopped, and nodded toward the ship ahead. “Lord Achim is aboard that vessel. Let’s talk there.”
At those words, Mojave’s heart plunged from his throat straight into the abyss.
Only then did he bitterly regret letting greed cloud his eyes.
The black-robed man behind him stood motionless, clearly with no intention of letting him leave. Worse still, the dozen rifle-bearing soldiers nearby were all staring straight at his face.
Judging by their aggressive posture, if he so much as took one step back, they would tear him apart without hesitation.
Seeing him frozen in place, Singer reminded him politely, though with a hint of impatience, “Mr. Mojave, please board the ship.”
“… Yes.” Under that piercing gaze, Mojave forced a bitter smile and could only drag his lead-heavy legs toward the gangway of the flagship.
These people were from the Xilande Empire.
Their lawlessness was infamous throughout Silvermoon Bay. Even the governor could do little about them, hoping only that New Alliance protection might restrain them somewhat.
Mojave had never imagined that an honest merchant like himself would provoke these demons, much less that they’d brazenly grab him from the busy streets. Of course, he had to admit part of the blame lay with himself. If not for greed, if not for alcohol dulling his mind, he would never have fallen for such an obvious trap.
After much shuffling, Mojave finally stepped onto the deck and was led into a lavishly decorated captain’s cabin, where he met Captain Achim.
The bearded man lifted his nostrils slightly and regarded him like a criminal under interrogation, speaking casually. “You’ve been to French Fry Harbor?”
Mojave dared not conceal anything and nodded nervously. “… Yes, my lord. I just returned.”
At those words, Captain Achim narrowed his eyes, his gaze like a snake flicking its tongue.
A chill ran down Mojave’s spine. Just as he was about to ask what the captain required, Achim spoke slowly. “I need you to do something for me.”
It was the tone of a command. There was clearly no room for negotiation.
Thinking only of how to escape this place, Mojave nodded hurriedly. “Please, go on.”
Clearly satisfied with the merchant’s attitude, Captain Achim continued unhurriedly.
“I’ll give you two cargo ships. You’ll take them to French Fry Harbor. All you need to do is dock them successfully. Leave the rest to us. It’s that simple.”
Mojave asked shakily, “Those two ships… what cargo are they carrying?”
Achim looked at him without expression. “You don’t need to know.”
Guessing what might be aboard, Mojave swallowed, forced a cooperative smile, and nodded obsequiously.
“Of course! No problem at all, my lord! I’m very familiar with the people at French Fry Harbor. Whatever you want to ship there will be fine… though it’s a long voyage. Before we depart, may I return to pack my belongings?”
He swore that if he made it back to the city, he would run without a second thought. The New Alliance embassy would surely be interested in this information, perhaps they would even assign him bodyguards.
But Achim merely glanced at him with a half-smile. “Do you really think I would let you go?”
Under that cold gaze, Mojave felt a chill down his back and forced a smile that looked barely better than crying. “I… I won’t go back, then. So, my lord, when do we depart?”
“Now. The two ships are already waiting. I’ll personally see you off,” Achim said, pulling out a diamond-studded pocket watch, glancing at it, then tossing it into a drawer.
Noticing the merchant’s miserable expression, he stepped forward with a smile and patted Mojave’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “Don’t worry. We’re just going there to reclaim what belongs to us. Do your job well, and once it’s done, I won’t treat you poorly.”
Mojave looked at the confident man before him, laughing bitterly while offering endless thanks, all the while cursing inwardly.
These short-lived lunatics!
They were tired of living, and wanted to drag him down with them!
All he could hope for now was that when they died, they would do it far away from him, and that their blood wouldn’t splash onto him…
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