Chapter 821: The Burning Sail (2/4)

Chapter 821: The Burning Sails (2/4)

And now, not content with this, they had even formed a secret alliance, leaving a "thorn" like him without work and ostracized at every turn.

There was no doubt about it—they wanted him dead!

A glimmer of hatred slowly crept into Isher's eyes.

He had no way out.

Others might sell themselves into slavery, but he was certain that if he ever did that, that Nagi would buy him and his family without mercy, take pleasure in his suffering, and then use his head as a warning to others.

He had to do something!

He wasn't the only one thinking this; the others sitting in the church felt the same.

Unlike the busy laborers on the docks, they were united by a shared faith.

Since they had dared to speak up for Orissa, they would dare to take one more gamble for the fate of their countrymen!

"...Thank you, Mr. Melchior, for bringing the teachings of the Silver Moon Goddess to us, for teaching us to read and write, and for bandaging our wounds."

Melchior stared blankly at Isher, sensing something unusual in those eyes.

That gaze, clouded by violence, sent a chill through him.

"What are you planning to do?"

Isher lowered his voice.

"To take back what is rightfully ours, before Nagi and his thugs make their move. We must strike first... This is for your sake and for this church too. Our time is running out."

His words were vague, as if he didn't want to say too much. Clearly, he himself thought the idea was reckless and feared implicating the church.

That was why he needed to find another place to discuss it with like-minded people.

Melchior watched in astonishment as the man stood up and walked toward the door, and as the others in the church rose from their pews in silence, following behind him.

In an instant, the vast church was left with only a few elderly men who could barely move, and Melchior standing there with the old nun beside him.

"I'm worried they'll get into trouble..." The old nun's eyes were full of concern as she looked at Melchior, as if hoping he would go and talk them out of it.

Melchior's face was equally worried, with a deeper anxiety beneath it.

"I'm worried too... But what can I say? Grab him and tell him not to go? It's useless. They won't even tell me what they're planning. I can only hope he comes to his senses on his own."

Of course, the worst thing was that those people had pushed them to the brink.

Could he really tell these men to just accept their fate?

With a soft sigh, Melchior lowered his gaze and silently traced a circle on his chest in prayer.

May the light of the Silver Moon Goddess protect them, and keep these lost lambs from straying down the wrong path...

That was all he, as a priest, could do.

...

Dusk sank into the sea, and night was about to fall over West Sailport. Finally, it was time for the shift change.

A long line had formed at the entrance of the labor registry, where workers who had finished their shifts were collecting their wages one by one through the window.

Each person's payday was different, but generally, it was settled after a full week's work.

When his turn finally came, Govinda hurried forward, a fawning smile on his face as he looked at the young lion-man behind the counter, respectfully offering both hands.

Though it wouldn't make his wages any higher, he did it out of habit.

The staff here saw thousands of men like him every day.

The young man couldn't be bothered to waste time with him. He counted out four ten-value coins and two one-value coins, tossed them onto the counter, and went back to nibbling on sunflower seeds.

Govinda quickly scooped up the coins, counted them in his hand, and his eyes went wide.

"Wait, why only 42?! I worked a whole week without a single day off—it should be 56 dinars! You're short by 14!"

The young man behind the counter gave this wretch a contemptuous glance and said impatiently.

"Who's shorting you a few dinars? That's your pay. Got a problem? Go ask Nagi."

Govinda was fuming. His hand clenched the coins tightly as he pointed at the window.

"How can you cheat like that?! You said eight dinars a day!"

The young man didn't bother arguing. He just called over the shift supervisor.

The supervisor seemed well-versed in handling such situations. Before he even reached the spot, he was already shouting.

"What's all the noise about? There haven't been many ships these past few days, you know that! Six dinars is already good. You think every day is as busy as two weeks ago?!"

Govinda was frantic. This was the wage he had fought so hard to get, and now they were going back on their word!

True, six dinars a day was still high compared to before, but after a week of giving it his all, it felt like a slap in the face.

"But... two weeks ago, we only worked half a day and you still gave us eight!"

The supervisor waved his hand impatiently.

"If you don't like it, don't come tomorrow... What's this guy's name? Mark him down."

At those words, Govinda's defiance vanished. His face turned as white as snow.

"No, no! I'll work! I'll be back tomorrow!"

The supervisor gave the young man behind the counter a look, and the latter, understanding, put down his pen and made a show of leniency.

"Work hard, and stop your damn complaining. Take your money and get out. There are people waiting in line."

The shift supervisor waved his hand as if shooing away a fly.

The laborers around were dead silent, each one too afraid to speak up, lest they become the next target.

They had seen what happened to those "moon bandits"—beaten into untouchables.

Govinda slunk out of the registry, looked at the shrunken coins in his hand, then back at the sign above the door. He couldn't help but spit on the ground.

"Damn it..."

He should have listened to Isher.

He didn't dare say it out loud, but thinking it was harmless enough.

Dragging his exhausted body, he limped home, calculating how to spend the still-considerable fortune in his pocket.

On second thought, six dinars a day wasn't bad. It was more than enough for his family's expenses, and maybe he could even save a little.

Just as he was thinking this, a loud bang exploded behind him.

The sound jolted him. He turned around instinctively and saw thick smoke billowing from the direction of the port district's warehouses. The explosion seemed to have come from there.

He knew that place well—he spent most of his days there.

It was packed with tea and sugar, along with cotton and cotton cloth.

Or sometimes cement and steel.

Cement wouldn't burn, but sugar was a nasty thing, and with cotton and other flammables around...

Govinda heard faint shouts in the distance, along with the restless sound of footsteps.

"Fire! It's the warehouse district!"

"It's burning!"

"Quick! Go put it out!"

Burning...

Seeing the fruits of his day's labor go up in flames, his face showed no panic—instead, a smug, gloating smile crept across it.

Burn well!

After all, it wasn't his stuff; better yet, let it blaze even fiercer, set the whole harbor ablaze!

With that thought, his steps homeward grew lighter...

On the other side, Isher, just emerging from the church with a group of worshippers, also heard that explosion and froze for a moment.

Soon someone snapped out of it, lowering their voice to say,

"It's the warehouse district!"

"Could it be a fire?"

Realizing what might be happening there, the crowd's faces instantly lit up with vindication.

But Isher furrowed his brow, a trace of worry creasing his forehead.

"Don't be so quick to gloat. Whoever set that fire, Nagi will pin it on us."

He had thought of torching the warehouse himself, more than once, but always backed down.

With his knowledge of the terrain, pulling it off wouldn't be hard—the real challenge was covering it up.

Those Verlanders wouldn't reason with them; in the end, they'd only land themselves on the gallows.

The right move was to organize the laborers first, just as Bohr and his fellow workers had done.

It was difficult, but not hopeless—especially since that fool Nagi, seemingly forgetting past lessons, had cut the dockworkers' wages again.

If they stood united, they'd have leverage to bargain with the nobles.

After all, the Verlanders were here to make money, not to court trouble.

The others realized too that this fire might well singe them, and worry spread across their faces.

"What do we do now?"

Meeting those anxious gazes, Isher had no answer either, and could only grit his teeth and say,

"Let's wait and see..."

...

Meanwhile, Margaret, browsing the bustling market in the harbor district, also heard the explosion. She stopped involuntarily and turned toward the sound.

The stall owner craned his neck to look as well, staring in surprise at the rising black smoke.

"It's the warehouse district..."