Chapter 821: The Burning Sail (3/4)

Chapter 821 The Burning Sails (3/4)

Could that loud noise mean the cannonballs had caught fire?

He vaguely recalled someone saying that West Sail Port had stored some shells shipped from the west of Luoxia Province—munitions the Eastern Legion had pulled back from the front, destined for General Alaiyang.

The people in the market exchanged uneasy glances, whispering among themselves, their faces etched with anxiety.

“My lady…” the dusky-skinned maid beside Margret said in a low voice, “the harbor hasn’t been safe lately. We should head back.”

She had only heard that the port had bought another batch of slaves from a nearby estate, apparently to replace the troublemakers who had stirred things up before.

It had nothing to do with their household, but lately the number of idle poor near the harbor had grown noticeably.

Those men looked at them with wolfish eyes, and some were up to petty thievery; word had it the guardhouse prison was nearly bursting.

In just two short weeks, the situation in West Sail Port had deteriorated visibly.

Though the tensions had been building for a long time…

“Yes, let’s go back early…”

Margret nodded, handed the trinket she had chosen to the maid to hold, paid the stall owner, then took her daughter’s hand and set off for home.

As the wife of Yarman, she came from a merchant family and had once been a citizen of Triumph City.

She shared her husband’s keen instincts.

That was why, when the explosion rang out, she immediately sensed something unusual.

She had a premonition.

Something big was about to happen here…

The group soon returned to the house near the harbor district—probably the safest spot in the whole port, though with the year’s end approaching, it had grown a bit lax.

Margret noticed several homes were empty, likely their owners had gone back to Triumph City.

Or, like her husband, they had traveled far east for that big deal.

Standing at the entrance, she slipped off her boots, lost in thought, then suddenly remembered something. She bent down and said softly to her daughter, Ruby.

“By the way, Ruby, didn’t you want to go play with Count Sharma’s youngest daughter?”

Ruby’s eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly.

“Yes! I promised Sister Ansuyah we’d play hide-and-seek again next time.”

Margret affectionately stroked her fluffy hair.

“Mommy will take you.”

Ruby jumped up excitedly.

“Really?! How long will we stay?”

Margret thought for a moment, then smiled.

“Two weeks. By then, Daddy should be back.”

…

With that explosion, the whole of West Sail Port stirred restlessly.

The flame had risen abruptly.

And within just ten minutes, it had spread to several warehouses.

Thick smoke blotted out the sky, even hiding the sun as it sank into the sea.

Naji’s face was a mask of terror—pale, lips blue and trembling faintly.

Staring at his equally bewildered thugs, he roared hoarsely.

“What are you standing around for? Go put out the fire!”

The thugs, clutching their long staves, looked at each other with grimaces.

“Sir… the fire’s too big. With just us, we can’t get in.”

Naji shouted without a second thought.

“Then get more people! Do I have to teach you everything?”

Seeing Naji’s rage, the men dared not linger. They rushed with their staves toward the onlookers, half threatening, half coaxing them into fighting the fire.

Most of those gathered to watch were freemen living near the harbor district.

Not all were the short-lived laborers of the docks; some were citizens with decent jobs.

Ordinarily, Naji had no authority over them, but in the emergency, he couldn’t afford to care.

Cowed by the reckless swings of the “long staves,” the crowd reluctantly joined the firefighting, passing bucket after bucket to the blaze.

With the first group helping, the rest became easier.

Never having seen such a fire, some clueless souls joined in for the excitement.

They weren’t after money—just the thrill—but expecting them to do a good job was out of the question.

Luckily, the warehouse district was by the sea, not far from water, and the frantic effort did some good.

Watching the people fight the fire, Naji clenched his teeth and fists.

Those damned arsonists!

This was too much!

Clearly, someone familiar with the place had done this—otherwise, it couldn’t be so coincidental!

The fires had all been set around the sugar warehouse, even causing an explosion.

He swore!

He would catch that villainous arsonist!

No doubt about it—

If he couldn’t find the culprit to answer to the Wilants, his master would surely hand him over as a scapegoat!

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and Naji already had a suspect: it had to be the Silver Moon Church’s followers who set the fire!

There was no question—only they had the motive!

After about five or six minutes, the port’s fire brigade finally arrived.

Like the post office, this was something the Wilants had brought from Triumph City.

They came with water wagons, dousing the burning warehouses with a fierce spray, quickly bringing the flames under control.

But it was a pity—the fine sugar and tea were ruined, washed away.

Seeing the tea leaves, cotton cloth, and unmelted sugar sand scattered everywhere, the residents fighting the fire felt a pang of “sympathy,” especially the poor who had come later to gawk.

These were luxuries they could never afford in a lifetime!

Though stained with mud and filth, for those who already ate dirt, it wasn’t much of a problem.

At first, one or two rushed in to grab the loot; soon the chaotic crowd, like rats spotting grain, swarmed in all at once.

The buckets of water became the most sought-after items; people stuffed whatever they desired into them.

At first, they only picked up the goods scattered by the water jets, but soon even the undamaged merchandise fell victim. Then the unemployed laborers rushed in, and even those still working could not resist the urge to grab a bargain.

They knew where the most valuable containers were, and they knew exactly how to climb in and take them.

The clever ones followed behind them, clutching bolts of cloth by the bale and fleeing.

The warehouse district descended into chaos, as if half of West Sail Port had come running.

By the time Nagi finally realized the situation had spiraled out of control, it was far too late.

He should never have roused the masses.

If the flames had been left to burn, at most a few warehouses would have been lost before the fire brigade arrived—hardly the scale of this disaster.

Compared to that sudden burst of fire, these people who seemed to be helping were the true locusts!

"Stop! Cease at once! Those are Verant goods—do you have a death wish?"

Nagi roared helplessly, ordering his long-stick squad forward.

But the slaves clutching their clubs exchanged glances and dared not move.

At least tens of thousands had gathered here, while they numbered barely a hundred.

Without guns, relying only on these sticks, if it came to a fight, they would surely be the ones to die faster.

The fire brigade, having brought the blaze under control, tried to disperse the looters with water jets, only to enrage the crowd instead.

In the chaos, someone shouted, and a mob surged forward, overturning the water cart outright.

The Verant driving the cart cowered inside the cabin, trembling as he called for backup on his walkie-talkie.

Just then, the port guard finally arrived, belatedly.

About fifty men lined up at the entrance to the warehouse district—nearly all the nearby police force!

They probably never imagined that a mere fire would call them into action.

The guard captain, carrying a Ripper rifle, strode up to Nagi, grabbed him by the collar, and roared with spittle flying.

"What is the meaning of this!"

Two riots in two weeks—he had never seen such a useless agent—or foreman, rather.

Nagi certainly couldn't say that he had summoned these people to fight the fire, only for them to start looting once it was out. So he rolled his eyes and said at once.

"Sir, sir, these rioters are looting in the chaos of the fire—I couldn't stop them..."

From the scene, it certainly looked that way.

The guard captain's face turned cold. Without a word, he raised his rifle, aimed at a rioter nearby who was running home with a sack of sugar, and fired—crack.

The bullet struck the man square in the neck, and blood gushed out.

The unlucky fellow fell silent, face-down in a puddle.

He probably died wondering why, when everyone was looting, he alone took the bullet.