Chapter 843: Haste Makes Waste (2/4)

Chapter 843: Haste Makes Waste (2/4)

That Lister even took the initiative to help local workers build dormitories and schools for their children, making those workers live more comfortably than soldiers, to the point where they felt a sense of honor in going to work.

Under such circumstances, it was inevitable that they would encounter setbacks.

Eugene did not see this as a lesson in failure; rather, it was a testament to their success in their work.

Even if the local workers did not identify with them, the result was that they still lived better lives than before.

Although the other members of the Workers' Union were not satisfied, believing that the minimum wage in the Brahmin Province was still too low, he was quite content with this outcome.

Being overly eager for quick success was not a good thing.

While conditions varied from place to place, it was precisely because of their restraint that their transformation had ultimately achieved victory...

"My only concern is that we might be a bit too impatient."

...

On the other side, in another low, shabby shack, a candle flickered on the table.

Sitting beside the candlelight, Zaid was cross-checking the ledger and roster in his hands, a faint, benevolent smile gradually curling at the corners of his mouth.

Just moments ago, the membership of the Family Association had officially surpassed 10,000!

Though he had not yet shared this good news with his friends from the Workers' Union, he could already imagine the incredulous expressions on the faces of those "investors."

This was nothing short of a miracle.

And a miracle that could only be born in the Brahmin Province.

"You know, Sava... the most brilliant business model is actually religion. Compared to religion, all those messy ways of making money are utterly insignificant."

There were plenty of labor brokers at the port, but none of their workers could compare with those from the Family Association.

Their workers were the most capable and more united, which was precisely why the docks and factories were willing to offer them more positions and pay extra for their above-standard efficiency.

Scraping out 0.5 dinars an hour, over eight hours, that's 4 dinars.

Each worker would contribute 28 dinars a week to the Family Association, and with 10,000 people, that's 280,000 dinars!

That was already a considerable sum.

Three to five dinars exchanged for one silver coin; splitting the difference, that's 70,000 silver coins!

A gun cost only one or two hundred silver coins; this money was enough to arm an entire company of troops!

If you lowered the standard a bit, you could even scrape together two or three companies!

Though it was still a long way from realizing his ambitions, this was undoubtedly a good start.

Standing beside Zaid, his little follower Sava whispered softly.

"But sir... the gangs at the port don't seem happy with what we're doing."

Zaid chuckled disdainfully, curling his lip.

"Why bother with them? They're nothing but a bunch of sewer rats."

Sava was still worried.

He wasn't really afraid of those big-nosed folks, but he couldn't shake his unease about those vicious gang members.

Those people looked like desperadoes.

And the Vlandians wouldn't care about their infighting.

"But... those guys are ultimately violent groups. We've cut off their livelihood; they're bound to retaliate against us..."

Looking at Sava's worried face, Zaid only smiled faintly.

"My dear Sava, you're still too young. Even those violent groups don't dare to underestimate us. Why do you get the illusion that we're not a violent group?"

Sava was left confused.

He clearly remembered that Mr. Zaid had told him what they came back to the Brahmin Province to do.

How had he now become a gangster himself?

Zaid gently closed the roster in his hand and said in a very soft voice.

"If the nobles in the inner city hadn't thrown Spberg into prison, the jail in Boulder City wouldn't have been packed full in just a few days... Do you understand what I mean, Sava?"

Sava shook his head blankly, then after a moment, nodded.

"You want to... emulate Mr. Spberg?"

Zaid suddenly laughed heartily, and after about half a minute, as if he had laughed enough, he shook his head gently.

"That's why I say you're still too young. You see only the surface of things, not the essence."

"The essence?" Sava stared at him blankly.

Zaid nodded lightly.

"Exactly."

That clever little girl thought he didn't understand the history of Boulder City, but the truth was the opposite.

While a crowd was still chasing after Pol, he had already pierced through the core of the story and found that bloody heart.

It was something buried beneath the snow of Boulder City, a sword that could kill everything.

Even ideals that could not be killed.

"...Transformation is a blood transfusion. How can a blood transfusion happen without bleeding? If you're going to follow me in doing great things, you can't lack that kind of awareness."

No sooner had his words fallen than a commotion suddenly erupted outside the window.

Accompanied by cursing shouts.

"It's here!"

"That's where those cultists hold their classes!"

Faintly, he also heard the roar of that friend from Boulder City.

Sava remembered that gentleman's name was Eugene, who seemed to be a blacksmith.

But that gentleman knew more than just blacksmithing; he was erudite enough to understand a bit of carpentry and chemistry, and even some cooking—his stewing skills could put professional chefs to shame.

According to that gentleman, he had learned his skills in prison from a certain cannery worker.

"What do you think you're doing—"

A thuggish shout interrupted the gentleman's roar.

"What are we doing? We're here to deal with you bastards who cut off our livelihood!"

"Brothers! Let them have it!"

Realizing something was wrong, Sava rushed to the window and then saw a sight that filled him with dread.

A group of men wielding clubs, knives, and forks were charging through the alleys of the slums, storming into the place where they held their classes.

It was the Black Rat Gang!

In West Sailport, they were the second-largest gang after the Assassin Gang!

The terror in Sawa’s eyes deepened; never had he witnessed such savagery, and his shoulders trembled without cease.

Through the crack in the window, he watched helplessly as the teacher was dragged out from the classroom.

The green bandage wrapped around the man’s arm was stained red with blood; each of the thugs struck with lethal intent, beating him as a warning to others.

Watching the green family being pummeled, the family members in the shanty were terrified, scattering in panic with heads ducked, while other workers from the slums gathered to watch the spectacle.

“Help…” the man pinned to the ground gasped out a dying plea.

Eugène’s eyes widened as he tried to rush forward, but several men with rat tattoos on their arms forced him to the ground.

“You bunch of bandits!” another worker echoed, his eyes bloodshot and glaring with fury.

And just then, the young man named Amin suddenly erupted.

“Aaaah! I’ll fight you to the death!!!”

Though gaunt and scrawny, he now charged like an enraged calf, clutching a dagger he had picked up from somewhere, and slashed at the nearest thug’s thigh.

The blade, by cruel chance, sliced open an artery, and blood spurted out like a crossbow bolt.

“Aaaah! My leg! Damn it! You cursed bastard, beat him—”

The thug cursed in agony, his face growing paler and his voice fading.

Seeing their comrade’s plight, the other thugs felt no fear; instead, the spurting blood enraged them, and they grabbed their weapons and charged at the youth.

But this time, it was different.

Perhaps emboldened by the boy’s courage, the family members around him no longer cowered; they seized whatever tools were at hand and rushed at the tattooed thugs.

“The hell you think you can push us around!”

“Brothers, get him!”

“For the family!!!”

“Fight them to the end!!”

The workers surged forward as one.

Whether they were members of the Family Association or laborers from other gangs, they now united around the youth.

They had long resented the rules of the docks.

They traded their sweat and blood for money from the Vilantes, only to have a cut taken by others—what kind of justice was that?!

Now that the Family Association had emerged, charging no commission, they had finally glimpsed hope for a better life, yet someone wanted to snuff it out.

In that moment, the furious workers unleashed all their pent-up grievances against these gangs.

Even the laborers registered with the Black Rat Gang, watching their own enforcers get beaten, pretended not to see, and even spat on the ground in secret.

Seeing the workers erupt, the tattooed thugs were stunned with fear; in an instant, they were battered by a hail of clubs, fleeing with heads down, and some isolated ones fell to their knees begging for mercy.

Sawa, watching from the window, swallowed hard and turned to rush out the door, but Zayid reached out and stopped him.

“What are you going to do?”