Chapter 699: Follow Me! Go Get Your Gear! (2/4)

Chapter 699: Follow Me! Go Get Your Gear! (2/4)

Facing those pairs of eyes fixed upon him, Fang Chang cleared his throat, raised his hands, and continued.

"This is a conflict between us and the Empire; it has nothing to do with you. We'll fight our fight, you go on with your business, and even... from now on, port taxes will be halved."

"Of course, the slave trade is probably out of the question. We don't recognize one person's ownership over another, and we won't welcome any slave traders here."

"But if you're willing to go to Silvermoon Bay and bring back a shipment of goods we need, I guarantee you'll make a fortune."

"We'll pay in dinars or silver coins."

Having said this, Fang Chang instructed players proficient in the common tongue to register the identities of all those intending to pass through the docks, then moved on to the next ship.

At the same time as the identity registration was completed, the slaves who had surged into the port had also finished arming themselves, forming a force of fully two thousand men.

Though most of them carried bolt-action Rippers, with only a few clutching automatic weapons like Blade assault rifles and PU-9 submachine guns, and though the majority had received no professional military training, their fighting spirit at that moment blazed like a flame.

Besides these two thousand, more who hadn't gotten weapons grabbed clubs and fish knives and followed behind, their expressions murderous.

Except for the elderly, women, and children, nearly everyone had stepped forward, burning with rage, ready to liberate their compatriots and families.

They were now a rope twisted together by sheer will; even a second's hesitation could snap that taut cord.

Looking at Rasi, who stood before him clutching a rifle, his face flushed from rapid breathing, Fang Chang patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't be afraid. We'll fight alongside you."

With that, he turned to Killing Dagger and the hundred or so fully equipped brothers of the Burning Corps and shouted loudly.

"Now! Escort our avengers, advance on Lowell Camp! Free those imprisoned slaves!"

The slaves shouldering rifles let out an earth-shaking roar.

"Ooh!!!"

...

At noon, with a cannon blast that shattered the silence, the second phase of the Burning Corps' offensive officially began—a full two days earlier than originally planned.

The area currently under Burning Corps control was mainly concentrated in a few streets near the port named after tulips, separated from other districts by a ring road called "Knight's First Road," with the governor's mansion to the northwest serving as a fire support point overlooking the vast northern neighborhoods of Golden Harbor.

In effect, the area under the Alliance's control resembled an irregular pentagon, with Lowell Camp located on its northeastern side.

If they could take Lowell Camp, the Alliance's actual control zone would extend at least another kilometer to the northeast, forming a pincer with the governor's mansion to the northwest and drawing a control line parallel to the coastline on the map.

At that very moment, General Abinan, who had retreated into the slums, had no idea of the Alliance's plans. He was still trying to rally his few remaining troops and the newly conscripted men, plotting a counterattack to rescue the governor and the lords living on Tulip Street.

If he wanted to survive, this was his only option.

But just then, a mortar shell suddenly whistled down and landed on the freshly built defensive line.

With a thunderous explosion, the sandbag wall piled in the middle of the street was blown over, along with several Imperial soldiers crouching behind it, who collapsed to the ground.

Before the hundred-man squad stationed on the street could react, whistling bullets accompanied by the clamor of gunfire came flying in, followed by a deafening battle cry from the other end of the street.

"Kill!"

"I'll fight you to the death!"

"Oooh!!!"

Hearing the roaring shouts, the Imperial soldiers hiding behind cover were stunned.

If they remembered correctly, fewer than a thousand troops had landed at the port.

But listening to the battle cries that stung their eardrums, it felt like tens of thousands were charging their position!

General Abinan, commanding from the rear, was also dumbfounded.

From his position, he could see much more clearly than the frontline soldiers. Those charging toward their lines weren't Alliance troops at all—they were clearly lowly Yue clan slaves!

Realizing this, his heart burned with rage, and he clenched his fists tightly.

Those despicable scoundrels!

Handing Imperial weapons to those base slaves!

And those slaves were foolish and unaware, not understanding what they were doing, willingly serving as cannon fodder for a band of brigands, stabbing the Empire that stood behind them in the back!

"Open fire! Blow those bastards to hell!"

He roared the order for the gunners to fire, while he himself retreated with his guard to avoid the fierce onslaught.

The three 100mm cannons set up on the street instantly spat out angry tongues of fire. Three long, thick tracer rounds plunged into the crowd, carving a bloody gap through them.

But that bloody sight did not drive back the charging masses. People have a natural detachment from death that is either too close or too far away.

Especially when hot blood splashed onto their faces, and they saw their enemies so near, the flames of fury in their pupils burned even fiercer.

These people had never treated them as human; the tags hanging around their necks were worth less than a two-headed cow.

So then—

They naturally didn't need to treat them as human either.

"—In the River Valley Province, we'll skin hyenas and jackals, make stew out of them! Feed their bone broth to the dogs!"

"Charge! Let me see if you're worth saving!"

That roar was silently swallowed by the clamor of the crowd. In just half a minute, the furious Yue clan slaves had crossed the scattered sandbag wall.

They moved faster than the Alliance's mortars. In the span of a few breaths, they drove bayonets into the chests of the artillerymen, smashed their skulls with fish-scaling knives, avenging the hundreds of their kin who had fallen in the street.

Watching these enraged beasts, both the city defense soldiers holding the line and the onlooking survivors were terrified.

Abinan's eyes were filled with fear; his hands and feet were cold, trembling, and numb. His lips moved but he couldn't utter a word for a long time.

The adjutant, who had retreated from the front in a disheveled state, ran to his side, looking panicked as he spoke to General Abinan.

"Sir... those slaves have gone mad! We can't stand against them with just our forces! We need to retreat!"

Beside him were a few machine gunners who had narrowly escaped the front line.

Guided by drones, the Alliance's mortars had precisely taken out their machine guns hidden in the mud huts of the slums.

Now they had fewer than four hundred soldiers left; the rest had either fled or fallen, with no hope left for a counterattack.

Abinan's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, despair etched on his wrinkled face.

"Retreat..." He finally squeezed the word out of his throat.

Death by the Emperor's decree would at least leave a whole corpse.

If those mobs caught him, he'd probably be chopped to pieces and thrown into the sea to feed the fish.

With the order to retreat given, the city defense soldiers fighting in the slums against the mobs in street-to-street combat collapsed like a landslide. Their panicked flight, abandoning their gear, was utterly unworthy of a regular army.

Rasi, leading the slaves forward, was also stunned by the pathetic performance of these men who usually put on such airs.

So this was what had been oppressing them—such a fragile bunch.

"Forward!" Rasi shouted to the liberated slaves behind him, "Advance on Lowell Camp!"

A thunderous roar answered him.

"Forward!!!"

At the same time as the city defense forces collapsed, Su Nil, the warden of Lowell Camp, had already seen this from the southern watchtower.

He had been standing here since the first cannon shot rang out.

And when he saw the mob crossing the barricades placed on the main road by the city guard, he burst into a furious curse.

"That damned donkey! He brags and blusters all day, but when it's time to deliver, he can't even handle a bunch of cannon fodder!"

No sooner had he cursed than cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

For at that very moment, he saw the rabble, scattered through the slums, gathering toward Blackwater Street.

It was clear those bastards had their sights set on this place.

These reckless wretches...

They dared to set their sights on His Majesty's pockets!

The jailer standing beside him trembled, his back drenched in hot sweat.

"...Sir, what do we do?"

There was a good chance that among those thugs were men he had dealt with before; he dared not let them catch him. If not for Lord Sunil watching, he would have slipped away long ago.

In truth, he was not alone in this thought.

When they saw the mob surging from the direction of the harbor, many quick-witted souls had already guessed something was afoot and had sneaked out through the back door amid the chaos.

Sunil gritted his teeth, a flash of struggle crossing his harsh face, but in the end, fear of authority won out.

The nearly fifty thousand slaves held here were all His Majesty's property—not just the cheapest labor slaves, but also many valuable goods of fine quality. Even if sold off at rock-bottom prices, they would fetch two or three hundred million dinars, nearly equal to the total annual export value of Gold Gallon Port.

If this sum were lost, even His Majesty would fly into a rage, and at the very least, his entire family would be reduced to slavery.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Seeing the mob already at their doorstep, Sunil roared.

"Prepare for battle!"

Despair crept over the jailer's face, but meeting those fierce eyes, he could only muster all his courage and shout back with a tearful voice.

"Yes, sir!"

...

Ordinarily, when a resident of Gold Gallon Port sold off all their possessions yet still could not repay their debts, and the creditors pressed hard, the Governor would, in His Majesty's name, mercifully purchase that "bad debt" at a price acceptable to the creditor.

If the indebted survivor could repay His Majesty's debt within the grace period, they would regain their freedom.

If not, the infamous Lowell Camp would be their final destination.

The "prisoners" here were more like goods for selection: laborers were usually priced uniformly and sold wholesale to interested buyers, while those with special skills or decent looks were tagged at a higher price for truly capable buyers to choose from.

The jailers here generally did not openly abuse the prisoners; at most, they would mete out necessary punishment to lazy slaves.

But it was certain that those who never sold would face increasingly worse treatment. If they remained unsold for a year, regardless of their talents, they would end up in pigsties or be sent to mines from which no one ever returned alive.

Thus, whenever the camp gates opened, prisoners from every block would tense up, rush to the iron-barred doors, and crane their necks in eager anticipation.

But today, unlike usual, the camp gates remained tightly shut, with not a stir.

...What in the world was happening?