Chapter 701: The Soil That Breeds Chaos

Chapter 701: Soil That Breeds Chaos

Port of Golden Pound.

The slums near the Governor's Mansion.

On the open ground where the poor once hung their laundry, a dense, pitch-black crowd now pressed together.

Though it was called a place for drying clothes, what hung from the hemp ropes were mostly rags and tatters, barely enough to cover one's privacy.

With low literacy rates and no access to contraception or other forms of entertainment, the people here had little to do but make babies, so that people outnumbered clothes.

Some of the most destitute survivors even had to share a single robe among an entire family, worn by whoever needed to go out.

And so, when Asin stood in the center of the crowd, dressed in a clean striped shirt and coarse canvas trousers, he was utterly out of place—both in demeanor and appearance—among the poor souls around him, clad in old clothes or even wrapped in bedsheets.

Finally, after a shoving match among the crowd, an old man with a face full of wrinkles and sallow skin was pushed forward.

His name was Jai, a member of the Rat Clan, not yet sixty years old, yet he looked like he was on the verge of the grave.

But then again, in the slums of the Golden Pound Port, living to sixty was indeed a ripe old age. Most people had already lived out their lives before they turned forty.

The folks on this street all agreed that since the child was of the Rat Clan, it was most fitting for an elder of the Rat Clan to step forward and educate him.

They needed to get three things straight.

First, what exactly those "Iron Men" had said to him that day. Second, where he had gotten the money to buy that outfit.

As for the third thing, and the most important one—

What did they mean by telling them to move?

The old man pushed to the front wore a look of helplessness, but he knew full well that he was the most suitable person for this task.

So he cleared his throat, his expression stern as he looked at the young man before him.

"Asin, you're a good child. I watched you grow up. When you were no bigger than a coconut shell, I held you in my arms."

Asin nodded.

"I remember, Grandpa Jai."

A relieved smile crept across the old man's face, but the crisscrossing wrinkles soon tightened into a serious frown.

"We all know you're an honest, well-behaved boy. You and your family are good people on this street. So you're on our side, right?"

"Of course."

Asin nodded again, glanced at Grandpa Jai, then at the neighbors around him, and continued speaking slowly.

"I swear by my gods, no one wants you all to have a better life more than I do."

No sooner had his words fallen than a furious shout erupted from the side.

"Then what do you mean by telling us to move?"

That shout instantly ignited the emotions of the crowd, and a barrage of accusations quickly drowned out the two standing in their midst.

"Yeah! What do you mean by that!"

"This is our home! We're not going anywhere!"

"How much did those people pay you!"

"Oh, I see now where you got those clothes!"

"Pah! You traitorous scum!"

"I knew it—none of those rats are any good!"

"Quiet, everyone, quiet... let me talk to the boy." Jai's voice carried a pleading tone as he raised his hand, trying to calm them down, but all he got in return was a rain of spittle.

No one paid him any attention.

After all, the Rat Clan were nothing but a bunch of lowly creatures.

Though they looked human, their hearts were like the rats in the sewers, and the people here despised them from the bottom of their hearts.

Just as the Wolf Clan produced the fiercest, most valiant warriors, the Rat Clan produced whores, pickpockets, thieves, and profiteers.

These villainous scoundrels were only a notch above the Moon Clan, who had been stripped of all property, power, and even personal freedom.

The people here had no doubt that the next clan to be reduced to slavery would surely be these loathsome rats.

Allowing such inferior beings to live under the empire's glorious reign was an outrage!

Without them, everything would be better!

Bathing in the crowd's curses, Asin stared expressionlessly at those indignant faces, and suddenly felt like laughing.

His status was indeed lowly.

But were these people any better?

Even the noble Wolf, stuck in this godforsaken place, was nothing but a dog scavenging for garbage. Even the meek Sheep had given birth to ruthless thugs and bandits.

As for his father, whom everyone on this street looked down upon—he had lived his whole life honestly and diligently, never offending anyone, and had taught Asin and his siblings to be honest, well-behaved people, so that in their next lives they might be reborn as the elite.

To be honest, for the past seventeen years, he had indeed lived honestly and well-behaved, and had once planned to just muddle through this life.

Until yesterday, when he was treated like a sewer rat by these people, shoved and driven out of the crowd, all for the sake of testing what those "Iron Men" were really about and what their attitude toward them was...

At that moment, standing alone on the street, he suddenly hated his own pathetic self, and hated the people who had made him live so pathetically for seventeen years.

So much so that when those people handed him that gun, he wanted nothing more than to drag out the ones who had shoved him and shoot them on the spot.

But he didn't.

Not out of mercy.

But because he knew very well who had given him that gun—or rather, that power over life and death.

If the master could place that gun in his hand, he could just as easily take it away.

To keep that power, he had to do everything to please them.

When it was time to kill, he wouldn't hesitate.

But for now.

He had to do this beautifully, at the smallest cost—before he emptied the twelve bullets in the pistol.

Gripping the cold metal in his pocket, he struggled to overcome the fear in his heart and the instincts carved into his humanity over seventeen years.

Then, like an honest, simple child, he nodded for the third time—and the last.

"That's right, I took the money. And it's a huge sum—a fortune you poor bastards can't even dream of in your lifetimes."

The crowd fell silent instantly.

He could feel that the eyes fixed on him held not just pure anger, but also a glint of greed and longing.

Like hyenas spotting a hare.

They only regretted that it wasn't them who had taken that gun from the Alliance; they wished they could snatch all the money from his pockets.

Without pausing, Asin used every ounce of his strength to maintain his composure and calmly spoke the words he had rehearsed all night.

"Forty thousand in total. I not only bought myself a new set of clothes—clothes that can actually be called clothes—but I also bought sets for my older and younger brothers, my older and younger sisters, and my parents. After that, we plan to buy three pigs, and some other things to help the household, so everyone can live a little more comfortably."

A slightly burly man stepped forward, his eyes fixed intently on him.

“Why did they give you money? Those iron men.”

Asin recognized this fellow.

His name was Vikram, a Wolfman, who was said to have once been a soldier, but whether that was true only he himself knew.

All Asin knew was that this man was a notorious bully on this street, who often tormented his older and younger brothers, as well as his simple, honest father.

Asin understood clearly that the reason this man hadn't simply snatched the money from his pocket was not fear of him, but only fear of the 'iron men' who seemed to stand behind him.

And precisely because of that...

He could not afford to lose the support of those adults.

“I sold my house to them,” Asin said, looking at him expressionlessly, imagining the iron men standing behind him, continuing slowly, “Now that house is theirs. Whether they blow it up or use it for target practice, it’s their freedom.”

The crowd erupted in uproar, including Vikram standing before him; countless faces showed astonishment and shock.

“You can’t do that!”

“That’s not just your family’s house! It’s this street’s house!”

“That’s right!”

At least—

He should have a share of this huge sum!

Vikram’s eyes narrowed, his tone taking on a hint of threat.

“Kid, I live on the street near you! If a shell lands on my place—”

“Then go negotiate with them! With those iron men!” Watching the chattering crowd, Asin suddenly exploded, a roar cutting off everyone’s words.

No one expected this usually timid, quiet young man to lose his temper so fiercely; the surroundings fell silent in an instant.

Even the street’s notorious thug—that fellow named Vikram—stared at him in bewilderment, as if looking at a freak who had taken the wrong medicine.

But even so, that man only watched.

Asin knew that this man would surely not dare to touch him.

He was now extremely calm, and even more lucid.

He knew that the more recklessly he behaved now, the more these people would think he had backing, and the more they would fear what gave him such audacity.

Moreover, they were not wrong.

He indeed had that thing.

And it was right in his hand!

Glancing around at the faces full of astonishment, Asin continued with undiminished momentum.

“...Go ahead, huddle together, negotiate with those iron men, tell them to fight the Empire somewhere else! Or send some cowardly rat to negotiate with His Majesty, to give the port and the governor’s mansion to those iron men!”

Watching those speechless fellows, he smiled coldly.