Chapter 714: The Leaky Embargo

Chapter 714: The Sieve-Like Embargo

At the southern end of the ceasefire line between the Empire and Golden Harbor, the mouth of one of the Eternal River’s tributaries connects to a small bay.

This bay boasts a coastline nearly ten kilometers wide, with two peninsulas of higher ground on either side shielding the waters within from most of the wind and waves, thus forming a small natural harbor.

Because the southern peninsula resembles half a banana on the map, the survivors nearby simply dubbed it “Banana Head Bay.”

Thanks to its abundant freshwater and calm waters, many fishermen from a hundred kilometers around used it as a safe haven; whenever a storm hit, they would sail their boats from the bay into the densely wooded inland rivers to take shelter, while they themselves hid in pre-prepared refuges nearby.

Some cargo ships rounding the southernmost tip of the Bolo Province also chose to ride out storms here—though they couldn’t navigate into the Eternal River’s tributaries, they could still use the peninsulas flanking the bay to break the wind.

Over time, a modest fishing village sprang up here. A big-nosed man, possibly a Velantian, even turned a beached, abandoned cargo ship into an inn called “The Shipwreck’s Home,” offering cheap liquor, food, damp and moldy bedding, and even aging prostitutes to local fishermen and passing merchants and sailors.

Perhaps because Golden Harbor was too dazzling, or because the land here was unsuitable for crops and mostly sparsely populated, the Empire seemed to have selectively forgotten this patch of earth, never sending a governor.

Thus, it became a “paradise” for fishermen, sailors, and fugitives—both escaped convicts and slaves.

Lately, however, things here had changed considerably.

First, the Alliance planted a flag on the northern peninsula, then promptly left. Soon after, a squad of Imperial soldiers carrying the Tiger Flag arrived, surveyed the area, and began felling trees and digging trenches on the southern peninsula.

The low-lying village of Banana Head was caught between the two forces. Though no Alliance machine guns were visible, Imperial machine guns were already mounted overhead.

The local fishermen, never having seen such a sight, didn’t wait for the Imperials to order them around; terrified, they jumped into their boats and fled the bay, scattering south or north along the coast, back to their own villages and homes.

The sailors, too, vanished as no more ships came. Now only a few desperate outlaws with nowhere else to go remained, endlessly waiting for a favorable wind that might never come…

…

It had been some time since they crossed the “border” of Golden Harbor.

Ever since entering this small fishing village hidden in the bay, Kunal felt his heart pounding fiercely, sweat constantly seeping from the hand clutching a bundle of burlap sacks.

As a native of Golden Harbor, born and raised in the slums near the port, he had certainly heard of Banana Head Bay and its village, though he had never actually been there.

Ashin walked beside him, his expression calm, but his hand remained in his pocket, never emerging.

Behind them followed about twenty young men, all former neighbors from the same street. They carried an assortment of items—wooden clubs, hoes, even fishing rods—all wrapped in plastic woven bags meant for corn, hiding whether they held guns or something else.

Glancing at their leader walking beside him, perhaps emboldened by his composed demeanor, Kunal felt a bit steadier and began to observe their surroundings.

Most of the shacks here were abandoned, save for the beached wreck of a ship where a faint, flickering light still glowed.

The village, once home to two or three hundred people, now held less than half that number.

Those who remained were either emaciated escaped slaves or hardened criminals with blood on their hands.

As Kunal discreetly studied them, the locals were equally wary of these ill-intentioned newcomers.

A few men with fierce faces turned and slipped into the alleys between shacks; several dark windows along the street suddenly drew their curtains shut.

Every slight rustle made Kunal’s nerves tense. He swallowed hard, moved closer to Ashin, and whispered.

“Boss… a lot of people are watching us.”

“Their eyes are on them—they can look wherever they want. Besides, we’re pretty conspicuous.” Ashin turned to Kunal and instructed in a very low voice: “Relax. Act natural, like you’ve been here before. The more scared you look, the more they’ll be tempted. Now, take a deep breath.”

Kunal obeyed, slowly inhaling.

Ashin slung an arm around his shoulder and pointed with his other hand at the only lit inn, “The Shipwreck’s Home,” beached in the middle of the shore.

“Imagine that’s our property—not just the ship, but the whole stretch of beach…”

“Of course, we’ll take it step by step. Once we make our first fortune, I’ll buy that wreck first.”

Now calmer, Kunal looked at his boss in confusion.

He could understand snapping up the residential project in front of the Governor’s mansion—many citizens and merchants who’d caught wind of it were already inquiring, and some fools had even paid without seeing what the houses looked like. But this place? It was just an abandoned fishing village.

He couldn’t see any investment opportunity here.

The Alliance and Imperial positions were right nearby; if His Majesty waved his hand, this place would become the front line.

Even the fishermen who lived here had abandoned it, leaving only hopeless souls staring out at the sea.

Sure, he’d mentioned wanting to buy a boat, but not a wrecked one beached on shore that was clearly beyond repair…

While Kunal was still puzzling it over, the group had reached the only lit lamp in the whole village.

Through the rusted hull and cabin door, those standing outside could already hear the clinking of glasses, laughter, and cursing from within.

Waving away the mosquitoes buzzing around the light, Ashin stepped forward and knocked gently. Soon footsteps approached, and the door creaked open.

As expected, an Imperial soldier with a rifle stood in the doorway.

The tall, burly man glanced at Ashin and the scrawny youths behind him, then let out a sneer, waving his hand as if shooing flies.

“Get lost. This place is booked. Go beg somewhere else.”

Unfazed by the mockery, Ashin imitated the waiters at the Triumph Grand Hotel, bowing his head respectfully.

“…Please convey my regards to your officer. Tell him a businessman named Ashin has brought something he might be interested in.”

Before the soldier could jeer, he pulled his right hand from his pocket and slipped a 100-Silan note into the soldier’s palm.

The soldier’s face showed clear surprise, then he pocketed the money without a word.

“Wait here.”

Ashin nodded slightly, watching the heavy cabin door close again, patiently waiting for the hurried footsteps to fade.

It wasn’t long before the footsteps returned, and the heavy door swung open once more.

This time, the soldier didn’t waste words—just beckoned.

“You, come.”

Ashin asked.

“May I bring my servant?”

Thanks to the hundred Silans earlier, the soldier couldn’t bring himself to refuse outright, but said impatiently.

“Only one.”

“Thank you.”

Ashin gave Kunal a look.

Kunal understood, turned back, and whispered a few words to the nervous young men behind them. Then he followed his boss through the door they’d bought open with a hundred Silans…

…

The cabin inside was surprisingly spacious.

The innkeeper had converted the lowest deck into a dining and drinking hall, with guest rooms up the ladder.

About fifty Imperial soldiers sat at square wooden tables, loudly shaking dice, playing drinking games, and gambling, washing down small dishes with cheap beer.

Kunal glanced quickly at the food and drink on their tables—stuff worse than the slop from the Triumph Grand Hotel.

A month ago, when he was eating dirt, he might have drooled. Now it just turned his stomach.

But unlike him, the soldiers ate with gusto, washing down a single fried bean with a big gulp of beer.

Clearly, they were used to eating swill.

Though fear of the guns in their hands lingered in his heart, it did not stop Kunar, now well-fed and drunk, from looking down on these paupers with utter contempt.

Without lingering in the hotel lobby, the guard at the door led them straight to the "private compartment" along the cabin corridor.

This place had likely once been the captain's or first mate's sleeping quarters, but had now been converted into a VIP suite. In the cramped room, three old sofas were arranged in a circle, with a wooden coffee table in the center. The pungent stench of tobacco and sweat mingled together, suffocating anyone who entered.

Five tall officers sat on the sofas, their flushed faces carrying six or seven parts drunkenness and three parts roguish smiles.

Their coats hung on a rack by the door, leaving them in only white shirts. Each held a scantily clad woman in their arms, and at first glance, it was hard to tell who was getting the worse end of the deal.

"You're the one called... ah, what was it again?"

The officer seated in the center sized up the young man at the door, let out a chuckle, rubbed his reddened nose, and continued, "I hear you've brought something I might be interested in?"

"Yes, respected Lord Gergit, Chiliarch of the Imperial Tiger Army," Ashin said with a slight bow, his tone respectful. "My name is Ashin. I have long admired your reputation."

The air fell silent for two seconds.

Gergit narrowed his eyes slightly, the reek of alcohol seeming to sober him a little. He looked at Ashin with a half-smile and asked, "Where did you hear my name?"

So it really was him.

Ashin kept his face impassive, but inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief.

He didn't actually know this man; he had only heard from fishermen returning from Banana Head Bay that the leader of the thousand-man unit in the southern hills was called Gergit. A drunkard, he often brought his trusted men down the mountain to drink at the "Ship of the Forsaken" hotel, always running up tabs, often drinking through the night, and when drunk, he would boast without restraint.

Of course—

He couldn't tell this man the truth, so he gave a vague, ambiguous answer.

"A nobleman in Golden Galleon Port, awaiting His Majesty's good news, told me. He not only instructed me to find Chiliarch Gergit, but also assured me that you are responsible for the security of this entire region."

The officer named Gergit narrowed his eyes even further, his expression shifting between uncertainty and calculation, as if weighing something.

They had only been here for less than two weeks, and yet someone had already figured out the deployment of defenses here, even the name of the officer stationed here.

This "nobleman's" identity must be no simple matter...

Unable to make up his mind, Gergit stared at the young man before him and continued, "You said you brought something I'm interested in? Where is it?"

Ashin glanced at Kunar behind him. Kunar swallowed quietly, steeled himself, and stepped forward.

Though he tried to hide it, his trembling hands betrayed his fear.

Seeing those shaking hands, Gergit sneered at this country bumpkin and flicked his index finger at one of his subordinates.

"I bet it's a bag of black beans." The latter stepped forward with a laugh, snatched the sack from the clumsy fellow's hands, and quickly untied the hemp rope binding it.

But in that instant, when he saw what was inside the sack, he froze on the spot.

A whole sack of Xilan coins...

He swallowed involuntarily.

In all his years as a centurion, he had never seen so much money!

"...Sir." He quickly turned to look at the chiliarch, his eyes brimming with surprise and greed, as if he were about to shout, "Let's take it!"

Gergit, sitting on the sofa, had also seen the sack stuffed with banknotes. Though his reaction wasn't as exaggerated as his subordinate's, he too couldn't help but freeze, his smile stiffening.

He lowered his leg from where it was crossed over his knee, pushed aside the drunken woman whispering in his ear on his lap, sat up straight, and stared seriously at the young man named Ashin. Pointing his chin at the sack stuffed with cash, he asked, "What's this?"

"It is a gift from that nobleman, presented to you through me," Ashin said with a slight bow, like a true servant of a wealthy household, speaking with utmost politeness. "I wonder if you find this gift to your liking?"

Kunar glanced at Ashin beside him, a look of surprise flashing in his eyes.

Before they set out, they had agreed this was supposed to be the "down payment" for smuggled goods—how had it suddenly become a gift?!

Gergit, too, stared at the young man named Ashin, his eyes a mix of surprise, greed, and a hint of wariness.

Unlike his simple-minded subordinate, he had to consider more than just money.

This sack of cash was at least four or five hundred thousand—clearly not something a penniless mouse-man could produce.

His mind raced, running through the names of every notable figure in Golden Galleon Port, but he still couldn't figure it out.

The atmosphere in the hotel lobby grew so heavy it seemed ready to drip. The two soldiers at the door, under the centurion's silent signal, had already placed their hands near their guns.

Kunar swallowed nervously, forcing himself to think of his ship and the women waiting for tickets, struggling to keep the fear from showing on his face.

After staring at Ashin for a long while, Chiliarch Gergit spoke slowly.

"I'll ask you again: where did the money come from?"

His voice carried a sharp edge, as keen as his gaze—like a dagger pressed against a prey's throat.

Taking a shallow breath of the foul air, Ashin tried to stay calm and continued, "He prefers not to reveal his name. Keeping a certain mystery benefits us both... You wouldn't want to become a troublesome nuisance after the ceasefire agreement takes effect, would you?"

"What the hell did you say?" The centurion on the sofa suddenly rose in fury, drawing his sidearm and pressing it against Ashin's head.

For a moment, Ashin felt his hands and feet turn ice-cold.

In a daze, the man holding the gun to his forehead seemed to morph into Vikram—the wolf-man youth he had shot in the head.

The way these people looked at him now was probably the same way he had looked at Vikram back then—as if he were already dead.

Even if they had been routed by the Alliance on the battlefield, even if their abilities were barely better than a pig's, standing before him, they were still untouchable figures of power. With a mere flick of their fingers, they could crush him.

But—

He couldn't die.

His family had just started to live well; the future would be even better. He still had to send his younger siblings to Dawn City for schooling, find them an educated sister-in-law, buy his first friend Kunar a ship, and make sure those who depended on him had enough to eat...

He could not fall before the dawn!

The prostitutes on the sofas were frozen in terror. Kunar, too, was stunned by the sudden drawn gun.

Ashin swallowed softly, forcing the fear behind a numb expression. He raised his hands slightly and took half a step back.

"Calm down... friend. Killing me will only dirty your clothes; it won't change anything."

The man had already released the safety, his thumb pulling back the hammer. But just as he was about to pull the trigger, Gergit spoke.

"And what does this nobleman want me to do?" He gestured with his eyes for the soldiers at the door to escort the prostitutes out of the room, then looked at Ashin with interest.

Seeing the gun muzzle move away from his forehead and the door close behind him, Ashin knew the man was now genuinely interested in what he had to say. He steadied himself and continued.

"Something very easy for you. You only need to turn a blind eye at the border and let Imperial goods pass through into Golden Galleon Port. That nobleman assures you that for every shipment entering the port, you will receive a forty percent share of the profits."

Gergit let out a cold laugh.

"His Majesty has issued a decree strictly forbidding any personnel or goods from entering Golden Galleon Port. That 'nobleman' has quite the nerve."

"The entire border stretches for hundreds of kilometers. His Majesty's eyes cannot be everywhere," Ashin said calmly. "If he had that ability, your supply situation wouldn't be what it is now... Forgive me for lacking a more polite term to describe it, but you surely know what I mean."

Gergit's expression shifted slightly.

That man not only knew the strategic deployments and personnel arrangements of the Tiger Army, but even their supply situation?!

How the hell were they supposed to fight like this?

He had even vaguely guessed at the noble patron behind this fellow.

No one but Prince Dilip could wield such far-reaching influence within the Empire's military system—not even Governor Nihark!

But Prince Dilip should be locked up by the Alliance right now; could the Alliance have also meddled in this affair?!

A storm raged in his heart, while Asin's mind raced just as swiftly, adding the final touch to his impromptu speech from moments before.

"General Gergit, it's unrealistic for His Majesty to crush the Alliance with an embargo—the ones who suffer in the end are the Empire's own subjects. Likewise, it's not cost-effective for the Alliance to feed an entire city's livestock with a single harbor; they'd have to keep pulling money from their own pockets to buy corn for those people, and those people need to be fed before they can work."

"What does that have to do with me?" Gergit asked, narrowing his eyes.

"It has a lot to do with you," Asin said earnestly. "They don't want the survivors of Jinjalun Port to starve under their rule. If the goods exported from Jiaotou Bay affect the livelihood of the local survivors, I think even if the Empire and the Alliance tear each other apart again, they won't strike here."

He couldn't guarantee this, nor could he offer any assurance.

Yet he couldn't stop the Chiliarch Gergit, who had already rationalized the identity of that "noble patron" in his mind, from letting his imagination run wild.

That makes sense...

If he were the Alliance commander, since firing cannons anywhere was the same, why would he bother targeting a place tied to interests?

Just thinking that made him tempted. After feigning a moment of deliberation, he spoke.

"I don't have time to calculate your profits. I want a twenty percent cut of the transaction volume."

This wasn't a deal he could pull off alone; he also needed to grease palms up and down the chain, including at the myriarch level.

"No problem!"

Asin agreed without hesitation.

Though he soon regretted agreeing too quickly, the other party seemed to be doing this for the first time as well and didn't notice anything amiss.

And so the matter was happily settled.

Gergit's chiliarch would use the pretext of logistics procurement to cover the goods passing through the checkpoint, placing merchants and cargo in the fishing village of Jiaotou Bay, while payment and trade negotiations would be completed at the inn in "Shipwreck Town."

As their first transaction, Gergit offered to supply him with a total of six hundred tons of chickpeas and black beans, to be sold for five million Xilan dollars.

That worked out to about 4.2 Xilan dollars per catty—even cheaper than the market price before the Alliance landed at Jinjalun Port!

With the current price of beans already breaking ten, shipping this batch back to Jinjalun Port would yield nearly double the profit!

Although Gergit generously waived the cut on the first deal, Asin knew full well that this greedy bastard had already factored the cut into the total price.

As for where so many beans had been looted from, and how they were looted, he didn't pry—after all, it was none of his business.

He only mentioned that next time he wanted to buy a batch of two-headed oxen, and asked Gergit to keep an eye out for flax and dye merchants, to which the latter readily agreed.

They set a time for the payment and delivery.

To show goodwill for the cooperation, Gergit even generously waved his hand and gave Asin the inn built on the derelict ship.

For him, it was just a word.

As for the inn's original owner, a week earlier, for demanding payment for drinks and having a nose that wasn't big enough, his men had tied a stone to him and thrown him into the sea.

To have ended up running a shabby inn in this godforsaken backwater and still be so clueless—even if he were a real Velant, he'd be the rat among Velants.

Besides, who was to say he even was one?

The employees here didn't even know their boss had met his end; they were still hoping the old man who called himself a Velant would come back to settle their wages.

"...Goodbye, my friend. This was the happiest drink I've ever had. I hope it will be the same in the future."

Standing at the inn's entrance, Gergit wore a cheerful smile, his arm drunkenly slung around Asin's shoulder.

Since being exiled to this godforsaken place, this was the first time he'd left before dawn, satisfied and slapping his own backside.

Asin nodded respectfully, a smile on his face as he looked at the officer.

"Welcome back anytime. I promise that when you come again in a couple of days, you'll taste a wine truly worthy of your noble status. Recently, Jinjalun Port has received a shipment of fine goods that only silver coins can buy, including the liquor from the shelter residents."

"Haha! Then I've got something to look forward to!"

Gergit was overjoyed at that, grinning as he patted the young man's shoulder, making his stance clear in front of his own men.

Looking at their closeness, you'd never imagine that this man's subordinate had just pressed a gun to the young man's forehead.

Watching the soldiers head south until they were far away, Asin gently patted his own shoulder.

As if brushing off dust.

The group of young men standing at the inn's entrance gazed at their leader with reverence, as if worshipping a deity.

Yet they had no idea that their leader, just by standing there without collapsing, had already used up nearly all his strength.

"Faster than I expected. I had planned to buy this place after earning my first pot of gold, but it happened before that..."

Clearing his throat, which had nearly snapped shut, Asin resumed his usual tone of voice.

He first glanced casually at the inn behind him, then at Kunar beside him, who had the word "adoration" practically carved on his face.

"There will be many guests here in the future. We need to renovate it... at least raise its standard."

"At once, boss! I'll find someone to do it right away." Kunar straightened his back, looking like a loyal soldier with not a shred of doubt about the "general's" orders.

Asin nodded, then turned his gaze to the low shacks nearby and the pairs of eyes filled with fear lurking in the dark corners.

Before, those eyes had dared to size him up without restraint; now they didn't even dare meet his gaze.

Yet there was no mockery or scorn in his heart.

The most important lesson he had learned from the Empire's disastrous defeat at Jinjalun Port was unity, and he was constantly pondering how to unite these poor wretches just like himself.

Money and dignity.

He happened to have enough of both to give them.

"Kunar, my friend, you were right... we do need a ship to get things done, and here we have a group of 'sailors'—not very experienced, but barely usable."

He paused, then said thoughtfully in a low voice.

"We can find them some work to do."