Chapter 767: Hope Breaking Through the Soil

Chapter 767: Hope Breaking Through the Soil

Before arriving at Golden Granary Port, Suni had always believed the locals here were conservative, feudal, and even somewhat stubborn.

Like the followers of the Sand Sea Spirit in Luoxia Province, who always carried a handful of rust-scented sand in their pockets.

Thieves never dared to cut the pockets of these folks, for even if they lost money, they’d only call the cops, but if you messed with the sand in their pockets, they’d truly kill.

To avoid offending the locals, and to keep from being beaten to death by a girl’s family while trying to flirt, he had earnestly consulted a Moon Clan girl working at the Fries Port Irenic Bar while still in the Southern Sea, meticulously studying the religions, taboos, and customs of the Bolo Province, even jotting them down in a pocket booklet—thoroughly prepared, one could say.

Yet when he actually arrived at Golden Granary Port, he found that what he heard and what he saw were two entirely different things.

There were hardly any of those convoluted rules and taboos here.

The locals’ conservatism was only directed at themselves; toward outsiders like him, they were not only not conservative, but even more open than he could have imagined.

Fries Port had bars too, and so did the Ring Island, but never had anyone been so bad at holding their liquor that a single sip of beer left them tipsy, collapsing into his arms and breathing into his ear.

Were people here really that bad at drinking?!

If he hadn’t brought a mirror, he might have suspected he was drop-dead handsome, only that the Ring Island was too small for anyone to notice, and his pack of friends had deliberately suppressed him.

Though he enjoyed it at first, after too many times, it grew tiresome.

More than primal desire, he relished the sparks from the collision of two different souls, but most people here just wanted to sleep with him, then lie on his chest talking about life and dreams, future plans, bicycles, and the next generation… His head was about to explode. He was only twenty—why think about that stuff?

And what use was a bicycle? If you wanted to go fast, wasn’t a speedboat better?

What frustrated him most was that he had come here with the impure motive of “hunting,” only to find himself becoming the “prey.” The girls sitting at the bar were even more adept at the game than he was.

That feeling was far from good—downright awful, in fact—so much so that he quit drinking out of sheer depression.

It wasn’t just the bars.

Work was the same.

Take his first job, for instance: tutoring the daughter of a local wealthy merchant.

A Vlandian intermediary had arranged it, claiming the merchant was once a noble of Golden Granary Port, wealthy since the Nihak era.

The pay was generous—10,000 silver coins a month.

The employer had only one requirement: the tutor must be from the Alliance. The South Sea Alliance counted as the Alliance, and since the Vlandian said it was fine, he took the job.

He had assumed the nobles in the mansion would be reserved, but not only did the girl constantly make advances, even the merchant’s wife flirted with him unabashedly.

Suni felt he was going mad.

Especially after learning the merchant had business ties with the local notorious gang, the Assassin Gang.

Between the fat paycheck and his life, he ultimately chose the latter, reluctantly resigning from the high-risk job.

Of course, it must be said that the abnormal ones were only a tiny minority.

Like a crowd of starving people storming a cafeteria, inevitably some would act like famished ghosts, trying to eat back what they missed in past lives, only to be carried out horizontally.

Compared to the extremes of hoarding food or gorging to death, most people were normal—working hard and studying diligently was the norm for ordinary folks.

After a week to adjust, through the municipal employment office, he landed a job at a public school founded by the Baiyue Company, becoming a language teacher.

Most students here were children from nearby communities—some poor, some middle-class. Since the Golden Granary Port authorities promised free lunch and breakfast, and literacy led to better jobs, most locals cooperated with the compulsory education policy.

Regardless of class, the children were remarkably diligent, so much so that Suni felt a pang of shame.

They yearned to change their fate.

The Ring Island also had free education, but he had muddled through university, then worked at a cannery, later drifted to the docks, and eventually just collected unemployment benefits and loafed around…

Compared to these young lads and lasses, his past twenty years seemed spent in a daze.

Inspired by those eager, studious eyes, he threw himself into teaching with full vigor, even telegraphing friends on the Ring Island to send books, brushing up on forgotten knowledge.

The public school salary wasn’t much—only 12,000 Gallons a month—but it was still higher than local wages.

And the cost of living was low: cheap food, transport, and haircuts, though imported goods, luxuries, and property were pricey. It suited him, a “street wanderer” with no high aspirations, perfectly.

But honestly, his life now couldn’t be called loafing; it was even beyond vulgar pleasures, utterly fulfilling. He had found something truly worthy of being called a “career,” something to ponder for a lifetime.

Still, from time to time, rebellious souls tried to stir waves or surprises in his otherwise ordinary teaching life.

One sunny afternoon, after substituting for a senior class on geometry, a tall girl cornered him in the office to ask about math problems.

At first, they did discuss math, but soon she shifted topics, gazing at him with sparkling eyes.

“Teacher, what is your surname?”

Suni looked at her, puzzled.

“Su… what’s wrong?”

The girl stared in surprise.

“I see. I always thought Suni was your given name, and your surname something else.”

Curious about her interest in his homeland, Suni smiled.

“Where I’m from, there are many naming conventions, depending on the parents. My father told me my great-great-grandfather might have been a Vault dweller, but my great-great-grandmother was from the islands. Besides, some have no surname at all, just like here—only given names.”

The latter was common among Wastelanders, and some special Vault dwellers used slang outsiders couldn’t understand, like Vault 404.

The girl’s eyes sparkled with curiosity about the outside world, and a faint longing.

“We don’t just have given names; we do have surnames. For example, the Rat Clan has thirteen pronunciations, the most common being Skaven, but the Snake Clan also has Skaven, so we rarely use surnames.”

“I see. I thought you simply had no surnames… Ah, sorry, no offense meant.” Suni looked surprised, then quickly added an apology, realizing his words might be too flippant.

The girl smiled lightly, unconcerned.

“It’s fine. You’re new here, so it’s normal not to know. By the way, my name is Anushka.”

Suni complimented her.

“A lovely name.”

“Is it? I think it’s not so nice—too many syllables. I’ve always wanted to change it,” Anushka’s eyes showed a hint of melancholy, then she gazed at him again. “What do you think of Su’an or Suka?”

The sudden directness caught Suni off guard, especially her face closing in and the strands of hair brushing his cheek.

A faint fragrance reached his nose. He coughed dryly, stepping back half a step involuntarily.

“Such matters… I think you’d better consult your parents.”

“But you have better ideas than them,” the girl stepped forward, eyes fixed on him. “You’re from the Alliance, right?”

“I’m from the South Sea Alliance… Actually, it’s quite different.” Suni explained with a wry smile.

“Not that far. Coming from there, you’re so learned… I wish I could go see it.”

The girl’s eyes shone with hope, tinged with yearning.

Suni wanted to say it wasn’t that great—narrow, short streets—and he’d only come here because he couldn’t stand it anymore, to try his luck…

But seeing her expression, he knew anything he said would be useless.

Just as he was at a loss, footsteps outside the office finally broke the awkward atmosphere.

Saved, Suni breathed a sigh of relief. The girl, not hearing the “I’ll take you,” looked disappointed but thanked him for his teaching, bowed slightly, and ran out with her notebook.

Glancing at the girl who hurried out the door, the colleague sitting next to him could guess what had happened with his toes, and teased him with a remark.

"Tough, isn't it? The girls here are too enthusiastic."

This colleague was the longest-serving employee here, and having come from Dawn City, he was practically stacked with buffs.

The female colleague across the table wasn't too pleased with that comment and pursed her lips.

"Not just the girls, the young men too. I can't even eat a meal without running into three locals asking for directions. I don't know who gave them the illusion that the residents of Free State throw orgies every day... It's enough."

Watching her roll her eyes, the colleague from Dawn City leaned back in his chair with a laugh.

"Haha... Well, to be fair, I did hear about that when I was in Dawn City!"

Caught by her murderous glare, he couldn't help but shiver and cut off that unfunny joke.

Sunny brewed himself a cup of tea, sat back down in his chair, and sighed as he gazed at the steam rising from the cup.

"Honestly, I'm worried. This kind of atmosphere is fine in a bar, but it shouldn't be in the classroom... Many of the girls in Fries Harbor are locals too, but they're completely different from them. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if our teaching methods are flawed. We should be teaching them not just knowledge, but also self-respect and self-love. Otherwise, if they don't become slaves to the Wu Tuo, they'll become slaves to someone else... What's the difference in the end?"

The teacher from Dawn City patted him on the shoulder.

"Take it easy, and don't always blame yourself. Maybe... the girls in Fries Harbor are just colder toward you, since you gave them the cold shoulder before."

Sunny shook his head.

"Alright, you're from Dawn City, so it might be different for you, but you have to admit they're the same people. The people there are indeed a bit more normal than here... Damn it, I just want to teach properly! Wait, am I really just wanting to teach properly?"

He distinctly remembered that before coming here, he had come specifically to pick up girls.

But after just a month or two, he found himself a completely changed person, suddenly ascetic.

Maybe that saying was right: those who respect themselves are respected, and those who love themselves are loved.

Walking through this settlement were hollow shells without souls. Until those people found their souls, he really couldn't fall in love with the people here, nor find the kind of love he deeply craved... not just a one-night stand.

Just then, Sunny suddenly noticed the newspaper on his colleague's desk, reached out curiously, and picked it up.

"By the way, there's a Survivor's Daily here too?"

He flipped through it randomly, only to find it completely different from the newspaper in Fries Harbor. It mainly talked about the latest news in Golden Port and published literary works submitted by locals.

"It just appeared recently. I heard it was started by a few Moon Clan and Rat Clan people. I don't really understand it, but the writing is pretty good," the teacher from Dawn City said casually, sipping his coffee. "I brought it back for the students to practice reading. It's better for literacy than the Dawn City textbooks. Recently, several schools have been proposing to create their own textbooks for Golden Port, asking us to select articles from the Survivor's Daily to include. So I've been collecting the recent issues."

A look of interest appeared on Sunny's face.

"Could I borrow it?"

"Sure," the Dawn City teacher shrugged and smiled. "Just don't lose it."

"Thanks."

Since there was still some time before the next class, Sunny opened the borrowed newspaper with curiosity and was soon captivated by the headline.

"Red Earth"

Author: Mr. Rat.

Was this about the origin of Red Earth?

He initially thought so, but soon realized things weren't that simple.

"...A long time ago, I wanted to write a biography for General Rowell."

"That year, it was freezing, the sun and moon dim, and he accomplished an unparalleled feat, finding a shortcut for his descendants to survive—eating dirt to stay alive. Ironically, this man of great merit did not die well. He was buried in the earth by a group of ignorant people, even spat upon... Like the martyr who brought firewood to the masses but was buried in the wind and snow."

"At first, I thought those people weren't smart enough. Later, I came into contact with descendants of the 'shovel-wielders' and was shocked to find that their ancestors were scholars, experts, engineers from the great era, and even soldiers who originally supported General Rowell. These people weren't stupid. Explaining it from an intellectual angle clearly wouldn't work. Mocking them would only make me seem clever and foolish. There was only one explanation... They all went mad together, burying the only sane Lord Rowell."

"I couldn't understand why so many people went mad, harming someone who cared for, loved, and even saved them, just because he was a bit autocratic... Until later, I met L, a young Rat Clan man living in White Elephant City."

"He wore tattered clothes, which couldn't even be called clothes, just rags to cover his body. There was a scar on his head, said to be from a cigarette butt thrown by a young master strolling around the farm where he worked as a day laborer. That should have been infuriating, but whenever he spoke of that glorious moment, he was quite proud, boasting to everyone that the scar was a blessing from a noble, and that in his next life, he would surely be reborn into a noble family. Fortunately, others thought this talk was treasonous and didn't dare pass it to the young master's ears, or the young master would have cut his head off and left him unable to even enter the Red Earth."

"I first saw him at the master's farm. He was talking about how clever the young master was, how much he resembled the master's seed, but instead of gaining favor, he got a beating from the servants. Hearing he was also Rat Clan, and seeing his bloody, miserable state, I wanted to step in and reason, but was stopped by others. After some conversation, I learned who L was."

"I hated his lack of ambition, but then thought that I, who relied on the master's favor to eat, had no right to criticize him. Hadn't I also praised the young master? Over time, I consoled myself and then forgot about it. Until a major case broke out in White Elephant City, saying the Moon Clan had rebelled again, causing panic throughout the city, and more Moon Clan were to be arrested. I consoled myself again, saying it had nothing to do with the Rat Clan, nor with the master's servants. But then I saw him at the execution ground."

"How similar fate is. Those who planted the Red Earth and those who ate the Red Earth were both buried in the Red Earth. So before eulogizing General Rowell's greatness, I want to use L's story as a 'preface'—it too is a tale worthy of song and tears..."

Sunny had only opened the newspaper to kill time, but he found himself utterly absorbed, losing track of time until the bell rang, jolting him awake.

"Good heavens."

Was this... something they wrote themselves?

The beginning was dry, but the further he read, the more he saw the blood beneath the skin and the silent wails like ghosts.

Sunny murmured softly, feeling thunder rolling in his ears, like a deafening cry.

He wasn't a survivor of the Brahmin Province, but he could still hear that cry between the lines—these people weren't eating dirt; they were eating generation after generation buried in the dirt!

He stood up from his chair, clutching the newspaper tightly, and rushed out the door.

His expression was excited, his spirits high, his steps swift as the wind, not even bringing the lesson plan he never let go of... Because he no longer needed it.

His duty as a teacher told him he must read these words to those children.

They sat there holding books not for a ticket, not for a work visa promised by Fries Harbor, or to sell themselves somewhere chaotic on the wasteland.

They should learn for themselves! Learn real knowledge, understand the structure of human relationships, grasp the laws of nature and all things, and contemplate their place among the mountains and rivers...

They needed souls!

...

In the private room of the Triumph Grand Hotel.

Not just some half-baked teacher passionately reading aloud in a solemn classroom, but also a somewhat mature-looking youth had read the "Red Earth" published in the Survivor's Daily.

Or more precisely, the preface to the serialized novel "Red Earth."

That guy calling himself "Mr. Rat" had practically stripped the Rat Clan down to their underwear.

Yet after hearing the entire article, Asin, sitting in the private room, burst into loud laughter, slapping the armrest of his chair twice.

"Haha, brilliant! Damn brilliant!"

A group of stern-faced subordinates in suits stood behind him, their eyes full of grit.

They were the core members of the Assassin Gang, who had lived with their boss on the street in front of the Governor's Mansion, and among them were naturally Rat Clan members.

The girl who had read the article to him had a look of terror, nervously watching the man sitting at the table.

She was a Cow Clan, once a minor noble in Golden Port, forced by circumstances to teach people to read and write.

Clearly, Cow Clan status no longer mattered here. Whoever could lead everyone to eat their fill and fill their pockets was the true noble.

For instance, this Rat Clan man before her seemed to have no regard for her bloodline at all.

However, he still respected knowledge, so he was polite to her, apparently not blaming her for the article she had just read.

Glancing at the time, Asin waved to the side, took out a check, wrote a few numbers on it, and handed it to his "tutor" sitting before him.

"This is last month's salary. I might be busy in the coming days, so I'll give it to you early."

The girl quickly nodded, took the check hastily, and subconsciously held her breath.

100,000 Gallons!!

She looked at him with disbelief, but he simply waved his hand lightly.

"The rest is your tip... My guests are about to arrive, and it's getting late. Go home."

The girl murmured a thank-you, then lowered her head and hurried away, her eyes rimmed with red.

Watching the noble lady depart, Kunal looked perplexed at his boss, who was pretending to understand the newspaper, and rumbled.

"Boss... don't you feel slighted?"

Asin, while trying to match the words and sentences he'd just learned, replied patiently.

"Kunal, my friend, only a patient with a terminal illness would take out their anger on a doctor. If a man is beyond saving, letting him eat well, drink well, and have a grand funeral is true kindness; telling him to smoke two fewer cigarettes only harms him and torments his family... And you and I clearly haven't reached that point yet. Have you been eating dirt?"

Kunal shook his head like a rattle-drum.

"Who eats that stuff nowadays?"

"See?" Asin said with a faint smile. "At least the residents of Golden Port don't anymore. At most, those who swim up from the river do, but only at the very beginning... One day, that stuff will be toppled, every last bit of it, just like the thousand needles of the City of a Thousand Pillars."

He was still young, as were all the survivors of the Brahmin Province. What was waning were the feudal lords and old aristocrats.

He was glad so many young people shared his righteous indignation, walking the same sunlit path, even if their thoughts differed.

As he spoke, footsteps sounded at the door, and a burly figure strode in.

A gun was tucked at his waist, and only two attendants followed behind him. The LD-47 assault rifle slung across his back, however, dwarfed the aura of the surrounding gang members.

These two were hardened men who had been on the battlefield, the kind who charged through a hail of bullets.

The man in front wore a languid expression, a hint of arrogance resting between his brows. He swaggered in, utterly disregarding those around him.

Yet no one, including Asin, found him arrogant or rude.

After all, this fellow indeed had the capital to be proud.

When everyone else was chained by ankle shackles, he alone caught the gun thrown by that lord.

If catching the gun was mere luck, then what followed—relying on sheer grit, personally pushing the cannon to blast down the gate, and capturing Lowell Camp—was something else entirely.

Compared to a rat like himself lurking in the shadows, Asin knew full well that this man was the true big shot.

This was Rasi, director of the Golden Port Harbor Civil Defense Office, in charge of the militia's strategic deployment and logistics—essentially the top commander of Golden Port's military.

To invite this great man, Asin had spent no small amount of money greasing palms and making connections.

And even then, the great man had only agreed to meet him, promising nothing more.

Asin quickly rose, a warm smile spreading across his face as he made a gesture of invitation.

"General, please, have a seat."

Rasi sat down directly across from him, granting him a bit of face, and cut straight to the chase.

"You invited me as a guest—what's your game?"

With a glance signaling the waiters to serve the dishes, Asin smiled warmly at him.

"I heard the general has been feeling down lately. I merely thought of your toil for the people and wished to ease your troubles."

"Hmph."

Rasi snorted through his nose, brushing aside the waiter's hand reaching for the wine jug. He grabbed it himself, poured a cup, and set the jug back on the table.

"Ease my troubles... What the hell do you know? If you ask me, merchants should stick to their trade, keep their noses clean, and stop sticking their hands everywhere, lest they end up dead without knowing how. I'll drink this wine today, but when it's time to send you off, I won't go easy."

Kunal's mouth twitched, but with the two soldiers staring him down, he dared not move a shoulder.

Asin, however, remained composed—after all, it wasn't his first time being stared down the barrel of a gun.

"The general jokes. My business 'in Golden Port' is all legal. I've even helped the Alliance bust a few smuggling rings for drugs and people. If any of my men touch what they shouldn't, I'll clean house myself, without needing the lord's reminder."

"That's none of my concern." Rasi waved his chopsticks to cut him off, focusing on the food. "Get to your point."

Asin nodded slightly, speaking respectfully.

"There's a resistance force of the Moon Tribe up north. Has the general heard of them?"

"Heard of them? Hah, so what if I have?" Rasi sneered, pursing his lips. "A bunch of useless rabble. A single village can sprout seven or eight factions—noisy and undisciplined, sloppy in their work, and hamstrung when it comes to big moves. They fight the dumbest battles with the best gear, chased around by second-rate armies, worse than bandits."

Asin's heart stirred. "And in the general's esteemed opinion, what should they do?"

Rasi didn't hesitate. "My esteemed opinion? Hah, I say, why all the nonsense? Tell them east, they go east; west, they go west. Say take a step, they take a step. I'll see who dares take one more or one less. Disobey, and kill them. If you want to win a war, you first turn your blade on your own. If you can't do that, go home and farm."

The more Rasi spoke, the angrier he got. He was so worked up he'd lost his appetite, dropping his chopsticks and shaking his head.

He didn't have much in his belly, nor could he spout much military theory, but watching those fools fight made him anxious. After all this time, they hadn't even taken a single settlement.

He sympathized with those compatriots—the Moon Tribe in Fries Port, even the Alliance people sympathized with them, holding high hopes. At least in Fang Zhang's view, these folks had suffered persecution, and once they overthrew the Empire, they wouldn't repeat its old ways.

For this reason, Baiyue Company had contacted those guerrilla Moon Tribe fighters more than once, giving them money and equipment. Yet the result was that they couldn't even defeat a local warlord doing business, who instead used them to justify his own power.

He'd approached Fang Zhang and others in the Alliance multiple times, but they all found him too bloodthirsty, worried he couldn't manage the Brahmin Province.

Every time he thought of this, Rasi fumed. Why couldn't he manage it?

The Alliance's methods were good, but only a few hundred had come ashore. Could the smooth transformation of Golden Port have happened without his contribution?

To intimidate the diehards and looters, he'd killed plenty—so many that those demons and monsters didn't dare breathe, going east when told and never west.

In the end, when Golden Port's transformation was over, he became a chamber pot, demoted by that gentleman with a nominal promotion, stripped of military command, and placed in an office as a mascot—a gesture to the locals.

Asin actually understood the man's resentment. After all, his own trade was also a kind of chamber pot.

Golden Port's infrastructure required a massive labor force, while also absorbing immigrants flowing in from the Eternal River.

Unchecked, such a vast labor force would breed violence. Laws or sermons couldn't fully suppress violence on land without such traditions. A basket was needed to contain that restless energy, lest it be vented on ordinary people.

The Assassin Gang had risen on this tide.

As for Banana Bay, it was his own escape route, including investments in warlords and such.

When Golden Port's infrastructure was complete and the Alliance decided to discard him like a chamber pot, he could rely on his investments in Banana Bay and Imperial territory to secure a retreat for himself and his family.

But he was far luckier than Rasi. Golden Port's infrastructure wouldn't be finished overnight. As long as he kept a low profile under the Alliance's nose, he wouldn't invite their wrath—at most, a slap on the wrist from the Golden Port authorities.

"...I fully understand your plight, General. A talent like yours should realize your ambitions on the battlefield, not at a banquet table."

Rasi chuckled dryly, unswayed by the flattery.

"Stop beating around the bush. Just say what you really want."

"The Moon Tribe's resistance is weak and incompetent, toyed with by the Tiger Army up north. I believe the root cause is the lack of a fierce general to unite them and lead them into battle!"

Asin's eyes blazed as he stared at Rasi, his right hand resting on the table.

"With your talent, General, you're the most suitable candidate. Only you can forge those former slaves into a single rope! And with the Alliance's new military doctrines you've learned, you'll surely smash those feudal nobles to pieces!"

He fully agreed with this view. His Assassin Gang had triumphed over other gangs and carved a place in Golden Port precisely because of unity.

Rasi burst into laughter at this, naturally not swayed by a few words. He shot back with a teasing remark.

"You're an interesting lad, flattering me in every way. I didn't call you out, and now you're hooked. It's easy for us to sit here and talk, but can you conjure up shells and bullets for me?"

He was a rough man, but not stupid. War wasn't a game.

No matter how capable he, Rasi, was, without the Alliance, he was nothing.

However, to his surprise, the young man before him nodded decisively and agreed without hesitation.

"I'll give it! Ammunition for a hundred thousand men, I'll give it; ammunition for a million men, I'll give it too! As long as you're willing to come out of retirement and drag that old emperor off his throne, I, Axin, will support your fight even if it means bankrupting myself! If you don't believe me, I'll go to the bank right now and withdraw the money!"

Raxi narrowed his eyes, wiped the smile from his face, and stared at him without blinking.

"...Unexpected favors are either treacherous or thieving. I'd like to ask you what exactly you're after."

Axin said nothing, but placed that copy of the Survivor's Daily on the table and gently pushed it toward him.

"I, Axin, am a businessman. In business, I only seek profit, but this matter is for nothing else—just to win a breath of pride... We rat-folk are not born to eat dirt."

Looking at the headline on the newspaper, Raxi let out a chuckle, grabbed the paper, put down the leg he had crossed over his knee, shook his coat hem, and stood up.

"What a coincidence, we moon-folk aren't either. But for such a big matter, I can't give you an answer right now. Give me three days."

With that, he left his remaining meal untouched, didn't drink his lifeblood wine, waved his sleeve, took the newspaper, and left with his men.

Looking at the table full of barely touched dishes, Kunar felt a pang of regret and turned to Axin.

"Boss... do you think he's reliable?"

Axin gently sat back down in his chair, picked up the unused chopsticks, and said lightly.

"Kunar, what do you think true reliability is? And when will true reliability come? Or rather, does what he's doing require considering who is worthy or unworthy?"

"I... don't know." Kunar scratched the back of his head and said with a grimace.

"Whether our general succeeds or not doesn't matter. It's like how the warlord of the Tiger Army clearly has business dealings with us, yet we invest in him while also investing in his enemies."

Pouring himself a glass of wine, Axin said in a very soft voice.

"The wasteland is undergoing a transformation unseen in two hundred years. The River Valley Province is reborn in blazing fire, the Jinchuan Province has found hope in the flames, and so has the Haiya Province... We've been quiet for two hundred years, and we too need a fire. Now is the best time. The true empires are all settling old scores, continuing the war that never fully ended two hundred years ago. No one has time to bother with us. Now someone must fire a shot, so that others who are restless can see what kind of thing the Witch Camel riding on their heads really is."

Outsiders can only see the obedience and forbearance ingrained in their bones, but as a rat-folk, he knew better than outsiders that behind these two words hides another word.

That is rebellion.

Or rather, a rebellious bone.

Just like rats, usually chased by cats, toyed with by cats, but when truly cornered, they will even bite humans.

As he spoke, he glanced around at his brothers and said amiably.

"...Come over, sit down, and eat. You know I don't like waste. This big table of dishes was ordered for everyone anyway; I can't finish it alone."

"Didn't you order it for Raxi?" Kunar asked doubtfully in his ear while beckoning the brothers to sit.

Axin smiled faintly and took the first bite for everyone, even though he wasn't very skilled with the chopsticks yet.

"That lord won't eat with people like us. If word got out, it would be bad for both him and me. Having a drink before leaving is already a great face he's given us."

"His ambition is far greater than a small fry like me."