HTLCCBFT Chapter 136

Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 136

The most eye-catching caravan this time was undoubtedly Slaev’s, which also arrived in Laina on the first day of the Spring Market.

Booke only needed one glance at the seemingly endless line behind them before clicking his tongue and turning back to the wine merchants Wynn and Bir beside him, exclaiming, “How come I didn’t know Gregor City suffered a famine last winter?”

Though originally from Riche City, Booke was well-acquainted with merchants from Gregor City and had naturally heard of the infamous slave traders Slaev[mfn]斯雷夫(sī léi fū) – meant to sound like ‘slave'[/mfn] and Hughman Trafain[mfn]休曼·特拉费音(xiū màn · tè lā fèi yīn) – meant to sound like ‘human trafficking'[/mfn].

As far as he knew, Gregor City, the largest city in the south, typically purchased slaves from elsewhere—its vast fertile farmlands required slave labor, most freemen were wealthy enough to hire one or two slaves as domestic helpers, and that wasn’t even mentioning the nearly hundred major merchants settled in Gregor City.

And it was equally well-known that the Count ruling Gregor City was notoriously stingy.

He wouldn’t leave them completely empty-handed, but he certainly wouldn’t provide slaves with enough food to sustain their families through the winter.

This forced the slaves, ignorant of such cruelty, to make heart-wrenching choices about which family members to save.

Booke had often seen these two men buying slaves in other cities, but this was the first time he’d seen them selling slaves outward during spring, when labor was most needed.

“Hmm? Haven’t you heard about what happened in Albury City?” Wynn, in an unusually good mood, patiently explained, “They’re selling refugees who fled to Gregor City from Albury.”

Moreover, they were cold-heartedly selling these poor souls after exploiting them for the spring ploughing—all without cost.

Yes.

In Wynn’s heart, these slaves—emaciated and numb after just one winter—were pitiable creatures.

He didn’t care about the lives of mere slaves, whom he considered lowly, but he sympathized with these former commoners who, through no fault of their own, had lost their property, families, homes, and, most importantly, their freedom.

Simply imagining himself in such an unfortunate situation sent a shiver down Wynn’s spine.

He certainly couldn’t endure it.

“At least they’re still alive, aren’t they?”

Booke shrugged.

“I didn’t expect they’d choose to sell them in Laina.” Bir sighed, sharing Wynn’s sympathy for these displaced, enslaved unfortunates. “I thought they’d sell them in Riche City.”

As one of the central cities of the kingdom, located north of Gregor City, Riche City had much greater purchasing power than Laina City, though it was a bit farther away.

“Fool, do you think they haven’t considered that?” Wynn tapped the table idly with his middle finger. “Another group, carrying the city lord’s orders and more slaves, has headed toward Riche City.”

The number destined for Laina might seem large, but it was only a small portion of the refugees.

Facing the pointing fingers and mixed comments—some kind, some malicious—the procession remained deathly silent from start to finish.

No one reacted at all.

They stared blankly at the ground, shuffling slowly behind those in front, their ankles bound with coarse straw ropes—the kind used to tether livestock.

“Dad.”

A child with so little flesh on his body that his head appeared disproportionately large suddenly spoke up, whispering softly to his father Bard[mfn]巴德(bā dé) – sounds like and translates to ‘Bard’, unsure if this character is actually a bard.[/mfn] walking ahead: “I like it here.”

They had no shoes.

From the day they fell to the lowest status of slaves, they were no longer deemed worthy of wearing shoes.

Even the pair they originally had on their feet, no matter how dirty or worn, had long been taken away by the servants serving the slave traders.

Their once relatively tender soles were torn by rough gravel, with dust, mud, and snow crammed into the cracks, causing piercing pain.

When the weather turned colder, what tormented them more than the pain was the itch from frostbite—their feet, swollen red like radishes, became unbearably itchy. When it flared up, they almost wished they could chop their feet off.

But they had no medicine and were not allowed to rest.

As refugees who had drifted to another city, they knew very well that to gain entry and receive the Lord’s protection meant they had voluntarily surrendered all their possessions—including themselves—to the Lord of this city.

Many had never endured such terrible suffering and, under hunger, pain, and seemingly endless labor, quietly died during the recent winter.

Those who survived were fortunate enough to develop thick calluses, which prevented their feet from tearing even after such a long trek.

Bard did not reply.

Because he had the misfortune of encountering the steward’s servant in a bad mood, he had been subjected to a brutal whipping.

During that ordeal, his lips were split open, and speaking now would cause excruciating pain.

Not receiving a response from his dad, the child seemed accustomed to it and continued quietly, observing his surroundings: “Their ground is so flat, so clean, and it feels nice to walk on.”

Even with the thickest calluses, stepping on gravel piles or dung heaps still made this ten-year-old child uncomfortable.

Apart from him, no one in the entire lifeless procession spoke.

The slave trader’s servant, hearing his “chatter,” frowned with displeasure.

Just as he hesitated between dragging the child out for a beating or letting it go, someone called his name from the front of the line.

“Lucky for you, kid!”

He grumbled discontentedly but dared not delay and hurried straight to the front.

The child who had escaped a whipping seemed unaffected, still lost in his own world.

As if talking to his dad or simply muttering to himself: “Their land isn’t fully cultivated yet… Maybe the Lord here will buy us? Buy all of us, ah!”

As if he had seen something utterly incredible, his eyes suddenly widened.

His footsteps abruptly halted.

The sudden exclamation and abrupt stop finally drew the attention of those beside and behind him.

They looked at him blankly, then instinctively followed his gaze.

The child then snapped out of it, no longer in his previous strange state, and showed what could be called his first genuine expression in many days.

A joyful smile spread across his face as he shouted loudly, “Dad, look! It’s Uncle Capit!!![mfn]卡皮特(qiǎ pí tè) sounds exactly like the translated name, unsure if it means anything[/mfn] And brother Gennaro! Sue!”

This shout made everyone in the procession freeze for a moment.

—They saw them too.

Those faces they had long thought dead—some intimate, some familiar, some strangers with a hint of recognition…

Suddenly, they all seemed to come alive!

“Why is the back of the procession in such disarray?”

Slaev, sitting in the luxurious carriage at the very front, faintly heard the commotion from behind and looked displeasedly at his valet. “Go check.”

This was his first time in Laina, and he was preparing to seek an audience with the legendary Duke.

Whether for his own sake or for Count McKenna—who had specifically sent him both to gather information and to sell off this batch of surplus slaves—he didn’t want anything to go wrong in the Laina territory.

The valet hurried off.

Soon he returned, his face bearing a look of disbelief as he reported the cause of the disturbance.

“They have relatives in Laina? They ended up in Laina?”

Slaev sneered, “So what? They are slaves of Gregor City, of His Lordship the Count! They’d better remember their place!”

“Master, but,” the valet hesitated, “their relatives have offered to buy their family members back from you…”

“Oh?” Slaev raised an eyebrow slightly, now genuinely intrigued.

Who would have thought that the wealthy had all fled to Laina, while those who went to Gregor City were so poor they couldn’t even afford a 10-gold-coin refugee identification and had to become slaves!

It would never occur to him that the Lord of Laina, who had chosen to accept large numbers of refugees, hadn’t charged them a single copper coin.

“First, ask if that Duke is willing to take them or not,” Slaev said lazily after a moment’s thought. “I don’t want to sell piecemeal for a few silver coins of profit. Drive those people away.”

The valet responded without hesitation, “Yes, sir.”

But before the valet could go to the back of the procession to convey his master’s orders, the steward in charge of guarding the rear also rushed back in a panic.

Seeing that it was the group under his charge causing trouble, the steward’s face flushed red with anger. Without a second thought, he raised his whip and lashed out fiercely at the Laina slaves—he never considered they might have retained their freeman status—who were likely the slaves’ relatives: “Get lost!”

Several Albury residents now living in Laina, who had been weeping with joy moments earlier at reuniting with long-lost loved ones and were caught up in embraces, were completely unprepared and were struck by the whip.

“Ah!”

“Aaaah!”

They screamed in pain on the spot.

“Get lost, get lost!”

But the steward didn’t stop there.

He was long accustomed to abusing these weak slaves. Though he had driven away the Laina slaves, he had no intention of sparing the slaves belonging to his master.

“You worthless trash, vile scum!”

His eyes bloodshot, he continued whipping them frantically while cursing and swearing.

“Aaaah!!!”

Just as all the slaves habitually crouched down, covering their heads, closing their eyes, and protecting their most vital areas as much as possible, they heard

an utterly piercing scream right beside their ears!

That voice sounded like…

They opened their eyes in disbelief.

Bard even forgot about the terrible wound on his lip and blurted out, “Good heavens!”

The one writhing in agony on the ground was actually the steward who had just been raging with violence!

An arrow had pierced through his elbow at some point—with such force that it completely penetrated his arm—causing the whip to fall slack to the ground.

At this moment, he no longer cared about them at all, clutching his profusely bleeding arm while rolling on the ground, weeping and wailing incessantly.

“Who did this?!” “Who did it?!”

Unlike the stunned slaves, the servants working for Slaev fell into panic, frantically looking around in an attempt to identify the culprit.

In stark contrast to their reaction, when the people of Albury clearly saw the figure in the distance riding a tall horse, still holding the conspicuous bow and arrow in his right hand, they couldn’t help but cheer aloud!

“Who… who is that?”

Their enslaved relatives and friends were dumbfounded, involuntarily asking.

“It’s—”

Before their loved ones could answer, a cold, authoritative voice—so chilling it felt like plunging into an icy abyss—rang out the next moment.

“This is Laina.”

The ones they just harmed are people of Laina.

Fosse, who had temporarily resorted to archery upon the young lord’s command, forcefully and effectively incapacitating the instigators of the turmoil, remained expressionless throughout.

Yet deep within his dark green eyes, suppressed fury flickered.

“State your master’s name.”

Disdaining to waste words on a mere servant, he narrowed his eyes slightly and spoke slowly.

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