Chapter 768.3: If You Want Strong Grass, You Have To Burn Them First

Standing at the bow of the barge, Laxi watched the pitiful people profusely thanking the boatmen for giving them a new life, along with the skeletons concealed among the reeds. A trace of contempt appeared in his eyes. With his back turned toward his subordinates, he spoke in a voice that was neither loud nor quiet. “Do you see those refugees on the Everflowing River? They’re like dogs fallen into the water, desperately clawing their way toward the shore as though reaching land will somehow let them live like human beings... Fucking pathetic. They refuse to live as proper people and insist on becoming dogs.”

The others remained silent. They supported Laxi and did not even oppose him taking the imperial throne, but that did not mean they agreed with everything he believed. Apart from the officers who had initially submitted their resignations alongside him and were his trusted confidants, many had followed him out of passion. Among them were quite a few who sympathized with the stowaways and had stepped forward because they wished to help such people at the root of their suffering.

Seeing that no one responded, Laxi snorted coldly, but then abruptly changed direction. “But although becoming a dog is shameful, who was it that turned them into dogs? Was it their parents? Was it the people here? Was it you? Or was it the New Alliance? The Army? Ideal City?”

“None of them! It was Wutuo Xilande, his chancellor, his ministers, and the countless slaveholding estates and farm owners sitting upon them! It was those flesh-eating bastards who turned people into dogs and twisted relationships between human beings into relationships between dogs!”

“Today, you follow me upriver not merely to save the Moon Clan, but to save the countless millions of slaves! If I am crowned Emperor one day, whether you believe in me or not, I will never again allow a single citizen to live like a pig or dog!”

...

A week passed after Laxi’s resignation, and the commotion caused by those young men continued boiling throughout Port Gallon for the entire week. Everyone in the settlement praised Laxi and the young men who followed him, even the former nobles who had once feared that walking plague most of all.

In the harbor district, a breakfast shop stood not far from the entrance of the Triumph Grand Hotel. Its storefront had been decorated exactly like those in Dawn City. People wearing blue coats occasionally ate there, so the shop was also rather popular with the locals.

Two well-dressed men sat at a table. They had ordered three baskets of soup dumplings and ate them with ginger and vinegar while pointing at the newly printed Survivor’s Daily.

Red Soil had just finished telling L’s story and finally reached its main subject. Yet instead of discussing General Rowell or the red soil, it used the diary of a madman as an introduction and elaborated upon the practice of eating soil that had been mentioned only briefly in the preface.

The article left its readers covered in cold sweat.

The soil chewed inside the mouth became delicious meat, while the blood-soaked mud cakes resembled human hearts and livers.

The protagonist was mad, so naturally the madman’s diary was filled with nonsense. Yet Mr. Rat wrote it so realistically that readers could not help wondering whether his mental state was normal.

After thinking about it more carefully, they began doubting themselves instead, until even the soup dumplings in their mouths lost their flavor.

After shuddering, the two men quickly changed subjects and began hurriedly discussing the League that had recently become the talk of the city.

That was the name Port Gallon’s young people had given to Laxi and the youths who had left the city with him to fight for the overthrow of the Xilande Empire. It also embodied their expectations for those people.

At first, it had been merely a name. Later, several radical young men registered an organization under it and opened a regulated account at a Port Gallon bank in accordance with the law. They actively collected donations for Laxi’s group, and by then it had begun to resemble a political faction.

Laxi, who was still traveling, might not necessarily recognize this identity bestowed upon him from afar, but he presumably would not reject equipment and money delivered to his doorstep.

“Laxi is probably plotting something. I could tell at a glance that he wants to become the emperor.”

“Heh. You think you’re the only one who can see that?”

“Don’t you think this is absurd?”

“I’ve looked through some old books sent by the New Alliance. The history of the Federation actually contains a prescription called constitutional monarchy.”

The Bullfolk sitting opposite widened his eyes. “You want to use that embarrassing thing? The Federation already buried it in history’s garbage heap! You’re searching for food inside the garbage heap of a garbage heap!”

The Horsefolk eating soup dumplings revealed a helpless expression. “But no matter how rotten it was, could it possibly be worse than Wutuo Xilande?”

The Bullfolk fell silent.

That was true. What could possibly be more embarrassing than serving the emperor? That remained true even though he possessed half the imperial bloodline and held a title granted by the Xilande Empire.

He normally did not even tell anyone about those things, afraid of being met with contemptuous stares.

In a corner of the breakfast shop, a mature-looking young man sat quietly reading the newspaper. Several ordinary-looking but powerfully built men sat casually around him eating noodles. Whenever anyone attempted to approach, they persuaded the person to retreat with their gazes. The only exception was the waiter who came to refill the tea.

Looking at the newspaper in the guest’s hands, Zaid spoke softly. “The news on that page concerns Dough Stick Harbor. They intend to renovate the harbor and require more steel, cement, and workers.”

Axin raised an eyebrow slightly and smiled at the interesting waiter. “You can tell that I’m illiterate?”

Zaid nodded gently and spoke softly, “You are enthusiastic about knowledge, but beef noodles are still best eaten while hot. Once the broth soaks into the noodles, they become soggy and clump together.”

Axin smiled faintly. “You’re quite an interesting waiter. With enough education to read newspapers, why don’t you teach instead of serving tea and water here?”

The man looked somewhat familiar, as though Axin had seen him inside the Triumph Grand Hotel. Perhaps he had been dismissed for some reason.

Axin could guess the reason. The fellow had probably interrupted guests while they were eating once again. That was not a good habit.

He was fortunate to have encountered Axin, a self-made man from the bottom who would not hold it against him. Moreover, this was New Alliance territory, so Axin had to perform the role of a kindly gentleman.

Had the waiter encountered someone less tolerant, that person would certainly have argued with him.

Of course, it was also possible that the fellow had approached precisely because he knew Axin would not take offense.

Hearing the slight mockery in his voice, Zaid did not care and merely smiled faintly. “Teaching cannot change the Empire. Whether I teach a person or a dozen of them, it changes nothing.”

As though he had heard something amusing, Axin burst into laughter and lowered the newspaper. “You really are an interesting fellow. I praise you once for being educated, and you immediately stick scallions in your nose and pretend to be an elephant. Then tell me, how exactly will working as a waiter change the Empire?”

Axin was not the only one who laughed. The gang members sitting nearby also chuckled.

The only exception was the slow-witted Kunal. He did not find it funny and simply curled his lip in disdain.

Those days, everyone spoke of rebellion. Even a waiter at a breakfast shop indulged in such impossible fantasies.

The noodle-shop owner desperately signaled toward them, practically on the verge of tears as he attempted to send Zaid away from that walking plague.

This man was the leader of the Assassin Gang! Who in the harbor did not know what business he conducted? If Zaid angered him, people might have to fish the waiter’s body out of the Everflowing River.

However, Zaid acted as though he had not noticed. He had never cared about this job, just as he had never cared about his position at the Triumph Grand Hotel.

He had worked only to wait until he caught the eye of an important person. Now, he finally had. Whether he would succeed depended upon fate. In any case, that was hardly his first failure.

Smiling faintly, Zaid continued, “Working as a waiter cannot change the Empire, but it can allow me to save enough money for the journey.”

Hearing that he was merely another fellow saving for a boat ticket, Axin looked down upon him even more. He did not show it upon his face, however, merely picking up his chopsticks and continuing to eat. “French Fries Harbor, huh? It is a good destination, but they only welcome people willing to work honestly. I advise you to correct your habit of aiming too high while lacking ability. You work slowly and show none of Port Gallon’s character. I doubt you can even perform well as a noodle-shop waiter.”

He was beginning to find the conversation irritating. Yet to his surprise, the waiter replied. “Why would I go to French Fries Port? I’m going to Dawn City.”

“What are you going there for?” Axin stopped moving his chopsticks and looked at him more carefully.

The waiter’s next words were astonishing.

“Laxi cannot accomplish it. Neither can Yadoo. No one in the entirety of Port Gallon can save the Poro Province. There is not even a one-in-ten-thousand chance that what happened in Boulder Town can be repeated here... They are all missing one thing, and that thing is in Dawn City.” Zaid stared intensely at the astonished Axin and placed both hands upon the table. “I do not want to watch the youth of the Poro Province spill their blood for nothing. I have to go there and bring it back!”

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