Horizon of Glory
"The Annals of Exploration and Empires," Book III, Chapter XVII, Page 211 In the annals of history, few epochs have been as rife with the promise of adventure and the peril of the unknown as the Age of Discovery. It was a time when the very fabric of the world was being stretched, its edges frayed by the bold hands of explorers and conquerors. Among these intrepid souls, one name, has been etched into the annals of legends. The Wars of the Roses, a conflagration that had consumed the heart of empires and forged kings from the crucible of blood and fire, had at last given way to an uneasy peace. It was in this aftermath, amidst the smoldering ruins of a world reshaped by conflict, that Byron's journey began. Armed with a relic of untold power, the "Navigation Logbook," he set forth into the uncharted waters of the world, where the mundane and the magical intertwined in an intricate dance. The high seas, a vast and uncharted canvas, stretched before him, a horizon that whispered of untold riches and the promise of peril. Great ships, their sails billowing like the wings of colossal birds, traversed these waters, their cannons thundering a challenge to the very gods of the deep. It was an age of ambition, a testament to the unyielding spirit of mankind's quest for dominion over the unknown. Beneath the waves, ancient beings from epochs long past slumbered, their legends carried on the creaking timbers of ships and the roar of cannons. Byron, undaunted by the shadows that lurked beneath the waves or the tempests that raged above, carved out a kingdom from the chaos that enveloped the world. His fleet, a specter of doom, became a symbol of his indomitable will, a force that would not be challenged lightly. This is a saga, a tale woven from the threads of history and magic, adventure and power, and the eternal quest for glory. It is a narrative that compels the heart and captures the imagination, a story that resonates through the ages, a reminder of the heights to which humanity can aspire when driven by the winds of ambition and the tides of destiny. Let this account, penned by the hands of the most esteemed historians and literature masters, serve as a beacon for those who seek to embark upon their own voyages of discovery. For within the pages of this epic tale lies the essence of the human spirit, a spirit that seeks, that conquers, and that endures.
HoG - Chapter 40
Chapter 40: Slave Guild
As Byron and his entourage stepped into the Sailors and Cats Tavern to begin the selection of crew members, a merchant ship named the 'Rainbow Trout,' adorned with both a pirate flag and the Gold Palm Trading Company's banner, had just navigated through the fog to reach the dock.
Clack, clack, clack...
Mishaal, the Remit merchant who had dealt with the 'Man-Eater,' strode confidently onto the merchant ship. He held a white silk handkerchief to his nose, surveying the ship with a discernible air of disdain before acknowledging the captain of the 'Rainbow Trout' with a nod.
"Mr. James, unload the cargo!"
The burly sailors on the ship promptly drew their curved sabers and stood on guard.
As the lower deck hatches were thrown open, a nauseating stench caused even them, accustomed to such odors, to grimace. The bright sunlight pierced the darkness of the hold, revealing the harrowing scene within.
People—the hold was crammed with people! More accurately, slaves from the Bantaan Islands.
The 'Rainbow Trout' was, in fact, a slave ship.
Despite being only marginally larger than a typical merchant ship, its hold was packed with over four hundred individuals.
They lay side by side, resembling sardines in a tin, shackled to the lower deck, or even confined in the hellish, damp, and airtight lower hold, reeking of foul odors.
"Stay put! Anyone who dares to run will be killed on the spot!"
After a sailor barked this warning in broken native language, a group of sailors, pinching their noses, descended to the lower deck to release them from their bondage to the deck boards.
Still wearing cast-iron shackles on their hands and feet, they were chained together and led ashore.
Under the sunlight, it was evident that these slaves had deep brown skin and were incredibly muscular.
A male could be sold for about 26 pounds, a female for 20 pounds, and given that the majority on the ship were males, they could fetch around 10,000 pounds in total!
Moreover, in addition to the native slaves, the ship also carried a contingent of white-skinned indentured servants.
Indentured servants in the Old Continent primarily comprised four categories.
One group consisted of the bankrupt, unable to repay their debts, and thus sold themselves. Another sought to earn the right to relocate to the colonies through labor. The third group was the unfortunate souls who were kidnapped or deceived into signing contracts, and the last category included convicts exiled by various nations.
In the Old Continent, the slave trade had persisted from ancient times to the present, whether it targeted one's own people or foreigners.
"Wait, Captain James, why is there a sick person among them?"
Merchant Mishaal suddenly pointed at one of the indentured servants and questioned the slave ship's captain.
After the prolonged voyage at sea, while the others were not in optimal condition, they could at least walk on their own.
This particular slave, however, appeared too feeble to walk and was being carried on a stretcher by two other indentured servants.
"As far as I know, any slave who falls ill on the ship is immediately thrown overboard to prevent infecting others.
Why wasn't this slave disposed of in the same manner?"
The slave ship's captain, whose hair was tinged with gray yet still couldn't conceal his fierce demeanor, remained unfazed by Mishaal's inquiry.
As a second-tier professional of the Gold sequence, a 'Treasure Guardian,' his standing within the Golden Palm Trading Company was superior to Mishaal's, and he was more experienced.
"This one is a treasure. How could I bring myself to discard it? Take a closer look."
This was the second time in recent memory that someone had mocked his perceptiveness. Frowning, Mishaal halted the procession of indentured servants and approached to scrutinize the figure on the stretcher with skepticism.
He immediately gasped.
It was horrific! Too horrific!
The countless scabs on the skin from whip marks were mere child's play, seemingly inflicted by an instrument of torture known as the "Cat O' Nine Tails," with lead bullets tied to the ends of the whip.
He had clearly endured more severe torture; his fingernails on both hands and feet had been cruelly ripped out, and there were several triangular brand marks on his chest.
As a first-tier 'Golden Eye' of the Gold sequence, Mishaal could discern that his left arm, shoulder, and ribs were crushed, and the injury had affected his internal organs.
The wounds appeared to be from the heavy flails commonly used by the 'Blood Cross Knight Order'!
The injuries were poorly treated and had become infected, oozing pus.
Even more alarming, his face and hair looked as if they had been scorched by fire, covered in blisters and scabs, disfigured beyond recognition, with no trace of his original appearance.
Yet, despite his severe injuries, he was still tenaciously alive.
Even in a coma, he clenched his teeth tightly, as if fearing that talking in his sleep would reveal something he shouldn't. It must have been some indestructible belief sustaining him, refusing to succumb, with a willpower that was frighteningly resilient.
"Hehe, what do you think? This slave was purchased from a black doctor when the slave ship docked at a small port north of the Strait Islands. He couldn't afford the medical fees.
Don't be deceived by his half-dead appearance; when he's awake, he's a formidable combat-oriented supernatural individual. It took us two capable hands on the ship to subdue him."
Upon hearing the slave ship captain's explanation, Mishaal's mind automatically pieced together the individual's experience.
He was ambushed and captured, subjected to torture, escaped by any means necessary, and was then severely injured by the pursuing 'Blood Cross Knight Order.'
He likely had a substantial bounty on his head; to avoid being recognized after escaping, he even ruthlessly disfigured himself.
He was cruel enough!
Being cruel to others didn't count; only those who were cruel to themselves were truly cruel!
In the end, he was carelessly sold by the greedy black doctor to slave traders.
Of course, as a merchant, Mishaal wasn't particularly conscientious; he was most concerned about the sales channel.
"He's so badly injured, he's already useless. Unless a high-sequence 'Radiant Priest' or 'Corona Cleric' from the church uses their own lifeforce to heal him, there's no way to save him.
Even if we resort to forbidden knowledge, healing injuries of this magnitude would require a huge price. It would probably take the lives of several supernatural individuals of the same tier to save him. Can this be sold?"
Captain James gave a meaningful, deep chuckle.
"No problem, if he can't be sold as a slave, can't he be sold as... raw material?
The sales of these slaves have never been good. At most, some lonely noblewomen buy a couple to play with. But in a black market like Iron Anchor Bay, who says slaves can only be used for labor?
Lawless pirates aren't afraid of church sanctions, and there are countless pirates who master 'Forbidden Knowledge.' Many ritual sorceries require sacrifices, and the flesh and souls of supernatural individuals are in short supply.
The slaves we're delivering this time are mostly stocked for the pirates attending the Pirate Council; it's still a seller's market with more wolves than meat. We're not just slave traders; we can also be suppliers of supernatural materials.
You've just arrived in Iron Anchor Bay from the continent; you should learn well, Mr. Mishaal. Hahaha..."
***
In the tavern, Byron's expression was somewhat grim.
"Lanm, 24 years old, elite gunner, handsome, but has an exhibitionist streak. When he used to live on a ship with a group of burly pirates, there were always twenty-something days a month when he was inconvenienced..."
"No, next."
"Oriel, 28 years old, excellent in all aspects, good at singing. But for some reason, whenever he boards a ship, that ship often encounters storms, leading to no gains. Eight out of ten voyages end in storms. His notoriety has earned him a spot on the blacklist of Iron Anchor Bay's captains."
"He'd be better off as a rainmaker than a pirate. No, next."
"Next..."
With 'Echoes of History' to assist him, Byron didn't need the pirates to introduce themselves; he could see right through them with a single glance. But after spending half a day in this "pirate job market," he had made very little progress. The remaining candidates waiting for interviews were even more challenging to describe.
Guss, who had been following him around serving tea and water, shook his head with a wry smile.
"Captain Byron, the usable ones are pretty much all here; the rest are even worse. Your timing for recruitment isn't good. But have you considered buying some slaves as crew members?"
"Slaves?"
"Yes, would you like me to take you to the Iron Anchor Bay Slave Guild? Many slave traders showcase their newly arrived slaves there; their professional skills might not be strong, but their physiques are definitely top-notch."
Upon hearing this suggestion, Byron was immediately tempted.