At the southern stretch of the ceasefire line between the Empire and Golden Gallon Port, the estuary of one of the Everflowing River's tributaries joined with a small bay.
The bay possessed a coastline nearly ten kilometers wide. Elevated peninsulas on either flank shielded its waters from most of the winds and waves, creating a small, fine natural harbor.
Because the southern peninsula resembled half a banana on the map, the nearby survivors simply called this place "Banana Head Bay."
Blessed with abundant fresh water and tranquil waters, it served as a haven for many fishermen within a hundred-kilometer radius. Whenever a storm rolled in, they steered their fishing boats from the bay into the inland river lined with dense groves, while they themselves hid in shelters prepared in advance.
Cargo ships rounding the southernmost tip of Poluo Province would also seek shelter here from storms. Although they couldn't enter the tributary of the Everflowing River, they could still ride out the rough seas behind the flanking peninsulas.
Over time, a modest fishing village grew up here. A big-nosed fellow suspected to be a Wilante had even used a grounded, derelict cargo ship to open an inn called "Home of the Abandoned Ship," offering cheap drinks, food, damp, moldy bedding, and aging prostitutes to local fishermen and passing merchants and sailors.
Perhaps because Golden Gallon Port shone too brightly, or perhaps because the soil was unsuitable for crops and remained sparsely populated most of the time, the Empire seemed to have selectively forgotten this stretch of land, never bothering to dispatch a governor here.
As time went on, it became a "paradise" for fishermen, sailors, fugitives, and runaway slaves.
Recently, however, circumstances here had undergone a major shift.
First, the Alliance planted a flag on the northern peninsula before dusting off their pants and leaving. Not long after, a detachment of imperial soldiers bearing the Fierce Tiger banner followed. After scoping out the terrain, they began felling trees, clearing land, and digging trenches on the southern peninsula.
Banana Head Village, situated in the lower-lying terrain, found itself wedged right between the two forces. Though the Alliance's machine guns were out of sight, the Empire's machine guns were already mounted right above their heads.
The local fishermen had never seen such a spectacle. Without even waiting for the imperials to boss them around, they scrambled into their skiffs in terror and fled the bay, scattering north and south along the coastline back to their own villages and homes.
The sailors, too, gradually vanished as no more ships arrived. Now, only desperate outlaws with nowhere else to go still hid here, waiting indefinitely for passing ships that might never come...
...
Some time had passed since crossing the "border" of Golden Gallon Port.
Ever since stepping into this small fishing village tucked away in the bay, Kunal felt his heart pounding furiously, sweat constantly oozing from the palm gripping the bundle of sacks.
As a native born and raised in Golden Gallon Port—living in the slums near the harbor, no less—he had certainly heard of Banana Head Bay and the fishing village nestled within it, though he had never actually set foot here before.
Axin walked beside him with an unruffled expression, though his hands remained thrust in his pockets, never emerging.
Behind him trailed twenty-odd young men, all former neighbors from the same street. In their hands, they carried an assortment of gear—wooden cudgels, hoes, and even fishing rods—all wrapped in woven plastic corn sacks. From the outside, it was impossible to tell whether they concealed guns or something else entirely.
Glancing at his boss walking beside him, Kunal felt somewhat emboldened by that calm demeanor. Calming down a bit, he began observing his surroundings.
Most of the shanties built here were deserted; only that derelict, stranded ship showed a faint, flickering light.
The village, which once housed two to three hundred people, now had less than half of that remaining.
And those who stayed were either emaciated runaway slaves or ruthless cutthroats with blood on their hands.
While Kunal quietly sized them up, the locals were watching these ominous newcomers with equal wariness.
Several vicious-looking men turned and slipped into the alleys between the shanties. Along the street, curtains suddenly snapped shut over a few dark windows.
Every slight rustle frayed Kunal's nerves. Swallowing hard, he drew closer to Axin and murmured,
"Boss... a lot of eyes are on us."
"Their eyes belong to them. They can look wherever they please, not to mention how conspicuous we are," Axin said, glancing at Kunal beside him and murmuring softly, "Relax. Act natural, as if you come here all the time. The more scared you look, the bolder they'll get... Now, take a deep breath."
Kunal obediently followed suit, slowly inhaling a deep breath.
Axin slung an arm over his shoulder, his other hand pointing toward the solitary light at the Home of the Abandoned Ship inn, beached right in the center of the shore not far away.
"Imagine that being our property. Not just that ship, but that entire stretch of the beach..."
"Of course, one step at a time. Once we earn our first pot of gold, the first thing I'll buy is that piece-of-shit ship."
Having calmed down, Kunal looked at his boss in bewilderment.
He could understand buying up the residential projects in front of the Governor's Mansion. After all, plenty of citizens and merchants who caught wind of the opportunity had already gone there to inquire, and there were even fools shouting to pay before they had even seen what the houses looked like.
But this place was just an abandoned fishing village, wasn't it?
He truly couldn't fathom what was worth investing in here.
The positions of the Alliance and the Empire were right next door. If His Majesty gave the word, this place would turn into the front line of battle.
Even the fishermen who lived here had abandoned it, leaving only a few hopeless wretches staring blankly at the sea.
While Kunal had indeed mentioned wanting to buy a boat, he had never meant a beached wreck that was clearly beyond repair...
While Kunal racked his brains, the group had already arrived beside the village's sole beacon of light.
Through the rusted hull and hatch, the group standing outside could already hear the clinking of glasses and coarse revelry inside.
Brushing away the gnats and flies buzzing beneath the lantern, Axin stepped forward and knocked lightly on the door. Heavy footsteps approached shortly, followed by a creak as the hatch swung open.
Unsurprisingly, an imperial soldier with a slung rifle stood in the doorway.
The hulking man eyed Axin and the emaciated youths behind him, let out a sneer, and waved a hand as if shooing flies.
"Beat it. We've booked the whole place. Go beg somewhere else."
Unfazed by the mocking tone, Axin gave a respectful nod, mimicking the attendants at the Triumph Hotel.
"...Please convey my regards to your superior. Tell him that a businessman named Axin has brought something he'd be interested in."
Before the soldier could jeer, Axin pulled his right hand from his pocket, holding a one-hundred Xilan coin note, and slipped it into the soldier's palm.
Surprise flashed across the soldier's face, but he pocketed the money without a word.
"Wait here."
Axin nodded slightly, watching the heavy hatch shut again, and waited patiently as the hurried footsteps receded.
He didn't have to wait long before the footsteps returned, followed by the heavy hatch swinging open once more.
This time, the soldier didn't waste any breath. He just waved him over.
"You, come inside."
Axin asked, "May I bring my servant?"
In deference to that hundred-Xilan bill, the soldier couldn't bring himself to refuse outright. He merely snapped impatiently, "One at most."
"Thank you."
Axin shot Kunal a glance.
The latter took the hint and turned to murmur instructions to the nervous youths behind them. Then, trailing his boss, he stepped through the hatch that a hundred Xilan coins had bought open...
...
The interior of the ship's hold was surprisingly spacious.
The tavern keeper had turned the lowest deck into a dining and drinking hall, while the guest quarters lay up the gangway.
Around fifty imperial soldiers sat crowded around square wooden tables, shouting raucously as they rolled dice, played drinking games, and gambled, downing swigs of cheap beer between bites of greasy appetizers.
Kunal threw a hurried glance at the food and drink on their tables—it was worse than the slop thrown out behind the Triumph Hotel.
A month ago, when he was literally eating dirt, his mouth might have watered, but now it only made his stomach churn.
Unlike him, however, these soldiers were eating with gusto, washing down a single fried bean with a hearty gulp of beer.
It was obvious what kind of swill they normally ate.
Though Kunal still feared the rifles in their hands, having full bellies didn't stop him from looking down on these destitute wretches from the bottom of his heart.
Without lingering in the main hall, the sentry led them straight to a "private room" along a corridor off the hold.
It had likely once been the quarters of the captain or first mate, now repurposed into a VIP lounge. Three battered sofas formed a ring in the cramped cabin around a wooden coffee table. The pungent stench of stale tobacco and sweat mingled together, thick enough to choke a man.
Five burly officers reclined on the sofas, their flushed faces bearing a heavy drunkenness and a sly, roguish smirk.
Their tunics hung on a coat rack near the door, leaving them clad only in white undershirts. Each had an arm wrapped around a scantily clad woman—at a glance, one could hardly tell who had gotten the raw end of the deal.
"You're the one called... cough, what was it?"
The officer seated in the center looked the youth up and down, chuckled, and rubbed his red nose. "Heard you brought something I'd find interesting?"
"Yes, respected Lord Gurjit, chiliarch of the Empire's Fierce Tiger Army," Axin inclined his head, speaking deferentially. "My humble name is Axin. I have long heard of your renown."
The air fell silent for two seconds.
Gurjit's eyes narrowed slightly, sobered up a notch from his drunkenness. Looking at him with a half-smile, he asked, "Where did you hear my name?"
*It really is him.*
Axin remained impassive on the surface, but secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
In truth, he didn't know this fellow at all. He had merely heard from fishermen recently returned from Banana Head Bay that the leader of the regiment on the southern hills was named Gurjit. The man was a drunkard who often brought his inner circle down the hills to drink at the Home of the Abandoned Ship. Not only did he run up a tab every time, he would also drink through the night, boasting without restraint once he was plastered.
Of course—
He couldn't possibly tell the man the truth. Instead, he opted for a vague, ambiguous explanation.
"A nobleman currently in Golden Gallon Port, awaiting good news from His Majesty, told me. He specifically bade me to seek out Chiliarch Gurjit, assuring me that you are the one responsible for security across this entire area."
Gurjit's eyes narrowed into slits, an inscrutable expression crossing his face as if weighing options.
They had arrived here less than two weeks ago, yet someone had already figured out the defensive dispositions here and even knew precisely which officer was stationed at this post.
The identity of this "nobleman" had to be extraordinary...
Uncertain what to make of it, Gurjit fixed his gaze on the youth and pressed on, "You said you brought something I'd be interested in? Where is it?"
Axin glanced back at Kunal, who swallowed nervously and braced himself to step forward.
Though he tried his best to hide it, his trembling hands betrayed his inner terror.
Seeing those constantly shaking hands, Gurjit sneered at the lowly cur and flicked an index finger toward a subordinate beside him.
"I bet it's a sack of black beans," the subordinate chuckled, stepping up and snatching the burlap sack from the clumsy fellow's hands, then quickly untied the hemp cord binding the opening.
Yet the very instant he saw what was inside the sack, he froze in his tracks.
A whole sack full of Xilan coins...
He swallowed involuntarily.
In all his years as a centurion, he had never seen so much money!
"...My lord." He whirled back to look at the chiliarch, his eyes brimming with ecstatic greed, practically spelling out *let's rob him* across his face.
Seated on the sofa, Gurjit naturally saw the banknotes stuffing the sack as well. While his reaction wasn't as overt as his subordinate's, the smile on his face froze involuntarily.
Uncrossing his legs, he pushed aside the liquor-scented woman who was sitting on his lap and whispering in his ear. Straightening up, he stared sternly at the youth named Axin, jerking his chin toward the sack stuffed with banknotes.
"What is this?"
"A gift that the nobleman asked me to present to you," Axin dipped his head, speaking with the polished courtesy of a retainer from a prominent house. "I wonder if this gift catches your interest?"
Kunal stole a glance at Axin, astonishment flashing across his eyes.
Before setting out, they had clearly agreed that this was the "deposit" for smuggling goods—how had it suddenly become a gift?!
Gurjit also stared at the youth named Axin, his eyes harboring surprise, greed, and an imperceptible flicker of wary dread.
Unlike his simple-minded subordinate, he had to weigh more than just the money.
There had to be at least four or five hundred thousand in that sack—certainly not a fortune a destitute Rat Clan brat could produce on his own.
Thoughts raced through his mind as he sifted through the names of every prominent figure in Golden Gallon Port, yet came up empty.
The atmosphere in the room grew so tense it felt as though water could condense from the air. Prompted by a glance from the centurion, the two soldiers by the door instinctively let their hands drift toward their holsters.
Kunal swallowed nervously, fighting to keep his terror from showing by thinking of his boat and the girls waiting for tickets.
After scrutinizing Axin for what felt like ages, Chiliarch Gurjit said deliberately,
"I'll ask you once more: where did this money come from?"
His voice bore a razor edge as sharp as his glare, like a dagger pressed against a prey's throat.
Taking a shallow breath of the foul air, Axin fought to keep his composure and replied,
"It is inconvenient for him to disclose his name. A measure of discretion is best for both of us... Surely you wouldn't want to be seen as an inconvenient nuisance once the ceasefire agreement takes effect."
"The fuck did you say?" The centurion on the sofa erupted in fury, leaping to his feet and drawing his sidearm, ramming the barrel against Axin's forehead.
For an instant, Axin felt a chill run through his limbs.
In a daze, the man pressing a gun to his forehead seemed to morph into Vikram—the Wolf Clan youth he had shot in the head.
The way these men looked at him was likely identical to how he had once looked at Vikram: as if gazing at a dead man.
Even if they had been routed by the Alliance on the battlefield, even if their competence was barely better than a swine's, armed with authority they remained towering overlords before him. They could crush him with a flick of a finger.
However—
He could not die.
His family had only just begun living decent lives, and better days lay ahead. He still had to send his younger siblings to school in Dawn City, find them an educated sister-in-law, buy a boat for his first friend Kunal, and feed all the people who depended on him...
He could never fall before the dawn!
The prostitutes on the sofas were petrified, and Kunal was paralyzed with fright by the sudden draw.
Swallowing softly, Axin fought to conceal his fear behind a mask of stoic numbness, raising both hands slightly as he took a half-step back.
"Calm down... friend. Killing me won't change a thing, other than staining your clothes."
The centurion had already clicked off the safety, his thumb cocking the hammer. But a split second before his finger tightened on the trigger, Gurjit spoke up.
"What does that nobleman want from me?" With a glance, he signaled the soldiers at the door to escort the women out, then looked at Axin with keen interest.
Seeing the muzzle pulled back from his forehead and the door swinging shut, Axin knew this fellow was genuinely interested in what he had to say. Steadying his nerves, he went on,
"Something very easy for you. All it takes is turning a blind eye at the border to let imperial goods pass through into Golden Gallon Port. That lord can assure you a forty-percent share of the profit on every shipment that enters the port."
Gurjit sneered.
"His Majesty issued an imperial edict strictly forbidding all personnel and goods from entering Golden Gallon Port. That 'nobleman' of yours certainly has massive balls."
"The entire border stretches for hundreds of kilometers; His Majesty cannot plant his eyes everywhere," Axin continued calmly. "If he truly possessed that power, your supply situation wouldn't be in the state it is right now... Forgive me for lacking a more polite term to describe it, but I'm sure you know what I mean."
Gurjit's expression visibly shifted.
Not only did that backer know the Fierce Tiger Army's strategic movements and officer postings, he even had an exact read on their supply woes?!
How the hell were they supposed to fight like this!
He could even hazily guess who stood behind this youth.
To wield such far-reaching influence in the Empire's military apparatus, it couldn't be anyone other than Prince Dilip—not even Governor Nihak had that kind of pull!
Yet Prince Dilip was supposed to be imprisoned by the Alliance right now. Could the Alliance be in on this as well?!
While stormy waves surged in Gurjit's heart, Axin's mind worked just as fast, delivering the final touch to his improvised pitch:
"General Gurjit, His Majesty's hope of crushing the Alliance with an embargo is unrealistic; in the end, it is only the Empire's subjects who suffer. Likewise, the Alliance feeding an entire city of livestock through a single seaport is uneconomical. They have to keep pouring money from their own pockets into buying corn to sustain those people, who need full bellies to work."
"And what does that have to do with me?" Gurjit asked, narrowing his eyes.
"It has everything to do with you," Axin said earnestly. "They don't want the survivors of Golden Gallon Port starving under their rule. If the goods flowing out of Banana Head Bay sustain the livelihoods of local survivors, I believe that even if the Empire and the Alliance turn hostile again, they won't make this place their target."
He couldn't guarantee this, nor could he offer any collateral.
Yet Chiliarch Gurjit, who had already concocted a self-consistent theory about the "nobleman's" identity in his head, couldn't help letting his imagination run wild.
*That makes sense...*
*If I were the Alliance commander, shelling somewhere is shelling somewhere; why shell a place where I've got skin in the game?*
Just thinking of that made his heart race. After feigning contemplation for a moment, he said,
"I don't have time to calculate your profits. I want twenty percent off the gross transaction."
This wasn't business he could pull off alone; he had greasing to do up and down the ladder, all the way to the legion level.
"Done!"
Axin agreed without hesitation.
Though he quickly regretted answering so fast, the man opposite him seemed equally green at this and noticed nothing amiss.
And so the matter was merrily settled.
Gurjit's regiment would use logistical procurement as cover for cargo moving through the checkpoints, escorting merchants and goods to the fishing village at Banana Head Bay, while payment and negotiations would take place inside the Home of the Abandoned Ship.
For their first deal, Gurjit offered to provide a batch of chickpeas and black beans totaling six hundred tons, settled at a price of five million Xilan coins.
Broken down, this amounted to roughly 4.2 Xilan coins per jin—cheaper even than the market price before the Alliance landed at Golden Gallon Port!
Presently, the price of beans had surpassed ten coins per jin; hauling this batch back to Golden Gallon Port to sell would net nearly double the profit!
Although Gurjit generously waived his cut on the first transaction, Axin knew full well that this greedy fellow had factored his share into the total price.
As for where so many beans had been scrounged or how they were seized, Axin didn't pry; it wasn't his business, after all.
He simply mentioned that next time he intended to buy a batch of two-headed oxen, and asked Gurjit to keep an eye out for flax and dye merchants, to which the officer readily agreed.
Both parties agreed on the delivery and settlement date.
To show goodwill in their partnership, Gurjit even magnanimously waved his hand, gifting the tavern built on the derelict ship outright to Axin.
For him, it was merely a matter of uttering a word.
As for the tavern's original owner, a week earlier he had been tied to a rock and tossed into the sea by Gurjit's men for demanding his tab and having a nose not quite big enough.
If someone was reduced to running a miserable inn in this backwater and still acted so cluelessly, even if he were a genuine Wilante, he was probably the rat of the Wilante race.
Besides, whether he was or not was entirely up to Gurjit.
The employees here didn't even know what had happened to their boss, still waiting for the old man who claimed to be a Wilante to return and settle their back wages.
"...Farewell, my friend. This has been the most enjoyable drink I've had in ages, and I hope there are many more to come."
Standing at the tavern entrance with a beaming smile, a thoroughly sloshed Gurjit slung an arm over Axin's shoulder.
Ever since being exiled to this godforsaken place, this was the first time he had taken his leave contentedly before daybreak.
Axin gave a respectful nod, smiling up at the officer.
"You are always welcome. I promise that when you return in a couple of days, you'll taste fine liquor truly worthy of your distinguished status. Lately, Golden Gallon Port has received plenty of fine goods available only with silver coins, including liquor brewed by the vault residents."
"Haha! Then I'll certainly look forward to it!"
Overjoyed at the prospect, Gurjit laughed and clapped the lad on the shoulder, making his stance plain before his subordinates.
Judging from their intimacy, no one could have imagined that mere minutes ago, one of his men had pressed a gun to the boy's forehead.
Watching the pack of soldiers depart toward the south until they had vanished into the distance, Axin gently brushed off his shoulder.
As if flicking away dust.
The young men standing before the tavern gazed at their leader in awe, as though beholding a god.
Yet little did they know that their boss had exhausted almost all his strength just to stay upright.
"Faster than I expected. I planned to buy this place after striking my first pot of gold, but it happened before then..."
Clearing his tight throat, Axin regained his normal tone.
He glanced back at the tavern with feigned nonchalance, then eyed Kunal beside him, whose face was virtually inscribed with worship.
"There will be plenty of guests coming through in the future. We'll need to renovate it... at least raise its standards."
"Yes, Boss! I'll find people for it right away!" Kunal straightened his spine, resembling a loyal soldier without the slightest doubt in his general's orders.
Axin nodded, then turned his gaze toward the low shanties nearby, and toward the pairs of fearful eyes lurking in the shadows.
Earlier, those eyes had scrutinized them brazenly; now, they dared not even meet his gaze.
Yet there wasn't a trace of mockery or scorn in his heart.
The greatest lesson he had drawn from the Empire's catastrophic defeat in Golden Gallon Port was solidarity; every waking moment, he pondered how to unite poor bastards just like himself.
Money and dignity.
He happened to have a surplus of both to give them.
"Kunal, my friend, you're right... We really do need a boat to do business, and right here is a bunch of 'sailors' who, while not very experienced, can just about manage."
He paused, murmuring in contemplation,
"It so happens we can find some work for them to do."
Chapter 713