Chapter 1246: The s.h.i.+p to the South

As White had suggested, Manfeld found that n.o.body waited for him after the coach departed. He was surrounded by strangers.

However, he did not feel very frustrated about the lack of appreciation because he did that simply because that he thought this was the right thing to do.

Manfeld soon found the registration desk based on the information provided by the coachman. In fact, a banner was hung over that area, which attracted many pa.s.sers-by.

Although there were lots of people, the registration proceeded in an orderly fas.h.i.+on. Iron bars segmented the crowd, and there formed a huge lineup between the entrance and the registration desk. Refugees were thus directed into a temporary "pa.s.sage", along which they shuffled forward slowly.

A Graycastle soldier received Manfeld. All the clerks were wearing the same uniform, so it was easy to distinguish them.

"Name?"

"Manfeld Castein."

"Ident.i.ty? Any criminal records? What's your expertise?"

The inquiry was just as what the coachman had told him. Manfeld answered all the questions truthfully and did not dwell upon his family and background. He was about to talk more about his expertise when the soldier suddenly interrupted him after hearing him say he could read and write. "That'll do. Trestle No. 6. This is your boarding pa.s.s. Don't lose it. Next."

Manfeld was immediately pushed out of the queue into the dock area before he realized that the registration was over.

"Well... that's it?"

So the coachman was right then? One could live a very good life in Graycastle as long as he could read and write. But it appeared that everyone in Graycastle was literate. Manfeld had noticed that while he was waiting, the registration clerks were changing all the time. Sometimes, they would ask a soldier who maintained the order to take their s.h.i.+ft temporarily, and nothing had gone wrong.

Manfeld felt very confused.

Also, the boarding pa.s.s was a little strange too. It was an iron plate, with a rope attached to one end so that he could actually wear it like a necklace. There was a series of engraved symbols and numbers on the plate. It would not cost much to make such a small plate, but it would be a different story if every refugee had such a plate.

Castein's family used to own a blacksmith workshop, so he knew what that meant. A blacksmith could use leftover materials to make an iron plate, but he would need tons of materials to make 100 or 1,000 of them. It would only take a blacksmith half a day to engrave those symbols, but it would take a much longer time to repeat the same process over and over again.

However, there were more than 1,000 people at the port.

If this was what happened at the Sedimentation Bay every day, then they would need hundreds of thousands of iron plates! It was unimaginable how many resources and how much time they would need to distribute an iron plate like this to every single refugee. It would probably still not enough even if they summoned all the blacksmith in the Kingdom of Wolfheart.

Manfeld now had glimpse of Graycastle's immense wealth.

Kingdom of Dawn used to be the wealthiest kingdom on this continent.

Amazed and surprised, Manfeld boarded a three-masted s.h.i.+p.

He was led into a cabin shared by 10 people, which was a lot better than what he had expected. He had thought that he might have to sleep in a warehouse. Manfeld was not sure if this was because he could read and write. Nevertheless, the stinky smell in the cabin was intolerable. Although his family had lost their past glory, he used to, at least, sleep in a comfortable bedroom.

Therefore, Manfeld immediately got out of the cabin and went to the deck to get some fresh air. Just at that moment, he heard someone calling for help.

The voice seemed to be coming from the end of the hallway.

Since not many people were on the s.h.i.+p and the sailors were busy working on the upper deck, the cabin was a little empty. n.o.body except him had heard that voice.

Manfeld thus went in the direction that voice came from.

There was a storage room at the end of the hallway, and Manfeld gathered that few people except crew members would come here. He pressed his face onto the door and heard noises inside, as though someone was struggling.

Manfeld soon stepped back and threw himself against the door. The door was flung open.

Manfeld was taken aback by what he saw.

He did not expect to see a familiar face here. The middle-aged n.o.ble whom he had met in the coach was standing in the storage room while his two servants were trying to push two ladies down to the ground and tie them up. The ladies were gagged. Inarticulate groans escaped from their lips. Apparently, they were brought here by force.

"Hey, isn't this the righteous fool on the coach?" the n.o.ble drawled. "If I remember correctly, you're a n.o.ble as well, right? I'm Mick Kinley. What about you?"

"Manfeld Castein," Manfeld p.r.o.nounced his name for the third time. He noticed that as soon as he announced his name, the hope in the ladies' eyes faded out, and they also stopped struggling.

"Castein? I've never heard of this name," the middle-aged man said while shrugging. "But you're lucky. Since you came here, I'll kindly share the ladies with you, but you'll have to wait."

"Release them," Manfeld said heavily.

"Huh?" Mick Kinley squinted and said, "Are you out of your freaking mind? Do you know who they are? They're slaves! And G.o.d knows how many people have used them. I'm very surprised that I found these two little things on the s.h.i.+p. There's no reason that their master would let them go. So, now, it's very simple. They escaped from their master. You still want to save them?"

Escaped slaves were the most inferior slaves, who were not very different from animals. Therefore, n.o.bles could literally do anything to them.

However, Manfeld had his own principles.

"Everyone doing it doesn't mean it's right."

"This s.h.i.+p is heading to Graycastle, right?"

"... What's your point?" Mick Kinley snarled.

"You should have heard what those Graycasle men said. The Wimbledons has abolished slavery. Therefore, the moment they boarded s.h.i.+p, they were no longer slaves," Manfeld insisted defiantly. "And don't you forget that there's a second screening after we get off the s.h.i.+p. They'll ask you whether you have criminal records. If I tell you what you did on the s.h.i.+p to these two ladies, do you think Graycastle men would let you go?"

"What are you going to do if I insist?" Mick Kinley said through his clenched teeth.

"You have to beat me first," Manfeld said as he rolled up his sleeves. "I'm a knight � "

No sooner had he finished than Mick Kinley threw himself toward him.

It was a quick battle.

Mick Kinley's servants had apparently also received formal training. Manfeld was soon impaled in the small, narrow storage room. Mick Kinley kicked his bruised face.

"This is all you can do? I thought your swords are as sharp as your words," Mick Kinley spatted. "Sh*t. Such bad luck! I'll leave these two s.l.u.ts to you, but don't you forget that slaves will always be slaves, no matter where they go! What a fool! Let's go!"

Mick Kinley slammed the door behind him, and the next moment, the three impaled were left alone in the stuffy storage room.