Chapter Thirty-Two: The Family’s Decision

Following the ice-free Seine River northward lies Dunkirk, the only ice-free port in the northern reaches of the Gaulish Empire. As the empire’s third largest port and its most vital center for trade with the northern nations of the Western Continent, Dunkirk is a bustling metropolis, renowned as one of the foremost commercial hubs in the empire.

A few miles south of the city sprawls a vast forest of black pines, some of which are over a thousand years old. Local legend holds that brigands and highwaymen frequently haunt the shadows beneath these ancient boughs, so the law-abiding citizens seldom dare to venture deep into the woods.

The terrain within the black pine forest is rugged and uneven. Behind a hillock with a view of the Seine, there stands a cluster of wooden lodges built among the trees. Their architecture is wild and rustic, each lodge remarkably spacious and lofty. Enclosed corridors connect building to building, offering shelter from the biting, howling winds.

These lodges are aged, their exteriors blanketed with thick layers of fallen needles and moss, tangled with countless strands of lichen. Even up close, were it not for prior knowledge, a traveler would never suspect such buildings existed in this secluded spot.

The lodges are arranged at differing heights and intervals, clearly following a defensive pattern where each building can cover the others with bow and arrow. Their fortifications are formidable.

As dusk approached, nearly a hundred burly men stood motionless in the great hall on the first floor of the central lodge.

Seated grandly on the hall’s only gilded chair was Blackbeard Old Pa, vice president of the Dunkirk Chamber of Commerce, the city’s largest mill owner, and the chief supplier of flour in Dunkirk. Known throughout Dunkirk and its surrounds for his generosity and philanthropic deeds, he wore a bearskin coat and a broad, satisfied grin, a massive cigar clenched between his teeth as he surveyed the assembled men—each one as tall as an ox and bearing the insolent, untamed air of those accustomed to command.

Blackbeard Old Pa’s beard was his most striking feature—a thick, black mass covering half his face. Like Lin Qi, his features were sharply defined, with black hair, black eyes, and skin tinged with a dusky yellow—marks of pure eastern blood. Yet, unlike Lin Qi’s somewhat corpulent frame, Old Pa was towering and powerfully built, his body all taut muscle with not an ounce of excess flesh. Seated upon his chair, he seemed a living statue of iron, radiating a wild, fierce energy that made the very air burn.

“I bring unfortunate news!” Only after finishing his cigar, grinding the butt under his heel, did he snarl in a low voice, his face dark: “Very unfortunate news! This past year, the empire again enjoyed bountiful harvests—damn it, bountiful harvests! My twenty warehouses of wheat are sprouting, and I haven’t sold a single sack of flour!”

A collective sigh escaped the men, who in unison began cursing the gods above, blaming them for the empire’s years of abundant harvests. Their curses were creative and profane, reflecting dialects from at least seven northern countries and regions.

“But there is good news as well!” After his men had vented their grievances, Old Pa broke into a broad smile: “The good news is, business at our inns is thriving, our trade by sea is flourishing, and thanks to your efforts, we intercepted two gold shipments from the Vias Commercial Federation—those gains will more than offset our losses in flour!”

He clapped his hands, and several dozen men emerged from the back, carrying heavy bronze chests. They dropped them to the floor, and when the lids were thrown open, they revealed heaps of gleaming gold and silver coins.

“So, this year you’ll all have a fat winter! But let me remind you—during the three months of winter rest, every man must pray devoutly each day, begging the gods to send drought, or floods, or even locusts to the empire next year—anything but another bountiful harvest!”

The men roared with laughter, stamping their feet and applauding. Gold and silver glittered before them; Old Pa was as generous as ever! Of course, it was all thanks to their daring—without such deeds, those gold shipments would never have come into their hands, and this bounty would be but a dream.

As they began dividing the coins according to each man’s followers and achievements that year, the door suddenly swung open and Hammer strode in, his steps heavy. He called out, “Boss, the young master’s gotten into some trouble in Borelli. He crossed a wastrel son of the Baville family, and now that brat’s brought dragoons and copper hats to make trouble for the young master. Though the young master handled them with ease, I fear there’ll be more trouble to come!”

The boisterous hall fell silent. Every man turned to Hammer, and then, as if on cue, nearly a hundred men drew their sabers and axes, bellowing in fury, “Let’s chop up the Baville family—kill them all!”

Among them stood several orcs, their features unmistakably inhuman. These fierce orcs shouted, “Boss, let us take the brothers and go! Orcs attacking a noble estate and slaughtering the whole line—ha, such things happen all the time!”

The men brandished their weapons with murderous intent, caring little for a mere viscount’s family. A thief can strike any day, but no one can guard against thieves forever. These men were old hands at wiping out entire households for plunder.

Only Blackbeard Old Pa rose nonchalantly, his lips twisted in a cold sneer.

“The Baville family? Isn’t that the family of Hausen, the one they call the Light of the Imperial Guards?”

Hammer grunted and nodded, “Hausen is now a major general in the empire, commanding a standing legion of ten thousand. The young master’s caused them no small trouble, so I fear they’ll come after him.”

Old Pa waved a dismissive hand, “No need for the brothers to act—go home and enjoy the winter. If I recall, thirty years ago Hausen partnered with us in the slave and arms trade. Fetch the old ledgers. If they dare trouble Lin Qi, send the books and witnesses to the Imperial Inspectorate—after that, we needn’t lift a finger.”

The men stared, then burst into wild laughter.

That was Blackbeard Old Pa for you—even a major general of the empire was in his debt. Truly formidable.