Sugar Rush (2)

A corpse was hanging near the pier close to the Banema estate.

Unlike other plantations that engaged in human trafficking, the Banema estate became a haven for escaped laborers due to its reputation for offering proper wages.

But someone had murdered one of those workers and hung the body atop a crane.

“Those filthy Guild bastards!”

Randa Banema was genuinely outraged by the death.

It was the consequence of her actions. Of course, the killing was likely done by the Guild scum, but she hadn’t expected the ripple effects of her naïve ideals to be this severe.

The fact that the man’s death felt like her responsibility made Randa Banema even angrier and more heartbroken.

“President Banema. What should we do?”

“Take the body down. Give his family a bag of rice and beans each, a basket of dried fish, and eight silver coins as condolence payment so they can hold a funeral.”

“This was definitely done by the other plantations. At this rate, they’ll kill us all!”

“We need to retaliate first!”

“Open the armory. And use money to hire mercenaries!”

The workers shouted in alarm and agitation. But Randa Banema remained composed.

“Don’t be stupid. Are you saying we should go to war with every other plantation alone? Hold on. I’ve summoned someone who specializes in situations like this.”

Just then, a small boat docked at the pier. A masked young man stepped off and approached Randa Banema.

“Are you the petitioner?”

“Judging by your words, you must be from the Messenger Clan?”

“That’s right. I’m Azadine, bearer of the Emperor’s Second Mandate.”

“Hmph. Since yesterday, eight people claiming to be from the Messenger Clan have shown up. Are you the real one?”

“What?”

Azadine was startled by her unexpected statement.

There were impersonators of the Messenger Clan?

‘It’s not like there haven’t been fakes before. People usually throw around the name when drunk or trying to bluff someone. But impostors actually coming to petitioners? That’s new.’

As Azadine looked bewildered, President Banema gave a wry smile.

“A ploy by the other plantation owners. So take off the mask. I’ll decide after seeing your face.”

“This? It’s not a pleasant sight. But fine, I’ll show you.”

Azadine removed his mask.

“Gasp!”

President Banema flinched. Where his eyes should have been, there were large scars.

“You have no eyes? Yet you can still see your surroundings?”

“I was born with such an ability. Sorry for showing you something unpleasant.”

“You do seem like the real Messenger. For now, at least.”

“Thanks for trusting me. I was wondering if I’d have to demonstrate my archery skills.”

Azadine put his mask back on.

“You can shoot a bow even without eyes?”

“If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be a Messenger. Now then, could you take me somewhere quieter? This doesn’t seem like a conversation to have in a crowd.”

“Let’s do that.”

Randa Banema summoned her attendants. Armed men surrounded Azadine’s group.

“Well then, allow me to escort you.”

It was more of a detention than an escort.

Thus, Azadine and his group were led by Randa Banema’s servants to an arena.

This arena, called the Pit, was a dug-out area with sand covering the ground. Wooden boards walled it off, and audience seats were arranged in a way that let spectators look down from above.

“This place is…?”

“Usually used for dog fights, and sometimes for human matches too. You’ve heard of the Vthuma Brawling matches, right?”

Randa Banema said as she looked down at Azadine’s group.

She stood in the VIP section of the arena, quite a height above where Azadine stood. The imposing view made Jiswa nervous.

“What if that woman decides to double-cross us?”

“Then today becomes her funeral. Haven’t you seen our boss fold a Naga’s spine backward?”

Scott, trusting in Azadine’s strength, yawned and laid down on the ground, conserving his stamina and mana.

“Doesn’t look like she made this petition out of any love for the Messenger Clan. Anyway, let’s hear the petition. I’ve got a rough idea, but I’d like to hear it in detail.”

“It’s a long story, but I’ll try to explain it all.”

Randa Banema told Azadine about how she had inherited the plantation and changed how it was run, which led the neighboring plantations to attack her.

“Ah, so that’s why the impostors claiming to be from the Messenger Clan came to you? That would mean someone among those present when you made your petition with the emperor’s gold was a traitor. Your rivals found out.”

“Exactly.”

Randa Banema nodded at Azadine’s words.

Currently, she was being supported by workers who had been freed thanks to her and by those who now received higher pay.

But with so many people, there were bound to be traitors and spies among them.

Even among those who had served the Banema family since childhood, it was impossible to guess how many had turned.

In this situation, the only ones she could rely on were the Messenger Clan, summoned by a petition sealed with imperial gold.

“I heard the big plantation owners in Vthuma have more money than stars in the sky. Did it never occur to you to hire adventurers?”

“I have the money, but fighting with it is foolish. They’ve got even more. I can’t even hire a pot-mender right now, let alone sell-swords. And unfortunately for me, they already have so many private troops they don’t even need mercenaries. They could crush me with brute force alone.”

“So that’s your situation, huh? Got it.”

Azadine nodded.

“But I heard you studied with the Rescue Knights?”

“I trained as a Holy Knight at Saint Mallory on the Hubris Peninsula. My mother was a concubine. Originally, this plantation was supposed to go to my half-brother, but he died of venereal disease, so I returned to secular life from knighthood.”

“You were a Rescue Knight? I’m a bit jealous.”

Azadine’s eyes sparkled when he heard that Randa Banema had been a Rescue Knight.

“Hmph. Rescue Knight? Just a fancy title for garbage. Every time I met a Holy Knight from the King’s Church, they fell apart for a reason. But jealous? What do you mean by that?”

At that moment, Jiswa spoke to Azadine with excitement.

“I was once worried we’d waste our time on this petition, but now that the petitioner is a plantation owner in Bel Hoda, this is perfect, Priest. Bel Hoda’s plantation lords are richer than most nobles. If we can gain their support, it will greatly help in pursuing the Way of the Blue Heaven.”

“The Way of the Blue Heaven? You’re from the Messenger Clan, right? Don’t tell me you’re also with the Blue Turban Party?”

“Well, I ended up doubling as a Blue Turban Priest.”

“Ended up how?”

“On top of that, I’m also a believer in the angels. Since childhood, I have read stories of the three Archangels who sacrificed for humanity, and the heroic and virtuous knights of the Rescue Order. I was jealous because I wanted to become a Rescue Knight too.”

‘…Is this guy really a Messenger? Why do I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of distrust?’

As Randa Banema’s suspicions flared, Azadine unstrung his bow and began preparing it. Her guards flinched in surprise.

“Y-you bastard! What are you doing?”

They raised their crossbows and bows toward Azadine.

“You seem to doubt me after what I said, so I thought I’d show you a simple trick.”

Azadine spoke as he swiftly loosed an arrow.

“What?!”

Randa Banema’s guards also fired in shock—but something even more astonishing happened.

Azadine’s arrow struck the arrow nocked by one of the guards, knocking it away perfectly.

And then…

He deflected incoming arrows from the front and even used his cloak to sweep away those fired from behind.

Given the structure of this pit-shaped arena, arrows fired from the stands wouldn’t reach the center unless shot from directly across. The walls formed blind spots.

Azadine took advantage of those blind spots, protecting not only himself but also his companions from the volleys.

“One arrow becomes many. Good.”

Azadine picked up an arrow from the ground.

That exchange of fire would have been deadly to any ordinary person.

Randa Banema’s guards were drenched in cold sweat.

But Azadine calmly picked up the arrow.

“P-president…”

“Stand down. That guy really is from the Messenger Clan.”

Randa Banema put her doubts to rest.

“Then let’s have a serious talk. Let’s define the scope of the petition.”

“The scope?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“What do I want? That’s obviously…”

Randa Banema trailed off.

“Do you want to wipe out your rivals and take control of the entire sugar industry in Bel Hoda? Kill the other plantation owners and exterminate their families so completely that not even their suckling infants are left alive, so no one can inherit?”

“That…”

She hadn’t dismissed the idea of assassination. There were no answers in a straightforward approach.

The sugar barons of Bel Hoda often joked at drinking parties:

‘With enough money, even Nagas can be bought.’

‘We’re the ones who choose the King of Vthuma.’

Such drunken boasts were common, but given their wealth and power, they weren’t entirely hollow.

Facing people like that formally was impossible. Assassination had crossed her mind. But killing one or two plantation owners? Their heirs would just inherit. And the angry heirs would never let her live.

Could she kill all the heirs? Even the infants?

Then why had she freed the slaves in the first place?

As Randa Banema hesitated to answer, Azadine sighed.

“At least you’re not saying you want that. A troublesome petitioner indeed.”

“Troublesome?”

“What you did—improving labor conditions and rejecting the kidnapping, trafficking, and slavery common in the region—was righteous and admirable. But to the other plantations, your reforms were a declaration of war. It was a clash of systems. If they don’t follow your model, they have to kill you.”

“…….”

“You issued a declaration of war without being prepared to kill. That’s why you’re a troublesome petitioner.”

Randa Banema felt those words like a knife to the bone.

This outsider, who had only just arrived in Bel Hoda, understood the sugar barons’ world better than she did—though she had been born and raised here.