Chapter 197 Declaration

Victory is hard, but what is even harder than victory is the "days after victory."

After the brief ecstasy and cheers, there were quarrels and constant quarrels. Under the dome of the city hall, the sound waves were almost out of control. Some slaves strongly demanded that a black blood mark be branded on the forehead of their former slave owners. Some slaves demanded the dissolution of the parliament that had long been in name only and the re-elect of members. Some slaves just kept muttering that they wanted to go home to find their relatives.

Ashes felt incredibly overwhelmed—the arguments were raging, with many even resorting to physical violence, yet little real work was being done. Furthermore, sources claimed that the previously stunned Hong Kong garrison had begun to regroup amidst the chaos, with several generals shouting a demand to reclaim Port Morris from the clutches of the lowly slaves. Those unwilling hyenas... Without the blessing of the forbidden magic circle, they had little hope of holding their current positions.

Under such circumstances, when Ashes saw Mr. Ghost again, he actually felt quite relieved.

"Mr. Ghost, your eyes...?"

Greven frowned, his usually sharp and bright smoky-gray eyes now seemed a little blurred, like a quiet but dead moonlight, which made him seem a lot softer - if it weren't for the menacing brown-skinned assassin standing behind him.

"Blood Shadow" O'Reilly became notorious in just a few days with his ruthless means and cold and brutal style. Many unknown people who had cooperated with him and his Shadow Chasers could not help but feel a lingering fear afterwards.

But at this moment, the other party was standing silently behind an ordinary person, with his arms folded across his chest, standing in a lazy and relaxed posture, but his iron-blue eyes were like a beast lurking in the depths of the night, coldly and vigilantly scanning anyone who tried to approach the latter.

"It's just a minor injury," the ghost said calmly.

The stone walls of the town hall still bore scorch marks from the fierce battle, and sunlight filtered through the broken stained glass windows, illuminating the ghost's pale face. As the assassin's scabbard slammed against the desk, everyone gradually quieted down to listen to him.

"The most important question now is, who are our enemies? And who are our friends?"

Those smoky grey eyes stared into the void, and many people thought he was looking at them.

"Are our enemies only the illegal slave traders who sell civilians? But even if we kill all the slave traders in Port Morris, as long as the law still allows the slave trade, as long as the big mine owners shake the bag of gold coins, the lives of the slaves will continue to flow into the mines."

The black-haired young man pressed his fingers on the table, his body leaning forward slightly, like a snowy mountain about to fall.

"Is the law our enemy? But the power to amend the law lies in the hands of the royal court. Everything serves those in power. So is the royal court our enemy? Or, is it just the royal court?"

The audience was completely silent. Some people looked at him as if he were crazy, but many more had expressions of deep thought.

"Royal Court? Are you kidding me? Are we, a bunch of wild dogs, going to fight the Royal City Army?" Someone suddenly raised his voice in the corner, interrupting the silence. He was wrapped in bandages, and his single eye gleamed with hatred. "I just want to find my wife and daughter, and the slave trader who sold my family—I want him dead. I don't care about anything else!"

A dagger grazed the other person's ear and pierced deeply into the stone wall.

"Don't interrupt him," the assassin said coldly, a warning. "Who among those gathered here doesn't have a deep blood feud?"

The ghost raised his hand to signal Orel to step back, then turned to look at the somewhat restless crowd: "When you find your wife and daughter, when you succeed in revenge—what then? What are you going to do? Return to some manor as a farmer, and then become a slave again because you can't pay the taxes?"

His voice was cold and solemn, leaving no room for doubt. "Furthermore, if the Imperial Army reoccupies the 'rebellious' Port Maurice, as a rebel, the best fate for you and your family would be torture and execution together."

The one-eyed slave opened his mouth but could not utter a word of rebuttal, and finally closed it in indignation.

Ashes suddenly realized that the black-haired youth's pupils were still unfocused, and he wasn't looking at the one-eyed slave. This realization sent a chill down his spine—this wasn't some minor injury that wouldn't cause any harm. This person couldn't see the tense situation at the scene, yet he was accurately grasping every emotional change among everyone present.

"The jet we earned with our blood and lives was transported to magnificent churches, made into millions of crystal lanterns, but the gold coins we earned were used to buy more slaves. The food we toiled day and night for was never first enjoyed by our hungry brothers and sisters, but by the exorbitant taxes and levies of the manor owners, noble lords, and even the Chamber of Commerce!"

The expressions of the people present gradually changed. Before being enslaved, most of them were just ordinary farmers or workers. Greven's eyes followed the man's face closely, and he clenched his fists, trying to calm the pounding heart in his chest.

"Why should a part of us, as human beings, naturally have the right to exploit us? No! This is not the fate we deserve!" The ghost's voice echoed in the city hall: "We are not born slaves, so what we need to do is not only to break the shackles imposed on us by the oppressors, but also to unite the Shadow Chasers of Port Morris, the Coal Union of Black County, the Seamen's Union of Casa Strait, the Inquisition Association of White Tower University - unite all the oppressed!"

He glanced sternly at the faces of everyone present: "If some people want to replace the old chains with new ones—this is betrayal, this is self-destruction!"

"We will form an allied political party," the black-haired young man declared decisively. "Invite representatives from all over and win external support. Abolish slavery, raise our own armed forces, and defeat the corrupt forces ready to strike back at any moment. We will take wealth back from the nobles and slave owners, let workers run the factories, let farmers control the land, and rebuild a freer and more equal Port Morris."

His declarations were truly insane, but what was even crazier was that those words had a magical power that made people ponder and resonate with them.

Greven made the final decision: "In three days, we will hold the first congress of representatives from all walks of life in Port Morris."

…

"Tell me the truth, who exactly is that 'ghost'?" After the crowd dispersed, Ashes couldn't help but pull Greven.

Before he was enslaved, he was no ordinary person, so he could tell the man was anything but ordinary. A strong sense of déjà vu enveloped Huijin's mind, and he already had vague suspicions: the unexpected, lengthy special report in the Limin Daily, the strangely familiar theoretical ideas, the astonishing eloquence, and the man's scholarly demeanor...

Huijin's voice trembled a little: "He is Mr. Nova, the editor-in-chief of the Limin Daily, right?"

Greven glanced at him helplessly, not looking too surprised. "I promised that gentleman to keep it a secret for now."

Ashes stood up suddenly, his lips trembling violently, and it took him a long time to regain his composure.

"He's not dead? No, of course he's not dead..." He couldn't help but mutter to himself, "It seems he escaped from the Inquisition. Could it be that his eye injury is a recurrence of an old one?"

"The blond warlock beside him is...very powerful." Greven suddenly changed the subject: "Do you remember the voice we heard on the day of the sacrifice?"

"...How could I possibly forget?" Hui Jin was silent for a moment, a subtle fear etched in his expression. "Who do you think that was?"

He looked into his companion's deep amber eyes, and both of them had a mutually understood answer in their minds: the angry roar most likely belonged to Samuel, the god of darkness and death.

——Who is the existence that can force the god of darkness and death to roar?

—Another god?

"Don't overthink it. It's pointless. We can't interfere in this class struggle yet." Greven sighed. He seemed unusually open-minded, with the magnanimity typical of warriors. "Since that gentleman chose us, he must have his reasons."

Huijin looked at the brown-haired young man in front of him silently: "...Do you trust him?"

"Don't you trust him?" the other man asked. He even joked, "I remember you once secretly collecting clippings of that gentleman. If it weren't for the Bloody Duke's ban, you'd be going to him right now with the clippings to get his autograph."

The corner of Huijin's mouth twitched, and he couldn't help but recall the times when he had openly argued or even quarreled with others - although he didn't think there was anything wrong with doing so, it was really maddening to think about it now.

Meanwhile, Nova didn't know that one of his loyal readers had already fallen into a state of despair. He had gotten used to not seeing the book—or rather, he had been forced to get used to it. But when Daniga rushed over, trying to grab his hand and burst into tears, he couldn't help but take a step back, wanting to hide behind Ole.

But his hiding failed - the young, baby-faced assassin howled so hard that his ears hurt, but he couldn't bring himself to scold him.

"Alright." Ole, who had been watching the show with his arms crossed, finally slowly grabbed Daniga's collar and pulled him back: "You scared our blind man."

Hearing the word "blind," Daniga's expression instantly shattered. The professor, anticipating another wave of noise, replied with a sullen face, "I'm not blind. This is only temporary and won't affect my normal work."

What's going on? They are all so serious, one could even use the word "sad" to describe their expressions - he is really not good at coaxing people, and he doesn't want to coax people one after another.