Chapter 203 Meeting
Nova's eyes swept over the participants one by one. The smell of damp salt and the bitter taste of burning mineral oil and low-quality tobacco floated among those faces, some rough and some gentle.
"We are gathered here today to bear witness." The black-haired young man's voice was not loud, but everyone present fell silent and listened attentively to his words: "To bear witness to the birth of the first political party in thousands of years on the continent of Ambrose that is truly formed by the proletariat and fights for the proletariat of the world."
Countless uprisings and riots from the dispossessed are flickering in the embers of history, providing lean, charred but abundant firewood for the true fire of victory.
"We have nothing right now." He held up the latest battle report the Shadow Chasers had gathered, speaking with surprising frankness. "The private fleet of the Ruskin family is heading towards Port Morris and will arrive in about ten days. It includes at least five sorcerers, thirty warriors, and three battleships loaded with artillery—and all we have are a group of exhausted and wounded slaves who have just broken their shackles and snatched their lives back from their slave owners; the incomplete spoils piled in the armory, and a dilapidated city that has long been mired in the sinful and deformed flesh-and-blood industry."
Greven's expression grew grim. The kerosene lamp stretched the dark-haired young man's shadow, piercing the long table where all the representatives gathered like a sharp sword. The buzz of discussion gradually grew louder. The visitors from afar came with hopes and dreams, but also with doubts and concerns.
No one knows what will hatch from a thriving new cocoon, or even whether it will die in the womb.
——But the person in front of him has already led and created countless incredible miracles.
"But we will win, as long as you are willing to stand with us." The professor raised his voice slightly, temporarily suppressing his anxiety and doubts. "We will continue to fight until we forge victory with our own hands, just as we are building a city for the proletariat, a country for the proletariat, and even a world for the proletariat."
“—Even if we die, our children, and our children’s children, will eventually see our own dawn.”
A scroll titled "The Proletarian Oath" was handed to the long table. It was as long as a surging river, hanging down from the table, rolling across the ground, passed from hand to hand, and soaked inch by inch by human body temperature.
At sunrise the next day, this scroll appeared in the hands of every representative at the first Port Morris Conference of Representatives, along with a very detailed plan and the name of a new political party.
——The People's Party.
The civilian representatives of Port Morris stood at the table, stunned. They had never expected to receive such a dreamlike and unreal gift. In Port Morris, gold coins only jingled in the pockets of the nobility and the Chamber of Commerce, not the common people. They could only struggle to make ends meet through hard labor.
But now, this political party, founded solely by slaves, stood beneath the dome of City Hall, promising all Port Morris residents that it would guarantee everyone's "basic right to survival": factories and granaries controlled by the nobility and the Chamber of Commerce would be abolished, and a public rationing system would be established; everyone would be able to earn work points through labor, thereby receiving housing allocations; clinics and schools would be open to all workers and their children, and pharmaceuticals would no longer be a luxury...
Those smoky gray eyes stared at them sternly. "These promises are not gifts from the lords or the gods. Instead, they are the spoils we have collectively obtained after shattering the old world together."
The Chamber of Commerce representative, a thin, shrewd-looking middle-aged man, stood up before anyone else could speak and challenged him: "Mr. Graven, Mr. 'Ghost,' your speech was very moving and impassioned—but it's a shame that moving words can't satisfy the stomachs of all the workers in Hong Kong."
"The Chamber of Commerce owns shares in 90% of the shipyards in Port Morris. For every ship you see plying the harbor, the Chamber of Commerce will take a gold coin from it. Without the caravans, everyone in this port city would starve to death." He slammed his hand on the table, his goatee twitching as if he had heard something unbelievable. "And now, to curry favor with this city's so-called... 'proletarians,' you're talking about confiscating the factories from the Chamber of Commerce as a partial redemption and handing them over to those untouchables who can't even do math?!"
He seemed amused by his own words, the sarcasm on his lips growing stronger. "I swear, the day after the master worker steps into the dockmaster's office, the cargo ships from Batalia laden with expensive spices will turn and sail into Gray Bridge Port. At least the person responsible for checking the accounts there won't be an illiterate sailor."
"You're just trying to change the subject." Greven frowned. "Is the Chamber of Commerce president himself the one doing the accounting?"
The other party laughed sarcastically, shrugged and sat down again.
"No need to discuss this further. This is all we have to say," he said lazily. "Because now you are no longer even eligible to purchase grain on credit from the Chamber of Commerce—I'm sure the Ruskin family will be very interested in this news."
A naked threat.
"Then I think wartime control is also reasonable." The black-haired young man who called himself Ghost looked at him calmly until the Chamber of Commerce representative's face gradually became ugly - you know, this group of slaves still controlled the weapons and weapons in Hong Kong.
His voice was calm. "You can gamble. Bet on whether the Ruskin family will be burned to ashes on the sea like the port garrison, whether the gold coins the Chamber of Commerce spent on this will be lost forever, and whether the Chamber of Commerce will regret not agreeing to today's preferential treatment in the future."
The other party sneered and walked away, leaving only the words "We'll wait and see". The loud bang of the door slamming made the floor of the entire conference room tremble slightly.
"Next question." The black-haired young man tapped his knuckles on the wooden table, and his voice seemed to have some kind of metal-tempered texture.
"We don't have enough food," Marshilin raised her hand. She, too, traveled throughout the port, and with her almost magical friendliness, many Port Morris residents warmed to this cheerful, red-haired girl. "The port is currently under blockade, and foreign caravans won't be coming to Port Morris, which has suffered divine punishment. After evenly distributing the food, we should have enough to last about ten days."
A dockhand couldn't help but mutter anxiously, "We can certainly wield harpoons, but if the Chamber of Commerce really stops supplying food to the port..."
"Those nobles who evacuated the port probably still have a lot of food in their warehouses that they couldn't take with them." Ashes thought for a moment, frowned, and suggested, "They might be able to hold out for a while, but it's not a permanent solution."
"We still have allies." Greven smiled slightly.
An old man stood up shakily, his faded linen scarf slipping from his neck, revealing the loose skin covered with sun spots on his neck. He looked like a typical old farmer.
"Every year, the lord's tax collectors are like hungry field mice that have been hungry all winter. Even if the land of Batalha is generous, they will plunder the threshing floor cleaner than the church floor." A sly smile suddenly appeared on the old and simple face. "But the Batalha people always have a way. The ocean will help us."
"The gift from the Sea God won't be much," he said, nodding with a smile to the surprised crowd. "But it's enough to get us through this most difficult time—consider it a welcome gift from the Wheat Ear Association."
"Thank you very much for your generosity." The professor nodded to the old man. After he sat down, he looked at the visibly excited Port Morris man and calmly announced, "Next question."
This meeting, involving everyone from Port Morris, continued late into the night in a rather bizarre yet incredibly efficient and concise manner, until everyone began to stagger and languor, their eyes still gleaming, as if they were all dreaming the same dream. Greven simply adjourned the meeting; time was running out; they had to continue discussing how to solve the problem while still working.
But something strange happened at this moment.
Logically, all participants had undergone security checks to ensure that they were not carrying any weapons. However, a man in the corner, whose face could not be more ordinary, suddenly pulled out a gun, pointed it at the black-haired young man who was sorting documents on the podium, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
"--No, Mr. Ghost!"
Greven's pupils shrank sharply. His sword was also gone, so he grabbed a nearby chair and smashed it against the black-haired youth, attempting to block the bullet. But faster than the warrior, a golden figure appeared. Amidst a gust of wind that swept through the city hall, a slender, white hand appeared before the ghost, its raised fingertips lightly tapping the bullet's tip.
The man wore a cape and a hood, with only one hand exposed. The metal bullet spun and trembled violently before him, but eventually fell to the ground with a resounding thud. Meanwhile, Shadow Chaser had quickly emerged from the shadows and apprehended the killer.
Seeing that the situation was not good, the man tried to struggle and escape, but Daniga easily cut off his limbs and jaw.
“This guy…”
He gnashed his teeth. How dare the other party show off his skills in front of a group of assassins? Even worse, he almost succeeded. If this was a sorcerer, they would have quickly detected the fluctuations of magic and reacted. But the other party was an ordinary person and chose to use a gun. Somehow, the preliminary safety checks had not detected it.
This was a huge humiliation for the Shadow Chasers. If their leader had not gone to escort the other representatives out, they would have been kicked on the spot.
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