"Move it!"
"You worthless lot!"
"Have you all forgotten to eat or what?!"
The docks echoed with the overseers' crude roars and the sharp cracks of whips.
The laborers carrying crates trudged tirelessly back and forth between the cargo ship's deck and the dockside warehouses like upright donkeys.
Forget eight silver coins an hour and meals from the same pot—here, even stopping to rest for a moment was a luxury. They had to beg the overseers just to use the latrine or take a drink of water.
This was West Sail Port.
Or Westport, as the players jokingly called it.
Here, a healthy slave cost only 1,000 dinars.
Yet even with people priced so cheaply, the merchants from Triumph City still preferred leasing them.
In the eastern part of the Central Continent, many survivors held a sort of "distance makes the heart grow fonder" fantasy about the Legion, believing that the Legion was actually rather orderly.
In truth, that was only because they had encountered too few Velanders and did not yet understand their nature.
Every longtime resident of Fallen Leaf City knew exactly what the Velanders had looked like when they first arrived in River Valley Province—and what they had become after being beaten badly enough.
The only reason they behaved so properly in the east of the Central Continent was because they had been beaten into it.
But in West Sail Port, far beyond The Alliance's reach, they did not even bother pretending.
Interestingly, even though they were already doing their best to squeeze the locals dry, they still paled in comparison to the native nobles of the Brahma Province.
So much so that whenever General McLennan passed through, he could not help lamenting that he had been too merciful in River Valley Province and had failed to