Trade on the Southern Continent

Iver was somewhat surprised to see Little Rabbihe. walking out with him.

He followed behind Iver obediently and silently, looking somewhat cautious.

Iver turned around. "Aren't you going to stay with your grandfather?"

"No, not yet."

"Why? It's so rare to find him again... Isn't this the purpose you came to the Theocracy?"

"Yes."

Little Rabbihe looked serious and spoke haltingly in his broken Avalon Language: "But Grandpa has been rescued. He is safe. I want to thank my benefactor. That's more important."

As he spoke, he glanced at Iver and Sherlock with some concern, emphasizing, "Grandpa is not... a particularly cruel person."

The young Troll Witch tried his best to defend his grandfather.

Iver didn't say anything, just smiled and remained noncommittal.

Sherlock sneered, "Then can you tell me why he prioritized cursing Zumai Di? Is it because Zumai Di is Curse Master?"

"Yes... I'm glad you understand."

The young Troll Witch answered without hesitation, "Curse Master are all descendants of sinners. Because filth makes things all the more poisonous."

Sherlock looked up and met his gaze.

He saw no shame or remorse in Little Rabbihe's clear eyes.

At least that's what the trolls truly believe.

This caused Sherlock to choke on his words, leaving him momentarily speechless.

Iver reached out and patted Sherlock on the shoulder, pulling him back from his slightly forward lean. "Every place has its own customs and traditions. We may not understand them, but we should at least respect them."

"In the Southern Continent, Curse Master have the lowest status. Wizards can also use curses, but Curse Master cannot use rituals."

"Wizard" is another translation of "Ritual Mage," and this is the more common term in the south. "Ritual Mage" is the term used in the East. This is also why the advanced profession of Ritual Mage is called "Grand Wizard."

"You are wise, prophetic, esteemed archbishop."

Little Rabbihe made some strange hand gestures in front of him, then bowed deeply. "Avalon is too advanced, so they don't understand. Our tribe is very backward. There are very few smart people; it's all shamans who guide people."

"Curse Master are all sinners. They violated taboos, or killed and ate people. There were also hostile tribes whom we defeated. Sin flows in their blood for three generations. They smell foul; wild beasts can smell their sin. They can't be Hunter; nobody needs them..."

Little Rabbihe tried his best to explain.

He gestured wildly, his body language was exceptionally rich.

Even so, there were still some words he couldn't say in Avalon Language and had to use Elven Language instead.

Fortunately, both Iver and Sherlock were fluent in Elven Language and could understand him.

In other words, Lily's Elvish is still quite rudimentary—her current Elven Language level is roughly equivalent to that of a first-year university student who can barely pass the CET-4 (College English Test Band 4). She has no problem with everyday reading, but she might struggle with fast-paced conversations or unfamiliar vocabulary.

Clearly, Little Rabbihe's mastery of Elven Language far surpasses his fluency in Avalon Language. For a young troll of only eighteen, to be fluent in two foreign languages—a level of intelligence that surpasses that of Avalon —is remarkable.

However, out of respect for Iver and the other two, he still chose to use Avalon Language as much as possible in front of Iver.

Sherlock also realized the other party's politeness and sincerity.

He sighed, went over, and raised his hand to pat the other man's shoulder. Little Rabbihe, ever the considerate and humble one, bent down so Sherlock could reach his shoulder without having to stand on tiptoe.

"I know you're a good boy, Rabbihe ..."

Sherlock patted his shoulder gently and said slowly, "But you don't need to care too much about our opinions and attitudes towards you. Unless, you have something else to say to us; or unless we have a reason to meet again in the future."

Although he was a centimeter taller than Iver... he still looked like a small, frail child compared to Rabbihe, who was nearly three meters tall and whose arm muscles were even thicker than Iver's thigh muscles.

"Gentlemen."

Little Rabbihe didn't remember Sherlock's name, so he could only address him as "Sir": "I have great respect for the Avalon, for you are the same as the elves. You are better than the Stibnite Person or the Iris People. The worst are those White Robe People."

"The Iris Flower Kingdom doesn't seem to allow the sale of trolls, does it?"

Sherlock asked the question.

He was very interested in this—it was extremely rare firsthand information, far more accurate than reading books or papers. As the heir to a troll tribe, a clever troll who was fluent in multiple languages at a young age, the information he provided personally was far more accurate than research reports written solely based on conjecture and reasoning.

Upon hearing this, Little Rabbihe immediately became serious, even somewhat agitated—he hadn't been this agitated when mentioning the "White Robe People": "The Iris People will come here to trade with us. But all the trades are unfair! Absolutely unfair! Just like the goblins—even worse than the goblins!"

"Explain in detail."

Sherlock became interested and even pulled out his notebook from his pocket. "What exactly are the unfair aspects?"

"They traded us soap, cloth, salt, and wine for herbs. They also traded corn, Ke Ke, and coffee. Some monster hides and meat. But I know the price was wrong!"

Little Rabbihe gave an example. "One barrel of wine can be exchanged for five cartloads of coffee; one cartload of salt can be exchanged for one cartload of ivory!"

Sherlock frowned and began to scribble and draw.

He quickly calculated the price, then looked at Iver with almost astonishment.

"How many?"

Seeing his reaction, Iver leaned closer and asked in a low voice.

"At least fifty times the profit, that's terrifying," Sherlock whispered in Iver's ear. "No wonder... even though the Iris is being squeezed out of control by Star Antimony, they've managed to keep going. Turns out they're the richest ones."

Sherlock looked up and asked, "Is this the price for the goblins too?"

"Goblins... we need fewer of them."

After saying this, Little Rabbihe realized that his description was not very accurate, so he added, "The Iris People are even worse."

In other words, the profits of goblins are lower than those of Iris People.

"Then why don't you trade with the goblins?"

Sherlock asked this question casually.

But as soon as he asked the question, he knew he had said something stupid—why not trade with the goblins? It couldn't be simpler: the goblins had long deceived, plundered, and sold the trolls, even pushing the trolls' power back into the depths of the rainforest. The trolls harbored a deep-seated hatred for the goblins.

Because the Iris People don't buy troll slaves, they actually enjoy high prestige among the trolls. Many trolls eagerly seek to do business with them, hoping to expand the Iris People's influence in the Southern Continent. Ideally, they'd drive out the Stibnite Person, Parthians, and goblins.

... I never imagined that the Iris People would be better at business than the Goblins.

Iver also felt somewhat emotional.

Upon hearing this, Iver understood what Little Rabbihe meant. "You want to... cooperate with the Avalon?"

"The Avalon people are the best."

Little Rabbihe said firmly, "It's similar to the elves! They also have the constraints of the elves... and the elves are the fairest."

Your judgment of the elves is fine... but you've got too high hopes for Avalon, kid.

Iver thought to himself, while Sherlock's expression also looked somewhat strange.

However, Little Rabbihe. actually managed to get help from the person in charge.

Iver is now the president of Lloyd's, and his word really carries weight.

Avalon originally refused to trade with other races due to the influence of the elves and the need to maintain its Path of Authority. Now, this ban has been lifted by Isabel, and the goblins have already come ashore to build railways... so trading with trolls is no longer a problem.

"The War Song Tribe, is that right?"

"Beast Song Tribe".

Little Rabbihe. corrected.

"Alright, Beast Song Tribe —where are you located on the Southern Continent?"

Iver said with a smile, "Although I may not look like it, I am Avalon's recognized business leader, Minister of Everything, Knight of the Inner Circle of the Round Table, Queen Isabel's confidant, President of Lloyd's's, the future head of the Moriarty Founding Family, and the heir to the Moriarty Group."

"Or the future Prince of Avalon."

Sherlock, standing nearby, nodded in agreement.

He placed his right hand on his chest, and said with a mixture of pride, arrogance, and gritted teeth, "And I am his deputy."

"He is both the Party Secretary and the Assistant Secretary."

Iver emphasized, "You can communicate with him directly."

"Oh!"

Little Rabbihe Hutton's eyes lit up.

He knelt down on one knee and extended his huge, thick hands to shake hands with Sherlock with utmost sincerity. "Thank you very much! Welcome! We look forward to it! Please come to our place, distinguished guest."

"We are one of the largest tribes... or even in the top three, or in the top five. We are located in the very center... When your people arrive, just state my name. Rabbihe of the Beast Song Tribe, my guest. Those smaller tribes will not dare to stop you."

Sherlock turned around and glared at Iver.

—You like to dump these kinds of troublesome things on me, don't you?

Iver responded with his eyes: How about giving it to your brother? — That works too.

Sherlock guessed what Iver wanted to say.

He whispered to Little Rabbihe, "I'll write to Avalon when I get back and have the Privy Council Minister contact you directly... You should know Privy Council Minister, right?"

"Oh, I know! Chief Hunter, or High Priest!"

Little Rabbihe nodded repeatedly, stating his two most important identities after the tribal chief. "The high priest is my grandfather! He taught me everything I know!"