Searching for Hope

Franz said nothing. He simply listened to the Irishman on the dock struggle helplessly and watched the Englishman before him, whose lips curled into a cold smile.

The latter met the former's gaze. Franz had no interest in such low-grade provocation and couldn't even be bothered to respond.

But Bordeaux and his men weren't about to back down. Soon, a line of burly men were glaring at the other side.

The Englishman stumbled back in fright at the sudden appearance of a crowd of burly men. He immediately changed his tone, lowered his head, and said,

"Sir, if there's nothing else, I'll be on my way. My cargo is due to arrive."

"Goodbye."

Franz had long since grown used to this sort of thing. He didn't see anything particularly wrong with Bordeaux's actions, either. After all, some people only believed in strength; it was easier to settle matters in a way they could understand.

Daniel O'Connell remained astride his horse, glaring furiously as he watched ship after ship laden with grain leave Ireland and sail for the far side of the sea.

His heart was filled with anger and resentment, because that grain should have been used to aid the poor on the famine-stricken island of Ireland.

The reality, however, was that this year's potato crop had failed, driving up grain prices in every country, with Britain seeing the steepest increase.

The wealthy gentlemen had certainly played their part. In fact, harvests across Western Europe had been poor over the past two years.

According to British agricultural experts, the situation might not improve for several years. And so, monsters and demons showed off their every trick. The major grain merchants began hoarding supplies, bankers poured capital into their ventures, and government officials lent their support from the sidelines.

The price