Losers Deserve Only a Lavish Burial (bonus chapter for helmsman Muqiu Jiuyue

Inside a luxurious building Mysore City, Salah stared wide-eyed at Sheikh Khan and said in a low voice:

"How did those 300-plus people die?!"

"It's said to be poisoning." Sheikh Khan flipped his wrist nonchalantly. "The food in the prison, it wouldn't be surprising if people died from it."

Salah took a step forward, his voice trembling slightly:

Did you do this?

"Hmm, maybe."

Salah roared, "I only asked you to abduct them halfway, why did you kill them all?!"

"Oh, not all, Your Excellency." Sheikh Khan handed him an exquisite ivory pipe. "Want a few puffs? A dozen or so didn't eat dinner yesterday, so they're not dead."

Salah pushed the pipe aside. Sheikh Khan, unperturbed, smiled and said:

"You need to understand that abducting those few hundred people would require mobilizing at least 300 troops. If even one of them leaks the information, we'll be in big trouble."

"To kill those people, all we need to do is bribe two cooks. Then send an assassin to take care of the two cooks. Then no one in the world will know we're involved."

"Now, everyone will assume that Jahan Zeb was responsible for the attack in order to curry favor with the United Kingdom —his relationship with the United Kingdom is known even to the beggars in town."

"But..." Salah sighed, looking up. There was nothing he could do now. "I hope you'll consult with me before making similar decisions in the future."

"Of course, we're the closest of friends."

Salah grabbed the pipe, turned, and left Sheikh Khan's Villa. Many follow-up plans awaited his execution.

He grew up in a Western-style Tunisia family influenced by Enlightenment thought and could not understand the indifference of high-ranking India officials towards the lives of people of lower and middle castes under the caste system, especially those who were Hinduism untouchables [Note 1].

In Sheikh Khan's eyes, those 370 people were no different from the chickens and sheep in his household. When he needed to bring down his political opponents, he could kill even 30,000 people without hesitation.

Fueled by Salah and others, the "Released Prisoners Massacre" spread throughout Mysore in less than three days. Countless people angrily denounced the brutal United Kingdom and their lackeys, and mourned the more than 300 victims.

Jahan Zeb's political opponents, however, sensed an opportunity and immediately sent a flood of accusations to Tipu Sultan. The content expanded from the massacre to various accusations of corruption, tax evasion, and abuse of power, creating a situation where everyone was kicking him while he was down.

Ambavilas Palace.

"I remember, I told you to release those people." Tipu Sultan stared coldly at Jahan Zeb, "And what have you done?"

He had just exerted a great deal of effort, including mobilizing the Imperial Guards, to finally appease the crowds who were accusing him of the massacre.

Even now, nearly a thousand people are still gathered outside the palace, waiting for the Sultan to give their deceased relatives justice.

"Great Sultan," Jahan Zeb began with difficulty, "I did indeed order the release of those people, and I don't know why they..."

He glanced at the Shah beside him, a Finance official from Sheikh Khan's faction, his teeth itching with hatred. The latter was most likely responsible, or at least involved, but he simply couldn't bring himself to accuse him.

"Hmph." Tipu Sultan interrupted his secretary with a simple hum.

Although he was as clever as he was, he had seen through the problem early on—even if Jahan Zeb wanted to take action, he wouldn't choose the day before the release, when there were the most onlookers.

However, that's how political struggles are. If you fall into someone else's trap, it only means you're not shrewd or cautious enough. And if you can't think of a way to turn the tables, then the only option is to give them a proper burial.

It's impossible to let the Sultan bear the brunt of the French People's anger just to protect you.

"Your Majesty, please forgive me!" Jahan Zeb suddenly prostrated himself on the ground, embracing Tipu Sultan's legs, and pleaded pitifully, "Besides, those people spread rumors wantonly. Even if they die, at most they'll only face a slightly harsher punishment. I'm willing to offer a large sum of money to compensate their families..."

Shah immediately touched Tipu Sultan's chest and said:

"Your Majesty, those people are not spreading rumors at all. As far as I know, what they said about the United Kingdom is basically true."

He looked coldly at Jahan Zeb:

"The Sultan's secretary has taken bribes from the United Kingdom and is constantly protecting United Kingdom image, even going so far as to persecute the Mysore!"

In reality, he had no idea about the shady dealings between the United Kingdom and Jahan Zeb, but the United Kingdom must have been transferring benefits to him, so it wouldn't be wrong for him to say anything.

Jahan Zeb immediately became anxious:

"Great Sultan, don't listen to his nonsense..."

Tipu Sultan narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded, saying:

"I recently had people look into those rumors, and it's true that the United Kingdom were the ones who did it."

As a self-proclaimed "European enthusiast," he was somewhat aware of the United Kingdom's dirty secrets. Of course, he didn't know the exact figures for how many Native Americans the United Kingdom killed or how many slaves they traded.

Upon hearing this, Jahan Zeb felt as if he had been struck by lightning. If even the charge of "spreading rumors" was removed, his actions would have completely lost their basis.

"Please, for the sake of the old Sultan, forgive me this time..."

Tipu Sultan glanced sideways at his weeping old minister, and after a long while finally sighed:

"You've donated Pound Sterling 10,000 to the deceased's family. I know you've always wanted to make a pilgrimage, but you've been too busy with state affairs all these years to make it. This time, I'll give you a few years' leave so you can go on your pilgrimage."

It was called a pilgrimage, but in reality it was about driving him away from the power center of Mysore —given the current level of transportation, a pilgrimage would take at least two years to return, and he would no longer have a place in the political center.

Jahan Zeb froze, and it took him a long time to collapse and say:

"Thank you for your compassion, Great Sultan..."

"That stupid India native!" Griffith, the senior representative of the East India Company, kicked over a coat rack in anger after hearing his subordinates' report on the recent "massacre."

Not only did Jahan Zeb fail to control the rumors defaming the United Kingdom, he also completely eradicated the Pro-England Faction in Mysore —now in Mysore, anyone who dares to say they are pro-British is afraid of being beaten to death.

The intelligence officer who reported the situation to him added:

"My lord, I have also received information that Tipu is preparing to declare war on both Travancore and the East India Company simultaneously."

"What?" Griffith grabbed his arm. "Is the intelligence reliable?"

[Note 1] At that time, although Islam was in power in the Kingdom of Mysore, the lower classes were still predominantly Hinduism, with a small number of Sikhism. Tipu Sultan implemented a tolerant religious policy, and overall the various religions got along relatively well in Mysore.