The officials of Tequila Wolf eventually agreed to Tony's request.
To these officials, the laborers on the bridge were the least valuable assets imaginable. If they could exchange these useless "resources" for Beli, why wouldn't they?
After all, the laborers were the property of the World Government, but the Beli they received in return would go straight into their own pockets.
Seeing the officials agree, Tony exchanged a glance with Nezumi. The two of them, working in perfect sync, began haggling with the Tequila Wolf officials as if they were negotiating over goods. Since this was their first transaction, both sides were cautious. In the end, they purchased only 200 individuals, all under the age of 20, including more than 20 children younger than 13.
...
Abram, lost in a fog of confusion and grief, followed the overseer's orders. Along with a few other children his age, he was led to an open area. Before long, the space filled with other laborers, all standing in a daze.
Soon, a rotund overseer arrived, accompanied by two men whose attire was markedly different from that of the residents of Tequila Wolf. The three of them whispered to each other, their heads close together. Abram, standing nearby with his sharp ears, managed to catch fragments of their conversation as the cold wind carried their voices.
"...Should we unlock the shackles?"
"No need for now. We'll do it once they're on the ship."
The overseer nodded in agreement and signaled to his colleagues. The overseers began shoving the laborers on the open ground, herding them toward the docks beneath the massive bridge.
Abram remembered his mother's dying words. Although fear gripped his heart, he obediently followed the group. Along the way, any laborers who showed signs of unease or resistance were mercilessly whipped by the overseers.
When they reached the docks, Abram saw four large ships moored there. Armed men stood on either side of the gangplanks, their rifles gleaming and their katana sheathed at their waists. The sight of these intimidating figures made Abram freeze, his dark face showing hints of panic. But the whip that lashed across his back forced him to move forward once more.
Near the gangplanks stood a few simple wooden tables. Behind them sat several young men, armed with paper and pens, who were observing Abram and the other laborers.
The laborers were divided into rows and brought forward one by one to answer pre-prepared questions. The young men at the tables then recorded their responses, occasionally splitting up groups of laborers and assigning them to different ships.
Watching the process, the rotund official frowned and asked, "Why make this so complicated?"
Tony, puffing on his cigar, chuckled indifferently. "These people are my property now. Of course, I have to be careful."
Since this was the first batch of laborers purchased, Tony took his time selecting them. He strictly adhered to one of William's principles: no locals from the East Blue. Outsiders, unfamiliar with the region and lacking local connections, would be easier to control.
William wasn't buying these people out of charity. He needed soldiers—loyal, disciplined soldiers. During the registration process, individuals who knew each other or came from the same sea region were deliberately separated and assigned to different ships. This psychological isolation was intended to prevent them from forming bonds that might undermine their loyalty.
Abram, only ten years old, had been at Tequila Wolf since he was four. He knew he was originally from the Grand Line, but he could barely remember anything about his homeland.
The young man registering Abram's information finished writing, then looked at him with a hint of sympathy before motioning for him to board the ship.
Once on board, Abram saw that the ship was filled with burly men, all armed. The newly arrived laborers huddled together in confusion and fear. But when a fierce-looking man, clearly the leader, barked an order, the laborers instinctively formed two orderly lines, a habit ingrained from their lives in Tequila Wolf.
The leader paused, surprised by how quickly the group had lined up. He paced back and forth in front of them before shouting, "I don't know if any of you believe in fate, but from now on, thank the heavens above! They've sent someone to save you!"
The heavens?
Abram looked up, but all he could see was the massive bridge looming overhead.
After the leader finished speaking, he ordered the laborers' shackles to be removed. Some among the group harbored thoughts of rebellion, but the unfamiliar environment and the sight of the armed guards, rifles in hand, kept them from acting out.
Thick, padded clothing was distributed to the laborers. Abram, now clad in an oversized winter coat, shivered as he adjusted to the unfamiliar warmth. He barely had time to examine his new clothes before being herded to the ship's mess hall.
When Abram entered the mess hall, he was stunned. Solid wooden tables, bolted to the floor, were laden with large bowls of bread and steaming hot soup.
The laborers began to stir, but the ship's guards were no more lenient than the overseers at Tequila Wolf. Using slender, sturdy batons, they struck anyone who stepped out of line, eliciting cries of pain.
Once the laborers had settled down, they were instructed to queue up for their food.
When it was Abram's turn, he received a piece of bread and a bowl of meat soup. He eagerly sat down and began eating, ignoring the heat of the soup as he stuffed bread into his mouth and gulped down the fragrant broth.
With his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's, Abram finally had a moment to look around. That's when he noticed a large portrait hanging on the wall above the mess hall's main entrance.
The portrait depicted a young man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a resolute expression, gazing down at the laborers below.
Abram, his cheeks still full, blinked. He vaguely recalled seeing the same man's image in some of the ship's other rooms as they boarded.
He didn't know who the man in the portrait was, but as he stared into those deep, piercing eyes, tears began to stream down his face.
Even though his future remained uncertain, the warm clothes and ample food felt like heaven to Abram and the other laborers.
If his mother were still alive, perhaps this would have been his true paradise.
Abram wiped his tears and murmured softly, "Who is he?"
His question was overheard by a nearby crew member, who happened to be the same young man who had registered Abram earlier. A product of the youth military, the crew member looked at Abram seriously and replied, "Remember this: he's the man who will change both your fate and mine."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~ The story isn't over...🤔 Want to know what happens next to the characters? 🤫 Eager to explore the untold secrets of this world? ✍ Ready to read more of my wildest stories?✨patreon.com/GoldenLong