I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 489 Smart Man

Inside the Casarina Governor's Palace, the air seemed to freeze.

Governor Almeida stared at the clock hanging on the opposite wall, watching the second hand tick away with a dull thud, just like the turbulent beating of his heart.

Before him, Major Esteves stood with his head bowed, but his tense shoulders betrayed his inner resentment and fear.

"How many people died?"

Governor Almeida's voice was dry, like sandpaper being rubbed.

“We…we have at least twenty people on our side, Your Excellency.”

Major Esteves's voice was low and hoarse.

"As for the mercenaries... because they now control the entire dock area, we don't know..."

Governor Almeida closed his eyes, as if that would shut him out of the absurd and terrible reality.

He needed these Bagnian mercenaries to fend off the increasingly rampant snake people on the island, but now, before they even set foot in the camp, they've already occupied the Allied colony's docks!
Just because of the foolish mockery of a few sailors, and the crude way of dealing with this idiot in front of us who might be a spy, we should all be punished equally?

Governor Almeida's thoughts once again drifted uncontrollably to that dangerous idea... Pedro Esteves, the major who climbed up through family connections, was he a pawn planted by the Reteria Empire to deliberately sabotage this crucial reception of reinforcements?
The thought sent a chill down Governor Almeida's spine, but his face remained as tired and calm as if he had just been shocked.

"Who is right and who is wrong is irrelevant now, Major."

Governor Almeida finally opened his eyes and looked at Esteves with as calm a gaze as possible.

"The point is that Casarina still needs them to fight for us, and you and I, having messed up the first thing, must do the second thing well."

Major Esteves looked up, seemingly wanting to argue, but was stopped by the governor's wave.

"Listen..."

Governor Almeida leaned forward, lowered his voice, and spoke with an unquestionable resolve.

“I will go to the docks myself to meet their commander, and you, Major Pedro Esteves, have a few things to do.”

First, immediately block all roads leading from the dock to the city, but strictly prohibit any further conflict; simply set up a cordon... Explanation? What's there to explain? You have nothing to say to the sailors and prostitutes on the island; just tell them to get lost.

Second, properly dispose of the remains of our fallen soldiers, and at the same time, in my name, prepare the same amount of compensation for the families of the deceased mercenaries...

Don't ask me that stupid question about whether they have families. I need you to make a proper show of remorse.

Third, go to my wine cellar and bring out those cases of the finest Pomerol. Also, take ten kilograms of gold from the vault, and be quick!

Major Esteves was taken aback, seemingly not expecting that the governor would not only not punish him severely immediately, but would instead continue to entrust him with tasks.

"Your Excellency, this is too dangerous. You should go yourself..."

"Compared to the entire island being overrun by snake people, my personal safety is nothing."

Governor Almeida interrupted him, his tone icy.

"Moreover, this farce must be cleaned up by the highest-ranking person in charge to show sufficient sincerity. Now, go do what you're supposed to do, Major. This is your chance to make amends... Remember, if any further mistakes occur,"

He paused, then gave Esteves a meaningful look.

"The consequences will be far more than just dismissal and investigation."

Major Esteves' face paled, and he straightened up and saluted.

"Yes, Your Excellency!"

He turned and left quickly, his steps appearing somewhat hurried.

Governor Almeida sat alone in his office, the setting sun casting interplay of light and shadow on his face through the blinds. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples.

Almeida still couldn't completely rule out suspicions about the major, but now was not the time to delve deeper.

The immediate priority is to confront the enraged Bagnians, using money, fine wine, and his most adept diplomatic rhetoric to appease the unruly warriors and attempt to turn this disastrous start into... well, a somewhat bumpy beginning of cooperation.

He stood up, straightened the sash and medals on the governor's uniform, and tried to restore his usual composure and dignity to his expression.

What awaited him was a negotiation more difficult and dangerous than any diplomatic banquet. The fate of Casarina Island now rested on the smell of rum and the still-dried bloodstains in the dock area.

……

An eerie atmosphere permeated the Casalina Island dock area at this moment.

On one side, tensions were palpable. Players from Bagnia occupied the warehouse and pier, warily watching the road leading to the city with weapons salvaged from the corpses of Macon soldiers, while several barrels of rum were passed among them.

The players weren't actually drinking alcohol; they figured that even a small amount of alcohol in rum was better than murky water. They were using rum to clean their wounds and then bandage them.

Some of the injured are beyond saving, while others only have superficial wounds and need some treatment, since there might be a battle later.

In addition, the wounded Macon Union sailors and soldiers also needed assistance.

The players are unruly and prone to fighting at the slightest provocation, but this doesn't diminish their moral standards, which far exceed those of the locals. They not only rescue their own people but also those "enemies" who have lost their fighting ability.

A strange scene unfolded at the dock.

On the ground where the blood had not yet dried, the Bagnia players squatted down, carefully wiping the wounds of the injured with strips of cloth torn from their clothes, dipped in rum.

Painful groans, screams caused by alcohol irritating wounds, and the players' concise and efficient communication mingled together.

Players who have received first aid training in the boot camp are more professional in battlefield rescue than the average local medic.

On the other side, near the berths, however, the scene was quite different.

The players who had just disembarked did not make things difficult for the sailors on the transport ship that brought them there... The ten-day voyage was enough for these players, who had been through thick and thin, to develop a certain degree of friendship with the sailors. They complained together about the poor food and the boring voyage, and they may have even gambled together on the deck.

He has a straightforward personality and doesn't like to play around unless he's unhappy. On the ship, he often helps the sailors with odd jobs and listens to the captain boast about his past voyages. He is well-liked by the crew of the "Seagull".

At that moment, he was leaning against the ship's railing talking with several familiar sailors, sharing cheap tobacco.

"So, you started fighting with the locals as soon as you disembarked?"

An old sailor with a missing front tooth smacked his lips and handed over a tin wine jug.

"Tsk, the Macon people on the island are notoriously arrogant, but you guys are quick on your feet."

Upon hearing this, the sailors learned about the conflict, but they didn't seem to understand the seriousness of the situation, or perhaps they did know but didn't care... The shipowner and the sailors of the transport ship were from the Pomeranian Federation.

"They started it first, and the official handled it terribly."

Unhappy and unwilling to play, he took the wine jug and took a swig. The fiery wine slightly dampened his excitement. He didn't forget his main purpose in coming to chat with them.

"anyway……"

"I'm not happy, so I won't play," he asked casually.

"Besides people, what else did the ship bring with it this time? I saw some ships were drafting quite deep; surely it wasn't all just black bread for us cannon fodder?" The captain of the "Seagull," a middle-aged man with a weathered face, chuckled upon hearing this. He guessed what "No fun, no play" meant, but he didn't refuse. Instead, he rubbed his fingers together with "No fun, no play."

The meaning of this gesture is quite obvious.

Unhappy and unwilling to understand, he lowered his voice.

"There's a warehouse inside the dock, filled with all sorts of things: drinks, food, and some supply crates containing unknown contents... Take your men there, and I'll have someone set the warehouse on fire later."

"readily!"

The captain gave a thumbs-up to "Don't be unhappy, don't play," and then, just as decisively, continued speaking.

"Besides the people, most of this fleet is obviously for supplies, but... do you see that Black Mackerel over there?"

He gestured with his chin towards a nearby armed merchant ship that looked newer, larger, and more robust.

"There's something good down there; a whole ship's worth of cargo was transported from the Omdur dock in Bagnia."

Upon hearing this, Bushuangbuwan's heart skipped a beat; he roughly guessed what those things were.

These players landed on the island to fight the snake people; however, when they came ashore, they were all empty-handed and obviously had no way to fight the snake people.

They originally thought that once they landed, the people of Macon on the island would prepare things for them.

Unexpectedly, Chris was very considerate. He had obviously prepared equipment for everyone in advance, but he didn't distribute it on the ship, planning to distribute the weapons after the players landed.

Thinking of this, he chuckled to himself, turned and left, waving to several other players who were also close to the water gloves, then pointed to the transport ship called the Black Mackerel.

“Take it; there are some good things from Bagnia inside.”

The message that "if you're not happy, you won't play" quickly spread among the player community.

Dozens of players, who were originally scattered around the dock rescuing the wounded or on guard duty, now began to gather silently toward the armed transport ship named "Black Mackerel" like sharks that had smelled blood.

Their movements were swift and efficient, without loud noise, only eye contact and brief gestures, creating an invisible pressure circle that slowly contracted towards the target.

The crew of the "Black Mackerel" had obviously also noticed the unusual activity.

The captain stood on the ship's side, looking down at the growing number of eager Bagnian mercenaries below, and then glanced at the grumpy man exchanging glances with the captain of the "Seagull" not far away.

His face showed no panic, but rather a knowing slyness. Then the captain turned and whispered a few instructions to the first mate beside him.

As the players approached below the ship's side, the captain of the "Black Mackerel" poked his head out and shouted in feigned nervousness.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing? This is a private boat. No one is allowed to get on without orders!"

"We're here to collect our belongings!"

A player shouted from below, his tone not fierce, as if he were cooperating in a pre-arranged performance.

“Our goods are registered! We need documents from the Governor’s Office…”

The captain continued to "resist," but his voice was not loud, as if he were just going through the motions.

"Documents? By the time your governor's office sends you documents, the snake people will have already crawled ashore and made you their snacks!"

Another player shouted, already grabbing the rope and starting to climb up.

"Stop them! Stop them now!"

The captain shouted to the sailors on board in an exaggerated tone, but secretly made a hand gesture.

The sailors pretended to pick up fire axes and sticks, rushed to the ship's side, and shouted in a show of bravado to prevent the players from boarding.

The two sides had a brief, much-hyped but ultimately ineffective "conflict".

The sailors' movements looked fierce, but they cleverly avoided vital points, and the players cooperated by "struggling" to climb, occasionally letting out a few roars.

"Be careful, don't damage my boat!"

The captain shouted anxiously from the side, as if he cared more about his property than the cargo on board.

Finally, after a fierce struggle, the players successfully broke through the sailors' stubborn resistance and boarded the deck of the "Black Mackerel".

Upon seeing this, the sailors immediately retreated in a panic, dropping their "weapons" and shouting.

"Stop fighting! We surrender, the ship is yours!"

The captain also raised his hands at the opportune moment, making a gesture of helpless surrender.

"Fine, fine, the cargo is in the hold, you win, but please don't hurt my crew!"

The players suppressed their laughter, assigning a few to "guard" the "prisoners," while the majority eagerly rushed into the cargo hold. The cargo hold door was locked, but was quickly chopped open by the players with axes.

The moment the hatch opened, the players let out a suppressed cheer, because it was filled with sturdy oak crates.

The player used a crowbar to pry open the box lid. Underneath the dark oil paper, brand-new, gleaming flintlock rifles, exuding a mixed smell of gun oil and wood, were neatly arranged. Next to them were matching ammunition boxes containing pre-packaged, measured amounts of gunpowder and lead bullets.

"Quickly, move out!"

"No fun, no play!" Commander: The players immediately transformed into porters, forming a human chain to quickly move the heavy ammunition crates out of the ship's hold and onto an open area on the dock.

Meanwhile, as agreed, the captain of the "Seagull" and a dozen trusted sailors quietly slipped into the dock warehouse that was "controlled" by the player.

There were only two players guarding the warehouse entrance. When they saw them coming, they simply nodded and stepped aside.

The warehouse was piled high with flour, bacon, black bread, and... dozens of barrels of fine rum and wine, which immediately caught the eye of the captain and sailors.

"Quick, pick the valuables and take them!"

The captain whispered, and the sailors sprang into action, quickly moving small barrels of spirits, bags of coffee beans, tobacco, and other light and valuable supplies out of the warehouse and back to the Seagull.

Moments later, thick smoke billowed from a corner of the dock warehouse, and soon flames shot up... This was the perfect "accidental fire" scene, enough to cover up any "loss" of materials.

On the dock, the players were excitedly distributing their newly acquired flintlock muskets, skillfully checking the bolts and loading ammunition, while the crews of the "Black Mackerel" and "Seagull" were all quite satisfied.

One side got the equipment they had always dreamed of, while the other side made a fortune. Both sides were satisfied with this "win-win" deal.

Amidst this chaotic yet "harmonious" scene of bustling activity, Governor Almeida's carriage finally entered the dock area.

What he saw was a group of Bagnian mercenaries who had just "looted" the arms ship, were busy arming themselves, and seemed to have "accidentally" started a fire.

Their efficiency was astonishing, and their behavior completely exceeded his expectations. The governor's brows furrowed, and the gold and wine in his hands seemed particularly heavy and...inappropriate at this moment.

Before negotiations even began, the other side appeared to have already armed itself, and the situation was several times more chaotic than he had anticipated when he left the governor's mansion.

(End of this chapter)