The Sound Of Despair

Twelve slaves stood in front of the Thunder Merchant Group's headquarters. All of them used to be commoners, but they had been the subjects of an imperial duke, who had lost a war against a rival. Just because the Three Powers stalemated each other did not mean the continent was without conflict.

Knights, Barons, Viscounts, Counts and Dukes, practically every noble that owned land, would frequently vie for power and territory. The winner of their conflicts would be able to decide what to do with the defeated opponent's subjects. Selling the population into slavery was considered the harshest treatment, only reserved for the most hated arch-enemies.

A certain curse would be placed upon those commoners, separating them from the divine influence of celestial steps. Not even the Empire was able to force priests to take their blessings back, which was one of the reasons it simply controlled the access to churches. In their eyes, nobles decided who would be able to approach heaven, and inferior slaves would do nothing more than sully holy ground.

Due to suffering under the curse, the twelve slaves looked lethargic and exhausted. From one day to another, their bodies fell significantly in strength. Their minds worked slower, their arms felt heavier, and every step they took felt several times as hard compared to before. Indeed, one would only notice what they missed at the moment they lost it.

Not a shroud of hope could be seen in the slaves' eyes. Lifting the curse was impossible, and their fate was sealed. For years they had disregarded slaves as nothing more than waste in human shape. Hence they knew exactly what their future held. As they were artisans and craftsmen, their values as slaves were several times higher compared to other less-skilled former commoners.

Consequently, they were treated a lot better. No one would want to carelessly break valuable goods, after all. This did not mean they were happy about it, as their lives would be a cycle of humiliation and suffering, day in and day out. People would be afraid to touch them, and every product they crafted would have to undergo intensive cleaning before they could be sold.

Their dignity as humans would be sullied, their pride as craftsmen shattered. It was no wonder the twelve slaves stood there like mechanical puppets. Only when Edgar commanded them to enter the building did they show signs of life. Once the slaves were lined up inside their headquarter's conference room, the merchant properly addressed them.

"I know all of you think your life is over, that there is nothing to live for anymore, but I assure you that this is not true. The world may deem you subhuman trash, but now that you will work for my Thunder Merchant Group, your lives will matter. We expect you to work hard and diligently, and in return, you will have plenty of food, water, and breaks." Edgar needed motivated workers, not depressed slaves. While the promise of food and breaks lit up the eyes of some of the slaves, most of them did not show the enthusiasm one would expect.

<<This is fine. The next step is what will lit the fire in them.>> Edgar thought with a smirk.

"That is not all. For every single one of you that puts in the effort and brings me results, I will promise to search and acquire all of your family members that I can find."

Boom.

Absolute silence. For a few seconds, the new slaves showed no reaction, seemingly failing to believe that they had heard correctly. After looking at each other's disbelieving faces, they slowly realized that all of them had heard the same. Yes, many of them were happy that they would at least have their basic needs covered, but who could be happy if their families were suffering?

There had nothing Edgar could have promised that would surpass them being able to reunite with their loved ones. One by one, despair faded from the rest of the faces, only to be replaced by a flame of hope. Those that still had family alive swore to work to the best of their abilities. Until their hands bled, until their legs gave in, until sleep deprivation forced them into a coma, they would not stop.

Sturm felt the atmosphere in the room change. What had felt suffocating and depressing now reminded him of one of those sports movies where the coach gave an emotional speech before the final match. Just with a few simple sentences, their productivity would at least triple. He knew Edgar, while the merchant would closely supervise those slaves and not trust them at all, especially since they were former commoners, he would still be true to his word.

Even if it took years to find the scattered family members, his mentor would do his best. Someone with such values, and the determination to uphold them, was someone worth admiring. One could not forget, this was a world of cruelty, where the strong devoured the weak. Earth was no paradise, and there were still places that could only be described as hell, but after arriving in this world, Sturm truly realized how well people in first-world countries had it.

Stepping over others in cold blood, and keeping a flexible morality, would always make it easier to tread the world. Especially if not doing so could result in death. If Sturm could achieve being just half a steadfast as Edgar after years in this world, then one day, he could die with pride in his heart.

The rejuvenated slaves thanked the merchant repeatedly, and even Sturm and Reinhardt received multiple bows. Waving their gratefulness off but reminding them to repay him with sincerity, Edgar ordered Reinhardt to show them their room. Their headquarters, which was really just Edgar's house, did not have enough space to give each craftsman an individual room.

A single room had to suffice. In comparison to their former homes, it would be a lot more humble, but each bunk bed was kept clean and orderly. All twelve of them knew this was a lot more than most slaves could ask for, more often than not sleeping on a few dirty rags thrown on the floor. They could feel Edgar's sincerity.

Not long after, the new additions to the Thunder Merchants were producing wares in a recently bought workshop. Soapstone was mainly made into cookware—cooking pots, cups, mortars, pestles, and jars. Most of the local commoners still used wooden wares, as suitable stones had to be imported, and metalware was far too expensive. With a cheap supplier from the Northern Tribes, the profit margin was considerable.

The timber was mainly being sold directly to the local shipyard, so just a few helpful tools for mercenaries were being produced by the carpenter. Black iron was a component for alloys, which meant that Edgar had to acquire other metal suppliers before their smith could do his craft. For now, they would simply sell the metal to local blacksmiths.

Those three products would bring in a decent amount of money, but what the Thunder Merchants were really excited about was the whetstones. Not just any stone could be used as a sharpening stone, and none of those existed around the Pirate Seas. This led to most pirates and mercenaries having run-down equipment. Seawater corrosion was a constant problem, and except for exchanging their old weapons for new ones, there was not a lot warriors could do without a blacksmith.

Whetstones from the Empire were considered to be the most superior, as they were rumored to not just sharpen weapons but also strengthen them for a period of time. While most nobles refused to use anything else, commoners preferred the more affordable version from the north. They did their job; that was enough.

When word got out that whetstones were going to be sold, a commotion broke out between pirates and mercenaries. Everyone wanted to get one before they got sold out. For mercenaries, with a sharp sword, beasts could be slain easier, increasing the chance for survival. For pirates, on the other hand, sharp blades meant being able to cut through armor instead of basically using their swords as clubs. No matter if rival pirate crews or merchant guards, they would have the edge over them.

Two days later, just a hundred meters away from their home, Edgar opened the shop. Long lines stood in front of their entrance. Reinhardt maintained order, and upon seeing the famous Rampage Bear, most of the pirates that had malicious plans gave up on them. Sturm was responsible for restocking their goods on the shelves, while Edgar himself personally tended to their customers.

Sturm was genuinely surprised by the ruckus. << I would have never expected that we would generate this much interest on our first day.>>

Only hours later did the line of customers shrink down. The stock of whetstones they had saved for weeks was close to running out, and the soapstone wares, even if not as desired, had already sold out due to the limited quantity.

Just their sales today had earned them hundreds of silvers, something unimaginable for mercenaries. How many beasts would have to be slain for that? Consequently, the Thunder Merchant Shop gathered a lot of attention, and not only from clients.

A few blocks away, the management of the Siren Song Merchant Group called in a meeting. Their leader, an imposing man and the one closest to being able to buy himself into nobility in Dagger's Rock Town, addressed his executives in a serious manner.

"I am sure you have all heard about Edgar's little new venture. We have already completely taken over the slave camp, and I know you are all eyeing his new business as well. That is why I called you here; to inform you that he is not to be touched.. Not only has Geronimo politely asked us to not cause him any more problems, but our backer has told us he already has plans for him."