Chapter 753.1: Port Gallon, In A Mess
Chapter 753.1: Port Gallon, In A Mess
Port Gallon.
The Guard Station in the harbor district faced the busiest street in all of Port Gallon. The avenue bustled with activity, packed with people coming and going.
Governor Nihark stood in the middle of the street, staring blankly at the broad, unfamiliar avenue before him. His eyes were filled with confusion. For a long moment, he couldn't even recognize where he was.
The streets were clean and orderly. The western-style houses were still painted white. Black streetlamps still lined the roads. At first glance, everything seemed exactly as it had been before. Yet at the same time, everything had changed. A deafening roar of voices filled the air. Crowds streamed through the streets, while street performers rode strange two and three-wheeled contraptions, weaving swiftly between pedestrians.
There was nothing left of Tulip Street's dignified elegance. Instead, it resembled the noisy Kalaba Market.
As expected, the place had become complete chaos.
"You're free." Someone behind him spoke in a cold voice, tinged with unmistakable mockery.
"Thank you..." Nihark answered instinctively before immediately realizing those were not words he should have said.
He shot the prison guard a vicious glare, flicked his sleeve, and strode toward the street. But because he was looking backward over his shoulder instead of watching where he was going, he crashed into a child carrying a towering stack of newspapers.
"Hey! Watch where you're going, old man!" the boy shouted irritably, though he had no intention of arguing. Time was money. Instead of wasting time talking nonsense, he could make another delivery or two and earn a few more Gallons.
Nihark, however, had no intention of letting the brat off so easily. His face flushed crimson as he reached out to grab the boy by the neck. "What did you just call me... Do you... do you know who I am?!"
"Like I care who you are. You're not one of those Iron Men!" The boy nimbly dodged his grasp, grinning mischievously. Before running off, he even stuck out his tongue and made a face at him.
The boy's utter disrespect made Nihark so furious that he almost chased after him to teach him a lesson. But then he felt that personally laying hands on a child would demean his own status. By the time he hesitated, the boy had already disappeared into the crowd. All he could do was curse a few times and stamp his foot in frustration.
"What uncivilized mongrel! No manners whatsoever!"
Judging by the boy's clothes, they were old but clean. He was probably the child of some down-on-his-luck noble family. There were patches sewn onto his sleeves which made him look lacking in dignity.
His family must be living miserably. His father is surely some coarse laborer. His mother probably has to sell herself for a living. They likely even have to eat dirt just to survive.
After imagining the boy's pitiful and miserable life, Nihark finally felt somewhat appeased, as though he had somehow won.
It wasn't long before he realized something was wrong. It wasn't just that one child. It wasn't even just one or two people either.
Everyone on the street was wearing clothes. Even the laborers doing hard manual work wore cheap linen shirts and light blue canvas trousers.
Those riding the two-wheeled vehicles were dressed even more neatly, most of them wearing short-sleeved cotton shirts and trousers, with leather belts cinched around their waists.
It wasn’t only the men either. There were women as well. That was what shocked him the most.
Although the poor of Port Gallon had always lacked manners and simply wore whatever they could find, even wrapping a curtain around their waist and calling it a skirt, among those who could actually afford clothing, there had always been an unwritten code that had developed over the past 200 years.
Who was allowed to wear trousers, who was not, and what kind of attire was appropriate for different occasions.
Earlier, seeing the child wearing proper clothes, he assumed the kid had to belong to some impoverished noble household. After all, the wretches in the slums usually had nothing more than a rag wrapped around themselves. Even if they possessed clothing, they would never waste it on a child.
As it turned out, his understanding of the world was completely off.
Only then did he realize there were far too many nobles wearing clothes on the street.
Is this really Port Gallon?
Nihark stood there utterly dumbfounded, his eyes wide in shock.
At that moment, the deafening noise around him finally poured into his ears all at once. The endless buzzing voices made it feel as though his head were about to explode.
"Newspapers! Fresh newspapers! Read all about Port Gallon's must-try foods and the latest news from across the wasteland!"
"Fresh flatbread! Delicious flatbread! Freshly steamed meat buns too!"
"Where to, boss? Just one Gallon per mile!"
"I pedal faster! Ride with me, boss!"
"I heard the Expeditionary Army won the battle. Though it was a costly victory! They lost over 10,000 men!"
"Hiss..."
"That's got to be fake. There were only 30,000 troops to begin with."
"Come on. I'd believe they lost 100 men and still won. But lose 10,000 and still claim victory? I'd never believe that even if you beat me to death."
"What's that book you're reading?"
"Mechanical principles, mathematics, geometry... and a bunch of other stuff. Picked them up over at the harbor. Heard they're old textbooks discarded by Dawn City."
"What are you reading those for?"
"The more skills you have, the more opportunities you'll get. I can't stay here my whole life."
"What's wrong with staying here? His Majesty the Emperor and the governor have already been kicked out of the city!"
"It's not bad... but the New Alliance and the Empire have signed a ceasefire. Who knows whether they'll come back someday?"
People shouted, chatted, hawked goods, bargained, and laughed, turning what had once been a quiet street into an overwhelming cacophony.
Nihark had no idea what everyone was so happy about, nor could he understand what there was to celebrate in this chaotic mess.
In his day, if commoners dared appear on this street without a legitimate reason, his officers would beat them with clubs until they learned their place.
As for those women wearing trousers, the guards would confiscate the trousers before driving them away, or, depending on their mood, lock them up for a few days until their families came to collect them.
He had thought the New Alliance's reckless meddling would reduce this place to ruins, and in a sense, it had. In just a few short months, everything had descended into utter disorder.
What depressed him most, however, was that those fools who had supposedly suffered under the rule of the New Alliance had not welcomed his return. They had even forgotten his face.
Not only the common rabble, even the nobles who had once crowded around him weren't here to greet him.
Who knew what they were all busy doing?
An age without order or propriety had arrived. People rushed around the streets like headless flies, utterly intoxicated by the New Alliance's sugar-coated promises.
Everything seemed to have been nothing more than his own wishful thinking! He had believed himself indispensable, that without him, the people couldn't survive, and that was why the New Alliance had hurriedly released him.
The truth, however... Was that without him, everyone seemed to be living a better life.
Faced with the unfamiliar world, an overwhelming sense of helplessness suddenly washed over him.
Just then, someone cautiously called out behind him. "Mr. Nihark?"
Instinctively reacting to his name, Nihark turned around.
A man wearing a leather jacket was looking at him. Nihark didn't recognize him, but the man clearly recognized him. The moment he saw Nihark's face, he broke into a delighted smile and hurried over. "It really is you! My name is Aksh. I'm Mr. Isair's servant."
The man had put on quite a bit of weight compared to the portrait. His neck had practically disappeared into his shoulders, so much so that he had nearly failed to recognize the man.
"Isair?" Nihark asked blankly. It was obvious he'd never heard the name before.
The man didn't seem offended in the slightest. Instead, he smiled warmly and continued, "A distinguished gentleman like yourself naturally wouldn't remember my master. He's merely a baron who spends his days dealing with rough fellows like me. But my master has always remembered you. Two years ago, at His Majesty's coming-of-age banquet for the Fourth Prince, the two of you met briefly. He often tells us that only after meeting Governor Nihark did he finally understand what a true noble was like."
The coming-of-age banquet for the Fourth Prince two years ago...
Governor Nihark naturally remembered the Fourth Prince. He remembered everyone close to His Majesty. But as for whom he had met at one prince's banquet, or whom he had shared drinks with... How could he possibly remember something so trivial?
All he remembered was waking up the next morning in the bed of a countess.
As for some baron... At a banquet like that, such a man probably hadn't even been qualified to shake his hand.