573 It’s Been a While (1/2)

It was 6 pm in Avalon.

The sky was still dark, the ice-cold drizzle had disappeared and was replaced by a fog, which grew thicker and thicker. The fog permeated the air, and almost engulfing the entire downtown.

At the moment, the cleaning up of downtown had yet to be completed. Having once fallen at the hands of the demons, downtown was still occupied by a large number of the vile spawn of the sea, which had even attracted a lot of parasitic demons, and the pollution level escalated.

Some heavily polluted areas had even become habitats of demons. They were plaques parasitic on Avalon, and would definitely develop into deadly tumors in the future if not cleared in time.

The Knights of the Round Table, leading the garrison, went about the downtown doing their job without a moment's rest. Hundreds of tons of burning coal were transported by torpedo cars and distributed to the various squads. After the coal was equipped on the Showerheads, gusts of blazing flames shot out, burning the demons and their lairs into ashes together.

In the distant sky, flames rose. But certain places were still dark.

Everyone downtown had always understood one thing: one must be able to handle one's issues by oneself. Sometimes, if the army was not doing a good job of cleaning up, they could only take it upon themselves. And when it involved their immediate interests and life-threatening problems, their efficiency was actually higher than the army's.

The first to be cleared was the hidden port favored by smugglers. After the short span of half a day after the fall of the downtown, the port was reclaimed. After the musicians' blazing fires purged everything on the water, the whole port became clean and neat. The air was filled with the reassuring smell of smoke. It was sharp and warm, but not stinking.

At the port, in the dim light and the dense fog, someone held a lantern high and looked into the distance.

”This is the last ship of today.” Conrad, fugitive and former Captain from Asgard, sat on the cold steps, smoking cigars of low quality, and looked at the blurred outline in the distance, which was gradually approaching.

At the moment, he had been recruited as a thug. With killing techniques trained in the army and a one-track mind, he was fairly recognized among the local gangs. He brought a few dozens of brawny men along to the port to work as temporary porters and await further instructions.

After a busy afternoon, he had unloaded three ships' worth of goods, and was so tired that his hands were getting cramps. As he looked at the last ship approaching slowly, he couldn't help but sigh. ”These smugglers are really putting their lives on the line to get rich, still daring to sail in such circumstances.”

The thin man working for him chuckled. ”If I have a boat, I will do so too.

”Weapons, food, spirits... These items are in shortage, do you know how high their prices have soared in the black market? You can't even buy a pound of pork with the amount of money needed to buy a pound of gold.

”All rich people have gone crazy now. In their eyes, whoever can bring them what they want at this time is better than the rescue angels from the Religious Court of Inquiry last night.

”I calculated briefly just now; each trip they take here can earn them more than 20 times the profit before...” Seeing the blank looks on the people around, he spat and counted with his fingers. Estimating conservatively, he said a number. In a flash, everyone's eyes turned green with envy.

”Do you think this is the main deal? Not even close!” The thin man lowered his voice and said, ”Smuggling things here just earns them additional profit. Do you know how much they charge to fetch a person out of here? They don't accept paper bills, not even money orders from the Church, only black gold!”

The porters who gathered around him were stunned and started talking all at once.

Not far away, the person in charge frowned. He glared at Conrad, who was at the lead, signaling for him to keep his subordinates in check and stop the goddamn gossiping.

Hearing his voice, the young man beside him smiled. ”They are all very energetic young people. It's good. At least this place won't feel dead.”

The manager wiped the sweat off his forehead and gave an ingratiating smile. ”They're a bunch of ill-mannered rednecks, but it's fine as long as you don't find them irritating.”

The young man shook his head and did not answer. He just stared at the smuggling ship that was gradually approaching from afar.

The manager held the lantern up for him, illuminating the thin blanket on his knees, which sheltered him from the cold. The blanket was checkered, revealing the outline of his two slightly atrophied legs beneath it.

Upon accidentally glancing at them, the manager felt as if his vision had been burnt by a soldering iron, and dared not look again.

In the dim light, the young man's face looked pretty, like that of a girl. He sat quietly in a wheelchair, his fingers tapping on the back of his seat without making a sound. The quiet pair of eyes was iron-gray. It resembled steel that cooled after being heated red.

”Sir, something's not quite right.” At the frontmost of the pier, the hunched man waving the lantern frowned. ”They did not return the signal.”

The smuggling ship was coming closer slowly, and people with good eyesight could already see the paint peeling off from the bow, but the whole ship was deathly silent. No signal was sent, and no sound could be heard.

”Mr. Watson, allow me to show you out,” the manager bent over and whispered. Thinking of the possible consequences, his face turned pale. ”The situation doesn't look good.”

”It's no big deal, just order your men to get ready.” Watson propped up his chin with his palms. He tilted his head and gazed at the boat that was floating in the calm currents. ”Send the musicians over to take a look. Be careful, there are still plenty of valuables on board. Don't let everyone here come in vain.”

The last sentence seemed to be a joke, but he said it in such a serious tone that no one dared to laugh.

Soon, an obese musician rose into the air, crossed the short distance and landed on the deck. Then he bent down and vomited. The snakes stored in his chest cavity slid out from his mouth one by one, rapidly dispersing in all directions. They entered every opening, sneaked into the cabins and began to investigate. But it didn't take long before the musician's expression changed to one of confusion. After inspecting repeatedly, he gave a signal.

It was safe.

Upon returning, the musician bent down and reported in a low voice in Watson's ear, ”The cargo is still in the bilge, but no one is on the ship, nor is there the smell of blood.”

”Alright, let's go.” Watson nodded and turned the wheelchair in the other direction.

The person beside was stunned. ”Go?”

”There's no one alive to look for us and collect money anyway, just leave the things here.” Watson said casually, ”Do you still want to carry the things home despite knowing that something is wrong?”

Everyone swallowed hard and turned back to look at the deathly silent smuggling boat. Their eyes were full of dismay, but the strange atmosphere around made them shudder uncontrollably.

Upon hearing the command from their superior, the workers below were stunned for a moment, but soon reacted. They dropped the crowbars, spades, and other tools they prepared and got ready to leave.

”Just give it up like that?” Conrad, who was smoking on the shore, inhaled deeply. The superiors didn't seem to care, but he couldn't help but feel anguished over such a waste.