After the carriage left, Manfred discovered that, just as the driver had said, no one had stayed behind to wait for him. Everyone had left, and the bustling crowd around him was full of unfamiliar faces.
However, he didn't feel too much disappointment. He hadn't done those things to receive gratitude, but because he believed it was the right thing to do.
Following the driver's information, Manfred quickly found the registration point for the Greycastle people—in fact, the area was not only covered with banners, but also had people shouting everywhere, making it hard to miss.
Despite the large number of people, the scene didn't seem chaotic. Iron railings divided the crowd into several folded queues, seemingly extending the distance from the entrance to the registration desk. However, this also ensured that people could only move forward one by one along the "roads" defined by the railings.
When it was his turn, a Greycastle person dressed as a soldier received him—these outsiders all wore the same zhifu, making them easy to identify.
"Name?"
"Manfred Karstein."
"Identity, criminal record, any special skills?"
The questioning process was just as the driver had said. Manfred answered truthfully, glossing over details like family background. When he was about to elaborate on his special skills, the soldier interrupted him after hearing "can write," saying, "Alright, go to Pier Six. This is your registration number tag, don't lose it. Next."
Before he could recover, he was pushed out of the line and entered the dock area.
Uh... is that it?
Could it really be that being literate can guarantee a comfortable life in Greycastle, as the driver said? But looking at the situation in front of the registration desk, it seemed that any Greycastle person could write. Manfred noticed while waiting in line that the recorders had rotated several times, sometimes even using soldiers temporarily supervising the order, and there were no problems.
This situation confused him quite a bit.
Moreover, the tag given to him by the Greycastle people seemed to contain hidden secrets—it was actually an iron tag with a hemp rope attached to one end, making it wearable as a necklace. The tag was engraved with a series of symbols, probably related to his registration number. Such a small metal tag wouldn't cost much for a blacksmith to make, but if extended to the entire migrant population, it would be a different story.
The Karstein family's territory used to have a blacksmith shop, so he naturally knew what this meant. An iron tag could be made from the scraps left over from forging, but not a hundred or a thousand; engraving symbols would take half a day, but repeating it a hundred or a thousand times would take a very long time.
Yet there were more than a thousand people at the dock!
If Deepwater Bay was like this every day, tens of thousands would be a low estimate! And to prepare such a registration tag for all the migrants? The materials and time required were beyond his imagination, probably beyond the capabilities of all the blacksmiths in Wolfheart combined.
This alone made him feel the wealth and extravagance of Greycastle.
This title should have belonged to the Kingdom of Dawn before.
With this feeling, Manfred boarded a three-masted sea ship.
Perhaps due to his special skill, he was assigned to a ten-person cabin, which was expected to be much better than sleeping in the cargo hold. However, even so, the strong fishy smell in the cabin was unbearable for him. Even in his family's decline, they could at least guarantee a comfortable bedroom.
Therefore, after staying for a while, he fled in embarrassment. As he was about to go to the deck for some fresh air, Manfred suddenly heard a faint cry for help.
It seemed to be coming from the end of the corridor.
There weren't many people boarding at this time, and the sailors were all busy, making the entire deck seem somewhat empty. Besides him, no one else seemed to have heard the cry for help.
Manfred didn't hesitate to walk towards the source of the sound.
At the end was a locked storage room, a place that few people besides the crew would come to. He quietly put his ear to the door and indeed heard some unusual noises, like someone struggling.
He decisively took two steps back, lowered his shoulder, and slammed the door open with a bang.
The scene before him made Manfred pause slightly.
The man standing in the storage room was actually the acquaintance from the carriage, the young noble who had ridiculed his foolishness. His two followers were holding two women to the ground, trying to tie their hands and feet with ropes. The women's mouths were stuffed with a wad of hemp cloth, and they could only make muffled groans. Clearly, they had been forcibly brought here.
"Oh? Isn't this the self-proclaimed righteous fool?" The noble said calmly, "If I'm not mistaken, you must also be a noble? My name is Mai McKinley, and you are?"
"Manfred Karstein." This was the third time Manfred had given his name in one day. And he noticed that when he revealed his identity, the hope that had just lit up in the women's eyes faded again, and even the extent of their struggle diminished.
"Karstein? Never heard of it." The other party shrugged. "But consider yourself lucky. Since you've stumbled upon this, you can have some fun too—but after me."
"Let them go," Manfred said in a deep voice.
"Huh?" Mai McKinley narrowed his eyes. "Is there something wrong with you? Do you know who they are? Slaves! And the kind that have been played with by who knows how many people. I thought I was mistaken at first, but I didn't expect to find these two little things on the ship. As far as I know, their master wouldn't let them go, so the conclusion is simple: they escaped on their own. Even so, you still want to protect them?"
Even in the world of slaves, escaped slaves were the lowest of the low, almost no different from livestock. No noble would be reprimanded for doing anything to them.
But as he had said before.
"Just because everyone does it doesn't mean it's right."
"This ship's destination is Greycastle, right?"
"...What are you trying to say?" Mai McKinley asked with a dark face.
"You must have heard Greycastle's propaganda. The Wimbledon royal family has abolished slavery. Therefore, from the moment they boarded this ship, they are no longer slaves," Manfred said without yielding. "And don't forget, there's another round of screening after disembarking, including criminal records. If I tell them, do you think the Greycastle people will pretend it didn't happen?"
"What if I insist on continuing?" The other party asked through gritted teeth.
"Then beat me first," Manfred rolled up his sleeves. "I am a knight—"
Before he could finish speaking, Mai McKinley's subordinates had already pounced on him.
...
The battle was quickly decided.
The other party's guards were clearly trained as well. In the narrow storage room, Manfred couldn't last ten moves before losing the ability to fight back. As he fell to the ground with a bruised face, Mai McKinley didn't forget to add two more kicks.
"With your skills, you still want to show off? I thought your abilities were as good as your mouth," the young noble spat viciously. "Damn it, you've ruined my mood. Since you like protecting these bitches, you can have them. But don't forget, slaves are slaves, no matter where they go! It's unlucky to run into such a fool. Let's go!"
The door slammed shut, leaving only the three who were temporarily unable to move in the crowded, dilapidated storage room.