Chapter 546
Trade in the Southern Continent
Eivass felt somewhat surprised to see young Rabih following him out. The boy trailed behind Eivass obediently and silently, appearing a little timid.
Eivass turned back. “Aren’t you going to stay with your grandfather?”
“Not yet.”
“Why? You only just managed to get him back… Isn’t that why you came to the Church?”
“Yes.” Young Rabih said with a solemn expression, speaking slowly and with difficulty in Avalon language, “But Grandpa has been rescued. He is safe. I want to thank my benefactor. That is more important.” He then glanced worriedly at Eivass and Sherlock again, emphasizing, “Grandpa is not… a particularly cruel person.” The young troll sorcerer tried hard to defend his grandfather.
Eivass said nothing, merely smiling noncommittally. Sherlock, however, let out a cold laugh. “Then can you tell me why he would prioritize cursing Zumaydi? Is it because Zumaydi is a Curse Master?”
“Yes… I’m glad you can understand.” The young troll sorcerer replied without hesitation. “Curse Masters are descendants of sinners. Because they are tainted things, they are even more poisonous.”
Sherlock looked up to meet his gaze. In young Rabih’s clear eyes, he saw no shame or repentance. At least, that’s what the trolls genuinely believed. This caused Sherlock to swallow the words he had intended to say, leaving him momentarily speechless.
Eivass reached out and patted Sherlock’s shoulder, pulling his leaning body back. “Every place has its own customs and traditions. Perhaps we cannot understand them, but we must at least respect them. In the Southern Continent, the status of Curse Masters is the lowest. Sorcerers can also use curses, but Curse Masters cannot perform rituals.”
Sorcerer was another translation for Ritual Mage, a term more commonly used in the South. Ritual Mage was the term used in the East. This was also why the advanced profession for Ritual Mages was called Grand Sorcerer.
“You are wise, Prophet. Respected Archbishop.” Young Rabih made some strange gestures with his hands in front of him, then bowed deeply. “Avalon is too developed, so you don’t understand. Our tribe is very backward. There are few intelligent people; sorcerers guide the people. Curse Masters are sinners. They violated taboos, or killed people, or ate people. And enemy tribes, we defeated them. Their sin flows in their blood, for up to three generations. Their smell is foul, beasts can detect their sin, they cannot be hunters, no one needs them…”
Young Rabih explained earnestly, his hands and body gesturing animatedly. Even so, he still couldn’t express some words in the Avalon language and had to resort to Elven. Fortunately, both Eivass and Sherlock were proficient in Elven and could understand him. Only Lily seemed a bit lost—her current Elven proficiency was probably equivalent to a freshman who had barely passed the CET-4. Everyday reading was fine, but high-speed conversations or less common words might leave her befuddled.
It was clear that young Rabih’s mastery of Elven was far superior to his native Avalon. As a young troll of only eighteen, he had mastered two foreign languages—this level of intelligence surpassed many Avalonians. However, out of respect for Eivass and the other two, he tried his best to use Avalon language when speaking to them.
Sherlock also recognized the young troll’s politeness and sincerity. He sighed, walked over, and raised his hand to pat the boy’s shoulder. Young Rabih, being perceptive and humble, bent down so Sherlock could pat his shoulder without having to stand on tiptoe.
“I know you are a good child, Rabih…” Sherlock said slowly as he gently patted the boy’s shoulder. “But you don’t need to worry too much about our opinions or attitudes towards you. Unless you have something else to tell us; or rather, unless we have a reason to meet again in the future.”
Although he was one centimeter taller than Eivass, in front of Rabih, who was nearly three meters tall and had arms as thick as Eivass’s thighs, Sherlock still looked like a small, thin child.
“Sir.” Young Rabih did not remember Sherlock’s name, so he could only address him as ‘sir’. “I deeply respect Avalonians, because you are like Elves. You are better than the Star Antimony people, or the Iris people. The worst are those white-robed men.”
“Doesn’t the Iris Kingdom also prohibit the sale of trolls?” Sherlock inquired. He was very interested in this—it was extremely rare firsthand information, much more accurate than reading books or papers. As the successor of a troll tribe, a smart troll who had mastered multiple foreign languages at a young age, the information he provided directly was far more accurate than research reports based on speculation and inference.
Hearing this, young Rabih immediately became serious, even agitated—he hadn’t shown such excitement when talking about the ‘white-robed men’. “The Iris people come to us to trade. But all transactions are unfair! Completely unfair! Like the Goblins—worse than the Goblins!”
“Elaborate.” Sherlock’s interest was piqued, and he even took out his notebook. “Specifically, what aspects are unfair?”
“They exchange soap, cloth, salt, wine for our medicinal herbs. Also corn, cocoa, coffee. Some monster teeth and hides, meat. But I know, this price is wrong!” Young Rabih gave an example: “A barrel of wine for five carts of coffee; a cart of salt for a cart of ivory!”
Sherlock knitted his brows and scribbled away. He quickly calculated the prices and then looked at Eivass with surprised, almost amazed, expression.
“How much?” Seeing his reaction, Eivass leaned over and asked in a low voice.
“At least fifty times the profit, it’s terrifying,” Sherlock whispered in Eivass’s ear. “No wonder… even though the Iris side is so suppressed by Star Antimony, they can still hold on. So they are indeed the wealthiest.”
Sherlock then looked up. “Are the Goblins priced the same?”
“Goblins… are a little less.” Young Rabih said. Then, realizing his description was imprecise, he added, “The Iris people are worse.” This meant that even Goblins earned less profit than the Iris people.
“Then why don’t you trade with the Goblins?” Sherlock casually asked. But as soon as he asked, he knew he had said something foolish—why not trade with Goblins? It was simple: Goblins had long deceived, plundered, and sold trolls, even pushing the trolls’ territories deep into the rainforest. Trolls held an ingrained hatred for Goblins. Since the Iris people did not buy troll slaves, they had a high reputation among the trolls. Many trolls eagerly did business with them, actually hoping that the Iris people’s influence would expand in the Southern Continent. Preferably, they wanted the Star Antimony people, the Anxi people, and the Goblins driven out.
…Who would have thought that the Iris people would be better at business than the Goblins. Eivass also sighed. Hearing this, Eivass understood young Rabih’s intention. “You want to… cooperate with Avalonians?”
“Avalonians are the best.” Young Rabih said firmly. “Almost like Elves! They also have Elven constraints… And Elves are the fairest.”
Your judgment of Elves is not wrong… but you think too highly of Avalon, child. Eivass thought to himself. Sherlock’s expression was also somewhat strange. However, young Rabih had indeed approached the right people. Eivass was now the President of the Lloyd Society, and his words truly counted. Originally, Avalon refused to do business with foreign races due to the influence of Elves and the need to uphold the Path of Authority. Now, that ban had been lifted by Queen Isabel. Even Goblins had come ashore to build railways… trading with trolls should be no problem.
“War Song Tribe, is that right?”
“Beast Song Tribe.” Young Rabih corrected him.
“Alright, Beast Song Tribe—where are you located in the Southern Continent?” Eivass said with a smile. “Although it may not look like it, I am Avalon’s recognized commercial leader, Minister of Affairs, inner circle knight of the Round Table, Queen Isabel’s most trusted confidante, President of the Lloyd Society, the future patriarch of the founding family ‘Moriarty’, and the heir of the Moriarty Group.”
“And the future Prince of Avalon.” Sherlock added from the side. He placed his right hand over his chest, speaking with a hint of pride, self-importance, and also a bit of teeth-grinding: “And I am his deputy.”
“He is the secretary and assistant secretary,” Eivass emphasized. “You can communicate directly with him.”
“Oh!” Young Rabih’s eyes lit up. He immediately knelt down on one knee and extended his large, thick hands to shake Sherlock’s very sincerely. “Thank you very much! Welcome! We look forward to it! Please come to our place, esteemed guests. We are… one of the largest tribes… or among the top three, or top five. In the central region… When your people come, just mention my name. Rabih of the Beast Song Tribe, my guests. Those smaller tribes won’t dare to stop you.”
Sherlock glared at Eivass. —You like to push these troublesome matters onto me, don’t you? Eivass responded with his eyes: How about I give them to your brother? —Fine. Sherlock guessed what Eivass was implying. He said softly to young Rabih, “I will write a letter back to Avalon and have the Privy Council Minister directly liaise with you… You know who the Privy Council Minister is, right?”
“Oh, I know! Chief Hunter, or Grand Priest!” Young Rabih nodded repeatedly, listing two positions second only to the tribal chief. “The Grand Priest is my grandfather! I know, he taught me everything!”
(End of this chapter)
