The Lich of Glory Knight Spirit: Moving towards Krimasha!-Chapter 262 - 19: Entrepreneurship is Difficult (2)

Ideals are always so full-bodied, but reality is forever emaciated.

Jones’s life seemed to be an endless struggle, oscillating back and forth between ideals and reality.

After an episode of unbearable grief, Jones eventually composed himself and sat down to negotiate with the dwarves. After all, debts still needed to be paid. And he could no longer afford to replace the dwarves with a new set.

"I thought I treated you all so well, and you’d be grateful. But instead, you turn around and threaten me?"

"Why should we be grateful? Do you have some fundamental misunderstanding about the relationship between slaves and a slave owner?"

"But... but if you were sold to another slave owner, would you have such good opportunities? Only me! Only I offer you such a promising deal! You should cherish me!"

"Cherish you? By working hard to make you rich? Slave owners like you are rare, I’ll admit, but let me assure you, if you got rich, you’d be just like the others. Are we supposed to cherish your pitiful poverty instead and make sure you stay down?"

As he spoke, Ale Barrel couldn’t help but laugh. The other dwarves in the cages seemed to catch the humor too, and in an instant, they all burst into laughter, escalating into an uproarious chorus.

Jones, however, had no retort to this remark. All he could do was widen his eyes in disbelief, clenching his fists, trembling with frustration. If he could easily get the Blood Clan supervisors to deal with this, why the hell would he still be negotiating here? freeweɓnovel-cøm

From his pouch, Ale Barrel pulled out a smoking pipe. Quietly, he lit it, took a deep puff, and exhaled a stream of hazy smoke, looking at Jones in sheer contentment.

That expression—if it weren’t for the cage, one might have thought that Jones was the slave here.

Jones felt a bit defeated and asked: "You, a slave, actually have tobacco? Isn’t it forbidden for slaves to own private property?"

"Not just tobacco, I’ve got booze too. Care for a sip?" Ale Barrel then produced a flask and took a big swig himself before wiping his mouth and letting out a hearty belch.

Jones was utterly dumbfounded.

Through the bars, Ale Barrel stared impassively at Jones and said: "There are all kinds of slaves. Physical labor slaves are the easiest to control and the least entitled to demand anything. But, sorry to break it to you, I’m not one of them. Every slave owner before you, in hopes of getting the best work out of me, provided me with booze and tobacco. You’ll need to do the same."

"Yet here you are, still being sold off, aren’t you? Maybe it’s because you demand too much that you’ve been passed around."

"No, I was sold because he went bankrupt."

"Bankrupt?"

"That’s right, he went bankrupt."

"All three of them went bankrupt?"

"Yes, all three went bankrupt. Don’t blame me for that. I can prospect for veins of ore, but I can’t conjure up deposits that don’t exist. Of course, I’m also tired of being sold off again and again. So, perhaps we can have a proper discussion. If we come to terms, I might just settle down here and enjoy my years in peace."

This guy was a plague—a walking, talking plague worth eight thousand Gold Coins. Of that, Jones was now convinced. Yet, he couldn’t afford another one to replace him. So, gritting his teeth, he asked, "What do you want to talk about?"

Clearing his throat, Ale Barrel replied in an almost sing-song voice: "You’ve got two choices. One, treat us just like any other slave owner would—whipping us into working hard. But I promise you, you’ll go bankrupt. I have countless ways to mess with the ore veins, and you won’t even know it’s my doing."

"If you dare, I’ll kill you!" Jones snapped without hesitation.

"Well, I hope when the time comes, you’ll have the guts," Ale Barrel shrugged, unconcerned. "Don’t forget, I’m worth eight thousand Gold Coins. So, between taking out your anger and throwing away eight thousand Gold Coins, which would you choose? You can’t even beat me without a penalty; damaged slaves lose value. I hope you understand that much."

Jones trembled with anger. This was a threat, a blatant threat!

Taking another sip of his booze, Ale Barrel continued: "You’ll go bankrupt, while we’ll simply be sold to the next slave owner, continuing our not-so-pleasant yet relatively stable lives. Of course, given the decent conditions you’ve just promised, we might just ensure you remain perpetually poor, rather than..."

"Stop!" Jones cut him off bluntly. "Alright, I get option one. What’s option two?"

"Smart move! Since you’re not into the first option, let’s talk about option two," Ale Barrel replied with a sly grin. "Option two: you lease the ore vein to me."

"Lease it?" Jones froze for a moment.

"That’s right, lease it," Ale Barrel said, ticking off his chubby fingers. "Allow us to buy our freedom. Yes, freedom—to reclaim the status of free folk. I can ensure a decent profit for you, and, obviously, I’ll ensure a fair slice for myself. How else could we buy our freedom, right? If we can pay for our own freedom, why would we need to risk escaping, right? This way, our interests align."

"How much profit can you bring me?" Jones asked skeptically.

"Hard to say," Ale Barrel replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I’ll have to prospect first to give you an answer. I hear this is a gold mine, right? I can guarantee no less than twenty thousand Gold Coins in annual profit. That’s already a pretty good return. If the final survey shows it’s less than that, I’ll tell you directly. After all, I want profits too, don’t I?"

"So, you’re saying I wouldn’t even know exactly how much my gold mine is earning, huh?"

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