Chapter 1262: A Conflict in the New City

“Stay in line! Don’t push!” A Graycastle clerk in a black uniform shoved through the press of bodies. “Find the number on your boarding pass and go to the matching checkout — the correct one!”

Manfeld came off the gangplank still half inside the memory of those machines in the sky.

The port spread before him and didn’t stop spreading. The dock stretched to the horizon in both directions, white-slabbed and clean, nothing damp or mildewed about it. Thousands of ships moved through the anchorage like pieces on a board being played by someone who knew what they were doing. Even the Dawn port, which he’d thought extraordinary, was a village market by comparison.

People around him gasped. Manfeld had already spent his quota of astonishment on the iron birds and could only register the port as one more data point in an argument he was losing.

He kept glancing back the way he’d come, hoping for another glimpse. Nothing. Just blue sky above the mast-tops.

“Have your boarding passes ready! Three-digit number to the corresponding checkout!” The voice boomed across the crowd, amplified by some metal instrument beyond his understanding, every syllable crisp as a bell. “Follow the guides through the security check. Welcome to the king’s city of Graycastle. We welcome every one of you!”

The welcome phrasing struck him as strange. These people had, in practical terms, drafted the refugees north. Calling it a welcome seemed either dishonest or — he turned it over — simply more decent than the alternative. He found, to his irritation, that it worked. Something in him loosened a half-notch.

The cliff face carved a natural channel here, and the crowd funneled through it into parallel lines directed at a dozen checkouts. Ten thousand people at least, and not all from Wolfheart — faces from all three kingdoms he knew and some he didn’t. The organizational reach required to gather this many displaced people and move them was staggering.

Then the line stopped.

A commotion behind him. Not just among the refugees — the black-uniformed clerks were staring too.

A ship was docking. Iron-hulled, straight-sided, immense: no paddlewheels, no visible means of propulsion, its freeboard cutting the water in a clean vertical line. The kind of ship that made a person stop and recalculate what the word ship had previously meant.

But the Graycastle clerks weren’t staring at the design. They were staring at the ship’s condition.

“Iron ships rust,” someone near Manfeld muttered. “Everyone knows that.”

“I sailed the sea twenty years,” someone else replied. “Saltwater eats iron in a week. This is what you get.”

The hull was a ruin. What had probably been polished metal was now a geography of rust and pocking, the surface damaged in ways that looked less like corrosion and more like violence. The mast had snapped into several pieces. The ship was making for the dock the way a wounded man makes for a door — still moving, barely.

This was not a demonstration of wealth. This was a ship that had barely survived something.

The men in black were already pushing through the crowd toward the sailors.

The line began to move again. When Manfeld’s turn came, the clerk glanced at his name and number and waved him through in seconds.

On the other side, a man in his thirties was waiting for a group of thirty.

“I’m Matt, from the Administrative Office. I’ll help you settle in while you wait for your identification. I know you have questions — I’ll answer them on the way. First, please drink the Cleansing Water on the table. It treats the demonic plague if you’ve been exposed. If you haven’t, it’s just a decent drink.”

“Do we have to follow you?” A man in the group crossed his arms. “We’re Graycastle residents now. We should go where we like.”

“You become His Majesty’s subjects after the identification cards. Skilled workers like yourselves can qualify immediately after the psychological examination — usually two or three days’ wait, given the volume of applicants.”

“Psychological test? That’s a screening process.”

“Take it and see.” Matt smiled without elaborating. “The same test I took when I arrived. Drink up, and let’s walk.”

Manfeld drank and fell into step. He’d heard of the lie-detector test from a coachman weeks ago, on the road that had eventually brought him here. He watched Matt answer question after question — wages, housing, equal treatment with locals, his own experience adapting — and watched the faces around him gradually unclench. Matt was good at this.

Then, from somewhere in the residential suburb ahead, laughter erupted — the kind that has an edge to it.

A cluster of men had cornered a woman against a wall. Bystanders ringed the scene in the way bystanders always ring such scenes, a closed circle that sees without acting.

Manfeld felt something go cold and flat in his chest.

“Is anyone going to tell the guards in black?” he asked.

Nobody moved.

“Young man.” An older refugee touched his arm. “Don’t get involved. You’ll be living here a few days before you move to the inner city. You don’t want enemies already.”

“That’s right. If they come after you later—”

Manfeld looked at Matt.

Matt shook his head slightly.

The cold flat thing in his chest turned to something harder. He’d thought Neverwinter would be different. He’d given the city that much, before he’d even seen it — a benefit of the doubt he apparently shouldn’t have granted.

He pulled his arm free.

“I’ll hold them back,” he said to Matt. “You go find the guards.”

Matt caught his wrist. Still shaking his head.

Manfeld pronounced each word like he was setting it down on stone: “I thought it would be different here.”

He rolled up his sleeves and walked into the crowd.

Chapter 1262 - A Conflict in the

New City Translator: Transn Editor: Transn “Keep in line. Don’t push!” a Graycastle clerk wearing a black uniform yelled as he pushed his way through the crowd. “Remember the number on your boarding pass and go to the corresponding checkout. Make sure you go to the correct one!” Manfeld, still flabberaghasted, was pushed onto the dock. He saw the whole port lie before him. It was the largest port he had ever seen. The dock stretched away along the bank and disappeared at the end of the horizon. Unlike the damp, moldy port he usually saw, this dock was clean and tidy. The pavement was covered with white slabs. Thousdands of ships traveled back and forth. Even the port in the Kingdom of Dawn was incomparable to this one. Many people gasped at this magnificent scene. However, Menfeld was still in such an immense shock that he was now emotionally numb after he had seen the flying iron birds. Manfeld constantly looked backward in the direction he had come, in a hope of seeing the iron birds again. Instinctively, he wanted to convince himself that it was not a delirious illusion. But by the time he reached the trestle, he had still not seen them. Manfeld was a little disappointed. “Please have your boarding pass ready and go to the corresponding checkout according to the three digit number on the pass!” Many people were shouting through a strange metal object at the refugees, their voice amplified by multiple times, so that everyone in the crowd could hear them clearly. “Please follow the guide and go through the security check. Welcome to the king’s city of Graycastle. We welcome every one of you!” Manfeld calmed himself down and put away his thoughts. He thought it was a very strange way to welcome new people because the refugees did not come to Graycastle willingly. Everything these Graycastle men had done in the Kingdom of Wolfheart was, in a way, a sort of dictatorship. Yet, surprisingly, he found himself a lot more self-assured after hearing these words. The towering cliff suddenly caved in at this point and formed a natural outpost. The refugees formed a long line behind it and slowly proceeded to the checkouts in various directions. There were more than 10,000 people at the dock area, and apparently, not all of them were from the Kingdom of Wolfheart. What astonishing national power that was to bring so many people from the three kingdoms together in such a short period of time! Just then, the refugees stopped moving, and Manfeld heard a commotion from behind. Not only the people waiting in line but also the clerks in black maintaining the order were surprised. Manfeld turned around and saw a colossal ship slowly dock. It was long and made of metal. There were no paddles on either side of the ship, its freeboard aloft and straight. Nobody would ever miss noticing such a superb ship. It was evident, however, that the Graycastle men was not astounded at the ship itself but the way it looked. “Are they mental? I can’t believe that they use iron to build ships!” someone around Manfeld muttered in disbelief. “Don’t they know that iron will rust after in contact with water?” “Perhaps the King of Graycastle wants to show off his wealth. The iron ship does look pretty nice. I didn’t believe that such heavy things could float in water before I saw the concrete boat.” “What’s the point in making such a wonderful ship when it can only last half a month? I used to sail on the sea and know a lot about ships. Seawater erodes ships far more quickly than you could possibly imagine. Regular paints won’t last long. You see, this is what they’ve got in the end.” Rusts could be seen all over the iron ship. Its body, which had once been polished and shiny, was now bumpy and damaged, which created a glaring constrast with the neat dock. The mast above was snapped and broken into several pieces. The ship was shuffling with great difficulties toward the dock like an exhausted, withered sea monster that had entered its decrepitude. Did King Roland Wimbledon really intend to show off by building a ship like this? The men in black immediately elbowed their way through the crowd for the sailors on the ship. Manfeld had a vague feeling that things were not that simple. Peace was soon restored, and the refugees started to march forward again. When it was his turn, the clerk only confirmed his name and number before he let Manfeld pass. After 30 people passed the security check, a man walked up to them and said, “I’m a clerk working at the Administrative Office of Neverwinter. My name is Matt. I’ll assist you in settling down in the city for the time being. I know you must have a lot of questions, but please don’t worry. I’ll explain to you in detail on the way to the residential area. Now, please drink the Cleansing Water on the table first. It can cure the demonic plague if you’re infected. If you aren’t, just view it as a tasty beverage.” “Do we have to follow you?” someone questioned. “We’re now Graycastle residents, too. We should be allowed to go wherever we want. Don’t you think so?” “You’ll only become His Majesy’s subjects after you receive your identification cards,” Matt replied while shaking his head. “Usually, people can apply for identification cards after having one to two years of working experience, provided that they don’t break the Graycastle law. However, you’re all skilled workers, so you can immediately become an official Graycastle resident after passing the psychological test. However, the examination officer is quite busy. Since there are so many applicants, you’ll have to wait for two to three days.” “Psychological test? Isn’t it just a screening process?” “You’ll know it when you take the test,” Matt answered with a smile. “We focus on your present and future rather than your past. I became a city clerk after I passed the same test. Now, please drink the water and follow me.” Manfeld thought this must be the “lie detector test” that the coachman had mentioned. Matt did answer a lot of their questions that the refugees were most concerned about, such as what work they would have in the future, their salaries, etc. According to the policy implemented by the King of Graycastle, the refugees would be treated equally as the locals once they obtained their resident status. Matt also shared his personal experience and told them how he had gradually adapted to the new life here, which greatly alleviated them. When they entered a residential area in the suburb, a roar of laughter caught everybody’s attention. Manfeld then saw some refugees corner a woman and slowly approach her. Many people saw the incident happen but nobody came up to stop them. Somebody was even egging them on, looking tempted to join them. “Damn it. Why do these things happen everywhere?” Manfeld had thought that Neverwinter would be different. Frowning, he asked, “Did anyone inform the guards in black?” Matt had told them earlier that the men in black had replaced the previous patrol team and were called the police. Manfeld was not sure whether they were reliable, but it seemed that there was no better way at the moment. However, nobody took action. “Young man, don’t meddle with this matter. You’ll still have to live here for a few days before moving to the inner city.” “That’s right. If those scumbags come to avenge, they won’t do you any good.” “You — ” Manfeld said. His voice suddenly abandoned him. Then he looked toward Matt and said, “I’ll hold them back. You go and inform those guards!” But Matt grasped his hand and slightly shook his head. In an instant, Manfeld felt utterly disappointed. He wrenched himself away and pronounced each word slowly, “I thought it’d be different here in Neverwinter from the other kingdoms, but I was wrong.” With these words, he rolled up his sleeves and rushed toward the crowd.