Warhammer: Return of the Dragon

Chapter 493 How to deal with smuggling?

When Oliveira was about to teach his subordinates how to wield weapons correctly, and Elvis was thinking about letting the Prophet install some normal facilities on the battleship, Lasker, who had been walking for a long time on the forest road, also came to Qingyan Port.

After getting off the carriage, he waved goodbye to the fellow elf soldiers and walked into the city.

Although a long time ago, he had laid some foundations for Qingyan Port as an infrastructure worker, but he had never actually entered into it.

Laskol, who put on regular clothes, is similar to most of the places here. As a city mainly composed of Mrs. Kisli, even if Caledon rescued a large number of slaves in the northern battlefield to fill this place, the strong old World northern style.

Familiar onion heads and red-painted wooden doors can be seen everywhere. Most of the people walking are carrying work and carrying objects. The few shops along the street are not as crowded as when Laskoll was in his hometown.

This does not mean that there is a lack of funds to buy the items you need. On the contrary, it proves that the grocery store has sufficient supplies so that people don't have to worry about what to eat next and stand in a long line.

The long-lost sense of home made Raskol walk to the store, and saw a Kislev woman holding a child with her arms swaying as if she was coaxing her to sleep.

"This is really a dream scene. Women have their own jobs, and they can take care of their children with peace of mind, and the children don't have to go hungry when they are young." Sighing a little in my heart, I tapped on the wooden table lightly to remind guests to come.

The woman who heard the noise stood up, walked to the counter, and showed a smiling face.
"Need something?"

She thought that this person came here to work from other districts, and she didn't show the product column to Laskoll. After all, everyone knew what the store had.

Out of nostalgia for his hometown, Lasker didn't think too much, and reported a delicacy that he had been thinking about for a long time.

"Have a jar of pickles, and if you have kvass or vodka, two bottles too."

The woman didn't rummage through the items for the first time, but kept smiling, as if she was waiting for something.

This made Raskol feel a little strange. After looking around the body and finding nothing unusual, he asked, "Are there no pickles and wine here?"

"There are pickled cucumbers, ten coppers a can, but you need a drink ticket to buy drinks." The woman felt a little strange, maybe Lasker had just come from the old world, so he inevitably didn't know the rules here.

After thinking about it for a long time, Laskoll found that he only had money on him, and he didn't have a so-called drink ticket, which was the first time he had heard of this term.

"What should I do if I don't have a drink ticket? Is this thing distributed?"

The kind-hearted woman poked her head out and carefully looked at Laskell. She was in her thirties, and from time to time there was a bloodthirsty aura that had been on the battlefield for a long time. Even though she deliberately concealed it, the effect was unexpected.

The saber at the waist was covered by a scabbard, but a special smell of gunpowder was lingering.

He asked in a low voice, "Have you just sneaked in from Kislev and haven't got your identity card yet?"

In order to satisfy his curiosity, Lasker nodded and said that it was indeed so, following the woman's words, "Where should I find this...identity certificate."

Out of the mentality of taking care of the compatriots in her hometown, the woman let Laskoll into the store and whispered,
"If you have skills, you can go to the management office to apply for a residence permit. If you perform well, you will be able to obtain a Qingyan Port identity certificate within a year."

"What if I have nothing but all my strength?" Raskul mentioned the characteristics of most of his compatriots, and did not question whether the smuggling had betrayed Kislev.

Since there is a better life choice, why use the so-called national consciousness to restrain these people, where they are born is not up to them to decide, but what kind of life they want to live depends on themselves.

"Angus Gang, they have a way to get you an identity certificate, but it will take five years of manual labor."

After learning something about smuggling, Lasker walked out of the store with pickles.

Based on his understanding of Caledor, he will never tolerate the appearance of a gang force that can interfere with political plans. The greatest possibility is to use the Angus gang as white gloves and use a "reasonable" way to smuggle people Get rid of it.

When asked by the Kislev embassy, ​​it can be said that it was the intervention of some small-timers, allowing these smugglers to make a living.As for whether he will ask, Lasker feels a little suspenseful.

When you open the pottery can, you will smell a long-lost smell of salt water. Pick up a piece and put it in your mouth to feel the unique fragrance.

Although the supplies of the mercenaries were distributed according to normal standards, some Kislev specialties were not included in the purchase scope, especially the pickled items that would emit a unique fragrance.

He hadn't eaten pickled cucumbers for a long time, and even Kvass only took a sip at banquets and farewells. The supply of vodka was plentiful, but it was not easy to take a sip.

Looking at the crowd, I couldn't help sighing. When will the people in my hometown be able to live such a life? Perhaps it will take several generations of hard work and some support to barely take care of the interests of the common people.

But the prerequisite for seeing all of this is to live on your own.

Putting most of the pickled cucumbers he ate into his carrying bag, the retired sergeant began to observe the city that had been built less than ten years ago.

He saw a lot of people and a lot of things, compatriots running in various industries, southerners who are good at doing business, imperial people who specialize in manufacturing, and some dwarves who accept employment.

But something seems to be missing...

At night, leaning on the bed in the hotel, Raskol thought about what he had seen and heard throughout the day.

These compatriots have the same faces as me, and I can't guarantee their beliefs, but they must still respect the Four Righteous Gods.

But why, they seem to lack a little blood.When reprimanded by the foreman, he can only bend over to accept the scolding. After making a mistake, he seems to place the responsibility on himself without limit.

In contrast to Mrs. Kisly, who stubbornly struggled against ice, snow and chaos, they were more like Bretonnians, whose spine was crushed by life and lacked that tenacity.This is not an exception, it is a common phenomenon.

"A pet, or a slave? It seems like a good deal to trade yourself for life."

The retired non-commissioned officer leaning on the bed laughed at himself for a moment. If he exchanged his situation with them, it seemed that this way of life would be a good choice.What nonsense national consciousness and personal dignity, it is already not easy to survive, why should people who are already living in poverty firmly believe in things that are of no help to them.

But this is their choice. The non-commissioned officer understands and maintains respect, but he does not support it. The motherland needs people, money, supplies, everything that can be imagined.

"I hope they can still remember the fact that they are Mrs. Kisley, and provide some support for that land. I have no ability to change the world. I just hope that the world will not change me."

After pouring a glass of wine sold at a high price by the hotel owner, the retired non-commissioned officer lay on the bed and slowly fell asleep.

The hometown in the dream is still so clear, as if it has never disappeared, this is his deepest obsession.

The long-lost cold wind blew through his soul. This coldness, which was different from that of Naggaros, made his body shiver. The house standing in the farmland was so familiar, as if his father was sitting by the bonfire, looking at him. Whether the soup in the iron pot can fill his stomach.

Looking at this deja vu scene, Raskol, who was standing outside the door, did not dare to open the old and dilapidated door in front of him, fearing that all this would disappear in an instant.

After hearing a crisp cry, he raised his head and looked at the still snowy sky, a snow-white mountain eagle drifted past the white smoke above the village.

All this was so familiar, but he knew it was just an illusion. The figure of his father, the white smoke from his hometown, and the crowing white eagle made the corners of his eyes a little more tear-stained.

Returning home is such a happy thing, but his hometown has long since disappeared, watching all this silently, whispering in his mouth,

"I will return, in the name of Winter's Blood."

(End of this chapter)