Chapter 27: Born as a Human, I Am Proud

How to respond to injustice and oppression.

“Kill.”

“When someone plans to eat you, are you still going to reason with them?”

“You’re already a worthless life—why not fight those bastards?”

After spending the entire night guarding his brother’s withered corpse, the chef Dimon had arrived at only this conclusion.

So he picked up two cleavers and walked into the Bone Shatter Gang, still demanding funeral fees.

“To live as a human being, you can’t rely on others—only on yourself.”

He had changed completely.

Even now, everyone still underestimated this massive, seemingly simple-minded “cook.”

While Li En was lost in the tender embrace of the slaughterhouse (big fog), the storm near the docks grew fiercer.

Li En could be suspended—but what about that thickset, towering boar-man?

Li En’s assessment was correct: the boar-man carried a fire within him; once ignited, it could never be extinguished.

Or put another way: from the moment he picked up his cleavers and took that first step, nothing but death could stop him.

Since Li En lit the fuse and Dimon followed, the whirlwind of slaughter had never ceased.

Today is merely another beginning.

“Brothers, we all know we’re nothing but shit.”

Looking at the dozen or so Bone Shatter Gang members below, plus over fifty new recruits holding great swords, Dimon looked weary, his deep voice thick with self-mockery.

“Local merchants look down on us, ordinary people despise us, and the bosses of the big organizations treat us like toilet paper—call us ‘brothers’ when they need us, then curse us as filthy and disgusting once they’re done.”

“Ha, the worst part? We despise ourselves too. Ask yourselves honestly—do you respect the trash brothers beside you?”

The scum below exchanged glances, unsure what their new boss was trying to say.

Dimon shook his head; he knew he was preaching to pigs.

But he wanted to say this—just once.

“I won’t waste words with you. Believe me, follow me, learn from me—I’ll give you respect. Real respect. Fuck if you don’t understand—just remember: follow me into the fight.”

“Follow me into the fight, and I’ll make you rich. I promise you—you’ll live as human beings!”

In the end, after a roar, was morale lifted? No—the response below remained sparse and half-hearted.

These men had eaten plenty of their bosses’ lies, but at least a seed had been planted.

He was different from other bosses—he seemed to want to change something.

Yet with the others in the docks and their factions, he was anything but crude.

You're all my neighbors, my brothers and sisters—I won't waste words. Right now, you're paying ten silver per shop, right? I'll take half. The same goes for other trades—I'll take only half of what you're currently paying. And when I grow bigger, I'll assign dedicated personnel to collect fees—no double-charging.

To the shopkeepers and vendors nearby, he spoke this way.

“I met a kind boss—she’s willing to open a seafood processing plant here, offering many jobs, and even lend us a few ships to start a fishing ground… I don’t need you to do anything. Many of your children are in other gangs—tell them: I’m short on hands. Do they want to become decent people? I’ve got opportunities for them.”

The “kind boss” he claimed to know? Li En had merely mentioned he planned to set up a factory here and might seek noble funding.

“This may be a lie now, but I believe in Li En—even if it’s a lie, I’ll make it true.” Dimon, treating these days as a once-in-a-lifetime chance, was the true gambler and opportunist.

He believed in the Heroine Laina. He believed in Li En. Perhaps only belief brings hope—only belief makes change possible.

The news spread quickly among the neighbors; many small gangs saw deserters and spies—but the majority remained watchful.

That was enough. That was enough to make his name echo far and wide.

“Dimon has a powerful backer—he plans to do something legitimate here.”

“Real? Who’d care about this dump?”

“But Dimon’s backed by that Holy Knight—His Holiness himself supports him. Isn’t it possible a noble would invest?”

Few truly believed Dimon’s words, but many half-believed them.

Everyone here was trash, wallowing in mud—but when someone pointed a different path, attention naturally followed.

In this slum, reputation was authority, was prestige—the hard currency that drew more followers.

To the other bosses—the ones too powerful for him to challenge, who now watched him warily due to his rapid expansion—he spoke like this:

“That’s all just talk. I’m only grabbing a patch of land to survive. I won’t clash with you—I couldn’t win anyway. Don’t believe me? I’ll be blunt: I plan to open a clinic, a school, and a martial arts hall here. These don’t exist locally, yet they’re needed. I’ve got some connections—you know I’m close to the Holy Knight. He says he supports me doing something legitimate.”

Earlier, Dimon had casually asked where the docks should begin to change. After much thought, Li En had proposed these three.

Li En had even foreseen the excuse to convince the other bosses.

“Your women in the courtyards burn out fast, right? When they get sick, you just throw them out—wasteful. At least my cheap clinic can keep them working longer. These trash are so weak because the docks have no decent martial arts hall, don’t they? And the school? Even more practical—don’t you have sons or daughters? Do you want them to spend their whole lives as trash like you?”

These things weren’t entirely absent from the docks—but since they brought no profit, they were disorganized, fragmented, and chaotic.

If someone truly organized them, made them respectable—even to the other bosses, it might not be bad.

These ideas stirred the bosses. They sounded… not bad.

As long as you don’t touch my territory, if these businesses actually appear, they’ll benefit us too.

Thus, the hardest hurdle was cleared.

“Double the protection money,” he told certain people in the police bureau.

Blunt, even insulting—but effective, and immediately so.

“If I get this going, you’ll earn more too,” he told the kingdom’s grassroots officials—the tax collectors and constables.

“Besides, fewer trash gangs mean easier tax collection and governance for you.”

After making promises and lies, he began to fulfill them.

He roared. He bellowed.

He slaughtered. He charged.

He shouted the words from his soul.

“Follow me and kill—I’ll make you live as human beings!”

At some point, this became a slogan.

What did he mean by “live as a human being”? No one knew—but he truly dared to kill.

His bloody cleavers had long shattered; now he wielded forged steel.

Still carrying two great cleavers, his massive frame raged like a storm, moving from one slaughterhouse to another battleground.

It was the mud-pit the transcendent ones looked down upon—the alley brawls of the slums—but he willingly sank into it.

One slash. Another slash.

Each slash fiercer than the last. Each faster than the one before.

Invisible power strengthened him; his will hardened into unbreakable defense.

Blood coalesced on his body; a faint golden glow covered him—the Oathkeeper fought for others.

“Live as a human being.”

“Live as a human being!”

No one truly understood what he was roaring—but they instinctively roared with him.

A faint red glow began to cover each voice; fury boiled in their hearts.

And so they moved faster, grew stronger, their blades sharper.

【Soul Awakened.】

【Soul Technique: Born as a Human, I Am Proud (Raw Stone): Roar loudly, channel your soul’s obsession through your rage, strengthening your flesh and weapons.】

【Note: Within your roar’s range, those who accept your belief gain partial enhancement. Your roar transmits your will.】

Next? Kill.

Clean one street clean—that’s dozens of lives saved.

This world is too filthy. Only blood can wash it clean—only then can you live.

Roars echoed through the streets; more figures, dual cleavers in hand, stepped into the mud.

His will, resonating with his soul’s surge, began to spread.

Perhaps, some truly understood what he was shouting.

Fierce slaughter brought rapid rise in status; his “reputation” further elevated his prestige.

Soon, Dimon entered the sight of the true uncoronated king of the docks (the slave market).

Perhaps he should prepare a grand gift, and properly pay his respects.

And that night, deep into the hour, both he and the district he sought to change would witness the miracle that would alter their fates.

“I have an ally—he can safeguard the docks’ industries.” Yet Li En himself was still pitching his plan to potential patrons.

(End of Chapter)