Harano strolled back to his own tent, Ah Man trailing behind him, head hanging in defeat.
She was the dealer at the gambling ga, won a little in the beginning, but tried to go all in at the crucial mont. She failed to roll a pair of eights, couldn’t get the "Mountain Whale Carrying the Iron Cannon" (Tiger’s Head Stool), and was forced to pay out all the players. She lost everything.
She was very upset about this, feeling that life had lost all aning.
Harano glanced at her, but didn’t know what to do with her. The two of them were more like friends now; even if she was incorrigible, a hopelessly wild child, he couldn’t spank her or jab her forehead and scold her. All he could do was make plans slowly—he decided to go back and tattle to A Qing, and step up monitoring her cash flow again.
Then, he’d have to take so ti, find an opportunity, think up a thod, and see if he could finally cure her of this rotten gambling habit.
Otherwise, it made him uneasy to keep a gambler at his side.
Resolving himself internally, Harano withdrew his gaze from Ah Man and looked over the current Inaba Land camp.
Oda Nobunaga and the other Samurai were celebrating their big win in the Shogunate, feasting and having their fun. The Lang Faction and Ashigaru weren’t idle either—lighting bonfires out here in the wilds, crowding together to drink muddy sake, boil at, gamble, laugh, chat loudly. There were even so setting up stalls, bawling out to hawk all the "spoils of war" they’d looted, forcing a "little marketplace" to spring up.
Harano glanced at it as he passed. There was all sorts of random junk—big things like painted folding screens, smaller things like clay water jars, broken kitchen knives, scattered bits of clothing and ornants. There were even chickens, ducks, pickled vegetables, and so on. And this "little marketplace" had no shortage of custors. Among them were a few "respectable people" dressed in kimono jackets and shoulder capes, constantly shelling out money for cheap goods—truth be told, they looked a bit like the chubby shopkeeper from Kikyo-ya in "Ikkyu-san."
Harano had been busy either treating injuries or sleeping before, and hadn’t noticed when these "bosses" showed up. He pointed at them and asked Ah Man, "Who are those people?"
Ah Man glanced over, listless, and mumbled unwillingly, "They’re Black Shovel rchants."
"Black Shovel rchants?"
"’Black shovel’ is a kind of wooden spade used to bury corpses—so Black Shovel rchants are those dealing in corpses." Ah Man, having just lost badly, hardly had the patience to explain this, but she managed, "So many died in this battle, they slled the opportunity and ca. They bury the corpses and get so money from Oda Nobunaga, then strip the clothes off the dead, dig for damaged weapons or armor, and haul it all back to sell. That’s pretty much how it goes."
So that’s how it is!
Harano nodded. He’d been wondering what would happen to all the corpses of the fallen—leave them piled up and there’d be an epidemic. Turns out, the ancients weren’t fools. There were people who specialized in this business, already making their rounds—these Japanese Samurai really just handled the fighting, leaving the rest to others. It was a whole industry chain.
He didn’t see any use in getting to know such people, so he didn’t ask further. He just slowed his steps and looked at the "stolen goods market," noticing that a lot of the rchandise still had faint traces of blood not yet wiped off. It unnerved him, but there was nothing he could do about it—just stand by and watch.
Soon, the "little marketplace" was coming to an end, the light growing dim. He saw a group of people tied together with straw ropes, n and won, young and old, nearly a hundred in all. He couldn’t help asking, "Who are those?"
Ah Man looked up, then dropped her gaze and said indifferently, "Probably townsfolk from the Castle Town of Qingzhou City, a bunch of idiots who didn’t run away. Probably, since soone didn’t get enough loot, they just grabbed them as a bonus, planning to sell them sowhere later and split the coin."
Harano: ...
He’d thought he’d already adapted to this rotten era, but there was always so new low to be breached. He could only imagine all the unspeakable shit going down where he couldn’t see—it was too disgusting to dwell on. He just wanted to go back to the modern world.
Damn this dogshit isekai!
He hadn’t done anything unforgivable—so why was he being punished like this?
He shook his head, sighed quietly, and kept walking toward his tent. But after a few steps, he heard the faint sounds of sobbing in the darkness. He paused, sighed again, and asked Ah Man, "Where... will those people be sold to?"
"Hell if I know. The won will probably get sold to the pleasure quarters (brothels) or sake shops (which double as brothels), and the n will probably end up digging in mines or breaking rocks. They’re useless for anything else—can’t fight, can’t farm, only their bodies and strength are worth a little." Ah Man couldn’t care less; she’d seen this sort of thing way too many tis. Only a sheltered young master like Harano would be dumb enough to ask such a question.
Harano fell silent for a mont, then shook his head again, glanced around, and asked toward one of the bonfires, "Whose people are these?"
The Ashigaru who’d been laughing around the fire quieted a bit. Then a forty-sothing man hurried over, nodding and bowing. "Sir, they’re ours. Did you have your eye on soone?"
By the flickering firelight, Harano had a look—just so Ashigaru nobody, probably dragged from the fields for conscription right as spring sowing was underway. Oddly, he seed rather honest and simple—a guileless farr, casually selling people with a total lack of feeling, and looked pretty practiced at it. That was so dark humor right there.
Harano shook his head. "How much for all of them?"
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