When the fury finally faded from their hearts, the silence that followed was deafening.
The bodies of the captain and the bearded man, once strung up for all to see, were now completely gone—nothing left but bloodstains on the ropes that had bound them.
The people, having exhausted their rage, stood quietly. They knew what came next. It was Weston's turn to speak.
He stood before them, his gaze sweeping across the crowd with calm resolve.
"You've all suffered this past year," Weston said. "From now on, the land and homes that were yours will remain yours. As for the unclaimed properties... you're free to divide them among yourselves."
Everyone knew what he meant by "unclaimed."
They belonged to the slaves who had died from abuse.
Even as he spoke, Weston struggled to keep his voice steady.
Just then, a frail old man stepped forward from the crowd. His skin was dark and weathered, marked with scars from countless lashings.
The former slaves looked at him with deep respect.
"Hanno."
He was the island's eldest and most revered.
Hanno Whitlock's weary eyes met Weston's. His voice was raspy but firm.
"I remember you. You were his second-in-command."
Weston gave a slight nod, confirming it. There was no use hiding it—most on the island already knew.
Hanno continued, his words blunt and without pretense. "Then, tell us, are you truly here to set us free? Or are you just planning to exploit us in some new way?"
His bluntness sent a ripple of unease through the crowd. The younger men behind him stiffened, fear in their eyes.
They weren't afraid to die.


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