sovbooks Chapter 58 The Price of Freedom
Chapter 58 The Price of Freedom
Li Wei tapped his fingertips on the paper, glancing at Silas and Samuel, who were putting on a brave face but were actually dejected.
"First, your target, the corrupt quartermaster Marcus, has been arrested. His corrupt network will be dismantled by the Governor's Office, which is in line with your demands for freedom."
"Secondly, your enemy, Jenny, the leader of the thugs who had been entrenched in the suburbs, has also been arrested. He and his core henchmen have all been eliminated, and order in the suburbs is about to be restored, which also clears the way for you to develop your free forces."
"Third, the two of you are still alive and sitting here. I haven't even counted the other freedom defenders."
Li Wei raised his head and looked Samuel in the eye for the first time.
"In the end, my intelligence helped you eliminate two of your most immediate threats. And you haven't even paid me for providing the intelligence for this operation!"
"Bullshit!"
Silas could no longer contain himself and slammed his good hand on the table. The water glass on the table bounced violently, spilling murky water everywhere.
"But we lost three brothers! The printing press, and two of our best gunmen! They died for freedom, not as pawns in your business!"
His roar echoed in the cramped basement, making the candlelight flicker.
Li Wei's expression remained unchanged.
He simply withdrew his hand, and his knuckles began to tap rhythmically on the table, tap, tap, tap.
Everything has a price; only the balance remains.
"Their sacrifice was due to your lack of preparation. If you had had stronger firepower and more accurate intelligence before storming the warehouse, the outcome might have been different."
He paused for a moment, and then the knocking stopped.
"And I happen to have both of these things."
Fiona understood, and took out a long, narrow object wrapped in oilcloth from an inconspicuous burlap sack next to her, and placed it on the table.
Li Wei personally untied the oilcloth, revealing a brand-new "Brown Bess" smoothbore musket.
The stock is made of fine walnut wood, and its delicate grain gives it a warm and smooth texture in the dim candlelight.
The brass trigger guard and buttplate were polished to a gleaming shine, creating a striking contrast with the dark brown barrel.
This was a deadly weapon, but at this moment, it was more like a perfect work of art, lying quietly on the stained table, exuding the unique smell of metal and machine oil.
Samuel and Silas both paused involuntarily for a moment.
They had seen "Brownbes," the standard-issue weapon in the military, but they had never seen one so brand new and so perfectly maintained.
The gun itself represents a power that they cannot reach.
"I saved your lives, that's a fact."
Levi's fingers slid over the gun and finally landed in front of Samuel.
"In Andrew Gage's report, you were 'loyal citizens' who assisted the Royal Guard in suppressing the rebellion. It was this identity that saved you from being hanged and allowed the name 'Sons of Liberty' to be temporarily removed from the Governor's wanted list."
"You even received proper medical treatment from the Governor's Office, which made it into the Boston newspapers."
"You guys don't think all of this is Andrew Gage doing something out of kindness, do you?"
He looked into Samuel's eyes, and the young man instinctively avoided his gaze.
Andrew Gage's extraordinary dance moves against "strongman" Jenny that day instilled fear in him, and now Levi's gaze evoked the same feeling.
"How do you plan to repay this debt of gratitude?"
"Will you continue to arm yourselves with empty slogans, only to have more brothers become mere numbers on someone else's credit list in the next conflict? Or will you use real weapons to defend your ideals of freedom?"
Samuel suddenly looked up and stared intently at Levi.
At that moment, he finally understood.
The person in front of him was neither a like-minded ally nor an opportunistic businessman who changed sides with the wind.
He is a thorough businessman.
A businessman who clearly breaks down, calculates, and prices everything—revolution, freedom, life, ideals…
The governor's oppression was a visible chain and a butcher's knife, which aroused the anger of resistance.
Livy's logic, on the other hand, is an invisible shackle, a scale that must be weighed.
He reduces everything you cherish, everything you'd be willing to give your life for, to mere commodities that can be traded.
Your sacrifice is seen as a "cost" of inadequate preparation by the other party.
Your survival is the "profit" generated by the "services" he provides.
Your ideals require you to "buy" the tools to achieve them using money or favors.
This naked logic of transactions, more so than the aristocratic arrogance and mockery of Andrew Gage, made Samuel feel a chill that seeped into his bones and a sense of powerlessness.
It negates the meaning of sacrifice and dissolves the sanctity of ideals.
Li Wei stood up and straightened his sleeves.
"I'll give you a day to consider it."
He looked down at the two distraught "sons of freedom."
"Do you choose to continue being a cheap revolutionary, using passion and life to fill the gaps in your capabilities? Or do you become my 'premium client,' using the resources I provide to accomplish what you want to do?"
"Think it over before you come back to me."
After saying that, he turned and walked towards the door.
Fiona followed behind him, and as she passed the table, she stopped, took a small leather bag from her pocket, and placed it next to the "Brownbeth" musket.
The bag wasn't tied tightly, and several bright yellow bullets and a roll of gunpowder wrapped in paper were sticking out.
After doing all this, she caught up with Li Wei, and the two disappeared out the door one after the other, as if they had never been there.
Silence returned to the basement.
All that remained were Silas's heavy breathing and the smoothbore musket lying in the center of the table.
It lay quietly between Samuel and Silas, along with its accompanying ammunition, like a silent invitation, or a cruel interrogation.
Silas looked at the gun, then at his own sling-on, almost useless arm.
Samuel slowly lowered his head, ran his hands through his hair, and his shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.
Everything he proclaimed, everything he fought for, was reduced to a multiple-choice question at this moment.
A choice between exchanging money and dignity for power.
The Eastern merchant, however, was too lazy to even wait for their answer.
When Samuel Adams looked up again ten minutes later, his eyes held a different look, which Silas, standing beside him, sensed as a hint of balancing and calculation.