In the western borderlands of the Empire, the folk were simple and honest. No sooner had Broly, Akame, Kurome, and the others left the marshes than a passing caravan kindly took them in.
The caravan did, of course, attempt to ambush them the very next night over that bundle of pearls—but in doing so they also delivered a pile of food, transport wagons, and various other goods.
Later, on the road to the border town shown on the map, they ran into two slave-hunting bands. Seeing that the caravan was led by children, the hunters wanted not only the goods but also Broly and the rest as slaves.
The result was both slave bands getting wiped out. The captives they had rounded up were freed. Those who could go home went home. Those who could not, or had no home to return to, joined Broly's "big brother caravan" as helpers.
After that, once they drew close to the main road, the fact that they looked like a caravan brought its own problems: they were attacked in turn by eight separate bandit gangs from different factions.
Five gangs did not bother with words and struck to kill. Broly, irritated, erased both them and their ambush sites with energy blasts.
The remaining three only wanted tolls and at least bothered to talk first. Thanks to their "polite" robbery, they successfully ended up with guard jobs in the big brother caravan.
"Spare us, sir! We only took to the hills because the taxes are too heavy and we couldn't survive.
"Since we started out we've always robbed money, never lives. We just want to live. Please, have mercy and forgive us this once…"
Their applications for guard work went roughly like that. It was only thanks to how quickly these scrawny gangs dropped to their knees that Broly did not blast them all on the spot.
Sitting in a wagon and crunching on sweet purple thorn-fruit, Broly felt the western borderfolk were simply too enthusiastic. They had not even reached the first city marked on the map, and already so many people had delivered them supplies and manpower.
If only there had been people like this on Planet Vampa, bringing him goods all the time. Unfortunately, no such saints existed there.
"Hyah!"
The caravan suddenly halted.
"What's up? More good people coming to us?"
Broly poked his head out of the wagon.
"Not bandits. We're at the border gate and lined up to pass inspection."
Naha Shu explained. Dressed in the neatly tailored clothes of the former caravan leader and wearing a monocle on his right eye, his tanned skin and composed air gave him the look of a young steward.
He looked at least four or five years older than he really was.
"So no good people…"
Broly sounded disappointed. Since it was not more "good people" at the door, he ducked back into the wagon and went on eating fruit.
Inspections at the border gate were not very strict. Three years earlier, the central government had docked the western frontier army's pay.
To keep the troops from mutinying, the frontier commander turned to "tolls" as a revenue stream. By now, as long as the gate bribe was big enough, the soldiers would not even open the wagons to check the cargo.
This had made the border town flourish. Smugglers no longer risked dangerous back roads; they all flocked to this city, where checks were lax and anyone who paid enough could pass in and out of the Empire.
"But that's made this city's population a mixed bag. You've got all sorts—like bandits like me, westerners, and foreign tribes from the wilds…"
One of the bandit chiefs Broly had subdued described the place. In broad strokes, it was a giant trade market shared by the eastern Empire, western kingdoms, and various "uncivilized" tribes.
Inside the walls, with border troops keeping order, it looked peaceful enough. Outside the city was where everyone revealed the "simple honesty" of the western frontier.
Everyone was a trader—but anyone could turn into a bandit. Roughly speaking, there were three main camps: first, the Western Trade League, formed by imperial merchant guilds; second, the Foreign Merchant Alliance, created by western kingdom guilds to counter the Western League; and third, the so‑called "uncivilized savages," the tribal peoples.
The first two fought each other constantly, but were united in squeezing tribal caravans for cheaper goods.
Some tribes, however, were not to be trifled with. They were the true border raiders, the ones who stole and killed.
Of course, whenever anyone else robbed and murdered, they usually blamed it on the tribes. After all, who could say what savages might do?
So although the tribes were the weakest of the three, they had the worst reputation. Even in this border city, tribal caravans were not welcome.
"No wonder Chief Redleaf couldn't do business here."
The tribes' failure to unite was one reason; the tacit collusion of eastern and western merchant guilds to suppress them was another.
"Need any porters, sir? We've got strong labor at a good price."
"No. Our caravan has its own."
Brushing off a tout looking for work, Naha Shu came back to the wagons.
"Big Brother Broly, you all go eat. I'll handle unloading and selling the goods."
"Just get someone else to do it."
"I don't trust anyone else. Better if I keep an eye on it."
The others had been forced in or picked up along the way. Who knew whether someone might bolt with the money? Naha Shu felt he needed to guard Big Bro's wealth.
"We'll bring you food."
Someone chose to stay and help—but not the gluttons.
"If any of you hurt them, I'll kill you."
Broly told the former bandits plainly.
"Wouldn't dare."
They all waved their hands quickly. Most had seen, with their own eyes, how he had vaporized entire ambush sites—and the bandits waiting there—with his blasts.
That kind of power, which changed the terrain, made them fear this harmless‑looking boy.
They feared his strength, but also respected him. He had not killed them even though they had attacked him too, and he had given them a way to live.
In the bustling border city, Broly followed the smells on the street and finally led the children into a noodle shop.
It was jammed with people. Up front, a rich broth made from some animal's bones and spices sent its aroma halfway down the street.
"Smells great. Boss, one hundred bowls of noodles to start!"
"Coming right up—wait, a hundred? You kids sure you can eat that much?"
"The money's here. Even if we can't, we'll pay the full bill."
"In that case, sorry for doubting you. Noodles coming up."
At the sight of coin, the owner stopped caring whether his guests could finish.
As well as noodles, the shop sold other dishes.
And truly, roast meat with spices and roast meat without might as well be two different foods.
"Tasty."
Broly wolfed it down, and the other kids were no different. Every one of them was thoroughly satisfied.
…
But for every child with a full belly, there were those who went hungry. They were the street kids of the border city.
They stood at street corners and alley mouths, casting envious looks at those wealthy enough to sit and eat.
Hunger shone in their eyes. They pinned their hopes on the scraps and leftovers from the diners at the outside tables.
For them, that was one of the few ways to get decent food.
They did not dare go inside. The staff would beat them.
Even the scraps inside were fought over by the kids who banded together.
"Boss, the bill."
At those words from a man eating at a bun shop's outdoor table, several hungry eyes turned.
Seeing a few bun skins and scraps on his plate, the street kids at the corner swallowed.
Still, they did not dare rush up. Like stray cats, they feared angering the man and being hurt.
Kids like them could be beaten to death and their killer would likely only have to pay the ward constable a small "street cleaning fee."
Even stray cats were not all the same, though. Some were merely hungry. Others were on the verge of starving.
"Excuse me, sir… could I have the bun skin you don't want on your plate?"
Wrapped in a filthy scarf, a girl showed a sweet smile. She stopped a careful two meters from the man settling the bill and asked.
Her little belly growled. Mine had not eaten in two days.
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