As Old Dean set foot on the wooden dock, the sky had already tinged slightly yellow.
The world gradually dimmed, while the sea at the port became increasingly bright. The lanterns on the masts were dense like stars, and the shore grew more bustling.
Compared to the chaos on the outskirts, the situation on the shore was notably better.
Box after box of cargo was unloaded from the ships by the slaves as captains in varied attire stood on the dock, chatting animatedly. Many local young men ran back and forth from the cargo ships, diligently maintaining order on site.
"All cargo ships docking must complete registration and pay taxes here!"
A literate girl waved her paper and pen, shouting until her voice was hoarse: "Every cargo coming ashore needs a preliminary inspection!"
Someone attempted to slip some odd, strange currencies to the girl as a bribe but was rejected and began to jump and curse.
