Chapter 814 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 814: The Enemy More Considerate Than Family? “A… space elevator?! Are you serious?” The rickety open-top truck wobbled its way along the rugged mountain path. The rust-ridden iron plates and guardrails clanged rhythmically as the axles bumped over every rut, sounding as if the vehicle might fall apart at any moment. About twenty people were crammed into the truck’s cargo bed, every single pair of eyes—brimming with surprise and disbelief—fixed on the man with mud-caked boots and a travel backpack. They didn’t know where this guy came from, just that his name was Zhang Ze, a wandering merchant in the wastelands. The backpack he carried held his entire wealth, filled with odd trinkets and bits of junk he’d scavenged along the way. This sort of situation was not uncommon. In the wasteland, merchants were even more numerous than mercenaries; not everyone conducted business as grand as Mr. Lester, most scraped by for a couple of silver coins, living frugally. “Of course it’s real! Do you think I’d lie to you?” Satisfied with the wide-eyed astonishment of those who hadn’t seen much of the world, Zhang Ze beamed proudly. He drew a crumpled newspaper from his backpack, shook it open to flatten it, and cleared his throat before reciting the news in an emotive tone. “…The year 213. The Wasteland Era has continued for 213 years, and soon the calendar will turn to another year. If we don’t start making changes now, the upcoming year 214 will remain the same. Hence, we have decided to do something, to light a true beacon of hope on these desolate ruins, not at the expense of the silent majority.” These were the words spoken by a leader in a radio broadcast. Though his voice didn’t match the impeccable enunciation of a radio host, its hoarseness mimicked the static-laden sound of an old radio perfectly. Starting from the description of the space elevator, he continued reading, detailing the plans for ten settlements along the coastal regions of the central continent established by the Alliance. The light in the eyes of his audience, filled with anticipation and hope, grew ever more intense. An endless supply of food, and jobs accessible even to wasteland wanderers unfamiliar with written words! And more— Hospitals and schools! The Alliance’s Refuge House even generously promised interest-free loans for disabled survivors, to get non-combat prosthetics made by Boulder Military Industries—delaying repayment until the third year! The Administrator, as he was called, truly seemed like a remarkable leader! He didn’t just look skyward; he noticed the dust beneath his feet—the people struggling for survival in the wasteland. Compared to the heavenly realm portrayed by the Torch Church, the Alliance under his leadership was undoubtedly the true paradise! Had anyone else spoken such words, they’d be dismissed as a sugar-coated trap. But this leader was different. Although he never flaunted his kindness, everything he did was evident to the wasteland survivors. Whether those living within the Alliance’s borders or those who had merely visited there. Therefore, when his voice broadcast across the wilderness, nearly every survivor longing for the Alliance packed their bags and set off. After the dissolution of the War Construction Committee, people once more had a reliable voice on the radio! “…That concludes the entire content of the Survivor’s Daily. Our destination is the first of the ten settlements—‘Settlement Number One’.” As the merchant finished reading, a mercenary sitting opposite him couldn’t help but ask. “Can’t they come up with a better name for the settlement?” “Unfortunately, no,” Zhang Ze replied, folding the newspaper and tucking it back into his backpack. “But there’s no need to be disappointed. As the paper says, the esteemed Administrator hopes we’ll give it a name; it’ll be our new home for a long time.” At that point, a wasteland wanderer raised an arm with a welded prosthetic, smiling as he spoke. "Don't count me in for that; I have my own home. I’m just going there to earn some silver." His name was Renard, a scavenger from Junk City. Having heard that the southern seas would yield endless trash, he’d come to test his luck. Even if no trash fell from the sky, it didn’t matter. At least the shores of Haiya Province hadn’t been picked clean yet, not by past survivors anyway. The Alliance’s railway barely just pierced through the Ten Peaks Mountain. From River Valley Province to here was quite the journey; at least a day and a night on the train. His obsession with trash was evident. Zhang Ze shrugged nonchalantly. “Of course, that’s your choice.” Not everyone longs for a stable life, though he had been wandering the wasteless for so long; sometimes he thought settling down somewhere nice wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Whether they dreamt of a new home or sought the glimmer of silver coins, people from across the wasteland found themselves together in the back of this truck. After a long, bumpy ride, human civilization finally came into view. In most places, the sight of human activity would make most drifters wary. But here was different. All the most prominent survivor forces in the wasteland were here; no raider tribe would dare camp nearby until the order here decayed. A checkpoint emerged at the road’s end. The driver steered the truck forward, pulling the handbrake as they neared the gate. A Verland officer approached, flanked by two soldiers, eyeing the people in the truck. “Who are you?” The driver poked his head out the window, offering a harmless smile to the weathered face. “Honorable officers, we’re survivors heading for Death Coast. Can you tell us where we are?” The Verland officer glanced over, finding nothing of interest in the truck and signaled to lift the barrier, allowing them through. "This is the ruins of Haibei City. You'll need to head another one or two hundred kilometers south to reach Death Coast." “Thank you.” Seeing the barrier open, the driver exhaled, offering his gratitude before retracting his head into the cab. “You’re welcome.” Just as the officer watched the truck prepare to move again, he called out. “Wait—” The driver, startled, quickly pulled the handbrake once more. “Yes, sir?” The passengers tensed, wary. Even Renard with his prosthetic arm subtly grasped his weapon. Sensing the tension, the officer remained unfazed, addressing those in the truck bed. “If you’re looking for work there, we also have jobs here.” A mercenary with ammo belts coiled around his jacket responded cautiously. “We don’t want dinars.” The officer’s eyebrow twitched, annoyed yet he responded nonetheless. “We pay in silver.” These ungrateful wretches! How dare they be picky! Unfortunately, the Alliance train prohibited slave transport, and the southern seas’ ships and ports refused to facilitate slave trade; clone soldiers wouldn’t help with labor. Otherwise, he’d never bother with these paupers. Hearing the offer of silver coins from the Verland soldier piqued interest among the truckload. “How much do you pay? Actually, I should ask what’s the job first!” Renard squinted, eyeing the Verland officer intently. Seeing the interest, the officer cleared his throat before speaking. “Let me introduce myself. I am Anthony, a Centurion of the 37th Legion, in charge of this site… It’s simple work: excavating ruins. 20 silver coins a day for those who can wield a shovel, 50 if you know how to operate a Goblin Excavator. How does that sound?” Though they hadn’t found the legendary Vault 20 entrance or the Torch Church’s gestalt lifeform project data, recent excavations unearthed many valuable relics. After all, Vault 20’s residents and the Torch Church had been active in the area for many years, leaving behind layers of history to uncover and innovate upon. The Alliance’s archaeological team had set up a station nearby, and their leader consented to sell off some of the less critical relics to fund their military operations. Dragging all these back to their homeland was far too costly, not to mention their homeland was already laden with unexplored ruins—they needn’t bother with these. Their curiosity mainly focused on the Torch Church’s research into “gestalt lifeform” projects. Hearing Anthony's offer, the group exchanged glances and burst out laughing. “20 silver coins a day? Are you trying to shoo away beggars?” “Exactly!” “In Dawn City, even the most unskilled, oversaturated jobs pay 4 silver coins an hour!” “8 silver coins an hour, and at least two meals a day! Also, don't think of tricking us with nutrient paste! I want to eat from the same pot as you, or forget it!” The tension in the air was immediately dispelled by a wave of laughter. Realizing the legion was hiring, not robbing, the group became emboldened and started shouting demands, each suggestion drawing further annoyance from Anthony, who stood by the truck, his brow twitching with frustration. These greedy hyenas! Anthony muttered internally. If these guys had dared to look down their noses at him like this back in his homeland, he wouldn’t hesitate to crack the whip! “Fine! As you said… unskilled labor is 8 silver coins per hour, double for those operating excavators!” Running three shifts for eight hours a day would amount to 1,920 silver coins a month per person. A hundred people would total 192,000. The revenue from this ruin far exceeded that; just yesterday, they sold off leftovers labeled as "junk from the 20th Vault settlement" to the Alliance's archaeological team for a million silver coins! At their current pace, less than 10% of the ruins had been developed, and who knows what treasures still lie buried. Hearing Anthony agree to their demands, Renard wasted no time, gripping the rail with his right hand and leaping off the truck. “Count me in!” It wasn’t just Renard. Four others hesitantly stood up and jumped down from the truck. For scavengers, being paid this well for picking trash was quite the windfall, especially with meals and lodging covered. Scavengers were the lowest of the low in the wasteland, many suffered from diseases—fungal infections or radiation illnesses, with rampant mental conditions from sanity loss needless to say. Working under the Verland people wasn’t as secure as with the Alliance but was more reliable than various obscure survivor organizations. At least, they were sure to be paid the promised wages. “Take care, folks! See you around, haha!” Waving to those still on the truck, Renard laughed. Watching him with his cheerful demeanor, the others in the truck hesitated but ultimately stayed put. What if the Alliance offered even more? Moreover, even if the Alliance’s offer proved less than the legion's, as long as the difference wasn’t vast, they preferred working for the Alliance. For safety and a sense of belonging—two things the legion could not provide. “Good luck to you all.” Zhang Ze didn’t hesitate, waving a farewell to the departing scavengers before leaning against the truck's railing, ready to depart. From the moment they set out, he had decided his destination. Unless absolutely necessary, he wouldn’t get off midway. Watching the truck fade into the distance, Anthony beckoned to his subordinates. “Set them up with work, pull the guys from the ruins below, and ask every convoy passing by—8 silver coins an hour, negotiate separately for those who can operate equipment.” “Yes!” The soldier snapped to attention, turning to lead the five eagerly anxious scavengers, "Follow me, I'll take you to where you'll be working." As they walked away, Anthony checked his watch, then turned to the checkpoint, frowning. He was waiting here, not to arrange jobs for some scavengers but because a prominent figure from the Alliance had arranged to meet him here. Yet, it seemed that person was late… Just then, a cloud of dust rose in the distance, and two rugged off-road vehicles appeared in view. His frown eased immediately. Anthony quickly waved to the side. “Open the checkpoint!” A soldier hurried over to lift the barrier. Shortly after, the two off-road vehicles passed through and stopped before him, and a few soldiers in exoskeleton suits jumped out. Seeing their sleek exoskeletons, the Verland folk lining the road couldn’t help but look on with envy. Though the legion had their own exoskeletons, they were typically reserved for elite units, as the logistical burden was significant. Even the Alliance’s awakened-all troops turned off their power when not in combat to conserve energy, requiring at least one or two maintenance companies per regiment for equipment upkeep and repairs. Corporations even more so, with repair depots standard for every mountain division, they spent as much on maintenance as they did on ammunition. “Apologies, we got held up on the road. Hope you haven’t been waiting long…” Mosquito descended from the vehicle with a smile, extending his right hand to Anthony warmly. Anthony smiled faintly, shaking the offered hand. “Hope you can be more punctual next time.” “Will do, will do!” Mosquito’s grin widened, especially when he noticed the insignia on this patron’s shoulder, his smile carrying a hint of delight. “Well, congratulations on making Centurion!” “All thanks to you.” Anthony chuckled, his restrained expression barely concealing his pride. In the legion, a Centurion was akin to a company commander in the United Federation Military—one of the highest frontline officer ranks. Advancing from a Decurion was no easy task. His rapid promotion came primarily because of the arms deal he helped broker earlier, saving frontline units millions in dinar maintenance costs and earning a tidy sum for military funds. Trying to contain his smugness, Mosquito handed him a cigarette, chucklingly praising. “Thanks to you, my promotion is inevitable given your talent.” Lighting the cigarette, Anthony savored it briefly, eyeing the arms dealer before him with a smirk. “No need for pleasantries. The trip here must’ve been long, let’s get straight to business.” Mosquito chuckled. “I won’t waste your time then. I’ll be direct, we’re in need of another batch of arms.” Anthony frowned. “Weren’t the last ones sufficient?” Mosquito sighed. “Barely. Our customers aren’t just arms dealers in Tiger Province; those in Leopard Province are also inquiring now. Had I known the demand there, I’d be selling my own products.” Anthony was puzzled. “Tigers? Leopards…” Mosquito quickly clarified. “Just provincial names on the Borolla continent.” Understanding dawned on Anthony; it made sense why people called it a “zoo” region, after all. “So… your clients are the Empire?” Mosquito nodded eagerly. “Who else could it be? Other small settlements can’t afford a cannon, only they can handle such volume.” Hearing this, Anthony's expression turned even more perplexed. “But… aren’t you adversaries with the Empire?” Mosquito nearly choked, coughing before replying. “Ah, that’d be quite the insult to us.” Anthony quickly apologized. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant… I’m just curious, you just fought the Empire, aren’t you worried they’ll retaliate with the weapons you sell them?” Mosquito waved dismissively. “That’s not my concern. As long as our esteemed Administrator doesn’t prohibit dealing with them, I’ll sell them as much as they want.” Anthony nodded, still bewildered. “I think I understand… What quantity do you need?” Mosquito replied immediately. “As much as you can supply!” Anthony shook his head. “I can’t give you everything, at most half of the previous shipment is the limit. The civil service group in Victory City is also interested in this batch, their ships have already left West Sail Port, expected here in two weeks.” Hearing the limited supply, Mosquito frowned. The warlords in Leopard Province offered no less than those in Tiger Province. After all, there’s Cockatoo Bay there, consistently ranked in the top three “Big Eye Sightseeing Recommendations,” those big shots are much wealthier than General Jaha of Tiger Province. Clients this time even claimed they’d buy double what Tiger Province did! And with payments all made in silver coins! If the contracts hadn't already been signed and he hadn't arranged with currency exchange banks, he would have simply considered pulling out of the Tiger Province deal. “What are they paying you?” “Uh, not sure… but probably not as much as you guys, I heard it's just at cost price,” Anthony said sheepishly. Mosquito got anxious upon hearing this. “Why wouldn’t you sell to us then? Are you allergic to money?” Anthony forced a smile, responding, “It's partly a strategic necessity… I’m not sure how appropriate it is to say this, but you’ve been too tough on the shared union; we need to arm our friends to help offset some pressure from you. It’s not about money.” Upon hearing this, Mosquito quickly retorted, “That’s easily solved! You’re planning to arm the Empire with these weapons, right? If the merchants from West Sail Port sell it to them, and we do the same, what’s the difference?” Without giving Anthony a chance to respond, Mosquito smoothly continued his pitch. “The only difference is that the merchants under your civilian group exploit your strategic needs, making a big profit on cheap buys! We’d rather let you profit from this!” “Let me be clear, are you really okay with those profiteers reaping the benefits that should be yours?” Anthony was stunned. He intended to refute this logic, but upon reflection, it seemed to hold some truth. The equipment from Goblin Tech would end up in the Empire’s hands, whether sold through their group or Mosquito’s. Practically, there was no difference in outcome. So, why not sell to the higher bidder? And the most frustrating part was how those profiteers in the civilian group profited from the warriors who were sacrificing for the Marshal on the front lines! Somehow, it seemed like the enemy was more considerate than their own people, all thanks to Mosquito’s sweet talk. Anthony hesitated before replying, “I… I’ll have to discuss this with my superiors. This isn’t something I can decide on my own.” Mosquito agreed readily, “Go ahead, your superiors will appreciate my thoughtfulness.” After all, Corvey was expected to consult with Pangolin, and Mosquito had already given him a heads-up. To Mosquito, this negotiating table was as good as set. Those cargo ships sailing from West Sail Port would take at least 2-3 weeks, maybe dragging on until early next year. Given similar strategic impacts, his side not only paid promptly but could take the goods all at once—Verlanders had no reason not to choose him. Needing to report to his superiors, Anthony escorted Mosquito to the nearby camp for accommodation. Noticing some survivors with shovels who didn’t resemble Verlanders but instead had features indicative of East Provincial origins, Mosquito curiously asked, "Who are those people?" Following his gaze, Anthony chuckled, “Those are scavengers we hired to excavate ruins. Soldiers are too clumsy for this kind of work; it’s best left to professionals.” “Indeed…” Mosquito rubbed his chin, contemplating other matters. The fact that Verlanders had extra funds to hire workers suggested they’d uncovered valuable treasures beneath the ruins… Perhaps— He could leverage his connections to do something profitable. While Mosquito was lost in thought, the truck they’d encountered on the road finally approached the edge of Death Coast, prompting joy among its passengers, filled with relief and anticipation as they peered toward the coastline. “The coastline!” “Settlement Number One!!” “Hahaha! We made it!” “Wooo… a thousand kilometers! I finally completed it!” Situated along the narrow coastline was a military camp. To the south, floating docks rose and fell with the tide, while large cargo ships docked nearby. Crates were steadily unloaded, guided by cranes. To the north lay rows of container barracks, stacked neatly like blocks of tofu. This, undoubtedly, was the legendary Settlement Number One! They weren’t the first to arrive; many survivors had settled in before them, some already living in homes prepared by the Alliance. Though the containers appeared shabby, they were an improvement over the tents they'd occupied on their journey. Compared to their bright futures, the current hardships were insignificant. This was just the beginning. They wouldn’t remain in the rusting containers; they'd build their homes with their own hands! “Blessed Elk God!” “Praise the great God of Radiation! Its guiding light has led me here!” “Praise the Alliance! Praise the Administrator!” Amidst excited exclamations and individual prayers, some couldn’t wait to grab their bags and leap out, racing towards the coast. Especially the traveling merchant who had been reading the newspaper inside the truck—his muddy boots nearly slipping off as he sprinted, cheering. The eyes of these survivors sparkled with a devout and excited light. Like those of Elk God believers, their faith propelled them onward, and here before them was what they believed in. At that moment, they simply wished to reach their envisioned home faster, ever faster! The driver didn’t stop the adventurous fools, having already collected their fares before boarding; instead, he slowed down to accommodate them. Meanwhile, at the entrance of Settlement Number One, several officers from the Southern Construction Corps noticed the approaching crowd of refugees. “Another group of newcomers,” Xiaoyue whistled, grinning. “At this rate, we’ll soon run out of containers.” Li Jinrong, the commander of the Southern Construction Corps, nodded. “No problem, I'll arrange for more from Northern Island.” “…Consider bringing some more concrete panels. These tin shacks won’t last through a typhoon; one gust and everything’s gone.” With a chuckle, Xiaoyue shifted his gaze to the active settlement before them. Currently, over 30,000 survivors were residing here. Some had been rescued from mutant nests, others assigned by the legion, and more had chosen to come after hearing their broadcast. Like the group of twenty who had just arrived. Community workers ushered the refugees to newly established container quarters, introducing them to the facilities. Things were trending positively. Before long, Haigya Province might return to its former state, perhaps even surpassing the vibrancy seen during the Tower Organization’s time! However, there was a bittersweet aspect… Those who had once lived here wouldn’t witness the wondrous transformation. A hint of melancholy crossed Xiaoyue’s face as he sighed. “I suddenly miss my parents. I don’t really remember them, but just… wish they were here.” Li Jinrong, unsure how to comfort him, responded after a moment of silence. “Once this settlement is up and running, we could build a park for them.” Xiaoyue shot him a puzzled look. “A park?” “Yeah, with a monument or something…” Li Jinrong paused before continuing. “We need to tell future generations what happened here, the price we paid, and how it all ended.” “Those who sacrificed will watch over us in another form. As long as we remember them, our future will remain bright.” To Be Continued