Chapter 843 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 843: Patience is a Virtue At the military base airfield, Cheng Yan, the Foreign Minister of the Alliance, was engaged in cordial discussions with the high-ranking officials of Port Gingallion. Meanwhile, players from the Burning Legion stood at a distance, watching the scene unfold. Unlike the onlookers from Port Gingallion, these players weren't particularly curious about Cheng Yan’s appearance, as he could occasionally be spotted on the streets of Dawn City. Their focus was more on whether the battle would actually happen, and when it might start. "Achoo!" Perched on a stone block, the player known as [No Family] suddenly sneezed, nearly losing his balance. It was his tenth sneeze of the day. Sitting nearby, [Mistaken Identity] glanced over at him with a peculiar expression and remarked, "Are you coming down with something?" Logically, such occurrences were rare. Even if he was an intelligence-based player, having undergone two awakenings meant his physical attributes should be twice that of an average person. Rubbing his reddened nose, No Family grumbled, "I have no idea... Damn it, can you even catch a cold in this game?" Though he didn’t feel unwell, the sneezes just kept coming. [Half-Step Hesitation] patted him on the shoulder, laughing, "Take care of yourself, young man. If it gets worse, maybe consider logging out and back in?" [Sky High] chimed in, "If you pass by Dawn City, grab something for me." "Get lost." No Family rolled his eyes in annoyance but couldn't hold back another loud "Achoo." Mistaken Identity snickered, "Perhaps someone’s thinking about you. Own up; are you getting cozy with an NPC like Zero Charge?" Zero Charge: "???" No Family responded with a roll of his eyes and a middle finger. Watching their antics, Two Taels of Moonlight sighed, "This game is just too damn real." ... "Brothers and sisters, a single chopstick can be easily broken, but ten chopsticks bundled together are not so easy to snap!" proclaimed a man in the slums of West Sail Port. On the war-torn soil, new shanties had sprung up. The overly smart are often forgetful, and most in Bolo Province were just that. Despite the massacre by the Legion over a month ago, those who survived were unfazed and continued working for the Legion. The matter had been put to rest. Most people thought this way, and some even came from the neighboring Lion State, which fell under Bolo Kingdom's territory. Regardless of Absaid's enticing promises, they couldn't escape their impoverished reality. Although the Legion didn't pay much, at least they paid something — enough to earn a few hundred dinars a week. This generous salary was almost unimaginable for the locals. After all, buying a slave only cost a thousand dinars. Saving for three or four months could even afford one a bride from a poor village! Even if most of what they hauled ashore was meant for advancing against Bolo Province... In those dilapidated shacks, no light shone. The workers clearly never considered this place a home, merely a makeshift shelter. Nonetheless, from one particular shack came sounds of spirited speech, like a ray of light in the darkness. Inside, a man wrapped in green cloth stood, passionately speaking to those assembled before him, their eyes glowing in the dim light. A hand shot up, and a timid young man started to speak hesitantly. "Boss..." "Call me family. We are all family here, no boss, no hierarchy," the man in green said warmly, gazing at him as if he truly was kin. "It seems you have a question. Ask it; perhaps I can help dispel your doubts." Never having been treated with such kindness, the young Mouse Tribe member's eyes reddened. He had been alone for a long time, remembering only that his name was A-Min. He drifted aimlessly like duckweed until now, when someone finally made him feel the warmth of a father figure. More than money, that was why he joined the Family Association. In other gangs, he had to address overseers as masters, but here, they called him family and truly treated him as such. He longed to have a family, to be treated as family! Afraid of being ridiculed, A-Min hesitated for a long time before shyly asking, "So... what exactly are chopsticks?" The man in green didn't mock him but smiled kindly and explained, "They are eating utensils, much more hygienic than using hands, introduced to us by our friends, the Alliance." "And hygiene? What does that mean?" Another curious voice piped up, eyes bright with longing for the Alliance. Eating utensils – there must be so much food to go around! The man in green smiled tenderly. "Hygiene means cleanliness. Scientifically speaking, most diseases stem from eating unclean things. Hands touching dirty objects, for example, aren't clean. Using chopsticks helps prevent many diseases." The people's eyes shone even brighter, as if they could truly see the day when they’d have more food than they could eat, not just dirt to survive on. Not only would they no longer need to, but their children wouldn’t either. They'd sit properly at tables, using utensils like well-mannered people's children. "Both disease and hunger are foes we must vanquish," A-Min said, brimming with hope. "How do we defeat them?" "Through unity!" the man in green replied with a warm smile, meeting every longing gaze. "As long as we remain united, like the survivors in Dawn City, Boulder City... and countless other settlements, we can ensure that everyone uses chopsticks, eats to their fill, and that the food is clean!" The dark shack resounded with applause. Despite his vague answers, they struck chords in every heart – a voice finally articulating their desires. Standing by the entrance, two comrades from Boulder City listened to the applause. One beamed with satisfaction, while the other was cautiously optimistic. "To be well-fed, you need to farm. Mere unity won't stave off hunger. Theory can't replace practice. Though they're doing well, I worry they might swing to another extreme." His name was Eugene, a witness to Boulder City's great transformation and the comrade of the Worker’s Union chairman, Lovett. During the harsh winter, he used his hammer and skills to create a stove for imprisoned comrades. One day, he heard about these survivors in need of help at a tavern, prompting his determined journey. Helping others, and in turn, saving oneself – this was the shared belief of all workers, and for Eugene, too. He had no doubts. An eager learner named Zayed found the Worker’s Union, and under their guidance, Eugene travelled from Gingallion Port to this place. However, after working with the Family Association for a while, he felt something inexplicable. His fellow worker beside him seemed unfazed, joking lightly, "But you said they're doing good work." Eugene gulped, reluctantly agreeing, "I admit, they've recruited members swiftly, even faster than us. Sperg read the paper for a month and only gathered a pub’s worth of people, while they amassed over a thousand in less than a week..." "Then what’s there to worry about?" the worker patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Remember, theory can't replace practice. Give them time to figure things out. Don't forget the lessons from Gingallion Port. Why did the 'Survivor's Daily' thrive while we hit walls?" Eugene stared at him in silence before shaking his head. "I hope you’re right..." Indeed, they struggled at Gingallion Port, but he attributed it less to a failure in localization and more to the incomplete industrialization there, leaving local workers without awareness of solidarity. In contrast, their opponents had already amassed a wealth of "struggle experience" within the Alliance, and even before arriving at Gingallion Port, they strategically allocated small incentives to win over public sentiment. The same scenario played out in Mammoth Nation. There, Listor took proactive measures by constructing dormitories for local workers and schools for their children, allowing workers to live more comfortably than the soldiers. This approach instilled a sense of pride among the workers in their jobs. Given this backdrop, encountering obstacles was inevitable for them. Eugene didn’t see these as failures but as indicators of their success. Even if the local workers didn’t embrace their ideology, they nonetheless experienced improvements in their living conditions. Though others in the Worker’s Union were dissatisfied, arguing that the minimum wage in Bolo Province remained too low, Eugene found the outcome quite satisfactory. Pursuing rapid success isn’t always beneficial. While the local circumstances varied, their reform's victory was due to restraint, leading to their eventual success. "My only worry is that we might be a bit too hasty..." Elsewhere, in another lowly shack lit by a solitary candle, Zayed meticulously reviewed the ledger and membership roster, a warm smile creeping onto his face. The Family Association had just officially surpassed 10,000 members! While he hadn’t shared this good news with his friends in the Worker’s Union yet, he could already picture the incredulous expressions on their faces. It was a bona fide miracle, one that only Bolo Province could produce. "You know, Sawa... The most brilliant business model is actually religion. Compared to that, conventional money-making methods pale in significance." Despite numerous labor agencies at the port, none could compare to the workers of the Family Association. They were the most industrious and united, prompting docks and factories to offer them more positions and pay extra for their remarkable efficiency. Earning 0.5 dinars an hour amounted to 4 dinars after an 8-hour day. Each worker contributed 28 dinars weekly to the Family Association, which translated to 280,000 dinars from 10,000 people! Converted to silver coins — 3 to 5 dinars for one silver coin — it averaged out to about 70,000 silver coins! With firearms costing only a couple of hundred silver coins, this sum sufficed to arm an entire company! Lowering the standards a bit, they might even equip two or three companies! Though still far from realizing his grand ambitions, this was undeniably a promising start. Beside Zayed, his young assistant Sawa spoke softly, "But sir...the port gangs seem displeased with our methods." Zayed chuckled, dismissively sneering, "Why bother with them? They’re just sewer rats." Sawa remained worried. He wasn't particularly afraid of the high-nosed outsiders but was apprehensive about the menacing gang members. They seemed like desperados, and the Weillants wouldn’t interfere in their infighting. "But... those guys are violent groups. We’re cutting off their income; they’re bound to retaliate..." Seeing Sawa’s anxious face, Zayed merely smiled serenely. "Dear Sawa, you're still too young. If even those violent groups don’t underestimate us, why should you mistakenly think we aren’t a violent group?" Sawa was puzzled. He distinctly remembered Zayed explaining their purpose upon returning to Bolo Province. How did they now become a gang? Gently closing the ledger, Zayed spoke quietly, "If the inner city nobles hadn’t thrown Sperg in jail, Boulder City's prisons wouldn’t have been filled to capacity in mere days... Understand my meaning, Sawa." Confused, Sawa shook his head but then nodded. "Do you want to emulate Mr. Sperg?" Zayed burst into laughter, shaking his head after half a minute. "Which is why I say you're still too young, seeing only the surface, missing the essence." "The essence?" Sawa looked at him blankly. Zayed nodded gently. "Precisely." That clever girl believed he was ignorant of Boulder City's history, but the truth was the opposite. While others chased after fun, he had delved into the story's core and found the heart's bloody center. It lay buried beneath Boulder City's snow, a sword capable of killing anything, even undying ideals. "Revolution is like a blood transfusion; it inherently involves shedding blood. If you’re to do great things with me, you must have this awareness." Just as he finished speaking, a ruckus erupted outside the window, accompanied by curses and shouts. "This is the place!" "Where those cultists are having classes!" Amongst the commotion, he faintly heard a furious shout from their friend from Boulder City. Sawa remembered that gentleman was named Eugene, seemingly a blacksmith. But he was more than just a smith; he also dabbled in carpentry, chemistry, and even cooking. His stews were so exceptional, even professional chefs admired him. He often said he learned his skills in prison from a worker at a canning factory. "What are you doing—?" A vulgar curse cut through Eugene's angry shout. "What am I doing? I'm going after you lot cutting off our income!" "Boys! Hit them!" Realizing a dire situation was brewing, Sawa rushed to the window, witnessing a terrifying scene. A group of men wielding sticks and knives charged through the slum’s alleys, storming into their classroom. They were members of the Black Rat Gang! In West Sail Port, they were second only to the Assassins! Sawa's eyes widened in terror. He had never seen such savagery and couldn’t stop his shoulders from trembling. Through the window’s crack, he watched helplessly as the teacher was dragged out. The green cloth wrapped around his arm turned red with blood, as the assailants showed no mercy, beating him brutally in an act of intimidation. Seeing their green-clad kin being pummeled, the family members were terrified, scattering in panic while other slum workers gathered to watch the spectacle. "Help..." The battered one weakly cried for aid. Eugene, eyes wide with intent to intervene, was forcibly pinned to the ground by a few muscular, tattooed men. "You bandits!" Another comrade shrieked with grief-stricken eyes. At that moment, A-Min, the young lad, suddenly erupted. "Ahhh! I'll fight you!!" Despite his frail frame, he charged like an enraged calf, brandishing a dagger he had found somewhere, slashing at a thug’s leg. The blade, quite by chance, severed an artery, causing blood to gush like an arrow from a crossbow. "Ahhh! My leg! Damn it, you rat, beat him to a pulp—" The thug cursed in agony, his face whitening and voice dwindling as he bled. Rather than fear, the sight of their comrade gushing blood incited rage among the nearby thugs, who then charged at the boy with fervor. However, this time the script changed. Perhaps inspired by the boy’s bravery, the surrounding family members no longer trembled but instead seized whatever was at hand, rushing the tattooed thugs. "Think you can bully us that easily!" "Brothers, let’s get them!" "For our family!!!" "Fight them to the end!!" Laborers from both the Family Association and other gangs rallied around the boy. They had long harbored resentment for the dock’s rules. Why should they sweat to earn money from the Weillants only to have some middleman skim off a share? What sense did that make?! Finally seeing a glimmer of hope without agency fees with the Family Association, someone tried snuffing it out. Now, these furious workers unleashed their pent-up grievances upon the gangs. Even the laborers registered under the Black Rat Gang pretended not to notice as their enforcers were being beaten, and some even spat on them discreetly. Watching the uprising of the workers, the tattooed enforcers were frightened out of their wits, catching beatings from all directions, and some even fell to their knees pleading for mercy. Sawa, standing by the window, swallowed nervously and was about to rush outside when Zayed held him back. "Where are you going?" "I need to calm them down! If this continues, someone will die!" Sawa's face was filled with urgency. However, Zayed did not loosen his grip, maintaining his gaze out the window with a blank expression. After about five or six minutes, the sharp report of a gunshot rang out from the end of the street, and a small group of Weillant soldiers entered the slums. Upon hearing the thunderous shot, the crowd fell silent, retracting their necks to glance at the big-nosed soldiers. People on the outskirts of the group began to quietly slip away, and the previously packed alley suddenly cleared out, leaving a shaky cluster of a dozen or so standing in its midst. With a toothpick in his mouth, Pete coldly surveyed the bruised and battered gang members, lingering a little longer on the boy holding the knife. "What’s all this ruckus about? If you’ve got the energy to fight, put it to use at the docks!" His growl echoed in the alley, and nobody dared to meet his gaze. Pete looked at them with even greater disdain. He genuinely detested these people, who were either bullies among themselves or went after easy targets. Spitting out the toothpick, he barked at those lying on the ground, "Anyone still able to move, get up! Or are your legs broken? Waiting for me to fix them?" "Yes, yes—not at all! Not at all!" Sensing his impatience, the thugs hastily scrambled to their feet, nodding and bowing while expressing their thanks to the Weillant soldiers before slipping off to the alley's exit, casting hateful glares at the workers on their way out. Once they were gone, Pete moved towards Eugene, who sat against the wall, and yanked him to his feet. Blood mixing with his laughter, Eugene faced the big-nosed man without fear, wearing a defiant smile. Others might fear this man, but he did not. He was, after all, a citizen of the Alliance and entered with an electronic passport. Pete didn’t hit him but gave him a shove and then heavily patted his collar like he was straightening Eugene’s clothes. Yet anyone could see how forceful the centurion’s hand was. "... We’re watching you," Pete growled near Eugene’s ear, squeezing out the words with menace, "If you try anything on our turf, I’ll feed you to the fish." The threat was not idle, but Eugene merely grinned, spitting out bloody saliva to the side. "Cause trouble? Teaching the poor to read on Weillant soil is causing trouble, is it? Then please, bring that up at the Continental Assembly, big and bold! And don’t try to scare me; if I feared death, I wouldn’t have left behind those walls!" "Heh, hope you’re this brave with a knife to your throat." Pete laughed coldly, sparing no further glance at him, merely signaling for his men to fall back, and moved towards the alley’s exit. Once the Weillant soldiers had departed, the immobilized workers finally relaxed, starting to tidy up the mess at their doorsteps, picking up the litter. At this moment, a man with a compassionate expression made his way through the downcast crowd. First, he helped up the green-clothed family member, then tended to the Boulder City friends’ injuries, even checking on the boy named A-Min. Seeing the time was right, he cleared his throat and addressed the hurt family members. "Family." "I understand you're worried, perhaps even fearful. You're worried about the Weillants’ stance, fearful of the gangs' revenge... But let me tell you, it’s not us who should be afraid; it’s them!" Heads lifted, and sagging shoulders straightened. In unison, they turned their gaze toward this man, eyes filled with apprehension, confusion, yet also glimmers of hope. Especially the green-clothed family member and young A-Min. They knew the young man’s identity before them. His name was Zayed! Their Golden Family Member! Bathing in their reverent eyes, Zayed, mirroring that man's demeanor, began to speak, completing his thoughts with a powerful voice, repeating his words. "It is they who should be afraid... those vampires perched on our necks, and their lapdogs, not us, united as we are!" His voice surged with strength. Like a veined hand gripping each wide eye, leaving an indelible mark. "Because of fear, flies and mosquitoes conspire against us, hoping to steal what is rightfully ours. What we gain through unity, they attempt to take with force. They aren’t short of money! But only while we suffer misery and hunger does their evil empire thrive." "The Weillants, unwilling to dirty their hands or break their rules, incite the gangs to do their dirty work... And their violent methods are proof of their fear! They attempt to subdue us with force, to dissolve our unity! That is what terrifies them!" Every eye brimmed with hatred. Zayed gazed into their eyes, or rather the reflection of himself within their pupils. He was pleased with their expressions. And pleased with himself. The unchanneled hatred and fury had finally found a direction. At this moment, they were no longer a rabble. They had found something to hate vehemently! "Yet they are mistaken! Gravely so! For we will not surrender, not for the crack of a whip! We shall not bend our spines! Never!" The thundering voice echoed through the alley, and leaning against the cold wall, A-Min felt a surge of blood, involuntarily responding. "Never!" Quickly, he realized he wasn’t alone in his cry, joined by countless others who shared his resolve. His eyes sparkled with light. In the darkness, he was not alone; people just like him surrounded him. Those people were his family! Witnessing the boiling atmosphere in the alley, a satisfied smile spread across Zayed’s face. He raised his hand slightly, calming the crowd, then continued with an unwavering voice. "Exactly!" "We shall not surrender to this minor setback; the fear on the enemy’s face testifies to our righteousness!" "On this hope-filled path, we shall be more united than ever!" "We are family!" ... Behind them, the alley was abuzz with noise, those rats likely squeaking about something. But there seemed to be no fighting. Walking beside Pete, a soldier sneered, reluctantly saying, "Why bother with those rats? Why not let them continue beating each other?" Pete gave him a glance, then looked away, pulling a toothpick from his pocket and clenching it between his teeth. Lately, his smoking had increased, and he was trying this method to quit. "... And watch them burn the port down?" He was merely a centurion, not versed in the grand scheming; he just followed orders. Yet recently, he found himself confused, as more and more situations unfolded against his expectations. Like... What were they here for, exactly? Wasn’t it for revenge? But every time he thought of it, that simple face flashed through his mind. The man whose name was Govinda had nervously rattled off a string of names before his death but couldn’t escape his fate. Reflecting now, the timid clerk might not have been the one who killed his brethren. Not just Govinda, but also several defenseless women. More victims than perpetrators; the scars they bore couldn’t have been left from a Weillant resistance. Each time this matter crossed Pete's mind, a wave of irritation swept over him, forcing him to suppress further thoughts about it. However, the men trailing behind him didn’t think deeply about it. Instead, they burst into laughter as if they had just heard a hilarious joke. “Burn down the port? That lot?” “Haha, would they dare?” “I wish those cowards would toughen up and not surrender the moment they hear gunfire.” Pete didn’t join in their laughter. Instead, he detached his communicator from his shoulder, making a brief report. “...Risk eliminated, crowd dispersed...Copy that...” Just as he was about to end the transmission, a voice came through the channel again. It was this subsequent voice that left him utterly stunned. “...Survivors?! Silvermoon Sect chapel? The children’s parents are alive?” A buzzing filled his head as he struggled to process the overwhelming information. Still alive? How could that be possible? Around him, the soldiers gradually ceased their laughter, exchanging startled glances as they halted alongside their captain, watching him in astonishment. They knew about the Silvermoon Sect’s chapel — they were the first to find that group of children. The bullet holes in the floor, the stains of blood that seemed impossible to clean, and the old nun’s account all pointed to the tragic end of those brave individuals. Their hatred for the Bolo Province survivors was at least half-rooted in those children who lost their parents and the bleak state of that chapel. Now, hearing that those people might actually be alive? It rendered them speechless. “...The northern checkpoint, you say? Got it! I’ll take a team there right away!” Having received orders from higher-ups, Pete’s demeanor turned serious. After a quick acknowledgment, he ended the communication. Turning to his subordinates, he spoke with swift clarity. “There are survivors! Follow me!” The soldiers responded without hesitation, confirming in unison. “Yes, sir!” --- (Thanks to “X man with a big appetite X” for the reward as an ally leader!!!) To be continued...