Chapter 873 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 873: Diverging Fates The imposing gantry cranes loomed over the harbor, where the concrete pier served as a bridge between land and sea. Various cargo ships, along with salvage vessels, were docked at the pier, while workers clad in lightweight exoskeletons bustled about. This was the first settlement on the Coast of Death, also the spot where the Alliance's Flaming Legion had landed during the Torch Battle. Although that war occurred only last year, it felt like it was a distant past. No traces of the conflict could be seen along the coastline. Most of the people bustling about were survivors eking out a living rather than armed soldiers. These individuals came from varied backgrounds. Some were wastelanders from the eastern provinces, while others were refugees from the Boros Province or islanders from the southern seas. There were also Verlanders from the western continent and followers of the Sand Sea Spirit from the Luxia Province. Their purposes were as diverse as their identities. Some sought refuge from mutants, raiders, and farm lords of the wasteland; others fled distant wars, plagues, and hunger. Some even arrived hoping to strike it rich by seizing the opportunity to rebuild the space elevator and fly with the Alliance to the stars. Every face here told a story, much like himself, having just lost considerable money. Henke couldn't help but feel a stirring in his heart. Before arriving here, he worried this place might be dire, but it exceeded his expectations. This could be a new beginning... provided nothing unforeseen happens. Next to Henke, Almon also gazed at the thriving cityscape in the distance, narrowing his eyes slightly. “…The last time I was here, the city adjoining the port was just a field of shipping containers. Now, they’ve turned into prefab concrete buildings.” The settlement's outline was expanding outward from the port, suggesting the containers were moved further inland for safety, as leaving such “empty boxes” by the sea risked them being carried away by storms. Perhaps by the next time he returned, these prefab buildings would also make way for taller, more beautiful structures, much like what had happened in Boulder City. Hearing Almon’s words, Henke looked surprised. “Shipping containers? They actually had wastelanders living in those?” Almon chuckled. “In times of emergency, Eastern Wastelanders have an uncanny knack for turning any available material into housing. Take a container, cut out a door and windows, and voilà—a home.” “Well, I just think it’s a bit wasteful,” Henke remarked, reflecting. “They’re metal after all; even if no longer needed, they can be recycled.” Almon’s expression was somewhat nuanced. He initially thought Henke was concerned for the wastelanders, only to find out he was worried about the containers themselves. “…Perhaps, but the local philosophy is to make the most of everything.” Henke promptly inquired further. “Do shipping companies just hand over the containers to them?” This was his main concern. While the local authorities’ care for the wastelanders was admirable, if achieved by means of forced requisition or tolerating squatting, the region's apparent prosperity would not be a sound investment. After all, prosperity can be a façade, just like the financial statements of his winery—debt alone could craft that illusion. Almon laughed. “Of course not. The local authorities pay the shipping companies… Moreover, local demand for imports is high, and storage spaces are scarce. If they don't deal with those containers quickly, they'd rack up exorbitant rental fees for empty containers taking up berths. And since shipping companies are eager to embark on their next trips and the authorities are willing to buy those empty containers, why not?” Additionally, containers from Silver Moon Bay and Jinzahlen Port were plenty cheap. Most of the local light industrial goods and food came from those places, with raw materials from Frydock and heavy industrial facilities from the Northern Islands. The Alliance's overseas investments were feeding back into local development. Even from a Verlander's perspective, he had to admit that the manager's strategies in Luxia Province, Boros Province, and the southern seas were masterful. Without the wastelanders' intrinsic desire to join the Alliance and bring their wealth and knowledge here, the ten settlements dotting the shores of the eastern provinces wouldn’t have flourished so swiftly. Just a few months ago, this place was a domain of aquatic mutants and the Torch. As Almon pondered, a familiar face emerged from the docks, greeting him from afar. “Long time no see, friend! You’ve finally returned!” Standing on the deck, Almon was greeted by an excited Zhang Ze, not due to any longing for the foreigner, but because of the goldmine in manpower aboard his vessel—thousands of youthful laborers! In the burgeoning first settlement, weren’t they as good as gold? Over the past months, through extensive documentation, Zhang Ze had not only found survivors of the West Sail Port incident but also secured footage of the Lion City massacre, ultimately silencing local representatives at a hearing and opening a fast-track processing route for Boros Province refugees to gain “Regulated Person” status. While gaining “Regulated Person” status wasn’t particularly difficult—pledging non-affiliation with raiders would initiate an “observation period” with a temporary permit—the circumstances in the eastern provinces were unique. Solemn oaths couldn’t eliminate raiders embedded among the refugees. Unlike the River Valley Province, with a mature system and established institutions for oversight, the coastal settlements of the Sea Cliff Province lacked such mechanisms. Thus, local authorities, tailoring policies to their needs, had imposed restrictions on the temporary permits—namely, no lending services, and limitations on entering specific trades. These restrictions mitigated risks during the integration of new immigrants, decreasing the likelihood of unwanted scenarios like cannibals becoming chief surgeons and arsonists taking up firefighting roles. These regulations predominantly applied to survivors with no prior identification. Survivors from Ideal City, Cloud Province, South Sea Alliance, or Luxia Province faced no such restrictions. That extended to Frydock and Jinzahlen Ports, and even Verlanders from the western continent. They could skip temporary status, directly acquire “Regulated Person” status, and, depending on their skills, shorten the observation period to mere days, akin to receiving an Alliance ID card. Zhang Ze hadn’t secured equal rights for Boros natives akin to those in Ideal City—an unrealistic venture lacking potential backers. However, to facilitate business operations, he’d managed to secure rights for the refugees similar to the “identified survivors.” Boros had no widespread raiders. Its hardworking survivors would be unfairly targeted by raider-screening rules. After comprehensive discussions, the representative body conceded and signed the 10th Act. This allowed private entities to secure “Regulated Person” status for unregistered survivors through deposit-backed guarantees, bypassing the temporary status assessment. If any crimes occurred during the assessment period, not only would offenders face legal action, but their guarantors’ deposits would also be confiscated to compensate victims. This approach shifted the communal risk onto profit-seeking private entities, aligning with locals' interests. Once the legal hurdles were cleared, Zhang Ze promptly, following pre-discussed plans with his partners, registered the "Hanging Wall Employment Agency," eagerly awaiting those workers—oh, refugees—onto land. Watching the waving young man on shore, Henke cast a questioning look at Almon. “And who is he?” Waving back from the dock, Almon answered his compatriot, “Zhang Ze, one of the shareholders of the Hanging Wall Employment Agency, and my partner here on the Coast of Death… I’ll introduce you later.” Almon briefly introduced the first settlement and the nature of the employment agency, including its profit model, to Henke. Although he had just docked, Henke had been exchanging telegrams with Zhang Ze along the way, giving him a fair understanding of the area’s situation. Listening intently, Henke was both amazed and skeptical, thinking to himself, "Is this for real?" However, he chose to keep his thoughts to himself, allowing Almon to continue explaining without interruption. By the time Almon was done with a brief introduction of their company’s business, Zhang Ze had already ascended the gangway, squeezing past eager passengers ready to disembark, and made his way to the ship's bow. Accompanied by Zhang Ze was a staff member from the settlement’s administrative office, carrying a slender tablet under their arm. “This is Mr. Almon, another partner of our company!” Zhang Ze announced. The official shook hands with Almon and spoke in a professional tone, "Hello, Mr. Almon. I’m in charge here. Could you please provide the passenger list? We need to register the individuals and issue their documents." “No problem, I’ve got the list right here for you,” Almon said, retrieving a ledger from his assistant and handing it over to the official. Henke kept his eyes on the ledger, feeling a sense of familiarity creep over him. This could be his kind of work! Despite Almon persistently explaining the fundamental differences from slave trade, to Henke, it seemed like little more than replacing slave contracts with debt agreements. However, Henke had no intention of competing with his savior or picking up scraps. As he watched the sea of faces brimming with eagerness, a new opportunity began to take shape in his mind. After the formalities were concluded, Zhang Ze disembarked along with the Boros immigrants, arranging to meet Almon at a bar later. Once the paperwork was wrapped up, Henke swiftly pulled Almon aside, eyes bright with excitement. “I want to stay here.” Seeing Almon's surprise, Henke rushed on before he could speak, “...Of course, I won’t expect you to vouch for me for free. I can pay for my passage from West Sail Port just like any of them.” Almon composed himself before answering, “The Alliance and the Legion have diplomatic relations. You don’t need a guarantee—you’ve already been vouched for by the Embassies in Triumph City. But, you don’t want to come back to West Sail Port with me?” Henke shrugged helplessly, “What’s the point? My brewery’s probably been auctioned off by now, and I bet the insurance company won’t cover my losses unless the South Sea Alliance openly admits it was their ship that got blown up.” The impending lawsuit would drag on indefinitely. While he wouldn’t give up on claiming his insurance, he wasn’t willing to stake his life on it either. Henke believed in picking himself up where he fell. Almon gave him a considering look, admiration in his eyes. “You’re quite optimistic.” Henke grinned, “What else can I do, cry in the direction of the sunken ship? That’s not my style.” Patting his shoulder in encouragement, Almon asked, “I’ll take you to the office in a bit to sort out your documents. Have you thought about what you want to do?” Henke, filled with confidence, replied, “Not entirely, but I have a general direction.” Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Almon curiously asked, “Care to share?” “Why not, it’s pretty obvious,” Henke said with a casual shrug, glancing back at the eager faces on the deck. “You mentioned these folks won’t be living in containers forever.” “I bet their first order of business once they’ve made some money is to upgrade to a bigger house.” Almon was taken aback by Henke's revitalized spirit, amazed that, despite having no place to live himself, his thoughts were already on solving housing problems for others. “That’s a big venture…” “Exactly, which is why I need to repair my credit first, find a job, then secure a loan to kick off my plan.” Seeing Almon's astonished expression, Henke confidently grinned, “Just wait, I’ll earn back everything I lost… and maybe we’ll have a chance to collaborate in the future.” Though skeptical of Henke’s lofty ambitions, Almon chose not to dampen his spirits, simply replying with a polite smile, “I’ll look forward to your news.” Unfazed by Almon’s lack of belief, Henke cheerfully remarked, “When you return next time, you’ll see I wasn’t joking.” … With the help of the Hanging Wall Employment Agency, 2,700 new immigrants from West Sail Port successfully completed their registration at the office of the first settlement and acquired “Regulated Person” status. From now on, as "quasi-citizens" of the Alliance, they would strive towards ending the wasteland era and liberating all who suffered. This, of course, didn’t clash with the need to pay off their loans. Even should they aspire to free extraterrestrials, they first needed to sort out their current living conditions. The Alliance was no utopia; it only aided those willing to help themselves. If they expected this place to be Ideal City, disappointment would follow—but if fairness was all they hoped for, they wouldn’t be let down. With the industrious nature of these Murine and Serpentine people, achieving good living conditions seemed only a matter of time. Rather than fret about their struggles, there was more concern they might outwork and overshadow the wastelanders of the eastern provinces. As these "newbies" embarked on their journey to work sites and docks, nerves and excitement mingling within, their homeland painted a very different picture. In Boros Province, within the western region of Oxen State, Akale County lay near a bend in the Everflow River. On the eastern front lines, soldiers gnawed on nutrient paste, the usual ration significantly lacking in flair. Though eager to share some much-desired instant noodles with their allied soldiers, circumstances made such luxuries unattainable. Above, planes streaked across the sky intermittently—one moment belonging to the Legion, the next to the Alliance. Neither could seize air control. In such conditions, lighting a fire for cooking or boiling water was risky business, as risky for their Verlander adversaries as for them. The situation had shifted from previous times. The Boros 11th Maniple had captured fifty-two “Fire Crossbow” self-propelled artillery units, along with almost an entire unit's worth of shells. The psychological impact of the 200 mm artillery on the Verlanders was immense, even though the 155 mm variant caused far more casualties in practice. The conflict hung in a deadlock. After receiving airship reinforcements, the Verlanders abstained from hastily launching an offensive, opting instead to broaden the front lines from a mere few to hundreds of kilometers, turning their spearhead into a broad-bladed axe. This maneuver posed a significant challenge for resource-strapped Boros. Though overwhelmingly superior in numbers, the gaps between outposts remained a major vulnerability, risking a repeat of their downfall in Lion State. Concentrated, mobile forces of the Legion breaking through could leave Boros' fronts disconnected and chaotic, collapsing under their own retreat and repositioning efforts. Nevertheless, even as their battle lines stretched over vast expanses, Akale County remained a crucial battlefield ignored by none. For the Southern Legion, its strategic significance—both geographical and psychological—was undeniable. Thus, both the veteran players of the Death Legion and stationed Boros soldiers steeled themselves for a decisive battle against the Legion. To prevent being hindered by prisoners during combat, they had sent captives to the rear in advance. Based on agreements between the Alliance and the Embassy in Triumph City, the Verlander prisoners would be sent to Jinzahlen Port after reaching Tian Du. Jinzahlen Port was the only place equipped to house them, and assume responsibility for their care. Commenting on their fate, Ishelle had jestingly told Edgewater that, while Boros survivors dreamed of going ashore but might never achieve it in their lifetime, the Verlanders could do so simply by raising their hands in surrender. "...Sometimes it feels like Janusz was both right and wrong. Perhaps fairness really doesn't exist in this world. I can save the innocent civilians in the church, but I can't save myself or my fellow countrymen." Edgewater found himself at a loss for words. It's tough to explain to someone who's never left their homeland what the outside world is like, with its unique logic and rules. Although the war between the Legion and the Alliance had effectively begun, the relationship between the Alliance and Triumph City remained amicable. Bennet was working tirelessly to douse the flames of conflict, and the Alliance's administration was keen to prevent the anti-imperialism war from turning into an anti-Verlander crusade. After all, that would mean repeating the mistakes of the old War Engineering Committee. Yet everyone has their limitations—whether it was the person sitting in front of him or himself. "...I don’t consider being sent to Jinzahlen Port as 'coming ashore.' Their true homeland is Triumph City, and unless they take back what they've learned, they'll never truly 'arrive.'" Edgewater paused before continuing, "Including your people... I don't see your move to Jinzahlen Port or anywhere else as hitting shore either." Ishaal chuckled, adopting a conversational tone. "So where do you think our shore is?" Edgewater replied softly, "It's right beneath you... But I imagine you think I'm talking from a place of ease." "I'm not offended, brother. I’m not that petty," sighed Ishaal, glancing up at the starry sky before down at the mud on his shoes. "I just feel like... this road is too damn long. Who knows if my grandchild's grandchild will see the end of it for me." Seeing the pessimism written on his face, Edgewater placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "They will... and I believe you won't have to wait for your grandchild's grandchild; you'll see it yourself." Ishaal laughed, "I’ll hold you to that!" It wouldn’t be that easy, though he chose not to say this aloud to his close friend, opting to keep the thought to himself instead. At that moment, an officer approached, saluting them smartly. "Report! Telegram from Tian Du!" Ishaal briskly stood, dusting the dirt off his pants, and took the telegram from the officer's hand, scanning it from start to finish with a small, enigmatic smile. "This Abusack... Ha." Seeing Ishaal's intrigued expression, Edgewater stood, dusting off his pants as he walked over. "What does it say?" "Nothing much, just a dispatch order," Ishaal replied, handing the telegram over. "Our Chief wants to establish a field army to support the three northern provinces of the Mammoth Kingdom... It’s only fair since Narasi has helped us a lot; we owe them a favor." Edgewater's expression turned quizzical. "...You actually have the capacity to support others?" The Mammoth Kingdom’s army had undergone comprehensive re-equipment and reform. Though still no match against the Legion in direct combat, at least they wouldn’t be a significant bother to the Alliance. Therefore, the Alliance's aid to the Mammoth Kingdom was largely financial, with most volunteers heading to Boros. He couldn’t fathom what this maneuver entailed. Ishaal grinned, "This is where you're mistaken. The philosophy of Boros people isn't the art of speaking, but the art of not speaking." Edgewater was momentarily puzzled. "The art of not speaking?" Ishaal nodded. "Saying everything without actually saying anything. Take this order, for instance. Ostensibly, it's about supporting the north, but it's really about our evacuation." As to what they needed to evade, Ishaal didn’t specify. It wasn’t about verbal craft—it was about emotional intelligence. Edgewater was silent for a while, then sighed deeply, "Truly, the shallow waters are swarming with trouble." "Intrigue! It’s all intrigue!" murmured Big-Eyed Debt Collector and Worker Man, eyes wide with excitement. Khorne, Nurgle, Tzeentch are all in play! Could Slaanesh be far behind? He was already eager for the next chapter. Ishaal smiled bitterly, shrugging. "In the end... as you say, every family has its own struggles. Abusack has his difficulties, especially with 'The Horse King' Shalruk scrutinizing him closely, and his own inner demons he can't escape. But looking at it another way, it's a blessing in disguise. Without Shalruk, a sly character himself, Abusack might have become that sly figure himself." Edgewater was speechless for a moment. He'd thought nobody on the wasteland could out-scheme the Academy, but here was another 'Phoenix Hatchling' south of the Trobal Mountains. While the Academy's plots were largely external or self-preservative, here, internal conflict seemed to be the focus, spawning a unique philosophical school. Coming from a civilized society, Edgewater couldn't quite grasp it, but he was certainly impressed. Ishaal, watching his Alliance friend’s muddled expression, cleared his throat. "By the way, rest assured, we won’t leave you to defend this place alone... Two Maniples will be sent here to relieve us, so it'd be appreciated if you could teach them what you taught us." Edgewater gathered his composure. "I’m not worried. Whether alone or with others, we'll defend it with all our might... as long as you haven't given up the fight." Ishaal reassured, "You needn't worry about that. Abusack may be a bastard, but he's no fool. If he surrenders, I wager he wouldn’t live to see another day." They shared a knowing smile, then tempered it with a mutual salute. "Take care, brother." "Take care!" Ishaal replied earnestly, the gravity of the moment settling over them both. The story continues...