Chapter 906 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 906: The Ability to Self-Correct Allowing the Wilander people to build their own homes was a compromise. After all, Settlement One authorities couldn't magically create a new district capable of housing five thousand people from thin air. Especially since Settlement One was already dealing with an influx of wasteland visitors from the eastern provinces, the settlement's expansion speed and population growth were in a fragile balance that no one wanted to disrupt. Additionally, these immigrants brought with them a significant amount of capital and manpower. Labor needed employment, and funds needed appropriate channels. With proper resource allocation, both demands could be satisfied. Hank found such an opportunity, accommodating all sides' needs. The authorities of Settlement One only had to produce a blueprint. In return, they would gain a high-growth new district at no cost. The construction in this new district could stimulate the local economy and solve the future challenges of integrating the Wilander people. With denars as collateral, the alliance's banks were also willing to offer loans. Real currency as collateral was far more reliable than promissory notes or stocks. Though some Poroans nitpicked the term "home," claiming it was a soft colonial conspiracy by the Wilanders, few bought into this. After all, the number of Poroans migrating to the alliance was far greater than that of the Wilanders. First, it was people from the Moon Clan, and later residents of Jinchalon Port—these folks had been leaving since the Western Lan era. In a certain sense, they were beneficiaries of the alliance's constitution. Those who crossed the river only to destroy the bridge behind them were unpopular anywhere. Interestingly, after cooling down, some Poroans realized that their protest didn't hold water. They attempted to invoke racial narratives to garner sympathy, but survivors from the eastern provinces weren't swayed. The alliance's support for the Poroan province's war wasn't about bloodlines or hatred towards the Wilanders, but rather shared class struggles—they too were survivors suffering in the wastelands. Years ago, they themselves had suffered racial humiliation, seeking shelter with the alliance. Now, using racism to attack class brothers was indefensible both logically and emotionally. Especially through such extreme measures... By noon, the protest crowd outside the city hall had thinned significantly, but a hundred or so stubborn individuals remained resolute. The settlement's guards set up barriers around them. Though there were several instances of shoving, they didn't escalate into conflicts. Compared to wasteland dwellers from the eastern provinces, the Poroan survivors were less aggressive and more docile. However, stubbornness was another matter entirely. Most Poroans only enjoyed reasoning when it benefited them, turning a blind eye to logic's duality—even if such self-defeating behavior had caused their suffering over the past two centuries. Standing outside the barrier, a young guard watched an elderly man waving a mammoth flag, with visible disdain. “If they love Lathi so much, why don't they go back? Lathi needs them now more than ever,” quipped an older colleague beside him with a chuckle. “Haha, I bet you a silver coin that if he did go to Lathi, he'd be more well-behaved than if he were in our jail.” The young guard couldn't help but laugh, earning an angry glare from the flag-waving old man. “What are you laughing at? I'm a taxpayer!” The young guard chuckled. “Yes, your majesty. If you find anyone around here not paying their taxes, please do let me know.” The old man's face turned white with fury. A colleague quickly pulled the young guard aside, giving him a warning glance, advising him not to provoke. With a helpless shrug, the young guard returned to his vehicle. Meanwhile, the unseen mayor finally crumbled under pressure, sending his secretary to face the crowd. Alert to the smell of victory, the hundred or so protesting Poroans raised their voices, growing more agitated. The beleaguered mayor's secretary, taking a megaphone from a city hall worker, shouted at the chanting Poroans. “Cough, cough... Friends from the Poroan province, please calm down. Regardless of your demands, this is merely an administrative body, not a legislative or judiciary, nor the duke's manor. Like you, we must adhere to the law. If you believe sheltering the Wilanders violates the alliance's regulations, or if there's an issue with our laws, you should approach the representatives or the courts—” Before he could finish, the crowd interrupted him. For the first time, he witnessed such brave Poroans, as the old man with the mammoth flag shouted. “Is this really about the law?” “What do you think it is, then—” “Exactly! The law is just the baseline! It doesn't define right or wrong!” a young man behind the old man interjected. “Right! This law is unfair—why should the Wilanders share our labor's fruits?” “Especially the Wilanders from the Southern Legion! Who knows if there are centurions or decurions among them?” The voices echoed at city hall's entrance, the protesters intent on turning the smooth concrete into a mess, waiting for someone to stir the pot. The secretary was dumbfounded but quickly caught on. “Yes, the law is the baseline. In daily life, we should hold ourselves to higher standards. But can you trust someone with higher moral standards if they lack even a baseline?” Perhaps it was the rational nature of the players that led him to instinctively try and reason with the emotionally charged Poroans, unaware that attempting logic with them was a fundamental mistake. No Poroan ever became emperor through persuasion—only through deceit, theft, and force. “We want to see the Administrator!” “We can't explain this to you!” “Yes! Let us meet the Administrator!” Their irrational shouts reduced all logical explanations to a farce. The well-meaning secretary realized why his superiors avoided facing these protesters themselves and why the crafty representatives turned a blind eye. What they wanted wasn't order but something else entirely. Finally exasperated, he exclaimed, “Fine! Go on, I dare you! Get your tickets and head to Dawn City to see your esteemed Administrator! Go tell him personally that he's wasting his efforts... No one will stop you!” The guards watching from beyond the barrier exchanged glances. “I suddenly feel a bit sorry for the mayor…” “You’re not the only one.” It's worth noting that the Security Bureau wasn't under the city hall's jurisdiction. Settlement One mirrored Dawn City in this aspect. As long as the situation didn't become violent, they wouldn't intervene. Following orders from city hall or any powerful figure to disperse a non-violent crowd might even result in punishment from the Guards Corps. The protesting Poroans clearly understood this, opting not to block doors or disrupt traffic, merely clamoring below the mayor's office window. By noon, Gu Ning arrived at city hall from the port area, coincidentally meeting another regional representative not far from the entrance. His name was Suka, someone whose ID and appearance even the Poroans would mistake for a Moon Clansman. Nonetheless, Gu Ning, who served with him, knew otherwise. He also knew Suka sent a quarter of his salary each month to a union at Jinchalon Port (not the one from Abusak). Perhaps due to past hardships, these Moon Clansmen were far more united than the "snakes, rats, insects, and birds" of Poroan province. Gu Ning adjusted his collar slightly, stopping beside Suka with a light smile. “Aren’t you going to speak up for them?” Suka paused, sighed, and replied, “Mr. Gu, can you understand such mixed feelings of love and hate?” Gu Ning could discern the complexity and dilemma in Suka's eyes, but he didn't say much. Instead, he patted Suka’s shoulder with a smile. "Leave it to me." Watching Gu Ning walk away, Suka shook his head and finally couldn't bear to watch any longer, turning to leave. Having sat in meetings with him, Suka knew exactly what lay behind that man’s smile. He was certain that whatever Gu Ning intended to do might benefit the alliance but wouldn't necessarily be good for his compatriots. However, he no longer had the power to stop it, nor was he sure if he should stop it. After all, he was now part of the alliance... It's worth mentioning that within the alliance, there were always two forces: the radicals and the conservatives, aligning with the left and right. Although these forces were still young and rarely engaged in open debates, their presence was undeniable. For instance, Mr. Gu was a classic conservative. While neither faction disputed "welcoming the survivors of the wasteland's hardships," a principle enshrined in the constitution, they differed profoundly on issues such as "what kind of survivors deserve acceptance," "who can truly unite," and "whether uniting with the wrong people could destabilize the alliance's foundation." Another notable observation was that within the alliance, the dislike for the Wilanders wasn't as widespread as the Poroans and Wilanders themselves imagined. Historically, figures like Vannus had stood shoulder to shoulder with the survivors of the Valley Province against the Legion and its puppets, efforts that hadn't gone unnoticed. Shelter residents didn't buy into racial narratives. They viewed all survivors of this planet as descendants of the United Humanity from two centuries ago. Even the Wilanders, created by the Department of Technology, were crafted using human DNA templates and the biotechnological achievements of human civilization. Moreover, neither the Legion nor the Empire had clean slates. The outrageous actions, like assassination in diplomatic venues or exploiting migrant workers, by the Poroan province countries painted a grim picture. Thus, sympathy for them existed, but many believed they deserved their fate. Exploiting hardship to win public favoritism in the alliance was difficult, and challenging the constitution based on such favoritism was extremely perilous. Suka saw it all too clearly. Compared to the "Southern Wilanders" who kept their heads down, and those distancing themselves from the Southern Legion, the ones protesting at city hall were treading dangerous ground. The more they emphasized their bloodline and the tragic fate attached to it, attempting to twist progressive voices against their ideals, the more they would provoke a backlash from the alliance's conservative voices. "We've helped enough; it’s time to stop." Conservatives were bound to exploit this, and it was too late for Suka to intervene... Seeing a representative arrive relieved the mayor's secretary, who was trying to placate the Poroans. "You finally came." Gu Ning, arriving swiftly, wasted no time. He counted the heads present, then drew the secretary aside. "Order 120 box lunches and bottled water for them, at my expense... They don’t have to be expensive. Keep it within a 200-silver budget. Just enough to fill them up will do." The secretary, expecting him to resolve the crisis, looked at him curiously. "Feeding them? If I were them, I'd carry on all night!" Gu Ning replied succinctly, "People can't listen when they're hungry. Letting them cause a scene tonight is better than them returning tomorrow... Don’t forget to order one for me as well; I haven’t eaten since morning." The secretary gave him an odd look but said nothing more, returning to city hall. Soon enough, 121 box lunches arrived—one meat and two vegetables—not extravagant but certainly adequate. The Poroans, hungry and hoarse from shouting, accepted the food and water extended by the representative. Gu Ning personally handed out meals to the protesters, sitting with them to eat. Perhaps touched by his humility, they opened up to him as family. In response to their compliments, Gu Ning smiled modestly, eating until he was seventy percent full and waiting for them to finish. This wasn't a mere performance. Or to be more precise, at least the meal wasn't entirely for show. It was merely a prelude to something sterner. With lunchtime over, the streets gradually filled with locals working nearby. Among them were many survivors from the eastern provinces as well as Wilanders from the Eastern Legion, mostly curious onlookers. As the crowd grew, the sated Poroans wiped their hands clean and picked up their protest signs to seize the momentum. At that moment, Gu Ning spoke in a gentle tone, "Friends, I haven't yet asked what your demands are. Please tell me, only then can I help you address them." "We don’t like the Wilanders." "Get them out of the alliance!" "Weren’t they manufactured problems to begin with? Why can’t we just erase these big noses from the world?" Observing the impassioned crowd, Gu Ning took the megaphone from the mayor’s secretary with a friendly smile. "Not liking... That’s a valid reason. I, too, dislike many things, like overly sweet or salty dishes. However, what I dislike more are those who think the world should revolve around them." "Such people are like babies with heads too big for a pram, wishing death upon one person today and another tomorrow; to satisfy them, you’d have to overturn everything. It’s simpler to just sew up their foul mouths... So, since all problems stem from them, why shouldn’t it be them who are erased?" The crowd fell silent. Even the mayor's secretary who handed him the megaphone was left gaping in shock. However, not all faces showed surprise. For instance, the young officer sitting in the police car couldn't suppress his glee, clapping twice, discreetly out of sight. Returning to their senses, the Poroans knew his reference was indirect and yelled furiously. "What the hell do you mean?!" "It’s absurd... It’s clearly those big noses who should be damned, not us!" "You've betrayed the alliance!!" Their insults grew harsher, but perhaps because they were fed or their mouths were now compromised, their voices carried little conviction. Ignoring the angry insults, Gu Ning directed his speech over their heads to the broader audience gathered behind them, louder and firmer. "I am eternally loyal to the alliance, and no one loves it more than me. Others fleeing with tails between their legs have no right to judge me." "Besides, I’m not targeting anyone specific. I’m merely discussing the type of people I despise. If possible, I’d build a giant colonial ship to send these maniacs to a separate planet." "There, they can be with themselves, kill each other as they please, breed with whatever they fancy, lick whatever toe they admire—exactly what animals do all day, providing they stay out of our way!" Never had such a relatable speech come from a representative. Onlookers on the street cheered, whistled, and even a player with prosthetics chimed in with a jest. "I support you. I bet you’re talking about the Legion!" Gu Ning pointed at him, following his lead, "You're right. The Legion lacks no ambition to crap on others. Especially centurions who turn wars into lies, whether passively or actively, tainting their greedy desires with their own blood—and then use their marshals and professed loyalty as shields! Such hypocrites don’t deserve to speak of loyalty, nor do they deserve to be called true and brave Wilanders. Am I right?" Applause broke out in the crowd. And those applauding most fervently happened to be Wilanders themselves. Their faces glowed with excited enthusiasm. He had voiced the thoughts they had long wanted to utter but dared not. The Legion of today was no longer the force that once fought for the fate of the Wilanders but had become a monster feeding on its own people. Perhaps other Wilanders held different views. But those standing here had enough of the lies and had thus come to this place. "You're right!" "To hell with the Southern Legion! To hell with Teal!" "Those cannibals are the true traitors to the Wilanders!" The Poroans on the other side of the barrier lost their words for a moment. It wasn't that they had nothing to say, but they were caught off guard and unprepared for how the tide had turned. Gu Ning cast a faint glance at the now subdued protesters and turned back to the ever-louder applause coming from the street, raising the megaphone again. "Very well, and congratulations to you. You've truly joined our cause, genuinely wanting to end the Wasteland Era and dedicate your lives to liberating the suffering survivors... It's our honor to assist you who harbor such ideals. "As for those who curse me, I won't question what you're here for, but did you not read the alliance's constitution before coming here? If you refuse to follow our rules, why come here? Why not return to your empire or find a cooler spot in the wasteland? "Is it because the Empire and the wasteland won't indulge you, or because the Valley people seem too accommodating and the Jinchuans too genteel? We attempt to bridge our differences, accepting your uniqueness, but have you ever considered integrating with us for even a moment? "Our honorable Administrator has given you ample chances. If you believe we broke the law, sue the culprit. If you see a problem with the law, present your opinion at the representatives' assembly. And if it's about law enforcement, find the Guard Corps! "Yet you choose the most extreme and detestable method, demanding that we compromise our values for your emotions... Do you hate the Legion, or do you resent not being able to become the Legion? "Remember, I'm referring to those who cursed me and wish for my removal, not any normal Poroans. "The Alliance is a union for all survivors, not your personal wish-granting machine. Oh, and I nearly forgot: the second group I despise are those line-cutters who don’t respect order!" Applause and whistles erupted at the city hall entrance, even some younger guards maintaining order by the barrier couldn’t help but applaud. The protesters, standing increasingly ashamed at the city hall's steps, cast one last glare at Gu Ning before gradually dispersing. The old man with the mammoth flag, passing by, spat a bitter remark. "I hate you... My children and I would rather die than give you our vote." Gu Ning returned the megaphone to the mayor’s secretary, saying, "Save it for the one you love most. I'm not a silver coin, I'm just myself—there's no way I can please everyone." He paused, then smiled wryly. "However, one piece of advice, old-timer: be cautious if someone ever meets all your whims. Only a conman tries to satisfy everyone's requests, even those that are contradictory." Before Gu Ning could finish, the old man, seeing his threat fail, angrily stormed off. Gu Ning watched with a polite smile as the last protesters departed, his demeanor once again courteous. In truth, he had been polite all along, even if his volume was slightly raised. Meanwhile, sitting in a car in the distance, Suka sighed, running his finger over the ID in his hand before reluctantly tucking it back. "Where did it all go wrong?" He was at a loss, pressing his forehead into his clasped hands, his sense of foreboding growing stronger. His people were winning one battle but gradually losing another... Elsewhere, a thundering train rolled past the station platform at Massey Town, carrying countless hopefuls for a new life toward the endless wilderness. Onboard, Chu Guang peered at the distant, undulating mountains. That was Shifeng Mountain—where the Mud Coalition met in Jinchuan Province. It was the first collaboration between the Legion, the Academy, and the Corporation in one and a half centuries, marking the turning point in the war between the survivors and the "Apocalypse Forces." A reminiscing smile crossed Chu Guang's face. "Up ahead is Weifu City." To be continued...