Are You Trying to Exploit a Bug Here?

The Red River Town caravan arrived earlier than planned. Upon hearing the news of the Bloodhand Clan's destruction, these merchants took only two and a half days on a forced march to reach the northern outskirts of Qingquan City. The longer they delayed and the colder the weather became, the lower the captives' chances of survival would drop. They needed to transport these prisoners back to Red River Town before they froze to death and sell them to suitable buyers. If more than half died on the return trip, there would hardly be any profit left in the journey... Braving the heavy swirling snow, the travel-worn caravan arrived at the entrance of the tire factory. Gesturing for the group behind him to halt, a man wearing a padded cotton coat with a semi-automatic rifle slung across his chest stepped forward. Looking up at Chu Guang and Hein standing atop the gate, he called out in a booming voice, "I'm an employee of the Horseshoe Trading Company. All the goods you requested are here!" Hein's bodyguard, the one named Wen, was also with the caravan. However, his status did not permit him to speak up here, so he simply stood beside a cargo-bearing mutant yak, cleaning the cylinder of his revolver rifle to pass the idle time. "Wait a moment." Chu Guang gave a hand gesture and then looked at the players beside him. The players, who had long grown impatient waiting for the cutscene, immediately huffed and puffed as they turned the winch the moment they saw the Administrator look over, opening the wooden stockade gate. As the gate swung open, a group of marauder captives, escorted by four players, dejectedly trudged out from the dungeon. "Behave yourselves!" "Quit stalling!" In truth, the marauders weren't stalling, but the players simply wanted something to shout; otherwise, it felt like something was missing. Due to the language barrier, the captive marauders couldn't understand what these bluecoats were saying. They could only tell from the swaying gun muzzles that they were being urged forward. Looking at the yak team at the stockade gate and the horseshoe-shaped emblem, many veteran marauders had already guessed their fate, their faces cloaked in deathly despair. Only a few younger marauders looked completely bewildered, not knowing where they were being taken or what fate awaited them. The players cradling rifles chatted in low voices to the side. Some among them had died in battle just a few days ago, but now were walking around alive and well. Makka Pakka: "A few of these captives look pretty familiar." Big Eye in Debt: "Hey, which one took you out?" Makka Pakka: "Ghost knows. It was so dark, and bullets were whizzing everywhere. I'm not even sure it was the enemy who got me. Damn! It still pisses me off just thinking about it. How the hell did I die?" Big Eye in Debt: "Give it a rest. You're just a noob, plain and simple—no one's judging you. 'Teamkilled'? You think they didn't check bullet holes afterward?" Makka Pakka: "Fine, fine, forget it... Hey, where do you think these marauders are being sent?" Big Eye in Debt: "Looks like the Administrator plans to sell them off to Red River Town." Makka Pakka: "Red River Town?" Big Eye in Debt: "It's in the lore book on the official website. Didn't you read it? It's a town south of Qingquan City, maybe a few dozen kilometers away. There are lots of pre-war landfills there. Slaves sold there get sent into the pits to dig until they drop dead." "Tsk, tsk, that's brutal..." Makka Pakka's eyes darted around, and a wild thought suddenly struck him. "Wait a minute, though. If I sold myself over there and then committed suicide, wouldn't I be getting a free payout?" Hearing this absurd scheme, Big Eye in Debt was completely flabbergasted. "Holy shit, are you trying to exploit a bug here?!" Although the marauders' crimes were heinous enough to warrant hanging ten times over, Chu Guang had still granted them basic human rights: allowing them to keep their clothes and shoes, eat the mystery meat from the warehouse, and patch themselves up with a handful of scavenged bandages. This wasn't out of mercy. It was purely out of concern that too many would die and hurt his bottom line. Their "good days" were yet to come. "Thirty?" The leading man tallied the number of captives and looked up at Chu Guang. "Why is there one missing?" "Probably froze to death." Having climbed down from the stockade gate, Chu Guang glanced back nonchalantly, just in time to see a player dragging a corpse with a broken leg out from the dungeon. Seeing that the count checked out, the leading man nodded and said nothing more, merely gesturing for the guards behind him to help unload the cargo. The sooner they finished the trade, the sooner they could head home. ... According to the agreement between Chu Guang and Hein, each captive, regardless of disability or injury, was valued at twenty kilograms of coarse salt to be exchanged for equivalent goods. Of the thirty-one captives, one had died, leaving thirty in total—adding up to six hundred kilograms of coarse salt. Here, coarse salt was a specialty of Red River Town and served as the universal equivalent of exchange for both parties. Chu Guang had no use for so much coarse salt, so aside from two hundred kilograms of it, the remaining four hundred kilograms' worth was converted into other Red River Town specialties. This included thirty revolver rifles; eight crates containing over four thousand rounds of handmade ammunition rolled in copper sheeting; large quantities of copper ingots, zinc ingots, and chromium ingots; as well as strong oxidizers like potassium permanganate. The former met the defense needs of the outpost, while the latter served as raw materials to drive the outpost's industrial development. Besides these, there were assorted hardware parts used for machining equipment, along with mechanical components like gears and drive shafts—mostly meant for the proprietress of the weapon shop. Although a few players majoring in metallurgy could forge parts by hand, the problem of steel smelting remained unsolved, and material strength was still a crippling flaw. The quality of hand-ground machine cutters could only be described as a mixed bag. They worked fine as stopgaps, but in practical use, their wear and tear was astonishingly high, requiring replacement every few days. It had gotten to the point where Chu Guang suspected on multiple occasions whether Xia Yan had done it deliberately just to slack off. Although Red River Town's industrial capacity couldn't compare to Boulder City's, producing basic machining tools wasn't an issue, and the quality was reasonably decent. Chu Guang purposely bought a few extra sets this time, which should easily last until next spring. To transport these goods, the Horseshoe Trading Company had mobilized a total of ten mutant yaks and assigned eight gunmen armed with revolver rifles as escorts. Watching these people unload, Chu Guang glanced at Hein beside him and asked, "Speaking of which, that man said he's an employee of the Horseshoe Trading Company. Are they your colleagues?" Hein chuckled and explained, "Although we are all employees of the Horseshoe Trading Company, an employee like me might be slightly different from what you imagine. Simply put, our relationship with the trading company is more of a partnership than employment. The caravan guards and yaks you see are company property, but the cargo was purchased out of our own pockets." Chu Guang's heart stirred. "Purchased from the trading company?" Hein gave Chu Guang a surprised look, seemingly taken aback that he had guessed it, and nodded. "That's right. All our goods are centrally procured from the company, and our buyers are basically company clients... except for this time. We balance the books for every transaction; after deducting the cost of goods and hiring guards, we still have to give sixty percent of the net profit to the company." This sounded a bit like a franchise model. Inventory procurement, logistics, and even client relationships belonged to the "headquarters," while itinerant traders like Hein were like franchisees. That way, even if a deal took a loss, the Horseshoe Trading Company bore no risk whatsoever; the loss fell squarely on the franchisee. And if a deal turned a profit, the trading company took a sixty percent cut. No, even if the trader lost money, the company still profited. After all, all "franchisees" sourced goods from the company, and the company certainly wouldn't sell at cost price to them, pocketing a markup from the start. At this thought, Chu Guang couldn't help marveling inwardly. When it came to fleecing chumps, these wasteland natives were true masters. Compared to them, he was practically a saint! However, he could definitely borrow this business model down the road. For instance, on the merchant trade-run system. ... "Farewell, my friend! I hope we can do pleasant business again next spring!" The handover of goods was finally complete. Hein, standing beside the caravan with his two bodyguards, tipped his hat to Chu Guang. Chu Guang smiled faintly and waved his hand. "Safe travels." Hein laughed heartily. "Hahaha, I'm afraid we'll have to walk against the wind for a while! We'll be heading out first. Best of luck to you!" The caravan set off. Just then, Chu Guang noticed the female mercenary walking beside Hein suddenly turn back, casting him a glance filled with resentment and longing. Their gazes met, yet the female mercenary wasn't shy in the slightest; she even boldly blew him a kiss from afar and mouthed the words, *We'll meet again.* Then, she vanished along with the caravan into the vast mist of snow. Chu Guang froze slightly, furrowing his brows as he racked his brain, but couldn't recall her name, completely bewildered by her parting gesture. Was it... Wendy? Or Helen? After all, he had only heard the merchant Hein mention it once. Who would bother remembering the name of a merchant's mercenary bodyguard? Whatever. He couldn't be bothered to ponder such trivia. Chu Guang shook his head and called over the players to load the goods exchanged for the slaves onto flatbed carts, preparing to haul them back to the outpost warehouse. However, while Chu Guang couldn't care less, there was no holding back the players' passion for gossip. Especially after catching that blown kiss, their imaginations immediately plunged straight down to the Mariana Trench. "Holy crap! There's a story behind that look!" "I saw it! The blown kiss!" "You think something happened between the Administrator and that woman?" "No way, right? They've only been here a few days." "A few days is plenty of time, duh!" "Damn, what about the weapon shop's proprietress then?" "Breaking news! The Lord Administrator and the Caravan Mercenary: An Unspeakable Million-Word Novel!" "Tsk, tsk, not simple! Definitely not simple! Looks like an NTR doujin in the making!" "Understood! When we get back, let's have Brother Mole draw a doujin!" Tsk. These people, honestly. Catch a glimpse of a bare arm and their minds jump straight to thighs. Chu Guang's eyebrow twitched, but in the end, he held back the urge to roast them, maintaining the poise befitting an NPC. Clearing his throat, he used a commanding tone to urge the players, who had paused to gossip and forgotten their work, to get moving. "Move it!" "While the midday snow isn't as heavy as before, we need to haul all the goods back!" Under Chu Guang's urging, the players finally stopped dawdling and nimbly loaded the packaged goods onto the wooden flatbeds. Even so, their chatter didn't let up for a second. Having finally packed everything up, the group prepared to head out. Looking back at the stockade gate, Construction Boy and Bricks, who was on duty, stepped forward and asked Chu Guang for instructions: "Respected Lord Administrator, what should we do with this stronghold? Do we still need to guard it?" There was nothing left in the stronghold, and he was wondering if they didn't need to guard it anymore, whether he could claim his quest reward early. Chu Guang pondered for a few seconds before ordering, "Burn the gate." "Leave the rest to the mutants." This stronghold was too far from the players' respawn point and held virtually no strategic value geographically; keeping it was completely unnecessary. Besides, merely standing inside made Chu Guang feel like his sanity was taking a hit. He truly couldn't fathom how these marauders could live here with complete peace of mind. Construction Boy and Bricks nodded excitedly and accepted the order: "Yes, sir!" Wrecking things was way more fun than chopping wood! ... Chu Guang had absolute faith in the players' scavenging abilities. It was practically scouring the earth three feet deep. Not only did they not miss a single chip tucked in a cabinet's crevice, but the ruthless ones had simply hauled the entire cabinet back. In the entire Bloodhand Clan stronghold, almost nothing usable was left behind. And what had been left behind was either inconvenient to transport or genuinely lacked recycling value. Such as the air-dried meat in the warehouse. Clearly, a substantial portion of this meat had not come from normal game. Once air-dried, it was hard to tell from appearance alone which was game and which was their own kind. Due to his psychological revulsion, Chu Guang simply abandoned all of it. A portion had been tossed into the dungeon as feed for the marauder captives for a time, while a large leftover batch was simply left hanging from the rafters of the tire factory's warehouse. He'd just treat it as food for rats and cockroaches. As for tubers like ram horn potatoes, plump grains, and a vegetable resembling Chinese cabbage, Chu Guang had the players haul them back for storage. These were all good stuff. Especially those vegetables, totaling some three to four thousand kilograms. Mixed with grains and meat, they would last a long time and help balance the clones' nutrition. Most likely, the marauders had extorted this food from Brown Farm. In addition to food, there were pelts such as hyena skins, deer hides, boar pelts, and even bear pelts, totaling around two hundred and thirty pieces. These furs couldn't possibly all have come from Bet Street. Bet Street had only about a hundred households in total; even if you drained the marrow from Old Leech's bones, they couldn't possibly have scraped together this much tribute. Chu Guang deduced that a significant portion must have been tribute paid by other survivor settlements in the area. The loot these marauders had spent all autumn scrounging, before they could enjoy it for long, had now all fallen into the hands of its new master. And Chu Guang certainly had no intention of returning them. Such was the rule of the wasteland: Finders keepers. The stockade gate blazed with roaring flames, and sparks swept by the north wind drifted steadily toward the main building. Gazing at the fire before him and recalling the contents of those two diaries, Chu Guang felt a subtle twinge of emotion. Drawing the "Silver Snake" revolver tucked at his waist, he fired a shot into the sky. *Bang—!* The gunshot echoed along the snow-covered street before drowning in the wind and snow, serving as a requiem for the dead souls who had perished here. Waving away the white smoke drifting from the barrel, Chu Guang slipped the revolver back into the holster made by Tengteng, turned to face the waiting players, and took the lead ahead of them. "Let's go home!"