Day ten of the Tide outbreak.
Many players noticed that over the past two days, some strange NPCs had suddenly appeared on the battlefield.
Clad in orange hazmat suits and black gas masks, they never spoke to anyone. Usually moving in pairs with a stretcher, in groups of three to five, they hauled mutant corpses away from the front line, working tirelessly from morning until nearly sunset.
These NPCs were remarkably efficient; a pair could haul away four to five hundred bodies a day, clearly experienced veterans of the trade.
A few observant players even noticed that every single one of them was equipped with a KV-1 exoskeleton!
Though it was a "stripped-down" model with no welded armor plates or mounted weapons, it would still fetch 800 silver coins in the NPC shop—equivalent to four LD-47 rifles.
Leaning behind concrete rampart cover, players watched the receding backs of these NPCs with curious whispers.
"What kind of crazy crap did the damn planner come up with this time?"
"A new corpse-driver profession?"
"Feels great. Finally, someone's cleaning up these damn things."
"+1, it reeks so bad!"
"It lets you toggle off pain, but not stench! Total bullshit!"
Clearing away mutant corpses was no easy feat.
With the players' boundless creativity, they had naturally exhausted every method at their disposal.
At first, they had discussed burning them, but the reality was far less promising than imagined. Often, the top layer was charred to a crisp and the flames had died out, yet the bodies underneath remained half-cooked.
The game was always absurdly realistic in the oddest places. A single Molotov cocktail was enough to kill two or three gnawers, but reducing them to ash took more than three.
The fruiting bodies of the slime mold had far higher water content than human bodies, and evaporating steam carried off massive amounts of heat.
On top of that, their fats and lipid analogs didn't catch fire easily, meaning huge amounts of fuel had to be continually poured on just to keep the fire going.
If that were hard to imagine, one could just take a slab of meat from the freezer and try it out: even cooking it thoroughly took time, let alone burning it to ash.
For now, the primary frontline method of disposal remained hauling them outside the city to bury, but the removal rate couldn't keep up with the accumulation.
The Tide's main assaults typically lasted from six in the evening until six the following morning, hammering player positions in continuous waves.
Counting the crawlers tracked down and slain in the ruins by hunting teams, each player averaged more than thirty kills per day.
Clearly, the number of mutants far exceeded the initial estimate of one hundred thousand.
After all, players were wiping out twenty to thirty thousand a day, yet ten days into the Tide, it showed no sign of tapering off.
Fortunately, constrained by frontline width and terrain, the mutants couldn't fully deploy their massive numbers. Had they clashed on open plains, even doubling or tripling the player count wouldn't have spared them a brutal, grueling battle.
According to statistics from forum posts by players hauling ammunition to the front, daily ammo consumption over the past three days had hovered around one hundred thousand rounds.
A full-power 7mm round weighed nearly 25 grams; a hundred thousand rounds amounted to 2.5 tons of ammunition.
To scrape together enough materials for the ammunition production lines, Chu Guang had no choice but to mobilize rookies to excavate the Human Alliance's ruins while ordering the armory to bring two new production lines online to manufacture steel-cored, steel-cased ammunition.
Compared to brass cases, steel-cased ammo suffered from drawbacks like poor ductility, inability to be reloaded, and vulnerability to rust, but in Chu Guang's eyes, all its faults were eclipsed by a single virtue: it was cheap.
Besides, the ammo was rushed to the front line and expended almost immediately, making shelf life a non-issue. Assembly-line ammunition had no need for reloading anyway, and recovered casings could simply be shipped to the steel mill to be melted down.
Starting from the eighth day, the frontline fighting had devolved into a war of attrition.
Batch after batch of ammunition was ferried forward, while haul after haul of bodies was dragged back—mostly mutants, with a few players mixed in.
At first, the corpses were hauled away by newbies who dug pits in the outskirts to bury them. Lately, however, a team of professional NPCs had taken over the task, and the bodies vanished without any new pits being dug.
Many detail-oriented players were thoroughly bewildered and intrigued.
Where were the mutant corpses?
Where had they all gone?
However, that curiosity didn't remain unsatisfied for long.
A few sharp-eyed life-skill players soon discovered that at the southernmost edge of the new industrial zone, following the Bucky Aluminum Plant, another NPC factory had opened for business: the Didiwei Food Processing Plant.
The plant's main products were nutrient paste and organic fertilizer, while it also supplied sulfur and bone ash to the chemical fertilizer plant.
And those trucks rolling in from the frontline...
seemed to be heading straight for it.
***
Wasteland OL Official Website.
Having stumbled upon this discovery, WC Really Has Mosquitoes couldn't wait to hop on the forum and start a thread:
"Breaking news! Found out where all the gnawer corpses are going!"
Cut the Crap: "Where??"
Makka Pakka: "Hurry it up! Stop keeping us in suspense!"
Battlefield Atmosphere Group: "Yeah, spit it out!"
Seeing that he was courting public outrage, Mosquito—who had wanted to let anticipation simmer before revealing the punchline—dared not stall any longer, hurriedly typing:
"The Didiwei Food Processing Plant! Right at the southernmost end of the industrial zone. I saw it with my own eyes: trucks hauling corpses drove straight inside!"
Lao Bai: "Pfft... what a name."
Jieyan: "Holy crap?! I actually bought a bar yesterday! (Horror)"
Ye Shi: "Holy shit! You actually bought that?!"
Jieyan: "Uh, mainly because it's cheap. One jin of nutrient paste is only 1 silver coin, and it lasts two meals. (Awkward)"
Fang Chang: "Come on, man, was that really necessary? (Laugh-cry)"
Ye Shi: "My heart goes out to Brother Jieyan... that's taking thriftiness to another level. (Facepalm)"
Sisi: "Eww... have the foodies finally stooped to preying on gnawers?"
Tail: "Shocking! Is this a decline of morality, or the corruption of human nature?!"
Jieyan: "Damn it! Is saving money for gear that weird? I just wanted to spend silver on things that actually matter. Don't you guys budget your expenses in games?"
Kuang Feng: "Depends on the situation. If virtual food in a game can provide satisfaction, that means cuisine is part of the intended gameplay experience provided by the devs. Sacrificing that just to get stronger—isn't that putting the cart before the horse? (Side-eye)"
Tail: "Ooh! Tail thinks so too!"
Elaina: "To be fair, aren't gnawers just fruiting bodies of slime mold? Sure, they look a bit like mammals, but biologically speaking they're basically mushrooms, right? Nothing wrong with eating them, logically. What I don't get is why you can't eat them directly, but once they're turned into nutrient paste they're suddenly edible. (Funny)"
Elven King Fugui: "Old Na, what are you scheming? (Funny)"
Elaina: "Nothing, pure curiosity. (Funny)"
Curiosity aside, far away in Red River Town, Old Na wouldn't get a chance to taste it even if he wanted to.
However, plenty of thrill-seeking players, overcome with curiosity, shelled out one silver coin to buy a jin and try it for themselves on his behalf.
It wasn't expensive anyway.
One silver coin was a steal either way.
A few players eager to share even posted taste-test reviews on the official website.
To be fair, nutrient paste made from mutant slime mold didn't taste particularly bizarre. And because of its low salt and sugar content, it was practically flavorless.
If that were all, it wouldn't be so hard to swallow. The true torture lay in its texture, gritty like sand, defying description.
Plus, after swallowing, it left behind the sensation of phlegm stuck in the throat.
Combined with its sickly green hue, it thoroughly suppressed any appetite.
Many players finally understood on a visceral level why some NPCs claimed they'd rather starve to death than eat this stuff.
It truly wasn't meant for human consumption!
After the taste-test reviews were posted, forum discussions swiftly shifted to how to make nutrient paste less revolting to swallow.
Scrambled Eggs with Tomatoes: "If we had a high-speed blender to grind the particles finer, the texture might improve."
Yaya: "We could add a bit of chocolate and sugar!"
Tengteng: "Wait... wouldn't that make it super expensive?"
Fang Chang: "+1, putting the cart before the horse."
After all, the entire point of nutrient paste was rock-bottom affordability.
Anyone who could afford chocolate would never dream of buying something like nutrient paste.
The topic soon evolved from "how to make nutrient paste easier to swallow" to "how to make nutrient paste palatable at the lowest possible cost."
At that point, a player majoring in chemical engineering suddenly chimed in:
"How about adding some saccharin?"
"Sodium o-benzoic sulfimide? It's cheap enough, but isn't that bad for you?"
"There's an acceptable daily intake; under five milligrams per kilogram of body weight is totally fine... Besides, it's the wasteland, what are you being picky for?"
"Awesome, boss!"
"Is this the legendary capitalist?"
"Line up first, we're running out of lampposts. (Funny)"
***
While the players were engrossed in discussion, the Didiwei Food Processing Plant at the southern end of the industrial zone was working around the clock.
The plant covered a considerable area, roughly the size of a soccer field. Of its two warehouses, one had collapsed, but the other remained structurally intact and ready for use.
Judging by the scattered rubble on the floor, the site had only recently been cleared, and many corners hadn't even been swept, but that didn't hinder production in the slightest.
Ever since his inspection three days ago of the northern outskirts' industrial zone and Changjiu Farm, Ditwei had promptly rallied a group of small-to-medium grain merchants from Boulder City, raising a staggering three hundred thousand chips in funding. He purchased a complete set of nutrient paste manufacturing equipment, gathered the old machine from his own small workshop, and hired mercenaries to escort it all to the northern outskirts.
Land rent in the northern outskirts' industrial zone was dirt cheap—rent-free for the first two years—with the only overhead being utilities, management fees, and a 20 percent corporate income tax.
Compared to Boulder City, this overhead was remarkably low.
Labor costs in particular were cheap here.
A regular worker's base wage was 10 silver coins a day. Factor in meals and miscellaneous expenses, and the actual monthly cost came to around 400 silver coins; employing twenty workers amounted to merely 8,000 silver coins a month.
What did 8,000 silver coins even mean?
To tell the truth, Ditwei didn't have a precise grasp of it either.
The exchange rate provided by the bank stood at 1 chip to 2 silver coins, but that certainly wasn't the market rate. Otherwise, local worker wages would be absurdly high, with a daily base pay equivalent to 5 chips.
What was more, the local bank only offered conversions from chips, dinars, and CR into silver coins; it did not allow silver coins to be converted back into chips or other currencies.
If chips were strictly needed, an enterprise had to submit a formal application detailing what equipment would be purchased, and only upon approval could the exchange take place.
Foreign exchange was controlled with immense rigor.
Yet it wasn't draconian like other small survivor settlements in Qingquan City, which prohibited residents from privately holding chips or trading with outside merchants.
Ditwei didn't actually mind this much.
Even if he couldn't convert silver coins into chips, he could spend silver to purchase goods and haul them back to Boulder City for sale.
Whatever products were manufactured could be shipped out freely, provided the taxes were paid.
On top of that, Shelter 404 had provided ready-to-use plant facilities and a low-interest loan of 600,000 silver coins to cover labor, utilities, and various operational expenses.
It was practically opening a factory without spending a penny out of pocket!
All he had to contribute were equipment and technical know-how!
And if it went under, it wouldn't matter—the enterprise was limited liability, meaning debts wouldn't follow him personally. At worst, the equipment and other assets would be auctioned off.
Under terms so generous, Ditwei was moved almost to tears!
"...Currently, our facility can process an average of 100 tons a day, yielding 10 tons of nutrient paste and 4 tons of organic fertilizer daily!"
"I assure you, by the end of the month, we can easily double or even triple that output!"
Walking through the spacious workshop, Ditwei, his face flushed with excitement, was passionately introducing the production line he had brought from Boulder City to the Administrator beside him.
Workers clad in protective suits were heaving carcasses of gnawers, crawlers, and even butchers from the trucks into cast-steel vats.
Their attire and grim labor didn't evoke food production in the slightest; if anything, it looked like disposing of evidence.
Once a vat was crammed full of corpses, an operator on the control platform maneuvered a gantry-like crane to hoist it up, swinging it directly over a massive cylindrical metal tank as thick as an oil cistern.
As the container tilted, the mutant carcasses tumbled into the cavernous tank like dumplings dropping into boiling water.
The circular hatch was sealed, the pressure gauge crept upward, and with a deep, rumbling hum, the entire apparatus roared to life.
And there were eight of these colossal tanks in total!
Once sealed inside, the corpses underwent twenty-four hours of high heat, desiccation, inactivation, and compression before being piped to a workshop on the plant's side, where a sequence of intricate processes extracted the active nutrients.
After this series of prep treatments, the resulting thick paste looked like globs of vibrant green slime, virtually unrecognizable as having once been mutant slime mold.
Ignoring the odor, it almost looked cute.
"...One hundred tons is still on the low side. The front line takes down at least twenty thousand mutants a day. I'd like you to push daily processing past four hundred tons before the month is out."
Surveying the equipment with keen interest, Chu Guang casually asked:
"By the way, what about sales channels? Does the nutrient paste sell well?"
That was Chu Guang's second main concern.
Ditwei smiled with boundless confidence.
"No need to worry about that. While this machinery might not be top-of-the-line, our production costs are cheap enough! In terms of price, we have an absolute edge over the competition!"
Beyond cheap operating costs, setting up shop here offered another massive advantage over Boulder City: transport accessibility.
While resources within Qingquan City were abundant, road conditions were a nightmare; traveling a single kilometer inside the city was tougher than ten outside.
Confronted with trenches several meters long and sheer drops four to five meters high, wheeled vehicles—and even tracked vehicles—could only stop in their tracks.
Thus, Boulder City caravans doing business with surrounding territories usually relied on two-headed oxen or other pack beasts for transport.
Certain inter-regional caravans would set up camp outside the city, hiring local ox carts to ferry goods back and forth with survivor enclaves inside.
In the northern outskirts, however, that problem was far simpler.
Located in the suburbs, the wilderness began just beyond the border, meaning products manufactured at the plant could be loaded straight onto trucks and driven away.
"...Right now, my partners have already secured an order worth two hundred thousand chips from southern plantation owners. They need vast amounts of nutrient paste to feed slaves and livestock, and our price and volume are simply irresistible!"
"The buyer even offered to pick up the goods on site. This will be a long-term arrangement!"
Chu Guang gave him an intrigued look.
"Nutrient paste can be fed to livestock?"
Ditwei wore a confident grin.
"Of course! If humans can eat it, beasts certainly can, and it makes remarkably high-grade fodder! Some farm owners mix it thoroughly with green wheat to feed two-headed oxen. Cattle raised on feed like that grow far sturdier than those eating straw or pasture grass!"
Not bad.
Chu Guang nodded, a satisfied smile surfacing on his face.
Who knew nutrient paste had such broad applications?
Even if the food processing plant suffered from poor management down the line, defaulted on its loan, and underwent bankruptcy liquidation, he wouldn't have to worry about taking a loss.
Ditwei looked equally pleased.
Though he had sunk a massive sum of three hundred thousand chips in one go, he didn't feel a shred of regret, knowing the money would be recouped in no time.
Electricity rates in Shelter 404's industrial zone matched those of Boulder City. Factoring in all expenses, the cost of producing one ton of nutrient paste was merely 200 to 208 silver coins.
At the official exchange rate of 1 chip to 2 silver coins, sinking 100 chips yielded an entire ton of nutrient paste.
Whereas in Boulder City, even for the Weijia Commercial Firm, producing a ton of nutrient paste cost well over 200 chips!
Normally, nutrient paste retailed at 1 to 2 chips per kilogram, while wholesale started at one ton, fluctuating between 300 and 400 chips per ton.
What did that mean?
It meant his costs were half of Weijia Commercial Firm's!
And his profit margins were more than three times theirs!
That immense pricing leeway allowed him to undercut their cost line at will with his wholesale factory price!
As for brand prestige?
What kind of brand prestige did feed for livestock even need?
The buyers' only requirements were that it didn't kill anyone and kept bellies full. Slapping a "family size" label on it wouldn't make nutrient paste sell any better.
No matter how Ditwei calculated it, this was a guaranteed moneymaker.
And that was just the profit from the nutrient paste. Leftover waste from the assembly line could be turned into organic fertilizer or sold to the chemical plant next door.
Gazing upon the nonstop machinery before him and listening to the droning rumble, Ditwei felt a surge of exhilaration.
If the Administrator weren't standing right beside him, he would have cheered on the broodmother spitting out offspring at full throttle:
"Let the Tide come harder!"
***
In truth, even if Ditwei had shouted it out, it wouldn't have mattered; Chu Guang wasn't petty enough to reprimand him over a stray remark.
A man striking it rich naturally let excitement get to his head.
Yet no matter how much Ditwei made, it could never compare to what Chu Guang earned.
Over seventy percent of the Didiwei Food Processing Plant's production costs—whether utilities or raw material procurement—went straight into the shelter's coffers.
Not to mention that for every ton of finished goods, a 20 percent tax had to be paid to the shelter before sale.
And the wages paid to the workers, while not handed directly to the shelter, would ultimately circulate back into Chu Guang's pockets.
Within this circulating economic loop, employment was created, a labor force was sustained, residents' purchasing power was boosted, and fresh demand was generated.
Chu Guang could no longer calculate exactly how much he had won.
In short, he was winning hands down!
***
After inspecting the kickoff of operations at the food processing plant, Chu Guang didn't linger in the industrial zone, heading straight for the front line.
The frontline fighting had grown fiercer by the day.
Over the past week, Chu Guang's primary focus had been on logistics.
Now that both the plague and the fiscal deficit had been addressed, he was free of lingering worries and could finally dedicate all his energy to tackling the Tide.
Temporary Command Post.
Chu Guang assembled frontline officers and staff for an operational briefing.
Wrench, captain of the guard team, led with a report on recent developments in the battle.
Following him, Vannus, serving as staff officer, summarized the intelligence and offered his assessment.
"...The stalemate has lasted ten days. The Tide's offensive shows zero sign of abating, while ammunition consumption and personnel casualties at the front continue to climb."
"All signs indicate our enemy has deployed incubation chambers—or even a broodmother—near the front line, specifically in the vicinity of Street 65."
As he spoke, Vannus circled an area on the map with a red pen, encompassing the district around the Street 65 clock tower.
Although there was no conclusive proof that the broodmother was located there, drone footage revealed that crawlers infiltrating the players' flanks originated almost entirely from that zone.
Chu Guang frowned slightly.
"So you're saying the mutants we've been fighting lately aren't from the swarm that pushed out of the city center, but were spawned locally?"
Vannus shook his head.
"Hard to say for certain. But their prolonged delay in launching an all-out assault is deeply suspicious. It points to an ominous possibility."
Wrench spoke up suddenly:
"I don't know if this is the right way to put it, but these mutants give me the feeling... like they're preparing for something."
After several days of probing, the mutants had already grown familiar with the players' defensive strategies, yet they continued to throw gnawers forward in relentless waves.
If it wasn't sheer lack of intelligence...
Vannus furrowed his brow. "They're stalling for time?"
Wrench nodded. "That's what I think too."
Chu Guang studied the map in silence for a long while before speaking:
"Our frontline positions are secure, and our munitions depot along the edge of the Fifth Ring Road has stockpiled ample ammunition and gear. Now is the ideal window for a counteroffensive."
Chu Guang looked around at the officers and staff assembled before him.
"Whatever they're preparing—"
"Before they're ready, let's settle this trouble once and for all!"
Chapter 274