Celebrating the Birth of a New Settlement

"Dead?!" Hearing the news of his trusted general's death, Cohen sat stunned behind his desk for several seconds before slamming a fist onto it in rage. "Why am I only being told this now?!" He had just taken over the affairs of the Falcon Kingdom in recent days and was utterly swamped with postwar reconstruction. The industrial facilities General Klaas had spent over a decade building had all been destroyed by the Alliance. Those people hadn't even spared the factory machinery and engineers, hauling every last bit off to nearby Bister Town. No sooner had he sorted out the property disputes in the royal capital than he discovered the old king's treasury was so barren rats could run races through it. And before he could resolve things on this end, bad news arrived hot on its heels from the Great Desert. Wali... Thinking of that promising young officer, Cohen gritted his teeth so hard sparks nearly flew from between them. Looking at Governor Cohen in the holographic projection, Captain Adria wore an uneasy expression. He hesitated for a long while before continuing nervously: "As I told you before, shortly after arriving in the Great Desert, we were attacked by an unidentified armed faction calling itself the Enlightenment Society. Centurion Wali... was killed by those people." Fearing that the Five-Star Myriarch would lose his temper, Adria didn't dare pause. Without taking a single breath, he rattled on at top speed: "However! We have already identified the killer... Her name is Zhuang Lan, a resident of some shelter." Cohen cursed in a fury, "Where is she?! Bring that bastard to me! I swear I will make her regret ever being born into this world!" Adria said nervously, "The Alliance caught her, but those fools were negligent and let her escape. I originally intended to capture the culprit before reporting to you, but her counter-reconnaissance skills were too formidable, and our people couldn't catch up..." Cohen narrowed his eyes. "Did the Alliance do it intentionally?" Adria smiled wryly. "I don't know... but they don't seem to have any reason to do so. They suffered over a hundred casualties themselves in the Enlightenment Society's surprise attack." Cohen snorted coldly. Whether the Alliance had let her slip away intentionally or not, it would be difficult for him to make trouble for those blue gophers over this matter. Still, what on earth was this Enlightenment Society anyway? To think they even possessed something like a phase cannon... Closing his eyes, Cohen leaned back against his chair, sorting through his thoughts for a moment—particularly the clues Captain Adria had reported regarding Shelter 0 and Project Torch. After a moment, he spoke. "...Did you secure the original Project Torch proposal?" Adria nodded nervously. "We did... including the Administrator log. Enterprise didn't keep it to themselves; they made a copy for us." Cohen pondered for a moment and instructed, "Take that data, along with that Pangolin, and return to Triumph City immediately... Report the situation of Shelter 0 to the Marshal. His Excellency the Marshal will decide!" Although Cohen felt uneasy about the group calling itself the Enlightenment Society, it wasn't his duty after all. In comparison, he had far more important matters to deal with. "Governor... sir." Seeing Adria's hesitant expression, Cohen frowned slightly. "What else is there?" Adria hesitated for a long while before hanging his head and murmuring softly, "The *Adjudicator* airship... has run into some malfunctions." Cohen froze, sitting bolt upright in his chair, and demanded anxiously: "What do you mean?! Malfunctions? Didn't you tell me earlier that it was just a minor issue of little consequence?!" He remembered very clearly. Although the phase cannon could disable the graviton-formed deflector shield and anti-gravity units, it did not directly affect the airship's hull structure. Adria had reported as much to him previously—"Although the phase cannon caused the airship to come down from high altitude, through superb, exquisite piloting skills, the crew of the *Adjudicator* minimized the damage from the hard landing; if all goes quickly, it can be repaired within a week." A week had already passed, so how had it turned into "some malfunctions"?! Adria explained with a bitter face, "I didn't expect it to turn out like this either. My engineers initially told me it was just a minor problem, but the more they tried to fix it, the more issues cropped up..." At first, his engineers had sworn that replacing a single wing would get it airborne again. Yet once the new wing was installed, they discovered varying degrees of cracking in the wing-to-hull joints and across the structural steel itself. Cohen glared at him intently. "The frigate core wasn't damaged, was it?" "No! Absolutely not!" Facing that murderous glare, Adria blurted out immediately, "The frigate core is fully functional! The only damage is to the airship's hull..." Perhaps they ought to learn from the Alliance and equip their airships with massive parachutes and buffer airbags. Still, the chances of being hit by a phase cannon were exceedingly rare, and the internal buffer cabins were sufficient to handle ordinary crashes. Trying to convince the Air Force Equipment Bureau and the logistics department over a one-off accident... would hardly be an easy task. Taking a deep breath to suppress his surging anger and skyrocketing blood pressure, Cohen said in as calm a voice as possible: "How long will it take?" Trembling as he looked at the hologram before him, Adria whispered: "...Some replacement parts need to be shipped from west of the Great Desert. At least three months." Cohen: "#$%&@*!" *** Late at night. The camp not far from the Industrial Building was brightly lit. Players dragged tables into the clearing in the center of the camp, setting up large cauldrons of stewed meat and barbecue racks beside them. A few Strength-type players were busy skinning and butchering freshly hunted mutant stags and hyenas, while a few reckless players gathered around an unfamiliar alien creature to test it for toxins. "What the heck is this? It looks so bizarre..." Silver Dad held a stick, poking curiously at the furry alien creature lying on the ground. The little creature was pitch-black all over, tiny, covered in patchy, ragged fur, with round eyes like lightbulbs. Calling it a monkey made it seem too small; calling it a bat was wrong since it lacked wings. Its sharp pair of fangs looked chilling, and its two ears were absurdly oversized. No one knew where it had come from. Supposedly, some player had found it by the entrance and tossed it here. Unable to decide whether the thing was edible, Silver Sword gave up, tossed it aside, and sighed: "Sigh, if only Old Na were here!" Silver Hand grinned. "Bullying Old Na again!" Silver Sword rolled his eyes at him. "What do you mean bullying?! That's called making optimal use of resources!" Silver Dad couldn't help bursting out laughing. "Hahaha! You're gonna kill your dad laughing!" The other two cursed almost in unison, "Scram!" The little creature tilted its head, mimicking the sound: "Scram?" Silver Dad's eyes lit up, and he leaned close to stare at the little creature sitting on the ground. "Whoa?! This ugly thing can talk?" Silver Sword and Silver Hand looked at each other. "Did you hear that?" "Nope..." "Tch, you two useless bums. You'd let an SSSR-tier god pet walk right past your noses and miss it!" Glancing disdainfully at them, Silver Dad squatted down and grinningly patted its head. "Ugly thing, call me Daddy and let me hear it—ow, fuck!" Before the words had even left his mouth, he took a bite to the nose. Taking advantage of him falling backward, the "ugly thing" lunged at his face, kicked hard off with its hind legs, landed on the ground, and vanished in the blink of an eye. Silver Sword hastily caught his falling brother, while Silver Hand didn't care about him at all, dashing off to chase the fleeing SSSR-tier god pet. "Holy shit! Are you okay??" Silver Dad clutched his nose with both hands. "Fuck... it's swollen." "What's swollen?" With a miserable face, Silver Dad pulled his hands away. "My nose..." Seeing his nose swollen to the size of a ping-pong ball, Silver Sword snorted and burst into heartless, pig-snorting laughter. "Pffft-hahahaha!" In the end, the little fellow was caught and brought back by Comrade Pangolin, who just happened to be walking past. Since it didn't look appetizing, he handed it back to Silver Dad. Enduring the stinging ache in his nose and countless strange looks, Silver Dad hauled the little creature over to Meng Liang, the researcher accompanying the airship. Unfortunately, this thing he had picked up was no SSSR-tier Pokémon—just an ordinary alien creature. Its teeth carried a mild venom, so to be safe, Meng Liang gave the unlucky fellow an anti-inflammatory shot. Because its cry sounded remarkably like "scram," it was recorded in the official compendium as the "Gungun beast," not recommended for consumption. To take revenge for making a fool out of him, Silver Dad named it "Ugly Thing," but due to strong objections from his good brothers, he was ultimately forced to change it to "Coal Ball." The little thing truly did look like a lump of coal. Silver Dad still harbored a sliver of hope in his heart. What if? What if it became badass once it grew up? Even an ugly duckling could turn into a swan! He didn't expect it to sprout a mass of tentacles like Yu, but it had to be at least slightly better than a wholesale commodity like a Deathclaw, whose value was practically depreciating by the day, right? If nothing else, being rideable would be nice. Stuffing a slice of cut meat into the creature's mouth, Silver Dad sighed wistfully: "Coal Ball, you've gotta eat more. The future of the Silver Corps is counting on you." Tearing at the slice of meat, Coal Ball tilted its head. "Scram?" Silver Dad: "...#$%&@*!" This ugly thing was beyond hope! Despite a few minor hiccups, thanks to the poison-testing of the Constitution-type players, the delicacies brought to the tables were basically those confirmed to be harmless—or at least mostly harmless. And aside from foods that were somewhat abnormal or had rather peculiar appearances, there were occasionally normal delicacies as well. For instance, creamy mashed potatoes radiating a milky fragrance, bread toasted with garlic and salt, fried rice with minced sausage and diced carrots, roasted two-headed ox steaks, and an unlimited supply of beer and red wine. Earlier, Chu Guang had confiscated quite a lot of fine wine from the Falcon King's cellar, which came in handy right about now. He didn't care much for alcohol himself anyway, so with a wave of his hand, he distributed it as perks for the players and "NPCs." A few survivors stood by the tents, looking curiously at the lively crowd, and encouraged by the atmosphere, they gradually joined in one after another. Though they didn't know what was happening, it seemed the food and wine were free of charge. Watching the people who appeared to be celebrating something, Rama, following behind Chu Guang, had eyes filled with astonishment. In a raspy voice, she asked softly: "What... are they doing?" Looking at the burning bonfire, the corners of Chu Guang's mouth curved into a slight smile. "Celebrating the birth of a new settlement." Hearing these words, the astonishment in Rama's eyes deepened. After hearing the story of the *Pioneer* from Chu Guang, she had thought Pioneer City would be a somber name, but that didn't seem to be the case at all. Glancing at Rama, Chu Guang roughly guessed what she was surprised by, so he added briefly: "We rarely grieve outside of funerals. Those we remember surely wouldn't want us to mope around for them all day, but rather carry their ideals forward." Rama nodded blankly, clearly not understanding. Chu Guang didn't explain further, merely smiling and saying: "Don't just trail behind me. Go enjoy the celebration... The food and drinks are free tonight. If you're not interested, get some sleep early." "Tomorrow I'll brief you on the work you'll be doing." With that, he walked off alone toward the seat the players had reserved for him, leaving Rama standing in place, feeling out of sorts. As the Administrator of the Alliance, Marshal of the Alliance Expeditionary Force, and Honorary Captain of the *Heart of Steel*... he naturally had to sit at the head of the long table. The faction boss had to look like a boss. That was also part of the players' immersion. Sitting at the head of the table, Chu Guang poured himself a glass of the strongest liquor. Looking back into pairs of eyes burning like fire, he gripped the cup brimming with fiery spirits, raised it high toward all the players and NPCs present, and spoke in a solemn, booming voice: "A toast to the future of Pioneer City!" Responding to him was a chorus of excited shouts: "Cheers!" "Long live Pioneer City!" "Long live the Administrator!!" "Long live the Alliance!!" Preparations were complete, and the banquet officially commenced. The racket was relentless; everywhere, the sounds of joyous laughter and clinking glasses could be heard. This city, named after their comrades of the past, would become the fourth survivor settlement established by the Alliance after Fallen Leaf City, as well as another "overseas" enclave following Bister Town. The warriors of the Alliance were offering congratulations and blessings to the newborn Pioneer City in the form of a celebration, while also seeing off the comrades with whom they would soon part ways. Emergency repairs on the *Heart of Steel* were finished; after tonight, it would embark on its return journey. The vast majority of players would return to Dawn City with the *Heart of Steel*, but over a hundred players still decided to stay behind. They would continue their unfinished missions, exploring the undeveloped ruins in the "former Human Alliance Eastern Industrial Zone" and searching for traces of the Enlightenment Society active in this region. Although this meant they might miss next spring's Tide, *Wasteland Online* never dictated how one had to play. Even skipping the main storyline, there were plenty of things to do. As for saving game data, there was no need to worry. Chu Guang had already ordered a hundred hibernation pods to be transferred from the airship down to the surface. The Alliance's infrastructure aid to the Lion Kingdom and Honey Badger Kingdom included not just highways and railways, but also power grids and communications. Communications in particular. Currently, the Alliance's easternmost signal tower reached all the way to Bister Town, and soon Pioneer City would also erect a massive satellite dish to transmit and receive signals. While signals in the Great Desert were unstable, there were always times when they cleared up. Once the hibernation pods completed their scans, the data could simply be transmitted back whenever weather conditions permitted. By cutting down on reckless deaths and rotating use of save points, a hundred hibernation pods could comfortably satisfy the saving needs of several hundred players. As long as one stuck with the main body of forces, saving was never a difficult matter... *** While the Alliance was "celebrating the birth" of Pioneer City, Captain Adria was nursing a headache over the daily necessities of nearly a thousand marine soldiers, crew members, and numerous officers returning with the airship, all stranded in the Great Desert. Food was relatively easy to solve; the *Adjudicator* carried ample supplies, and the Falcon Kingdom wasn't too far away, so shipping provisions over was straightforward enough. Yet aside from food, virtually everything else was a headache! First off, the airship required a complete overhaul. The marines and crew members who had originally lived aboard had to evacuate entirely and set up camp. There were no local wastelanders nearby to requisition, and the airship carried only a handful of laborers. While setting up camp was mandatory training for marines, the pampered soldiers on the *Adjudicator* were completely different from the marines on the *Heart of Steel*. The latter at least fought against wastelanders and frequently operated beyond supply lines; scavenging junk and pitching tents were a piece of cake to them, hand-crafting guns and bullets was routine, and they even brought along metal lathes and iron-smelting furnaces wherever they went. The former, on the other hand, usually stayed parked with the *Adjudicator* at the Triumph City airport, with practically zero opportunity for "foreign deployments"—otherwise, their combined marine and crew complement wouldn't have totaled a mere thousand men in the first place. As for transporting slaves from the Falcon Kingdom to wait on them... Even setting aside the fact that the kingdom's mobilization capability had been wiped out, there were barely any young men left in that realm. Just being physically capable wasn't enough; what they needed right now were people who could actually work. Too many captives had stayed behind in Bister Town; those able-bodied young men would rather eat sand in the desert than return to be treated like beasts of burden. Adria had swallowed his pride to ask Cohen for help, but the governor's face had darkened immediately upon hearing the request, and he had hung up after snapping at him to figure it out himself. Thus, even without wilderness survival experience, the five hundred marines had no choice but to bite the bullet and try their best. Fortunately, they hadn't forgotten what they'd been taught in military academy and boot camp. After a flurry of labor, they did manage to prop up rows of tents. Looking at the crooked linen tents scattered among the ruins, Adria's brows couldn't help twitching. His adjutant jogged up to him and whispered nervously: "We're still short a hundred tents..." Adria's eyes widened. "How could we be short by that much?! Bring the logistics officer to me!" "It's not the logistics officer's fault; the main issue is that we have extra people..." The adjutant explained with an awkward smile, sneaking a glance in MacLaren's direction. Adria understood his adjutant's meaning in a split second, though MacLaren, standing nearby, clearly did not. The crude living conditions couldn't help but remind him of his brief stint in the Alliance prisoner-of-war camp earlier. The thought of reliving those humiliating memories tonight made his expression turn sour, and he couldn't resist a sarcastic barb: "...Your camp-pitching skills are truly astonishing." "We only prepared enough tents for our own people..." Considering the man's aristocratic status, Adria spared him some face and phrased it delicately. Yet MacLaren showed no appreciation, persistently complaining: "I don't think that's where the problem lies." Hearing this, Adria's temper flared, and he fired back sarcastically without holding back: "Can't be helped. Our tents were originally enough. Who could've foreseen that on the way back, we'd have hundreds of extra guys who lost their war yet still expect people to wait on them?" MacLaren's face froze. Seeing that the man was on the verge of flying into a humiliated rage, Adria didn't want to push it too far. With a dark expression, he turned to his adjutant: "I'm going out for a walk." With that, he walked out of his camp with a few personal guards. Yet after wandering around, there was nowhere decent to go. After two circles outside, his steps unconsciously carried him toward the Alliance camp. Last week, back when the personnel from Enterprise and the Academy were still around, he and MacLaren had stayed in the Alliance camp. Why not... Bunk there for another night? He didn't have any psychological baggage about it; after all, he hadn't lost to the Alliance. Gazing at the camp not far ahead, Adria was pondering how to bring the matter up. Before he drew close, however, he caught the aroma of roasted meat and instinctively twitched his nose. Drifting on the wind was not just the savory smell of roast meat, but also a wall of boisterous noise. Swallowing a mouthful of saliva by reflex, he furrowed his brows once more. "What are those people doing?" The personal guards beside him looked blank. Catching their commander's cue, three of them quickly sprinted ahead to investigate. Adria waited for a while. Soon, one of them jogged back from up ahead. "Reporting! The Alliance soldiers seem to be celebrating the founding of a new settlement." "A new settlement?!" An uneasy premonition stirred in Adria's heart. Were the Alliance residents planning to squat here and never leave? Although this was no-man's-land and he had no grounds to complain, an ominous foreboding still crept over him. This all-too-familiar premonition had struck him once before, back when the Alliance had adamantly insisted on taking Bister Town. Just what were those blue gophers planning to do?! "Take me over to see," Adria said solemnly. The soldier snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!" Leading his entourage of guards forward at a brisk pace, he soon spotted the two guards sent earlier, currently entangled with two Alliance soldiers. One of them had evidently had too much to drink, grinning as he reached out toward one of his guards. "Yo, Big Nose, come on in and have a drink with us! Hahaha, *hic*... Go call your Pangolin over too! Tell him... his Lord Black looks down on him and wants to duel!" Shoving away the hand reaching for his chest, the Wilante soldier said with a dark scowl: "Who knows if you've poisoned the wine!" I'm the Darkest curled his lip in contempt. "Tch, you think we're like you lot?" The Wilante soldier glared. "What's that supposed to mean?" "What? Wanna take it outside?" I'm the Darkest glared back, then turned to In Debt God beside him. "Help me beat this guy up!" In Debt God had had a few drinks, but not too many. He shook his head like a motorized propeller. "Not fighting. I'm an Intelligence-type. Go find the construction guy." I'm the Darkest: "Fuck! You useless embarrassment!" In Debt God: "Fuck off! If you're so tough, why don't you do it yourself?!" "Stop!" Seeing the two Alliance drunks about to brawl with each other, Captain Adria was so alarmed he hastily quickened his pace and shouted at the pair. He had no choice; his own guards were standing too close, so he couldn't ignore it. If they got dragged in, who knew what could happen in the pitch-black night? If someone fired a gun, that ceasefire agreement would have been signed for nothing. What Adria didn't know, however, was that the two were actually close buddies merely messing around, with zero intention of actually fighting. What's more, with one being Perception-type and the other Intelligence-type, even if the two weaklings actually traded blows, nothing serious could possibly come of it. Squinting at the big-nosed newcomer, I'm the Darkest didn't recognize the face and asked impatiently: "Who're you?" In Debt God glared at him too. "Yeah! What are you yelling so loud for?!" Staring fixedly at the two ill-mannered vault dwellers, Adria said with a stern face: "Where is your Administrator?" I'm the Darkest rolled his eyes. "What's it to you?" *So what if you're a myriarch?* *My bro is a centurion too!* *Don't fucking try to pull rank on us!* Unwilling to tangle with these two drunks, Adria held back the urge to lose his temper. Taking a deep breath to calm down, he slowed his speech: "Pass word to your Administrator for me. Tell him Captain Adria wishes to discuss business with him... You wouldn't want to get punished by your superior for holding up serious matters, would you?" Hearing that it was serious business, I'm the Darkest put away his playful grin and waved a hand. "Aiyo, why didn't you say so earlier... Wait at the gate for your grandpa." With a murderous glare, Adria watched the two stumble off arm-in-arm toward the main gate, hobbling as they went. After waiting in the freezing wind for quite a while, he finally saw someone emerge from the camp gate. Adria adjusted his collar, but as soon as he saw who it was, his face darkened. He had assumed the Alliance Administrator would come out in person to greet him, never expecting it would be those same two ill-mannered drunks. I'm the Darkest: "*Hic*... Our Administrator had too much to drink. He said if you have business, talk about it tomorrow. He also said that room you had before has been kept for you; if you don't mind, you can crash there for the night." Adria was secretly delighted, his previous displeasure vanishing into thin air, though he couldn't show it on his face. "Had too much to drink? Heh," he scoffed with a rigid expression, snorting coldly through his nose before saying indifferently, "Then we'll talk once he sleeps it off!" *That wine smells damn good.* *I'll grab a couple of bottles in a bit.* Thinking this, Captain Adria put on a reluctant display, waved his hand, and led his guards toward the camp gate. Gazing at the backs of those big noses walking into the camp, I'm the Darkest suddenly remembered something and shouted toward his retreating figure: "Oh, right! Our Administrator seemed to mention something else, saying that one look at that doghouse of yours makes it obvious it's not fit for humans to live in, so he told me—" Before he could finish, Dayan clamped a hand over his mouth. "Are you fucking stupid? Why did you repeat that part too?!" I'm the Darkest: "Mmph, mmph—!" Hearing that distant voice carrying over the wind, Adria nearly stumbled flat on his face. Dark-faced, he quickened his pace, pretending he hadn't heard a thing. The personal guards beside him gritted their teeth in fury, but seeing no reaction from their commander, they could only let the matter drop...