Running into an Acquaintance Even in a Dump Like This?

In Hope Town, guarding the gate was easy work. Although only a single gate separated this place from the wasteland, and taking two steps forward meant stepping into a hell where no one cared if you lived or died, it was still not the wasteland itself. As such, one could draw a handsome wage without taking excessive risks. What was more, the job was respectable enough. Whether people were in legitimate business or dirty dealings, once they drew near a settlement, they tended to keep themselves in check to some degree. Even marauders needed a safe haven like this to trade their looted goods for items they actually needed. Otherwise, their plunder was worthless junk that could only be abandoned on the ground for scavengers to pick up, or end up as trophies for other wastelanders. This was especially true now that most wastelanders in the region had gotten their hands on automatic rifles manufactured in the southern parts of River Valley Province. Surviving on handmade pipe rifles was getting nearly impossible; they had to keep up with the times too, keeping a low profile where they ought to keep a low profile... Standing at the west gate, Mark yawned, fished out a rusty pocket watch for a glance, and calculated how many hours remained until his shift ended. This job was all about killing time. It was even more so at the west gate, where wastelanders rarely came. Just as he was wondering where to go for a drink after work, the guard beside him suddenly looked up, peered toward the west, and muttered with a frown: "What's that sound?" "What... what sound?" Snapping the brass lid shut, Mark stowed the pocket watch and looked at the newcomer. This lad had only joined the Town Guard Office a few months ago. Before that, he was the son of a local hunter in town; Mark vaguely remembered his old man and had even shared drinks with him. "Didn't you hear that?" The lad looked at him and continued, "Something exploded." Hearing that, Mark couldn't help but chuckle. "Haha, isn't that totally normal? Two steps out that way is the wasteland. Gunshots and explosions are common as dirt... You'll get used to it." To be honest, it wasn't actually common. In the wasteland, loneliness and cold were far more common than death. Across a deserted expanse of wilderness, years might pass without seeing a single living thing, decades running together with nothing but swaying wild weeds. If a wolf's howl suddenly tore through the air one day, that would probably be the time to stay alert. Yet Mark preferred not to think along those lines. Rather than dwelling on what was happening in the wasteland right on their doorstep, he preferred to assume whatever took place was just an incident that had nothing to do with them. Minding one's own business was the secret to survival. He knew full well why he had landed a guard post: precisely because he never poked his nose into things that didn't concern him. The young man lay prone on the ground, pressing an ear to the dirt, still muttering to himself. "Gunfire, and running footsteps. Must be at least thirty or forty kilometers away. Bang, bang, bang... Who's fighting whom?" Mark couldn't resist stepping up and planting a boot on the kid's rear. "Quit your damn worrying. Get up and stand guard." Taking a kick to the backside, the lad scrambled to his feet awkwardly and obediently shut his trap. After this interruption, Mark's mood—which had been fairly pleasant all the way until noon—was completely ruined. Once people knew something big was happening nearby without knowing what it actually was, their minds would inevitably run wild, and anxiety would creep in. Especially when there was nothing else to do. Mark was no exception. The lad seemed to have put it behind him, but Mark couldn't stop mulling it over again and again. Just who was fighting whom? Come to think of it, were there any major settlements to the west? Just then, the nearby woods suddenly rustled, followed by a shrill whoosh cutting through the air. Before Mark could react, an arrow skimmed past his hat with a sharp twang, embedding itself into the wooden post behind him with a dull thud. Startled out of his skin, he hastily racked the bolt on his rifle, flicked off the safety, and aimed in the direction the arrow had come from. "Who's there?!" No one answered. Mark swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with shock and tension. His muzzle pointed straight at the empty trees, but he dared not advance to inspect the area. At that moment, the young guard ran behind him, yanked the arrow from the post, and shouted, "Sir! There's something tied to the arrow!" "What is it?" Not daring to take his eyes off the front sight, Mark glared fixedly at the forest, yelling with his back turned. "It's a roll of hide! Looks like something is written on it..." Unrolling the pelt and barely making out the scribbles, the youth suddenly froze in stunned silence. Animal hide? Mark was taken aback. Desperate to know what was written on it yet afraid to lower his guard, he maintained his aiming stance, backpedaled toward the lad, and freed his left hand to snatch the hide away. Sure enough, two lines of scrawled characters were written in animal blood. Spelled wrong, too. Piece by piece, guessing his way through the crude writing, Mark's face drained of color in an instant, turning chalk-white as though coated in paint. "Damn it..." Cursing under his breath, he shot a warning glare at the equally petrified youngster beside him. "You hold your post here. I'm going back to report... Don't you dare speak a word of this to anyone!" The boy gave a dazed nod. Mark glanced at the forest, gritted his teeth, slung his rifle over his back, and ran into town without looking back, carrying both the arrow and the roll of hide. Deep in the forest, a pair of green pupils beneath a hood watched the retreating figure sprint into town. Only after the guard vanished behind the gates did the figure melt away into the shadows of the woods... *** In the Town Hall at the center of Hope Town. The round table in the meeting room was surrounded by the town's prominent figures. There was the owner of the Grizzly and Streetlamp Tavern, an elderly master carpenter, the proprietor of the tannery, a landlord holding a thousand mu of farmland, and the mayor who oversaw a thousand households. None of them were idle folks, yet right now they all sat in silence, puffing on cigarettes or breathing second-hand smoke. Even though the acrid smoke was sharp enough to bring tears to their eyes, those gathered inside kept the doors and windows shut tight, with not the slightest intention of cracking a window for fresh air. Likewise, not a soul spoke. Resting upon the round table before them was an arrow. Sometime around noon, someone had shot this arrow into the town's west gate, where the on-duty guard had retrieved it. Bound to it previously had been a roll of beast hide bearing two lines written in blood: [Oge wants to eat people.] [Run!] "If this is a joke, it is without a doubt the crudest, most malicious joke of the year!" The first to break the silence was the mayor. His name was Ma Hechang. Though already fifty years old, he had a sturdy frame and carried immense prestige in the town. Not far from him, the owner of the Grizzly and Streetlamp Tavern clutched his head, groaning in torment, "Why would something like this happen..." The meeting room dissolved into a cacophony of complaints and arguments, the faces of everyone present fraught with panic and dread. They didn't know what Oge was, but seeing the words "eat people" and "run," it wasn't hard to guess what it portended. An ordinary marauder tribe would never dare lay hands on a settlement like Hope Town, home to over a thousand households. That left only those unreasonable mutants. Yet people still couldn't bring themselves to believe it was true. Tribe Qi had not arrived in Jinhe City yesterday; word was they had been there a century and a half ago. Those green-skinned baboons were indeed absurdly strong and terrifyingly numerous, but they were quite different from mutants elsewhere, rarely attacking the surrounding survivor settlements. Rumors had it that they kept slaves in their tribe, so they didn't need to raid frequently. Others claimed their ancestors were actually human and had only become this way by accident, which was why they told their descendants to exercise restraint and spare the surrounding villages and farmland. Yet those were merely rumors. Most people who believed such tales didn't truly understand why things were the way they were either. They simply slapped convenient explanations onto unexplainable phenomena to convince themselves and others, grasping for a sliver of peace of mind amid their terror. Tribe Qi had existed for over a century, and they had lived here for over a century as well. No one knew why the mutants hadn't devoured them before, much less why they had suddenly changed their minds now. Just then, someone spoke up. "Could it really just be a prank?" Nobody answered him. Because it was a useless remark. Even if most people secretly clung to that hope, no one dared gamble the lives of themselves and their families on a joke. Ma Hechang looked at the chief of the Town Guard Office sitting beside him and lowered his voice. "Have scouts been sent out?" The guard chief nodded, answering nervously, "They've been dispatched... No news yet." Mayor Ma breathed a slight sigh of relief. At least for the moment, he didn't have to worry about those green-skins barging in midway through the meeting. Looking around at everyone present, he said in a grave tone, "First and foremost, we must find out who is warning us! If that person truly has reliable intelligence, why convey it like this instead of telling us face-to-face?" "That's what I was thinking! If the news is true, why didn't he say so to our faces? All of us would thank him, maybe even pay him a reward," a glassware merchant complained. Suddenly struck by a thought, Mayor Ma turned toward the blacksmith seated at the round table. "Do you recognize this arrow?" "...I do. It definitely came from my shop," the town blacksmith said, scrutinizing the arrowhead for a long while before frowning. "But all the hunters in town use arrows I forge. That doesn't prove anything." For seasoned hunters, hunting with rifles was cost-ineffective; traps, bows, and arrows were far more economical. A flicker of disappointment crossed Mayor Ma's face. At that point, a slightly portly man dressed in a robe woven from devil silk spoke up. "Ahem. Hear me out. There are far too many abnormalities here... I'm more inclined to believe someone wants to scare us out of here so they can loot our property." His name was Xiao Zhixue, a beer merchant who owned a brewing workshop in town with some twenty hired hands. Nearly all the booze consumed by visiting wastelanders came from his vats. A shopkeeper countered, "But what if the note is telling the truth?" Xiao's eyes widened. "The truth? How could that be! That 'Qi' never attacks settlements! They only snatch people wandering out in the wasteland!" "Just because they didn't in the past doesn't mean they won't now. Maybe they changed their minds on a whim." "That makes no sense! Aren't they allies of the Church of the Torch? We've converted to the Church; our town even has a church priest right here!" Eyes turned toward the priest at the table. Targeted by the barrage of stares, the middle-aged man wiped away sweat, stammering nervously, "I... I don't know... I haven't been able to reach Lord Apostle for days. Ah, could it be related to this?" "To the west... there's a little place called Dust Town, isn't there?" the blacksmith mused, stroking his chin. The priest nodded hurriedly. "Yes, that's the name! Before Lord Apostle vanished, I remember him mentioning he was taking believers there to preach!" At this, the tannery owner piped up. "Could it be that the mutants went to Dust Town looking for the Apostle, didn't find him... and then those green-skinned baboons went berserk and started slaughtering everyone?" That seemed to be the most plausible explanation. Even though it was also the scenario no one wanted to face. Mayor Ma slammed his fist hard on the table and bellowed, "Enough! None of that matters right now. What matters is what we do next! Do we stay and fight them, or do we evacuate elsewhere to take shelter—" Before he could finish, the brewer gasped in disbelief. "Evacuate elsewhere? Are you out of your mind?! Where could we go? Nowhere nearby could take in this many people!" Others could pack up and walk away, but his brewery couldn't be moved! If those mutants found no people to slaughter, they would torch the place to the ground! When that happened, every bit of his wealth here would go up in smoke! Most of the others felt the same way. Sitting around this table were the town's most prominent families; their homes and fortunes were rooted here. To them, this wasn't just a town—it was the very foundation of their livelihoods. Though none wished to face those green-skinned monsters, none were willing to run away like dogs either. "If we don't leave, fighting them is the only choice," Mayor Ma said with a grim expression. "Frankly speaking, I don't have much confidence in taking those things on." A mutant tribe tens of thousands strong... Even Pinecone Farm to the southeast, a massive estate supporting nearly fifty thousand people, was no match for that tribe. The two forces weren't even on the same scale. At that moment, the guard chief rose from the conference table and headed toward the door. Mayor Ma looked at him. "Where are you going?" The chief halted. "To mobilize the residents and hand out rifles. If we keep debating like this, we won't be able to run, nor will we have time to fight. We'll just be sitting here waiting to die." No sooner had his words landed than the brewer jumped to his feet. "Wait, you can't do that! If you distribute guns now, everyone will know trouble is coming!" The guard chief frowned. "What time do you think it is? What good does keeping a lid on things do now?" Lowering his voice, the brewer hissed, "There are wastelanders in town who fight better than our men. Worst comes to worst, we pay them some coin! But if they get wind of this beforehand and find out the enemy is mutants... I'd bet my life they'll run faster than rabbits!" The guard chief stared blankly at him for a moment. Musing over it, there seemed to be some logic to that. No matter what, those wastelanders were tougher than the town's militia. Mobilizing them would be far better than sending a bunch of folks who had never fought a battle to be slaughtered. The people seated around the table exchanged looks, most showing tacit agreement. Mayor Ma pondered in silence for a long while before giving a slow nod. "My thoughts as well... But we can't pin all our hopes on those outsiders. We must make preparations on two fronts." Turning back to the guard chief, he ordered, "Move the weapons from the armory to the perimeter walls. Barricade all four gates—east, south, west, and north—with obstacles and dig out fortifications... As for the wastelanders, tell them we received word that a roving band of marauders has drifted into the area. The town must reinforce its defenses, so no vehicles or cargo may enter or leave for now. In three days, if the alert is lifted, the barricades will come down and they will be free to go." "During this period, Hope Town will provide complimentary lodging and food to its guests." Retaining the cargo meant retaining the visiting merchants; retaining the merchants meant retaining their private guards. A delay of only three days shouldn't push the merchants into doing anything drastic or rashly offending the town. While this might dent Hope Town's reputation, surviving this immediate crisis was obviously far more urgent. As for the mercenaries, though hard to detain by force, they could be hired under the pretext of dealing with roving marauders. Pausing for a beat, Mayor Ma added with a hint of wishful thinking, "Besides... things might not be quite as bad as we think." "The scouts haven't reported back yet, which at least means the mutants aren't near us. Maybe it really is as Mr. Xiao said—just a trick to frighten us away." Those around the table exchanged uneasy glances. If only it were truly that simple... *** In the forest dozens of kilometers away. Having finished their feast, the mutants smeared the blood and fat of their prey across their faces, grunting crude chants and songs as they set off on the journey toward their next banquet. Oge had lost over two hundred brothers, including a centurion and a behemoth. He would need to chop off four hundred heads before his rage was sated. As for whether the Church of the Torch was displeased, what did that have to do with Oge? The meddling old priests in his tribe weren't the only ones he couldn't stand; he disliked those mumbling human zealots just as much... At this moment, the vast majority of Hope Town's residents had no idea that danger had silently crept over their heads. And the few in the know still fantasized that things might not be so bad, that the arrow tied with beast hide was merely a clumsy hoax. Meanwhile, having finished lunch at the inn, Luo Yu learned from the caravan leader, Wu Wenzhou, that marauders were supposedly roaming the area and the town was under lockdown. "Marauders?!" Hearing the news, Luo Yu looked surprised, quickly recalling the band they had run into at the provincial border. "...Could it be the ones we ran into?" On their way here, they had crossed paths with highway marauders and had even seized a Maxim machine gun from them. Yet if it were those guys, he couldn't see any earthly reason to dig entrenchments. "Who knows." Wu Wenzhou shook his head with a bitter smile. "In any case, all four exits to the town are blocked now. People can go in and out, but wagons and cargo can't pass. We can hardly force them to tear down their roadblocks and barricades." Though this place was technically a safe zone, it was still on the wasteland. He didn't dare leave the goods behind while he ventured out on his own. If the goods went missing, there wouldn't even be a place to lodge a complaint. Then again, there was really no need to leave. Unless one ran into an anomaly like the Bone Chewer Tribe, most marauders were soundly trounced whenever they crossed settlements; trouble only ever hit tiny villages. With so many mercenaries and merchant caravans here, there was no reason to worry about safety. "Are we just going to sit around and wait?" Remembering the advice given by that fellow named White Shark, Luo Yu couldn't help but frown. Every extra day he was delayed on the road increased the risk that his hundred thousand silver coins would slip through his fingers. He was practically at his destination; he was truly reluctant to have things fall apart at this critical juncture. Wu Wenzhou sighed helplessly. "For now, there's no better option... It's only three days anyway. Might as well wait it out." Pausing, he added, "Of course, even if their excuse sounds reasonable, we can't just let them mess around without consequence. I'll go consult with the other merchants in a bit. They have to give us an explanation." If the roadblocks remained after three days, they could band together to pressure the residents and the Town Hall. Naturally, that would be a last resort. If possible, he really didn't want conflict with the locals; Hope Town was already one of the few relatively safe and reliable settlements along this trade route. When spending the night in smaller settlements, he usually slept with a pistol tucked under his pillow, but here, simply locking the door was enough to sleep soundly. "...I'll go take a look around. Maybe there are some clues." With that, Luo Yu pushed back his chair and stood up. The mere thought of wasting three days in this small town made him squirm all over. He might as well head out now to see if there were any side quests he could do to kill time. Wu Wenzhou nodded. "Go ahead. Just remember to be back before dark." Stepping out of the inn, Luo Yu stood in the street and looked left and right. To his surprise, the town was rather large—quite different from his initial impression last night—probably housing well over a thousand people. Quite a few merchants and mercenaries were stranded here like them, currently gathering near the inn to exchange rumors they had picked up. Chatting them up might be a good idea. Yet just as Luo Yu was about to walk over, he realized with an awkward jolt that he wasn't particularly good at socializing. Never mind NPCs. He didn't even interact with that many players. He had been playing this game for a while, but he was only really familiar with Bro Mosquito and his teammates in the Goblin Corps, along with a few of Bro Mosquito's acquaintances. Before taking care of Little Yu, he had mostly soloed. Just as he was pondering how to stroll over nonchalantly, cut into the conversation, and pry intel from those sly old foxes, a familiar voice called out from the side: "Luo Yu?!" Who knew there'd be an acquaintance in a dump like this? Hearing someone call his name in Mandarin, Luo Yu instinctively looked back. Catching sight of a familiar face, his eyes went wide in shock. "Holy crap?" "What are you doing here?!"