At the Wilante camp.
Inside the tent at the center of the camp.
Seated before a long table, Commander Bannote frowned as he stared at the Survivor Daily in his hands. After a long moment of contemplation, he muttered under his breath, "What kind of trick are these blue gophers playing now..."
Ever since arriving in Dawn City, the Survivor Daily had become his daily required reading.
Especially after discovering that intelligence that would normally take exhaustive inquiries to gather was laid out plain as day across those few sheets of paper, he had even changed his first morning ritual upon waking from brushing his teeth to reading the paper.
Lately, he had been keeping a close eye on the situation at Port French Fries. The Survivor Daily published new photographs every few days, and he had practically watched this port transform from a barren patch of bare earth into the respectable little fishing village it was today.
Honestly, viewing those photographs in sequence was quite astonishing.
Although the Legion frequently built camps for the natives, neither the aesthetics nor the comfort could match what those blue gophers had achieved in less than half a month.
And now, this village could no longer be considered small. Particularly with the arrival of a new batch of immigrants, this little fishing village had grown to a population of a thousand.
Anywhere on the wasteland, that would count as a sizable survivor settlement.
Yet it was precisely because of this that Bannote felt a twinge of wariness.
The entry threshold for the recently convened Slime Mold Community conference was a minimum of one thousand people.
As long as it reached a thousand people, a survivor settlement could participate in voting on affairs concerning its home province, influencing the outcome of votes on the assembly's agenda for that province.
Different provinces had different numbers of votes; certain special provinces were even tallied separately, but the baseline was at least one vote.
As everyone knew, mutants didn't vote. As the only settlement in Baiyue Province, Port French Fries would exclusively hold that precious single vote "representing the collective resolution of all survivors in Baiyue Province."
And that would make the situation at the Slime Mold Community conference even bleaker for the Legion, which already had precious few allies.
Realizing this, Bannote couldn't help clenching his fists.
Without a doubt, this was blatant cheating!
He had expended immense effort and overcome widespread objections to pull the Xilan Empire into the Slime Mold Community, all to secure Bolo Province's votes for the Legion.
If the Alliance planned to drum up votes for itself through such underhanded tricks, there was no way in hell he would agree to it!
"I have to find a way to plug this loophole..."
Just as Bannote sank into thought, footsteps suddenly came from outside the tent.
A guard rang the chime, lifted the flap, and entered, bowing respectfully as he reported, "My lord, the envoy from the Xilan Empire requests an audience."
Bannote said impatiently, "Send him in."
"Yes, sir."
The guard nodded and backed out of the tent.
Before long, the envoy's signature twin-pronged goatee stepped past the curtain, trailing a potent scent of spices.
A warm smile beamed across his face, the whiskers beneath his nose twitching slightly.
"Esteemed Commander Bannote, I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but when I came by yesterday, you had already stepped out. I had no choice but to come earlier today."
Yesterday?
Bannote recalled having dinner with the Foreign Minister of the Free State. He had indeed been away from the camp, so it made sense that the man hadn't caught him.
Still, couldn't this fellow make an appointment before visiting every single time?
"It is fine, my friend, Du... Duke Garawa. You are welcome to drop by anytime," Bannote rubbed his nose, pasting on a perfunctory smile. "So, what wind blew you here today?"
He was not particularly skilled at pleasantries. After all, the Legion never had to bother with polite pretense—if words failed, fists spoke.
Were it not for the ongoing negotiations of the Slime Mold Research Community, he wouldn't have bothered giving this posturing buffoon the time of day.
Coincidentally, however, diplomacy was just as far outside the duke's expertise as it was Bannote's. Far from seeing through the half-heartedness in his clumsy smile, the duke took the greeting as a goodwill gesture from the Legion.
Hardly surprising.
Most people in Bolo Province—especially the nobility—viewed the Wilante through rose-tinted glasses, thick enough to filter out any hostile nuances.
Seeing the genial, spring-breeze smile on the commander's face, Duke Garawa looked deeply touched, as if having found a kindred spirit.
Without hesitation, upon hearing Bannote's inquiry, he immediately assumed an expression of righteous indignation and began pouring out his grievances.
"I did not wish to trouble you over such minor matters, but the Alliance goes too far! Never have I seen such brazen, shameless wretches! What was printed plain as day in the newspaper they refuse to acknowledge, playing deaf and dumb as if it has nothing to do with them... How does that differ from outright bandits?!"
Need that even be said?
Bannote had zero objection to that sentiment.
The Heart of Steel was hovering right over the outskirts of Dawn City—nothing demonstrated those bastards' shamelessness better than that. He had demanded it back from the Alliance more than once, but those people had no intention whatsoever of returning it, even flaunting it as a trophy of war.
"Indeed," Bannote nodded in full agreement, unable to hold back a curse of his own. "Those ill-mannered barbarians know nothing of courtesy and humility... So, my friend, what did they do to you?"
Duke Garawa clenched his fists, boiling with rage.
"They took in the Moon Clan!"
"...The M-Moon Clan?" Bannote paused, asking reflexively, "What is that?"
In his worldview, there were only Wilante and everyone else—with perhaps the addition of dim-witted clones grown at eightfold speed.
What on earth was a Moon Clan?
Survivors from the moon?
Noticing the confusion on Commander Bannote's face, Duke Garawa explained patiently, "The Moon Clan are sinners of the Xilan Empire. In our prophets' visions, the Moon God they worship conspired to murder the Sun-Bearing Divine Bull, causing the blazing sun to plunge into the far reaches of the Ever-Flowing River, plunging the land of Bolo Province into darkness ever since... Every last one of them owes sins for their next lives and must atone through suffering in this life. Only then may they enter reincarnation with a new identity.
"You must have seen them before—most of the slaves sold from Bolo Province to the West Coast belong to the Moon Clan..."
The first half left Bannote completely bewildered, but by the end, dawn broke over his face.
So it was those people.
He had indeed seen those narrow-bridged slaves; in fact, he kept two in his own manor.
Though their frames were a size smaller than Wilante and their builds lagged far behind, riding them had a certain distinctive flavor of its own...
"Commander Bannote?"
Seeing Bannote spacing out, Duke Garawa gave a gentle reminder.
Instantly realizing his lapse, Bannote snapped back to attention and cleared his throat.
"So... they stole your slaves? Truly an unreasonable bunch of bastards!"
"Exactly! An unreasonable bunch of bastards!"
Duke Garawa gazed at him with burning eyes, clenching his fists as he continued indignantly, "I must say, these people calling themselves the Alliance are nothing short of a cancer on this planet! They pillage everywhere and commit every evil, yet have the gall to preach about survivors uniting... We cannot let them run amok any longer! We must join hands and do something! Uproot this cancer once and for all!"
Bannote had been wearing an amused grin, but hearing that final sentence nearly choked him on his own spit.
Saying such things behind closed doors was one thing, but actually coming to blows was no joking matter.
While he had zero doubt that the Legion possessed the strength to wipe the Alliance off the map, it was hard to say how the Academy and the Enterprise would react.
Aside from the lunatics in the Eastern Expansionist faction, hardly anyone wanted to fight a war that promised zero benefits, especially when it could drag them into a bottomless abyss.
Besides, the Marshal had dispatched him here to seek cooperation, not to flip the table.
Watching Duke Garawa's fiery gaze, Commander Bannote, who had been stoking the flames just a second ago, suddenly felt he ought to pour some cold water on this fellow's head.
Lest the man get so carried away that he forgot who he was.
"Duke Garawa, I grant that these blue jackets are undoubtedly a cancer on this planet, and should they suddenly drop dead one day, it would be an honor for all mankind... However, now is not the time. Before resolving secondary contradictions, we must first address the primary contradiction."
Seeing Duke Garawa's flushed countenance turn into a blank stare, Bannote gave a light cough and added, "...Besides, it's just a few runaway slaves. Why stoop to their level over that? Just write them off as lost."
In his impression, slaves from Bolo Province were dirt cheap—perhaps a thousand dinars each, maybe even less.
Even if a thousand were stolen, that was only a million dinars. What did that pocket change amount to?
Seeing that the commander clearly failed to grasp the crux of the issue, Duke Garawa grew frantic, his twin whiskers quivering up and down in agitation.
"Wait, Commander Bannote, this is not a matter of a few slaves! Those people have trampled on the dignity of the Empire! And if we do not punish the runaway slaves as they deserve, won't everyone follow suit in the future?!"
Bannote looked at him, caught between tears and laughter.
"My friend... my duke friend, your empire boasts a thousand clans and a thousand gods. What harm is there in letting one clan go?"
Seeing Duke Garawa about to speak, he pressed on without pausing, "Of course, the matter of face you mention is indeed an issue. If your guns aren't straight, your spine won't stand straight either. But these things are easily handled. If they lack respect for you, isn't it simply because you are too weak?... Forgive my bluntness, but as you know, those wretches are bandits, and it is in a bandit's nature to bully the weak and fear the strong. If you want their respect, you must be harder than they are!"
Hearing this, Duke Garawa was immediately displeased.
What kind of joke was this?
The Xilan Empire held sway over an entire province—how could a puny Alliance even compare to them?
"Commander Bannote, are you joking? I admit we exercise restraint at times, but we are by no means weak! Certainly not something a booger-sized Alliance can hold a candle to!"
Seeing Duke Garawa's indignant look, Commander Bannote grasped his shoulder and said earnestly, "I know, I acknowledge your courage. But believe it or not, that is the reality. It's not your fault, of course; after all, they enjoy the backing of both the Enterprise and the Academy, whereas you have nothing. It is hardly fair to compare you two directly."
Watching the still-sour expression on Duke Garawa's face, Bannote suddenly shifted tack.
"But no matter. In the past, you could only rely on yourselves. Now, standing behind you are us—the Legion! Whatever aid the Academy and the Enterprise provide them, we can provide you just the same. And I believe that with our support, you will soon possess the strength to stand on equal footing with the Alliance. It won't be difficult at all."
Upon hearing those words, Duke Garawa's eyes instantly lit up, and he eagerly grasped Bannote's hand.
"Thank you so much... my friend! It is truly our honor that you are willing to stand with us! I swear to the White Elephant God that we will cooperate with all our might! So... may I ask how you intend to help us?"
Looking at Duke Garawa's profuse gratitude, a cheerful smile spread across Bannote's face.
He had actually thought this through long ago, only lacking an opportune moment to bring it up.
And right now was undoubtedly that golden opportunity.
"We can introduce you to someone—a commander from a prestigious background named MacLaren. Unlike a civil official like me, he is a genuine military officer, the kind forged on the battlefield.
"Not only that, but just like you, he has bad blood with the Alliance. He despises those blue gophers more than anyone else. If you are willing, I can pull the strings and send him to Bolo Province as a military advisor. He can help you forge a battle-hardened iron army trained to Legion standards! We can even donate some equipment we have no immediate use for!"
In any case, the Eastern Expansionists had no use for that gear anymore.
Putting that scrap metal to use was a fine proposition.
Besides, Bannote was certain MacLaren wouldn't refuse; the man might even volunteer to take up the post of instructor in Bolo Province.
Duke Garawa was overjoyed, gripping Bannote's hand tightly.
"Thank you! Truly, thank you!"
Bannote offered a faint smile, returning the clasp.
"You are most welcome. You are our vital trade partner and our strategic ally. Your wom—cough, your spices are something I am quite fond of! May our friendship endure forever!"
Duke Garawa chuckled heartily.
"May our friendship endure! In a few days, I shall send some over to your residence!"
After exchanging courtesies, Bannote finally saw off the troublesome guest. Turning back, he pulled a tissue from the table and wiped his hands in disgust.
What rotten luck.
A high-and-mighty commander like him, forced to shake hands with a goat that had wandered in from who knew where.
Just then, a faint sigh from behind caused Bannote's neck to stiffen reflexively. He whipped around in irritation, glaring toward the entrance with displeasure.
"Even if you are the Praetorian of His Excellency the Marshal... you shouldn't be eavesdropping on my conversation with the imperial envoy."
Standing at the tent opening without Bannote realizing when he had arrived, Quake looked at the disgruntled commander impassively, completely unfazed by his temper.
As a member of the Praetorian Guard, his loyalty lay solely with the Marshal, and he answered only to the Marshal. Regardless of rank, he bowed to no one.
"The Eastern Expansionists have only just quieted down. The Marshal will not be pleased with what you're doing."
Bannote's expression stiffened slightly. Although he had no desire to waste breath explaining himself, considering the adjutant's true status, he held his temper and said, "MacLaren isn't an idiot. He spent nearly half a year in the Alliance; he knows very well that those people aren't to be trifled with, and he knows what should and shouldn't be done. I trust he knows where the line is... All we are doing is arming our ally, not telling them to actually go to war with the Alliance. Don't you want more bargaining chips in our hands? Or would you rather see the Alliance lead us around by the nose?"
Quake asked flatly, "And if he oversteps the line?"
Bannote retorted bluntly, "Then order him to haul ass back. What can he do as a mere military instructor? That fool is no Griffin—just an ambitious incompetent with delusions of grandeur. At most, he'll sleep with a few girls in that emperor's harem. What could he possibly do—turn Bolo Province upside down?"
Hearing Griffin's name, Quake's brow knitted slightly, his eyes tinged with a complex emotion.
Yet that flicker of complexity lasted only an instant.
He stared unblinkingly at Bannote, his solemn tone carrying an edge of warning.
"His Excellency the Marshal places great importance on this conference. I hope you understand that above all else. Especially concerning the 'primary contradiction,' you had better not screw up."
Meeting those cloudy eyes, a sudden pang of dread welled up in Bannote's heart, though it quickly morphed into irritation.
Why should he fear a mere tribune?
"My loyalty to His Excellency the Marshal is eternal. I do not need you to remind me!"
Quake shrugged, offering no comment as he turned and walked toward the entrance.
Yet just as he reached out to lift the door flap to leave the tent, he abruptly halted, dropping a pointed remark over his shoulder.
"Every single one of you says that."
"I truly hope you actually mean it."
Bannote froze where he stood.
By the time he came back to his senses, the adjutant named Quake had already departed...
***
On the northern shore of the Baiyue Strait, at the thriving Port French Fries, a gentle sea breeze blew rolling waves onto the sandy beach, cleaved in two by a pier stretching out into deep water.
In the shallows not far from the pier, rows of Strength-type beasts seated in small wooden boats were laboring to drive arm-thick aluminum alloy pipes into the seabed.
These pipes had just been hauled from Dawn City by the airship Niuma, intended for constructing an enclosure net separating the beach from the deep-water zone.
Later, they would fill these aluminum alloy pipes with sand and stretch nets woven from devil silk between them, enclosing the waters near the port.
As if sensing their living space being curtailed, the mutants active in the sea began to stir, launching sporadic attacks against the small boats afloat on the surface, sending someone splashing into the water every few moments.
Even so, nothing could deter these beasts' resolve.
"Put your backs into it, boys! For bikinis in the sunshine!"
"Awooooo!"
Staring dumbfounded at the distant waters, Rou Rou stood with her mouth slightly agape, only squeezing out an abrupt question after a long pause.
"...Have these guys lost their minds?"
Standing beside her with arms crossed, Tail nodded sagely.
"Oh! Definitely lost it."
Forced to wear a maid outfit for three whole days, she had nearly suffered heatstroke under that bedsheet-like long skirt.
Having finally switched to a tank top and shorts these past few days, she felt completely revived.
Perhaps because the mutants in the sea had all been drawn toward the Strength-type beasts' wooden boats, hardly a single mutant could be seen near the beach.
On the rocky shore nearby, several Moon Clan girls carrying baskets used daggers and awls to pry oysters clinging to the rocks, while others crouched near faucets not far from the sand, washing clothes.
Come to think of it, time really flew.
Were it not for the airship Niuma arriving and departing, she wouldn't have even noticed that a whole week had already passed since the Rou Rou docked at Port French Fries!
Worth mentioning was that, though Tail felt the week had slipped by in a blur, quite a lot had transpired in this rapidly evolving settlement.
First was the interior of the camp.
The large empty plot of land to the east had now turned into rows of wooden shacks.
While these crudely built dwellings lacked visual polish, they served well enough to keep out the wind and rain.
In addition, smoked fish and curing pelts hung before nearly every doorway.
Helping players process game and fish catches had become the primary source of income for most of the Moon Clan girls in Port French Fries.
Other girls skilled in farming, led by Granny Sangru, had contracted the farmland northwest of the South District.
The Baiyue Province Development Co., Ltd. was responsible for securing the farmland, clearing the rainforest, and providing growers with high-yield crop seeds and auxiliary farming tools.
The price they had to pay was merely half of the harvest from the fields and orchards.
To people who had never owned land of their own, these terms were outrageously generous—so much so that many initially refused to believe it was real.
Only when they learned that Tail, the very person who had freed them from captivity, was also a member of the Baiyue Company's board of directors did they put their doubts to rest and press their thumbprints onto the contracts.
Apart from farming and handicrafts, several pretty, shapely young women entered the service industry, taking up jobs that most players had no interest in doing.
Thanks to this, the once-empty camp had grown bustling with life.
Not only did save points, stalls, and shops gain interactive NPCs, but the "One-Man Tavern"—long criticized by countless players—had finally transformed into the "Yiren Tavern."
Not only did it boast a crew of hot, eye-catching waitresses, but Boss Yiren's hands were completely freed.
And the customers, being treated as royalty, no longer had to moonlight serving tea, pouring water, and washing dishes...
The sun traversed from east to west, and in the blink of an eye, another fulfilling day came to an end.
As usual, watching the setting sun dip lower, Yiren called to the tavern girls to set out tables and chairs on the sand, preparing to open for business.
Yet just as everyone carried out the chairs, a speedboat flying the Federation flag pulled up beside the pier.
The NPC named Muda was the first to leap off the speedboat, striding toward the tavern accompanied by two sailors.
Having not seen this fellow in quite a while, Yiren was pleasantly surprised. Watching the trio approach, he called out with a grin, "Looking for something to drink?"
Muda wasted no words. Reaching into his breast pocket, he glanced at a telegraph paper to confirm the location, then turned to the tavern-keeper-looking man before him. "Is there someone named Sisi here?"
Yiren paused. He had indeed heard of the name.
"What do you want with her?"
Muda said succinctly, "She arranged to meet me here. Now that I've arrived, please let her know—"
Before he could finish his sentence, an unfamiliar voice called out from not far away.
"I'm here."
The three immediately turned toward the voice and saw a girl carrying a rifle and a rocket launcher walking over from the direction of the camp.
The incoming sea breeze carried the salty tang of blood; tufts of animal fur and wet blood clung to her jacket.
Not only did Muda look at her with an odd expression, but even the two sailors beside him appeared thoroughly shocked.
Boss Yiren, on the other hand, was well used to such sights and greeted her with a laugh. "Good haul today?"
"Not bad. Didn't expect to run into a mutated brown bear in this rainforest," Sisi replied casually. Leaning her rifle and rocket launcher against a nearby table to save seats, she held up four fingers toward Boss Yiren. "Two beers and two orange juices, with ice. My teammates went to turn in materials; they'll be here soon."
"You got it." Yiren flashed an OK sign and turned toward the open-air bar.
Listening to the completely unintelligible language, Muda was just about to ask what the telegram was all about when a crisp, clean envelope was held out in front of him.
Looking at the envelope, his eyebrows raised slightly, and he reached out to take it.
"What is this?"
Sisi said succinctly, "Someone asked me to deliver a letter to you."
"Who?"
"You'll know once you read it."
Muda glanced at Sisi, tearing open the envelope with skepticism.
Almost the instant his eyes scanned the contents, his sun-peeled face turned dead serious.
Clutching the letter tightly in his hand, he glared at the woman before him and asked, word by word, "Where is he?"
Sisi said nonchalantly, "Dawn City."
Hearing this answer, Muda was stunned.
"River Valley Province?!"
Looking at the stunned NPC, Sisi nodded and continued in a low whisper, "Yes... At that gentleman's request, we plan to reopen the investigation into the Southern Sea ocean current power station incident."
At the words "ocean current power station," Muda's eyes widened in surprise. Guiding her to the side, he lowered his voice until only the two of them could hear. "...The ocean current power station? What's the point of investigating that now? It's been over two months. Even if you uncover something, you won't change the current situation."
Sisi offered a faint smile. "How will we know if we don't try?"
Muda stared at her for a while, only speaking slowly after a long pause. "What do you need me to do?"
"Very simple. You only need to cover my approach there; we will handle the rest ourselves."
Muda's expression grew increasingly strange as he glanced toward the freighter docked at the pier. "Cover you? How do you plan to get near there? Driving that thing?"
"Of course not. Follow me."
Sisi smiled mysteriously. Dropping those words, she turned and strode toward the nearby camp.
Muda glanced at the two sailors standing near the tavern, signaling with his eyes for them to wait by the entrance, and then followed alone behind her.
Leading the NPC into the camp, Sisi headed straight for the warehouse district not far from the beach, stopping before a warehouse fashioned from corrugated iron.
"It's right here."
Muda narrowed his eyes and followed her inside.
The moment he clearly made out the cylinder-shaped submersible parked in the warehouse, his eyes narrowed dangerously.
"You've been in contact with the people from Shelter 70?"
Unfazed by his right hand drifting toward the holster at his waist, Sisi looked at him nonchalantly. "And? Have you changed your mind?"
Muda fell silent for a long while before finally pulling his hand away from the holster.
"...Ten o'clock tonight. Stay beneath my boat, and I will take you there."
Hearing this promise, a satisfied smile finally broke across Sisi's face.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. That is all I can do."
As he spoke, Muda cast another glance at the submersible resting in the warehouse.
The scratches and gouges carved into its metal hull clearly did not look like the work of depth charges or torpedoes from the Federation fleet.
Although he didn't believe the truth would change anything, his gut told him that this time, they might actually uncover something...
Chapter 683