After disembarking from the submarine, Muda returned to the speedboat with his two subordinates and set course back toward Ring Island.
They had stayed at Port French Fries for too long. If they didn't head back to relieve the watch, it might arouse suspicion.
Moreover, before handing over the shift, he needed to have a word with the men coming on next to make a few suitable adjustments to their patrol perimeter.
Something of this magnitude couldn't be settled in a single day. He needed enough time to do ideological work with his men.
Recalling their conversation aboard the submarine just moments ago, the subordinate standing beside him hesitated repeatedly before finally speaking up.
"Sir..."
"What is it?"
"Does this... count as collaborating with the enemy?"
He wasn't the only one concerned about this.
The patrolman in the wheelhouse looked out toward the deck as well, awaiting his commanding officer's answer.
Gazing out at the churning waves in the distance with a conflicted expression, Muda pondered for a long while before shaking his head. His face set into a determined look.
"It doesn't."
"But..." The sailor still looked hesitant, but when Muda turned to meet his eyes this time, his gaze was far firmer.
"The real enemy is the ones dragging us into a bottomless abyss for their own ambitions, not the people risking their own lives to pull us out of it. They aren't like those cultists from Haiya Province. They genuinely intend to bring an end to the wasteland on this planet. Perhaps that's why Mr. Sun Yuechi wrote that letter for them.
"We have never betrayed the survivors living in these waters. Not now, and not ever."
The two sailors exchanged glances. Though their eyes still held confusion and uncertainty about what lay ahead, their hearts felt a little lighter.
Whether this counted as betrayal or not, they were already on this pirate ship.
All they could do now was keep steering it forward...
No one knew who changed the subject first, but the other smoothly picked it up, and they relaxed, chatting about other things.
"Speaking of which, what were they eating on the beach? Smelled pretty damn good."
"I saw roast meat and beer... and that golden-yellow stuff looked like those 'French fries' they mentioned?"
"Damn it... they're eating better than I am." The sailor at the helm smacked his lips enviously, the cravings in his belly thoroughly stoked.
With so much happening, he had worked overtime all night and now felt both starved and exhausted.
Leaning against the railing, Muda yawned and remarked offhandedly, "If you're that curious, we can drop by their port for a look another day."
"Boss, do you have their silver coins?"
"Aren't they planning to trade with the settlements on Ring Island? When the time comes, we can just exchange our Federation Coin for theirs."
"Great idea!"
Without realizing it, the Southern Archipelago Federation patrol boat sped farther and farther toward the rising sun in the east.
None of them noticed that the Archipelago Federation, knit together by conspiracy, had already begun to quietly develop a crack...
...
Meanwhile, on the *Wasteland Online* official website.
Having toured the submarine, the players wasted no time bringing the news back to the forum to share with the clueless goofs.
Killing Dagger: "Let me tell you guys! That submarine is utterly insane! Over two hundred meters long, practically an underwater aircraft carrier."
In Debt God: "Holy crap?! It's actually real?!"
Construction Site Boy and Bricks: "Is the sun rising from the west? Tail didn't brag for once?!"
Tail: "Giao! Stop slapping weird settings on me! When have I ever bragged! (ノ｀Д)ノ"
Ye Shi: "Mind blown. Since when did Brother Guang become so generous!"
Port French Fries didn't have internet access yet, so captured photos couldn't be transmitted back to the shelter in real time, nor could they be synced to the official site.
Fortunately, technology was advanced these days. A helpful digital wizard extracted key points from the brief descriptions given by the players who had witnessed it and fed them into AI image generation software. After repeated prompt-tuning, they actually whipped up a surprisingly convincing CG rendering.
Feasting their eyes on those AI-generated knockoff CG images, the crowd got an early look, but new arguments soon flared up.
Master Zhang of Shipyard: "Wait, you're saying that thing can submerge?!"
Drinking Footbath Water: "Bullcrap!"
Fish Seller of Huludao: "I'm just dying to know how the hell they manufactured a pressure hull with that large a diameter?! And what was their welding technique?! If that thing could dive a hundred meters in real life, I'd eat it whole!"
Carrying Umbrella Not Knife at Midnight: "Bro, you're obsessed. It's a damn game!"
Hungry Forces: "Pfft, you can accept a five-hundred-meter iron airship, so what's so hard to accept about a two-hundred-meter submarine?"
Bow to Hungry Forces: "Exactly! If they can weld starships thousands of kilometers long, they can't weld a two-hundred-meter submarine?"
Brother Levin: "Hiss... To be fair, that might actually be possible! Isn't the Tianting space station right near the entrance of Shelter 70? Nine chances out of ten, their welding tech was scavenged from the Tianting space station!"
Brother Toilet Cable: "Holy mother... When you think about it like that, Shelter 70 basically rolled a god-tier opening hand!"
Keep It Down I'm Braum: "How the hell did they play such a winning hand so horribly?!"
Thinking about how that shelter had been gifted research points and population right out of the gate, while they themselves had been hammered by marauders and mutants the second they poked their heads out, the Alpha-test players wept collective tears of nostalgia and sighed with deep emotion.
Back then, finding a wooden stick to use as a club felt like wielding a divine artifact, not like now where you could actually buy Gauss sniper rifles with money.
To be honest, the Alpha-test players weren't the only ones feeling sentimental; even Chu Guang, lurking on the forums from inside the shelter, felt a surge of emotion.
Strictly speaking, the Alpha testers had all shown up later; he was the first one who had crawled out of Shelter 404.
Forget wooden sticks—he had started with just a dog, and it was a two-headed beast chasing him to bite his ass.
Fortunately, the survivors of Bet Street had treated him fairly well, especially Xiao Yu's family, or who knew if any of the subsequent events would have ever happened.
"To misplay such a winning hand so horribly, they're truly some kind of geniuses," Chu Guang thought, looking at the map of the Southern Sea with a lingering sigh.
Although he wasn't there in person, between the players' chatter on the forum and Xiao Qi's compiled summary dossier, he had a solid grasp of how the whole affair had unfolded.
Though Sun Yuechi refused to admit it, Shelter 70 had essentially become the "inner-city nobility" of the Southern Sea.
Their main advantage was that they weren't as lavish and depraved as Boulder City's inner-city aristocrats. Most of them were elite-educated senior engineers and specialists, possessing knowledge, experience, lofty ideals, and foresight far beyond those of ordinary wastelanders.
As for their flaw, they were perhaps even more out of touch with the masses than inner-city nobles—after all, the latter at least moved among ordinary folks regularly.
Even at this stage, both Huang Guangwei and Captain Chen believed that things had deteriorated because the Southern Sea survivors were foolish, not because they themselves had lacked genuine communication with them.
If only they had cast aside their arrogance as enlightened teachers over the past century and shared even a fraction of power with the ordinary survivors who had matured, things would never have reached the point where a "Federation" sprang up that completely shut the shelter out.
Coral City, nurtured single-handedly by the residents of Shelter 70, had been the first to tear apart in this conflict.
Their plight stemmed not only from their dependence on the ocean current power stations, but even more so from being caught squarely between two fractured groups.
Staring at that expanse of azure ocean, the more Chu Guang looked, the more of a pity it seemed.
Perched on the pen holder at the corner of the desk, Xiao Qi swung her little legs leisurely, propped her chin on her hands, and watched the side of Chu Guang's face. Suddenly, she asked with curiosity,
"Master."
Pulling his gaze back from the forum, Chu Guang looked at Xiao Qi.
"What is it?"
Xiao Qi blinked and said,
"Since the Southern Sea is so important, why don't you take it over directly instead of leaving it to the players to handle?"
Chu Guang smiled faintly.
"They're on the ground. Their understanding of the local situation is far better than mine while I'm stuck here. Leaving it to them is the best choice.
"Besides, I want them to change this wasteland of their own accord, maximizing the players' creativity and enthusiasm. If they can resolve the Southern Sea crisis by their own strength and unite the survivors there, that'll be far more effective than any number of expansion packs I could release.
"All we need to do is provide them with adequate support when necessary."
Of course, he hadn't dumped all the work on the players either.
As the Administrator of the Alliance, he had tasks of his own.
Not only was the ongoing Slime Mold Community conference taking up his attention, but there was also a series of collaborations the Alliance was recently developing with the Camel Hump Kingdom.
Construction on a railway from Luoye City to Petra Fortress had already broken ground. Once this project was completed, the Camel Hump Kingdom would also be integrated into the Alliance's overland trade network.
The embassy in Silver Moon Bay had been fully negotiated, and embassy personnel along with a batch of player-exclusive hibernation pods were already on their way to Oasis No. 4.
As save points extended outward along the Alliance's railway, more and more players would appear along the route from Dawn City to Port French Fries.
The vast majority of these players' in-game activities would positively impact Port French Fries's growth.
And all of this was behind-the-scenes work he did that ordinary players never saw...
...
While players noisily debated the nuclear submarine *Dolphin* and the suspected upcoming new patch, far-off Silver Moon Bay was bustling as well.
The morning bell had only just tolled, and seagulls were already circling high above the funnels and masts of steam-sail vessels.
Stokers carrying shovels yawned as they stepped onto the decks, while dock stevedores with towels draped over their shoulders unloaded crates of cargo from barges of all shapes and sizes, passing them to ground crew who transported them to harbor warehouse districts or the trading market a kilometer away.
There was no shortage of goods here: prized timber, splendid silks, exotic spices exuding strange scents, crated and bundled gold and silver treasures, and secret relics left behind from the Era of Prosperity.
The vessels berthed in the harbor were just as diverse, from fishing smacks that took barely a dozen paces to circle to massive oil tankers that took a full minute to run from bow to stern.
As the port with the largest cargo throughput in all of Sunset Province—and indeed the entire central-eastern region of the Central Continent—not only did ships from the east and west coasts frequently call here, but vessels from other continents occasionally unloaded cargo as well.
For that very reason, the bustle here usually lasted from the moment the sun rose until it set.
Whether dock stevedores, pedestrians bustling along nearby streets, or peddlers shouting their wares in street markets, everyone gave their all just so the jingle of a few coins in their pockets would ring a little louder.
Yet in this port where myths of wealth were born every day, tales of overnight riches rarely had anything to do with the hardworking majority.
Take Mogavi, for example, who had just struck a windfall. Early in the morning, he was sprawled in a tavern, dead drunk, bragging incessantly to fellow drunkards who had also spent the night drinking.
"You guys who've never set foot on a ship in your lives could never imagine how incredible it is out there! Crates and bundles of gold scattered on the beach with nobody even picking them up, and the price of a single assault rifle can buy you a priceless blood-mink pelt!"
Listening to that thin, raspy voice, a drunk at an adjacent table took a swig of watered-down alcohol and chuckled mockingly.
"Buddy, we don't need to go to sea."
"Exactly!"
Another drunk chimed in with a smirk.
"I own five storefronts at the Silver Moon Bay harbor, all rented out to Alliance merchants. The rent they pay me every month has to be hauled in sacks. Even if I sit here drinking all day, I never have to worry about money."
"Same here, pal. On my farm at Oasis No. 9, I raise over a thousand dairy cows and tens of thousands of pigs. However much those blue coats can eat, that's how much I can rake in."
Mogavi stared blankly at the bunch.
*Damn!*
*They talk bigger than I do!*
The tavern keeper behind the counter couldn't take it anymore. He slammed a polished glass onto the counter and snapped,
"Since you're all so rich, why don't you settle your tabs first? I'm closing up in two hours."
The drunk who supposedly raised tens of thousands of pigs waved a hand dismissively.
"We're old friends. Same old rule—put it on my tab—"
Before he could finish, the tavern keeper glared at him and cut him off.
"Don't even think about it! You already owe me 1,147 golden camels! If you don't pay today, I'm selling you to the docks as hard labor to work off your debt!"
The drunk's face instantly crumpled like a bitter melon, and he pleaded,
"Oh, please, anything but sending me there! I'll definitely pay you back in a couple of days!"
Watching those wailing drunks, Mogavi pinched the bridge of his nose with an index finger, then slammed a heavy fist against the table.
"Damn it... What a load of rotten luck!"
*These broke bastards!*
*Blathering with them is a complete waste of time!*
He had sat here the entire night, bragging the entire night, practically painting Port French Fries—which was barely bigger than a fishing village—as a gold mine overflowing with riches.
The reason he worked so hard to advertise for them was certainly not out of the goodness of his heart to help others, nor was it out of gratitude for those generous people; it was purely to pull in investment for his next venture.
That port lay right on the edge of the Baiyue Strait. Even if he didn't reveal its location, someone was bound to find it sooner or later.
Besides, there had been plenty of sailors and mercenaries on deck at the time. He had zero expectation that mercenaries hired for cash would keep any secrets for him—after all, he hadn't shared any of his profits with them.
Over a round of drinks, those men would likely spill the beans about his lucrative discovery.
Since Port French Fries was bound to be discovered eventually, the smart move was to exploit the time and information gap to expand his business as much as possible before everyone else wore down its threshold.
And to pull that off, the meager capital in his pockets was clearly insufficient; he needed to bring in fools with more money than sense.
Ideally, some nobleman or royal would take a liking to his trade, toss him a massive pile of coin to purchase a whole fleet, or even loan him the royal navy's ships to haul goods.
That way, he at least wouldn't have to walk on eggshells around mercenary sea captains.
Unfortunately, his venture had only just begun. While his goods could delight royals and aristocrats, having no status meant he lacked the credentials to appear at their banquets, leaving him no choice but to try his luck in the small taverns near the port.
Just as Mogavi shook his head and prepared to settle his tab and leave, two men clad in black robes walked in from outside the tavern.
The tavern keeper looked toward the entrance. Assuming they had come for a drink, he said politely,
"Pardon me, gentlemen, but we're closed for the day and just clearing up."
The lead man said nothing. He merely swept his gaze across the drunks seated there before his eyes came to rest on Mogavi's face.
The two newcomers exchanged a glance. One stepped toward the doorway, while the leader walked to the counter, pulled out a hundred-yuan banknote, and tossed it onto the surface.
"I'll pay his tab."
The tavern keeper blinked in surprise, then hurriedly collected the cash and set the change on an iron tray.
Yet the man didn't spare it a glance, walking straight toward Mogavi.
From the moment the pair walked through the door, Mogavi had been quietly sizing them up.
Especially when he saw the man pull out a hundred-yuan note to settle his tab without hesitation, not even bothering to look at the change before heading his way, his pounding heart nearly leapt into his throat.
*Holy hell!*
*You wear out iron shoes searching in vain, only to stumble upon it without lifting a finger!*
*The fat cat with more money than brains has finally arrived!*
Watching the black-robed man halt before him, Mogavi cleared his throat, pushed back his chair to rise, and extended his right hand amiably.
"May I ask how to address you, sir?"
The black-robed man looked at him impassively, shook the offered hand briefly, let go, and said,
"Singh. Someone is interested in your business. Would Mr. Mogavi do us the honor?"
Mogavi paused.
He hadn't expected this man wasn't the principal party, but an employee. Yet realizing this, the eagerness in his eyes didn't diminish at all; it grew even more intense.
"May I ask who your employer is?"
The man named Singh continued in an even tone,
"He is lodging nearby. Please follow me."
Watching the man turn and head toward the door, Mogavi didn't think twice and eagerly followed behind him.
Leaving the tavern, the group walked south along the bustling streets for a while. Several times they passed luxurious inns where Mogavi assumed they had reached their destination, only to see neither man show any intention of stopping.
In particular, when one of them slowed his pace to fall in behind him, a faint prickle of alertness rose in Mogavi's chest.
Still, he suppressed his doubts in the end.
After all, this was the territory of Silver Moon City. Even if public order here was hardly stellar, daytime kidnappings in the middle of the street were quite rare.
Besides, their demeanor didn't match that of ruffians; they resembled noble retainers. Having dealt frequently with royal servants, he remained confident in his ability to read people.
After walking for about half an hour, the group moved from the bustling market to an isolated corner of the harbor district.
Two warships flying twin-blade flags were moored along the pier. On the shore stood a dozen muscular brutes carrying Ripper rifles slung across their backs.
The entire stretch of the pier seemed to be reserved exclusively for these two warships. Other vessels kept well clear of the area, and even dock workers and patrol officers steered clear.
At that moment, panic finally seized Mogavi.
Glancing at the man flanking him closely from behind, he turned to look at Singh leading ahead and asked in a trembling voice tinged with dread,
"Wh-Who is your boss, exactly?!"
Singh gave a faint smile, stopped in his tracks, and gestured with his chin toward the ship ahead.
"Lord Achim is aboard that ship ahead. Go on up and talk."
Hearing those words, Mogavi's heart dropped straight from his throat into the abyss. He cursed bitterly inwardly, regretting that he had been blinded by greed.
The black-robed man stood motionless behind him, clearly with no intention of letting him leave.
What was more, the dozen or so rifle-toting soldiers near the dock were staring fixedly at his face.
Judging by that menacing posture, if he dared take even a single step backward, those men would charge forward and rip him apart without hesitation.
Seeing him freeze in place without moving, Singh offered a polite reminder tinged with a hint of impatience.
"Mr. Mogavi, please board the ship."
"Y-Yes..."
Under that piercing gaze, Mogavi let out a bitter smile. He could only force his leaden legs forward, steeling himself as he trudged toward the gangway of the flagship.
These men were from the Xilan Empire.
Their unreasonable arrogance was notorious throughout Silver Moon Bay; neither the governor of Silver Moon Harbor nor the castellan of Silver Moon City could do a thing about them, forced to rely on the Alliance's protection in hopes of keeping them somewhat restrained.
Mogavi never imagined that an honest merchant like himself would cross paths with these jinxes, let alone that they would flout all rules and abduct someone straight out of the city center!
Of course.
He admitted that part of the blame lay with him. If not for his greed, if not for his brain being pickled in alcohol, he would never have fallen for such an obvious trap.
After much dragging of feet, Mogavi finally reached the deck and was brought into a lavishly decorated captain's cabin to meet Captain Achim.
The bearded man tilted his chin up slightly, looking down his nostrils at him in the posture of an interrogator before speaking nonchalantly.
"You've been to Port French Fries?"
Mogavi dared not conceal anything, nodding nervously.
"...Yes, my lord. I just returned from there."
Hearing that, Captain Achim narrowed his eyes slightly, a gaze venomous as a viper flicking its tongue.
Mogavi felt a chill run down his spine. Just as he was about to ask what instructions his lordship had, Captain Achim spoke in a measured voice.
"I need you to do something for me."
It was the tone of a command.
Clearly, there was no room for discussion.
His mind racing with thoughts of escape, Mogavi hurriedly nodded.
"Please tell me, sir."
Pleased with the merchant's attitude, Captain Achim continued unhurriedly,
"I will give you two cargo ships. Take them to Port French Fries. All you need to do is ensure they dock successfully at the harbor. Leave the rest to us. It's as simple as that."
Mogavi asked tremblingly,
"Those two ships... what cargo are they carrying?"
Achim looked at him impassively.
"You do not need to know."
Having an inkling of what might be loaded aboard, Mogavi swallowed hard, put on an obliging face, squeezed out a smile, and nodded fawningly.
"Understood! No problem at all, my lord! I'm very familiar with the folks at Port French Fries; whatever cargo you want hauled there is no issue... But it's no short voyage. May I go back and pack my bags before we set sail?"
He swore to himself:
The moment he got back to the downtown area, he would turn tail and run without a second thought. The Alliance embassy would surely be keenly interested in this intelligence, and they might even assign him a couple of bodyguards.
Yet Achim merely cast him a cool look and said with a mocking half-smile,
"Do you think I'd let you go back down?"
Fixed by that chilling smirk, Mogavi felt his spine go cold. He instantly forced a smile that looked barely better than weeping.
"I... I won't go down. In that case, honored lord, when do we depart?"
"Right now. The two ships are already waiting on the Polo Sea. I'll see you off personally." Achim pulled out a diamond-encrusted pocket watch, checked the time, and tossed it casually into a drawer.
Noticing the little merchant's smile that looked more wretched than tears, his eyes stirred slightly. He stepped forward with a grin and patted Mogavi's shoulder in a show of comforting friendliness.
"Rest easy. We're only going there to take back what is rightfully ours. Do a good job for me, and once this is done, I certainly won't treat you poorly."
Mogavi looked at this smug fellow, neither knowing whether to laugh or cry. While profuse thanks poured from his mouth, he was already cursing the man's ancestors inwardly.
*These doomed bastards!*
*It's one thing if you're tired of living, but dragging me down with you!*
*Now I just hope that when you die, you do it far away from me—just don't splatter any blood on me...*
Chapter 689