Just as Killing Dagger had suspected, by the time they unleashed their second wave of attacks, Chu Guang, far away in Shelter 404, had already received the front-line battle reports.
Furthermore, the operational report of their departure and the dispatch announcing their victory arrived at the exact same time.
That rascal Fang Chang had pulled a clever trick—the first report had been flown in aboard the Niuma airship, while the second had been submitted through the official website's quest system.
Looking at the two reports spread open before him, Chu Guang shook his head with a chuckle.
"These guys really do take me for an NPC."
Yet it was hardly surprising.
He had kept his cover exceptionally well; none of the players knew that beneath his mantle as the Administrator, he also played the role of the trash dev.
In other words, long before they dispatched these reports, he had known every detail. He simply hadn't stepped in to stop them.
For one thing, the players hadn't broken any server rules. He had never demanded that they behave like self-righteous saints; he merely expected them to know where to draw the line.
For another, the envoys of the Xilan Empire were genuinely obnoxious, constantly picking fights with him at the Slime Mold Community meetings, so giving them a rap on the knuckles was no bad thing.
And thirdly, the Xilan Empire had struck first.
Although the Alliance rarely went looking for trouble, not a single one of its settlements had been founded without bloodshed—not even Boulder City, which had joined of its own accord.
If someone wished to test how hard their fists were, they were welcome to try.
[Report No. 1: The Xilan Empire Army flagrantly crossed into our exclusion zone, opening fire on our forces without identifying themselves in an attempt to perpetrate a massacre. Our forces have launched a retaliatory strike against their port of origin, Golden Gallon Port!]
[Report No. 2: Our force of over five hundred has successfully landed at Golden Gallon Port, shattered the Golden Gallon Port city defense garrison, and captured the Governor of Golden Gallon Port!]
Caring little for the first report, which he had already read, Chu Guang clicked directly into the second report's attachments.
He was soon surprised to find that Brother Fang Chang had not only tabulated the operation's K/D ratio and ammunition expenditures, but had even compiled a full inventory of the spoils.
Though it reeked slightly of bullying toddlers, the engagement truly deserved to be hailed as an epic, resounding victory.
The Alliance Army had lost a total of eleven Type-5 "Light Cavalry" and one Type-6 "Heavy Cavalry" exoskeletons. A small number of players sustained minor injuries that were not tallied, with zero combat or non-combat casualties.
As for the Golden Gallon Port garrison, 1,407 corpses and 316 wounded had been counted so far. Although their supreme commander had eluded capture, their organizational structure had been utterly blasted out of existence.
Meanwhile, in the span of a single morning, the players stationed in the port sector had absorbed the port guard and provisionally assembled an armed militia of around five thousand liberated slaves.
At present, this militia was stationed at Camp Rowell alongside the freed slaves, with Killing Dagger and other players overseeing their drills.
The area under the Burning Corps' actual control amounted to less than a tenth of Golden Gallon Port, yet that fraction accounted for over ninety percent of the entire settlement's economic output.
Beyond the direct military gains, the spoils seized in the operation were staggering.
In the vault of the Golden Gallon Port Bank on No. 1 Tulip Street sat nearly five hundred million dinars in foreign reserves!
This fortune had been amassed primarily through the slave trade, livestock, spices, textiles, and the sale of basic commodities, more than half of which was deposited under the Emperor's name and managed by the governor he had appointed.
On top of that, there were thirty million silver coins and nine million Cr, as well as a quantity of gold camel coins and gold lion coins. The former had likely been acquired through the export of two-headed oxen and minerals, and the latter through similar means, though their reserves were modest due to lower circulation.
Even so, such foreign exchange reserves were terrifyingly vast. If the Boulder City Bank had held this much back then, it never would have gone under.
Yet what surprised Chu Guang even more came next.
The on-book reserves of Xilan coins alone amounted to a whopping one hundred and twenty billion!
And all of it was cold, hard cash!
Because the figure was so staggering, he had initially thought someone had miscounted the zeros, confirming he hadn't misread it only after checking several times.
According to the players' field inquiries, ten thousand Xilan coins could buy a pig, proving the currency possessed genuine purchasing power.
With so much absurdity to unpack, Chu Guang didn't even know where to begin mocking it.
Perhaps the credit operations of Golden Gallon Port Bank could explain this bizarre economic phenomenon, but Fang Chang hadn't had time to comb through the bank's records.
The players were obviously only interested in the hard currency inside the vault.
At the end of the report, Fang Chang summarized their conclusions.
["...We are of the consensus that unless the fundamental reality of Golden Gallon Port is overhauled, and both slavery and imperial authority in the region are utterly eradicated, marauder-style raids will never truly cease. Therefore, our strategic objectives, in addition to bringing the chief conspirators to trial, include reforming the region in accordance with Alliance principles."]
Reaching the end, Chu Guang couldn't help smiling.
Perhaps catching the smile on his face, Xiao Qi, perched on the pen holder, also beamed, bobbing her little head in praise.
"It seems your little players are growing up too."
Chu Guang smiled faintly.
"Are they?"
"Hm?" Sensing an underlying meaning in his tone, Xiao Qi tilted her head, peering up at him.
Chu Guang paused in thought for a moment before speaking in a soft voice.
"I don't actually hold high hopes for them achieving all their strategic goals. I've never attempted to fully implement the Alliance's policies in Sunset Province, because our methods lack a broad mass base there. Ending the wasteland is the inherent duty of every shelter resident, but we must also respect the wishes of the people living on the wasteland."
Unity presupposed respect; forcibly imposed equality was merely another form of oppression.
Since the Alliance had chosen the path of unity, it was destined to be unable to carry everyone into the new era—it could only lead forward those willing to advance.
Even if they one day reclaimed every territory that had once belonged to the People's Federation, many people were bound to cling to the ways of the old world.
Yet unlike the old world where people had no choice and could only passively endure an unequal fate, in this new era, everyone would possess the right to choose and to refuse.
Just like the survivors of Singularity City: as long as they promised never to return, they were free to leave that AI-operated "rehab clinic" whenever they wished.
Chu Guang was not particularly optimistic about the Burning Corps' campaign in Bolo Province. To a degree, they had fallen into the trap that most shelters once did—trying to preach atheism to people devoted to the Great Horned Deer God, or erecting a skyscraper on foundationless soil.
They hadn't truly enabled those slaves to stand on their own feet. The so-called mobilization was more akin to a disguised pyramid scheme, and the "Avengers Alliance" they had organized reeked of sheer mob violence from its very name.
It was, in truth, a riot.
A mob of slaves who had lived under crushing oppression their entire lives had suddenly been handed firesticks capable of killing their masters—firesticks bestowed by "gods," no less.
They were not dying for an ideal; they were dying for their new "gods."
Nor were they seeking to end the rules that enslaved them; they sought only to reclaim what they had lost from others, with interest.
Without discipline, the targets of their wrath would soon shift from the garrison of Camp Rowell to other unfortunates whose social standing was merely half a step above theirs.
In truth, he maintained deep reservations about whether the players could keep this runaway horse under control.
Pausing, Chu Guang looked at the bewildered Xiao Qi and continued in a gentle tone:
"Of course, it's also possible that my lovely little players' actual intentions don't quite match their proclaimed goals."
Xiao Qi stared at Chu Guang in surprise.
"Are you saying your players are lying to you?"
"It's not lying; it's painting a pie," Chu Guang replied with a faint smile. "We proclaimed that we would build an Ideal City on the northern outskirts of Qingquan City, and we led people to pursue that vision. Even if we haven't achieved it yet, we at least have Dawn City. But if I hadn't painted that pie, there would be nothing here today. If the only goal were keeping survivors alive, a bowl of green wheat porridge would have sufficed."
Standing up under orders was still standing up. Besides, they had no time to take things slow, building up bit by bit from night-school literacy classes like they had in Qingquan City.
Judging purely by results, they might well establish superficial equality in that settlement, or at the very least forge a vassal state dependent on the Alliance.
In a sense, they truly were mature little players now.
They had learned how to use their own methods to handle outsiders—and even handle him in his role as an NPC.
After a moment's thought, Chu Guang reached out his index finger toward the holographic screen and penned an endorsement on the report with a smile.
["...Military operations against Golden Gallon Port are approved within limited scope. Bear in mind: do not actively escalate the armed conflict, and do not repeat the mistakes of the Legion."]
Chu Guang paused, preparing to write a third "do not," but right at that moment, a third report popped into his background inbox.
This report had arrived via the submission interface of the official website's quest system.
[Report No. 3: Camp Rowell Investigation Report (Part 1)]
Chu Guang opened the report, glanced at the abstract, and shook his head with a chuckle.
These guys sure knew how to stack buffs on themselves.
Interesting.
Guessing that the illustrated second half would most likely arrive aboard the Niuma, Chu Guang tossed the report into his memo folder for the time being.
Besides, regarding the first report he hadn't bothered to open, Duke Garawa, currently "sojourning" in Dawn City, might find it of great interest.
After brief deliberation, Chu Guang looked at Xiao Qi and instructed:
"Contact Minister of Foreign Affairs Cheng Yan for me. Tell him to wait in my office at the Alliance building for a little while. I'll be there in about half an hour."
Hearing that she had an assignment, Xiao Qi, who had been resting her chin in her hands and swinging her legs, perked right up. Bursting with enthusiasm, she puffed out her chest and snapped an Alliance military salute.
"Understood!"
...
The next morning, at an inn on the outskirts of Dawn City, not far from the Legion's encampment.
Duke Garawa was enjoying breakfast while accepting a freshly printed copy of the Survivor Daily from his humble, loyal Ratfolk servant, Niyang.
Ever since receiving Captain Achim's telegram, he had been waking up earlier than a rooster every day, all to see the headline of the Survivor Daily before anyone else.
Over the past two days, the thousand-man unit led by Chiliarch Dirang should have reached Port French Fries.
Barring any accidents, the airship that docked at Dawn City's aerodrome last night should have brought the tragic tidings from Port French Fries.
If the Survivor Daily's reporters were fast enough, the massacre at Port French Fries should already have claimed the front-page headline.
In truth, more than the Survivor Daily's headline, he was eager to see the terrified looks on the faces of Dawn City's survivors once they heard the grief-stricken news.
A settlement of over a thousand souls reduced to ashes overnight—all because the Empire had been slightly displeased.
For these arrogant, puny insolents, there could be no more fitting lesson.
At the thought, Duke Garawa felt a thrilling rush of satisfaction, as if a great vengeance had been realized.
Though the retribution was not overt.
After all, to protect the Empire's diplomatic standing, he could never admit the Empire was behind it. But those in the know would understand what had occurred.
Opening the paper, he looked at the headline, only to freeze.
["New 'Crab' Underwater Engineering Armor Successfully Launched at Port French Fries; Subsea Freshwater Pipeline Advances into Deep-Water Zone!"]
What the hell was this?!
Steeling himself, Duke Garawa glared in displeasure at Niyang, who was bowing at his side.
"Did you accidentally buy yesterday's paper?"
He felt like he had seen something similar before.
Besides, who cared about this garbage!
He wanted explosions!
Niyang blinked, then replied, caught between tears and laughter:
"My Lord, please check the date carefully. This is today's latest edition. How would I ever dare trick you...?"
And didn't you read yesterday's paper yourself?
Of course, that unspoken latter thought was something Niyang only dared grumble in his heart; he wouldn't dare let the Duke hear it.
Realizing he had asked a stupid question, Duke Garawa cleared his throat and turned to page two as if nothing had happened.
Yet whether he flipped to page three, page four, or the very last page, he found none of what he was looking for.
Impossible...
Duke Garawa grew frantic, flipping through the newspaper once more from beginning to end. Still coming up empty, he turned to Niyang and barked:
"Go buy some other newspapers... By the way, what was the paper that first broke the scandal about Shelter 70's Administrator?"
Niyang replied immediately:
"The Goblin Observer!"
"Right! That's the one!" Duke Garawa said hastily. "Make sure to get a copy of that one too!"
Watching Niyang leave the inn's lobby, Duke Garawa felt that something was off no matter how he looked at it. Suddenly, realization struck, and he slapped his thigh hard.
"Damn you, Chu Guang, ruthless as ever!"
Behind the counter, the innkeeper shot him an irritated glance, but said nothing and simply lowered his head to continue his work.
Standing behind Duke Garawa, Guard Captain Bablu paused, asking hesitatingly:
"My Lord?"
"It's nothing."
Duke Garawa narrowed his eyes slightly. His face was impassive, but his mind was as clear as a mirror.
Port French Fries had undoubtedly been wiped out, and the Alliance must have received the news. They were deliberately suppressing it and keeping silent only to wait for him to lose his nerve and expose himself first.
If he showed any sign of prior knowledge, it would be an outright confession that he was linked to the tragedy at Port French Fries.
"Brilliant... truly brilliant," Duke Garawa murmured, stroking his beard in admiration. "I underestimated these fools."
Who knew the Alliance's upper crust had a bit of cunning after all? A pity they had run into an old fox like him; they were still a tad too green.
Watching the Duke mutter to himself, Bablu was thoroughly confused, but seeing that enigmatic, knowing smile, he assumed his master had pulled off a brilliant move.
Big shots always sparred in circles. Lacking a mind as sharp as Niyang's, all he could do was stand by in silent awe.
Before Niyang returned with the newspapers, and just as Bablu was agonizing over whether to flatter the Duke, a servant entering from outside saved him the trouble.
"My Lord, Mr. Cheng Yan has sent you an invitation. He hopes you can spare an hour to meet with him at the Alliance building before tonight. He wishes to exchange views with you regarding recent events at Port French Fries."
Upon hearing this, Duke Garawa narrowed his eyes, a flicker of irrepressible excitement and delight flashing through the slits.
"Tell him I have no time today. If he is desperate to see me, let him come to my inn. I shall wait for him here."
The servant looked hesitant at that, but gritted his teeth and pressed on:
"...Mr. Cheng Yan specifically mentioned that if you cannot find time before this evening, he will deem you unfit to serve as a diplomat, revoke your diplomatic immunity and credentials, and order you to depart within a set deadline."
To convey the message accurately without enraging the Duke, he had softened the wording as much as humanly possible. In reality, the Alliance Minister of Foreign Affairs had been vastly more blunt—the wording had not been an invitation, but a summons.
Even so, the words grated heavily against the Duke's ears.
"Insolence!" Bablu's eyes widened into glaring saucers, frightening the messenger into a trembling, terrified silence.
Duke Garawa's eyes narrowed dangerously, a cold glint gleaming between his eyelids.
"Fascinating. Threatening me?"
Bablu leaned in close and whispered:
"My Lord, this might be a trap."
Hearing this, Duke Garawa gave a faint smile and replied at his leisure:
"That's not out of the question. But no matter what, I am the Xilan Empire's representative at the Slime Mold Community conference. If the Alliance wishes for the conference to continue, they cannot take direct action against me. In any case, their loss of composure only proves that they're panicking."
"Since that's how it is, I'll go see what they have to say."
He wanted to see how the Alliance could force an admission out of him if he refused to confess.
He did not stand here alone.
Behind him stood a vast and mighty empire.
Turning to the bowing servant, Duke Garawa declared with regal gravitas:
"Prepare the carriage!"
The servant nodded hurriedly.
"Yes, My Lord!"
...
Alliance building, Minister of Foreign Affairs' office.
Staring at the documents projected on the holographic screen, Cheng Yan tapped his index finger rhythmically against the desk, a mild headache written across his face.
The chain of evidence was complete.
Out of resentment toward Port French Fries for sheltering Moon Clan refugees, the Xilan Empire had launched a covert military strike against the port. Because the unit executing the attack was a thousand-man unit from the Xilan Empire's elite Gray Wolf Army—a force that reliable intelligence indicated answered only to the Emperor himself—it could be indirectly inferred that the operation had been authorized or at least condoned by the Emperor.
He didn't know what was going through that Emperor's head, but treating such grave matters like child's play made him feel this "survivor faction" was being utterly reckless.
Of course, the Burning Corps stationed at Port French Fries were no saints either—they had landed right at the enemy's port and marched ashore to round up captives.
And even more absurdly, they had actually pulled it off.
In all honesty, it was somewhat over the top. In Cheng Yan's view, blockading their port and giving them a stern warning should have been plenty.
However, things had reached this point, so he had no choice but to roll with it and, standing firmly on the Alliance's side, do everything in his power to pin the blame squarely on the other party.
Just then, footsteps sounded from the corridor outside.
Catching the meaningful look from his secretary, Cheng Yan understood immediately, clearing his throat and adopting a stern countenance.
At that exact moment, Duke Garawa stepped across the threshold, sauntering in with an airy, carefree smile.
"Long time no see, Mr. Cheng. What matter has you so eager to see me? By the way, that desk of yours looks splendid. I think I'll get myself one when I get a chance—"
"Duke Garawa, find another line of work."
Garawa froze.
Not only did his feet halt in their tracks, but the breezy smile froze on his face.
Assuming he had misheard, he subconsciously repeated the phrase:
"Another line of work...?"
"That's right!"
Suppressing the twitch in his brow and his rising ire, Cheng Yan stared him down without an ounce of politeness and continued:
"How about babysitting? I don't know if you're any good at it, but it's bound to suit you better than your current occupation. Or better yet, go back home and be a country squire, and send someone over who can actually solve problems instead of generating crises and making a laughingstock of themselves. It would be better for everyone—for your empire, and for the rest of the wasteland."
To be frank, before the Duke walked through the door, Cheng Yan had been racking his brains on how to communicate with him like a normal human being.
Yet he had realized this fellow wasn't a normal human being at all.
Alliance soldiers had already landed at Golden Gallon Port, yet this guy still had the nerve to smile. Did he get all his intelligence while lying in bed reading the morning paper?!
Duke Garawa's face flushed the color of pig liver. A murderous glare locked onto Cheng Yan, his lips trembling with rage.
"What do you mean by that? You..."
How dare this man insult him repeatedly!
How dared he!
Fury choked his throat. Overcome with agitation, Duke Garawa found himself unable to devise a polished, dignified retort.
Without looking at that contorted visage, Cheng Yan tapped his index finger against the holographic screen and read out impassively:
"Three days ago, at midnight, an unidentified armed force landed along the coast five kilometers north of Port French Fries and attacked our garrison without a declaration of war."
Hearing this, Duke Garawa suddenly felt a surge of joy, his fury vanishing into thin air. Like a triumphant victor, he squinted his beady eyes.
That was close.
He had nearly forgotten: this was the Alliance probing him.
"So what? What does that have to do with us?"
"What does it have to do with you?" Cheng Yan chuckled coldly. "A thousand-man unit belonging directly to the Gray Wolf Army appeared near Port French Fries. Is this the Empire's stance?"
"A shameless frame-up," Duke Garawa replied without hesitation. "The Gray Wolf Army is our empire's elite, answering directly to His Majesty. No one commands them except His Majesty himself."
Cheng Yan furrowed his brow.
"So this was the will of your Emperor?"
Duke Garawa lifted his chin slightly.
"I never said that. I am merely informing you that your port being destro—ahem, whatever happened to your port has nothing whatsoever to do with us. If some tragic calamity truly befell it, we offer our deepest sympathies."
Seeing this man who wouldn't shed a tear until he saw the coffin, Cheng Yan wasted no more words and tossed a still-warm newspaper right in front of him.
Duke Garawa reflexively reached out and caught it. He cast a casual glance at the page, but the moment his eyes met the first line of the headline, he froze dead in his tracks.
"Chiliarch Dirang of the Xilan Empire's Gray Wolf Army in Tears: I Barely Touched You Bastards, and You Chased Me Two Thousand Kilometers?!"
Dirang...
Wait!
Why would they know that man's name?!
Could it be...?
For an instant, Duke Garawa felt a violent palpitation in his chest, as if his heart had stopped beating altogether, while the world before his eyes spun and flipped upside down.
While Cheng Yan and the secretary in his office scrambled to call an ambulance, a dense crowd had gathered around a newsstand on the outskirts of Dawn City.
Looking at the sensational headline in the Goblin Observer, the people surrounding the newsstand all wore faces of sheer disbelief.
"This is way too fake!"
"Two thousand kilometers?! Even an airship would take two full days to drift that far!"
"Bolo Province... don't they just raise two-headed oxen there?"
"Why the hell would they mess with us?"
"The logic doesn't hold up."
"What is the Industry Committee doing! Where are the promised journalistic credential audits? Where's the fact-checking? They let crap like this hit the shelves?!"
"Bro, look closely—it's not listed as news! It's tagged under Entertainment, so it's totally kosher!"
"A bit interesting. Give me a copy, let me see."
The crowd chattered noisily. Treating it purely as entertainment, people shelled out coins for a copy, reading as they walked on their way to work.
Finally squeezing to the front of the queue, the young Ratfolk fellow, Niyang, fished out a silver coin to buy a paper and glanced over it first.
When his eyes hit the headline's very first line, far from displaying the slightest hint of sorrow, his sharp, cynical face broke into a laugh so hard that snot sprayed from his nose.
"Hahahaha! Serves those doomed bastards right!"
At long last, the fight was on!
The Duke was an idiot, and the Emperor who entrusted such an idiot with heavy responsibilities was both utterly incompetent and hopelessly reckless. Exactly as he had predicted, they had poked a colossal hornet's nest in the most baffling of places.
As long as it was done stealthily, no one would notice?
What a joke!
Even more hilarious, the Alliance had so many exoskeletons they could practically issue one to every bricklayer, and their military might had crushed the slime mold that even the Post-War Reconstruction Committee couldn't settle. Yet these clowns still daydreamed about using scrap metal discarded by the Legion to teach these monsters a "profound" lesson.
The only pity was that this report had been published as a farce in the Goblin Observer, rather than as the headline of the Survivor Daily.
Otherwise, the show would have been even more spectacular.
Reading the witty Goblin news piece to the very end, Niyang inwardly clicked his tongue in regret.
Barring any surprises, his dear Duke would probably try to plead the Empire's innocence during the Slime Mold Community conference while discussing the slime mold problem, utterly destroying the Empire's prestige with yet another farcical performance until even the Legion grew disgusted with an ally so inept at getting things done and so adept at ruining them.
He truly hoped his dear Duke wouldn't do that; when he got back, he would definitely have to advise his Lord carefully.
Niyang mentally reviewed every sorrowful moment of his entire life, just to wipe the untimely smirk off his face.
Only then did he notice the snot sticking to the newspaper. Somewhat embarrassed, he pulled out more coins to buy a fresh copy from the stand and shoved the soiled one into a trash bin.
Bad news was terrible enough as it was.
Hopefully, a clean, crisp newspaper might bring His Lordship a good mood for the rest of the day...
Chapter 699