Not Bad, My Boy Has Made Something of Himself

Tiandu. The imperial palace of the Xilan Empire. Having stayed here for quite a few days without catching so much as the shadow of a soldier, MacLaren was growing somewhat bored. Thus, he dragged his adjutant along for a stroll around the premises. This adjutant was named Aaron, an official from the civil bureaucracy who had previously served in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, holding the military rank of Chiliarch. Roughly three years ago, he had been dispatched to Brahma Province to manage the local interests of Triumph City’s civil bureaucracy clique. His grasp of local affairs was practically indistinguishable from that of a native. Passing by a side hall of the palace, MacLaren noticed a group of young men and women in lavish attire gathered around a sand table. The sand table was roughly ten-odd square meters in size. Upon it sat carved wooden game pieces, all resembling bared-fanged tigers, leopards, jackals, wolves, birds of prey, and wild beasts. Two servants with long poles gently pushed them along. Intrigued by the sight, MacLaren asked, "What’s this?" "A wargame." "...Where are the soldiers?" "The hundred beasts on the board are the soldiers. Snakes eat rats, eagles eat snakes, lions beat tigers, and both fear elephants. The herd of cattle under the scorching sun is omnipotent, while the rats in the dead of night cannot be seen..." Seeing the bizarre look on MacLaren’s face, Aaron chuckled softly and shed some light on the matter. "Don't look down on this contraption. It actually embodies the political philosophy and spiritual world of the survivors here." Pausing, he continued, "Besides, a standard board requires twelve square meters. Factoring in the pieces, the total weight comes to six tons. Anyone who isn't from an exceptionally wealthy family generally can't afford to play it. As for the board used for examinations, set below the steps of the palace side hall, that’s even more astounding—it spans a full 3,300 square meters, featuring a thousand life-sized pieces. In all the years I've spent here, I still haven't figured out how that thing is played." "Examinations?" "Chiefly for selecting military talent." MacLaren’s brow twitched. Unable to suppress his amusement, he asked, "They use that thing to pick generals?" "Partly, yes. At the very least, a six-ton board filters out a sizeable chunk of the paupers." "And what about the rest?" "That comes down to our achievements," Aaron continued with animated delight. "Through the sea outlet at Silver Moon Bay, we salvaged some equipment abandoned by the Expeditionary Force in Sunset Province. For under thirty million dinars, we helped them forge a professional army. That very army is now the trump card of all Brahma Province." At the words *Expeditionary Force*, the corner of MacLaren’s mouth twitched violently. While they were conversing, the cluster of young nobles gathered around the board took notice of the pair walking past and ceased their discussion. One young man, who appeared to hold considerable status, stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Good afternoon, Mr. MacLaren." MacLaren gave the slick-haired, powdered dandy a once-over. "And you are?" Seeing that this Wilante was speaking to him, delight instantly beamed across the man's face. "I am Manish, the second son of the Saisang Clan. I have long heard of the general’s illustrious renown, and I wondered if I might exchange insights on the art of war with you." Aaron murmured in MacLaren’s ear, "He took first place in the last grand examination, a personal disciple of Prince Dilip. If you’re interested in their wargame, having him explain the rules wouldn't be a bad idea." MacLaren looked the lad up and down, then suddenly flashed a grin without uttering a single word. Hands clasped behind his back, he turned and walked away. Seeing this, Aaron hurried after him. Yet the nobles did not feel slighted by the Wilante's rudeness. Instead, a wave of jubilation swept through them, especially the young man who had stepped forward to seek guidance. "He smiled at me just now!" Manish turned toward his peers, boasting proudly. The young men and women in front of the sand table showered him with flattering praises. "General MacLaren must have seen the makings of a five-star Myriadman in you!" "Lord Manish, you will surely become a general even more outstanding than your mentor!" gushed a young maiden in an emerald-green gown, her brown curls braided as she held her hands to her chest, eyes sparkling with admiration. Basking in his companions' adulation, Manish raised a hand with a smile and feigned modesty. "You flatter me too much." "I am still far from Prince Dilip's level..." *** In the corridor beside the side hall. Aaron, trailing behind MacLaren, spoke with a helpless sigh. "Couldn't you be a little more courteous toward them? They are our nominal friends, after all. Besides, if you wish to see your army as soon as possible, building good rapport with these lords and nobles is actually a fine idea. That Wutu fellow has been consciously fostering military literacy among the royal scions." MacLaren replied with utter indifference, "I’m merely communicating with them in the manner they prefer. Haven't you noticed they respect me even more when I act like this?" At first, he had reflected on whether his attitude was somewhat excessive. Particularly when he recalled River Valley Province, where survivors had marched selflessly to their deaths for their leader—that had genuinely shaken his soul. Respecting others was the only way to earn respect in return. Perhaps the Wilante had indeed grown far too arrogant toward other races. However— Practicing that here was entirely meaningless. Every single person in this place was obsessively scheming how to milk their authority dry while taking out their trampled dignity on those beneath them. He had watched with his own eyes as a duke blatantly escorted a count’s wife away at an evening banquet, while the count, smiling as he saw the pair off into their ridiculous litter, turned right around to link arms with a baron’s wife. The imperial court of Tiandu was like an interconnected centipede. Some people were clearly clad in clean, neat garments, yet they were filthier than those who had no clothes at all. Though he was hardly a virtuous man himself, the thought of joining that centipede killed any interest he might have had. Never before had his desires been so thoroughly quelled. Just then, the communicator strapped to Aaron’s wrist flashed. He swiftly drew out his earpiece, plugged it in, and his expression underwent a sudden change. MacLaren was about to ask what had happened when he saw that familiar, thick beard hurrying toward them, flanked by a throng of servants. Utterly unlike their first meeting, the imperial face with its sharp contours was fraught with sheer panic. The man's stumbling gait was like someone teetering on a single-plank bridge, and his sunken eye sockets held nothing but bewildered helpless terror. MacLaren had not misjudged him; beneath that outward cruelty and cunning lay hollow frailty. Before Aaron could offer a greeting, the Emperor of the Xilan Empire blurted out first, "General, save me!" Looking at Wutu clutching his arm in a death grip, MacLaren took a startled half-step back. "What... has happened to you?" Wutu let go of his hand and hastily composed himself, yet the fright in his eyes remained impossible to conceal. After shifting his gaze erratically, he muttered, "...Let us speak elsewhere." *** Relocating from the side hall to the council chamber in the rear courtyard, Wutu finally laid out the entire sequence of events from start to finish. In truth, his opening account had been heavily whitewashed. He downplayed the initial catalyst of the incident, exaggerated the barbarity and insolence of the Alliance upon landing at Golden Gallon Port, and painted their response to the ceasefire agreement as preposterous tantrums... However, Aaron possessed his own intelligence network locally. Moreover, quite a few personnel in the Gray Wolf Army had been trained by his people, so he naturally understood the full reality of what had transpired. Of course, the origins of the matter had never been the crucial point; the true crux was how to resolve the problem. Looking upon the terrified emperor, Aaron coughed softly and attempted to console him. "Please do not panic, Your Majesty. I have grasped the general gist of the situation... The Alliance’s reaction was indeed somewhat out of line." "Out of line?!" Wutu’s eyes widened, and he slammed a furious fist onto the carved wooden armrest of his chair. "Golden Gallon Port is our most vital sea outlet on the eastern coast! A million imperial subjects reside there! And you call this merely 'out of line'?!" MacLaren toyed with the teacup on the table, not even bothering to glance at him. Since this fellow could still sit here bellowing, it meant the Alliance had no intention of expanding the scope of the war. Naturally, MacLaren was no longer as anxious as he had been when he first arrived. Had the fellow grabbed him to flee for their lives, MacLaren wasn't sure whether he would have panicked a little himself. Seated beside him, Aaron soothingly offered, "Do not agitate yourself, Your Majesty... Take a sip of tea first and calm down." Aaron knew full well that this fellow was not fretting over those one million-odd cattle who could survive on dirt alone, but over the gold stockpiled in the port. Five hundred million dinars was indeed no modest sum. Yet the likelihood that this money remained in the port was slim to none. Getting furious over what was already lost was pointless; it would be far better to put that already-spent sum toward something productive. For instance, paying reparations. At least in Aaron's view, given the empire’s current strength, staging a comeback was an absolute impossibility. The more one struggled, the tighter the grip around one's throat would clamp. Wutu knocked back a mouthful of tea and slammed the cup heavily onto the table, as if venting his final shred of fury. Seeing the rise and fall of the emperor's chest slow somewhat, Aaron unhurriedly laid out his prepared response. "First and foremost, please accept this ceasefire agreement." The council chamber fell dead silent. Not a sound stirred among the three men. MacLaren raised an eyebrow at Aaron, then withdrew his gaze, silently toying with the teaspoon beside his cup. Wutu stared blankly at Aaron, glanced hurriedly at MacLaren—who wasn't looking at him in the slightest—and then turned his gaze back to Aaron. "...Where is your army?" Aaron sipped his tea to moisten his throat and said softly, "Each of our legions has its own operational timetable. They despise unexpected assignments. Besides, inviting them in is easy, but sending them away is hard." Wutu glared at him with widened eyes. "Are we not the closest of friends?!" Aaron looked back with genuine astonishment, as if baffled that such a question could even be asked. "Honored Majesty, of course we are. That is precisely why we are providing you with a solution, rather than letting things spiral toward the worst-case scenario... The Marshal has no desire to let this regional conflict escalate into total war. Nor would you wish to see them deploy their aircraft, tanks, and heavy artillery en masse onto the shore. If I may speak candidly, they are far more restrained now than they were back in Sunset Province." "B-but Golden Gallon Port..." Wutu was practically on the verge of tears, his hands gripping the armrests tightly like a child who had been robbed of a toy. "If we pull our troops back a hundred kilometers, what if they push their luck and advance further?!" General MacLaren, who had remained silent all this while, suddenly chimed in, "You needn't worry about that. They will pull their troops back, at least to the vicinity of the port. However, based on my understanding of them, they'll likely play a few underhanded tricks, just like they did in the Falcon Kingdom." Aaron looked at MacLaren inquisitively, feigning ignorance of what had occurred there. "Such as?" MacLaren replied offhandedly, "Back then, they set up a Citizens' Autonomous Committee to counterbalance the power of the nobility. It's tedious to explain; you can ask Myriadman Cohen. He replaced General Klaas and is currently serving as the regional governor of Sunset Province." Aaron shifted his gaze back to the despair-ridden Wutu, having seemingly intended all along to convey those points through MacLaren’s lips. "You heard him. Expecting the Alliance to pack up and leave obediently is unrealistic. The feces they drop can never be washed clean no matter how many times you flush. My recommendation is... establish a buffer zone at Golden Gallon Port. Preserve their formal sovereignty, yet exclude them from the empire proper. That way, at least the filth they leave behind won't erode Your Majesty's authority." Pausing, Aaron observed the ashen-faced emperor before continuing, "Naturally, we understand the importance of Golden Gallon Port to you. The imperial treasury relies on the gold yielded by that port. Yet gold is not the only thing of value. If you wouldn't mind, we could help you construct a similar port along the western coast of Brahma Province, much closer to Triumph City. We could even assist you in developing some of the heavy industry the empire currently lacks... Of course, to ensure the smooth execution of this plan, we would require a degree of autonomous decision-making power in the region." Wutu stared at him, dazed. "...What is the point of that? What I need is an army, not craftsmen!" "I know you need an army, and that is precisely what we are offering you," Aaron said with a genial smile. "Do you know why the Alliance could chase you all over the place with just a few hundred men? Because they have things you don't... Their factories can churn out rifles and cannons in bulk. The moment you possess factories of your own, you will be in no way inferior to them." Truth be told, Triumph City had plenty of slaves already. Especially of late, those Wilante who had returned from their defeat in the east had begun pondering ways to make life more comfortable. After all, no matter how fast a slave fanned, it could never match an electric fan or air conditioning, and physical comfort was a remarkably easy craving to indulge. Although the Legion possessed factories producing consumer goods alongside their munitions plants, their share of total industrial output was tiny, keeping costs persistently high. They catered mainly to officers and could hardly benefit the broader populace the way Ideal City did. Having Brahma Province help absorb part of the low-to-mid-tier manufacturing might just be a brilliant move. Here, both resources and labor were abundant. If it could shave even one percent off the price of consumer goods in Triumph City, the interest group behind Aaron would rake in fortunes hand over fist. In the process, they could lightly arm this dim-witted lackey—a win-win for everyone involved. Wutu sank into deep contemplation. After a long while, he loosened his white-knuckled grip on the armrests and nodded hesitantly. "I will consider it..." Aaron knew the man was already swayed; an affair of this scale simply required time to deliberate with his ministers and kinsmen. Yet what constructive advice could those yes-men possibly offer? At best, they would help him polish the rhetoric of his edict, rephrasing a thoroughly humiliating ordeal so it sounded less embarrassing. Thus, Aaron was in no hurry and said patiently, "We shall await your good tidings... Though frankly speaking, other matters can wait, but the ceasefire agreement ought to be settled promptly. You are already at a disadvantage that cannot be reversed in the short term, and every passing day works in their favor." Wutu nodded faintly, rose, and departed the council chamber. His retreating silhouette was the very picture of dejection. The room fell silent once more. Watching MacLaren sitting dumbfounded to the side, the solemn look on Aaron’s face melted into a smile, and he leaned back comfortably in his chair. "We did nothing, yet we have gained no less than our adversaries." Seeing that his nominal superior was speechless, he continued smugly, "You see? What did I tell you? If you want to maintain a good relationship with them, you must never be in a greater hurry than they are." MacLaren gave a light cough of reminder. "Yet Biste Town was at least outside the Falcon Kingdom. We didn't yield an inch of our own territory." Aaron shrugged and chuckled. "Who cares? They aren't our vassals, merely our friends." *** Bad news consistently travels faster than good. Within days, the news of the Gray Wolf Army's front-line defeat reached Tiandu, throwing the entire capital into a state of panic. Some claimed the entire Gray Wolf Army had been captured, while others claimed only a single ten-thousand-man division had fallen, leaving the remaining four divisions still fit for battle. Regardless, those grey hounds had utterly disgraced the royal family, wielding the costliest equipment to wage the most brainless fight. General Alaiyang plummeted from an idolized god of war into a clown drowning in popular spit. Furious young men and women of the Wolf Clan hurled his promotional portraits out of their homes, only for Rat Clan and Snake Clan paupers to scavenge them as fabric for patching clothes. The rumors grew increasingly outlandish. Someone spread word that the Alliance planned to push upriver all the way to Tiandu, terrifying countless souls and jamming the settlement gates with fleeing horse-drawn carriages and ox carts. Fortunately, His Majesty’s imperial edict was issued in the nick of time, summoning back the rabble scrambling outside the city and clearing up the rampant falsehoods: [...Owing to inclement climatic conditions hampering the bandit-suppression campaign, the Gray Wolf Army is permitted to tactically advance one hundred kilometers to the west and reconstruct defensive lines in the mountain forests east of the City of a Thousand Pillars, where they must dig deep trenches and broadly fortify shelters to hold their ground. Furthermore, the Fierce Tiger Army and the Black Panther Army shall mobilize a host of one hundred thousand troops each, advancing to the front lines from the north and south respectively, coordinating with the Gray Wolf Army to execute a three-pronged envelopment of the enemy. At present, the bandit plague at Golden Gallon Port runs rampant; imperial subjects shall not travel thither unless absolutely necessary.] The edict seemed to address everything, yet simultaneously said nothing at all. Nevertheless, it made two points abundantly clear: the "enemies of the empire" would not advance further west, and three hundred thousand imperial troops stood poised along the front lines, ready to deliver a crushing blow at a moment’s notice. The upper-class citizens and nobles had a rough idea of what had happened—His Majesty’s clever-clever decisions had provoked retaliation from the Alliance. As for the middle and lower classes along with the broad mass of paupers, they referred to the sea-borne invaders as the "Iron Men." Their sentiments were a mixed bag: some were curious, some indifferent, but most resorted to bitter curses. Previously, only His Majesty and his ennobled lords had ridden atop their necks. Now, an additional "iron block" weighed down upon His Majesty's shoulders. The hierarchy of subservience had shifted another rung downward; those already humbled into the dust could only despise themselves that much more. Yet at Golden Gallon Port, the atmosphere was entirely different. The reception and bootlicking the nobles and citizens showered upon the "Iron Men" had reached a degree that made even the "Iron Men" feel sheepish. The impoverished folk, by contrast, remained somewhat more reserved. Setting aside those who had earned wages digging trenches, demolishing houses, or serving as guides—who privately rejoiced and cheered along the roads—the rest felt either intimidated flattery or downright apathy. Those eating dirt continued to eat dirt, unchanged. Meanwhile, those who could manage a few meals of beans lamented the soaring cost of fodder; the price of a jin of black beans had finally, after days of hesitation, broken past ten. Life was only growing harder... *** The official website of *Wasteland Online*. Today, the forum was bustling as usual. Ever since the mutant slime mold broodmother in Qingquan City was dealt with, the Slime Mold Community Conference presided over by the Administrator had achieved steady progress. With the establishment of save points in Ice Sea City in the far north and Yunxia City in the far east, many players had tasted the perks of trailblazing new frontiers, bringing back distant tales and intelligence to the official forum. Yet compared to the piecemeal travelogues, the explosive news generated by the Burning Corps in Brahma Province was far more thrilling. Five hundred men taking down a settlement of over a million people. The population of this single settlement was practically greater than that of the entire Alliance combined! As usual, Brother Fang Chang was on hand today to deliver a fresh dose of entertainment to his comrades back in River Valley Province who were busy laying bricks, pouring concrete, running dungeons, and grinding ruins. Fang Chang: "Telegram from the imperial capital! They've agreed to pull back a hundred kilometers, but they also mentioned reinforcing the front lines with more soldiers unless we pull out of Brahma Province entirely. Furthermore, they demand that we do not leave Golden Gallon Port—we must either return to the sea or stay inside the settlement. That's their bottom line, otherwise the temporary ceasefire is off. As for the formal ceasefire agreement, it will be negotiated and signed in Dawn City by Duke Garava." Jieyan: "Holy crap?!" Tail: "Eeeh?!" Ye Shi: "Damn, these guys are that brave? (Funny)" Elven King Fugui: "Who can tolerate this?!" Elaina: "If it were me, I definitely wouldn't stand for it! Build an airfield and bomb the crap out of them! (Funny)" Within moments, dozens of replies stacked up, and the entire forum was brimming with merriment. A few players spammed praises, but most were stoking the flames, egging them on to march all the way west to Tiandu and capture the old emperor alive. Others felt watching the drama from afar wasn't satisfying enough and wanted to join the action on the front lines. Carrying Umbrella Not Knife at Midnight: "Homies, need mercenaries? This Junky-kun I'm raising eats way too much. (Crying)" In Debt God: "Look at me, big bro! I didn't raise that brain-dead critter. I mainly want to help the suffering local survivors. (Funny)" Scavenging Lv99: "???" Wo Xiang Jingjing: "Have a heart, guys. (Sweat)" Fang Chang: "Stay calm. We're civilized folks; rules are rules. We know how to fight and where to stop." Commander Spring: "Actually, I feel like even if you ignore that last rule, it won't matter. They can't see it anyway, and even if they do, they'll pretend not to. (Squinting grin)" It was more of a face-saving bluster for the empire. Just like their earlier "Notice." Lao Bai: "We think so too, but we aren't planning to stir up trouble for now. Golden Gallon Port was trashed pretty badly—everything from the Governor’s Manor to Kelaba Market in the northern district is in ruins. We intend to rebuild parts of the city, acquire some industries, and prop up a local faction to take over municipal administration and the police force... Brother Fang Chang is handling that right now, so I don't know all the details. Any lifestyle-class players interested can ask him. (Grin)" Fang Chang: "Yeah, the terrain around Port French Fries isn't suited for industrial development; maintenance costs on industrial facilities are too high. Conversely, farming gets a growth-acceleration buff, especially for tropical and subtropical crops. Feedback from local residents shows promising yields. Therefore, we've adjusted our initial plan: we'll place secondary industry in Golden Gallon Port and focus primarily on primary industry along the Baiyue Strait." Spare the Blade: "Holy crap! My builder DNA is tingling! (Funny)" Ward's Beriberi Who Levin: "Need us to set up a Laiyang branch plant?!" Lao Bai: "More than welcome! There's plenty of mineral resources here, though electricity might be on the pricey side. (Grin)" Brahma Province was rich in mineral resources. Vast quantities of scrap left behind by the de-urbanization movement over two centuries ago had either rusted and weathered away or lay buried beneath the soil and mountains. Resources never vanished into thin air; they simply took on a different form. For instance, "scrap mines" akin to those in the Red River Alliance dotted Brahma Province everywhere. In addition, the region possessed abundant human labor. Although the literacy rate was low, labor-intensive industries did not require high educational thresholds. Fang Chang: "...No rush on heavy industry. We plan to start with textiles first. I reviewed the port's import and export ledgers, and textiles are one of the primary export goods here. We have no shortage of raw materials or laborers, and production equipment can be purchased in Boulder City and Daybreak City and shipped over via Silver Moon Bay without much hassle." Tengteng: "Speaking of which, power must be scarce over there. You'll probably have to use treadle sewing machines... Do we even have those here? (Puzzled)" Ye Shi: "Of course we do! Why bother electrifying a POW camp? Dawn City only swapped kerosene lamps for electric lights a couple months ago. (Funny)" Sisi: "Ahem, while I'm no expert, I feel like you'd better address the locals' food situation first. Most of the fertile soil at Golden Gallon Port is planted with cash crops like cotton, sugarcane, and spices. The locals' staple grains rely heavily on river ports along the Everflowing River, imported from the western plains... If this continues, they might literally have to eat dirt for every meal." Tail: "Whoa! Tail thinks so too! That dirt tasted awful; it nearly sent me packing last time, giao! (`－д－；)ゞ" Jieyan: "Holy crap, you actually ate it?!" WC Really Has Mosquitoes: "Elaina: I concede defeat. (Funny)" Elaina: "I'm furious, but arguing right now feels like an admission of defeat. (Funny-Angry-Limited-Edition.jpg)" Elven King Fugui: "Hahahahaha." Fang Chang: "We'll keep an eye on that. Over the past couple of days, we've noticed a general rise in bean prices. For now, we're considering importing some grain from Silver Moon Bay to address the short-term crunch. In the mid-to-long term, converting some cash crops on the plantations to corn or paddy fields should be feasible." Mole: "By the way, what about the ten thousand-plus prisoners? How do you plan to handle them?" Fang Chang: "I was just about to mention that. The empire wants us to return them as soon as possible, for the sake of the ten thousand families behind them. But we plan to delay their release until the ceasefire is formally signed. In the meantime, we might put them to work on projects like the Kelaba Market redevelopment. We can't feed so many mouths for nothing." Commander Spring: "Reform through labor is a solid idea. Who knows, maybe they'll take some good habits back home with them. (Funny)" Fang Chang: "Hopefully. But to be frank, I don't hold much hope for the locals' self-discipline. The few individuals worth grooming are all warlord material. Mentally, taking a step forward puts them at the level of early Boulder City; a step back, and they're pure marauders. Not to mention assimilating them—stay there long enough, and you might lose your moral bottom line just like In Debt God." In Debt God: "What the hell? Catching strays while lying down?" Tail: "Got it! Off to tell Dolly right now, then swoop in and carry cute Miss Dolly away!" Sisi: "???" Fang Chang: "Heh, feel free to try if you can pull it off. I have plenty of confidence in myself... By the way, Tail, what about the folks you let go from the port district earlier? Is there any way to contact them?" Tail: "Oh, Sisi left them a radio! As long as they haven't broken it, it should work fine! Do you need them for something?" Fang Chang: "Yeah, we'd like to arrange a chat with them." While the players engaged in their lively chatter, Chu Guang, sitting on floor B4 of Vault 404 sipping cola as he lurked on the forum, wore a look brimming with pride and sentimentality. Long, long ago, back when the corps system had just been introduced, he had envisioned players forming corps to spontaneously spread the sparks of civilization outward. Though their execution was still somewhat clumsy and their motives and starting points didn't completely align with his own, they were certainly looking the part. He knew very well that wanting everything was a recipe for failure; excessive control and greed for every outcome usually resulted in getting nothing at all. He had only one expectation of these players, and thus far, they were doing remarkably well, refining their craft step by step. Filled with warmth, Chu Guang extended his index finger and gently rubbed Xiao Qi's little head. "Not bad, my boy has made something of himself." Xiao Qi: "...???"