"Time sure flies like hell..."
Sunshades were pitched across the sandy beach outside the Yiren Tavern.
Watching the sea breeze brush past beneath the sloping evening sun, Elaina sat on a small stool at the edge of the sand, wiped grease from a roasted lizard thigh, and wore an expression of sheer comfort and contentment.
Not far off, Elven King Fugui was chugging down beer by the liter, having a drinking contest with the boys from the Jungle Corps... though that Agility-type noob had never won a single match.
Behind the bar, Boss Yiren had finally come to terms with his peculiar hobby, donning a maid outfit designed by Tengteng's Cabin alongside a group of lovely Moon Tribe girls.
To everyone's surprise, the heckling crowd had expected it to be an eyesore, yet it turned out he actually looked remarkably good in drag.
In fact, last time a clueless sailor had genuinely mistaken the male proprietor for a hostess and rounded up several thuggish cronies to stage a cliché damsel-in-distress rescue. The resulting farce had kept the tavern's drinking players laughing all the way from the game onto the forums...
Wars two thousand kilometers away and conflicts right at their doorstep felt as if they didn't exist at all. In the tranquil evening breeze, there was only the faint, crisp scent of the sea.
Lao Na tossed the gnawed lizard bone to a stray cat that had somehow drifted here on a boat and loitered outside the entrance, then stretched lazily and rose from his stool.
Before night had even fallen, Elven King Fugui was already swaying from drink. Bracing himself against the table with both hands, he called out to him.
"Heading back this early?"
"It's not early. Time's almost up."
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, Fugui wobbled sideways, only for Elaina to catch him under the arm with practiced ease.
Looking at the howling, laughing Strength-type beasts of burden, Elaina deftly freed his right hand to cup a fist and grinned.
"I'm dragging this guy to the save point. Keep going, guys."
Crawling Model Worker chuckled.
"Thanks for the hard work, Venerable Lao Na."
Dark lines involuntarily crossed Elaina's brow, and he replied with a forced smile, "Son of a bitch, how many times do I have to tell you? Can you guys pick a different nickname?"
Hardly anyone had chimed in before, but that immediately set off a chorus of jeers.
"Sure thing, Venerable Monk!"
"Take care, Lao Na!"
"Send my regards to the Abbess!"
"#%&@$!"
Rolling his eyes at the rascals, Lao Na cursed under his breath, threw Lao Wang over his shoulder, and plodded off toward the save point.
His daily routine had been like this lately.
Accept a quest, head into the woods to clear mobs, turn in the quest, head down to the beach to drink, carry this drunkard back to the save point before dark, and then go shitpost and brag on the forums.
It was as steady as punching a clock for work.
Life had been so comfortable that, if he hadn't stopped to think about it, he wouldn't even have realized nearly two months had passed since the boys of the Burning Corps marched off to Brahma Province.
And while his own daily grind hadn't seen much upheaval over those two months, Port French Fries had transformed beyond recognition.
The shanties that used to cram the eastern edge of the settlement had turned into orderly rows of wooden cottages with small private courtyards.
The wooden racks outside the doors no longer displayed merely dried fish, furs, or hanging clothes; verdant vines climbed across some of them, bearing colorful fruits and vegetables.
The Alliance Institute of Biological Research had expanded its local operations, doing more than just gathering clues on broodmother activity in the region. They were also cultivating high-yield crop seeds tailored to the local environment—such as watermelons, grapes, and tomatoes.
Many Moon Tribe girls gained an additional source of income from this. As long as they picked up a packet of seeds from Chen Yutong, planted them outside their doors, kept regular records of growth, and reported back to the institute, they could draw an extra stipend.
Of course, they also had to keep seagulls and other birds from sneaking a bite.
The diligence of these new immigrants put even the Strength-type beasts to shame; for the first time, players had met people who could grind just as hard as they did.
Though these NPCs lacked the powerhouse physiques of players and the rich experience and education of the Coral City survivors, they possessed a natural talent for juggling three jobs at once.
Several able-bodied young women spent their days processing pelts in the fur factory, worked evenings in taverns pouring drinks and washing dishes, tended experimental crops entrusted to them by the biological institute at home, and picked up odd jobs doing laundry, hauling trash, or harvesting oysters whenever they had spare time.
Alliance law placed strict limits on each worker's hours, but it didn't restrict how many jobs an individual could take on.
Idling about to enjoy life actually seemed to give them a pang of guilt.
As the Coral City survivors put it, these girls looked eager to finish an entire year's labor in the first few months just so they could tackle next year's work in the time left over.
Yet it was precisely this industriousness—combined with the players' subconscious imitation of the Administrator, where desires to nurture far outweighed thoughts of exploitation—that allowed these poor folk to achieve a quality of life their fellow Moon Tribe brethren back in Brahma Province couldn't even dare to imagine, all within a mere two months.
Beyond the residential quarter, other districts had undergone significant overhauls as well.
For example, the sawmills and butcher shops that once clustered haphazardly around the settlement had all been relocated to the beach where the imperial soldiers and aquatic mutants had once landed—the new expanse on the western side of Port French Fries.
Ever since Qingdeng Gujiu and the other lifestyle players moved their workshops over there, the air throughout Port French Fries had grown considerably fresher.
Wood shavings and animal hair no longer drifted through the residential streets, and the greasy, fishy stench along the beach had faded considerably.
According to Port French Fries City Hall's master plan, that new district teeming with small factories and workshops would serve as the settlement's industrial zone.
While Port French Fries was not suited for heavy industry, claiming it lacked any industrial footprint at all would be taking things too far.
Weighing raw material prices, product value-add, transit losses, and maintenance costs, light industrial facilities like salt refineries, sugar mills, breweries, timber processing plants, and food processing factories held sound operational value here.
Processing raw timber into lumber before shipping it to Golden Gallon Port for furniture making was far more economical than shoving whole logs onto cargo vessels and shipping them raw.
The same held true for fruits, game, and fresh catches.
Preserving them as canned goods or other packaged provisions allowed them to be sold not only to Golden Gallon Port, but also to every merchant vessel sailing through the Baiyue Strait.
Once the industrial zone took shape, Port French Fries City Hall mirrored Daybreak City's industrial regulations, laying down detailed standards for production methods and labor rules while organizing the tax framework.
With tax revenues secured and rights and obligations clearly defined, Port French Fries City Hall used anticipated tax receipts as collateral to take out a loan from Dawn City Bank far away, upgrading the infrastructure in the new district.
For instance, two concrete docks stretching into deep water and a roadway connecting the industrial zone to Port French Fries' core were constructed by the Niuma Group using prefabricated steel, concrete slabs, and cement produced over at Golden Gallon Port.
In addition, Niuma Group airships ferried precast components manufactured in Boulder City from Dawn City, allowing them to assemble a small gantry crane on one of the cargo docks and a freight rail link from the dock to the harbor warehouse, drastically improving loading and unloading efficiency.
Credit was due to the technical crew brought by the Dolphin, as well as the Crab-type amphibious engineering power armor they had improved based on Shelter 100's developments.
Equipped with these rigs, the Niuma workers operated like tigers with wings; the pier visibly grew outward day by day.
Going forward, the settlement's cargo transit channels relocated alongside those relocated factories and workshops, moving from the beach at the center of town to the western industrial shore.
To make commuting easier for local residents, Port French Fries City Hall established a dedicated transportation office, launching bus and ferry routes out to the new district.
A distance of five or six kilometers wasn't particularly far. With the military base on the northwestern heights monitoring mutant beasts in the forest and keeping watch over the netted shoreline, and the north side of the coastal road already converted into fenced orchards, farms, and plantations, safety was barely a concern as long as one didn't travel after dark. Thus, a few bolder Moon Tribe girls chose to commute by bicycle.
As for Port French Fries' original wooden pier, it became a paradise for anglers and tourists, just as initially planned.
Beyond the completed facilities, a tidal current power plant on the strait seabed and a solid-state hydrogen energy storage facility ashore were still under construction.
These two projects were not handled by the Niuma Group; instead, the bid had been won by a new energy development firm based in Daybreak City.
This company shared a certain connection with the Archipelago Federation of the Southern Sea.
Its name was Guangwei Energy, founded less than two months ago, and its founder was none other than Huang Guangwei—a survivor from the Southern Sea and a former resident of Shelter 70.
When he first arrived in Dawn City, he had landed in the precinct after knocking the former Shelter 70 overseer unconscious with a single punch, earning the honor of gracing the front page of the Goblin Tribune.
Of course, that was all ancient history now.
Mr. Huang had fully adjusted to life in the Alliance, and like the former overseer who had taken his punch, he chose to contribute to the Alliance's wasteland reconstruction in his own way.
Objectively speaking, Port French Fries could develop so rapidly largely thanks to the help of these survivors from Shelter 70 and Coral City.
Where players had previously relied solely on Strength-type brutes and pre-twenty-first-century know-how, these survivors offered far more constructive solutions.
Lifestyle players working in related fields picked up plenty of unfamiliar knowledge from those methods, whether in engineering techniques or social organization.
Over the past two months of cooperation, both sides had reaped tremendous benefits.
Aside from improvements in industry and infrastructure, the players' living quarters had changed significantly as well.
The most emblematic example was the Coastal Commercial Street near the old pier.
Originally, Yiren Tavern was the only watering hole here. Now, bars, inns, and various eateries lined the street in tight succession.
Some were run by lifestyle players, others by merchants from Dawn City and Silver Moon Bay who saw potential in Port French Fries, and a few even belonged to investors who had sailed over from Ring Island in the Federation.
Whenever dusk fell, the avenue glowed with neon and clamor.
Players returning from quests drank and bragged here, while local Federation fishermen and captains or sailors passing through the waters couldn't resist dropping by, drawn by the tantalizing sight of shapely legs to quench their thirst with chilled beer.
Naturally, some harbored illicit thoughts, fancying something beyond good food and drinks.
Yet the moment they caught sight of the Alliance flag fluttering above Port French Fries City Hall, most wastelanders regained their sense of prudence.
Merchants and sailors from Silver Moon Bay needed no reminder; they had seen the Alliance's ruthlessness firsthand, particularly after an unruly brute had recently been pinned down and beaten senseless.
Wastelanders from farther afield yielded to the sheer threat of force, suppressing their stirrings of malice upon laying eyes on the sea of Awakened.
In the lobby of an inn not far from Yiren Tavern, a drunken sailor with blurred vision sniffled hard as a short skirt brushed past his table, then blearily looked toward his companion sitting across from him.
"Are the girls here all from Brahma Province?"
"Used to be. Heard they're Moon Tribe... came from that landmass across the Baiyue Strait."
His companion was clearly an old pervert as well, the kind cooped up at sea for months.
From the moment he stepped through the door, his eyes hadn't strayed from the waitresses carrying trays.
Tight black pencil skirts clung to their supple figures, and sheer black stockings served as the crowning touch—not only concealing any minor skin blemishes, but making those well-proportioned legs look all the longer.
Fair's fair: those blue groundhogs certainly had immaculate taste. No wonder even the misers of Ideal City and the nerds of the Academy fawned over Dawn City's designs.
Even wastelanders like them, who had zero interest in the Era of Prosperity, occasionally caught themselves reminiscing about that distant age in their dreams.
"Actually from Brahma Province... I thought they came from Silver Moon Bay."
"Makes sense. Whether it's Sunset Province or Brahma Province, they're all descendants of the folk who fled the Great Desert two centuries ago."
"Huh... first time I've heard that," the sailor mumbled, scratching his smooth back of the head.
He had been to Brahma Province, including its most famous port, Golden Gallon Port. Yet the women here felt completely different from those over there, both in complexion and in spirit.
The companion opposite him let out a beer burp and muttered sloppily, "Burp... Honestly, first time I heard it too, but since the shelter folk said so, it's gotta be true. After all, when it comes to what happened two hundred years ago, nobody knows better than them."
Night deepened.
A gang of sailors clutched half-finished bottles and ambled languidly toward the pier, their raucous noise carrying all the way to ship decks hundreds of meters off.
While they could have spent the night on the inn's second floor like their boss, their boss wouldn't cover their lodging.
To save the coin and drink a few extra bottles at the next port of call, they preferred bunking back on the ship, roughing it out against moldy pillows.
Yet just as the crowd drifted toward the pier, a conspicuous group pressed against the flow, walking ashore.
"Whoa! Port French Fries changed so much!"
"Right? Compared to when we docked here last time, it looks completely different..."
A person and a bear were stacked together, craning their necks to peer into the settlement, one small pair of eyes and one large pair gleaming with excitement.
The surrounding sailors barely reacted to the girl-and-bear pairing; even the bear speaking drew no surprise.
After all, these folks' Administrator could tame a Deathclaw sitting at the very apex of the food chain. That his residents could tame a polar bear hardly seemed shocking.
The group reached the shoreline and searched around before finally finding Yiren Tavern tucked among a row of bars.
After greeting the young woman tidying up tables by the entrance, Tail flipped down from Rou Rou's shoulder and scampered over to the bar.
Recognizing the familiar crew, Yiren's face filled with surprise.
"Tail? Rou Rou?"
"Uh... oh! Good evening!" Rou Rou gave a goofy wave of her paw, too embarrassed to admit she had seen the forum post and come specifically to see Boss Yiren in a maid dress.
Tail was far bolder, stepping right up and staring intently for a long moment until Yiren blushed with embarrassment. Only then did she stroke her chin in satisfaction.
"Not bad, not bad... it's reached the level where folks would pay extra."
Sesame Paste, her cat ears bobbing atop her head, chimed in with a sweet smile. "It suits you well!"
"Ah... haha... ha..."
Yiren gave a flustered, sheepish chuckle, twirling a strand of the wig hanging beside his cheek with his index finger.
Though he had indulged in something he never dared attempt in real life under the badgering of those hooligans, he still wasn't used to accepting praise for it.
"Congratulations, congratulations," Sisi said as she stepped in behind the trio, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. "Being true to your passions is a great thing. It's no big deal, so don't mind what others think." She paused, a mischievous grin curling the corners of her mouth as she added, "By the way, do you need—"
Before she could finish, cold sweat broke out across Yiren's forehead. "No, no need."
Just then, the Moon Tribe girls bustling in the kitchen noticed Tail's party. Putting down their chores, they crowded forward.
Though some time had passed since they left their homeland, many still worried for their kin, especially those with family left behind.
Anxious, expectant eyes formed a circle around the group, framed by the maid uniforms the girls hadn't had time to change out of.
"Um... excuse me, how are things in Golden Gallon Port right now?"
"We heard you liberated Rowell Camp too! Is that true?!"
"Is there any news about the people who escaped the port with us?"
"My husband... is he still alive?"
Before Tail could even squeak out an enraptured "Is this heaven?", she was bombarded into a daze by the barrage of questions.
"Gah... too many questions at once, I can't answer them all!"
Seeing her bewildered look, the surrounding crowd finally fell quiet, though the longing and nervous tension in their eyes didn't diminish in the slightest.
Glancing at Sisi, Tail cleared her throat with a small fist against her lips and adopted an authoritative tone.
"Ahem! First off, the slaves in Rowell Camp have been liberated. In fact, not just Rowell Camp—every slave in Golden Gallon Port has been freed!"
At these words, joy broke across almost every face. Two young women who looked like sisters even hugged, weeping tears of delight.
Evidently, their loved ones had been held in that camp.
After all, the captives locked away there were predominantly Moon Tribe folk.
Tail paused, then continued, "...Right now, the imperial army has pulled back behind the ceasefire line. The Burning Corps is helping the local survivors establish a new authority and rebuild a fairer, more harmonious order. The locals are cooperating fully, and the entire settlement is a bustling construction site.
"In short, the place has changed dramatically. Rou Rou and Sesame Paste were floored when they first saw it, and even thought Sisi had misread the map! From what I can tell, its future growth might not fall behind Port French Fries at all. I took a look for you first, and once the situation stabilizes, you can go back and see for yourselves."
Hearing that their homeland was improving by the day, hope shone in everyone's eyes.
Yet at the very last sentence, hesitation crossed many faces.
Perhaps the trauma of their past had carved too deep a scar, or perhaps their status as outsiders made them sensitive about belonging.
Even though they worked tirelessly in hopes of repaying the kindness here, the fairy-tale benevolence and grace still felt like a dying dream to many. Perhaps when they woke up, they would find themselves back on that cramped, damp ship, and the wasteland would still be the same wasteland... perhaps even the ship that brought them away from Brahma Province was just a heaven-sent dream.
They worried that if they went back, they wouldn't be allowed to return here. Worse yet, they feared the very people who had dragged them out of hell might send them packing back into it...
Sensing something in those self-conscious, strained gazes, Tail quietly added, "...Of course, I never said you couldn't come back! This is already your new home. Nobody is going to drive you away."
A Moon Tribe girl suddenly stepped forward and embraced her, closing her eyes as she whispered earnestly into her ear, "Thank you."
"Y-you're welcome... though it feels weird saying it right now. You don't really need to thank me specifically; if you want to thank someone, thank the others. I'm just here tagging along." Tail's cheeks flushed red, and she scratched the back of her head in rare embarrassment.
The girl released her shoulder, took a graceful step back, gently shook her head, and offered a soft smile.
"...Thank you for caring about how we feel."
She paused, turning her gaze out the window toward the moon hanging in the night sky, as if gazing upon her homeland reflected in a silver plate.
"The people there are finally living normal lives too... Knowing they're doing well is enough for me."
Just then, the crisp chime of wind chimes at the door interrupted the homesick mood lingering in the tavern.
A burly man clad in an exoskeleton walked inside, his modified bionics clanging against the doorframe.
Spotting him, Tail greeted him brightly.
"Whoa! Brother Chicken! What a coincidence, haven't you logged off yet?"
Midnight Chicken Slaughter chuckled amiably. "Just logged on, actually. I heard you'd arrived, but didn't see any replies on the forums, so I figured you were still in-game. Sure enough, you were here."
Tearing her eyes away from the girl who had embraced Tail, Sisi asked curiously, "Need something?"
Midnight Chicken Slaughter replied bashfully, "We just wanted to charter your ship. We're planning to sail to Ring Island's port tomorrow, and we wondered if you'd be available."
Hearing Ring Island, Tail immediately guessed the purpose and said excitedly, "Oh! No problem! By the way, is the water finally flowing?"
Midnight Chicken Slaughter nodded with a broad smile. "Yep! It's finally opening!"
The two-month construction window had wrapped up. Just yesterday, they tested the pressure valves and the operational status of every component, confirming there were no issues.
Once the seabed freshwater pipeline officially began transmission, the Alliance's influence on Ring Island would leave the Church of the Torch eating dust.
As it turned out, when it came to rallying normal people, builders of order had a far easier time than destroyers of order.
Sooner or later, every survivor settlement in the Southern Sea would take on the Alliance's shape.
Pausing, he added, "And it's not just freshwater. Seeing our construction pace, they're planning to invest in a new tidal current power station and a subsea power cable with us, offering whatever technical support is needed. Brother Fang Chang said we might as well seize the chance to issue a joint statement of friendship and take a tour around the island with our gear. The other side agreed."
Sisi mused, "Looks like burning coal all the time was wearing them down after all."
"Aside from those lunatics in the Torch, who'd turn down a better life? Besides... lately, various islands have been grumbling over the federal authorities' decisions regarding whether to lift the wartime state. They probably want to use this chance to secure an ally too," Midnight Chicken Slaughter said with a grin. "We originally planned to take an airship, but after thinking it over, arriving by ship felt friendlier."
Lowering her crossed arms, Sisi nodded with a smile.
"No problem. Leave it to us."
Chapter 716