The "Slacking" Empire and Ideal City's "Gluttons"

"Potatoes are all gone." "!!" "Sad." "Despicable Enterprise." "Ideal City, gluttons." "Roast meat rice is good. Recommended." "Try it." "..." "Indeed good." "Good!" "Really good." "Satisfied." "!!!" ... At the entrance of the cafeteria. Watching the Alphas scarfing down their food with heads down, a group of soldiers from the 100th Mountain Division were completely dumbfounded. "Holy cow, three bowls each?!" "Are these guys pigs?!" Seeing how they wolfed it down, a young lad couldn't help swallowing his saliva. "What is that? Smells amazing." While he was still hesitating, the young men beside him were already eagerly crowding forward. "Get a bowl and let's try it..." "Give me one too." "Wait for me!" Before long, a long line had formed in front of the serving counter. When people from the Free States and other settlements saw the Ideal City folk lining up, they joined in to see what the fuss was about. As everyone knew, Ideal City had the finest goods; anything capable of making Ideal City residents queue up had to be an earthly delicacy. No matter how much food the kitchen prepared in advance, it couldn't withstand tens of thousands of people swarming in to order the exact same dishes. Just like that, driven by an inexplicable trend, the crowd cleaned out the massive trays of roast meat in no time. Those who managed to get food ate with relish, while the rest were left swallowing their saliva. The crowd could only wait around helplessly. A few who couldn't wait any longer ordered other items to fill their bellies, only to find the taste surprisingly decent as well, which made them anticipate the sold-out signature dish even more. Today's victim was the cumin-flavored roast meat over rice. Surprisingly, it wasn't the roast meat that had run out of stock, but the barbecue sauce and the cumin used for mixing the rice... ... "Eat, eat, eat! All you useless eaters know is eating all day! What else can you do besides eat?!" In the open clearing outside the military base stood a line of dejected, disheveled soldiers. A few Ratfolk wanted to speak up but didn't dare, able only to hang their heads in silence. The commander was right about everything. They didn't consider themselves soldier material either, so they took the scolding in silence. But the problem was, they hadn't even eaten! The meal cards of those gluttons from Ideal City had 3,000 silver coins on them, while theirs had a mere 100 silver coins. And the only reason they had 100 was that opening a card had a minimum deposit threshold; anything lower couldn't be processed. Thank heavens for that threshold, otherwise they had no doubt General Babita wouldn't even have given them 100 silver coins. There was no red clay to eat here, nor any villages to raid. Even those coachmen on horseback hawking their wares looked far tougher in a fight than they were... Looking at the pathetic, spineless sight of these fellows, General Babita was consumed by fury, wishing he could unbuckle the leather belt resting against his potbelly and whip them a couple of times. These men were under Millenarian Modric's command—the very cowards who had fled from the defensive positions yesterday. Yet what made his blood boil wasn't entirely that their cowardice had gotten Millenarian Modric killed, but another incident that had taken place yesterday. At the time, he had been dining in the garrison mess hall and happened to spot the Legion's airship commander—General Lium. In the spirit of being allies, he had immediately picked up his tray and hurried over, intending to greet him with a smile. Before he could even sit down, however, a barrage of foul-mouthed abuse came flying his way. "Fucking useless trash! Is that how that idiot MacLaren taught you? Humiliating bastards! You shouldn't have bothered showing up! A single blast from my artillery killed more than you did in half an hour! Bah, couldn't even hold out for thirty minutes! You can't even fight as well as my clones!" That man's voice was deafening, roaring so loudly that the entire mess hall heard every word. Having the blame pinned on him out of nowhere, Babita's face had turned pale, then livid. Even though the man was cursing MacLaren, Babita still felt deeply aggrieved. He hadn't even blamed the bastard for dropping an artillery shell right onto Millenarian Modric's head before the man had a chance to retreat. Yet the Wilante were friends of His Majesty, so in the end he hadn't dared talk back. Under the gaze of the entire room, he had carried his tray and slunk away in disgrace. There was nothing else he could do. Having swallowed his anger outside, he could only take it out on his own men. After roaring for quite a while, General Babita took two heavy breaths, twisted open a water bottle, took a swig, and cursed some more under his breath. "...A bunch of useless trash! Rats truly are rats. Expecting you to win a battle is sheer fantasy. You might as well plant some crops here to save on rations!" With that, he flicked his index finger, shook his head, and turned his back. Seeing this, the officer standing nearby stepped forward to take his place, halting in front of the Ratfolk soldiers and bellowing at the top of his lungs. "Starting today! I am your Millenarian, Kumar! Since you're unfit to be soldiers, hand your guns back to His Majesty and get your asses over to farm the land! This wasteland beneath your feet is your assignment. I need you to turn this soil over and plant cabbage and potatoes here! This is your last chance to prove you're worth anything at all!" Hearing this, the several hundred soldiers looked at each other, exchanging bewildered glances, completely at a loss. Farming? Was this a joke? They had come to fight a war, not to be farmers. Yet Babita was clearly not joking. He walked over to a rented truck and waved his hand. The dozen or so soldiers accompanying him immediately jumped onto the truck, dragging down sacks packed with hoes and shovels, piling them into a small mound on the ground in no time. This fellow had clearly come prepared, having even purchased the tools for tilling the land. Judging by their worn appearance, however, they were most likely second-hand discards from some settlement. Millenarian Kumar pointed at the hoes and shovels on the ground and roared with tremendous force. "Three mu per person! You will clear at least half a mu today!" "No one eats until the work is done!" ... Under the millenarian's berating, the malnourished soldiers could only grit their teeth, pick up their hoes, and get to work. Most of them hailed from the western reaches of Poruo Province. That land was blanketed with aristocratic estates and plantations, where those who lived were either slaves or serfs. Even the few freemen had spent their days laboring on noble estates. Because of that, farming wasn't particularly difficult work for them; it was merely a matter of experience. A few Death Corps players watching from a distance wore strange expressions. "...Holy crap, is the Imperial Expeditionary Force throwing in the towel already?" Giving up after losing just one battle? Surely they didn't have to go that far... Seeing the astonishment plastered across the face of Construction Site Boy and Bricks, In Debt God stroked his chin in deep thought, speaking up after a moment. "Personally, I think this might not be a bad thing." Construction Site Boy and Bricks looked at him blankly. "Why?" In Debt God gave him a meaningful look. "Imagine you're on the frontline right now, and these guys are covering your rear. Do you think you'd be better off with them or without them?" Construction Site Boy and Bricks thought about it for a second, then gasped in sudden realization, "Holy shit." That actually made sense! Compared to having an unreliable bunch standing behind him, he'd rather face the mutants all on his own. While the two were talking, a familiar, weird laugh came from behind. "Haha, I knew this would happen! So I already solved this problem for you guys!" Hearing the voice, both of them turned around together, only to find Brother Mosquito. "Mosquito?!" "Aren't you on the southern front? How did you end up here?" Hooking an arm around their shoulders and patting them, Mosquito looked up at the imperial soldiers swinging their hoes and chuckled. "Just wandering around... hehe, and taking the chance to expand business up here, answering the Administrator's call to make some pocket money." The latter was the real point. Ordinary players were doing well if they could master the profits of a single field, but an elite player like him naturally wouldn't be satisfied with just one revenue stream. Construction Site Boy and Bricks: "Holy cow, that Thunderbolt plane of yours didn't make you enough money?" Mosquito waved his hand and sighed. "That didn't earn that much... Damn it, the lion's share went to those design institutes doing the reverse engineering. We only made pocket change." Seeing his punchable expression, In Debt God couldn't resist mocking him. "Count your blessings. Aside from pitching a wild idea, what else did you actually contribute?" Mosquito rolled his eyes. "You think opening a factory doesn't cost money? You think production lines fall from the sky? Plenty of prototypes got wrecked too. The successful one was named Thunderbolt; the failures didn't even get an official designation." To build that VTOL plasma engine fighter, his brother Luo Yu had crashed and died countless times. It had been a truly tragic sight. Still, his complaining about earning too little was just idle talk, not genuine bitterness. After all, he wouldn't touch a business if it weren't profitable; at most, he'd burn some cash on a whim and walk away. Besides, only when the Scientific Expedition made money could they pay players undertaking ruin recovery quests, thereby unlocking more tech and forming a virtuous cycle of production and research. Construction Site Boy and Bricks: "Quit bullshitting. So what business are you eyeing now? Spill it." Snapping back to the topic, In Debt God asked curiously, "Right, you sidetracked us and I almost forgot. You said you solved a problem for us. What was it?" Mosquito narrowed his eyes in a grin, pointing toward the truck in the distance. "I'm the one who sold them those pieces of junk." The two were stunned upon hearing this. "Holy shit?!" "You're sabotaging military discipline!" "How is this sabotaging discipline? Do those filler troops even deserve to be called an army? They couldn't even beat goblins!" Mosquito rolled his eyes. "I tied them down right here, so you guys ought to be quietly thanking your lucky stars." In Debt God and the construction lad exchanged strange glances, thinking there was some truth to that. Even if it sounded somewhat like twisted logic. Construction Site Boy and Bricks remarked with a sigh, "Still, Babita really had the guts to buy them..." Mosquito said with a chuckle, "Why wouldn't he? It's not like I sold them broken junk, just secondhand stuff." And this was merely the first truckload, meant to give those deserters something to start with. The train car behind it was hauling tens of thousands more! Back in Daybreak City, these items were sold by the jin, phased-out scrap just like old sewing machines. Looking at the astonished pair, Mosquito continued. "I crunched the numbers with him. This war will drag on for several months at least, and food expenses won't be small. Around here, a mu of land yields at least seven or eight hundred silver coins per season, right? If each person reclaims three mu, twenty thousand men can clear at least sixty thousand mu of land! That's tens of millions of silver coins in output value! Is spending a few hundred thousand silver coins on some shovels a loss? It's an absolute fortune!" Sixty thousand mu was forty square kilometers, an area of five by eight kilometers. The entire Weifu City was a desolate wasteland spanning tens of thousands of square kilometers without a soul in sight. Finding arable land along the upper reaches of the Wei River was child's play. Only the clearing of wild terrain posed any difficulty, which would give him the perfect opportunity to sell them a dozen earth-moving trucks and tilling tractors later. If they needed them, that is. However, the two standing before him cared about something else entirely. "One mu yields that much per season?? Are you kidding me!" Construction Site Boy and Bricks' eyes widened, and In Debt God wore the exact same expression of disbelief. "Ahem, if you omit fertilizer, pesticides, and seeds, it really is that much, maybe even more! As I recall, the Alliance's agricultural subsidies are practically bundled into those three things, but that's not the point." Mosquito chuckled and continued. "The point is, once they reclaim the land and get ready to plant, I can sell them those three things too, and turn another profit!" As goods sold abroad as exports, there naturally wouldn't be any subsidies. Still, he wouldn't mark up the price too aggressively; he'd even sell to them slightly below market rates. After all, they weren't stupid. They didn't have to buy exclusively from him, and if it was too expensive, they'd look elsewhere. Construction Site Boy and Bricks clearly thought of this too, stroking his chin as he muttered, "Fertilizer, seeds, and pesticides for tens of thousands of mu... Holy crap, that's got to be millions of silver coins, right?" "Millions? That's about the profit margin." Mosquito chuckled and leisurely continued. "We're not done yet. Once the crops grow in the fields, they'll need someone to buy them, won't they?" In Debt God paused. "Can't they sell them to the cafeteria?" Mosquito looked at him as if he were an idiot. "How could they! That's a military base cafeteria, not a corner store next to your house! They have their own supply chain; contracts were probably signed before the seeds were even in the ground. How could they purchase stuff grown off-the-cuff like this?" At this point, a predatory smile began spreading across his face. "I bet these fools won't be able to sell it! When that happens, I'll buy it off them at bone-deep discount... Believe it or not, these manually cultivated 'organic crops' might end up cheaper than the mass-produced stuff imported from Sunset Province." In truth, General Babita stood to make a bit of money this way too. After all, his labor costs were virtually zero, with the only ones suffering being those Ratfolk beasts of burden. Yet it wasn't total suffering either; working in the rear was far better than going to the meat grinder on the frontlines. According to Sisi's updated post on the official forum, aside from the central army under direct imperial control and the few forces built with Wilante aid, the provincial troops controlled by nobles in Poruo Province followed a feudal supply model. Namely, the emperor sent funds, and the generals spent them. Everything, including the procurement of logistical supplies and the distribution of military pay, was handled entirely by the latter. Although the Imperial Expeditionary Force had received Legion training, they were far too detached from the empire's logistical network, and their manufacturing facilities had very low "infrastructure connectivity," unable to transport goods even as far as Silver Moon Bay. Thus, they still relied on the old method of direct cash transfers. Mosquito had researched this thoroughly. Otherwise, while everyone else was focused on fleecing Enterprise, the Legion, and the Academy, he wouldn't have carved out a different path to target this fat sheep that seemed dry on the surface but was actually dripping with grease. The two stared at him with wide eyes. Holy crap. What a ruthless professional... "This bastard is too wicked!" In Debt God couldn't help sighing. "Hang him from a lamppost!" "What kind of talk is that?" Mosquito rolled his eyes at him. "If I don't help them spend their money, wouldn't they just pocket it and take it home? Does that seem right to you!" Construction Site Boy and Bricks didn't want to hear it, simply sighing along with In Debt God. "Rotten to the core!" Mosquito: "...@#%#!" At this moment, neither the Ratfolk soldiers busy swinging their hoes nor the spectating players noticed that in the distance, several soldiers from the Free States were watching them curiously, whispering among themselves. On the distant tarmac, four more Orca transports landed, trailing azure arcs of light. A group of burly men carrying bags and bundles strode boldly out of the cargo hold. All of them wore stone-gray painted exoskeletons. The design, patterned after Human Alliance standard-issue gear, was unmistakably from Ideal City, though the darker tone lacked the bright luster of the 100th Mountain Division's "Vanguard Type I" exoskeletons. General Modelin, smoking a cigarette by the airfield, glanced at these men, his lips curling slightly. "Seems the East Coast spineless cowards have a few capable fighters after all." He was the myriarch of the 31st Myriad. He had commanded the battle two days prior, and he had witnessed firsthand how difficult those green-skinned mutants and their goblin pets were to deal with. The Church of the Torch had used Era of Prosperity technology to forcibly elevate those savages to heights they could never have reached on their own. Even though his men weren't facing mutants for the first time, they had still found the engagement grueling. Because of that, even though the 100th Mechanized Mountain Division's equipment was undeniably superior, he didn't hold the slightest optimism for those good-for-nothings. On a scale of ten, the individual soldier capability they exhibited was a four at best. Because some operational details were excessively amateurish, he couldn't help suspecting they weren't regular army at all, but raw recruits dragged in to make up the numbers, unable to fight even as well as the wastelanders of River Valley Province. Yet these fellows stepping off the aircraft actually carried themselves like real soldiers. Perhaps these were Enterprise's true elites. "Those are mercenaries from Yunjian Province," the adjutant standing beside him chuckled, a touch of skeptical disdain on his face. "Just a bunch of sellswords risking their necks for coin." "No matter why they risk their lives, anyone willing to die for it is tough," Modelin said, tossing his cigarette butt to the ground, grinding it under his boot with an indifferent expression. "Don't underestimate them." While that group of soldiers marched toward the barracks, in a shooting range not far away, a group of young men from Company 2, Battalion 1 of the 100th Mountain Division was undergoing final discipline before heading out. Clutching G9 assault rifles, they fired bursts at the green targets. Equipped with elite optical sights and noise-canceling helmets, every one of them shot like marksmen, with only the occasional stray round missing the center, nearly every shot landing dead on the bullseye. However, the drill instructor walking behind them in an olive-drab vest was clearly dissatisfied with this performance. His face dark as iron, he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Snap out of it!" "Your enemies are mutants that devour people without spitting out bones! And they're the green-skinned variety!" "They're stronger, more patient, and far crueler than those scaled fishmen! If you fall into their hands, don't dream of paying ransom to go home; you'd better pray they give you a quick death!" The young men had long grown accustomed to the coarse yelling. Yet there were always cocky show-offs. Emptying his magazine ahead of schedule, one let out a holler. "You're right, sir! But we won't fall into the hands of those idiots—" Before he could finish, a boot slammed into his backside, sending him sprawling flat across the bench, nearly tumbling headfirst into the firing lane. The instructor grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, hoisting him up like a scrawny chicken in front of his face. "Request permission to speak before talking!" "Yes, sir!" "I said yell 'permission to speak'!" "Per—permission to speak!" Looking at the trembling gaze, the instructor narrowed his eyes slightly. He was a soldier from the 26th Strike Team who had once followed Captain Yun chasing the tracks and signals of the Pioneer, marching all the way from Yunjian Province to the Great Desert. Unlike these recruits who had signed up for the front after playing a couple of rounds of battle royale, he had actually seen what the wasteland was like, what those mutants were like, and what the poor bastards butchered by mutants ended up looking like. Yet he said nothing further, merely casting the shivering youth a meaningful look before releasing his grip on the collar. Glancing at the greenhorns who had stopped firing to gawk in his direction, he raised his voice in a roar. "What are you looking at me for! Keep your eyes on the weapons in your hands! Lock onto your targets! Pray they don't move, and make sure you don't piss yourselves once you reach the front!" The foul-mouthed bellow echoed through the training grounds, drowning out even the cracking gunfire. Once training ended, the crowd poured out of the range in a boisterous swarm, surging toward the cafeteria. Despite the harsh scolding, the unpleasantness did nothing to spoil their appetites. "Damn it... chewing us out for three whole months. Tomorrow we finally head to the front!" "Haha, my blade is already thirsting for blood!" "I'll show you guys the skills of the Pochinki Sniper God!" "Wonder if they sell the LD-47 around here? That gun packs some serious punch!" "Totally. The G9 assault rifle lacks punch! Doesn't do justice to this exoskeleton of mine at all!" "In a bit, I'll go borrow one from our Alliance brothers to test out..." At the entrance of the training grounds. Watching the rowdy bunch, Brother Edge stared blankly at Su Ming beside him, swallowing nervously before asking. "These guys... are they really going to be all right?" Even though the players were often just as noisy, that was because they couldn't truly die. And considering the grueling three-day respawn timer, most of them still gave it their all and fought seriously when the battle truly began. Clearly, these NPCs were different. They looked like people who had no clue where they were heading tomorrow, or what horrors awaited them once they arrived. Su Ming looked somewhat embarrassed, coughing lightly as he spoke. "Don't let appearances fool you... They actually spent three months training in boot camp. They won't drag us down." Brother Edge asked tentatively, "...Virtual reality training grounds?" Su Ming tried to explain, "That only accounted for fifty percent of the training hours... We had live-fire drills and physical conditioning as well." Brother Edge froze. Holy crap. It accounted for fifty percent! Still, to be fair. The Council had treated these rookies quite generously. The ammunition they fired off in a single day was practically more than he had shot in the two years before transferring to become a firefighter. Looking at their state-of-the-art equipment, Brother Edge felt a twinge of envy in his heart, just as the Enterprise lads were looking at him with envious eyes. Having money really was nice...