"Achoo!"
At the military base on Death Coast, Mosquito, standing beside the warehouse, sneezed suddenly and without warning. Sniffling, he grumbled, "Damn it, who's secretly crushing on me behind my back now...?"
Hearing the sneeze, the Rat Clan lackey at his side hurried to slip off his own coat, deferentially draping it over Mosquito's shoulders.
Although it wasn't cold in the least, Mosquito accepted the gesture with an appreciative nod.
In truth, while he didn't speak very highly of the flunky he'd taken in whenever he was around his old buddy Fang Chang, it was just talk.
And that kind of talk was roughly akin to a father complaining to other fathers about how utterly useless his own son was—it obviously wasn't to be taken seriously.
In all fairness, though the fellow was a bit timid and cowardly, looked somewhat sleazy and listless, and especially lacked the spirit of an ace pilot, he still had plenty of virtues.
For instance, he knew how to read the room and anticipate needs, and was quick on the uptake.
While expecting someone like him to inherit Mosquito's mantle was out of the question, grooming him to be the CEO or CSO of Goblin Tech wasn't a bad idea at all.
In short: make the best use of everything!
Thinking of this, Mosquito's urge to show off flared up again, and he waved him over.
"Jerry, come here."
The name was one he had casually made up on the spot at the Rat flunky's own pleading.
According to the ratman himself, it was to shed the brand that Bolo Province had stamped onto him, better integrate into Alliance society, and avoid reincarnating into the cycle of the Thousand Clans and Thousand Gods in the future.
Although Mosquito was an atheist who didn't believe a word of that mumbo jumbo, he had still indulged his lackey's plea. After all, he also hoped the guy could live with some dignity.
The survivors of Bolo Province were not the same population that had lived there three centuries ago. In appearance, they differed little from other survivors who had fled the Great Desert; change their name, and truly nobody could tell where they came from.
At least, survivors from outside Bolo Province could hardly tell the difference.
Hearing Mosquito call him, Jerry hastily stepped forward, bowing and tilting his ear.
"What are your orders, sir?"
Pulling the coat on his shoulders closer, Mosquito tilted his head slightly and spoke with supreme swagger:
"Watch more, learn more. I think highly of you... Having you sell naughty cards is a waste of your talents. From now on, I'll bring you into bigger business."
Hearing the pie-in-the-sky promise painted by Lord Mosquito, Jerry was moved to tears, falling just short of dropping to his knees on the spot to swear himself as Mosquito's adopted son.
"Alright, alright, look at how little backbone you've got."
Mosquito waved his hand, cutting off the outpouring of gratitude. He then cleared his throat vigorously and called out to the officer walking out of the warehouse:
"Ahem! How does everything look to you?"
The man walking out of the warehouse was none other than the big customer from Tiger State—Quartermaster Chopra, who held the rank of Centurion under Senior Centurion Jaha, supreme commander of the Tiger Army.
Glancing at the Rat Clan member standing beside Mosquito, Chopra, as a member of the Tiger Clan, instinctively showed a flicker of disdain in his eyes.
Yet when he turned his gaze toward Mosquito, his face shifted to an expression of utter deference.
"We've finished inspecting them... We're very satisfied with your merchandise! These munitions are a huge help to us!"
A total of twelve Conqueror 10 heavy tanks, thirty-six Conqueror 5 light tanks, and forty-eight 100mm artillery cannons!
Beyond that, there was a vast quantity of "Blade" assault rifles and 7mm ammunition!
All of it was in near-mint condition. Though not quite as rugged as the Alliance's LD-series weapons, it was far superior to those "Rippers" sold in West Sail Port!
With this fine armory, the Tiger Army could easily raise another ten-thousand-strong armored corps, plus four or five infantry divisions of ten thousand each!
And outfitted strictly to the Legion's standard regulations!
When the time came, never mind the dignitaries in Tiandu—even if that bastard MacLaren himself came to White Tiger City, he'd have to kowtow twice to their Lord Jaha before leaving!
As he daydreamed, Chopra's grin widened until drool nearly leaked from the corners of his mouth. He could hardly wait to fly back to White Tiger City with this equipment to claim credit.
Seeing his customer so delighted, Mosquito broke into a cheerful smile as well.
"Glad you're satisfied! Small business, strictly no credit. If it's convenient, please settle the account first. As soon as I receive the payment, I'll ship immediately! Delivery right to your door, guaranteed!"
"No problem!"
Chopra agreed without hesitation. Immediately after, however, he gave an embarrassed chuckle and said in a low voice, "By the way, uh... can we pay in Xilan coins?"
Pay in Xilan coins?
Mosquito froze for a second, then raised his eyebrows and glared at the fellow before him.
"Are you fucking trying to welsh on me?"
Holy hell!
Trying to swindle something for nothing on his turf?
Did this guy have a death wish?!
Not only did Mosquito's glare turn menacing, but Jerry, standing beside him, also glared darkly at the Tiger Clan group, as did Quan Jia, Sha Shen, and Mosquito's other lackeys.
Seeing the Alliance big shots darken with hostility, Chopra hastily explained:
"My lord, calm your anger! How could we ever dare welsh on your bill? It's just... our silver coin reserves are really a bit tight right now, and our cash flow is pinched for the moment."
"What does that have to do with me?" Mosquito said with a dark scowl. "I only accept silver coins here. Who wants your waste paper!"
Seeing that this big boss wouldn't budge an inch, Chopra grew as anxious as an ant on a hot pan, beads of sweat the size of beans breaking out across his forehead.
Seeing that the man couldn't squeeze out another word, Mosquito sighed and waved his hand dismissively.
"Forget it. If you're not buying, you're not buying. We can't force you. Besides, I see zero sincerity from you. I might as well go talk to the warlords in Leopard State."
Hearing this, Chopra panicked completely. Seeing Mosquito turn to walk away, he strained his vocal cords and shouted,
"Wait!"
Mosquito stopped and glanced back at him, lifting an eyebrow.
"What? Suddenly got money again?"
Chopra wrestled internally for a moment before finally gritting his teeth and throwing caution to the wind:
"Silver coins... we truly cannot produce them. The Imperial Royal Mint has been dragging its feet on approving our silver quota. But—but! We still have massive amounts of Xilan coins on our books! If you're willing to accept Xilan coins, we can do... 80—no, 90! Wait! 100! 100 Xilan coins for 1 silver coin! We'll make this deal at an exchange rate of 100 to 1!"
This was the final card Senior Centurion Jaha had entrusted to him.
If this equipment hadn't been so crucial, he wouldn't have dreamed of playing this card. After all, dumping that much liquidity from White Tiger City's bank reserves would inflict immense hardship on the various workshops and the laborers slaving in them.
One had to realize that just months ago, when the empire had lifted its embargo on Golden Gallon Port, the exchange rate between Xilan coins and gallons was 5 to 4—which converted to silver coins at a mere 12.5 to 1.
Doing this deal at a 100:1 exchange rate was an utterly catastrophic loss!
Hearing Chopra's words, Mosquito indeed ground to a halt and turned back toward the quartermaster standing in the warehouse doorway.
100 to 1!
That rate was essentially the wholesale cost at which major Alliance banks bought up currency in bulk from the South Sea Alliance Central Bank—it was already exceptionally generous!
In the banks of Golden Gallon Port, the actual exchange rate of Xilan coins to silver coins was likely even higher, hovering around 80 to 1.
In other words, by closing this deal, Goblin Tech could pocket a 25 percent profit purely off the exchange rate margin!
The only risk was getting stuck holding the bag...
Although he was ten thousand times reluctant to accept what amounted to "coupons" like Xilan coins, the problem was that the other side was simply offering too damn much.
After an intense internal struggle, Mosquito ultimately made that fateful, treasonous decision:
"Fuck it! Done deal!"
In any case, the moment he got his hands on these Xilan coins, he'd immediately dump them in Golden Gallon Port for silver coins. It shouldn't be much of a problem!
Besides, if the Tiger State warlords could grow bigger and stronger with this equipment, who knew? Maybe they'd have real silver to do business with him later down the road.
This was a long-term investment.
Mosquito comforted himself in his mind.
Hearing that it was a deal, Chopra's heart bled just as severely, and the several lackeys behind him closed their eyes in anguish.
100 to 1...
That meant for a Conqueror 10 worth one million silver coins, they had to pay one hundred million Xilan coins!
Just a few months earlier, the import price of the exact same tank had been only 12.5 million Xilan coins—and that had even come with twenty shells thrown in for free!
The munitions on the import list accounted for one-sixth of the Legion's entire munitions stockpile in the Weifu Wasteland. If future deliveries were factored in, the total value of this arms contract would reach a terrifying 50 billion Xilan coins!
And the first batch of delivered arms alone was worth 10 billion Xilan coins!
Practically every soldier from Tiger State present cursed inwardly.
Goddamn it...
Which motherfucker stole all their money?!
...
At this very moment, far away in Dawn City, Bannote had no idea of the little interlude unfolding on Death Coast, much less that one-sixth of the munitions stockpile he had been fretting over had already been quietly offloaded.
After slamming the door of the Alliance Foreign Minister's office, he had regretted it the second he reached the doorway. But turning back immediately would have been far too humiliating.
Especially when he pictured that obnoxious face, Bannote gritted his teeth, stomped his foot, and stiffened his resolve, heading toward the stairwell.
Seeing the folks queued up outside the Foreign Visits Registration Office staring at him, Bannote, who was still fuming, immediately shot them a fierce glare.
"What are you looking at?!"
Faced with that glare, whether they were genuine diplomats or fake ones, everyone hurriedly averted their eyes, terrified of offending this walking plague.
The pettiness of the Wilante was notorious.
While these people lacked the power to handle the Alliance, stomping everyone else was child's play—especially with ten divisions of ten thousand troops stationed right in the eastern part of the Central Continent.
Only after watching that furious silhouette disappear down the end of the corridor did the crowd of survivors huddled in line begin to murmur in hushed voices.
"Was that... the Legion's ambassador?"
"Look at that nose—it had to be!"
"What got him so worked up?"
"Who knows... They've been having endless shouting matches with the Alliance inside the Mutual Aid Community lately. Probably didn't get enough arguing done during the meetings."
"The Alliance and the Legion aren't going to go to war again, are they?"
"Hard to say. Word is the Legion is unhappy with how the spoils of Haiya Province were divided. They think the Alliance and Enterprise colluded to conceal technology related to the Gestalt lifeforms, and supposedly they even called out the Academy, which barely said a word during the conference."
"I think there's a good chance the Academy really did get away with the goods. Those slick bastards in the swamp... love nothing more than quietly getting rich."
"Sigh, I just hope it doesn't really turn into a war."
Hearing the rumors of war, almost every survivor's face showed a flicker of worry, or even a dark shadow.
Most survivors standing here came from settlements aligned with lawful neutral or above. They had journeyed here mainly to ride the express train of the Mutual Aid Community's rapid growth, not to get tangled in a clash between two colossal behemoths.
However, while the vast majority hoped peace would prevail, there were also opportunists who smelled latent business prospects.
The chances of a direct conflict erupting between the Alliance and the Legion were actually not high.
First, the cost for the Legion to mount an expedition across the Great Desert was prohibitive, while the returns were minuscule.
Second, if the Legion expanded eastward, Enterprise would inevitably intervene, which might even pull in the Academy, currently busy salvaging lost technologies in Haiya Province.
However—
While a direct confrontation was exceedingly unlikely, proxy wars were by no means out of the question.
For example, Bister Town remained an eternal thorn in the side of the Falcon Kingdom, while the neighboring Honey Badger Kingdom dreamed day and night of total revenge against them.
If the Legion and the Alliance ever felt like testing each other's mettle, Sunset Province could instantly turn into a primed powder keg.
And then there was Bolo Province.
Although that was the turf of Triumph City's civil bureaucracy and the Legion lacked a direct military presence there, it was, conversely, a prime market targeted for Alliance development; the Baiyue Company in particular had poured a fortune into the eastern coastal regions of Bolo Province.
If the Legion wished to give the Alliance a headache, making a move in Bolo Province was also an excellent choice, potentially slashing the value of Dawn City residents' assets to the bone.
While the crowd gossiped, each harboring their own thoughts, the irate Bannote had already climbed into the official car parked outside the Alliance building.
"Back to Embassy Street!"
Tossing the order to the driver, he closed his eyes in the back seat and fell silent, though the thoughts in his head spun at breakneck speed.
Sitting beside him, his secretary Domini cautiously observed the expressions on his face. Only after Bannote had calmed down a bit did he murmur:
"My lord, what is the Alliance's position?"
Bannote let out a cold snort through his nose.
"It looks to me like they don't want to talk in good faith."
Domini gave a wry smile.
"I think... it might be better not to act on emotion. The Alliance shouldn't want us leaving so much military hardware in the eastern part of the Central Continent either."
Hearing this, Bannote, whose breathing had only just settled, instantly blew his top, shouting in rage:
"Am I the one acting on emotion?!"
"Is it me acting on emotion?! Those motherfucking blue moles... just because they got lucky and beat the broken remnants of the Eastern Legion once, they dare shit right on our necks!"
Bannote cursed incessantly. Domini, seated beside him, had no retort and could only offer soothing words with a wry smile.
Right at that moment, the vehicle communicator mounted on the door suddenly rang.
The bodyguard in the passenger seat glanced at the center console screen and immediately turned around to address Bannote in the back:
"My lord, it's a call from General Lium."
At the mention of Lium's name, the muscle between Bannote's eyebrows twitched violently.
That was absolutely the last name he wanted to hear right now.
Without a word, Bannote reached out, took the communicator off its cradle, and held it to his ear. Thunderous roaring immediately blasted through:
"What the hell happened to that weapons shipment destined for Bister Town?! Why has it all been shipped back to the Weifu Wasteland?! Bannote, I want an explanation right this instant!"
*An explanation right this instant, huh...*
*I'm not your subordinate!*
Bannote cursed in his heart. Still, since his side was indeed the one that had botched things, he had no choice but to swallow his pride and say:
"There was a slight accident with that shipment—"
"A slight accident?! What kind of 'slight accident' causes arms already delivered to Bister Town to be loaded right back onto trains and shipped back to the Weifu Wasteland?!"
Getting lashed out at with no room to breathe, Bannote's temper flared as well, and he snapped back angrily:
"What could I do? It was the Alliance that acted in bad faith! They tore up our transport contract!"
"The Alliance acted in bad faith?" Lium sneered. "How come I heard it was the idiots under you who were caught red-handed with evidence?"
Bannote stiffened, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Admittedly, that factor cannot be ruled out—"
Lium didn't cut him any slack, continuing with a mocking laugh:
"Heh, I told you long ago, those friends of yours made in the zoo are unreliable. Aside from dragging us down, they're utterly useless—"
"Then who was it that told me to pressure the Alliance in the first place?" Bannote erupted, roaring back, "If some idiot hadn't been pushing me to hurry up and do something, would things have ever gotten to this point? And you, Senior Centurion Lium, don't forget you had a hand in this too! You agreed to the plan to arm the empire! Don't even think about dumping the whole blame on my head!"
Silence fell over the cabin, broken only by Bannote's heavy, raspy breaths echoing in and out.
The driver gripped the steering wheel tensely, the bodyguard in the front kept his eyes fixed out the window, and Domini wiped sweat from his brow.
And it wasn't just inside the car.
On the other end of the line, Lium was also quiet for a moment before speaking after a brief pause:
"...Let's focus on solving the problem."
Knowing that now was not the time to bicker, Bannote quickly regained his composure.
His index finger tapped lightly on his knee as his mind raced, and he soon had an idea.
"The Western Legion... The Western Legion's ships can help. I'll contact them to send a few transport ships to the Southern Sea. As long as we get the equipment to West Sail Port, we have enough transport capacity there to haul it back to Triumph City... or at least a portion of it."
Lium lowered his voice:
"Then you'd better be quick. Our soldiers are itching to go home. If it comes down to it, I'll dispose of the surplus gear locally."
Hearing this, Bannote hastily said:
"Wait! I don't object to you liquidating it locally, but you must leave at least another third for us! Otherwise, relying solely on our current inventory won't be nearly enough to pressure the Alliance's military presence in Bolo Province—"
"That's your problem. Every day we linger in the east costs us over a million dinars. No matter what, we must withdraw more than ninety percent of our forces west of the Great Desert before the end of the year. Those are the Corps Commander's orders."
Leaving those words behind, Lium hung up without waiting for Bannote to respond.
Listening to the dial tone on the line, Bannote cursed under his breath and slammed the receiver back onto the door mount.
"...That dog bastard! Always giving me impossible tasks!"
Before the end of the year...
It was already approaching mid-December!
Even switching from land transport to sea, where in the world was he supposed to find so many ships in such a short window?!
Domini hesitated for a second before whispering:
"Actually, if they can dispose of the munitions locally, letting them do so isn't necessarily bad... Leaving those weapons in the eastern Central Continent will cause plenty of headaches for the Alliance and Enterprise. It wouldn't be a loss for us either."
"Who cares about them?" Bannote sneered with a twist of his mouth. "What I care about is that stockpile in their hands... That's the key to arming the empire! At the very least, we must take the share they promised us!"
Domini stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Commissioning the Western Legion definitely won't make it in time. Setting aside how high a price we'd have to pay to hire them, even if they actually sailed over, the earliest they could arrive would be early next month..."
"Assemble a fleet from West Sail Port then. Mobilize the expatriates there; those merchants ought to have ships. In short, grab back as much as we can," Bannote said, rubbing the sore space between his eyebrows, looking utterly exhausted.
For Xilan, this supposed "ally," he had practically broken his back: helping them develop industry, scouring up instructors to train their troops, and even selling them equipment at steep discounts.
Unfortunately, those useless clods were like mud that refused to stick to a wall. Leaving aside their inability to beat the Alliance, they couldn't even defeat a bunch of bandits crawling out of the ravines, and had even lost a state scarcely smaller than Haiya Province to them!
If those people had shown even a shred of competence, he wouldn't be reduced to such anxiety...
Seeing Senior Centurion Bannote fraught with gloom, Domini hurried to say:
"I will send word to West Sail Port as quickly as possible!"
Bannote nodded.
"Mm, I'll leave it to you."
Transmitting a message from here to West Sail Port was not as simple as making a phone call to the front line. After all, across the entirety of Bolo Province, only Golden Gallon Port was currently linked to the Alliance's telegraph cable, while the authorities in Mammoth State—likewise an Alliance puppet—were still only at the application stage.
Perhaps...
Triumph City should consider investing in a cable to West Sail Port.
At the very least, it would connect the Legion's eastern vassal in the Central Continent, the Falcon Kingdom, and allow his side to receive intelligence from Bolo Province much faster.
Contemplating this, Bannote casually picked up a copy of *Survivor Daily* tucked into the door slot, intending to pass the remaining time by glancing over the news.
Yet the instant his eyes fell upon the front-page headline, his whole body froze.
The headline read:
["Sky Ladder" Orbital Transport Company Officially Incorporated! Ideal Group Acquires 33% Stake; "Sky Ladder" Project Enters Construction Preparation Phase!]
He had all along believed that the Alliance's decision to roll out the space elevator project at this juncture, along with churning up a swarm of conspiracy theories about the "Celestials," was mainly aimed at distracting the member states of the Mutual Aid Community and papering over grievances regarding the unequal distribution of spoils from the Battle of Heaven.
Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine—
"...These bastards are actually doing it for real?!"
Chapter 812