"A—a space elevator?! Are you serious?!"
The rickety open-bed truck rattled along the rugged mountain road, its rusted iron plating and railings clattering incessantly with every bounce of the axles.
It sounded as if it might rattle apart at any second.
Roughly twenty people were crammed into the truck bed, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief as every gaze locked onto the mud-booted man shouldering a travel pack.
None of them knew where the fellow had come from. They only knew his name was Zhang Ze, a traveling merchant roaming the wasteland.
The pack on his back held his entire worldly wealth: a few peculiar trinkets alongside scraps and junk he had scavenged along the road.
Such a sight was common enough.
There were arguably more traveling merchants on the wasteland than mercenaries. Not everyone ran businesses on the scale of Mr. Liszt; the vast majority pinched pennies just to scrape together a silver coin or two.
"Of course it's real! What, you think I'd make this up?"
Thoroughly satisfied by their unsophisticated, wide-eyed stares, Zhang Ze's face practically beamed with pride.
Reaching into the pack behind him, he pulled out a rumpled, dog-eared newspaper, snapped it taut to flatten it out, cleared his throat with great ceremony, and began reading the report with deep theatrical emotion.
"'...Year 213. The Wasteland Era has lasted for a full 213 years, and the calendar is about to turn once more. If we do not begin making new changes from this very moment, the coming Year 214 will bring nothing different. Therefore, we have resolved to act—to ignite a torch upon these barren ruins that can truly dispel the freezing night, and to do so without sacrificing the silent, unsung majority.'"
It was the Manager's speech broadcast over the radio.
Though Zhang Ze could hardly replicate that crisp, resonant broadcast cadence, his raspy voice meshed almost perfectly with the crackle of radio static.
Starting from the section on the space elevator, he read straight down to the Alliance's development plan for the ten settlements established along the coastal regions of the eastern provinces on the Central Continent.
In the eyes watching him, yearning and hope blazed with ever-increasing intensity.
Food that would never run out, and work that even an illiterate wastelander could perform!
And that wasn't all—
There were hospitals and schools!
The Alliance's Refugee Home had even made a generous pledge: they were willing to provide interest-free loans to disabled survivors for non-combat prosthetics produced by Boulder Corp—with repayments deferred until the third year!
That Manager truly was an admirable lord!
He looked not only to the sky above, but to the dust beneath his feet—to the common folk struggling to scratch out a living across the wasteland.
Compared to the kingdom of heaven painted by the Church of the Torch, the Alliance under his leadership was undoubtedly the true paradise!
Had anyone else uttered those words, they would have been warily dismissed as a sugar-coated trap.
Yet that lord was different.
Though he never flaunted his benevolence, the survivors of the wasteland had witnessed every single deed he accomplished with their own eyes.
Whether they were survivors living within the Alliance or travelers who had merely passed through.
And precisely for that reason, when his voice rang out across the radio waves over the wilderness, virtually every survivor yearning for the Alliance packed their bags and set off on the journey.
Ever since the dissolution of the Wartime Reconstruction Committee, humanity finally had a radio broadcast they could believe in once more!
"...And that concludes the report from the Survivor Daily. The place we are heading toward right now is the very first of those ten settlements—'Settlement No. 1.'"
Seeing that the traveling merchant had finally finished reading, a mercenary squatting across from him couldn't help asking, "Doesn't this settlement have a better name?"
"Regrettably, no," Zhang Ze replied, folding the newspaper and tucking it back into his pack. "Though there's really nothing to regret. Just as the paper says... the esteemed Manager hopes that we will name it ourselves. For a long time to come, it will be our new home."
At that moment, a wastelander raised an arm welded with a crude prosthetic limb and chuckled.
"Hey, leave me out of that. I've got my own home. I'm just heading there to earn silver coins."
His name was Lei Nuo, a scavenger from Garbage City. Having heard that the Southern Sea would soon be showered with endless salvage, he had journeyed out here to try his luck.
Even if scrap didn't rain down from the sky, it didn't matter. The ruins in Haiya Province had never been picked clean, to say nothing of whatever past survivors might have left behind.
The Alliance's railway had only just pushed through Ten Peaks Mountain; coming all the way from River Valley Province was a grueling trip, and he had spent at least a full day and night aboard the train.
That alone showed just how obsessed the man was with salvage.
Zhang Ze gave a casual shrug. "Suit yourself. That's your freedom."
Not everyone longed for a settled life. Still, Zhang Ze had drifted across the wasteland for far too long; occasionally, the thought of putting down roots didn't sound so bad.
Whether driven by the dream of a new home or a thirst for silver coins, a motley crew from across the wasteland sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the bed of the same battered truck.
After a long stretch of jostling along the rough road, wisps of human presence finally appeared ahead.
Anywhere else, the sight of people would trigger an immediate spike of caution in any refugee.
Here, however, it was different.
The most renowned survivor factions across the entire wasteland were gathered right here. At least until the local order rotted away, no marauder tribe would be foolish enough to pitch camp in these parts.
A checkpoint appeared at the crossroads ahead.
The driver steered straight up to it and yanked the handbrake once he pulled close.
A Wilante officer flanked by two soldiers walked over, eyeing the crowd in the flatbed.
"Who are you people?"
The driver poked his head out the cab window, his weathered face breaking into a harmless grin.
"Greetings, officers. We're survivors heading to Death Coast. Might I ask what place this is?"
The Wilante officer glanced over him, saw nothing worthy of note in the truck, and waved toward the barrier gate to signal clearance.
"These are the Haibei City Ruins. If you're heading to Death Coast, you've still got one or two hundred kilometers south to go."
"Much obliged." Seeing the barrier lift, the driver let out a sigh of relief, offered his thanks, and pulled his head back inside.
"Don't mention it."
The officer watched the truck restart its engine. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he called out, "...Hold on a second."
The driver blinked and hastily yanked the handbrake back up.
"Is there something else, sir?"
Tension rippled through the passengers in the back.
Even Lei Nuo with his prosthetic arm instinctively drifted a hand toward his weapon.
Sensing the stiff atmosphere, the officer paid it no heed and simply addressed the passengers in the flatbed.
"If you're heading down there looking for work, we've got work right here too."
A mercenary with an ammunition belt slung across his jacket said guardedly, "We're not taking dinars."
The officer's brow twitched sharply. Swallowing his irritation, he replied, "We pay in silver coins."
*These ungrateful wretches, actually having the gall to be picky! How infuriating!*
Unfortunately, Alliance trains refused to transport slaves, ships and ports in the Southern Sea flatly barred slave-trading vessels from docking, and clone soldiers were hopeless at manual excavation. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered giving these paupers the time of day.
Hearing that these Wilante were actually offering silver coins, eyes lit up across the truck bed.
"How much are you offering? Wait, no—first tell us what the work is!" Lei Nuo's small eyes narrowed into slits as he stared intently at the Wilante officer.
Seeing that the crowd was interested, the officer cleared his throat.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Anthony, Centurion of the 37th Legion, supervisor in charge of this site... The work is simple: excavating ruins. If you can use a shovel, it's twenty silver coins a day. If you can operate a goblin excavator, fifty silver coins a day. How about it?"
Though they hadn't uncovered the rumored entrance to Vault 20 or Torch's research data on the Gestalt Organism project, they had unearthed plenty of valuable salvage lately.
After all, both the residents of Vault 20 and the Church of the Torch had operated locally for an extensive period. Beyond excavating relics of the Era of Prosperity, they had actively innovated and adapted technology on top of them.
At any rate, the Alliance's Scientific Expedition had set up a branch nearby, and his superiors had agreed to bundle up the less sensitive wreckage and relics to sell to the Alliance's Scientific Expedition to fund their military expenses.
Hauling all that scrap back to the Legion's homeland was far too costly, not to mention there might not even be buyers there. Their own territory held vast ruins they hadn't even begun to tap; they had no need to hoard junk from here.
Their only real interest lay in the Church of the Torch's research regarding the "Gestalt Organism" project.
Hearing Anthony's proposed rates, the passengers exchanged glances and burst out laughing in unison.
"Twenty silver coins a day? Are you tossing scraps to beggars?"
"Exactly!"
"Back in Dawn City, doing the lowest-skilled, most saturated labor earns four silver coins an hour!"
"Eight silver coins an hour! And you have to provide at least two meals! And don't even think about brushing us off with nutrient paste! We eat from the same pot as your men! Otherwise, forget it!"
The tense atmosphere evaporated in an instant.
Seeing that the Legion wasn't looking to rob them but to hire hands, the passengers grew bold. They shouted demands back and forth, driving Anthony to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
*These greedy hyenas!*
Anthony cursed under his breath.
Back in his homeland, if anyone dared look down their nose at him like this, he would have treated them to a taste of the whip long ago!
"Fine! We'll do it your way... Eight silver coins an hour for general laborers, double for excavator operators!"
With three rotating shifts running eight hours a day, that came to 1,920 silver coins a month per worker.
A hundred workers would only cost 192,000 silver coins.
The returns yielded by these ruins far exceeded that amount. Just yesterday, the batch of "scrap hauled from the Vault 20 settlement ruins" they had tossed to the Alliance's Scientific Expedition had netted a cool million silver coins!
Presently, less than ten percent of the entire site had been excavated. Who knew how many treasures were still buried below?
Hearing Anthony agree, Lei Nuo didn't hesitate. Gripping the railing with his right hand, he hopped right off the truck.
"Count me in!"
Following his lead, four others rose after a brief hesitation and climbed down from the bed.
Earning that kind of pay just for digging scrap was already fantastic, and food and lodging were included.
Scavengers were at the absolute bottom of the wasteland hierarchy. Countless pickers ruined their health digging through rubble, contracting slime mold infections, radiation sickness, or any number of mental afflictions from completely drained sanity.
Working under the Wilante might not offer the airtight guarantees of the Alliance, but it was far more dependable than working for shady, fly-by-night survivor outfits.
At the very least, they actually paid the agreed-upon wages.
"Take care, brothers! Until we meet again! Haha!" Lei Nuo waved cheerily to those remaining on the truck.
Watching his beaming smile, the remaining passengers wavered, yet none made a move to climb down.
What if the Alliance paid even more?
Besides, even if the Alliance paid slightly less than the Legion, they still preferred working for the Alliance so long as the wage gap wasn't drastic.
One reason was safety; the other was a sense of belonging—two things the Legion could never offer.
"Good luck to you," Zhang Ze said without hesitation, offering his well-wishes to the scavenger he had briefly crossed paths with. He then leaned back against the bed's railing, waiting for the truck to depart.
He had chosen his destination the moment he set off. Barring absolute necessity, he would not alight halfway.
Watching the truck pull away into the distance, Anthony waved a subordinate over.
"Get them settled in and swap our boys out from down in the ruins... Also, ask every convoy that passes through. Offer eight silver coins an hour, and negotiate separately for anyone who knows how to run heavy equipment."
"Yes, sir!" The soldier snapped to attention and saluted, then turned to the five excited yet nervous scavengers. "Follow me. I'll take you to the dig site."
Once the group had departed, Anthony checked his watch and glanced toward the checkpoint, his brow furrowing.
The real reason he was waiting here wasn't to arrange jobs for a handful of scavengers; an Alliance big shot had arranged to meet him here.
From the looks of it, the fellow was running late...
Just then, another plume of dust billowed in the distance, and two tall off-road vehicles came into view.
His knitted brow relaxed at once, and Anthony waved to his side.
"Raise the gate!"
A nearby soldier hurried over and lifted the barrier.
Moments later, the two off-road vehicles passed the checkpoint and pulled up before him. Several soldiers clad in exoskeletons leaped down from the cabs.
Gazing at those gleaming exoskeletons, the Wilante lining the roadside couldn't hide their envy.
Though the Legion had developed its own exoskeletons, they were generally reserved for the most elite units.
After all, maintaining such gear placed an immense strain on logistics.
Even Alliance regiments composed entirely of Awakened—who could cut power outside of combat to conserve energy—required at least one or two maintenance companies per regiment for repairs and routine upkeep.
The Enterprise went even further; repair battalions were standard issue for practically every mountain division, and the money they poured into equipment maintenance was no less than what they spent on munitions.
"Apologies, we were held up on the road. I hope we didn't keep you waiting long..."
Stepping out of the vehicle, Mosquito approached Anthony with a broad smile, eagerly extending his right hand.
Anthony offered a faint smile and clasped the offered hand, giving it a brief shake.
"I hope you can be a bit more punctual next time."
"Naturally, naturally!"
Mosquito's smile broadened further, taking on a hint of pleasant surprise when he spotted the insignia on his client's shoulder.
"Well now, look at that—Centurion? Congratulations!"
"I owe a good deal of it to you." Anthony's lips curved upward. Though he maintained a composed expression, he couldn't completely conceal the pride brimming between his brows.
A Legion Centurion was roughly equivalent to a company commander in the Human Alliance's military structure—practically the highest tier of frontline officer. Climbing the ranks from a Decurion was no easy feat.
His rapid advancement, leaping from Decurion to Centurion in such short order, was largely thanks to the arms agreement he had brokered earlier. Not only had it saved frontline units tens of millions of dinars in maintenance costs, it had even raked in a substantial sum in military funds.
Seeing Anthony's poorly concealed pride, Mosquito chuckled and handed him a cigarette, continuing smoothly, "Hardly to my credit. With your talent, promotion was only a matter of time."
Taking the cigarette and lighting it, Anthony exhaled a cloud of smoke, smiling at the arms dealer before him. "No need for polite pleasantries. You've traveled a long way to get here, so let's get straight to business."
Mosquito smiled. "Then I won't waste the general's time. I'll be blunt: we need another batch of weapons."
Anthony's brow furrowed. "The previous batch wasn't enough?"
Mosquito let out a sigh. "How could it be? Our clients aren't just arms dealers from Tiger State. Lately, buyers from Leopard State have come sniffing around as well. If I'd known demand was that voracious, I would've just sold our own products."
Anthony blinked in bewilderment. "What Tiger State, Leopard State...?"
Mosquito quickly clarified, "Local regions over in Bolo Province."
Anthony nodded in realization. No wonder people called it a zoo; so that was why.
"So... your client is the Empire?"
Mosquito nodded repeatedly. "Who else? Smaller settlements can barely scrape together enough for an artillery piece; only the Empire has the appetite to swallow so much hardware."
Hearing this, Anthony's expression grew even more perplexed.
"But... I heard you and the Empire are adversaries?"
Mosquito nearly choked on his own spit, coughing several times before managing, "Cough... now you're truly insulting us."
Anthony quickly said, "My apologies, I didn't mean it that way... I just find it odd. After all, you only recently fought a war with the Empire. Aren't you afraid they'll use those weapons to retaliate against you?"
Mosquito waved it off. "That's not my concern. So long as our esteemed Manager hasn't barred us from doing business with them, I'll sell them as much as they want."
Anthony gave a dazed nod. "I suppose I understand... So how much do you need?"
Mosquito said without hesitation, "We'll take everything you have!"
Anthony shook his head. "I can't possibly give you all of it. Half of the previous batch is my absolute limit. The civil official faction in Triumph City is also very interested in this consignment. Their ships have already set sail from West Sail Port; I hear they'll arrive in two weeks."
Hearing how meager the supply was, Mosquito's brow furrowed at once.
The warlords of Leopard State were offering no less than those in Tiger State.
After all, Leopard State boasted Banana Bay, which ranked among the top three on In Debt God's Sightseeing Recommendation List. Those ruthless moguls were far wealthier than General Jeha of Tiger State.
The client who had come to negotiate this time had stated flatly that however much Tiger State bought, they would take double the amount!
And they were paying entirely in silver coins!
Had the contract not already been signed and the currency exchange banks arranged, he would have been tempted to cancel the Tiger State deal altogether.
"How much are they paying you?"
"Uh, I'm not sure... but probably not as much as you. I hear it's being handed over essentially at cost," Anthony admitted sheepishly.
Mosquito immediately grew agitated. "Then why not sell to us? Do you have a grudge against money?"
Anthony gave a helpless wry smile. "Naturally, strategic necessity plays a part... I'm not sure if it's appropriate to say this to you, but your stance in the MAC has been far too aggressive. We need to arm our friends to relieve some of the pressure you're putting on us. It isn't just about money."
Mosquito pounced on the opening at once. "That's an easy fix! You intend to use these weapons to arm the Empire, correct? If the merchants from West Sail Port haul them away, they're selling them to the Empire. If we buy them, we're also selling them to the Empire! What difference does it make?"
Before Anthony could speak, Mosquito pressed on with his relentless sales pitch.
"The only difference is that the merchants under your civil official faction are exploiting your strategic needs, profiting handsomely off dirt-cheap wholesale prices! Whereas we would rather ensure that money lands in your pockets!"
"Let me be entirely frank: can you really bear to watch those profiteering merchants siphon away the profits that rightfully belong to you?"
Anthony froze. He had instinctively wanted to argue back, but mulling it over... wasn't that precisely the case?
If Goblin Tech bought the weapons, they would sell them to the Empire; if the civil faction's merchants bought them, they would also sell them to the Empire. In terms of end result, there was genuinely no difference.
If that was the case, why not sell to the highest bidder?
And the most infuriating part truly was those parasitic merchants tied to the civil officials!
The brothers of the Eastern Legion were shedding blood on the front lines for His Imperial Majesty the Marshal, while those paper-pushers were busy figuring out how to squeeze coin from their hands!
Yet what confounded him was how, after this man's fast talk, the enemy somehow sounded far more conscientious than their own brothers.
Anthony hesitated for a moment. "This... I need to consult my superiors. I can't make this decision on my own."
Mosquito agreed graciously, "Go right ahead. Your superiors will surely appreciate my good intentions."
At any rate, Corvey would inevitably seek Pangolin's opinion, and Mosquito had already cleared the ground with the latter.
To him, this hand was played with all cards face-up.
Those cargo ships sailing from West Sail Port would take at least two to three weeks to arrive, potentially dragging on until early next year.
With the strategic outcome virtually identical, his side not only paid promptly but could swallow the entire inventory in one gulp. There was no reason for these Wilante to pick anyone else.
Since he needed to report to his superiors, Anthony invited Mosquito back to the nearby camp for refreshments.
Noticing a few shovel-bearing survivors in the camp who clearly weren't Wilante—their features more reminiscent of people from the eastern provinces—Mosquito asked out of curiosity, "Who are they?"
Following his gaze, Anthony smiled. "Oh, them? Scavengers we hired to dig the ruins. Soldiers are too clumsy for excavation work; for this sort of thing, you really need professionals."
"That's true enough..." Mosquito stroked his chin and nodded, though his mind had already wandered to other possibilities.
If the Wilante had spare coin to hire outside laborers, they must be unearthing quite a haul down in those ruins...
Perhaps—
He could leverage his connections to pull off something lucrative here.
While Mosquito was turning the scheme over in his head, the battered truck that had passed them on the road earlier finally reached the edge of Death Coast before it could rattle apart.
Catching sight of that shimmering azure expanse, the survivors in the truck bed craned their necks in wild excitement, gazing toward the shoreline.
"It's the coast!"
"Settlement No. 1!!"
"Hahaha! We made it! We're finally here!"
"Sob... A thousand whole kilometers! I actually survived the trek!"
A military camp sat along the narrow coastal strip.
To the south of the encampment, floating piers bobbed gently with the tide. Broad cargo ships were moored alongside, while cranes hoisted and unloaded shipping containers in an endless rhythm.
To the north, rows of container barracks stood neatly aligned like blocks of tofu.
That was undoubtedly the legendary Settlement No. 1!
They were by no means the first to arrive. Long before their truck pulled in, countless survivors had reached this shore and moved into the new homes prepared for them by the Alliance.
Though the containers looked simple and austere, they were a world better than the makeshift tents they had slept in along the way.
Compared to the promise of a brighter future, the hardships of the present were trivial.
This was merely the beginning.
They wouldn't live in rusted containers forever; they would build their own homeland with their own two hands!
"Great Horned Deer God above!"
"Praise be to the great Radiation God! Your flickering light has guided me here!"
"Praise the Alliance! Praise the Manager!"
Overwhelmed with emotion, the crowd babbled incoherently, each offering prayers to their respective faiths.
Several who couldn't wait another second grabbed their luggage, vaulted over the side of the truck, and sprinted toward the coastline.
The young merchant who had read the newspaper earlier ran so hard he nearly lost his mud-caked boots, shouting cheers as he raced ahead.
Without exception, the eyes of these survivors shone with devout, fervent light.
Like the worshippers of the Great Horned Deer God, they too held their own beliefs—and right now, the object of their faith lay directly before them.
All they wanted was to move faster, just a little faster, to reach the sanctuary they had dreamed of!
Having collected the fare before departure, the driver made no attempt to stop these frenzied fools, obligingly slowing the truck to let them leap.
Meanwhile, near the entrance of Settlement No. 1, several officers of the Southern Construction Corps noticed the refugees rushing their way.
"Another fresh batch," Xiao Yue whistled, grinning. "If this keeps up, we're going to run out of shipping containers."
Li Jinrong, commander of the Southern Construction Corps, nodded.
"That's easily handled. I'll contact North Island to ship over another batch."
"...Tell them to send more precast concrete slabs. These sheet-metal houses won't stand a chance if a typhoon hits; one blast of wind and they're gone."
Xiao Yue chuckled as he spoke, then turned his gaze back toward the bustling settlement before him.
More than thirty thousand survivors were already settled here.
Some had been rescued from mutant nests, others handed over by the Legion, while still others had come seeking refuge after hearing the radio broadcast.
Just like the dozen or two who had just arrived.
Community personnel stepped forward to receive the refugees, guiding them with their baggage toward the newly designated container quarters while introducing the local facilities.
Everything was moving in the right direction.
Perhaps before long, Haiya Province would return to its former vitality—perhaps becoming even livelier than when the Iron Tower Organization was still around!
Yet the sole regret...
Was that the people who once lived on this land would never see that magnificent sight.
A flicker of melancholy surfaced on Xiao Yue's face. He let out a sudden sigh.
"I suddenly miss my folks. Honestly, I don't really remember them, but I just thought... it'd be wonderful if they were still around."
Li Jinrong was at a loss for words of comfort. After a moment of silence, he spoke gently.
"Once this settlement is properly established, let's build them a park."
Xiao Yue shot him a puzzled look. "A park?"
"Mm. And a memorial, or something of the sort..."
Li Jinrong paused briefly, then continued.
"We need to let future generations know what happened here, what price was paid, and how it all finally ended."
"Those who sacrificed themselves will watch over us in another form. So long as we remember them, our future will remain bright."
Chapter 813