Mosquito Fanning the Flames

At the port in front of Settlement No. 1, two flushed, beaming men were clasping hands tightly. One of them was the boss of Goblin Tech, WC Really Has Mosquitoes, while the other was of no small background either—a quartermaster under the warlord of the Tiger Army. Though this gentleman didn't hold a high military rank—merely a chiliarch—his opening transaction was well over ten billion. If only for the sake of money, Mosquito showed him a measure of respect and courtesy, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "Pleasure doing business with you!" "Hahaha! A pleasure doing business with you!" As Chopra said this, his heart bled, but he still forced an awkward smile onto his face. One silver coin for a hundred Xilan coins... This exchange rate was an absolute fleecing! Seeing the heartache on his client's face, Mosquito couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. Not that Mosquito had suddenly developed a bleeding heart. The main thing was that he didn't specialize in currency speculation either; in the end, it was that bastard Fang Chang who had helped him exchange the money, and Mosquito had forfeited twenty percent of his profit for it. In other words, that bastard Fang Chang hadn't done a damn thing and simply freeloaded twenty percent of his profit under the guise of a "financial service fee." Even though it meant Mosquito was still making a massive fortune, the mere thought of that smug face made him fume. That dog won again! Dammit! Just then, Mosquito's eyes darted as a brilliant idea suddenly struck him. Looking at Chiliarch Chopra with a warm smile, he said, "My friend, I treat you as one of my own. All my clients are like family to me. But there's something I'm not sure if I should say." Hearing this, Chopra hurriedly replied, "Please, speak your mind!" "This Xilan coin... I reckon it's doomed sooner or later. Rather than letting the banks in Golden Gallon Port fleece you like leeks, you'd be better off letting me—ahem! I mean, I could help you guys out!" Mosquito had originally intended to break down currency circulation and value relations from the perspective of inflation, but seeing the man's know-it-all, simpleton expression, he abandoned the thought. Helpless. Even if Mosquito talked until his throat went dry, this fellow probably wouldn't understand the underlying logic behind the depreciation of Xilan coins. Besides, even if he did understand, by the time he relayed it to his boss, General Jaiha, the fidelity of the information would take another hit. It would be a sheer miracle if the general could grasp it. His eyes darted again, and Mosquito put that spring-breeze smile back on, speaking with earnest concern: "With Xilan coins tumbling endlessly, I'm truly worried about you folks. Right now, buying a tank costs over a hundred million. Come next year, it might be a billion. How many shirts would you have to sew to trade for just one? Not to mention our wardrobes are practically overflowing with your shirts already. If you don't come up with something new, you might not even be able to scrape together that many Xilan coins next year." Chopra said with a bitter look, "Do you think we want this? We don't have a choice. The printing press is in His Majesty's hands, and how it's run is entirely up to him. Same with silver coins, and dinars too... All the foreign exchange we earn and the tariffs settled from exports are deposited with the Royal Mint. We receive Xilan coins from them at the official rate of 1 to 12.5, but when we try to exchange them for silver coins at that rate, they won't let us." Mosquito clicked his tongue in exasperation. "Foolish! Why must you let His Imperial Majesty print the money? Can't you print it yourselves?" Hearing that, Chopra broke out in a cold sweat. "You mustn't talk like that! Printing currency without authorization will get your head chopped off!" Mosquito gave a dismissive tsk. "Who said you should print Xilan coins? What bloody good is printing that scrap paper? Can't you just print Cat coins or Tiger coins directly?" Chopra was caught between laughter and tears, genuinely at a loss for how to mock this rotten idea. Isn't that the exact same thing?! No— To be precise, it wasn't the same thing at all; it was probably ten times worse! A regional authority arbitrarily issuing currency backed by its own sovereign credit... Isn't that outright treason?! Chopra felt cold sweat trickling like a stream, and he raised his arm to wipe his forehead. Seeing the man's timidity, Mosquito didn't look down on him. Instead, he smiled and handed him a cigarette. "Don't be so nervous. I just saw that you bought so many printing presses yet have no intention of using them, and thought it was a bit of a waste." Taking the cigarette, Chopra blanked, not following his words. "Bought... printing presses?" Mosquito glanced around, his gaze settling particularly on the rows of Conqueror 10 tanks. "Aren't these things printing presses? If you buy a hundred or two hundred of them and bring them back, I'd like to see that Utuo dare cause trouble for you—I sure wouldn't believe it." Puffing on the cigarette, Chopra swallowed hard. He was somewhat enticed, yet anxiety still lingered in his eyes. "You're making it sound too simple. No matter how you look at it, issuing sovereign currency is burning bridges. Setting aside whether anyone would even recognize our currency, the political risks are enormous. Even if only to save face, the imperial family would never—" Mosquito sighed. "It's not that I'm oversimplifying things; it's that your brain can't pivot. You don't dare issue sovereign currency, but do you seriously lack the guts to copy Golden Gallon Port and put out silver coin vouchers? For every silver coin in cash or equivalent financial assets you hold in reserve, issue ten vouchers, and just settle transactions in vouchers from then on. Wouldn't that solve everything?" The moment he heard those words, Chopra felt as if a switch had flipped inside his head, instantly illuminating everything. Right... They had copied Golden Gallon Port's banking system wholesale, so how on earth had they forgotten to copy this most crucial part of the homework?! Given Tiger State's economic scale and trade volume with the Alliance, they were fully capable of issuing silver coin vouchers. When the time came, they could bypass Xilan coins entirely for trade settlement and completely rid themselves of the blood-sucking imperial court in Tiandu! Once the pathway opened in his mind, Chopra's breathing grew ragged. If this could be pulled off, it would resolve Tiger State's most pressing affliction! And his merit might even outshine the achievement of procuring arms! Chopra looked at Mosquito with excitement, cupping his fists in the manner of the Alliance people. "Thank you! Brother!" Seeing how quick on the uptake he was, Mosquito's face broke into a delighted grin. "Don't mention it... Cough, I just tossed that out off the top of my head. For the specifics, you'd better get a specialist to flesh it out. I hear there are plenty of folks working in finance over in Golden Gallon Port." His haphazard economic knowledge had also been picked up second-hand from Fang Chang; at most, he only vaguely knew that such things existed. Finance wasn't his field after all, and it would be disastrous if he drove his client to ruin. No matter how cheap his cost price was for this batch of arms, someone still had to be around to buy them. Shortly after Mosquito saw Chopra off, Yarman, moored near the pier, finally walked down the gangway and stepped ashore. Desolate yet steeped in a mechanical aesthetic, like a spaceship stranded in a desert—this was his immediate first impression of this port and the settlement behind it. A third of the piers here were made of metal, like pontoon bridges pieced together from steel plates, while the remaining two-thirds were concrete piers much like those in West Sail Port, jutting straight out from the shoreline into deep water. In addition, there were several piers under construction, seemingly intended for large cargo ships carrying shipping containers. These piers were not only much wider than the others, but were also equipped with crane-like stationary derricks and portal gantry structures. It wasn't just the piers that proved impressive; the sight of the warehouse district also drew his gaze. Containers were stacked like building blocks across the broad concrete grounds. Forklifts and scissor lifts darted back and forth between the containers, while dockworkers in exoskeletons were busy unloading cargo from open containers... He had to admit that the Alliance's mechanical technology really was something. These dockworkers worked in pairs, and one man did more work than five men back in West Sail Port. Though Yarman was surprised, he didn't pay it too much mind. After all, while exoskeletons were rare in Bolo Province, they were nothing unusual in the Legion. If necessary, he could certainly afford them. As for containerized shipping, while undeniably more efficient than bulk transport, maritime shipping demand on the wasteland wasn't particularly large to begin with. Running container shipping routes required not only specialized vessels but also dedicated docks. Compared to the steep maintenance costs, the modest gain in efficiency was practically negligible. At least, that was what Yarman thought. Moreover, the backlog of containers was a major problem; the steel boxes didn't just clutter the port, they even spilled over into the settlement itself. Still, the survivors were quite clever, retrofitting the iron boxes with doors and windows to use as houses. For subtropical Haiya Province, it wouldn't be too cold; the only real concern seemed to be extreme weather, as those empty boxes might get blown away by a stiff gale. All in all, compared to West Sail Port with its marble buildings and lavish street lamps, this place was undeniably far shabbier. Yarman didn't waste time scrutinizing the port, as he had far more important matters to attend to. Watching yet another container freighter loaded with munitions leave port, he hurriedly rushed up to an approaching port authority official. "We have eight ships in total. What procedures do we need to complete?" Looking at the cargo ships with empty decks, the port authority worker standing on the pier gave the disembarking Wilante a bizarre look. One or two empty ships were nothing unusual, but an entire fleet of eight ships all completely empty was truly a rare sight. "...There are no procedures for docking. Just settle the berthing fees before departing. However, incoming cargo must be registered before unloading; that's a necessary procedure to prevent smuggling... Do you need a cargo declaration form?" Yarman shook his head quickly. "No need." "...All right, I figured you wouldn't need one. If you need to submit supplementary information later, you can apply at the port authority office on your own." The port authority worker shrugged and snapped his receipt ledger shut. Seeing the worker turn to leave, Yarman quickly called out to stop him. "By the way, what place is this?" The worker glanced back at him with an odd look upon hearing the question. "You mean here? This used to be the landing point for the Burning Corps. The esteemed Administrator intends to help the locals rebuild their homes, so now it's the Alliance's Settlement No. 1." This guy doesn't even know what place this is, so what is he doing bustling over here? Yarman was even more stunned by the explanation, instinctively glancing to the side again. This settlement... Was built within just the past two months?! "Doesn't this place... have a name?" Amidst his shock, Yarman couldn't help but ask. The worker chuckled and said, "Not yet. The Administrator said that's a trivial matter. That gentleman plans to wait until more than a hundred thousand survivors settle here, and let the locals decide what to call it themselves... You can ask a local about that stuff. If there's nothing else, I've got work to do." Yarman nodded blankly, watching the worker walk away, then looked toward the port area again, feeling a numb prickle crawl across his scalp. He was certain those things were without a doubt the equipment of the Eastern Legion Expeditionary Force! Yet what he couldn't fathom was why this equipment was appearing at an Alliance port. Could it be... That the esteemed General Lium had already sold them to the Alliance?! Yarman's expression shifted slightly, an ominous premonition gradually taking root in his mind. To reach the Death Coast as quickly as possible, he had deliberately emptied his cargo holds and sailed all the way here with empty ships. If this deal fell through, he would truly lose his shirt! Having clearly noticed the state of the port warehouse district as well, the lead ship's captain walked down from the cargo ship and looked at Yarman. "What on earth is going on..." He had a cut of the profits from this trip, so if only for the sake of the dinars, he couldn't help but care. Yarman looked at him with an unsightly grimace and shook his head. "I don't know either... There seems to be a slight problem with the situation here." Just a slight problem? The captain looked nervously at Yarman and asked hesitatingly, "Are we still going to Haibei City?" "Of course we are, but before going there, I need to ask around nearby..." He had to find out what was going on with the arms stockpiled here! Without hesitation, Yarman immediately went back to his ship, picked out a few retainers, and led them hurrying toward the warehouse district. As luck would have it, just as he reached the warehouse entrance, Mosquito happened to walk out from inside. The two crossed paths and instantly realized the other was no ordinary figure. Catching sight of that prominent nose, Mosquito took the initiative to hand over a business card, speaking with a broad smile: "Goblin Tech! We offer the most professional hardcore work—wherever there's an explosion, there you'll find us! Here's my card, take a look!" Yarman took the business card, utterly bewildered, and happened to spot the words "Military Equipment" prominently printed in the business scope section. "Wait, you deal in arms?" Hearing the man mention arms, Mosquito immediately perked up, saying enthusiastically, "You bet! Our company's best-selling products are weapons—everything from rifles as small as they come to planes and tanks as big as you want! Want me to recommend something for you?!" "Wait... Hold on a second!" Yarman couldn't care less about his sales pitch. He frantically patted himself down and soon fished out the purchase certificates and letters of introduction issued by the Governor's Office. Seeing the papers shoved in front of him, Mosquito blanked for a moment. "What the heck is this?" Yarman swallowed hard, forced a smile onto his face, and said nervously, "The purchase certificate and letter of introduction issued by the West Sail Port Governor's Office..." At this moment, he was like a drowning man desperately clutching at any straw floating past. He knew it was unrealistic, yet he still harbored a one-in-ten-thousand hope that the Governor's Office had already communicated with the Alliance, and that the person before him would recognize these documents. However— The man who took the papers wore a totally baffled expression, glancing at the sheets, then looking back at him. "What the hell is this?" Faced with an expression that clearly showed no recognition of the documents, Yarman sank into complete despair. All negotiation techniques fell useless at this moment. He felt like a clown standing here, yet he still stammered out instinctively, "It's... it's the purchase certificate and letter of introduction I just mentioned. We answered the call of the West Sail Port Governor's Office to come here and help transport weapons..." Mosquito waved him off impatiently. "All right, all right, enough. I don't want to hear this nonsense. If you want them, make an offer." Mosquito couldn't care less where these Wilante were shipping the equipment. In fact, it would be best if they sold them to the Empire. That way, he could sell the gear capable of wrecking these iron lumps to the various warlords of Bolo Province—such as the Type 2B tank, W-2 aircraft, or even the W-3 currently in development. Clinging to his last shred of unrealistic hope, Yarman spoke in near desperation: "According to the quoted price on the purchase certificate, we can reclaim this batch of weapons at a rate of ten thousand dinars per ton—" Hearing this preposterous quote, Mosquito nearly choked on his own spit. "Ten thousand dinars a ton? What the hell are you here to buy, Chinese cabbage?!" He had traded excavators for those tanks, damn it! These profiteers actually wanted to buy them wholesale by the ton, euphemistically calling it "reclaiming"—how fucking shameless could they get?! "B-But the Governor's Office..." Looking at this stammering big-nose, Mosquito cut him off irritably. "Don't give me that Governor's Office crap! This is the Alliance! Handing me this scrap paper is worse than giving me Xilan coins... Bah, we don't take Xilan coins here either. Pay in silver coins or pay in Cr!" Yarman felt every cell in his body trembling, finally squeezing out a sentence through pale lips: "Then... how much are you selling them for?" Having lost much hope in this buyer, Mosquito drawled lazily, "Depends on what you want to buy. If it's a Conqueror 10, let's say one million silver coins." "One million silver coins?!" Yarman's eyes bulged, glaring at him in fury. "You dare sell second-hand equipment for that much? Why don't you just rob people?!" If it were one or two hundred thousand silver coins, he might have gritted his teeth and bought them, turning around to sell them for six or seven million dinars without losing too heavily. Yet Mosquito didn't show him an ounce of courtesy, nor did he intend to haggle. "If you think it's expensive, don't buy it!" Rolling his eyes, Mosquito shoved the roll of papers back into the big-nosed man's hand and snatched back the business card he had just offered. Motherfucker! Turns out these bastards came here looking for a free lunch! Wasting his excitement for nothing! Without lingering a second longer, Mosquito climbed straight into an off-road vehicle parked outside with his lackeys, vanishing down the end of the road in under half a minute, leaving the group of Wilante standing stunned and bewildered at the entrance to the warehouse district. Watching his boss stand frozen for a long while, a retainer following Yarman said cautiously, "...Maybe the Eastern Legion only sold off a portion, and there's still unsold stock in Haibei City. How about... we go try our luck there?" "Let's hope..." Squeezing out a bitter smile, Yarman looked as though he had aged more than a decade in an instant, without a trace of the high-spirited swagger he had held on the way here. This round trip had wasted at least a month of his time. He had originally counted on using the surplus profits from this deal to pay the penalties for delayed delivery of sugar cubes, tea leaves, and other goods. Now, it appeared he would have to swallow the losses whole. Not only that, storing those goods in the docks' warehouses back in West Sail Port incurred rental fees, which was another considerable expense... Just as Yarman was fretting over bill after bill, silhouettes of ships emerged once again on the distant sea. Like ducks having a field day, they charged toward the port of Settlement No. 1. Zhang Ze, who was hauling cargo in the port area, looked up, a surprised expression appearing on his face. "Why are there so many ships?" This porter job had been arranged for him by the employment guidance center of Settlement No. 1. His hourly wage was eight silver coins—the same as Renault, who had gotten off halfway—though it was hard to say whose work was more grueling. However, he was still young and wouldn't do this for the rest of his life; this job was merely a transition for him. Once he saved up some starting capital and obtained his Alliance citizenship, he would eventually return to his old trade as a traveling merchant. Beside him, a colleague wearing an exoskeleton set down a crate and said with a chuckle, "Who cares how many ships come? It's none of our business. Once our shift ends, let's hit the tavern for a couple of drinks." Another worker standing nearby twitched his lips and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. "Doubt it. With so many ships, I'm afraid we'll have to work overtime... We might be busy until dark." This wasn't Port French Fries, where bars stayed open past midnight. Most of the small mom-and-pop shops catered to scavengers returning from nearby ruins and closed right after eight. Zhang Ze stared into the distance for a moment, thought about it, and said, "...Not necessarily. The batch of cargo ships that just arrived looked empty to me." "Empty ships?" The colleague working in his pair froze. "Coming here?" The entire Settlement No. 1 was still in the early stages of construction and had zero output. What could empty ships possibly be doing here? Buying trash? Everyone wore utterly baffled expressions, watching those cargo ships scramble toward the piers in complete bewilderment. It wasn't just the dockworkers who were utterly baffled; even the director of the port authority office froze after hearing his subordinate's report. "Weird... Are these Wilante here on vacation?" Among those convoys were even a few passenger liners, though they appeared to be empty... And just as the Alliance staff were dumbfounded, the Wilante standing on the port also froze when they saw those cargo ships laden with munitions sailing past them in the opposite direction. Holy shit... They had only just reached Haiya Province, yet someone was already heading home with a full haul?! Isn't that ridiculously fast?!