With a stubborn refusal to give up until he saw the coffin with his own eyes, Yarman boarded the shuttle from Settlement No. 1 to the ruins of Haibei City, completing the final hundred kilometers of this journey.
Unsurprisingly, the centurion rolled his eyes the moment he saw the slip of paper in Yarman's hand.
"Go find whoever wrote this paper for you. Or go ask General Lium for it."
Thinking he could buy a ton of arms for ten thousand dinars—by that math, a tank would cost just over five hundred thousand!
The price offered by the Alliance, converted to dinars, was more than three times that number!
This fellow wanted to slash the price to the bone with a single scrap of paper? In his dreams!
Still unwilling to give up, Yarman asked, "Then... where is he?"
Anthony said impatiently, "Aboard the airship Loyalty. If he's not at Ten Peaks Mountain, he's gone back west to celebrate the New Year."
In truth, the question was completely pointless. What victorious general wouldn't return to Triumph City to show off?
The Legion had reaped plenty from this campaign. Although they hadn't obtained the research data on the "gestalt lifeform" technology held by Torch—the thing they cared about most—the gene samples they'd collected alone would keep the technical officers in the research institutes busy for quite some time. Barring any accidents, General Lium was expected to be promoted to three-star myriarch.
His last hope had been dashed.
Yarman's mouth twitched, but in the end he put away the stack of waste paper.
He swore.
He would frame this trash, hang it in the most conspicuous spot in his study, and add a family motto written by his own hand to pass down through the generations:
Only pigs believe a Wilante's promise!
If only he hadn't listened to Governor Huye's call, but done the reverse—keeping his fleet on its original route to deliver tea and sugar to Triumph City—he might have made a killing on the premium while massive shipments from Bolo Province were delayed!
Besides, because it was a familiar route, he wouldn't have needed to accompany the ships in person. That way, he could have stayed by his family's side, peacefully spending the most important holiday of the year instead of suffering the scowls of these grunts and being kicked around like a ball among the big shots.
Just as he was turning to leave, he suddenly noticed the exoskeletons he had seen earlier at the dock were here as well.
Not only that—
The people wearing those exoskeletons didn't seem to be Wilante soldiers, but rather the slaves they kept.
Yarman halted, asking in curiosity, "...Well that's rare. Do you have so many exoskeletons here that you give them to slaves?"
If they had that many spares, they might as well sell them to him.
Anthony's expression suddenly turned a bit awkward. Clearing his throat, he said, "...They don't count as slaves. They're hired."
Hired?
Yarman froze, asking reflexively, "...How much?"
Anthony explained, "Not that expensive. Eight silver coins an hour."
The moment he heard that number, Yarman's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"What?! You're actually paying them eight silver coins an hour! Are you insane?!"
Even by the highest exchange rate between dinars and silver coins—three dinars for one silver coin—that was twenty-four dinars!
By that calculation, wouldn't a person working a single day here earn more than a laborer in West Sail Port made in an entire month?!
"Are you that short on people here?" Yarman's eyes lit up, and he pressed on without missing a beat.
Seeing the fiery look in this man's eyes, Anthony felt an uneasy clench. "Short? We're desperately short... Ahem, calm down first. I know what you're thinking, but under the Slime Mold Consortium agreement, we can't use the Alliance's transportation system to bring slaves here. So no matter how short we are, there's nothing we can do—"
"We have ships!" Yarman trembled with excitement. "How many do you need? I'll haul them over for you!"
Anthony rolled his eyes.
"You think I couldn't think of sea transport? It's useless. That vast territory to the north counts as our 'enclave.' Unless you fly slaves in by plane, they'll seize them the moment you pass through Alliance territory. And that's not the only problem—they don't recognize the legality of contracts buying and selling human freedom. The moment a slave escapes into their territory, they become a wasteland wanderer. You get what I mean?"
Yarman stood dumbfounded for a long while before letting out a bitter laugh.
"You... you listen to them that obediently?"
"What do you mean, 'listen to them'?"
Deeply displeased by his choice of words, Anthony glared sideways at him.
"This is called a strategic game. Both sides step back to terms mutually acceptable, resolving conflicts through dialogue. After all, if it came to an all-out fight, nobody would benefit. But if you think we're afraid of them, you're out of your mind... All right, if you've got nothing else, you can piss off."
Yarman was left speechless.
...
The Wilante were still relatively polite toward their own people—at least they wouldn't club someone with a rifle butt over a couple of unpleasant words.
Even so, it was a fact that merchants held little status.
The civil official clique itself was unpopular, to say nothing of the merchants they backed.
Though Yarman wanted to push his luck a bit further, the centurion in charge of the area had no intention of wasting time and directly kicked him out.
Left without an option, Yarman could only board the transport back to the Death Coast.
The sun slanted westward, casting long shadows across the gate of Settlement No. 1.
The dock, which had been relatively empty before, was now crammed with vessels. A sea of masts stretched as far as the eye could see, a bustling panorama.
Yet judging by the bare decks, most who had arrived today had made the trip for nothing.
Dragging his exhausted body back to the harbor, Yarman happened to see his crew carousing outside a waterfront bar, several of them already leaning on the wall drunk in broad daylight.
Although most of the buildings here were made of shipping containers, many wastelanders ran small businesses, selling concocted cocktails or hand-rolled cigarettes. As long as the goods weren't contraband, the Alliance guards rarely intervened.
Yarman suddenly felt a touch of envy toward these thoroughly sloshed wretches.
He used to think these scoundrels had no future. They couldn't hold onto their wages for more than a few days before blowing them on booze or women, never hoping to marry a wife in their lifetimes, let alone achieve financial independence... But thinking about it now, at least they didn't have to worry about losing their shirts on the next venture.
Unlike him, they got paid as long as they put out to sea, and once they hit shore, they could spend their coin seeking pleasure. Unlike him, scowling with worry all day only to end up with cleaned-out pockets in the end—what difference was there between him and them now?
At the thought of the bills waiting for him back home, Yarman's scalp went completely numb. He dared not dwell on it, merely muttering to his surrounding attendants and bodyguards, "Dammit... let's go have a drink!"
The men exchanged glances. Knowing the boss was in a foul mood and unsure how to console him, they simply followed behind him to the liveliest bar in the area.
Unlike the other wasteland-style shanties, this was one of the few buildings constructed from brick and concrete. Standing behind the counter was a one-eyed robot, and the clock above the bar was actually a holographic projection. The owner clearly possessed some taste.
Besides dockworkers, the patrons drinking here included crewmen fresh off the ships.
Seeing their dejected faces brought Yarman a sliver of comfort—at least he wasn't the only sucker.
Throughout the entire harbor, broke Wilante sat at tables, chugging beer down their throats mug after mug.
"Motherfucker!"
"That son of a bitch Huye! And that Bannote! Not a single one of those civil officials is reliable!"
"No loyalty at all!"
"May the mutants pay their entire families a visit!"
However sickening their praises had been when setting sail, their curses were just as venomous now.
Merchants like Yarman who owned their own fleet were in the minority; most people's ships were chartered.
Many in particular had counted on this venture for a dramatic turnaround. To that end, they had mortgaged everything they could, borrowed massive sums from the banks in West Sail Port, and rented every ship available at the harbor. Yet now they had drawn a blank. Every piece of leftover equipment on the entire front had been monopolized by that outfit called 'Goblin Tech.'
For those people, it was practically a death sentence.
Sitting at the counter, Yarman ordered a mug of beer. Finding his hovering bodyguards and lackeys an eyesore, he waved them off to the side.
Looking at the massive one-liter mug set on the counter, he was just about to tilt his head back and down it in one go when a voice spoke from beside him.
"Hey."
Yarman cast a sideways glance. Seeing an unfamiliar face, he frowned and asked, "Who are you?"
It was a young-looking fellow wearing a gray rhino-hide jacket.
Flashing his teeth in a smile, the young man took a seat on the adjacent stool with easy familiarity, speaking in an upbeat tone. "Zhang Ze. Arrived here a bit before you, doing some odd jobs around the port."
Without waiting for Yarman to ask what exactly he did, Zhang Ze kept talking without a pause. "Wilante are a rare sight here. Most of your countrymen are over at Haibei City. Did you come to take them home?"
Yarman said impatiently, "What business is that of yours?"
Zhang Ze chuckled. "None at all. I was just curious. After all, ships arriving empty are indeed rare around here. This port is like a starving deathclaw—it can even digest shipping containers... Is there some kind of treasure here?"
Hearing those words, Yarman's brows twitched violently. He slammed his right hand onto the counter and stood up.
"Are you looking for a fucking fight?"
The instant his hand hit the counter, the lackeys and bodyguards at the neighboring table surged to their feet.
Seeing the man flare up, Zhang Ze quickly rose and raised both hands, signaling he meant no harm.
"Calm down, brother... I know you probably took a beating on your losses, but since you've already lost the money, why not hear me out?"
Though infuriated, Yarman noticed the patrons in the bar watching him. He swallowed his anger, gave his bodyguards a look, and then, steadying his heaving chest, sat back down on his stool.
"Fine, let's see what kind of pearls can come out of your mouth."
Zhang Ze smiled, shamelessly sitting back down beside him, and lowered his voice. "...I can't spit pearls, but I do have a way for you to earn back the money you lost."
"Oh?" Yarman curled his lip, sneering at him. "Are you trying to tell me I can make a fortune hauling those battered shipping containers to West Sail Port?"
Paying no mind to the skeptical look, Zhang Ze shook his head, replying in a lighthearted tone, "Of course not... How much could that possibly make?"
Yarman sneered again and took a sip from his mug. "I don't believe there's any local specialty here with higher margins."
Zhang Ze explained patiently, "There really isn't. This place is still in the pioneer phase. But precisely because of that, there's a massive demand for certain things here. For instance... labor."
Yarman's brow furrowed slightly. "Labor? But I heard the Alliance bans the slave trade."
"You're right, but not entirely accurate," Zhang Ze nodded, smiling as he continued. "What the Alliance doesn't recognize are merely slave contracts. It doesn't prohibit another, more tactful method of restricting personal freedom."
Yarman let out a noncommittal grunt. "Such as?"
"Such as debt. The Alliance explicitly recognizes debtor-creditor relationships within reasonable bounds."
Hearing this unexpected answer, Yarman was momentarily stunned.
"...What do you mean?"
Zhang Ze continued with a smile, "It means that if you pull out an IOU at random and claim someone owes you money they could never repay in a lifetime, the Alliance's authorities won't recognize it. In fact, they'll probably turn around and investigate whether you've lost your mind... What kind of lunatic lends money knowing full well the other party could never pay it back?"
"On the other hand, if you present an IOU along with a reasonable justification explaining how the debt was incurred, and demonstrate that the borrower can repay the debt within ten to twenty years without ruining their livelihood... then the Alliance acknowledges that debt."
"I have no idea what you're rambling about." Yarman frowned. "Are you in the moneylending business? I don't need a loan right now, nor do I have spare cash to lend."
"No, no, no, I'm not in moneylending. But... I am very interested in another business." Zhang Ze rested a hand on Yarman's shoulder, speaking in a persuasive, coaxing tone. "Look, this place is short on people—desperately, desperately short. We have to build ports, lay railways, construct our cities and streets. Labor is needed everywhere... And it just so happens that a few thousand kilometers away, there's a place where the one thing never lacking is people. If we buy them—"
Yarman mocked, "You can't trade slaves here. Buy them and release them into the wild?"
"That's why you need to shift your mindset! Can't we just figure out a way to turn their slave contracts into debt contracts? Are you really so desperate to have them call you master?"
Looking at the stunned Yarman, Zhang Ze patiently explained, "The operational process is actually quite simple. We can register a labor agency and a loan company in the Alliance, and then register a labor dispatch company in West Sail Port. We buy healthy slaves from the nobles, or help freedmen who have already redeemed themselves."
"This isn't charity, of course. We're merely offering them a second chance at life, and they have to pay for it themselves."
"A redemption fee of a thousand dinars, a resettlement allowance of three thousand dinars, ten thousand silver coins for boat fare and travel expenses, plus three percent interest. Over twenty years, they repay nearly thirty thousand silver coins in total. Sounds terrifying, doesn't it? But broken down monthly, it's only a hundred and twenty-five silver coins!"
"I think that profit margin is plenty. We could even waive their agency and financial service fees depending on the situation."
"Naturally, if they do well later on and want to redeem their families or send money back to support them, we can provide similar services."
"A hundred and twenty-five silver coins a month is terrifying enough on its own..." Yarman clicked his tongue, swallowing a gulp of rich beer. Even his tone grew subconsciously polite.
If they shipped over ten thousand people, wouldn't they collect more than 1.2 million silver coins every month?!
And collect it for twenty years!
While it couldn't match the profit margins of munitions, it was still astounding.
Assuming Yarman was worried the laborers couldn't afford it, Zhang Ze clapped his shoulder with a laugh. "All the money in West Sail Port was sucked up by you big-nosed folks, so of course they can't cough up that much. But this is our respected Administrator's turf. Even if you're missing hands and feet, they'll lend you money to install an arm. As long as you're willing to work, earning over a thousand silver coins a month is a breeze... Well? Are you in?"
Having worked out the math in his head, Yarman didn't hesitate long. He downed half his mug of beer in a single gulp and slammed the glass heavily onto the counter.
Those despondent eyes seemed to find a second spring, rekindling with the light of ambition.
"I'm in! Fuck it... I at least have to earn back my principal from this trip!"
If this venture worked out, the banks in West Sail Port might loosen the noose around his neck!
Dammit!
Once he made his fortune, he would pay off every single loan!
Seeing Yarman reinvigorated, a satisfied smile finally spread across Zhang Ze's face. Working at the dock these past few days, he had already scraped together the money to register a company. If this venture succeeded, his rise to the peak of life was right around the corner!
"Hold on a moment, my partners are arriving soon..."
"Partners? You have other partners?" Yarman raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued.
Zhang Ze checked the time on the holographic wall clock, glanced toward the doorway, and smiled. "Of course. I can't handle such a massive business alone. Besides, the idea of exporting labor was brought over from North Island next door by my partner... Ah, they're here. Right over there."
Yarman followed his gaze and saw four figures in blue jackets standing at the entrance.
Seeing them, his expression shifted to shock.
Blue gophers?!
Good grief!
This business was solid as a rock!
Although he disliked the Alliance and had just been burned by the Alliance's Goblin Tech, having them as teammates was another matter entirely.
No one would ever complain about having reliable allies.
The four looked around the bar and quickly spotted Zhang Ze waving to them. They walked straight over.
A polished smile immediately spread across Yarman's face. Facing the four friends approaching him, he proactively extended his right hand.
"I am Yarman, a merchant from West Sail Port. Might I ask who you gentlemen are?"
The man leading the group wore an equally warm expression, gripping his right hand firmly.
"I'm Farsighted Eagle, and beside me is Battle-Tested Wolf... We're residents of Shelter 404. Our names are a bit odd, so please don't mind."
"Hello."
Battle-Tested Wolf gave a nod. His quiet, reserved demeanor made him look like a master who kept his talents hidden.
In reality, the only reason he acted this way was that he had barely learned a few sentences of the Human Alliance language.
That was the downside of Strength-types.
His starting Intelligence stat had been too low—a miserable three points—making him play like an idiot in the early game.
What strange names...
Still, remembering that they came from a shelter, Yarman wasn't surprised.
"And... these two?"
His gaze fell on the two friends standing behind Brother Eagle and Brother Wolf.
They seemed to be shelter residents as well, so out of politeness, he inquired about their names.
Yet for some reason, subtle, awkward expressions crossed all four faces simultaneously.
Farsighted Eagle cleared his throat. "Better not ask about these two... Just pretend they don't exist."
"Fuck that! What do you mean don't exist!" Stirring Stick glared at him, then turned with a beaming smile to the Wilante before him, stammering but trying his hardest: "I'm Stick. The brothers call me Brother Stick. That guy is Tube. You can call him Brother Tube or Old Tube, either works."
Conduit Dog: "???"
Yarman's brow twitched involuntarily. He had an ominous feeling that none of these fellows was reliable, but he decided to observe further before drawing conclusions.
Turning to Zhang Ze beside him, he asked, "When do we set out?"
Zhang Ze looked at Brother Eagle, then at Yarman, and smiled. "Anytime works for me. I'll be right here at the port anyway. You guys work out a departure time."
Yarman looked at the four shelter residents. Farsighted Eagle, their leader, spoke up immediately:
"The sooner the better. I don't want to stay here another second... If we head back now, we might even make it in time for next month's Natal Day."
Yarman suddenly recalled something.
"Right, I need to buy a souvenir for my daughter... Are there any shops around here?"
Hearing this, the four players froze, looking at each other.
"A souvenir, really... What kind of souvenir is there here?"
"How about a rag doll?" Brother Dog suggested.
"That has no character at all," Brother Stick shook his head. "Might as well scoop a bottle of sand to take back."
Battle-Tested Wolf tapped on his VM, checked the translation, and suddenly stammered, "How about a mutant specimen? The mutants here are pretty unique—some have fish fins."
The other three were dumbfounded.
"Holy crap."
"What the fuck."
"That's way too bizarre!"
"That won't do..." Barely understanding their exchange, Yarman said with an awkward look, "I gave her a specimen made from a mutant's head before, but my little Ruby didn't like it... Neither did my wife; she said it was terrifying to look at at night."
Farsighted Eagle: "...?"
Conduit Dog: "..."
Stirring Stick: "Hardcore..."
Listening to their conversation, Zhang Ze couldn't help but smack his forehead in exasperation. Then an idea struck him.
"How about taking a few photos? Your child probably hasn't been to the wasteland, right? The scenery here should be quite novel."
Yarman's eyes lit up at the suggestion. Excited, he grabbed Zhang Ze by the shoulders. "My friend, you're brilliant! Why didn't I think of that!"
Farsighted Eagle patted his shoulder. "Then hurry up and go take them. The sun's about to set. There aren't streetlights here like on North Island or at Port French Fries. Once it gets dark, you won't see a thing."
The group noisily left the bar. Rushing before the sun set completely, they snapped a good number of photos, capturing the dusk scenery of Settlement No. 1.
Standing on the deck of the cargo ship that was about to set sail, Yarman fiddled with the instant camera he had bought from the harbor general store. He suddenly gave a simple chuckle, scratching the back of his head.
"Why didn't I ever think of this before... Taking photos is such a great idea."
Cameras weren't rare, and he had visited far more interesting settlements than this one.
If he had photographed them all, those pictures would have covered an entire wall by now.
What a shame!
As he spoke, he snapped another shot of the sunset sinking into the sea.
"It's fine. It's not too late to start recording now. Life's road is still long..." Farsighted Eagle patted his shoulder with seasoned gravity, putting on an earnest, worldly air to practice his clumsy Human Alliance language.
"True enough..."
Yarman grinned, stowing the camera away.
He suddenly felt that these shelter residents weren't so obnoxious after all. Setting factions aside, being friends with them was actually quite fun.
Their minds worked fast, and they were always popping out whimsical ideas... including that legendary space elevator currently under construction.
He couldn't imagine these people ever calling him 'master,' and if they actually did, it would probably spoil the fun.
The crew members, not yet done with their drinking, boarded the deck one by one via the gangway. After taking roll call, the captain walked up to Yarman.
"Everything is ready. We can depart at any time... By the way, is it really fine to sail back empty? It's as good as two wasted runs."
Yarman declared in high spirits, "It's fine, and this trip wasn't a waste at all. Once we return, we can quickly start a far more lucrative business... Ah, sorry, the bonus from this trip might—"
Seeing his boss high-spirited one second and stammering the next, the captain made a nonchalant face and shrugged.
"Doesn't matter. Honestly, hearing you folks talk about such astronomical profits, I knew nothing good would come of it... If there isn't one, so be it. Right now, I just hope we don't miss Natal Day. My family is still waiting for me back home."
Farsighted Eagle asked curiously, "What is Natal Day?"
"It's the day the Wilante were born—the beginning of a great legend."
The corners of Yarman's mouth curved slightly. Gazing at the distant sea, he shouted at the top of his lungs:
"Set sail!"
The steam whistle blew.
While the other empty cargo ships lingered stubbornly in the harbor, reluctant to leave, a convoy of eight ships had already embarked on a new journey, chasing the direction of the sinking sun.
A fiery crimson glow bathed the path ahead, the sunset's afterglow blanketing the shimmering sea.
That burning color.
Like it had been dyed in blood.
Chapter 819