It was worth noting that when Chu Guang opened Settlement No. 1's Survivor Daily, Arman's fleet had not yet made landfall; they had only just passed North Island in the Southern Sea.
Driven by ever-fiercer competition in the industry, the branch office had rushed to draft the front-page headline and finish printing the night before, all to beat everyone else to the punch.
Over five thousand immigrants from the west of the Mid-Continent.
That was nearly a twentieth of Settlement No. 1's existing population!
And on top of that, these people were Wilante.
Given the Alliance's current strategic hostility toward the Southern Legion, this massive influx of immigrants was already brimming with controversy—not to mention the more than a thousand tons of gold.
At a breakfast stall not far from the docks, several dockworkers in hard hats clicked their tongues in astonishment at the news.
A few of them were Wilante.
Compared to other wastelanders from the eastern provinces, they were by far the most sensitive to gold.
"Over a thousand tons of gold... how many dinars is that?!"
"The smallest denomination is five grams... Over a thousand tons has to be at least two hundred million!"
A Wilante who had once served in the Eastern Legion couldn't help marveling:
"Damn... those bastards down south really are loaded."
In the Eastern Legion, gold was usually held by estate lords who owned vast tracts of land.
These people were generally military aristocrats—either active-duty myriarchs granted estates, or those whose families could boast a former myriarch.
In this respect, the Southern Legion truly possessed a certain institutional superiority over the Eastern Legion.
Their wealth was not tied to land, but relied far more on mines and factories.
Not only that, the gold in the Southern Legion was monopolized merely by Wilante as a whole, rather than exclusively by myriarchs.
It was no wonder merchants and immigrants from Triumph City loved flocking to the Southern Legion's colonies.
While those Wilante debated just how many silver coins two hundred million dinars could fetch, Henk, who was also wearing a hard hat nearby, held his breath in excitement.
Two hundred million dinars!
He had been fretting over the lack of startup capital to launch his plan, and hadn't the money just arrived?!
Months ago, he had boasted to Arman that he would earn back everything he had lost in Settlement No. 1. Regrettably, months had passed, yet he was still toiling away on the docks, while the grand blueprint in his mind hadn't even gotten off the ground.
There was no helping it.
The Alliance Bank's risk control was far too stringent—wholly unfriendly to entrepreneurs like him who had big ideas but lacked collateral.
Although he had dutifully found a job, rebuilt his credit, and secured a temporary residency permit, a dock job paying a measly two thousand silver coins a month was nowhere near enough to secure a startup loan of over a million silver coins to get his snowball rolling.
Yet just as he was at his wit's end, those thousand-plus tons of gold pulling into port showed him a glimmer of hope!
Hurriedly abandoning his half-eaten noodles, he trotted over to the foreman and got straight to the point.
"I'd like to take some time off."
Since this fellow asked for leave every couple of days, the foreman had long since memorized his face.
Looking at the flustered Henk, the foreman said with a chuckle, "Time off? What hurts this time?"
Faced with the ribbing, Henk looked a bit sheepish, but he didn't back down. Clearing his throat, he said, "Ahem... Did you see the headline in this morning's Survivor Daily? I've got acquaintances on those ships. I need to go welcome them."
He wasn't lying, strictly speaking. The shipowner named Arman truly was an acquaintance—and his savior, no less.
The foreman blinked, then burst into a hearty laugh.
Still, he didn't make a fuss in the end and signed the leave slip for Henk.
"...I'd advise you to take your job a little more seriously. You should be putting in at least forty hours a week, shouldn't you? If you fall short of 168 hours again this month, I'll have to give your job to the Brahmas."
Taking the slip from the foreman, Henk bluffed shamelessly, "Thanks for cutting me some slack. Once I strike it rich, drinks are on me."
Not buying his pie-in-the-sky promises for a second, the foreman grinned and retorted, "Just drinks? Since you're daydreaming anyway, I figured you'd at least make me a general manager."
Henk smirked. "That's entirely different. My primary responsibility is to my investors. Still, if you're ever interested in a career change, I'll consider recommending you to my competitors."
The foreman stared blankly for a second, then chuckled and cursed at the slick operator: "Get lost, you ungrateful bastard! Don't even think about getting another leave slip from me this month!"
Waving the slip in his hand, Henk grinned back. "From your mouth to God's ears! If this pans out, I won't have to bother you for time off ever again, and you can give my exoskeleton to those Brahmas."
Henk might not be any big shot, but he had once owned two boatloads of munitions.
He had never planned on toiling at the docks for the rest of his life; this job was merely a stepping stone.
...
Just as Henk was hurrying toward the passenger terminal, the twelve passenger ships laden with immigrants finally glided into Settlement No. 1's port.
On the deck of the Nest of Salvation, Arman gazed at the pier close at hand, a brilliant smile tinged with faint yearning spreading across his face.
Thanks to favorable weather throughout the voyage, his fleet had maintained an average speed of over thirty knots across the Polo Sea, only slowing down upon reaching Baiyue Strait.
Because they were carrying more than five thousand passengers—mostly Wilante—he had avoided calling at any ports along the coast of Brahma Province to prevent unnecessary trouble.
That was precisely why they had managed to reach Death Coast before the first weekend of September.
Truth be told, the changes here were remarkable.
Take the port alone: passenger and cargo berths had originally been crammed together, but with the surge in throughput and passenger traffic, the docks had been divided into distinct zones according to function.
Not only that, but shoreside infrastructure linked to the docks was springing up one project after another.
There were freight rail lines connecting to the port's storage depots, a passenger terminal building linked to the berths, minibus stations, and more.
Arman still remembered that where rows of container houses had once stood, roads flanked by green belts had now been paved, dotted with wooden seaside cottages.
Even though he visited frequently and his trips were not spaced far apart, every time he docked here, it gave him the illusion that ages had passed.
While Arman gazed ashore, Kuluan, standing beside him, was also observing the surroundings with keen eyes.
Unlike Arman, this was Kuluan's first time here. Having never seen its previous state, he did not show much surprise.
Compared to Evernight Port with its hundreds of thousands of residents, Settlement No. 1, with a population barely over a hundred thousand, felt more like a peri-urban fringe between country and city, while the expanding port resembled a bustling construction site.
Living conditions here certainly couldn't compare to Evernight Port, especially for uprooted people like them.
However, that wasn't what he cared about anyway.
And as a fresh start, it was already quite good.
"By the way, why is this place called Death Coast?"
Hearing Kuluan's curious question, Arman replied casually, "Because... this place really wasn't a good spot in the past. Even when the Iron Tower Organization was still around, locals were reluctant to come anywhere near it. I heard that before the Alliance arrived, mutant tribes large and small were scattered across the entire coastline—the kind with gills and fins."
Surprise flickered across Kuluan's face. "There are mutants with gills and fins?"
Arman smiled. "Of course. But they can't stay submerged underwater indefinitely, and their nests along the shoreline have mostly been wiped out by Alliance patrols... According to the Alliance folks, some aquatic mutants retreated into pre-war sewers, but the entrances are generally far from settlements, posing no threat to the people living here."
Kuluan nodded in understanding and turned his gaze to the nearby beach.
Aside from jagged reefs, all he could see were folded lounge chairs, a few closed parasols, and scattered figures strolling here and there.
It was morning, so few people were idling on the beach, yet he could still feel the peace and serenity in the slow passage of time.
It was hard to believe that this place had once been a lair of mutants and a battlefield where Alliance landing forces clashed...
A hint of envy crept into Kuluan's eyes, though he couldn't quite put into words what he was envying.
"...It seems the Administrator of the Alliance didn't lie to them. Their war really is over."
Arman's wife, Margot, was holding little Ruby's hand tightly, while the girl was so excited that she was practically hanging off the deck railing.
Her bright eyes were filled with wonder. She had been chirping away with endless questions the entire journey, and now her gaze was fixed intently on the distant gantry crane.
Such a sight was nothing unusual in the Alliance, but it left little Ruby wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
She had never seen such a fascinating contraption: towering gate-like legs fitted with wheels, capable not only of adjusting their span at will, but also gliding nimbly across the port and wharves.
The giant red iron clamp suspended from the frame was remarkably nimble too. With a simple extension and retraction, it lifted a container over a dozen meters wide straight from the deck to the shore.
"What a huge gate!"
Watching her daughter shriek with delight, Margot couldn't help smiling. "That's a gantry crane."
"A gantry crane?" Ruby turned back to her mother, blinking her large eyes with curiosity.
Looking at the inquisitive little girl, Margot said with a smile, "A machine used to load and unload shipping containers."
She had seen pictures or blueprints of such equipment before, but this was her first time seeing one in real life.
Containerized shipping wasn't popular within the Legion's territory. Even the ports of Triumph City relied mainly on bulk cargo, using at most conveyor belts between the main storage yards and the docks.
The reason was simple enough: alien labor was dirt cheap, and during the Legion's periods of stalled expansion, port throughput rarely experienced major fluctuations.
Consequently, heavy handling equipment like this—essential for containerized freight—had never caught on.
Even though similar lifting technology existed inside Legion factories, it had never spread to other sectors.
"Then... why doesn't Evernight Port have one?" Ruby pressed, determined to get to the bottom of it.
Margot gently stroked her hair, ruffled by the sea breeze, and gathered her into her arms. "That's a very good question, but Mama hopes you'll think about it on your own instead of waiting for someone else to hand you the answer."
Ruby tilted her head and pondered earnestly, though such a profound question was clearly too much for a child her age.
The ship slowly edged up to the pier, dropping its anchor chains amid the shouts of the sailors.
Arman pulled back his sleeve to check the time on his watch, then returned to his wife and daughter's side. "It's about time for us to disembark. I need to head over to the Port Authority first to register... Over five thousand immigrants—I've never dumped this many people here all at once. Honey, take Ruby back to the cabin and pack our luggage."
Margot asked, "Have you already arranged a place to stay?"
Arman nodded. "Just an inn I've stayed at a few times. The rooms and amenities are decent enough—better than on board, at any rate... We can rest there for a few days and then look for a house."
He wasn't worried about his own lodging. After all, he had visited multiple times and was fairly familiar with the local area.
In comparison, he was far more concerned about the five thousand compatriots on his ships.
Unlike him, who was used to wandering, most of these people had never traveled this far from home.
Both food and shelter would be an issue.
Still, Arman was certain that Settlement No. 1's local authorities would have an even bigger headache than he did.
And what he had to do next was discuss with the officials how to resolve it.
"...We'll do as you say." Margot planted a light kiss on her husband's cheek and took little Ruby back to their cabin.
Watching their retreating figures and thinking about their new life ahead, Arman couldn't help curling his lips into a happy smile.
Right then, a familiar voice called out from the nearby dock. "Haha, Mr. Arman! We meet again!"
Looking in the direction of the voice, Arman soon spotted Henk waving from the pier.
He was dressed in a sharp suit, his leather shoes polished to a mirror shine, and his pomaded hair glistened under the morning sun.
This Wilante from the New World seemed to have adapted completely to local life, even having saved up enough money to buy himself a dapper outfit.
Arman sized him up in surprise and waved back with a laugh. "Henk? Long time no see! Did you come all this way just to wait for me?"
"You bet! I originally had a business meeting scheduled, but the second I heard you arrived, I pushed it aside!"
Henk pulled back his sleeve to check the time, only to remember he had pawned his watch. Awkwardly rubbing the back of his hand, he drew his arm back.
Arman didn't notice his embarrassment, his attention drawn instead to the other man standing beside him.
The man looked similar in appearance to his business partner Zhang Ze, likely a survivor from the eastern provinces as well.
After coming down from the deck, Arman exchanged an embrace with Henk, then politely turned his gaze to the stranger. "And this is...?"
"I was just about to introduce you!" With a beaming smile, Henk gestured toward the man beside him. "This is Gu Ning, a local representative of Settlement No. 1."
"Hello, Mr. Arman. I've heard your name before." As he spoke, the man named Gu Ning offered a warm smile and extended his right hand.
Arman shook his hand, looking somewhat taken aback. "Pleasure to meet you... Representative Gu."
Rather than surprised by the man's identity, Arman was more puzzled as to why Henk had brought him here.
Before he could ask, however, the Port Authority director rushed over from the harbor office, forcing Arman to put the matter aside for the moment. "Pardon me, I have some business to attend to."
Seeing Arman's apologetic look, Representative Gu smiled modestly. "Understood. Handle your business first; we can talk about the rest later."
Henk chimed in enthusiastically, "Official business comes first. We're in no rush."
Arman nodded and stepped forward to meet the Port Authority director.
Before docking, he had already established radio contact with the port authorities and secured permission to berth.
The one who had approved it was none other than Director Sun Youcheng of the Port Authority.
Yet the look on the director's face told him that things might not be as straightforward as he thought.
And indeed, events unfolded just as he anticipated.
When he walked up to Director Sun and opened his mouth to greet him, the other man spoke first: "You've got trouble."
Seeing Director Sun's expression, Arman froze. "Trouble? Didn't we already agree on everything before I came?"
Sun Youcheng looked uncomfortable, his eyes darting to the side. "That was the case... but the situation has changed somewhat."
"Changed?"
That was the last word Arman wanted to hear. His expression hardened, and he said seriously, "I hope you can explain clearly... We only docked after receiving your authorization."
"That's true... but this settlement isn't run by me alone."
Perhaps knowing he was in the wrong, Sun Youcheng sounded distinctly lacking in confidence as he spoke.
After hesitating for a long while, he let out a sigh and said, "Fine, I'll be blunt with you. Some Moon Clan people are holding up signs in protest outside City Hall. And you ought to know what they're protesting... what your compatriots have done."
If anyone was to blame, it was that damned Survivor Daily. God only knew who had leaked the news.
Sun Youcheng cursed inwardly, feeling utterly helpless.
He had authority over the port, but not over the newspapers.
In fact, as early as last night, he had anticipated that these Wilante immigrants might run into trouble.
After all, five thousand people were arriving, not five hundred—and to make matters worse, they came straight from the Southern Legion's territory.
To prevent any mishaps, he had held a special meeting at the bureau, repeatedly instructing everyone in the know not to leak a word to the press. Yet before the ships had even touched the pier, it had already splashed across the front page of the Survivor Daily, right down to the exact headcount.
Now City Hall was surrounded and packed tight with protesters, and the pressure naturally landed right on his shoulders.
Hearing Director Sun out, Arman couldn't help arguing, "But everyone on my ships is a civilian! What does any of that have to do with them? Not to mention, they are victims of the Legion's persecution too—that's the entire reason they came here!"
Sun Youcheng looked at him with sympathy, but ultimately just sighed in helplessness. "Explaining it to me won't do you any good. The Port Authority answers to City Hall too. You should be explaining that to the protesters... But I have to remind you, they aren't like you. Especially those Moon Clan people—many joined the Alliance long ago. They hold citizenship and political rights."
Arman was struck dumb.
Just as he was at a loss, Representative Gu Ning's voice suddenly came from behind him.
"Alliance citizenship is not an amulet to act with impunity, much less a sword that places anyone above others. Providing asylum to survivors dedicated to ending the Wasteland Era, uniting all suffering survivors... These words are written into the Alliance's constitution. Are you going to indulge our citizens in shaking our very foundations, Mr. Sun Youcheng?"
"Ordinary citizens may be naive and headstrong, but such conduct should never come from you."
Sun Youcheng had been focusing entirely on Arman and hadn't noticed the local representative standing right there.
The moment he saw Gu Ning's face, Sun Youcheng's expression contorted like a bitter melon.
Though Alliance citizens were difficult to offend, the last thing he wanted was to face accountability from the Representative Council.
The pressure from that was vastly greater than a few shouts outside a window.
If they truly held him accountable, he could be ousted in minutes.
"That wasn't what I meant... But what about the protesters? Do we just leave them alone?"
He had only meant it as a rhetorical question, yet Gu Ning adopted an attitude that said, 'Exactly so.'
"They are free to protest; that is their right. You carry out your duties according to regulation, and leave the rest to me."
Sun Youcheng was speechless for a moment and could only nod in resignation. "Fine... but I won't be held responsible for whatever happens afterward."
At any rate, it was the Representative Council ordering him to clear them. Even if the mayor asked later, he would have an answer ready.
"That wasn't your concern to begin with." As he spoke, Gu Ning turned to Arman, who was completely stunned, and extended his right hand with a smile. "Welcome to the Alliance. I hope our little misunderstanding hasn't made you feel unwelcome."
"Not at all..." Coming back to his senses, Arman immediately grasped Gu Ning's outstretched hand, his face filled with gratitude. "Thank you... As for the Brahmas, I'll go explain things to them."
Releasing his grip, Gu Ning gave a gentle wave of his hand. "Don't mention it. Mediation and clarification are our job."
Pausing briefly, he continued, "I assume you don't have accommodations sorted out yet, right?"
Arman swallowed and replied honestly, "...Indeed. While my own lodging is arranged, the vast majority on board have nowhere to stay."
"I understand the general situation." Gu Ning nodded solemnly and continued, "The Alliance isn't a wishing machine; we certainly can't conjure up a community for five thousand people out of thin air... But I believe we can find a solution. Would it be convenient to talk on board?"
Arman hadn't expected the man to care so deeply about the fate of the people on those ships. Deeply flattered and touched, he made a welcoming gesture. "Of course! Please, follow me!"
Chapter 903