After reaching the agreement, the party returned to their convoy for the time being.
Watching Millurion Wyatt's confident expression, Ogg, his bodyguard and deputy beside him, asked in a low voice, "Can we really rely on these guys?"
Hearing the apprehension in his tone, Wyatt smiled faintly and replied nonchalantly, "If we waited for a hundred percent certainty before taking action on anything, we would never accomplish a single thing."
Ogg lowered his voice. "I'm just worried these scum will sell us out."
Wyatt chuckled. "That's actually the last thing I'm worried about. They won't do that."
Ogg cast him a surprised look. "You trust a bunch of marauders?"
"Of course not. If these scumbags had even an ounce of honor, they wouldn't have sunk so low as to compete with rats and roaches for food." Wyatt took out a wet wipe, wiped his hands, and tossed it to the roadside. Speaking unhurriedly, he added, "However, in this matter, they have no other choice."
...
Once the cooperation agreement was finalized, Wyatt and his entourage settled into Yanshan City, swiftly arranging surgery for Hunting Claw, leader of the Cannibal tribe.
The surgery went very smoothly.
Their cybernetic surgeon not only fitted Hunting Claw with a set of retractable titanium blades and a titanium radius bone, but also reinforced the motor and neural components of his leg tendons.
Hunting Claw was thoroughly satisfied with their welcoming gift. The other marauder tribes entrenched throughout Yanshan City quickly turned green with envy, taking the initiative to seek Wyatt out for deals, terrified of missing out on the spoils if they agreed too late.
Wyatt was equally generous with any marauders willing to cooperate, keeping his only two surgical tables operating around the clock.
In truth, the costly cybernetics were merely a display of the Legion's sincerity and a means to bribe the marauder chieftains.
What truly augmented the marauders' combat effectiveness was primarily the exoskeletons, assault rifles, anti-armor rocket launchers, and other equipment purchased from the Free State.
Because the Southern Legion lacked a permanent base in the Far East, even the surgical tables used for cybernetic installations had been purchased from the Free State—paid for, ironically, in silver coins.
Those people would sell anything, even weapons meant to be turned against themselves, as long as the money was right.
Still, in Wyatt's view, they were clearly not clever enough.
What other purpose could the Legion have for buying these weapons? It was nothing more than turning them against their "old friend" to the south: Dawn City.
At least in Wyatt's eyes, once Operation Guillotine succeeded, regardless of whether Operation Tsunami went as smoothly as expected, the Alliance would inevitably fall apart.
And once the Alliance collapsed, its currency would rapidly turn into worthless scrap paper.
When that time came, with their arms full of silver coins, they wouldn't even have a shoulder to cry on.
As the surgeries were being carried out, truckload after truckload of arms rolled into the outskirts of Yanshan City, where the marauder tribes holed up in the urban area picked up the shipments themselves.
Thus, east of the Alliance, the Southern Legion successfully assembled an armed-to-the-teeth rabble of skirmishers.
With fresh gear in hand, the marauders eagerly rubbed their palms and cracked their knuckles, itching for action.
Yet not everyone brimmed with confidence about the impending conflict.
For instance, several millurions under Hunting Claw harbored deep reservations about throwing their lot in with the Legion.
It was worth noting that the Cannibal tribe was merely a marauder outfit around a thousand strong.
Though their leader, Hunting Claw, claimed the title of myriarch, he commanded no ten-thousand-man division, and his millurions certainly oversaw nowhere near a thousand fighters.
Such inflations were commonplace across the wasteland; in some tribes, practically every member styled themselves a decurion or centurion.
In truth, the only marauder force that had ever legitimately fielded a ten-thousand-strong army was the few clans of the Bone Chewer tribe.
After all, those savages had received backing from the Legion and coerced vast hordes into their ranks through southward plunder.
Yet even the Bone Chewer tribe, commanding hundreds of thousands of fighters, had ultimately met crushing defeat at the hands of the Alliance.
This was precisely what worried the millurions.
With the Bone Chewers serving as a stark warning right before them, they could hardly fathom their own chances of victory.
Not to mention that compared to the Bone Chewers, their strength was leagues behind.
Inside the council tent.
Watching Hunting Claw lift the door curtain and stride in, a burly millurion asked in a raspy voice, "Boss, are we really teaming up with those bastards? That Legion bunch?"
His name was One-Eye. Formerly a wasteland nomad from Yuema Province, he had worked as a caravan guard for a time before growing greedy for his employer's cargo. After colluding with marauders to pull off a raid, he had abandoned civilized society for good.
Later, when the survivors of Yuema Province migrated toward the Alliance's settlements and easy marks grew scarce, he followed the trail of migrating survivors all the way to Haiya Province, eventually drifting around Yanshan City and falling in with the Cannibal tribe.
As for why he was named One-Eye, that was another long story that would take thousands of words to tell.
The Legion had fitted him with a bionic eye, restoring vision to his right socket while adding capabilities he had never dreamed of, such as optical zoom, auto-focus, and ballistic calculations.
Yet unlike the other frenzied marauders, he had not let the Legion's handouts go to his head, nor did he put any faith in the Wilante's grand plans.
Wiping out the Alliance offered them no real benefit.
Those civilized folk were like the headwaters of a river; parasites who lived off plunder needed a flowing river to sustain their leeching.
Moreover, in terms of sheer strength, clashing head-on with the Alliance hardly seemed smart.
If the Legion was truly as omnipotent as they boasted, why hadn't they wiped out the Alliance themselves instead of commissioning mercenaries like them to do the dirty work?
Seeing the hesitation in One-Eye's gaze, Hunting Claw dismissed it casually with a flat reply.
"And do what instead?"
One-Eye lowered his voice. "I've heard their reputation is rotten... Up north, in River Valley Province, a bunch of fools took their word for it, and in the end they were ground into ash."
"I'm willing to bet the promises the Legion made to them were every bit as sweet as the ones they made to us."
Hearing this, the men inside the tent exchanged uneasy glances, the excitement draining from several faces to leave hesitant grimaces behind.
Everyone knew who One-Eye was talking about: none other than the marauder legends who had swept across half of River Valley Province—the Bone Chewer tribe.
Whispers began to circulate.
"...This is a tough deal."
"Well, they already handed over the weapons. What's stopping us from just slacking off?"
"Exactly! It wouldn't be our first time double-crossing someone..."
"Selling them out to the Alliance isn't a bad idea either. We could just slap on mercenary insignias, and the Alliance wouldn't even know what we really do!"
Watching the muttering crowd, Hunting Claw sneered, making no move to join their chatter.
He knew full well that a direct clash with the Alliance was hazardous.
Yet he understood equally well that having set foot on this path, he had no other way out.
"We don't have a choice."
At the sound of their boss's voice, the chattering marauders fell dead silent.
Scanning the faces before him, some apprehensive and others ferocious, Hunting Claw raised his voice and continued.
"To us, this isn't just a business deal. It's about whether we can survive on this wasteland!"
"Think about why you came here in the first place!"
"All the fat sheep in Yuema Province have run off! First it was one or two survivors packing up, then entire settlements cleared out! Without those settlements, the slavers' farms couldn't stay in business either! Those people are either moving right now or getting ready to pack their bags!"
"It's not just survivor settlements either. Caravans along the eastern coast don't take land routes anymore—they take all their wealth and flee to the sea!"
"Think hard about why you came here!"
Seeing the speechless marauder leaders, Hunting Claw ratcheted up his volume, infusing raw venom into every word.
"If we just sit by and do nothing, those self-righteous 'civilized folk' will only keep growing stronger until they build high walls along their borders, sealing us out of their civilized world entirely! Leaving us to rot alongside the mutants!"
"Listen to what they're preaching! They don't just want to destroy one or two marauder tribes—they want to end the entire Wasteland Era! They want to usher in a new era that has no place for us!"
"You think you have multiple options? No, you don't have a choice at all! None of us do! We have only one way to live: wipe them out, carve off their flesh and mince it for dumplings, throw their bones into pots and stew them into broth!"
"Only when they are destroyed will countless survivor settlements sprout across the wasteland once more! Everything will return to the way it was, and we will once again be the most terrifying existence across the entire wasteland!"
"For our tomorrow, they must perish!!!"
Hunting Claw's voice rose into a hoarse, frenzied roar as his agitation peaked. Inside the tent, One-Eye and the other leaders of the Cannibal tribe stood stunned by his fury.
Everyone, One-Eye included, suddenly snapped to reality: this deal meant far more than simple plunder.
It was their only chance at survival.
If the order forged by the Alliance continued to expand, then sooner or later, every scrap of living space would be stripped from them!
"Fight the Alliance bastards to the death!"
"Chop 'em to pieces!"
"Awoooo!"
Cries of bloodlust erupted throughout the tent as morale surged.
Whistles pierced the air, spit flew, and murderous glints flashed in their eyes.
Watching the battle fervor boiling within them, a satisfied smirk curled onto Hunting Claw's lips.
This was exactly the effect he wanted.
That bastard named Chu Guang had to die!
His hatred for him was no recent grudge, even if Chu Guang might not even know who he was.
Now, with the Alliance's enemies knocking on his door, he finally saw hope for his dream to come true.
He would use these very claws to rip that man's heart out with his own hands!
...
While the monstrous mob howled and bayed, two Viper transports trailing plumes of plasma exhaust touched down one after the other onto the landing pad outside Settlement No. 10.
As the transports descended, Chu Guang looked down over the settlement, taking in the full panorama of Settlement No. 10.
Compared to Settlement No. 1 with its population of over a hundred thousand, this settlement of fewer than two thousand resembled an inconspicuous little fishing village.
A wall twice the height of a man encircled the settlement, enclosing single-story bungalows of varied heights arranged along several straight main streets. Judging by their haphazard designs, they were clearly built by the locals themselves rather than designed by professionals.
Along the streets near the sea, drying racks for fish hung outside many doorways.
It was obvious that fishing was the locals' main source of income, followed by scavenging and farming.
As for commerce, it was concentrated primarily in a marketplace near the northern highway.
There were local shops as well as trucks hawking merchandise or buying up local goods—most of which came from Settlement No. 1.
According to information provided by Xiao Qi, half of the local residents were soldiers from the Southern Construction Corps, while the rest were mostly survivors who had migrated from Yuema Province.
Aside from the ubiquitous players, virtually no survivors from Dawn City or Daybreak City came here to live.
This was only natural.
The demographic siphon effect of developed areas over underdeveloped ones held true anywhere.
On the wasteland in particular, development signified not only prosperity, but security.
Even survivors migrating from the east preferred to take a few extra steps to reach Settlement No. 1, with its plentiful jobs and larger population, rather than settle in a relatively underdeveloped place like this.
Survivors from the South Sea Alliance went without saying; compared to the Death Coast, Port French Fries in the Baiyue Strait was their true "spiritual home."
Yet it was comforting to see that even though this was likely the least developed corner of the Alliance, supporting infrastructure such as paved roads, utility poles, and signal towers had still extended here.
Two concrete docks jutted out from the reef-strewn coastline.
While no container ships called here, plenty of fishing and salvage vessels—purchased by residents via loans from the Alliance's bank—were moored alongside.
At this hour, most adults were out working, while the children attended classes in the settlement's sole school.
Even if development seemed insufficient by Chu Guang's standards, judging by the spirited work ethic of the locals and the bustling docks, the residents were quite content with their lives here.
After all, on the other side of that wall lay the wasteland, where living in peace was a fantasy and mere survival was a luxury.
Marauders would come knocking every few days; even if one paid tribute on time, extortion remained inevitable.
Even if a major survivor hub like Boulder City happened to be nearby, one could never expect their banks to loan money to improve ordinary lives.
Weijia selling nutrient paste in Boulder City, Xide running the settlement, the Blood Hand clan, and the Brown Farm had all formed an unspoken community of mutual interests.
The same went for "Old Leech" of Bet Street, who had seemed so heavily victimized by marauders, and the merchant Liszt before he chose to act like a decent human being.
Before the birth of the Alliance, they had all been cogs in the same crushing press, merely occupying different "ecological niches."
Now, having broken the cycle, the Alliance was radiating a new order across the wasteland.
This tactic of pulling the firewood from under the cauldron seemed remarkably effective so far.
Once most wastelanders tasted the benefits of order, none wished to return to their former lives.
Even if they returned to their homelands someday, they would carry the ideals and blueprints of the new era back with them.
After the planes touched down, Chu Guang met the local authorities on the tarmac.
Among them were the commander of Settlement No. 10's militia battalion, the detachment leader of the Construction Corps, the chief of the Security Bureau, the mayor from City Hall, along with the settlement's only five elected local representatives and the standing commissioner who organized their assemblies.
For the sake of courtesy, Chu Guang shook hands with each of them and exchanged brief pleasantries before speaking in a mildly reprimanding tone.
"...Drop these formalities. The thing I dislike most is this kind of ceremonial greeting. Li Jinrong doing it is one thing—Weifu City no longer has much need for the Southern Construction Corps, so with his tasks wrapped up, he's got time on his hands. But you people clearly have piles of work to do. Why are you coming out here to report to me?"
"Go back to your duties. If the need arises, I'll find you myself."
Unprepared for the cold shoulder after such warm eagerness, the mayor felt an unspoken grievance, offering a wry smile as he explained, "We were only worried that some part of our work hadn't been done properly and that we'd disappointed your expectations."
Chu Guang replied, "Then all the more reason you shouldn't be coming to me. You should be down at the docks, asking Alliance citizens—and future citizens—what inconveniences they face in daily life, or whether they have good ideas for the future of Settlement No. 10. Their expectations are my expectations. Rather than asking for my opinion, you'd do better spending that time on them."
The mayor immediately responded, "I'll head to the docks right now."
Chu Guang: "..."
Watching the group depart with lingering reluctance, Chu Guang sighed inward.
These people who came out of the Southern Construction Corps were obedient to a fault. Even after stepping down from their former military posts and transitioning into administrative roles, they clung rigidly to top-down hierarchy.
It was hard to say whether this was a blessing or a curse; it offered short-term pros and cons, but in the long run, the drawbacks would surely outweigh the benefits.
Still, it was reassuring that even in such an environment, these settlements could produce thoughtful young people, even if their ideas didn't completely align with his own.
At that thought, Chu Guang felt an urge to chat with Gu Ning, the representative who had been making waves recently.
Of course, that would have to wait until he settled the trouble at hand.
After finishing with the crowd of "NPCs," Chu Guang spotted Brother Spring in disguise not far from the tarmac.
Meeting players was always vastly more relaxing.
Although he still maintained the commanding presence of a faction boss on the surface to preserve their immersion, internally he could let his guard down.
Nor did he need to weigh every word carefully; he could speak his mind bluntly without beating around the bush.
Pulling Spring aside, Chu Guang looked at him and said, "According to intel bought from Free State intelligence brokers, weapons recently sold to a mysterious buyer have entered Haiya Province. We can now confirm that the buyer is the Southern Legion's General Staff."
"Two individuals have entered our sight. One is a millurion named Wyatt, an officer on the Southern Legion's General Staff. The other is Kondra, former myriarch of the Eastern Legion's 14th Division. He once served the Eastern Legion's expansionist faction and has likely defected to the Southern Legion now. Past intelligence confirmed that he was the one who supplied weapons to the Bone Chewer tribe."
Hearing the name Kondra, Commander Spring froze, blurting out an instinctive "Holy crap."
That name went way back, stretching all the way to the alpha test; he had almost forgotten it entirely.
Seeing the Administrator pause, Spring cleared his throat and said, "Sorry, I was just caught off guard. Please continue."
"It's fine," Chu Guang nodded and went on. "Anyway, that's the gist of it. Based on our intelligence personnel's assessment, the Southern Legion is planning an assassination attempt against me personally, using the marauders roving around this area as their primary force."
"Holy crap, hit you?! How do they dare?!" Spring was stunned once more, speaking in disbelief.
Not that it was impossible, but pulling off something like that on Alliance territory had an absurdly low chance of success.
Chu Guang explained concisely.
"...Given the current situation, this is what they consider the most effective move. Our intelligence analysts estimate the attacking force will number between two and three thousand, and we cannot rule out the possibility of them employing weapons of mass destruction. Therefore, I intend to place the battlefield outside the settlement."
At the mention of weapons of mass destruction, Spring's expression grew serious.
"...Do you have a specific plan?"
Chu Guang smiled faintly. "The plan is simple. Since they're after me, I'll deliberately dangle an opening."
Watching Spring's shocked expression, Chu Guang paused before adding, "I intend to use this opportunity to squeeze out all the festering pus gathered in this region in one go. While wiping out every marauder in northeastern Haiya Province in one or two battles is unrealistic, crushing them with overwhelming force to terrorize them into submission is a sound approach."
Since trouble was coming either way, he might as well turn the Southern Legion's conspiracy to his own advantage.
Cooking one fish two ways was second nature to a seasoned cardmaster like Chu Guang.
After hearing Chu Guang's plan, however, Commander Spring wore a troubled look.
Wrestling with his thoughts for a moment, he spoke cautiously:
"Uh, while you may have accounted for unforeseen circumstances, a certain dev never plays by the book... cough, what I mean is, there might be variables beyond the plan. In short, I really wouldn't recommend acting as the bait yourself. The risk is way too high."
There was no helping it.
After all, this guy was the true "respawn fountain"!
The trash dev had emphasized more than once: if the Administrator died, the server would reset instantly.
If not for the fact that this guy was also a power-tripping admin, Spring would have loved to post a terrible idea on the forum—locking him inside a cultivation pod down in the shelter and keeping him submerged in fluid.
Not only would there be zero safety concerns, it might even prolong his life!
Tsk.
Thinking about it, I'm practically filial as hell.
Looking at Brother Spring's loyal, earnest expression, Chu Guang's gaze turned somewhat bizarre. After a long pause, he dropped a sentence:
"...When did I ever say I was going to be the bait myself?"
Before Spring could respond, he added:
"When the time comes, I'll lend you that azure power armor. If they really pull out a tactical nuke, you just step up and tank it for me."
Commander Spring: "...#@"
Motherf***er!
I spoke too soon!
Chapter 917