Because Brother Chicken Slaughter's entrance had been so terrifying, the natives who had encircled the industrial zone quietly dispersed, finally putting an end to the farce of a siege.
A total of 471 civilians were trapped inside the factory warehouse.
Aside from personnel affiliated with the factories, some were residents of nearby neighborhoods who had bolted inside the moment they saw trouble brewing.
After all, by any normal logic, the Alliance's forces would surely seize the industrial zone as quickly as possible to prevent its production facilities from being vandalized.
Nobody knew what those savages were like better than they did.
Falling into the hands of the Alliance was leagues better than falling into the hands of those natives.
"Thank you... Thank you for saving us."
Tightly clutching the hands of his wife and daughter, a pale-faced man stepped out of the warehouse.
His name was Antoine. He was the district chief of the industrial zone, answering directly to the Legion's General Affairs Department. He held the rank of myriarch, placing him on equal footing with the castellan of the neighboring settlement.
It was worth mentioning that the Lavinka Industrial Zone was a special administrative district within the Southern Legion. A massive portion of the industrial park answered directly to the central authorities in Avent, while the only land subject to local jurisdiction was the colonial strip along the banks of the Lavinka River.
The Southern Legion's modus operandi in the region was a textbook combo—first seize a tight stranglehold over all water sources and farmland, and the natives would naturally scramble into the factories on their own.
Fang Chang glanced at him. Noticing his flat nose bridge, he was slightly surprised.
"You're not a Wilante?"
Antoine bowed slightly, nodding with obvious nervousness. "I am a native of Batoya Province. By your classification habits, my ancestral home is Avent City..."
*This guy is quite well-informed.*
*Looks like someone who can talk reason.*
Fang Chang pondered for a moment, then asked, "How much do you know about the local alien tribes?"
Antoine answered at once, "I've dealt with them for over a decade. I wouldn't dare claim to know every last detail, but I generally understand them."
Fang Chang nodded and followed up. "Other than the survivors who came from Batoya Province, just how many tribes are there among the non-Wilante natives you speak of? And which are the primary ones?"
Antoine froze slightly, an awkward expression crossing his face. After hesitating for a moment, he replied with an uncertain tone, "Uh... at least two thousand. Honestly, nobody has ever counted properly."
Hearing that number, Fang Chang was dumbfounded as well.
"Two thousand?! What the hell? Are you sure you didn't get that wrong?"
Antoine hurried to say, "Absolutely not! I swear on Marshal Julius, the actual number is only higher than what I said, definitely not lower!"
Fang Chang: "..."
*Why the hell is a native of Avent City swearing an oath on Julius!*
Standing behind Fang Chang, Elaina and Elven King Fugui traded a glance, clicking their tongues in amazement.
"Good lord... That's more than double Brahma Province."
"And the population is even smaller than over there... Ugh, my head hurts."
In truth, Antoine had not exaggerated at all.
Even his estimate of two thousand tribes was merely conservative. The reality was far more outrageous than his words suggested.
Beyond the natives who had originally lived along the banks of the Lavinka River, the Southern Legion's labor force was bought from slave traders traveling north and south.
And the makeup of those slave traders was infinitely more complex.
Some were marauders who had ousted original inhabitants and ransacked vaults; some were deserters from Brahma Province; some were private troops kept outside the borders by nobles of Sunset Province; and some were even splinter clans that had migrated away from the Bone Chewer tribe, alongside petty hawkers who regularly dealt with mutants.
Their footprints spanned the entirety of the Great Desert, and the "species diversity" of the Great Desert was simply off the charts.
After all, with an ecological environment that volatile, even two survivor communities separated by nothing more than a single street could easily evolve into two completely distinct tribes over two centuries of displacement and wandering.
It was precisely due to these complex racial dynamics that the Lavinka Industrial Zone had not allowed alien tribes to live right outside its doorstep the way Evernight Port did. Instead, it had implemented an even more thorough policy of racial segregation than Evernight Port.
Specifically, colonists—primarily Wilante and migrants from Batoya Province—lived in scenic settlements with abundant water sources, whereas the laborers bought from slave masters lived in the factory district of the Lavinka Industrial Zone.
After listening to Antoine's account, Fang Chang massaged the bridge of his nose, feeling a slight headache coming on.
If the local situation was truly as convoluted as this fellow claimed, the Alliance's usual methods might not necessarily work here.
Still, difficulties aside, the work that needed to be done still had to be done.
Sorting through his thoughts, he spoke up. "I understand the basic situation now... Right now, the top priority is restoring order to this district."
Antoine immediately chimed in, "At your service, sir! Please give your orders!"
Facing the chief executive of the Lavinka Industrial Zone, who was all ears, Fang Chang laid out the manager's arrangements, adjusting several details according to his own judgment of the local circumstances.
"...We intend to establish the Lavinka Industrial Zone Autonomous Committee. You're the top official of the industrial zone, so you will temporarily serve as the chairman of this committee. As for your salary, we will reference your previous pay and disburse it in silver coins."
Antoine said with a wry smile, "I wouldn't dare ask for a salary... Just tell me whatever you need done, sir."
"Take what you're entitled to. There's no need to be polite with me. Getting the job done properly and keeping your hands off what doesn't belong to you are the only things you need to remember."
Fang Chang understood perfectly well that free things were always the most expensive. Rather than waiting for these people to help themselves under the table, it was better to give it to them proactively.
Pausing briefly, he continued, "In addition, this money won't come out of our pockets, but from the Lavinka Industrial Zone Development Fund."
Antoine was taken aback. "What is the Lavinka Industrial Zone Development Fund?"
Having worked here as the top official for so long, this was the first time he had ever heard the term.
Seeing the bewilderment on Antoine's face, Fang Chang explained succinctly, "You can think of it as the local budget department. Public expenditures, salary disbursements, and future pensions will temporarily be drawn from here. In addition, this department will be responsible for disposing of the Lavinka Industrial Zone's inventory assets and allocating funds for industrial capacity conversion projects."
Pausing again, Fang Chang added, "There are probably plenty of industrial duds sitting in your warehouses and on your assembly lines. Whatever can turn a profit, finish manufacturing it quickly and sell it off. Whatever can't turn a profit, sell it for scrap metal."
The moment he heard those last words, Antoine's breathing hitched.
*Asset disposal!*
The output value of the Lavinka Industrial Zone accounted for a full third of the Southern Legion's gross domestic product!
This wasn't just a fortune; it was a goddamn gold mine!
Dazzled by the prospect of profit, he was just about to volunteer to take on the task when he caught Fang Chang's faint, knowing smile.
In an instant, Antoine—still holding the hands of his wife and daughter—felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. His restless heart snapped back to cold sobriety.
He could see the vast room for rent-seeking, and the man standing right in front of him obviously saw it just as clearly.
Watching Antoine clamp his mouth shut and suppress his improper ambitions, Fang Chang nodded with relative satisfaction, then continued, "I will find someone else to handle the fund. Your job is simply to cooperate fully with their work. An engine will be priced at whatever an engine is worth. We will also dispatch professionals to oversee the appraisal. Make sure you don't go selling off treasures as scrap."
"Yes! I will follow your instructions to the letter!" Antoine nodded deferentially, no longer daring to entertain any crooked thoughts after hearing that the Alliance would send professionals to supervise.
Dealing with civilized people was always pleasant.
Having issued the instructions, Fang Chang didn't give Antoine a hard time. He told him to take his wife and daughter back to rest, promising to assign two Wilante soldiers to ensure his safety.
Once the Lavinka Industrial Zone Autonomous Committee completed the transition from the old regime to the new, clarifying the various regulations and organizational hierarchy, Fang Chang would naturally arrange for the establishment of a dedicated finance department and reorganize a fully functional government apparatus.
As for the power vacuum preceding that transition, he intended to decouple military authority, the press, and the public purse from the Autonomous Committee to prevent them from tangling together and running amok.
Apart from the Development Fund, he also planned to establish three bodies—a legislative committee, an education committee, and a public security committee—as well as swiftly form a law enforcement agency centered around the guard force, alongside full-time schools and night schools for children and adults respectively.
This was the proven experience from Dawn City, and a long-standing tradition of the Alliance.
As for a representative assembly, that could be pushed back.
After all, just minutes ago, he had witnessed firsthand what the local natives were like. Even if they were allowed to elect a representative, the person who emerged would likely be an unreasonable troublemaker like Bokassa.
The Wilante could indeed be called civilized, but a round table could hardly be filled entirely with big noses without a single person to serve as a check and balance.
What kind of meeting would that be?
Even if those big noses had a change of heart and genuinely reformed, refraining from using civilized intellect to run rings around the natives dressed in civilized clothing, it would still plant the seeds for future disaster.
Fang Chang paid a brief visit to the warehouse to comfort the Wilante civilians caught in the crossfire of the war, assuring them that the Alliance had come to liberate them and would not seize their legitimate property. Afterwards, he arranged for soldiers to escort them back to their respective homes.
In any case, those big noses didn't live with the natives in normal times anyway. Letting them stay within their own community made management far simpler.
With those tasks settled, Fang Chang returned to Mole, Lao Bai, and the others to exchange thoughts.
"...The local situation is far more complicated than we imagined. I plan to transfer some personnel from Pioneer City. The survivors over there are more familiar with conditions in the Great Desert and have experience dealing with the locals."
Seeing that someone had finally taken over the headache, Mole said hurriedly, "I'll follow your lead!"
Before coming here, he had prepared himself to make a grand showing, but by now he had completely abandoned that ambition.
He had better stick to fighting.
That was what he was actually good at.
Catching Fang Chang's gaze, Lao Bai grinned. "Same here. I trust you can handle it."
Seeing the two of them pass the buck so thoroughly, Fang Chang didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I'm asking for your opinions. What good does making a declaration to me do?"
"Hahaha! Making a declaration means... I don't know what the hell to do either," Lao Bai said with a laugh. "Parachuting suits me better."
Mole nodded in deep agreement, sighing with a complicated expression. "Damn it... Shooting cannons is so much simpler. I'm never arguing with that bastard again."
Fang Chang looked at him helplessly.
He didn't resent Mole contradicting him on the forums. After all, Fang Chang had his own limitations and couldn't think of everything.
Brother Mole might be somewhat weak on practical execution, but he definitely had real ability.
Right then, Midnight Chicken Slaughter suddenly remembered something. Raising his arm, to which a chainsaw was welded, he rumbled in a muffled voice, "Right, we need to find some doctors for the people I rescued."
Fang Chang immediately turned to him. "Aren't there military doctors?"
Midnight Chicken Slaughter shook his head. "No good. They have no experience delivering babies... Besides, you know what kind of quacks our player corps have."
*Delivering babies...*
The expressions on several corps commanders turned subtly awkward.
It wasn't that they were reluctant to spend money on logistics; rather, most players approached the game with the attitude that "major illnesses don't need treatment, and minor wounds don't count as injuries," meaning they had no need for skilled physicians at all.
The Jungle Corps itself was a prime example.
Their few military doctors weren't even proper physicians, but cybernetic street doctors who had re-entered the workforce after leaving Boulder Military Industry.
Lao Bai scratched the back of his head. "The Enterprise should have some, right?"
Mole gave a dry cough. "The 100th and 101st Divisions have both headed north to intercept the Southern Legion's reinforcements. Calling them back isn't realistic."
Lao Bai continued, "What about the Expeditionary Force?"
Mole froze, then slapped his forehead. "Oh, right! They should have some. I'll go ask."
With that, he raised an index finger to his ear and spoke a few words over the comms channel in the Human Alliance language.
While Fang Chang waited for word, a young Wilante woman suddenly walked over from the side.
She was quite tall, around 1.8 meters, with long pale-blonde hair, wearing a beige shirt and blue canvas trousers.
Her face was painted with lingering panic, yet she still raised a trembling hand and plucked up the courage to speak. "Um... excuse me, are you looking for doctors?"
Hearing her voice, Fang Chang's eyes lit up. He looked at her and asked, "You're a doctor? What's your name?"
"Molly..."
The girl swallowed nervously, speaking at a rapid clip. "My colleagues and I can treat them... but you have to guarantee our safety."
"No problem."
Fang Chang snapped his fingers and glanced at Brother Chicken. "Take her over."
Midnight Chicken Slaughter thumped his steel breastplate with a fist. Looking at the pale-faced girl, he let out a hearty laugh. "Follow me! I'll keep you all safe!"
Hearing that her bodyguard was this very individual, the girl named Molly nearly burst into tears, looking as if she had run headlong into a chainsaw-wielding maniac... though her reaction was entirely understandable.
One couldn't blame her for thinking that way, given that the natives who looked at her like livestock would think the exact same thing.
From that perspective, Fang Chang's arrangement made perfect sense.
In these chaotic times of war, only Brother Chicken could guarantee the safety of medical personnel who needed frequent contact with the natives...
***
With the establishment of the Autonomous Committee, the unrest in the Lavinka Industrial Zone finally subsided.
Of course, everyone knew full well in their hearts that the disturbance had been quelled so swiftly not because of any Autonomous Committee, but entirely thanks to Midnight Chicken Slaughter's outlandish getup.
This place was the basement beneath the floorboards; the local survivors were still in a state bordering on primitive beasts.
And through their very actions, these people had demonstrated to Brother Edge and the Alliance's sociologists what Brahma Province might have looked like without General Rowell.
At least for now, under the Alliance's influence, the vast majority of regions in Brahma Province had successfully transitioned from the late feudal era to the preliminary stage of "military governance."
Advanced regions like Golden Gallon Port had already progressed from "military governance" to "political tutelage," and were merely a single step away from final "constitutional governance."
Perhaps once this war concluded, the survivors there would finally be able to cast off the thousand pillars bearing down upon their backs.
Yet the survivors of the Lavinka Industrial Zone, and indeed the entire Great Desert, remained stuck at a stage barely better than primitive humans.
Facts proved that the absence of General Rowell was not necessarily better than having him around.
It was like someone suffering from kidney failure; simply carving the kidney out solved nothing.
Under normal circumstances, one still had to transplant a new one and kick all their old bad habits along the way.
If the State of Brahma or the Mammoth State conducted an in-depth study of the sociological issues in the Great Desert, they might be able to accelerate the progress of local society.
But that was their own affair.
The Alliance had its own business to attend to. It could not, and should not, spoon-feed them and force it down their throats.
That would only backfire.
On the third day after normal order was restored to the industrial zone, a team of Alliance engineers arrived at the airfield aboard an "Overlord" transport plane.
Among them were not only engineers from Boulder City, but also professors from Camp 101 and technicians from Ideal City.
Accompanied by District Chief Antoine, the group toured the industrial zone from start to finish, familiarizing themselves with several of the most core production lines in the park.
These included lines for the Conqueror 10 tank, the 902mm railway gun, fighter jets, heavy bombers, and shipyards for shallow-draft monitors...
That evening, at dinnertime.
Dining inside a hotel run by Wilante, an Alliance engineer held a tablet in his hands, flipping through the photographs taken and data copied during the day, his face filled with heartfelt marvel.
"Simply unbelievable..."
Fang Chang, who was sharing the table, overheard the remark and asked out of curiosity, "Is this place really that impressive?"
The veteran engineer smiled faintly. "Depends on who you're comparing it to."
Fang Chang wanted to ask how it compared to Golden Gallon Port, but quickly remembered that the latter mostly housed light industry, with its few heavy industrial facilities serving the former, so he changed his question on the fly.
"How about compared to Daybreak City?"
"There's no comparison."
The veteran engineer shook his head, flipping through the photos on the tablet as he continued, "Daybreak City has a pre-war reactor, Vault 101 and Camp 101, bionic android experts from Vault 100, and engineers from Boulder City. One out of every three workers understands core technology, to say nothing of the experts who have arrived from the Academy and the Enterprise. Combine that with the manager's disregard for cost when funding infrastructure, and it would be hard for the Daybreak City Industrial Zone *not* to achieve great things."
At this point, a touch of admiration appeared in the old engineer's eyes as he continued, "Here, on the other hand, there is literally nothing—only low-grade junk ore and uneducated slaves... Any vault dweller with a conscience refused to serve the Legion, and aid from the Enterprise or the Academy was out of the question."
"They overcame the dilemma of quality through sheer quantity. Take the armor steel used on the Conqueror 10, for example. Unable to ensure that the furnace temperature remained steady at the standard required by technical documentation, they simply ran the production lines non-stop around the clock, producing a thousand plates of steel just to pick out the single one that met the quality threshold."
"Of course, that's just an imperfect analogy. The actual operation certainly wasn't as crude and brute-force as I make it sound, but the overall design of the production lines wasn't far off, and you can see it everywhere in this industrial park. If precision falls short, ramp up production; melt down defective products and recast them, and ship out whatever meets the standard... That is what I saw."
This was an appraisal made purely from the perspective of an expert, completely detached from any political stance.
Yet Fang Chang was left thoroughly bewildered by the evaluation, unable for a moment to tell whether it was praise or criticism.
It sounded as though he were praising the Wilante for their raw strength, yet also as though he were saying they had strained every muscle in their bodies only to squeeze out a turd.
Taking a sip of the black tea on the table, he considered it briefly before asking, "So is this a positive assessment or a negative one? Regarding our industrial transition work, that is."
"It's mixed," the old engineer replied after a moment's thought. "I'm merely marveling at how the Wilante truly created a wonder, even if this wonder—much like the tombs of ancient monarchs—was stacked together regardless of cost using the blood and sweat of slaves... By the way, if there's ever a chance, I'd like to visit Avent City. That should be the very terminal point of the Southern Legion's entire supply chain, as well as its true essence."
Fang Chang asked curiously, "The production lines here aren't complete?"
"Some are complete, but others aren't."
Seeing the waiter bring the dishes over, the old engineer waved a hand, looking disinclined to elaborate. "Forget it, don't ask. You don't have the fundamentals; I won't be able to explain it clearly to you."
Fang Chang made a helpless face.
He truly didn't understand such technical matters.
For someone working in finance, having only a superficial understanding was sometimes the best state to be in; knowing too much wasn't necessarily good.
After all, knowing too much made it easy to become overly confident, run off into real industry, and open one's own factory. Among the peers he knew, those who could walk away whole after doing so were already thanking their lucky stars; those who didn't lose the shirts off their backs were few and far between.
The reverse held true as well. Most industrialists who tried their hands at capital operations met a similar fate: the money they had earned through sheer capability was almost inevitably lost through sheer capability.
Just as he was about to drop the subject, the veteran engineer suddenly spoke up again.
"Speaking of which, there's another thing I can't quite figure out."
Fang Chang asked, "What is it?"
The old engineer wore a look of hesitation. "I checked their production records and inventory manifests, and found a great deal of discrepancies. Although their production efficiency is low, their output shouldn't be *this* meager."
Fang Chang's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
The veteran engineer explained patiently, "I mean the theoretical output value is a full three times higher than the actual output value! If this industrial park had operated at the capacity it ought to have had, you people would never have won so easily. The Southern Legion could have held out for at least another three years!"
"I must correct you—we didn't win easily either."
Fang Chang coughed softly, wanting to argue on behalf of his brothers in arms.
Yet the old engineer paid him no heed at all, sinking back into his own world.
Rubbing his chin with an index finger, the old man muttered to himself in contemplation.
"The machinery is sound, the supply chain is fine, and while their management methods leave much to be desired... the impact shouldn't be this enormous."
The more he thought, the less he understood. Reaching up to scratch at the few remaining hairs on his head, his face was the picture of utter bewilderment.
"...Truly bizarre."
Chapter 945