Chapter 819: The Mosquito That Fans the Flames

Chapter 819: The Mosquito That Stirs the Flames

At the port before Settlement No. 1, two ruddy-faced men were gripping each other’s hands tightly.

One was WC Really Has Mosquitoes, the boss of Goblin Tech, while the other was no less significant—a quartermaster under the Tiger Army warlord.

Though this fellow’s rank was low, merely a chiliarch, he had just thrown down over ten billion.

Even if only for the sake of money, Mosquito showed a bit of respect and courtesy, shaking his hand warmly.

“Pleasure doing business!”

“Haha! Pleasure doing business!”

As he said this, Chopra’s heart ached, but he still forced a strained smile onto his face.

One silver coin for a hundred Westland dollars…

At that rate, he was practically giving it away to his grandmother’s house!

Seeing the pain on his client’s face, Mosquito couldn’t help but feel sorry for him too.

It wasn’t that he was moved by pity; mainly, he wasn’t in the currency exchange business. In the end, it was that bastard Fang Chang who helped him convert the money, and for that, he had to fork over 20 points of profit.

In other words, that bastard Fang Chang did nothing but skim 20 points off his profits under the guise of a “financial service fee.”

Though it meant Mosquito still made more, the thought of that smug face made him furious.

That bastard had won again!

Damn it!

But just then, his eyes flickered, and a brilliant idea struck him. He looked at Chiliarch Chopra with a beaming smile.

“Buddy, I’m treating you like one of my own—my clients are my family—but there’s something I’m not sure I should say.”

Chopra quickly replied, “Please, go ahead!”

“This Westland dollar, I reckon it’s doomed sooner or later. Instead of letting the banks in Golden Port skim you dry, why not let me—ah, I mean, I can help you out!”

Mosquito had planned to explain the relationship between currency circulation and value from the angle of inflation, but seeing the guy’s clueless expression, he dropped the idea.

No use.

Even if he talked until his mouth went dry, this guy probably wouldn’t grasp the inner logic of the Westland dollar’s depreciation.

And even if he did, when he relayed it to his boss, General Jeha, the credibility would likely take a hit. It’d be a miracle if the general understood.

His eyes darted again, and Mosquito’s face once more wore that spring-like smile as he spoke earnestly.

“The Westland dollar keeps falling, and I’m worried about you. Now you pay over a hundred million for a tank; next year it might be a billion. How many shirts would you have to weave to trade for one? Not to mention, your closets are practically bursting with our goods. If you don’t switch things up, you might not even have that many Westland dollars to spare next year.”

Chopra’s expression turned bitter. “You think we want this? We have no choice. The printing press is in His Majesty’s hands, and he decides how to use it. Same with silver coins, and the dinar too… The foreign exchange we earn and the tariffs from export settlements are all deposited with the Royal Mint. We receive Westland dollars from them at a rate of 1:12.5, but we can’t exchange them for silver coins at that same rate.”

Mosquito said with feigned distress, “How foolish! Why let that emperor print the money? Why don’t you print it yourselves?”

Chopra broke out in a cold sweat. “You can’t say that! Printing private currency is a capital offense!”

Mosquito clicked his tongue. “Who told you to print Westland dollars? What use is that scrap paper? Why not just print Cat Coins or Tiger Coins?”

Chopra was at a loss for words, unsure how to mock this terrible idea.

Wouldn’t that be the same?

No—

Strictly speaking, the nature would be different, and it might even be a worse crime.

Local authorities issuing their own currency, backed by their sovereign credit…

That was practically rebellion!

Chopra felt sweat streaming down like a river and wiped his forehead with his arm.

Seeing how timid the guy was, Mosquito didn’t sneer but instead handed him a cigarette with a smile.

“Don’t be so tense. I just thought it was a shame you bought so many printing presses but never planned to use them.”

Chopra took the cigarette, confused. “Buy… printing presses?”

Mosquito glanced around, his eyes landing on the rows of Conqueror X tanks.

“Aren’t these things printing presses? If you buy a couple hundred of these, I don’t believe that Wutuo would dare mess with you.”

Chopra took a drag, swallowing hard. He was tempted, but his eyes still showed hesitation.

“You’re oversimplifying things. Issuing sovereign currency is still a hostile act. Even if no one recognizes our currency, the political risk is huge. The royal family, for the sake of face, would never—”

Mosquito sighed. “I’m not oversimplifying; your brains just can’t turn the corner. You don’t dare issue sovereign currency, but can’t you copy Golden Port and create silver coin vouchers? For every silver coin in cash or equivalent financial assets you reserve, issue ten vouchers. Then just settle your transactions with those vouchers.”

At that moment, a switch seemed to flip in Chopra’s brain, and everything clicked.

Right…

They had copied Golden Port’s banking system, so why had they forgotten to copy the most crucial part?

Given Tiger State’s economic scale and trade volume with the Alliance, they were fully capable of issuing silver coin vouchers. Then they could bypass the Westland dollar for trade settlements and completely escape the royal bloodsucking from Tindu.

Once the idea took hold, Chopra’s breathing grew rapid.

If this worked, it would solve Tiger State’s biggest headache!

And his contribution might even surpass that of procuring arms!

Chopra excitedly looked at Mosquito, mimicking the Alliance gesture of clasping fists.

“Thanks, brother!”

Seeing his quick understanding, Mosquito’s face lit up with a pleased smile.

“Don’t mention it… Ah, I just threw that out there. You’d better find a specialist to fine-tune the details. I hear there are plenty of finance folks in Golden Port.”

His scattered knowledge of economics came from Fang Chang, just enough to know the gist.

This wasn’t his specialty, and it wouldn’t do to screw over his client.

After all, no matter how cheap his wholesale price for these arms was, he still needed buyers.

Not long after Mosquito saw off Chopra, Yarman, near the dock, finally stepped ashore via the gangplank.

Barren yet brimming with mechanical texture, like a spaceship stranded in the desert—that was his first impression of this port and the settlement behind it.

A third of the docks were metal, like floating bridges pieced together from steel plates. The remaining two-thirds were concrete docks, much like those in West Sail Port, stretching straight from the coastline into deep water.

Beyond them, more docks were under construction, seemingly prepared for the large container ships.

These docks were not only much wider than the others but also equipped with fixed cranes like the ones on hoists, and rows of gantry-style suspensions.

It wasn’t just the docks that left an impression; the warehouse district also drew his gaze.

Shipping containers were stacked like building blocks on the broad concrete ground.

Forklifts and scissor lifts shuttled back and forth between the containers, while dockworkers in exoskeletons busied themselves unloading cargo from open containers…

He had to admit, the Alliance’s mechanical technology was something else—these dockworkers worked in pairs, and one pair did more work than five men at Westsail Port.

Though Yarman was surprised, he didn’t dwell on it.

After all, exoskeletons might be rare in the Bharata Province, but they weren’t anything special in the Legion. If necessary, he could certainly afford one.

As for container transport, while it was indeed more efficient than bulk shipping, the demand for maritime freight on the Wasteland wasn’t that high.

To run container services, you’d need not only specialized ships but also specialized docks.

Compared to the hefty maintenance costs, the marginal efficiency gains were practically negligible.

At least, that was how Yarman saw it.

Moreover, container backlog was a major issue—those containers weren’t just piled up at the port; they had even spilled into the settlement.

But the survivors were clever enough; they simply added doors and windows to those metal boxes and used them as homes.

For the subtropical coastal province of Haiya, it wasn’t too cold. The only real concern seemed to be extreme weather—those empty boxes might just blow away in a strong gust.

In short, compared to Westsail Port, with its marble buildings and ornate streetlights, this place was undoubtedly far shabbier.

Yarman didn’t waste time scrutinizing the port, because he had more important things to do.

Seeing another container ship loaded with munitions depart, he hurriedly strode toward the port authority worker approaching him.

“We have eight ships here. What procedures do we need to complete?”

Looking at the ships with empty decks, the port office worker on the dock gave the Valyrian on board a curious glance.

One or two empty ships weren’t unusual, but an entire fleet of eight all empty was quite rare.

“…There’s no paperwork for docking. Just pay the berthing fee before departure. But all incoming cargo must be registered before unloading—it’s a necessary step to prevent smuggling. Do you need a cargo declaration form?”

Yarman quickly shook his head.

“No need.”

“…Alright, I figured you wouldn’t. If you need to submit additional documents later, you can apply at the port office yourself.”

The port office worker shrugged and closed the notepad he had opened.

Seeing the worker turn to leave, Yarman quickly called out to him.

“By the way, what is this place?”

The worker gave him a strange look at the question.

“Here? This used to be the landing point of the Burning Legion. The esteemed Administrator decided to help the locals rebuild, so now it’s Alliance Settlement One.”

This guy didn’t even know where he was—what was he doing here?

Yarman was taken aback by the explanation and instinctively glanced around.

This settlement…

Had it been built in just the last two months?!

“Doesn’t it… have a name?” Shocked, Yarman couldn’t help asking.

The worker smiled.

“Not yet. The Administrator said it’s a minor matter. He plans to let the locals decide the name once the survivor population here exceeds a hundred thousand… You can ask around with the locals for more details. If there’s nothing else, I’ve got other things to do.”

Yarman nodded blankly, watching the worker leave, then turned his gaze back toward the port area, a chill creeping over his scalp.

He was certain those were the equipment of the Eastern Legion’s expeditionary force!

But what he couldn’t understand was why they were in an Alliance port.

Could it be…

That the esteemed General Lium had sold them to the Alliance?!

Yarman’s expression shifted, and a foreboding feeling began to stir within him.

To reach the Death Coast quickly, he had deliberately emptied his cargo holds and sailed here with empty ships.

If this deal fell through, he’d be losing his shirt!

The pilot captain, who had also noticed the situation in the port warehouse, came down from the cargo ship and looked at Yarman.

“What’s going on…”

This trip involved his share of the profits, so he had to care, if only for the dinars.

Yarman, his face grim, shook his head.

“I don’t know… It seems something’s gone wrong here.”

Just something wrong?

The captain stared at Yarman nervously, his voice hesitant as he pressed on.

“Are we still going to Haibei City?”

“Of course, but before that, I need to ask around nearby…”

He had to find out what was up with the munitions stockpiled here.

Without hesitation, Yarman went back to the ship, picked a few underlings, and led them toward the warehouse district.

As luck would have it, just as he reached the warehouse entrance, Mosquito was coming out.

They met face to face and immediately sensed the other was no ordinary person.

Eyeing the big nose, Mosquito was the first to hand over his business card, smiling.

“Goblin Tech! We provide the most professional hardcore services. Where there’s an explosion, there we are. Here’s my card—check it out!”

Yarman took the card in bewilderment and saw the words “Military Equipment” in the business scope column.

“Wait, you’re in the arms trade?”

At the mention of arms, Mosquito perked up, his face eager.

“You bet! Our company’s hottest sellers are arms—from rifles to planes and tanks, we’ve got it all! Need a recommendation?”

“Wait… hold on!”

Yarman, too flustered to listen, frantically searched his pockets and soon pulled out the purchase certificate and letter of introduction from the Governor’s office.

Seeing the papers thrust at him, Mosquito blinked.

“What’s this?”

Yarman swallowed hard, forcing a smile, and said nervously.

“The purchase certificate and letter of introduction from the Westsail Port Governor’s Office…”

At that moment, he was like a drowning man, desperately grasping at every straw that drifted past.

He also knew it was unrealistic, but he clung to a faint hope, a one-in-ten-thousand chance, that the Governor's Office had already communicated with the Alliance, and that the man before him might recognize this thing.

Yet—

The man who took the scroll wore a look of utter bewilderment, glancing at the paper, then back at him.

"What the hell is this?"

Faced with that expression of obvious unfamiliarity with the document, Yarman was utterly crushed.

All his negotiation skills failed him in that moment.

He felt like a clown standing there, but still, in a stammering voice, he said instinctively.

"It's, it's the subscription certificate and letter of introduction I mentioned. We came here at the call of the Governor's Office of Westport Harbor to help transport munitions..."

Mosquito interrupted him impatiently.

"Alright, alright, I don't want to hear all that. If you want something, just name your price."

He didn't care where these Vellant men took that batch of equipment.

It would be best if they sold it to the Empire.

That way, he could sell the stuff that could cut through those iron lumps to the warlords of the Brahman Province.

Like the Type 2B tank, the W-2 aircraft, or even the W-3 still in development.

With one last shred of unrealistic hope, Yarman spoke in near despair.

"According to the price on the subscription certificate, we can buy back this batch of weapons at 10,000 dinars per ton—"

Hearing that absurd price, Mosquito nearly choked on his own spit.

"Ten thousand dinars per ton? What are you here to buy, cabbages?"

He had traded excavators for those tanks!

These profiteers wanted to buy by the ton wholesale, calling it a "buyback"—how shameless could they be!

"B-but, the Governor's Office..."

Looking at the stammering big-nosed man, Mosquito cut him off impatiently.

"Don't drag your Governor's Office into this with me. This is the Alliance! You'd be better off handing me Xilan currency than this scrap paper... pfft, we don't take Xilan currency here. Either pay in silver coins or Cr!"

Yarman felt every cell in his body tremble, and finally squeezed out a sentence through blue-tinged lips.

"Then... how much are you selling for?"

Having lost all hope in this buyer, Mosquito said lazily.

"Depends on what you're buying. A Conqueror Type 10 would be a million silver coins."

"A million silver coins?!" Yarman's eyes widened, glaring at him in fury. "You dare sell second-hand equipment at that price? Why don't you just rob us!"

If it were one or two hundred thousand silver coins, he could grit his teeth and bear the pain, selling it back for six or seven million dinars without losing too much.

But Mosquito showed no courtesy, not even willing to haggle.

"If it's too expensive, don't buy it!"

Rolling his eyes, he shoved the scroll back into the big-nosed man's hands, and even snatched back the business card he had just handed out.

Damn it!

After all that, these guys were just here to freeload!

He had gotten all excited for nothing!

Without a moment's pause, Mosquito and his lackeys climbed into the off-road vehicle parked at the entrance, disappearing down the road in less than half a minute, leaving only a group of Vellant men standing in disarray at the entrance of the warehouse district.

Seeing his boss frozen for so long, a lackey following Yarman said cautiously.

"...Maybe the Eastern Legion only sold off part of their stock. There might still be some left in Haibei City. How about we try our luck there?"

"I hope so..." A bitter smile twisted Yarman's face. He looked as if he had aged a dozen years, all trace of the high spirits he had carried on the journey gone.

This round trip had wasted at least a month.

He had been counting on making a little extra profit from this deal to cover the penalties for the delayed delivery of sugar cubes, tea, and other goods.

But now it seemed he would have to swallow the loss himself.

On top of that, the goods stored in the Westport Harbor dockside warehouses required rent—another hefty expense...

Just as Yarman was fretting over those bills, more ship silhouettes appeared on the distant sea.

They surged toward the port of Settlement No. 1 like a flock of frolicking ducks.

Zhang Ze, who was hauling cargo in the port area, looked up, a surprised expression on his face.

"Why so many ships?"

This dockworker job had been arranged by the employment guidance center of Settlement No. 1. The hourly wage was the same as Renault's, who had gotten off halfway—eight silver coins—though it was hard to say which job was more grueling.

But he was still young; he couldn't do this forever. This job was just a stepping stone.

Once he saved up some capital and got his Alliance identity, he would eventually go back to his old trade, doing business.

A coworker beside him, wearing an exoskeleton, set down his cargo box and said with a smile.

"Who cares how many ships come? It's got nothing to do with us. After work, let's grab a couple of drinks at the tavern."

Another worker nearby grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead with his arm.

"I doubt it. With so many ships, we'll probably have to work overtime... Might be busy till dark."

This wasn't like Fries Town, with bars open until the wee hours. Most small shops catered to scavengers returning from the nearby ruins and closed after eight o'clock.

Zhang Ze stared into the distance for a while, then said thoughtfully.

"...Not necessarily. I think that batch of cargo ships that just arrived looked empty."

"Empty ships?" His workmate was taken aback. "Coming here?"

Settlement No. 1 was still in the early stages of construction, producing nothing. What could empty ships possibly do here?

Buy garbage?

Everyone was baffled, staring in confusion at the cargo ships racing toward the dock.

It wasn't just the dockworkers who were puzzled. The director of the Port Office was also stunned after hearing his subordinate's report.

"Strange... Are these Vellant men on vacation?"

Among the fleet were even a few passenger liners, though they seemed empty...

While the Alliance staff were scratching their heads, the Vellant men standing on the dock were equally stunned as they watched the munitions-laden cargo ships pass them by.

Good grief...

They had only just reached Haya Province, and someone was already heading back fully loaded?!

That was way too fast!