Chapter 840: The Alliance's 'After-Sales Service'

Chapter 840: The Alliance's "After-Sales Service"

The repercussions of the Tianwang's death continued to ferment, and the *Survivor's Daily* in Golden Gallon Port was providing ongoing coverage of the event.

The survivors of Golden Gallon Port were, on one hand, astonished by the wretched fate of Yanush, and on the other, could not help but worry whether this would bring uncontrollable consequences to the situation in the Bolo Province.

To be fair.

Yanush had indeed acted too extreme, his killing intent even heavier than that of Rasi, and he was also unbridled in his indulgence in wine and women.

Leaving aside public virtue, his private conduct was indeed flawed. Although the Alliance also had individuals with poor private morals, at least they did not engage in forced buying and selling; it was always a matter of mutual consent.

However, objectively speaking, it was indeed Yanush who kicked down that dilapidated house of the Empire.

Just as Rasi had copied the Alliance's homework, Yanush had thoroughly learned the ruthlessness of his former master, the Legion, and even exceeded expectations, nearly demolishing the very "foundation."

But now he had died so hastily, leaving behind only a mess of ruins and broken walls for others to clean up.

For those who had not yet built new houses, this was certainly not a good thing.

Even if the Xilan Empire had ten thousand faults, that dilapidated house could still serve as a temporary shelter from the rain.

But these were matters for later...

At the noodle shop near the port district, the early morning bustled with activity as a group of diners engaged in idle chatter.

"I knew he wouldn't come to a good end!" The dockworker slapped his thigh, wearing a look of regret, his thick eyebrows tinged with an air of "I told you so."

"This man's killing intent is too heavy; it harms both others and himself!"

A nearby vendor nodded, lamenting over the headline in the newspaper.

"Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish; it's not like flipping a pancake. How could he be allowed to toss it back and forth like that?"

"It's a matter of fate. His face lacked a certain kingly aura; he couldn't hold onto the throne, so it consumed him."

"What is a 'kingly aura'?"

"Indeed... I think he would have been fine as a general, but unfortunately, he touched something he shouldn't have, and had to pay with his life."

Since bodies were frequently fished out of the Eternal River shoals, superstition had gradually become popular among the lower and middle classes of Golden Gallon Port.

It was hard to say whether players had not "fueled the flames" behind this, as the locals were best at imitating without yet reaching the stage of selecting the essence and discarding the dross.

But as a topic for after-dinner conversation, it was merely a trivial matter.

Followers of the Great Deer God could learn physics, so the more flexible residents of the Bolo Province naturally had no objection to adding another "Ghost God" and "Science God" among the thousand deities.

As the crowd chattered noisily, a schoolteacher who could no longer bear it rolled his eyes and prepared to argue with these rough men.

But before he could interject, his colleague sitting across from him reached out to stop him.

"Enough, enough, you know it all. Hurry up and eat your noodles; class is about to start!"

This topic would go on endlessly, and there was no way to get to the bottom of it.

The teacher knew this well, so he rolled his eyes again and silently continued eating, burying his head in his bowl.

He only hoped his students wouldn't be like this.

Attributing all reason to fate.

A man sitting in a corner of the noodle shop was also silent, quietly reading the newspaper as he waited for his noodles.

Only when the noodles were served did he set the newspaper aside, pull out the chopsticks from the container, and sigh leisurely to Kunal, who sat across from him.

"When charcoal burns red, it easily turns to ash... Kunal, we must take this as a warning."

Kunal was taken aback. Seeing his boss say something he didn't understand, he pondered for a moment before asking.

"Are you... feeling sorry for Yanush?"

He remembered his boss once said it would be good if someone could kick down that dilapidated house of the Empire.

But as it turned out, "plant flowers and they don't bloom, plant willows and they provide shade." Rasi hadn't made much progress, but the powder keg in West Sail Port had exploded first, burning half of the Bolo Province.

Ashin shook his head.

"No, his death is a good thing, good for everyone. If he hadn't died, that would have been a big problem."

But looking at it this way, the real cause of his death was probably not simple. It might well have been the work of the Legion or the Alliance behind the scenes.

As for the machinations behind it, that was not something a small fry like him could know.

Ashin knew this well.

Although he controlled the cotton business in two prefectures, and even a chiliarch of the Black Panther Army respectfully called him "sir," and warlord leaders gave him a second glance, in the eyes of those truly powerful figures, he was still just a small fry.

But small fries also had their way of survival.

That was to ride on the coattails of power.

After a pause, he continued.

"Now that the Bolo Republic has been established, with Abusek as its leader advocating constitutional rule and the rule of law. Externally, the Alliance is mediating a ceasefire among the various warlords, shelving disputes, and pointing their guns together at the Legion, which is planning an invasion... If the prefectures of the Bolo Province can truly unite, even if watered down, it will be a good thing for us."

Kunal listened respectfully and asked.

"Boss, do you have any instructions?"

Ashin spoke in a measured tone.

"I want you to make some preparations. Pick a few sharp brothers and go to places like West Sail Port and Tindu to develop some members for our Assassin Gang... Remember, before expanding our business out of Leopard Prefecture and Tiger Prefecture, we need to send our eyes there first to scout things out, so we don't end up as cannon fodder for others."

"Yes."

Kunal nodded seriously, committing every word his boss said to memory.

Although he didn't understand all the intricacies, based on his past experience, following his boss's orders was always the right move.

Ashin nodded as well.

Just then, the corner of his eye caught sight of the newspaper he had placed under his bowl.

Or rather, it landed on the line he hadn't had time to read yet.

Mr. Rat had gone to Mammoth Prefecture.

And he was going to start a newspaper and a university.

This news was quiet in Golden Gallon Port, its heat completely overshadowed by Yanush's death.

But upon seeing this, a smile curled at the corner of Ashin's mouth.

He knew very well that he was just a rat in the sewer. Even if he had learned a few words, all he could do was hide in a corner, dig a hole, and scoop up some dirt.

Though he wasn't educated, he understood very well how important that thing was.

Now, the light of ideals had finally shone in.

Compared to the death of a warlord, his arrival truly made him feel that perhaps this land really did have hope...

...

"Hahaha! A good death!!"

On the surging Eternal River, the north wind carried a burst of hearty cheers.

Looking at the bloodstained throne in the newspaper clipping, Wu Tuo laughed heartily, and even his appetite, which had been lost to worry, began to return.

"A thousand knives pierce you! How dare you vermin sit on my throne! Let me see who dares to sit there again—whoever does shall die upon it!"

The eunuch standing nearby, a fawning smile on his face, raised his thumb in praise.

"Your Majesty is wise! The power of that celestial pillar connects to the earth's veins, and those veins link to the palace of the Celestial Capital. Such might can only be borne by a body as exalted as Your Majesty's!"

Wu Tuo chuckled, satisfied with the praise, but then, as if recalling something, he shook his head and clicked his tongue in regret.

"...It's just a pity for the people of the Celestial Capital—ungrateful wretches, following the rebels into ruin, suffering needlessly."

If only they had shown a bit more backbone, a shred of loyalty, and fought alongside his Imperial Guard against those bandits, they wouldn't have ended up in such a state, becoming rebel subjects.

He had already sent for reinforcements from the Legion.

And his allies had agreed to his request, amassing troops at West Sails Port, ready to slaughter those rioters.

The Legion would not spare them.

Those Valyrians killed with savage ferocity! Lopping off heads like slaughtering chickens!

Even if they changed their name, it wouldn't matter—who didn't know they were the remnants of the "Heavenly Bandits"?

Once the Legion completed its deployment at West Sails Port, all those rebels would die!

At this thought, Wu Tuo felt a bit of relief, though a pang of regret lingered—after all, in the end, they were his own people dying.

But soon he shook his head, driving that faint unease from his mind.

As an emperor, he must never indulge in womanly mercy, fretting over the loss of a single city or a single man.

Now, the festering pus had seeped into the empire's veins.

Only by letting rivers of blood flow, draining that pus completely, could Xilan be saved!

And while Wu Tuo fantasized about the so-called "Brahmin Kingdom" crumbling before the Legion's artillery, the Chieftain Olet, who had received a telegram from the "Brahmin Kingdom," was utterly baffled.

[To the Legion: We are the Federation formed by reformers among the remnants of the Grey Wolf Army. Disgusted by the brutal tyranny of Yanush and his cronies, we have risen in arms to punish them!

Yanush and his accomplices have been executed by firing squad. The Celestial Capital is now under our control. We are willing, as the "Brahmin Kingdom," to reopen diplomatic relations with you and discuss matters including West Sails Port...]

The telegram had arrived at the Governor's Mansion in the morning and was delivered to the military base by noon. Its contents were lengthy, filling three full pages.

But Olet had only read the first two lines before he couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Interesting... Hahaha! Damned interesting!" As he spoke, he grinned, reaching up with his right hand to scratch the back of his head.

As the Chieftain stationed at Eternal Night Port and a core member of the Southern Legion, he had heard whispers of the Legion's eastward expansion plans.

Though not directly involved in the conspiracy at West Sails Port, his keen insight easily discerned what was happening, and he understood it all tacitly.

The Southern Legion's territory hadn't expanded in over a century—unthinkable for a militaristic organization.

Now, with the Legion's homeland and the colonies along the Great Wasteland coast stagnating, the fat prize of the Brahmin Province dangled before their lips, impossible to ignore.

If the civilian government could feast on it, why couldn't they?

To let those weak, incompetent bureaucrats gnaw on this prize would be a waste of heaven's gifts!

If this eastward expansion succeeded, it would not only bring the Legion a multitude of hardworking beasts of burden but also push the Legion's borders to the west side of Silver Moon Bay.

For him personally, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for merit!

Fighting mutants and natives forever wouldn't earn him a rank above two-star Chieftain. But if he could expand the Legion's territory—even if not an inch was gained—he could rise through the ranks on wartime achievements!

Yet the turn of events had caught him off guard.

A fire that should have swept through the entire Brahmin Province had been abruptly halted by a single gunshot.

And it wasn't just the fire that stopped.

Their connection with Abusek and other remnants of the Grey Wolf Army had been severed.

Though the telegram's lines were written with utmost respect, every word carried an air of unyielding dignity, as if speaking as equals.

It was obvious.

These ungrateful turncoats had found a new backer!

And odds were, it was the Alliance!

Otherwise, with the meager forces they had, how dare they put on airs before the Legion?

Olet could tell with his little toe that this wasn't just a single gunshot.

Behind it all, the Alliance was almost certainly pulling the strings!

No—

At least ninety-nine percent!

"...Whether this 'Brahmin Kingdom' counts or not, whether it's established or not—since when do these slaves get to decide for themselves? We haven't recognized it yet."

With that, Chieftain Olet tossed the unfinished telegram onto the table with a laugh.

Standing beside him, his adjutant spoke softly.

"I've heard the Alliance's envoy is in the Celestial Capital. This might well be their doing."

"Do you even need to guess?"

Olet curled his lip, picked up a goblet, and took a light sip of red wine. After a moment, he sneered and continued slowly.

"And I suspect it's not just the Alliance—our own envoy might have played a part too."

The adjutant frowned slightly.

"You mean... the 'Pangolin' sent by Chieftain Bannot?"

Olet nodded faintly, his expression calm.

"I've been thinking it over. If it were just the Alliance's envoy, it wouldn't have been enough to make Abusek suddenly turn traitor and launch a coup against Yanush ahead of schedule."

"Even if he was tempted by the Alliance's terms, he should have waited for the seven armies in the field to fight to a conclusion, then struck when they returned to court for rewards—not stop the fire halfway."

The adjutant nodded thoughtfully.

"True... This play was supposed to be an unspoken understanding. Their sudden wariness is indeed odd."

The Heavenly King's forces weren't just armed from the one warehouse at the port; they had also received plenty of "investments" from the Southern Legion.

Logically, they should still be in a honeymoon phase. Even if they harbored second thoughts, they'd still covet the meat not yet in their mouths.

Once the Yanush dynasty fully replaced the Xilan dynasty and clashed with warlords in Mammoth State and even near Golden Ganga Port, the Southern Legion could gradually tighten its covert support for Yanush, then smoothly carve off its flesh.

But now, they had suddenly turned traitor, willing to abandon even the remaining investments rather than continue the charade.

That left only one possibility.

A voice from within the Legion had revealed the Southern Legion's true intentions to them!

The only ones capable of that were the civilian officials in Triumph City.

Those cowards wanted war least of all.

"Those dragging us down..." the adjutant muttered, unable to suppress his anger, his fists clenching involuntarily.

That was three thousand lives—a chance bought with blood!

These useless bastards, driven only by their own selfish desires, don't they ever think of the dead Wilanters!

"Hmph, let them just cling to our trouser legs."

Oleite's eyes narrowed slightly, and the meaningful smile on his face grew even more chilling.

"...These people are still too naive. No matter how they cut ties, how they draw boundaries, whether we acknowledge them or not is still our call."

"Not to mention that the Celestial King's Army still has seven forces in the field, and our targets for liquidation are still there. Besides, our expedition isn't solely to avenge our compatriots in West Sailing Port—it's also to reinforce our allies and help them quell the rebellion."

"If we just leave them to their own devices, wouldn't that make us seem untrustworthy?"

As for what happens after the rebellion is quelled, that's a matter for later.

Pausing, he rose from his seat, his expression sharp as he looked at the adjutant standing by.

"Send a copy of the telegram to the Corps Commander... send the original."

"Also, notify all combat units at every level to be ready to deploy to the front at any moment!"

"For the glory, dignity, and land of the Wilanters!"

"The time for revenge is at hand!"

The Wilanters, advancing with fixed bayonets, once again faced a threat to their survival.

And this "threat" came from the Boro Province east of the Great Desert—those most "docile and Zen" honest folk living on the red earth.

The telegram from Boro Province crossed over Eternal Night Harbor to the War Department of the Southern Corps' homeland, while at the same time, Eternal Night Harbor had already begun a frenzied war mobilization.

And all of this was under the surveillance of a nuclear-powered submarine.

Residents of Vault 70, munching on potato chips, tapped on a holographic screen, snipping photos taken by drones and inserting them into a freshly edited document.

...

Meanwhile, on the other side, the Alliance delegation visiting the Celestial Capital finally received the reform draft provided by the Abusek authorities.

In the council hall of the Celestial Capital Palace, the Eagle, seated at the conference table, carefully pored over the document in his hands.

To be honest, the reform draft was fairly well-written—it seemed to have been copied from the political section of past issues of the *Survivor's Daily* in Golden Harbor.

For instance, public education.

Or joint-stock bank reforms.

Or encouraging women to participate in labor and production.

Then, when he saw the abolition of the agricultural tax, the Far-Sighted Eagle couldn't hold it in anymore.

If the agricultural tax is abolished, what will the hundreds of thousands of troops inside and outside the city eat?

Eat people?

"You people are too... too fond of going to extremes!" the Far-Sighted Eagle sighed, shaking his head. "We do hope you'll make changes worthy of our recognition, but we didn't expect you to bite off more than you can chew. Could you be a bit more practical—say, spread this plan over three to five years?"

The Alliance, after all, had a group of Bluecoats with core technologies to help, yet even they had endured hard times when they had to "stuff banknotes into sacks and wear them as clothes."

The population of Boro Province was a hundred times that of the Alliance. Once the mortality rate dropped and life expectancy rose, even if the birth rate stayed the same, their population would shoot up like a released spring.

Being as stingy and regressive as Yanush was certainly bad, but messing around like this was equally hopeless.

It wasn't just that the Alliance couldn't help.

Even if they gave them the Ideal City to average out, they'd still be gnawed into poverty.

Sitting across from the Eagle, Abusek showed no awareness of having done anything foolish. Instead, he laughed heartily, unconcerned.

"How can this be considered extreme? It's never too late to start anything! We're willing to begin now and truly deliver equality to the survivors of the Boro Kingdom!"

With that, he looked eagerly at the Eagle and smiled sheepishly.

"But... you can see our difficulties. The Western Luan Empire left us with only so much. We hope you can help us out a bit."

The Eagle stared at this guy, suddenly feeling that his way of asking for money looked oddly familiar.

Good grief.

I genuinely want to give you a hand, but you're always scheming to drain my gold coins!

Is that appropriate!

"...It's not that we won't help you, but you've drawn a bottomless black hole for us."

Steadying himself, the Eagle sighed and tossed the draft onto the table.

"If you really want to get things done, take it step by step... I'll offer you some appropriate help, but don't pin all your hopes on us."

He was a watered-down diplomat, not a real one. The Administrator hadn't given him any budget, so all he could provide were methods and experience.

In truth, even a real diplomat would probably only have these to offer.

The Alliance had never handed out a single cent to its allies through fiscal appropriations.

Low-interest loans were the upper limit of support, and even those weren't easy to get—they were tied to the social insurance and pensions of Alliance residents, so safety came first, with returns secondary.

For instance, the Mammoth State authorities had never managed to secure any.

No matter how persuasive Lacy's salesmen were, at best they could borrow from banks in Silver Moon Bay or Golden Harbor, or rely on investors like Lister who brought their own resources.

Abusek, unaware of this, still hoped the newcomer could cough up some money, leaning in attentively.

"Sir, please advise!"

The Eagle patiently explained.

"Abolishing slavery, encouraging women to participate in production—these policies are fine. Since you don't have unemployment benefits, they won't cost you much—just a bit of cohesion... ahem, I mean, a bit of effort in propaganda."

Damn!

Almost slipped into the wrong script.

But Abusek didn't notice anything off; he still looked earnest.

"It's fine, just say what you need to—I can understand!"

You'd better understand!

The Eagle stared at this "fake cloud player" for a few moments, making sure he wasn't just humoring him, before slowly continuing.

"Don't rush the agricultural tax. You know very well who holds most of the farmland in Boro Province."

Abusek nodded in sudden realization, then asked,

"What about a tiered tax? One person, three mu of land—no tax under three mu, a bracket for three to five mu, another for five to ten mu."

The Eagle looked at him in surprise, not expecting him to draw inferences.

This guy had some skill?

Though a bit of a fool, he wasn't completely clueless.

"A tiered tax is a good idea, but you need to consider your own reality—like the issue of proxy landholding. If I lend you money to buy my land, how would you handle that?"

Abusek was stunned, then finally blurted out,

"Is that such a good deal?!"

The Eagle rolled his eyes and couldn't help but retort.

"Don't think this is a good thing. If you take this land for planting, I bet the money you earn from the harvest won't even cover the loan interest! You're all farmers; they have nothing else to do but farm. Any knife you wield on the land will ultimately cut them, because they have no choice."

One is the phenomenon, the other is the essence.

If the essence that people cannot leave the land remains unchanged, no matter how you collect this money in different forms, the final result will be the same.

At most, it's a difference between long-term pain and short-term pain.

Looking at the stunned Absaik, Old Eagle patiently imparted his relatively mature experience to him.

"...The correct solution is to levy taxes in the circulation link. For example, first raise the export tariff on grain, then impose an internal consumption tax on grain—or beans—collected directly from grain merchants. Although some costs will still be passed on to producers, this added cost won't concentrate on a specific group but will be shared by all consumers in society."

Absaik nodded with a mix of understanding and confusion, as if he got it, yet not quite.

But whether he understood or not, he at least remembered what to do.

"Alright, let's do it your way!"

Old Eagle nodded.

"Yes, for now this is the only way. After you industrialize, adjustments can be made... As for this money, it should be a substantial income. At least the tariff portion should be enough for you to develop some light industry. Austerity is just a temporary measure; broadening sources of income is the long-term solution."

In truth, he dared to suggest this mainly because the two coastal states, Tiger State and Leopard State, had massively promoted cash crops, extensively converting bean fields to cotton fields.

Thus, the grain needed by Tiger State and Leopard State could only be imported through the Yongliu River port from inland areas where grain was cheaper.

After the production system led by the Alliance was established, the Golden Gar Port took over the Alliance's obsolete industrial equipment, while Tiger State and Leopard State took over the part gradually phased out by Golden Gar Port.

For example, spinning machines or sugar-making machines, etc.

Once the Brahman Kingdom gradually got on track, it could naturally take over some industrial equipment phased out by Tiger State and Leopard State, at least buying their old sewing machines and tractors.

This would create a virtuous cycle, rather than relying on unilateral blood transfusions from the Alliance or Golden Gar Port.

Of course, the prerequisite was that the saved money was used in the right places.

Old Eagle wasn't worried that these warlords like Absaik would embezzle the money; these guys almost certainly would take concubines, no doubt about it. But even if they lived a bit luxuriously, they couldn't embezzle much.

Just like siphoning money to overseas banks in "Tropico," the amount the president pockets is not on the same order of magnitude as the island's overall profit (or loss).

On the wasteland, it's even less of an issue. Given the development level of the Brahman Province, these people have nothing to be extravagant about. At most, they'd go to Golden Gar Port for a spree and then return.

As long as these guys don't do anything outrageous, like building a wonder by the Yongliu River or putting saddles on donkeys, the money is definitely enough.

As for public education, they could start with literacy night schools.

Once the first batch of literate workers reaped the benefits and got good jobs, the public's enthusiasm would naturally be stirred, and the final cost might not be as high as imagined.

If the local survivors still relied on farming for a living and had no need to improve their education, even if they built an education tower on the spot and shoved textbooks in their faces, it would be useless.

Old Eagle's throat was parched; he drank two large pots of tea during the process, circling and correcting all the unreliable parts of the draft.

He felt he had done enough as a fake diplomat, not only going through the whole act with them but also providing after-sales service.

For a few points he was unsure about, he even made excuses to go to the bathroom several times, returning to the forum to consult the big shots, and only came back after they finished their rambling.

That ruthless Absaik, who killed without blinking, was as obedient as a student in front of him, listening carefully and even having people take notes.

Though he was illiterate, he could always have someone read to him.

And seeing how many ideas this guy had in his mind, he secretly resolved to seriously learn some cultural knowledge when he had free time.

Finally, when there was nothing left to say, Old Eagle suddenly remembered someone and quickly spoke again.

"Oh, by the way, that Anwar... How long do you plan to keep him locked up? Since Yanush has already been dealt with, shouldn't his case be overturned?"

Absaik was stunned, then slapped his forehead in realization, apologizing with a sheepish smile.

"Look at my memory... With so many things happening lately, I didn't pay attention and forgot about this."

Old Eagle: "..."

How the hell could you forget that!?

Absaik seemed to feel the excuse was weak, coughed, and continued.

"Actually, keeping him locked up is also to protect him. For now, we reformists have the upper hand, but not everyone in the Federation supports us. I'm worried that Yanush's followers might seek revenge."

He paused, then straightened his expression and said.

"Don't worry! I'll have him released right away!"

Old Eagle nodded.

"Good, we also want to talk to him. If it's convenient, I'll go with your people."

"No problem!" Absaik smiled, but inwardly he was puzzled.

Why were these Alliance people so interested in an unknown like Anwar?

But he wasn't panicked.

After all, they were in the same boat. Anwar could betray anyone but him.

With over two hundred lives on his hands, that guy had no way out.

He would promote that guy later.

After handing in so many pledges of loyalty, it was time for him to enjoy some fortune.