Chapter 842: The Family Has Arrived

Chapter 842 The Family Has Arrived

On the western coast of the Central Continent, in a fertile land far from the Great Wasteland, there lies a settlement named "Avant."

This settlement is home to over a million free citizens, and if you count the unfree, it numbers nearly two to three million.

Though a million is but a drop in the ocean compared to the Thousand Clans and Thousand Gods of the Brahmin Province, it is still quite rare in other regions of the wasteland, even in the relatively stable homeland of the Legion.

As the "capital" of the Southern Legion, or rather the "garrison headquarters," this place is not only the most densely populated settlement in the Southern Legion's homeland but also the logistical hub and strategic command center for all levels of combat units.

Legend has it that this settlement was named after a brave Valyrian centurion.

Over a century ago, when the Legion truly faced the threat of life and death, it was this Mr. Avant who, with his brave and loyal subordinates, in a heroic battle, using only crude weapons, took down nearly a hundred autonomous defense robots, thus seizing this land from those "remnants of the Union."

For this reason, the word "Avant" also came to mean "march southward," becoming a synonym for courage and glory in the Legion.

As for what this settlement was originally called, no one remembers anymore; it probably wasn't as catchy as "Boulder City."

And the people who once lived here have gradually vanished, as if they never came to this world at all.

However, Avant, who rendered great service to the Legion, clearly did not fight all the battles for his descendants.

Those who can endure hardship must keep enduring; those who can fight must keep fighting, just as those who can enjoy blessings will keep enjoying them.

"Path dependency" is not unique to the Brahmin Province; it is an almost universal primitive trait among all animals, not even limited to primates. It's like seagulls that have tasted fries refusing to leave the docks, or whales that scrape barnacles off ship bottoms.

The greatness of civilization lies precisely in this: humanity, having nurtured civility, tamed part of its own "animal nature," weakening the negative effects of path dependency "to a certain extent," and thus successfully emerged from the primeval jungle.

But the Valyrians and the survivors of the Brahmin Province have clearly not yet fully emerged from that forest.

The Valyrians once again face a threat of "life and death," and so do the survivors of the Brahmin Province, who have been targeted by the former.

In the military base of Avant, within the meeting room of the highest command of the Southern Legion's garrison headquarters, a closed-door meeting on total war and general mobilization is underway.

Before the long rectangular conference table, a group of officers sit upright.

To attend this meeting, an officer must have at least three stars on their shoulder insignia.

And that is merely the threshold for participation.

Most of those seated here are four-star or five-star commanders of ten-thousand-man units, while at the head of the table sits the only six-star commander of the Southern Legion, the Legion's commander-in-chief, Thiel!

All eyes focus on Thiel, every officer present waiting for this grim-faced boss to speak.

But Thiel does not speak; he merely glances at the chief of staff beside him.

The latter nods in understanding, taps the table with his index finger, breaking the silence of the meeting.

"Our friends from Triumph City have given us a slap in the face. Just as we were preparing to clean up their mess and avenge our fallen comrades at West Sails Port, they, from the standpoint of Triumph City, voluntarily recognized the legitimacy of the Brahmin State and acknowledged the Brahmin authorities' handling of the Celestial Army forces."

Where his index finger lands, it points to a copy of the *Survivor's Daily*, Golden Harbor edition.

The cover photo shows two men shaking hands: on the left, the Brahmin leader Abusek; on the right, the dog kept by the civilian government of Triumph City.

A stir of commotion spreads across the conference table.

The officers exchange furious glances, their eyes filled with shock and indignation.

Those civilians have once again held them back!

And just when their "drive the dog to swallow the pig" plan was about to succeed!

"Silence!"

The chief of staff knocks hard on the table with his knuckles until the meeting room quiets down, then he slowly continues.

"Now, the covert lines we planted in the Brahmin Province have been severed. Gradual encroachment to annex the Brahmin Province is no longer possible. Yet, a direct declaration of war might bring the Enterprise into the fray."

"What we need now is to achieve greater gains at the smallest possible cost. I want to hear any good ideas from those present."

After his words, there is another buzz of discussion, and soon a three-star commander stands up.

His name is Gurion, around thirty years old, with a straight posture as sharp as his high-bridged nose.

His resolute eyes hold a hint of ruthlessness, yet a trace of subtle shrewdness hides between his brows, bearing some resemblance to the famous Eastern Legion general Griffin.

"I have an idea."

The chief of staff nods.

"Speak."

Gurion does not hesitate and immediately speaks.

"The Western Xia Empire is not yet completely destroyed. Even if Triumph City privately signs a appeasement agreement with the Brahmin State, we can still march into the Brahmin State under the guise of being an ally of the Western Xia Empire."

As his words fall, a few officers whisper among themselves, and soon another stands up.

"...That's not a bad idea, but the problem is that the current Western Xia emperor, Wutuo, seems to be in Golden Harbor. That's the Alliance's sphere of influence. If the Alliance uses his name to demand our withdrawal, how would you respond?"

Though the Alliance hasn't done so now, it doesn't rule out the possibility of playing that card later.

Frankly, the Legion is not afraid of the Alliance stepping in, nor even the Enterprise; they are merely worried about making too many enemies early in the war.

Mobilization must be carried out in phases and stages. The later the opponent intervenes, the later they begin their mobilization preparations, the more advantageous it is for the Legion.

This is the significance of so-called "justification for war."

The stronger the justification for war, not only does the Legion's own mobilization efficiency increase, but it also affects the mobilization efficiency of "potential belligerents" and their internal anti-war resistance.

By the time the Legion fully controls the Brahmin Province and suppresses all opposition, even if the Enterprise condemns them, it will be useless—verbal reproaches are nothing but a scratch.

After hearing the officer's argument, Gurion, prepared, speaks.

"That problem is easy to solve. Didn't they leave a crown prince in the three northern provinces? We just install that crown prince as the new emperor, then find a way to eliminate Wutuo. Then the Brahmin Province, at the very least, can have two 'Western Xia's.'"

"This idea is good!" The chief of staff shows a hint of approval.

Even Thiel, who has remained silent throughout, gives Gurion a second glance.

The officer who raised the objection earlier, after a moment of thought, ultimately cannot come up with a better plan and sits back down.

Seeing no further objections, the chief of staff looks at Thiel, and upon receiving the boss's nod, he turns back to Gurion.

"Since no one else has objections, I'll leave this matter to you."

He pauses, straightens his expression, and faces the long conference table, announcing in a solemn and dignified voice.

"From this day forward, this headquarters appoints Commander Gurion as the overall commander of the Brahmin Province theater of operations! He is assigned thirty ten-thousand-man units and is responsible for all operational strategy in this theater!"

Upon receiving the order, Gurion faces the Legion commander and the chief of staff, straightens his back, salutes smartly, and accepts the command in a booming voice.

"Gurion accepts the order! I will not fail the mission and will return with victory!"

Looking at this beaming, high-spirited general, Thiel, seated at the head of the table, nods gently, slowly rises from the table, and returns the general's salute with a slow but firm gesture.

Then he speaks the only words he has uttered since the meeting began.

"For the descendants of the Valyrians to live on sun-drenched lands."

"May you win the first battle! General Gurion."

...

On the streets of Golden Harbor, newsboys hawk their wares as they weave through the alleys.

"Extra! Extra! Triumph City envoy arrives at Celestial Capital!"

"Triumph City envoy's meeting with Abusek concludes successfully!"

"The Legion has reached an agreement with the State of Bolo, recognizing the legitimate status of its government!"

At the sound of that hawking cry, the passersby around halted in their tracks.

Especially in the small noodle shop tucked away in a corner of the port district, the curious diners erupted once more into a flurry of astonished chatter.

"The Legion's envoy has arrived in the Celestial Capital?"

"They actually intend to negotiate?!"

"Unbelievable!"

The standoff between the two sides had reached such a pitch that the muzzles of their guns were practically poking into each other's nostrils.

And now, the envoy from Triumph City had suddenly come running to recognize the legal status of the State of Bolo, leaving the diners utterly baffled, exclaiming in confusion that they couldn't make heads or tails of it.

In truth, this was hardly surprising.

What appeared in the newspapers were merely the games played on the surface; the struggles beneath the surface remained invisible.

Yet for the sweltering atmosphere of the escalating tensions in Golden Harbor, this good news still arrived like a long-awaited rain after a drought, bringing a touch of coolness to the stifling air.

Perhaps...

This war might not break out after all?

More than one person harbored such a thought.

But a few remained clear-headed.

"...The Southern Legion is likely about to make its move." Staring at the extra edition he had just bought, Asin furrowed his brow slightly and spoke abruptly.

Kunal, standing at his side, hesitated for a moment, then asked in confusion.

"I don't understand, boss. Aren't they planning to negotiate?"

Flicking the newspaper in his hand lightly, Asin said in a slow, deliberate voice.

"It's Triumph City that wants to negotiate—or more precisely, the civilian officials within the Legion. But the Southern Legion is the Southern Legion... I've told you before: when you're dealing with a group of people, never just focus on what one of them is doing and then imagine that one represents the whole group."

Analyzing problems that way leads to many absurdities, like reducing complex issues to "the Alliance will surely do this" or "the Legion will surely do that."

Not every survivor faction, like Xilan, enjoys solving concrete problems with abstract methods.

But one thing is certain: this time, the civilian officials and the Southern Legion have definitely fallen out. The latter likely did something without consulting the former, prompting the former to act without consulting the latter in return.

As for how the Southern Legion will respond, he couldn't say.

But one thing was clear: those jackals would never let things rest.

In their eyes, the Province of Bolo was already meat clenched between their teeth—they wouldn't let go unless they swallowed it whole or lost a few fangs.

Seeing Kunal still perplexed, Asin didn't explain further. He simply asked.

"Kunal, how is that task I gave you coming along?"

Hearing his boss's question, Kunal promptly set aside his unresolved doubts and spoke respectfully.

"It's underway! We've hit a good time. The docks at West Sail Port are hiring in large numbers. The old labor dispatch agency is gone, so they have to recruit on their own—both labor brokerage and dock operation licenses have been opened up."

"To be safe, the brother we sent over played it smart and found a Vlandian partner to hold the license. Now we've got about a dozen docks under our control, three thousand workers working for us, and our gang's membership has grown to around two or three hundred."

"Good." Asin nodded approvingly.

Doing business with the Legion didn't bring in much money. Those big-noses, with guns in hand, were always stingy when paying and liked to settle debts with arms instead of cash.

But money was a minor matter. People were the real foundation.

Especially in chaotic times like these—the more people who relied on him for their livelihood, the safer he was, and the easier it became to do any kind of business.

This was a lesson he had learned from his own rise, and it had never failed him, whether in Golden Harbor or Banana Bay.

Seeing his boss's approving nod, Kunal grinned sheepishly.

But then a thought struck him, and he quickly added.

"Oh, boss, there's one more thing... I heard from the brothers in the west that a gang called the Family Society has recently entered West Sail Port."

The Family Society?

Asin blinked, utterly bewildered.

What kind of gang had such a strange name?

"...Is this Family Society also from Golden Harbor?"

Kunal shook his head.

"No, but I hear they're no small fry. They're said to come from Dawn City, and they've supposedly secured investment from the Stone City Workers' Union..."

Investment from the Workers' Union?

Really?!

Asin's eyes went wide.

Seeing his boss speechless with surprise, Kunal lowered his voice and continued.

"And their way of expanding is pretty interesting. They've divided their members into six ranks: the lowest is White Family, then Green, Yellow, Blue, Purple, and the highest is called... Golden Family, I think?"

"One of our guys infiltrated them. He says if you can recruit ten people, you become a White Family member. Then, by recruiting more members—or your recruits' recruits—once you hit a hundred or so, you can reach Green..."

Never having heard of such a business model, Asin stared at him blankly and couldn't help asking.

"What's the use of these colors?"

Kunal muttered.

"I'm not too sure myself. Our guy only made it to ordinary family member. I hear their membership fees are very low. We take a ten percent cut from weekly wages, but they claim they don't take a single coin and even offer free classes to their members..."

Saying they take nothing isn't quite accurate, at least in Kunal's view—it's more like a word game.

Since the massacre at West Sail Port, the old "established brokers" had all been wiped out, and the laborers' wages at the docks had risen a bit.

The base wage, once 1 dinar per hour, had gone up to 2, and could reach 3 for exceeding quotas.

Whether it was 2 or 3, it was pocket change for the merchants and port authorities.

The bigger the port's throughput, the higher the port's revenue.

The big bosses wanted efficiency and stability; the handling fees were just a drop in the bucket.

So organized workers could earn a bit more than unorganized casual laborers.

For example, with a base wage of 2 dinars, through a gang they could get 2.5, and the bonus for exceeding quotas could go from 1 to 1.5.

The money the labor brokers at West Sail Port made came from skimming this premium.

For instance, a worker who originally earned only 2 dinars could get 2.5 thanks to the Assassin Gang, and after deducting a 10% gang fee, still had 2.25.

And there was no worry about being shorted.

Smaller gangs, with less bargaining power than the Assassin Gang, generally didn't offer hourly wages below 2 dinars, but they often threw in miscellaneous benefits—like promising compensation for broken legs or offering a bigger cut of the bonuses.

The Family Society was a different case. In sheer scale, they had already surpassed the well-funded Assassin Gang, but their bargaining power seemed completely unused.

They paid their "family members" according to the small-gang standard—the lowest tier: a base wage of 2 dinars and a base bonus of 1 dinar.

Though they claimed not to take a single coin from their families' pockets, Kunal figured that given their scale, they were skimming at least 20%!

However, it was said that the Family members with colored backgrounds seemed to receive special allowances, and ordinary members also greatly admired the Family’s benevolent act of “not taking a single cent” from them.

Thus, the Family expanded its business rapidly, swelling its ranks to three or four thousand in just half a month, and it was still growing at a breakneck pace.

According to informants embedded within the Family, their ambitions seemed not limited to the docks; they had also reached into steel mills, cement plants, and other sectors.

But in the latter, due to low profit margins, even the gang had no bargaining power.

They took on businesses that made no money, and Kunal was utterly baffled, unable to figure out what they were really up to.

“These guys are strange… I always feel they’re not like a proper gang, but calling them a charity doesn’t fit either. Anyway, I don’t believe they haven’t made a single cent—maybe they’re earning even more than us legitimate gangs!”

“Some gangs think these guys are wrecking the market and want to join forces to take them down. They even came to us. Honestly, I’m not jealous of their money, and it’d be easy to deal with them, but I’m worried they might have some backing—afraid of offending those people.”

Not only was Kunal uncertain, but after hearing all this, Asin pondered for a long time and found himself equally indecisive.

He knew about the Workers’ Union.

Though just a civilian organization, it wielded considerable influence in the Alliance, serving as a counterbalance to the Merchant Guild.

Earlier, many industrialists in the Alliance had moved their factories to Golden Harbor to cut production costs, and the Workers’ Union members had followed their supply chains here.

In their own words, helping the workers of Golden Harbor fight for legitimate rights was also a way to protect their own interests.

After all, if Golden Harbor’s workers were too cheap, letting cotton flowing into the Alliance be soaked in too much sweat and blood, driving down labor prices, their own interests would eventually suffer.

No matter how cheap clothes and pants were, you still needed money to buy them—you couldn’t just live on unemployment benefits.

However, Golden Harbor had many local grassroots organizations, both legal and illegal, as well as those operating in gray areas, so the Workers’ Union, as an outside force, struggled to expand its operations—at least not as smoothly as the locally successful *Survivor’s Daily*.

Asin didn’t care much about these matters.

He was a legitimate businessman in Golden Harbor, keeping his shady enterprises in Tiger and Leopard Provinces, with no conflict of interest with the Alliance’s Workers’ Union.

But the timing of this Family’s entry into West Sail Harbor was too coincidental, and they had the backing of Alliance civilian organizations, making him worry whether the Alliance was secretly supporting them.

After thinking for a long time, Asin said in a low voice.

“Hard to say… If you don’t know what they’re after, how could I? Better to observe for a while first.”

He paused, then added.

“Anyway, whether they have Alliance backing or not, let’s not provoke them for now… Someone else will deal with them.”

With such a massive grassroots organization, the Legion would eventually take notice.

Then we’ll see how the Legion handles it.

If those guys really are from the Alliance, helping them out then might earn us some goodwill…

Thinking this, Asin gave a few more simple instructions. When he was done, something else occurred to him, and he asked casually.

“By the way, who’s the head of that Family? Did you find out?”

Kunal replied immediately.

“I heard it’s someone called Zaid, a snake-man, I think. Just a nobody—I’ve never heard of any deeds from him.”

Zaid?

Asin frowned slightly, feeling the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t recall where he’d heard it.

Just then, his gaze fell on a noodle shop by the street, and an ordinary face suddenly surfaced in his mind.

It was that guy!

That waiter who didn’t work hard and had brazenly told him he was going to Dawn City to look for something.

A strange smile curled at the corner of Asin’s mouth.

He remembered that incident now.

That day, he was in a good mood, found the man amusing and bold, so he casually gave him a ticket.

A ticket cost him next to nothing—a drop in the bucket compared to what he’d spent on Rasi.

But come to think of it, what a small world it was. He’d almost forgotten that name, only to hear it again by chance.

He wondered if that guy had already found “that thing” he was looking for…

Just as Asin was marveling at how small the world was, a large military transport plane was landing steadily at the airport on the outskirts of Golden Harbor.

Accompanied by over a dozen bodyguards, Alliance Foreign Minister Cheng Yan stepped off the plane via a boarding ladder.

And there, by the runway, a group of people had been waiting for a long time.

Among them were Yodu, Secretary-General of the Golden Harbor Governor’s Office, senior officials from the city hall, high-ranking members of the regional representative council, and the head of the militia regiment.

All the power brokers of Golden Harbor stood there, gazing eagerly at the Alliance foreign minister descending from the plane.

They knew well where the true savior of the Bahr Province lay!

“Welcome, Mr. Cheng!”

Hurrying forward, Yodu warmly grasped Cheng Yan’s hand, his face brimming with excitement.

“The survivors of Golden Harbor have been waiting day and night—finally, you’ve come!”