Chapter 843: Haste Makes Waste

Chapter 843: Haste Makes Waste

At the military base’s airstrip.

Cheng Yan, the Alliance’s Foreign Minister, was engaged in friendly conversation with the high-ranking officials of Golden Port, while the players of the Burning Legion stood at a distance, watching the spectacle.

Unlike the onlookers from Golden Port.

These players weren’t curious about what Cheng Yan looked like—after all, they occasionally ran into him on the streets of Dawn City.

They only wanted to know whether this battle would actually happen, and when it would start.

“Ah-choo!”

[No Family], crouching on a stone pillar, sneezed without warning, nearly tumbling off.

It was already his tenth sneeze of the day.

[Mistaken Fate], squatting beside him, glanced over with a strange expression.

“Are you catching a cold?”

Normally, such a thing was rare.

Even if this guy was an Intelligence-type, after two awakenings, his Constitution should be twice that of an ordinary person.

No Family rubbed his red nose and grumbled under his breath.

“No idea… Damn it, can you even catch a cold in a game?”

He didn’t feel unwell, just kept sneezing lately.

[Half a Stumble] patted him on the shoulder and said with a grin.

“Kid, take care of yourself. If it gets bad… maybe consider a restart?”

[One Step to Heaven] immediately chimed in.

“When you pass through Dawn City, grab me something.”

“Piss off.” No Family rolled his eyes in annoyance, but couldn’t help sneezing again—“Ah-choo!”

Mistaken Fate, still squatting nearby, chuckled.

“Maybe someone’s thinking of you. Come clean, kid—did you hook up with some NPC like Zero Rush did?”

Zero Rush: “???”

No Family answered with another eye roll and a middle finger.

Watching this rowdy bunch, Two Liang Moonlight let out a sigh.

“This game is way too damn real.”

…

“Family, a single chopstick is easy to snap, but when ten chopsticks are bundled together, breaking us won’t be so easy!”

In the slums of West Sail Port.

On land scarred by artillery fire, a new patch of low shacks had sprouted.

Those too clever are often forgetful—most in the Brahmin Province were like that.

Though the Legion had killed many here over a month ago, it didn’t stop the survivors from working for them.

That matter was water under the bridge.

Almost everyone thought so, and some even came from neighboring Lion Province—territory of the Brahmin Kingdom.

No matter how sweet Abusek’s promises were, they couldn’t change their poverty.

The Legion didn’t pay much, but at least it was money—about a hundred denars a week.

That generous wage was almost unimaginable to the locals.

After all, buying a slave cost only a thousand denars.

Saving up three or four months’ wages was enough to buy a wife from a poor village!

Even though most of what they unloaded onto the shore was ammunition for the invasion of Brahmin Province…

The crooked shacks held no light; the laborers clearly didn’t treat these as homes, just threw them together carelessly.

Yet in one of those low shacks, stirring sounds occasionally drifted out.

Like a faint glimmer in the darkness.

A family member with a green bandage stood inside, preaching with passion.

Before him, a cluster of gleaming eyes shone in the dark.

Then a hand went up, and a scrawny young man spoke hesitantly.

“Boss…”

“Call me family—we’re all family, no one’s older or greater.” The green family member looked at him kindly, as if at his own kin. “You seem to have a question. Speak up, let me hear it, and see if I can help.”

Never treated with such kindness, the mouse-tribe youth’s eyes reddened.

He’d been alone for so long, only remembering his name, Amin.

Like a drifting leaf, he went wherever the wind blew—but now he felt a fatherly warmth from this man.

More than money, this was the real reason he’d joined the Family Society.

Working for other gangs, he had to call the foremen “sir,” but here, the foremen called him “family” and truly treated him like one.

He yearned for family.

Even more, he longed to be treated like family!

Afraid of being laughed at, Amin hesitated a long while before whispering shyly.

“Excuse me… what are chopsticks?”

Hearing his question, the green family member didn’t mock him, only smiled warmly and explained.

“A tool for eating, much cleaner than using your hands. It came from our friends in the Alliance.”

“C-clean? What’s that?” Another young man piped up curiously, his eyes sparkling with longing for the Alliance.

A tool for eating!

That must mean there’s plenty of food, right?

The green family member smiled kindly.

“Clean… means pure. According to science, most diseases come from eating unclean things. Hands that touch dirty things aren’t clean. Using chopsticks can prevent many illnesses.”

The eyes in the shack shone brighter, as if they truly saw that day.

They’d have endless food, no need to eat dirt.

Not just them, but their children too.

And they’d sit at tables like the children of the respectable, using utensils instead of hands.

“…Both disease and hunger are things we must eliminate.”

With a flicker of excitement in his heart, Amin spoke up to ask.

“Then… how do we destroy it?”

“Through unity!”

The green-skinned family member wore a warm smile, responding to those pairs of expectant eyes.

“As long as we are united enough, just like the survivors of Dawn City, Boulder City… and countless other survivor settlements! From now on, everyone will be able to use chopsticks, everyone will have enough to eat, and clean food at that!”

Thunderous applause erupted in the dark hovel.

Though he seemed not to answer any specific question, that abstract answer seemed to strike a chord in every heart.

It was the answer they all held within.

Someone had spoken it for them.

Two workers from Boulder City stood at the entrance, listening to the resounding applause; one wore a gratified smile, while the other was a mix of joy and concern.

“To have enough to eat, you have to farm; unity alone will only leave us all hungry. In any case, theory cannot replace practice. They’ve done well, but I always worry they might veer into another extreme.”

His name was Oren, a witness to the great upheaval in Boulder City, and a comrade of Lovett, the head of the Boulder City Workers’ Union.

In that bitter winter, he had used his hammer and skill to build a stove for the workers in prison.

One day, in a tavern, he heard of these survivors in need, and so he resolutely set out on his journey.

Saving others is also saving oneself.

This was the consensus among all workers, and he held it without a shred of doubt.

The eager and studious Zaid had found the Workers’ Union, and through their introduction, he came here from Golden Harbor.

Yet after working with the Family for some time, he felt an indescribable unease.

The worker beside him, however, was unperturbed and teased with a laugh.

“But you said it yourself—they’ve done well.”

Oren’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he forced himself to speak.

“I admit, their speed in recruiting members is indeed fast, even faster than ours. Spberg spent a month reading newspapers and only gathered a beer hall’s worth of people, but they grew to over a thousand in less than a week…”

“Then what are you still worried about?”

The worker beside him patted his shoulder, offering a reassuring smile.

“As we always say, theory can’t replace practice. We need to give them time to figure things out. Don’t forget the lesson of Golden Harbor—why did the *Survivor Daily* blossom while we hit walls everywhere?”

Oren stared at him blankly, then finally shook his head.

“I hope you’re right…”

They had indeed faced repeated setbacks in Golden Harbor, but he didn’t think it was due to failed localization; rather, it was because Golden Harbor’s industrialization was incomplete, and the local industrial workers lacked a sense of unity.

Their opponents, on the other hand, had amassed rich “experience in struggle” within the Alliance, even voluntarily sharing a portion of the pie to win hearts before they arrived in Golden Harbor.

The same was true in Mammoth Country.