Chapter 684: From One-Man Tavern to Yiren Tavern

Chapter 684: From One-Man Tavern to Her Tavern

The Valiant camp.

The tent at the center of the camp.

Bannott, the Chiliarch, sat before the long table, frowning at the *Survivor Daily* in his hands. After a long pause, he muttered under his breath.

"Those blue rats, what trick are they pulling now…"

Ever since arriving at Dawn City, the *Survivor Daily* had become his must-read newspaper.

Especially after he discovered that the intelligence he once had to pry from every corner was now laid out plainly on those few pages, he had changed his first morning ritual from brushing his teeth to reading the paper.

Lately, he had been keeping a close eye on the situation at French Fry Port. The *Survivor Daily* would update with a few photos every now and then, and he had practically watched the port transform from a barren stretch of nothing into this modest little fishing village.

To be honest, seeing those photos in sequence was quite striking.

Though the Legion often helped natives build camps, neither the aesthetics nor the comfort could match what those blue rats had achieved in less than half a month.

Now, the village could no longer be called small. Especially with the latest wave of immigrants, this little fishing village had swelled to nearly a thousand people.

Placed anywhere on the wasteland, it would count as a sizable survivor settlement.

But precisely because of this, Bannott felt a flicker of wariness.

The recent Conclave of the Viscous had set a minimum threshold of a thousand people for participation.

Once a settlement reached that number, it could vote on matters concerning its province and influence the outcome of the Conclave's agenda.

Different provinces had different vote counts; some special provinces were even tallied separately, but the baseline was at least one vote.

As everyone knew, mutants didn't vote. As the only settlement in Baiyue Province, French Fry Port would monopolize that precious vote—"representing the collective decision of all survivors in Baiyue Province."

And that would only worsen the Legion's already precarious position in the Conclave, given its scarcity of allies.

Realizing this, Bannott clenched his fists.

Without a doubt, this was blatant cheating!

He had gone through hell and high water, overriding objections to drag the Sith Empire into the Conclave, just to secure the votes of Boro Province for the Legion.

If the Alliance intended to rig the game with such underhanded tactics to win votes, he would never stand for it!

"I need to find a way to plug this loophole…"

Just as Bannott was lost in thought, footsteps sounded outside the tent.

A guard rang the bell, lifted the curtain, and stepped in, bowing to report.

"Sir, an envoy from the Sith Empire requests an audience."

Bannott waved impatiently.

"Let him in."

"Yes."

The guard nodded and withdrew.

Soon, the unmistakable pair of goatee mustaches crossed the threshold, trailing a strong scent of spices.

A warm smile spread across his face, his mustache twitching beneath his nose.

"Respected Chiliarch Bannott, I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but when I came yesterday, you had already left. I had no choice but to come earlier."

Yesterday?

Bannott recalled having dinner with the Foreign Minister of the Free State. He had indeed been away from camp, so missing him was nothing unusual.

Still, couldn't this fellow make an appointment before visiting?

"No trouble at all, my friend. Duke… ah, Duke Garava, you're always welcome to drop by," Bannott said, rubbing his nose with a perfunctory smile. "So, what brings you here today?"

He was never good at pleasantries. The Legion never needed to mince words with anyone—if talk turned sour, they just fought.

If not for the ongoing negotiations over the Viscous Research Consortium, he wouldn't bother humoring this pompous fool.

But as luck would have it, this duke was as ill-suited to diplomacy as he was. Far from seeing through Bannott's strained smile, he took the greeting as a gesture of goodwill from the Legion.

No wonder.

Most people in Boro Province, especially the nobles, looked at the Valiants through a thick filter of admiration—a filter thick enough to block all unkind interpretations.

Seeing the Chiliarch's beaming face, Duke Garava was deeply moved, as if he had found a kindred spirit.

Without hesitation, upon hearing Bannott's inquiry, he immediately put on an indignant expression and began to vent his grievances.

"I wouldn't trouble you over such trivial matters, but the Alliance has gone too far! I've never seen such shameless scoundrels. They deny things plainly written in the newspaper, play deaf and dumb as if it's none of their concern… How is that any different from bandits!"

Did he even need to say that?

Bannott had no objection.

The *Steel Heart* floating in the sky over Dawn City was proof enough of their shamelessness. He had demanded its return from the Alliance more than once, but they had no intention of giving it back—they even flaunted it as a trophy.

"Indeed," Bannott nodded in agreement, unable to resist a curse. "Those ill-mannered savages know nothing of courtesy or humility… So, my friend, what exactly did they do to you?"

Duke Garava clenched his fists in fury.

"They've taken in the Moon People!"

"…Moon… Moon People?" Bannott blinked, asking instinctively, "What are they?"

In his understanding, the world consisted only of Valiants and everyone else, plus the occasional dim-witted eightfold-growth clone.

What the hell were Moon People?

Survivors from the moon?

Reading the confusion on Chiliarch Bannott's face, Duke Garava patiently explained.

"The Moon People are the sinners of the Sith Empire. The Moon God they worship, according to our prophet's prophecy, conspired to murder the Sun-Bearing Sacred Bull, causing the blazing sun to fall into the endless river, plunging Boro Province into eternal darkness… They all bear the sins of a past life, which must be atoned for through suffering in this life, so that they may be reborn in the next."

"You must have seen them—most of the slaves sold from Boro Province to the West Coast are Moon People…"

Bannott was baffled through the first half, but when he heard the latter part, it finally clicked.

Ah, those fellows.

He had seen those slaves with their slender, straight noses. In fact, he kept two in his own estate.

Though their frames were smaller than Valiants' and their builds less impressive, they had a certain charm when handled…

"Mr. Bannott?"

Seeing Bannott lost in thought, Duke Garava gave a polite reminder.

Snapping out of his daze, Bannott quickly realized his lapse and coughed to cover it.

"So… they stole your slaves? What a bunch of unreasonable bastards!"

"Exactly! Unreasonable bastards!"

Duke Garava fixed his eyes on him, fists clenched, continuing with righteous indignation.

"I must say, these so-called Alliance members are nothing but a cancer on this planet. They rob and pillage, commit every evil, yet brazenly shout about uniting survivors… We cannot let them continue their mischief. We must join forces and do something—uproot this cancer once and for all!"

Bannott had been quite amused by the conversation, but when he heard that last line, he nearly choked on his own spit.

Some words are fine when said behind closed doors, but once things get physical, it's no joke.

Though he had no doubt the Legion possessed the power to wipe the Alliance off the map, it was hard to say how the Academy and the Corporations would react.

Aside from those madmen of the Eastward Expansion faction, few were willing to fight a war that promised no visible gain, especially one that might drag them into a bottomless abyss.

Moreover, the Marshal had sent him here to seek cooperation, not to overturn the table.

Watching Duke Garava with his blazing eyes, the Chiliarch Bennot, who had been fanning the flames moments before, suddenly felt he ought to pour some cold water on the man's head.

Don't let this fellow get carried away and forget his own name.

"Mr. Garava, I admit these Bluecoats are without a doubt a cancer on this planet—if they dropped dead one day, it would be an honor for all humanity... but now is not the time. Before resolving the secondary contradictions, we must first address the principal one."

Seeing Duke Garava's ruddy face gradually turn to bewilderment, Bennot gave a soft cough and said.

"...And besides, it's just a few slaves who escaped. Why bother making a fuss over them? Just pretend those slaves got lost."

In his memory, slaves in the Boro Province were very cheap—maybe a thousand denarii, or even less than a thousand.

Even if a thousand were stolen, that would only be a million denarii—what was that paltry sum?

Seeing that the Chiliarch clearly didn't grasp the crux of the issue, Duke Garava grew anxious, his two mustaches twitching up and down excitedly.

"Wait, Mr. Bennot, it's not just a matter of a few slaves! Those wretches have disgraced the Empire! And if we don't let the runaway slaves receive their due punishment, won't everyone follow their example in the future?"

Bennot looked at him with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"My friend... Duke my friend, you claim to be a thousand tribes with a thousand gods—what harm is there in letting one tribe go?"

Seeing Duke Garava about to say more, he pressed on without pause.

"Of course, what you said about face is indeed a problem. If the gun barrel isn't straight, the spine won't stand tall, but these things are actually easy to handle. They lack respect for you simply because you're too weak... Forgive my bluntness, but you know those fellows are bandits, and a bandit's nature is to bully the weak and fear the strong. If you want their respect, you must be tougher than them!"

Hearing this, Duke Garava immediately took offense.

What a joke?

The Xilan Empire, after all, held an entire province's territory—how could a mere Alliance compare to them?

"Mr. Bennot, are you joking? I admit we are sometimes restrained, but we are by no means weak—at least not comparable to a snot-sized Alliance!"

Seeing Duke Garava's defiant expression, Chiliarch Bennot grabbed him by the shoulder and spoke earnestly.

"I know, I admit you are brave, but whether you believe it or not, that's the truth. Still, it's not your fault—after all, they have the backing of the Corporations and the Academy, while you have nothing. Comparing you side by side is hardly fair."

Watching Duke Garava's still displeased face, Bennot suddenly changed his tone and continued.

"But it's fine—before, you could only rely on yourselves; now, behind you stands us, the Legion! The help the Academy and Corporations gave them, we can give you as well, and I believe with our assistance, you'll soon have the strength to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Alliance—it's not that difficult."

At these words, Duke Garava's eyes lit up, and he excitedly grasped Bennot's hand.

"Thank you so much... my friend, it is truly our honor that you are willing to stand with us! I swear by the White Elephant God, we will do our utmost to cooperate with you! So... how do you propose to help us?"

Seeing Duke Garava's grateful demeanor, a pleasant smile spread across Bennot's face.

He had actually thought this through long ago, but had never found the right moment to bring it up.

And now, without a doubt, was that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"We can introduce you to a man—a Chiliarch of noble birth, named MacLenn. Unlike me, a civil official, he's a genuine military officer, the kind who's come straight from the battlefield."

"Not only that, he shares your grudge against the Alliance—he hates those Blue Rats more than anyone. If you're interested, I can act as a go-between, have him go to the Boro Province as a military advisor, and help you forge an iron army worthy of the Legion's standards! We can even donate some equipment we don't currently need!"

After all, the Eastward Expansion faction won't be using that gear anymore.

If they could put that scrap metal to good use, it wouldn't be a bad deal.

And Bennot was certain that MacLenn wouldn't refuse—he might even volunteer to go to Boro Province as this instructor.

Duke Garava was overjoyed, gripping Bennot's hand tightly in excitement.

"Thank you! Truly, thank you!"

Bennot smiled slightly and returned the handshake.

"You're welcome—you are our important trade partners and strategic allies. Your wo—ahem, I like your spices! May our friendship last forever!"

Duke Garava chuckled.

"May our friendship endure! In a few days, I'll send some to your residence!"

After a round of pleasantries, Bennot finally saw off that troublesome fellow, turned to the table, pulled out a tissue, and wiped his hand with disdain.

What rotten luck.

He, a dignified Chiliarch, had to shake hands with a goat that came out of nowhere.

Just then, a soft sigh from behind made Bennot's neck stiffen involuntarily. He turned around angrily, glaring at the figure standing by the entrance with displeasure.

"Even if you are the Marshal's bodyguard... you shouldn't eavesdrop on my conversation with the Empire's envoy."

Standing at the tent entrance, having arrived unnoticed, Quirk gazed impassively at the irate Bennot, utterly unconcerned by his mood.

As a member of the Praetorian Guard, he was loyal only to the Marshal and answerable only to him—regardless of rank, he need not bow to anyone.

"The Eastward Expansion faction has barely calmed down. The Marshal won't be pleased with your actions."

Bennot's expression stiffened. Though he didn't want to waste words explaining, considering this adjutant's status, he forced himself to be patient.

"MacLenn isn't a fool. He spent nearly half a year in the Alliance—he knows well enough that those fellows are not to be trifled with, and what should and shouldn't be done. I trust he'll exercise discretion... All we need to do is arm our allies, not actually send them to fight the Alliance. Don't you want more chips in our hand? Or would you rather see us led around by the nose by the Alliance?"

Quirk asked in a flat tone.

"And if he fails to exercise discretion?"

Bennot replied bluntly.

"Then send him back. What can a mere instructor do? That fool isn't Griffin—just a pretentious waste. At worst, he'll bed a few girls in some emperor's harem. Could he possibly turn the Boro Province upside down?"

At the name Griffin, Quirk frowned slightly, his eyes growing complex.

But that flicker of complexity lasted only an instant.

He stared intently at Bennot, his solemn tone carrying a hint of warning.

"The Marshal places great importance on this meeting. I hope you understand that, no matter what. Especially on the matter of the 'principal contradiction'—you'd better not mess it up."

Meeting those murky pupils, Bennot felt an inexplicable pang of fear, though it quickly turned into irritation.

Why should he be afraid of a Chiliarch of a thousand?

"I am forever loyal to the Marshal—I don't need you to remind me!"

Quirk shrugged, offering no comment, and simply turned to walk to the entrance.

But just as he reached for the tent flap to leave, he suddenly stopped and dropped a meaningful remark.

"You all say that."

"I truly hope you mean it."

Bennot stood frozen.

By the time he came to his senses, the adjutant named Quirk was already gone...

...

On the northern shore of the Baiyue Strait, the thriving Fries Harbor, a gentle sea breeze blew the waves onto the sand, split in two by a pier extending into the deep water.

Out at sea not far from the dock, a pack of strength-type beasts sat in small wooden boats, laboriously driving arm-thick aluminum pipes into the seabed.

These pipes had just been hauled over from Dawn City by the Bull-Horse airship, meant for building a net fence to separate the beach from the deep water.

Later, they would fill these aluminum pipes with sand and string devil-silk nets between them, fencing off the waters near the harbor.

As if sensing their living space being taken away, the alien creatures active in the sea began to stir restlessly, launching attacks on the floating boats from time to time, and every now and then someone would fall into the water.

But even so, it couldn't stop the determination of these beasts.

"Brothers, put in more effort! For the bikinis in the sunshine!"

"Ooh-ooh-ooh!"

Staring dumbfounded at the distant sea, Meatball stood with mouth agape, finally squeezing out a disjointed sentence.

"...Have these guys gone mad?"

Tail, standing beside him with arms crossed, nodded in deep agreement.

"Yep! They've definitely lost it."

Forced to wear a maid outfit for three straight days, she nearly got heatstroke from that bedsheet-like long skirt.

Now that she'd finally changed into a tank top and shorts, she felt alive again.

Perhaps all the sea creatures had been drawn to the strength-type beasts' little boats, so hardly any alien shadows could be seen near the beach.

On a nearby reef flat, some Moon Tribe girls carrying baskets were gathering oysters attached to the rocks with knives and awls, while others squatted by a faucet not far from the sand, washing clothes.

Come to think of it, time really flew.

If not for that Bull-Horse airship coming back, she wouldn't even have noticed that a whole week had passed since the Meatball docked at Fries Port!

Worth mentioning, though Tail felt the week had slipped by in a daze, this ever-changing settlement had indeed seen many events.

First, inside the camp.

The large empty land to the east had now turned into rows of wooden shacks.

Though these crude dwellings still lacked beauty, they were good enough for shelter from wind and rain.

Besides that, smoked fish and drying hides hung outside every door.

Helping players process game and fish had become the main income source for most Moon Tribe girls in Fries Port.

Some girls skilled in farming, led by Granny Sangru, had contracted the farmland northwest of the southern district.

The Baiyue Provincial Development Co., Ltd. would ensure farm safety, clear the rainforest, and provide high-yield crop seeds and some auxiliary farming equipment.

All they had to pay was half the harvest from the fields and orchards.

For those who had never owned land, these terms were almost too generous, so many didn't believe it at first.

Only when they learned that Tail, who had led them out of captivity, was also a board member of Baiyue Company did they set aside their doubts and press their thumbprints on the contracts.

Besides agriculture and handicrafts, some young, pretty, and well-built girls entered the service industry, doing work most players were unwilling to do.

Thanks to this, the once-empty camp became bustling.

Not only did save points, stalls, and shops gain interactive NPCs, but the "One-Man Tavern," much criticized by players, finally became the "Yiren Tavern."

Not only did it gain a group of hot, eye-pleasing waitresses, but it also completely freed Boss Yi's hands.

And as customers, the players no longer had to double as waiters fetching tea, water, or washing dishes...

The sun moved from east to west, and another fulfilling day passed.

As usual, watching the setting sun, Yiren called the tavern girls to set tables and chairs on the beach, ready to start the day's business.

But just as everyone was moving the chairs out, a speedboat flying a Federation flag pulled up to the dock.

That NPC named Muda jumped off first, leading two sailors toward the tavern.

Haven't seen him in a while, Yiren found it curious, and as the three approached, she called out with a smile.

"Want something?"

Muda didn't waste words; he pulled a telegram from his pocket, checked it to confirm the place, then looked at the man who seemed to be the boss.

"Is there someone here called Sisi?"

Yiren paused; she'd heard the name.

"What do you want with her?"

Muda continued succinctly.

"She asked me to meet here. Now I'm here. Please tell her—"

Before he finished, a not-so-familiar voice came from nearby.

"I'm here."

The three immediately looked toward the voice, seeing a girl carrying a rifle and a rocket launcher walking from the camp.

The sea breeze brought a salty smell of blood; her coat was stuck with a few tufts of animal fur and still-wet blood.

Not only Muda stared at her oddly, but the two sailors beside him were also deeply shocked.

Boss Yiren, however, was used to the sight and even greeted with a smile.

"Good catch today?"

"Not bad. Didn't expect mutated brown bears in this rainforest," Sisi replied casually, leaning her rifle and rocket launcher against a nearby table to save a seat, then held up four fingers to Boss Yiren. "Two beers and two orange juices, with ice. My teammates are turning in materials; they'll be here soon."

"Got it." Yiren made an OK gesture and turned toward the open-air bar.

Hearing the completely incomprehensible language, Muda was about to ask what the telegram meant when a clean envelope was handed to him.

Seeing the envelope, he raised an eyebrow slightly and took it.

"What's this?"

Sisi said succinctly.

"Someone asked me to give you a letter."

"Who?"

"You'll know when you read it."

Muda glanced at Sisi, then opened the envelope skeptically.

The moment he looked at the contents, his sunburned face immediately turned serious.

Clutching the letter, he stared at the woman and asked, word by word.

"Where is he?"

Sisi said casually.

"Dawn City."

Hearing this answer, Muda was stunned.

"Valley Province?!"

Looking at the stunned NPC, Sisi nodded and continued in a very soft voice.

"Yes... at the behest of that gentleman, we intend to reopen the investigation into the Southern Ocean Current Power Station incident."

Upon hearing the words "ocean current power station," Muda's expression shifted to one of surprise. He led her aside, lowering his voice until only the two of them could hear.

"...Ocean current power station? What use is investigating that thing now? It's been over two months—even if you find something, it won't change the current situation."

Si Si gave a faint smile.

"How do you know without trying?"

Muda stared at her for a long while before finally speaking slowly.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Simple. You just need to cover my approach to that place. We'll handle the rest ourselves."

Muda's expression gradually turned strange. He glanced at the cargo ship docked at the pier.

"Cover you? How do you plan to get close? With that thing?"

"Of course not. Follow me."

With a mysterious smile, Si Si tossed out those words and turned to walk toward the camp not far away.

Muda looked at the two sailors standing nearby, signaling with his eyes for them to wait for him at the tavern entrance, then followed her alone.

Leading this NPC into the camp, Si Si headed straight for the warehouse area near the beach, stopping before a shed built of corrugated iron.

"Right here."

Muda squinted, following her steps into the warehouse.

The moment he saw the cylindrical submersible parked inside, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You've been in contact with people from Vault 70?"

Unfazed by his hand instinctively moving toward the holster at his waist, Si Si looked at him nonchalantly.

"So? Changed your mind?"

Muda was silent for a long time. Finally, he removed his hand from the holster and spoke slowly.

"...Ten o'clock tonight. Stay under my boat. I'll take you there."

Hearing this promise, a pleased smile finally spread across Si Si's face.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. That's all I can do."

As he spoke, Muda glanced once more at the submersible in the warehouse.

The scratches and damage on its metal shell were clearly not from the Federation fleet's depth charges or torpedoes.

Though he didn't believe the truth would be of any use, his instinct told him that this time, they might actually uncover something...