Chapter 733: The Alliance's Old Trade

Chapter 733: The Alliance’s Old Trade

The Survivor’s Daily

[Last night, the 1,000th Company under the 31st Myriarch of the Legion, together with the “Purge” Squad, launched an assault on the second peak of Ten Peaks Mountain, Black Cloud Peak, and successfully secured the entire summit by 22:10…]

As it turned out.

The direct troops of the Eastern Legion did have some real skill.

After suffering 112 casualties, those elite Valyrian soldiers equipped with automatic firearms finally managed to plant the Legion’s banner atop the peak just before midnight.

The remaining green-skinned brutes and goblins either hid in the man-made tunnels and bunkers or retreated to the third peak of Ten Peaks Mountain—Broken Blade Mountain.

Compared to Black Cloud Peak, that natural fortress called Broken Blade Mountain was a bit shorter, but nature’s craftsmanship was no less impressive.

The entire mountain stood like a steep, upright longsword, snapped in half at the middle, leaving only the lower section. Both sides were sheer cliffs, where even a few trees could barely cling, let alone humans.

A winding path spiraled up to the summit from south to north, and this road was the most treacherous stretch of the Eighty Li Bone Path. Heavy vehicles could hardly pass, and even the Deathclaws that could scale rocks would find it difficult to climb.

Yet despite this, compared to other nearby uninhabited natural fortresses, building bridges and roads here was still somewhat easier.

According to the joint command’s battle plan, this peak would be assaulted by the infantry of Enterprise’s 100th Mountain Division, with the Alliance and Legion providing support from the rear.

The offensive would commence in three days!

Regardless of the battle plan three days hence, Edge Loitering was more concerned with the Legion’s performance in this fight.

Based on their earlier analysis on the forum, the Legion’s true trump card was never individual combat capability, nor even a specific unit. Their real winning weapon was their vast logistical system and sustained combat ability.

Their entire social structure was built for war; every institution existed either to produce war machines, to train officers and soldiers, or to reward military aristocrats who had earned merits on the battlefield.

Thus, discussing the combat effectiveness of a particular unit was largely meaningless. Enterprise needed numbers to bluff, but these guys genuinely had a hundred divisions.

And they were standing armies, ready to be deployed at any time without mobilization!

If it weren’t for the Great Wasteland separating the eastern provinces from Triumph City, forcing most logistics to rely on vassal states, the expeditionary force’s performance wouldn’t have been so disappointing, nor would it have lacked support from the rear, where war hawks were everywhere.

Yet what surprised Edge was that, setting aside the Glory Corps’ poor showing, the 31st Myriarch’s performance in last night’s battle was unexpectedly decent?

And even more surprising was that special unit called the “Purge Squad.”

A hundred soldiers, each nearly three meters tall, their frames as sturdy as iron towers, their bodies covered in black ballistic plates and exoskeletons.

Their role was roughly equivalent to a special operations company under a division, but their actual performance on the battlefield was more like “humanoid infantry fighting vehicles” supporting the advance.

These towering fellows used shotguns and heavy machine guns as their primary weapons, especially the latter, which they could fire while advancing without setting up.

In addition, they were equipped with a large number of heavy grenades of various types—incendiary, fragmentation, and so on—and carried a battle axe or hammer as a close-combat “firepower supplement.”

Their combat style was exceptionally brutal, on par with the Jungle Corps brothers. They often appeared at the most dangerous points on the front line, using the simplest and crudest methods to eliminate opponents. Even the fiercest mutants couldn’t withstand their assaults.

If not for the occasional glimpse of a face that was unmistakably human, Edge Loitering might have suspected these things were mutants in exoskeletons…

“Those people? They’re Valyrians, of course… just the ones who failed with the drugs.”

In the military base cafeteria.

During a meal, Edge Loitering brought this up with Su Ming. The latter, while dealing with the fried rice in his bowl, replied in a casual tone.

Edge Loitering asked, puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

Su Ming said.

“Using awakening agents to force the expression of non-coding genes isn’t always 100% successful. Depending on the technical route, there’s a certain probability of side effects of varying severity… death in severe cases, disability or various genetic diseases in mild ones. You’ve heard of that, right?”

Edge Loitering nodded.

“Yeah.”

Brother Fang Chang’s girlfriend was a victim of the awakening agent.

It seemed to be a product of Boulder City’s military industry, called “Dragon’s Blood.”

Because it was free, many people in Boulder City who wanted to be mercenaries but lacked strength used it. Boulder Military Industry even offered a loan specifically for those disabled by Dragon’s Blood.

Later, after the inner city collapsed, the new authorities listed Dragon’s Blood as a banned substance.

Vault 404 had similar products, but they were much safer than Dragon’s Blood.

Although the probability of awakening was also a mystery and required multiple inoculations, the biggest accident so far was just failure to awaken, without causing limb disabilities or the like.

Of course, if “difficulty in producing offspring” counted as a disability, that was another matter—most awakened individuals had this problem.

Edge Loitering guessed this might be some kind of biological population self-protection mechanism—preventing the ability to randomly express non-coding genes from being passed on.

Of course, this was just his speculation based on game settings.

In reality, there were no awakened individuals, nor so many mutated creatures.

“…The Valyrians of the Purge Squad are a similar case. You probably know that? Those guys were ‘born warriors’ synthesized through genetic technology by the Valyrian Laboratory under the Technical Department during the War Construction Committee era.”

Glancing at the Alpha Task Force soldiers eating not far away, Su Ming fiddled with his spoon and continued in a very soft, slow voice.

“If ordinary people’s non-coding genes are a naturally formed pile of shit, then theirs are artificially designed… One theory is that the designers in the Technical Department wrote the unfinished code from ‘Gestalt Lifeforms’ into them, then annotated it somehow to make up the 23 pairs of chromosomes.”

“The War Construction Committee originally intended to use these tools to fight the slime mold, while also collecting experimental data to complete the singularity technology unfinished during the Prosperity Era. After the Wasteland Era ended, they planned to eliminate these unstable ones through sterilization or other more civilized means to prevent genetic contamination…”

“This is information I found on the Endpoint Cloud earlier. It might answer some of your questions. Whether it’s true or not, you’ll have to judge for yourself… On the Endpoint Cloud, anyone can say anything, and there’s often a lot of bullshit.”

Relying on the VM’s translator to understand this passage filled with technical jargon, Edge Loitering tried to process it, then his eyes widened.

Holy shit!

So that means…

There are mutants living in the Valyrians’ DNA?!

No, that phrasing might not be accurate enough. It’s more like “parts of mutants living in them.”

Mutants are unfinished products of “Gestalt Lifeforms,” and so are Valyrians.

But the former released all unstable genes, forming a completely new species, while the latter mixed some gene fragments homologous to mutant DNA into human genes!

That’s why, when Valyrians awaken, some become stronger humans, while others become humans with mutant traits.

After all, the essence of awakening is the specific expression of non-coding genes in an individual—no one can predict which part will be expressed.

“But why are the latter considered failures?” Edge Loitering pressed on, confused.

Su Ming made a helpless expression.

“Then you’ll have to ask the Valyrian experts… I told you, I just heard it on the Endpoint Cloud.”

Edge Loitering: “…”

Just as the two were eating, the Alpha Task Force at the next table had already cleared their plates. The four of them walked in unison to the serving counter.

“Potato and meat stew with rice, three more portions, extra rice,” said the squad leader, pulling out his meal card.

The server was stunned for a moment, recounting the people standing in front of the counter—no matter how he counted, there were four.

But he didn’t ask further.

These guys, with gas masks hanging from their helmets and goggles covering their eyes, didn’t look normal at all.

"Three servings for you..." He set the tray of food on the table, but couldn't help adding a reminder, "If you three are eating together, you could actually order a few stir-fry dishes and rice separately."

"No need, thank you."

The squad leader nodded, picked up three trays with both hands, and turned back to his previous table.

Just as the server thought it was over, the soldier behind the squad leader stepped forward and pulled out his meal card with the exact same motion.

"Potato braised pork, three more servings, extra rice."

Server: "..."

As expected, the next two were the same—each ordered three servings of the same dish, and even the way they took the trays and said thanks was like they were cut from the same mold.

It was as if they had all agreed.

Everyone ordered the same dish, and they managed to finish off an entire vat of potato braised pork, while the other dozen or so dishes hadn't even been half consumed.

Faced with this situation, the server had to contact the kitchen to rush another batch.

What he didn't know was that in the communication channel he couldn't hear or see, a series of invisible radio waves were exchanging at the speed of light.

"Potato braised pork is good, recommended."

"Indeed good."

"Good."

"Really good."

"Satisfied."

"..."

Just as the soldiers of the Alpha Task Force finished their meals and returned their trays, a swarm of corporate soldiers, fresh from training, flooded into the mess hall.

These rookies had undergone three months of training in boot camp, and the training hadn't stopped since they arrived—they were all starving, with eyes practically glowing green.

One young man squeezed to the counter, glanced at the menu on the wall, and slapped his meal card onto the scanner with lightning speed.

"Boss, one potato braised pork! And one braised eggplant, two servings of rice!"

Hearing that dish made the server's head ache; he waved his hand impatiently. "Potato braised pork's gone. Those masked guys finished it off. Want some? Wait half an hour."

Everyone was stunned.

"What the hell!?"

"Finished it all?!"

They hadn't really wanted it before, but hearing it was all gone made them start salivating, and they curiously lined up to wait.

The line grew longer and longer.

Later, not just the corporate soldiers, but soldiers from Free State, Rubbish City, and other settlements also came to join the fun.

In just one day, the entire Weifu military base sold nearly a hundred thousand servings of potato braised pork!

Especially the chowhounds from the Academy—each person ordered at least three servings, and a thousand-man mobile unit ate like a ten-thousand-man army!

Although the coalition's mess hall wasn't profit-driven, and the profit per serving was only 1 to 2 Cr, it still added up to a considerable sum.

That day, there was no fighting on the northern front.

A few legion soldiers were clearing out the remaining mutants and goblins in the tunnels of Black Cloud Peak, but behind those Valyrians, the Alliance's potato braised pork rice had quietly taken the entire military base by storm...

Not only were the players dumbfounded, but even Chu Guang, far away in Dawn City, was caught off guard.

With just one dish, soldiers from all over had managed to devour all the potatoes in the base...

When Chu Guang received the report from the front lines in Dawn City, he was stunned for a few seconds.

"Good grief... this military base can actually turn a profit?!"

Honestly, Chu Guang had never thought of making money off the adhesive supply.

The Alliance was no longer the impoverished little village it once was.

As the Alliance's administrator, his responsibility was no longer just to feed those who supported him by any means necessary, but to lead those already well-fed to rebuild a greater era and unite those who were still hungry.

That was why, including train transport, many areas that could have been profitable were offered to their adhesive-supplying allies at cost.

And if logistics supplies were produced in Dawn City or the industrial zone of Boulder City, they could even get a 50% discount on top of the cost—meaning the Alliance subsidized the budget to encourage all adhesive-supplying factions to produce logistics supplies in the Alliance's industrial zone!

In the short term, this might increase the fiscal deficit, but in the long run, the benefits far outweighed any deficit.

"Foreign trade orders" brought not just funds, technology, and talent, but also closer cooperative relationships.

Even after the war ended, not all these orders would disappear; some would persist out of habit, thanks to the close ties formed during the conflict.

Along with those orders came funds, technology, and talent.

It was a kind of open strategy.

All parties had long-term interests in solving the adhesive problem and short-term demands to deal with the "Torch Church" disaster.

Even the Academy, the most stingy with technology, was willing to risk some technology leakage, moving less critical but high-demand industries closer to the front lines in Boulder City, or even outsourcing to Boulder Military Industries.

For example, capacitors for Gauss rifles and polymer anti-ballistic liners for exoskeletons.

The technology involved was enough to upgrade dozens of the Alliance's industrial chains.

In comparison, the fiscal subsidies the Alliance paid were negligible.

It was no exaggeration to say that Chu Guang had prepared to subsidize the war for a long time.

But what he didn't expect was that just three weeks into the official fighting, they had already turned a profit through the mess hall!

Sitting on the pen holder, Xiao Qi stared at him with bright eyes and gave a thumbs-up in admiration.

"As expected of Master! Others lose money in war, but Master not only didn't lose money but even made a profit!"

Chu Guang coughed dryly.

"...Even if you praise me, there's no benefit."

"How could that be?"

Cupping her cheeks, Xiao Qi made a shy expression, her big bright eyes peeking through her fingers at him.

"Master being happy is the happiest thing for Xiao Qi... hehe."

Eh?!

Chu Guang looked at the little one in surprise.

How come she seemed even smarter lately?

And where did she learn such flirty talk?

Is that how it's supposed to be used?

"I feel like Master is thinking something rude..."

Xiao Qi stared at him suspiciously, arms crossed, her slightly pouted lips seeming dissatisfied with his surprised expression.

Clearing his throat lightly, Chu Guang brought the conversation back on track.

"No, I was just thinking... I overlooked something before. I almost forgot our old business."

The alliance was developing so rapidly that he had even forgotten about the salaries in those soldiers' pockets.

Including the mission rewards he himself had issued to the players.

Even if these guys earned money, they couldn't spend it over in Dawn City anyway—most of it would end up being exchanged at the official silver exchange.

Might as well let them spend it all on the front lines.

What the alliance lacked now was no longer productivity, but a place to release that productivity and generate positive returns. Perhaps, relying on the spending power of these fellows, they could literally conjure a settlement into existence.

Such a thing wasn't impossible.

According to reports from the front lines, some merchants from Horsetown had even driven oxcarts to the railway terminus—the Weifu Military Base Station, where non-military personnel were forbidden from boarding trains—and set up stalls there, selling locally abundant milk, mare's milk, and other dairy products.

Once survivors from other parts of Jinchuan Province gathered there, over time, a new settlement might just form.

"Your old trade?" Xiao Qi tilted her head, unsure which one he meant, given the many tricks he had up his sleeve.

"Heavy industry barbecue, light industry beer... Of course, conditions are better now than before—besides food, there can be other things."

Chu Guang smiled faintly, flicking his index finger lightly through the air to swipe open the holographic screen for issuing missions and server events.

His imagination had its limits, but he believed the imaginations of his little players were boundless.

"...Send some life-skilled players to the front lines."

While the allied forces on the northern front were busy chowing down, the mutants on Ten-Peak Mountain were also feasting heartily.

But they weren't eating rice—they were devouring livestock, or men as if they were livestock.

The Torch Church had provided them with abundant food and tools for reproduction.

Ever since the flames had ignited in Haiya Province, they had been throwing banquets day after day, their good times never-ending.

Though they had already lost two peaks, these green-skinned brutes weren't the least bit anxious.

This grueling battle had only just begun; the human alliance had merely entered their home turf.

Besides the burrowing creatures, they also had flying ones. Once those human bastards truly reached the mountainside, that would be the start of their nightmare.

They would tear those bastards apart piece by piece, using their blood and entrails to honor their fallen kin and appease their "Beast King"!

Broken Blade Mountain.

The entire mountain was bustling with green-skinned mutants and goblins preparing for war.

Except for one.

Inside a spacious cave, a massive green-skinned brute, over ten meters long, sat like a rock garden in the midst of a pile of human bones, snoring loudly as he dozed.

His greenish skin resembled moss deprived of sunlight, pockmarked like a toad's. His arms were like excavator shovels, and the rumbling of his snores sounded like thunder. Drool hung from the corner of his mouth, occasionally dripping onto the bones beneath him with a corrosive sizzle.

His name was Oron, chieftain of the Rock-Axe Clan, the biggest and strongest brute in the entire tribe, and one of the rare natural mutants among the mutants.

As an exception in the Gestalt Lifeform Project, he possessed some traits of a super mutant—even if his head was blown to pieces, he wouldn't die; instead, he'd go berserk from losing his mind. His regenerative abilities could even surpass those of slime partial fruiting bodies, and he could withstand more punishment than a "Meat Mountain."

Though he looked like a severely obese invalid while asleep, he was anything but sluggish when awake—he could even swat a tank away with a single slap.

Just then, a noise came from the entrance. His ears, drooping over his massive skull, perked up like a pig's. Half-lifting an eyelid, Oron let out a heavy snore and grumbled deeply.

"What is it?"

This was one of his special abilities—waking only half his brain while the other half remained asleep.

Standing at the cave entrance, a middle-aged man in a white robe spoke in a flat, emotionless voice.

"I've brought you good news."

Oron grunted expressionlessly.

"Speak."

The man said slowly,

"Soon, you'll have a feast."

Oron let out a rumbling laugh, like a low dragon's growl.

"Then I truly look forward to it."

With that, he closed that half-eye again, seemingly sinking back into sleep.

The man nodded, turned, and vanished from the cave mouth, as if he had never been there.

Oron opened his eyes in his sleep, a flicker of impatience in his amber pupils.

Though many in the tribe called that human bastard the "Beast King," he didn't much like this pretentious, mysterious fellow.

He was the Beast King!

But unfortunately, that guy was intangible.

Whether you threw rocks or spat at him, it would pass right through his body.

If that bastard had a physical form, he'd have devoured him long ago!

While the human soldiers and mutants on the northern front were busy eating, Iser, who had boarded the wrong ship and ended up in the Baiyue Strait, along with his ten thousand men, finally got their first hot meal.

Grabbing a golden, stick-shaped "bread," Iser, his mouth greasy, couldn't help asking,

"What is this?"

"You tiao."

Glancing at this provincial fellow, Fang Chang, standing on the dock, said succinctly, "Remember, this is your first meal after landing. From now on, this place is called Youtiao Harbor."

Yesterday noon, the Jungle Corps dispatched a squad deep into the jungle on the southern bank to clear out local mutants, and with the help of the Goblin Corps' W-2H seaplanes, they wiped out at least five nests.

By around noon today, these expeditionary soldiers had landed on the southern shore of the Baiyue Strait, set up camp on the beach, and, with the help of the Chipstick Harbor construction team, built a simple wooden dock along the coast, laying underwater isolation nets along the shoreline.

By evening, the supply ships from Chipstick Harbor had finally arrived before the soldiers went hungry, delivering the freshly fried you tiao.

Unexpectedly, the alliance had sent them bread to eat. The ratfolk soldiers were overjoyed, and after receiving their rations, they all wolfed them down greedily.

In the Brahmin Province, bread was a food that at least a citizen with a decent job could afford; most people ate dirt and beans.

Though the bread was a bit greasy, no one complained; instead, they were moved to tears by the alliance's generosity.

In fact, not to mention the soldiers, even the officers born as citizens had never seen such greasy bread.

Though some Dawn City delicacies had already appeared in Gold Galen Port, due to factors like border closures and distance, the alliance's culinary culture had not yet penetrated the heart of the Brahmin Province, only spreading in small circles around its periphery.

Even if these officers had seen some things, they couldn't withstand two weeks of dry rations at sea—everyone's mouths were practically begging for flavor.

Not to mention the junior officers; even Iser, the commander of ten thousand, didn't have particularly elegant table manners. Chewing and swallowing vigorously, he mumbled with his oil-stained mouth,

"Thank you... We'll remember your help. After the war, I'll put in a good word for you with His Majesty."

Fang Chang chuckled lightly, not taking his stubbornness seriously, and continued in a businesslike tone.

"You're welcome. You did well today; this is your deserved reward. Starting tomorrow, we'll assign you new tasks, including barracks construction and road work... If your performance meets our expectations, we'll pay you wages."

Hearing this, Iser was taken aback, then suddenly said indignantly,

"Wait! We came to fight, not to help you build a port!"

He understood repairing the dock.

After all, a person could cling to a log and swim ashore, but if supplies fell into the sea, they would be ruined. Tens of thousands were waiting to eat; they couldn't rely solely on that small boat to ferry everything ashore one trip at a time.

He could even understand building barracks, since his people also needed a place to live.

But what was with the road construction?

Why did it seem like they were here to pioneer the wilderness!

Yet this fellow, though his mouth was exceptionally hard, never stopped the chewing motion in his mouth.

Fang Chang let out a soft laugh.

“Then you should pay the bill.”

Isel was stunned.

“Bill?”

Fang Chang rolled his eyes.

“That's right, you didn't think the food was free, did you?”

Hearing this, Isel nearly dropped the fried dough stick from his mouth onto the sand; he yanked it out and said hurriedly.

“Wait, didn't you... say you would cover our supplies? What about your promise on the Sticky Supply?”

Fang Chang patiently explained.

“We did promise to cover your supplies, but it's not free. Also, I've inquired: your Emperor did indeed top up your meal cards, but the money was deposited in the cafeteria of the Weifu Military Base. This place is at least a thousand kilometers from Weifu Military Base; we can't have them come over here just to set up a stove for you.”

Isel grew anxious.

“What's the difference? Aren't they both your settlements?”

Fang Chang suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and said patiently.

“What do you mean, what's the difference? Fries Port is Fries Port, Weifu is Weifu. Can you understand that one thing is one thing?”

Explaining the rules to this guy was too exhausting.

Looking at General Isel, who still wore a bewildered expression, Fang Chang took a deep breath and decided to change his approach.

“Listen, we are not benevolent administrators, nor are we running a charity. If you want to eat, you have to pay. If you have no money, we can lend it to you, even generously without interest, but you must repay this debt in our way. Otherwise, have your Emperor wire the money over, or figure it out yourselves. Don't expect us to support you for free.”

Isel's face flushed with anger, alternating between pale and red; he wished he could draw his gun and point it at this guy's head.

But remembering that the Emperor's most elite Gray Wolf Army had been thoroughly beaten by this fellow, and that the men behind him were just a bunch of rat-people, he could only swallow his pride.

Watching the silent General Isel, Fang Chang suddenly thought of something and chuckled.

“Cheer up. Actually, this isn't such a bad thing. If you knew what's happening on the Northern Front, you'd thank me.”

Isel asked instinctively.

“What happened on the Northern Front? Has the fighting started?”

Fang Chang didn't answer his question but asked with a smile.

“Do you know a guy named Modric?”

Isel immediately replied.

“The chiliarch under General Babita! I know him. What happened to him?”

“What happened to him?” Fang Chang smiled faintly and continued, “Last night, he and his men all reincarnated together.”

The Legion fired two 400mm heavy artillery shells; judging by the explosion effect, they were thermobaric bombs or something similar—devastatingly powerful.

Although the effect against the mutants under the mountain was only so-so, everyone on that mountain, whether dead or alive, was obliterated by that single shell.

Babita claimed that the guy named Modric died in battle against the mutants.

However, the players of the Death Corps clearly saw that when the shell landed, there were still some people fighting on the mountain.

Those people didn't look like ordinary soldiers; they seemed more like officers.

After all, they had also witnessed how low the morale of the rat-people soldiers was.

That unlucky bastard's name appeared in the lines of the official forum discussion thread, but only a few words.

Fang Chang didn't sympathize with that guy—he didn't know him and didn't care—but he felt that the man before him didn't know what was good for him.

The survivors of Golden Garen Port didn't need to thank him, because the Baiyue Company's activities there were more of a business, exchanging advanced methods and technology for local labor. Before they arrived, those people could survive by eating dirt, at most suffering some deserved hardship.

But these guys—he had pulled them back from the gates of hell, sparing them from being thrown into the meat grinder like those clones.

And yet he was still being picky.

“If you still want to eat tomorrow's breakfast, then do as we say.”

With that, Fang Chang shook his head and turned to walk toward the dock.

Watching his retreating figure, Isel swallowed his saliva, feeling his back hot with sweat while his palms turned slightly cold.

At the moment he heard Modric's fate, he suddenly felt that getting on the wrong boat back then might have been a good thing...

Not far away, a few rat-people cannon fodder carrying shovels exchanged bewildered glances, but their minds were on other things.

Breakfast?

What is breakfast?