Chapter 754: Golden Gallon Port in Chaos

Chapter 754: The Golden Port in Chaos

Golden Port.

The guard station in the port district faced the busiest street of Golden Port, a bustling thoroughfare teeming with people.

Governor Nihark stood on the street, staring blankly at this unfamiliar and wide avenue, his eyes filled with confusion, momentarily unable to recognize where he was.

Clean and tidy streets, white-painted foreign-style houses, black lampposts standing tall—everything seemed as before.

Yet unlike before, the clamorous noise rose to a deafening pitch; people streamed back and forth, and some jugglers on two or three wheels zipped swiftly through the crowd.

Where was the dignified elegance of Tulip Street? It was more like the noisy Claba Market.

Sure enough.

Everything was in chaos.

"You are free."

Someone said this behind him, a voice somewhat cold, even tinged with a hint of mockery.

"Thank you..."

Nihark replied instinctively, then realized it was not something he should have said.

He shot a fierce glare at the prison guard, flicked his sleeve, and stepped onto the street, but because he was looking backward, he collided with a child carrying a large stack of papers.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, old man!" the child shouted at him in annoyance, but didn't linger.

Time was money; better to make a few more trips and earn a few more Gallons than waste words.

But Nihark had no intention of letting the brat off. His face flushed red as he reached out to grab the kid by the neck.

"You—what did you call me? Do you know who I am?!"

"I don't care who you are, you're not one of those Iron Men!" The child dodged his hand nimbly, said cheekily, and made a face at him before leaving.

Seeing such insolence from this little brat, Nihark was furious and wanted to chase after him to teach him a lesson, but he felt it beneath him to act. Watching the child walk farther away, he could only curse a few times, stomp his foot, and give up.

"What a wild dog, no manners at all!"

Looking at the kid's outfit—the clothes were a bit old but still neat—he must be from some fallen noble family. Patches on the sleeves, so lacking in dignity; this family must be living poorly. The father was surely a rough laborer, the mother probably had to sell herself, maybe even go hungry sometimes.

Imagining the pitiful, humble life of that brat, Nihark felt a bit relieved, as if he had won.

But soon, he realized something was wrong.

Not just that child, nor just one or two—everyone on the street was wearing clothes.

Even the laborers doing rough work wore cheap coarse linen shirts and light blue canvas pants.

Those riding two-wheeled carts were more particular, mostly wearing cotton short-sleeved shirts and trousers, with leather belts around their waists.

Not just men, but women too—and that was what shocked him most.

Though the poor of Golden Port had never been known for propriety, wearing whatever they could, wrapping a curtain around their waist and calling it a skirt, there was an unwritten rule formed over two hundred years about who could wear pants, who couldn't, and what to wear on what occasion.

Earlier, seeing that child in clothes, he thought he was from a fallen noble family, since most wretches in the slums just wore rags, and even if they had clothes, they wouldn't give them to a child.

But now, it seemed his understanding was off.

Only now did he realize there were far too many "nobles" in clothes on this street.

Was this Golden Port?

Nihark was completely stunned, his eyes wide.

Just then, the noisy chatter and chaotic information flooded his ears. The incessant buzzing made his head feel like it was about to explode.

"Extra! Extra! Fresh newspapers! All the must-eat foods of Golden Port, plus the latest from the wasteland!"

"Steamed buns! Delicious buns! And fresh meat buns!"

"Where to, boss? One Gall per mile!"

"I pedal fast! Take my cart, boss!"

"Heard the Expeditionary Force won a victory, though it was a costly one—over ten thousand dead!"

"Hiss..."

"Fake news, there were only thirty thousand total."

"Hey, I'm not one to look down on them, but I'd believe a hundred dead and a win; ten thousand dead and still winning? I'd never believe that!"

"What book is that?"

"Mechanical principles, math, geometry... and some miscellaneous stuff. Picked it up at the port, heard it's old books swapped out from Dawn City."

"What are you reading that for?"

"One more skill, one more path. Can't stay here forever."

"Is that so bad? The Emperor and his governor have already rolled out of here."

"It's fine, but the Alliance and the Empire have a ceasefire. Who knows if they'll come back."

People were shouting, chatting, hawking, bargaining, turning the once quiet street into a chaotic mess.

Nihark didn't know what they were so happy about, nor what there was to celebrate in this disorder.

In his time, if a lowlife appeared on this street without a good reason, his officers would give them a few good whacks. And those girls wearing pants—they'd confiscate the pants and kick them out, or lock them up for a few days depending on the mood, until their families came to claim them.

He thought the Alliance's lawlessness would turn this place into a mess, and indeed it had—in just a few months, everything was in chaos.

But what frustrated him was that those fools who had suffered so much weren't cheering his return; they had even forgotten his face.

Not just the lowlifes, but even the nobles who once surrounded him—none came to greet him. Who knew what they were all busy with?

An era of collapsed rites and music had arrived. People scurried around like headless flies, immersed in the sugar-coated bullets of the Alliance, unable to extricate themselves.

It all seemed to be his own self-importance—he thought he was indispensable, that without him people couldn't survive, which was why the Alliance had hurriedly released him.

The truth was, without him, people were living better.

Facing this unfamiliar scene, a sense of disorientation suddenly welled up in his heart.

Just then, a tentative greeting came from behind.

"Mr. Nihark?"

Reacting instinctively to his name, Nihark turned around and saw a man in a leather jacket looking at him.

He didn't know this fellow, but the man clearly recognized him. Seeing his face, he broke into a delighted expression and stepped forward eagerly.

"It is you! I am Aksh, servant of Mr. Iser."

This guy was fatter than in the portrait, his neck almost gone, so Nihark barely recognized him.

"Iser?" Nihark was confused, clearly never having heard the name.

The man didn't mind his expression, just smiled warmly and continued.

"A noble like you surely wouldn't remember my master. He's just a baron, dealing with rough folk like me all day. But my master always remembers you. At the coming-of-age banquet for the Fourth Prince two years ago, he met you briefly. He always tells us that after meeting Governor Nihark, he knew what a true noble was."

The coming-of-age banquet for the Fourth Prince two years ago...

Governor Nihark certainly remembered the Fourth Prince. He remembered everyone around the Emperor. But who he met at some prince's coming-of-age banquet, who he drank with—how could he possibly recall such things?

He only remembered waking up the next morning in a countess’s bed; as for some baron or other, at that kind of banquet he probably wouldn’t even have been worthy of shaking his hand.

Still, though he despised the name from the bottom of his heart, Governor Nihaq felt a flicker of warmth.

Not one of those who usually licked his boots had come to visit him, and in the end, it was a man he’d met only once two years ago who still remembered him.

The only fly in the ointment was why this man hadn’t come himself, but sent a servant instead.

As if reading the displeasure on his face, the man called Aksh smiled and said.

“My master wanted to come fetch you in person, but unfortunately he’s bound by military orders and can’t leave the front, so he entrusted me to look after you.”

“Military orders? What military orders?” Knowing nothing of the outside world, Nihaq said, somewhat bewildered.

Aksh smiled again.

“The Expeditionary Force, naturally. On the whole Wasteland now… including the Brahmin Province, which isn’t even a wasteland—there’s nothing more important than the war against the enemy of mankind. It’s not just us who sent troops; the Legions, the Corporations, the Academies all sent forces.”

Nihaq nodded as if he understood, but in his heart he hadn’t grasped a thing.

What was the enemy of mankind?

When had the Empire acquired another enemy?

Knowing these matters couldn’t be explained in a few words, Aksh went with the flow.

“The reasons are complicated and can’t be cleared up in a short while. My master has prepared a welcome banquet for you at the Triumph Grand Hotel. Please follow me to the hotel’s private room, and I’ll explain everything slowly.”

“Then I’ll trouble you.” Nihaq glanced left and right; seeing no one else had come to receive him, he accepted the kindness and followed behind that servant of Iser’s.

The two climbed onto a tricycle—or more precisely, a cart pulled by a tricycle.

And on the other side of the street, a young man of the Ratfolk, dressed in crisp clothes, watched the prison gate with an indifferent expression.

Only when the tricycle vanished at the street’s end did he speak softly.

“Kunar, my friend, do you remember that fellow?”

The Dogfolk youth beside him nodded and said in a low voice.

“Of course I do—he’s the lord of the Governor’s mansion.”

Asin said slowly and deliberately.

“That was a long time ago. Now he’s like a rat crawling out of a sewer, terrified by the people on the street—cowardly, base, outwardly fierce but inwardly weak… tsk tsk.”

He shook his head lightly, not hiding the disdain and mockery in his eyes.

That fellow was almost exactly like his former self; if you stripped off his clothes and threw him into the street, his behavior might not even be as composed as his own.

This was the Empire’s nobility.

There were no Sunfolk, Oxfolk, or Elephantfolk here—only different breeds of rats.

Kunar muttered, “I don’t understand why the Alliance doesn’t just kill them all.”

Wouldn’t it be better to make themselves emperor?

Why make it so complicated?

They only needed to advance one step further west to take the City of a Thousand Pillars. By adding one more pillar there, they could rule this land as “Iron Men” and become the 1,001st god of this land.

“You’re not supposed to understand—that’s something I can’t figure out either. But my gut tells me that’s one reason the Alliance hasn’t killed them.”

Glancing at his friend, Asin said this simply, then ended the topic that would lead nowhere.

What a pity.

He’d originally planned to invite that fallen lord to dinner, maybe use it to connect with the Celestial Capital and expand his business at Banana Head Bay, but it seemed he’d been too slow—someone else had already snatched up that fellow.

But it didn’t matter. He figured that lord was unlikely to drink and laugh with a Ratfolk like him, and after seeing the man’s pathetic display, he’d suddenly lost interest.

Especially when he thought that this vast Empire was being ruined by such a bunch of creatures, he felt ashamed and couldn’t hold his head up.

Maybe he should just replace these people—the thought suddenly popped into his mind.

Once it appeared, it spiraled out of control, fermenting endlessly in his head.

Of course, he hadn’t thought of becoming emperor himself; the emperor’s life might not be as comfortable as his own.

He’d heard there was a Moonfolk rebel army in the northern forests.

Maybe he could invest in them.

For instance, using his network among the warlords, he could send them equipment, arrange for some people to study at Dawn City, and so on.

It would be easy enough to pull off. Through that inn called “The Shipwreck’s Home,” he’d even made contact with the heads of the Tiger Army and the Panther Army. At least half the resources produced by the estates and mines across the eastern region were sold through his shadow port to Golden Gallon Port.

The risks were high, but what if those Moonfolk succeeded?

The returns from investing in a new dynasty would be far greater than investing in a fallen old noble…

……

At that moment, Governor Nihaq had no idea that a certain Ratfolk youth was staring at his back, plotting something treasonous.

Following Aksh to the Triumph Grand Hotel, he was utterly stunned by the feast before him.

Compared to this dazzling array of delicacies, the boxed meals he’d eaten in prison were nothing but pig slop!

Watching the former governor wolf down his food, Aksh wanted to console him that he must have been starved in prison, but seeing the loose flesh on his neck, he swallowed the words.

Clearly, the Alliance hadn’t starved him; in just a few months, they’d nearly fattened him into a pig. The noble blood in his veins must be mostly fat.

Suppressing the urge to mock him, Aksh stood by his side and respectfully recounted everything that had happened, especially highlighting General Babita’s stupidity on the northern front and his master’s hardship eating bugs on the southern front.

Full and satisfied, Nihaq wiped his mouth with a napkin. At the mention of eating bugs, he wrinkled his nose in disgust and cut him off.

“Alright, alright, I understand the situation. This is easy. I’ll put in a good word for you with His Majesty, swap that Baron Babita to the south, and transfer your master to the north.”

After all, judging by those fellows’ titles, His Majesty probably didn’t think much of the Expeditionary Force.

A baron serving as a commander of ten thousand—the army likely had few professional soldiers, at most a bunch of serfs. The combined profit from a hundred men wouldn’t match that of a single regular soldier.

Arranging a few barons was just a matter of moving his lips for him.

Aksh nearly choked on his own saliva and quickly said.

“My lord, that won’t do… If we’re transferred north, wouldn’t we have to… take the blame for General Babita? All the hardship we endured on the southern front would be for nothing!”

“You have a point there,” Nihaq belched lazily. “How about this—I can’t be bothered to think about such a small matter. You name your terms. If they’re reasonable, I’ll help.”

Hearing this, Aksh perked up, leaned in with a fawning smile, and whispered a few words in his ear.

“…We don’t ask for much—just that His Majesty split the Expeditionary Force into a Southern Army and a Northern Army. That would make front-line command and coordination easier, since the north and south are so far apart, with interference along the way—even sending a telegram has to go through two relays.”

“Fine, I’ll help with that.” Nihaq agreed with a casual snap of his lips.

Aksh, knowing how to handle things, gave a signal to a servant, who immediately brought up a briefcase and set it gently on the chair beside the table.

“This is a small token from my master… also an apology for not being able to visit you in person. Please accept it.”

Nihaq stretched out his greasy hand, opened the case, and was startled by the stack of golden banknotes inside.

Dinar gold notes!

These banknotes, with their special anti-counterfeiting marks, could be exchanged for an equal face value of dinars in Triumph City.

Though they only circulated in the west of the Central Continent, the western coast of the Brahmin Province often saw merchant ships from the Verlanders, and those Verlander merchants recognized these notes, at most taking a 10% to 5% discount depending on the situation.

He made a rough count—this chest of banknotes added up to at least half a million dinars.

That was the equivalent of five hundred able-bodied slaves!

"Looks like your master has been living well," Nihak said, narrowing his eyes with a faint, knowing smile as he glanced at Aksh.

That sum wasn't worth coveting, but the fact that a mere baron could cough up half a million dinars did surprise him.

Aksh put on a wry expression and let out a soft sigh.

"To be honest with you, this is all my master has left. But if he can't return safely, what use is all the money in the world... isn't that right?"

"Heh."

Nihak chuckled, dismissing the words, and simply accepted the chest.

"Indeed, Iser, is it? I'll remember your master's name. By the way... how do I get back to Tiansky from here?"

Aksh quickly replied.

"Rest assured, we wouldn't dream of letting you travel alone. We've arranged a ship at the port. It will take you safely to Westsail Harbor, which is under the Willantines' control. From there, we've arranged a carriage to take you to Tiansky."

Hearing this, Nihak finally let go of all his worries and anxieties, nodding with satisfaction.

"A man who knows how to get things done."

Aksh's face was full of smiles as he spoke with utmost courtesy.

"As long as you're satisfied."

Meanwhile, at the port of Golden Grain Harbor, a cargo ship flying the White Bear flag was moored beside the dock.

The freighter's hold was packed with herring cans and distilled spirits produced in Golden Grain Harbor.

These two items were favorites among the lower-ranking officers and common soldiers of the Legion.

Though the distilled spirits from Golden Grain Harbor couldn't match those from Dawnlight City in craftsmanship, flavor, or prestige, the distilleries here mostly used equipment discarded by Dawnlight and Daybreak City, so there wasn't much difference.

Now that the electronic pass system had been in place for a while, traveling to Legion territory was no longer a death sentence—as long as you didn't go poking around where you shouldn't.

Tail planned to check out the Legion-controlled "Westport," Sesame Paste and Meatball were curious what it looked like, and Sisi didn't care where they went. So the three of them and the bear quickly agreed on their next destination.

Leaning her arm on the mast, Meatball yawned and muttered in boredom.

"When are we finally setting off?"

Standing on the deck, Sisi glanced at the list in her hand and rubbed her chin with her index finger.

"There's still one more passenger... Huh, I just realized this guy is actually an old acquaintance of ours."

Nihak.

There shouldn't be anyone else with that name in this port.

Thinking this, Sisi's expression gradually turned subtle.

"Oh! Is that the fur seller guy?" Tail leaned in curiously.

"Fur seller? Not exactly... How do you even remember that person? I've almost forgotten his name," Sisi said helplessly.

With a mischievous grin, Tail poked her in the side with a finger.

"As expected of Sisi—heartless woman!"

Meatball looked over in surprise, and Sesame Paste perked up her cat ears curiously.

"What's going on?"

"Did something happen when we weren't looking... another story?"

Facing those gossipy eyes, Sisi said with a mix of laughter and exasperation, "What the hell... We only met a few times, that's all."

Come to think of it, they had met quite a few interesting characters on this journey.

From Red River Town to the oasis and castle in the desert, then to the bay on the desert's edge and the tropical Baiyue Strait, and finally to distant Golden Grain Harbor.

If not for Sesame Paste's "I want to travel" and Tail's "Sounds fun," she might not have come this far. Instead, like most ordinary players, she would have followed the game's designed progression.

But then again, it was precisely because she had met so many interesting people that she increasingly felt they weren't NPCs—they were living, breathing humans.

What was this world really about?

She had pondered this question more than once, even tried to privately message the game designer to ask, but never got an answer.

Maybe the answer lay at the end of the journey, known only to those who completed it...

As the friends laughed and teased, Governor Nihak, carrying his suitcase, arrived at the port under Aksh's escort.

Standing on the dock, he looked up at the deck and spotted the white bear speaking human words.

He froze for a moment, and the unpleasant memories from months ago flooded back, fear slowly creeping onto his face.

Not wanting the servants behind him to see his cowardice, he forced a calm cough and lowered his voice to speak hurriedly.

"Why is there a bear on board? Can I switch to another ship?"

Aksh was taken aback, then showed a troubled expression.

"Sir, it's possible, but... this is the only ship heading to Westsail Harbor from here for now. The ferry at Eternal River is still blocked, and Westsail Harbor hasn't fully opened to Golden Grain Harbor. Only the Alliance's and Legion's merchant ships are unaffected. If you want to return as soon as possible, you'll have to make do with this."

There were actually other ships, but they'd require waiting two days—and he dared not wait.

If General Babita's war report reached Tiansky first, his master's half a million dinars might go to waste.

After all, emperors never admit fault; once a verdict was set, no amount of maneuvering could change it.

Hearing this was the only ship, Nihak cursed under his breath and could only steel himself to walk up the gangplank.

Taking an Alliance ship home...

What rotten luck!

By the gangway, a crew member approached him, checking his identity against the passenger list.

"Mr. Nihak, is it? Please follow me... Wait, you're Nihak?" The crew member's eyes widened in surprise as he looked him up and down.

Nihak scowled and glared back fiercely.

"Is there a problem?"

"No... It's just that you seem a lot heavier than a few months ago." The crew member gave him an odd look, then quickly averted his gaze before the latter could lose his temper, gesturing for him to follow. "Your cabin is at the end of the corridor on the starboard side of the lower deck. Please come with me."

With the last passenger aboard, the Meatball sounded its horn and slowly pulled away from the dock.

At that moment, the vast majority of Golden Grain Harbor's residents had no idea their governor had already left prison and slunk out of the harbor.

Even if they knew, they probably wouldn't care—at most, they'd have a laugh at his expense.

In just a few short months, they had created a miracle that hadn't been seen on this land in two hundred years. They felt both gratitude toward the Alliance and a newfound pride they'd never known.

Though some down-and-out nobles and old conservatives still longed for the old order of ranks, even they had to admit life was better now than before.

If only the two could be combined—use the Alliance's technology without all that messy talk of equality.

After all, those machines weren't that hard to operate; their intricacies might not even be more complicated than farming. Slaves could probably handle them just as well, maybe even faster and better.

But they could only dream.

At least here, how things ran was out of their hands. Those "lower-class" people who had risen up practically worshipped the "Iron Men" as gods on earth...

At the very moment Nihack made his exit with suitcase in hand, a telegram from the office of the Governor of Chip Port also reached Chu Guang's hands.

Though to the Administrator, who was pondering the entire wasteland situation, that Imperial Governor named Nihack was but an insignificant pawn, this "Empire" was after all a member of the Slime Mold Research Community.

Above the Weifu Wasteland, aboard the Steel Heart.

Having finished reading the report from Chip Port, Chu Guang made a call to the Alliance's Foreign Minister and gave concise instructions.

"Let the Survivor Daily release the news. No need for a grand report—just put a line in the middle or at the end saying 'Governor Nihack has gone home.' Also, contact Duke Garava and give him a way out."

The Legion had dispatched ten additional divisions to the front, and the Academy and Corporation also stepped up their reinforcements.

He had a premonition that once the old bombs were defused, new powder kegs would likely emerge.

The Slime Mold Commonwealth needed unity—it wasn't meant to disband after the war. He had to eliminate as many potential sparks as possible that could ignite a powder keg.

After all, the Empire was an unpredictable player, and the Legion's ranks were faction-ridden and full of opportunists.

And this was the real reason he had specifically instructed the Baiyue Company to restrain itself in matters concerning the Brahmaputra Province region.

Taking note of the Administrator's instructions, Cheng Yan nodded earnestly.

"Yes, sir."

Watching the holographic screen shut off, Chu Guang leaned back in his chair and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window at the lifeless gray haze.

The vanguard of the allied forces was entering Haiya Province.

And according to their feedback, the situation there could only be described as hell...