This Game Is Too Real
Chapter 681: The Fury of the Empire

Chapter 681: Chapter 681: The Fury of the Empire

At the same time the Meat Meat, carrying over a thousand survivors from the Moon Clan, arrived at Potato Harbor, the Bull Horse airship also brought back the survivors from Shelter No. 70 to the City of Dawn’s sky port.

Because many new routes had been developed, this airship hydrogenation station had indeed become a port.

The Bull Horse Group contracted some berths for renovation, and a market specializing in imported goods near the warehouse area spontaneously established a market management committee, not only raising money to renovate roads but also maintaining impeccable hygiene here.

Descending from the elevator, Huang Guangwei looked around blankly, amazed at the prosperity and bustle of the place.

Before coming here, the man named Fang Chang had told him that the City of Dawn was just a settlement of a hundred thousand people; he had thought it was a place similar to Ring Island or North Island, just located on land.

However, seeing it now, its prosperity dropped his jaw.

How could this be a settlement of a hundred thousand people?

It was like two hundred thousand—even three hundred thousand, he would believe!

Having walked down the stairs, he was still somewhat dazed, unsure of which direction to go when a familiar face suddenly appeared in the crowd not far away.

The man was wearing a loose leather jacket and jeans, slightly overweight, his face creased with smile lines, arms spread wide with enthusiasm.

Huang Guangwei stared blankly at him, moisture fogging his eyes, his parched lips trembling slightly.

"Mana... Manager!"

This guy didn’t go to the Grand Canyon!?

He had never expected to bump into him here!

His legs involuntarily stepped forward, Huang Guangwei, as if having found his direction, moved his stiff legs step by step, his faltering steps becoming more firm and resolute.

Seeing his compatriot’s pitiful state having endured suffering, Sun Yuechi also felt ashamed, his enthusiasm on his face undiminished, but his smile was somewhat unable to hang on, and his gaze slowly drooped along with his slightly bent arms.

"Huang... cough cough, my dear friend, I’ve heard about your situation, I’ve let you suffer these days in my absence... and the folks in the shelter too. But no matter, I’m relieved to see you’re alright, it’s good to be alright..."

"By the way, haven’t you eaten yet? There’s a great pigs’ trotters rice nearby, the sauce on it is exceptional, my treat! Let’s sit down and eat while we—"

As Sun Yuechi mentioned pigs’ trotters rice, his eyes brightened and he lifted his gaze, but unexpectedly met with an unsparing fist.

In his daze, he only managed to move his neck in time, avoiding his vulnerable nose, and instead took the blow with his face.

"Fuck my life!"

The intermittent echoes hammered into his ears.

Before he could comprehend what had happened, Sun Yuechi, who had taken a punch to the face, passed out bewildered.

The surrounding crowd quickly surged forward, pulling the man off him.

Huang Guangwei, pulled by his arms, unwillingly struggled, staring at the man on the ground, roaring in sorrowful anger.

"Let me go!"

"This is our own business, none of your business! Let me hit him! I want to slaughter this bastard!"

"Argh!"

Although the Alliance seldom interfered with outsiders’ family matters, this was after all on Alliance territory.

Regardless of the reasons, fighting in the street was grounds for being locked up in a cell.

Guards who arrived from nearby took him to the security office, while the former manager of Shelter No. 70, unconscious, was carried on a stretcher to a nearby medical station.

People picking through imported goods at the market crowded around, curiously whispering about the noisy scene.

"What just happened?"

"I don’t know... those two suddenly started fighting."

"I think I vaguely heard... um, pigs’ trotters rice."

"Pigs’ trotters rice???"

It turned out that NPCs were not at all inferior to players when it came to gossip.

The rumors spread more and more outrageously, eventually spinning a twisted tale of grudges surrounding pigs’ trotters rice.

Coincidentally, the moment of intimate contact between the fist and the face was captured by a reporter from Goblin Observation Report.

In the City of Dawn, anything related to Goblins was certainly far from reliable.

And indeed, it was so.

This newspaper, sponsored by Goblin Technology, wasn’t a reliable place at all, and the boss who invested in this paper hadn’t even intended to make money from it.

The photo was quickly sent to the editorial department of the newspaper, and with a hastily written headline, it became the headline of the additional print run for the day—

[Shocking! The manager of Shelter No. 70 knocked down by a subordinate who chased him a thousand miles, all because of a bowl of pigs’ trotters rice!]

Due to the sensational photo and headline, it attracted numerous onlookers to buy, so much so that the sales volume of Goblin Observation Report even surpassed Survivor’s Daily that day!

Against all expectations, the photo not only boosted the sales of Goblin Observation Report, but also thrust the pigs’ trotters rice, mentioned in passing, into the spotlight.

What kind of delicacy could it have been, that the manager of Shelter No. 70 abandoned the entire shelter? Nearly everyone who read the headline couldn’t help but wonder with curiosity.

Driven by curiosity, there were long lines at the fast-food shops selling pig trotter rice.

Even some restaurants and taverns that didn’t originally offer pig trotter rice couldn’t resist the allure of profit and temporarily changed their menus.

That very day, all the pig trotters in the City of Dawn sold out, much to the dismay of the pigs that had just arrived from the farms in Luo Xia Province by train and hadn’t even had a bite of feed before being rushed into the slaughterhouse...

...

"Ha ha ha ha ha!"

The foyer of the highway town inn.

Sitting at the table and dining, Duke Garava, with the Goblin Observation Report in hand, his goatee quivering, was laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

He was an ambassador from the Xilan Empire and the lord of White Elephant City. Not only did his veins carry the noble blood of the Elephant Tribe, but his family also owned a vast domain from the Everflow River to the White Elephant Tower, making him one of the most prominent figures in the Xilan Dynasty.

Originally, his majesty’s mission for him was to display the empire’s grandeur in the Lion Kingdom. However, as the desert dwellers unanimously looked to the Alliance for guidance, out of annoyance, he became curious about the alliance in the East.

What kind of empire garnered such substantial support?

Thus, he and his entourage had come here.

Coincidentally, the most important ally of the Xilan Empire, Centurion Bennott, was also here and was attending a cooperation organization called the "Mucor Research Community."

Upon learning that Ambassador Bennott was struggling with the negotiations for the Sticky Community, feeling isolated and helpless, Duke Garava immediately sensed an opportunity to shine. He sent messengers to report this godsend to his emperor, where the inhabitants of Vellante owed them a favor. Meanwhile, he assured Ambassador Bennott that the Xilan Empire was willing to join the Sticky Community’s negotiations and share the burden from the Eastern World during the talks.

Perhaps touched by his sincerity, after a brief moment of surprise, Centurion Bennott warmly shook his hand and, over the next few days, overcame all objections to draw the Xilan Empire closer into this world conference that would decide the future of the Wasteland.

This task was much easier than expected. He just had to vote alongside Ambassador Bennott.

Moreover, Duke Garava found the situation was not as dire as he had imagined.

Take the Free State, for instance. Although it was businesses that brought them into the Sticky Community’s negotiations, behind the scenes, they stood on their side. Simply put, if the Army and corporations agreed on a vote, they agreed too. If the Army opposed but the corporations agreed, they would play dead. If the Army opposed and the Alliance agreed, they would vote against without hesitation.

Of course, this also depended on the corporate stance. If the corporation strongly agreed, then they would continue to play dead.

Truly, Garava had contempt for these flip-floppers. These sly folks thought they could please both sides and ended up pleasing none. More than once, he had heard Bennott curse these unrighteous and opportunistic merchants in private gatherings.

At such times, he would secretly rejoice.

The Xilan Empire was different; they had always been the Army’s most loyal allies. The people of Vellante would remember their extended hand today, and the emperor would remember his contributions.

However, this task was ultimately too simple; he didn’t even need to scrutinize the agenda closely.

That was why recently, he had explored almost every worthy shop in the City of Dawn.

Every day, if he wasn’t in a meeting, he would wander around the settlements, observing the local customs and culture of the Alliance.

After a hearty laugh, Duke Garava straightened his attire and elegantly clicked his tongue, looking at the newspaper’s photos as one might look at monkeys in a zoo.

"These barbarians, how uncultured must they be to behave so uncouthly over a mere dish of food."

His attendant Niyan hurriedly nodded in agreement.

"... The Southern sea area depends upon the Camel Hump Kingdom for grains, and their people are as skinny as the monkeys from the Baiyue Province, they can’t compare to us, who enjoy all the blessings of the Everflow River."

Hearing this, a pleased expression crossed Duke Garava’s face.

Niyan was his favorite servant, also his personal secretary and life assistant, always pleasing in his conversations. The only downside was his lowly bloodline; he was from the Rat Clan.

Even the loyal Wolf Clan Guards standing behind him had far nobler blood than this fellow.

Compared to other guests in the lobby, this table’s presence and demeanor was distinctly different.

One man sat eating, while a dozen others stood watching.

But after all, this was the Wasteland where talking lizards and bears existed; compared to those stranger creatures, this group of self-talkers didn’t draw much attention.

Compared to that, the headline of the Goblin Observation Report was juicier gossip.

But Duke Garava didn’t agree; in his view, his sparkly self was the center of attention wherever he went, not to mention he had specifically chosen to sit right in the center of the lobby.

Those whispering barbarians were undoubtedly discussing him at this moment. That’s why he was constantly mindful of keeping his appearance appropriate and elegant.

Lisa, holding a tray, approached with some confusion at the sight of the row of bodyguards behind his chair, but she didn’t inquire further. Instead, she gently placed down the tray and quietly said,

"Sir, your pig trotter rice...Please enjoy."

"Mmm."

Duke Garava hummed through his nose, handed the newspaper to Niyan who stood nearby, then turned to the plate of the city’s renowned pig trotter rice on the table before him, and cut a small piece to taste.

The tender and springy texture was quite good; it was so soft that it melted in his mouth, causing his eyes to light up involuntarily.

Although this Alliance was a tiny country and its several settlements were not as vast as his domain, he had to admit that these folks really had a knack for food.

The only thing he was unaccustomed to here was the overly sophisticated dining utensils.

He much preferred eating with his hands.

Certainly, it would have been better if it were the tender white fingers of a young maiden.

In White Elephant City, he never had to lift a finger while dining.

Unfortunately, despite searching the entire City of Dawn, he had not yet found a restaurant that offered this kind of service.

Looking at the young girl who put down her plate and nodded ready to leave, Duke Garava suddenly narrowed his eyes slightly, a trace of barely perceptible greed flashing through them.

Especially when he noticed the marks on her wrist.

"Are you from the West Continent... a slave from Triumph City?"

That word was like a scar that could never heal.

Upon hearing this, Lisa stiffened, pursed her lips in surprise, and looked at the guest before hurriedly running into the kitchen.

Watching the fleeing figure, Duke Garava clicked his tongue lightly.

"What a waste..."

Although slaves were a specialty of the Poluo Province, especially those of the inferior races—enduring hardship and faithfully loyal, favored by the lower nobility in the army—their numbers were simply too many, and being primarily marketed for value, they often didn’t fetch a high price.

In contrast, slaves from the army’s own, especially from Triumph City, were considered more refined.

These slaves, with their brown hair and delicate noses, were like the purebred dairy cows from the highland ranches along the Sorate River, not so expensive that only the Ten Thousand Leader could afford them, but without some military merit, they were not to be enjoyed.

These slaves were usually consumed internally by the Weilante People, with only a rare few cases entering the market, and even fewer being purchased by aliens outside of the Weilante People.

The royal aristocrats of the Xilan Dynasty held an almost fanatical obsession with the culture of the Weilante People, and he, as a duke, was no exception.

But this place was indeed the territory of the Alliance, and he did not want to cause trouble for himself, especially if it could interfere with the cooperation between the Empire and the army.

So, he merely expressed a sense of pity under his breath, and concentrated on finishing the delicacies on his plate, then elegantly wiped his mouth with the napkin, took the unfinished newspaper from Niyan’s hand, and continued to enjoy the scandals of Shelter No. 70.

These high-and-mighty residents of the refuge were no good at all.

Arrogant and presumptuous.

Shelter No. 70 was no exception, as was another refuge with a three-digit number.

End the Wasteland?

Start a new era?

Ha.

A bunch of lunatics.

He had lived in Poluo Province for so many years, yet he never felt it was a wasteland.

What a joke!

With the attitude of watching a joke, he leisurely finished the first page of the newspaper.

However, the moment he flipped to the second page of the newspaper, the refined smile on his face instantly vanished.

"Potato Harbor welcomes new residents! A thousand Moon Clan refugees successfully come ashore!"

The twisted expression in that instant was as ugly as if he had eaten boogers.

And not just any boogers, but ones that had shot out from his own finger, picking up a wall’s worth of dust and then flying right back.

"Absolute nonsense!"

He clenched his right fist, and with a furious shout, he slammed it down on the table, causing the plates to clink loudly.

Hearing the commotion in the center of the hall, the guests sitting around, chatting, and laughing unconsciously lowered their voices and cast surprised and curious looks toward him.

It was true that people occasionally went mad in this settlement, but who would go mad in a place full of the refuge’s residents?

Noticing the eyes cast from around, the Wolf Nation Soldiers standing behind Duke Garava narrowed their eyes menacingly, answering those blatant covetous glares with a warning look.

However, they clearly had the wrong target.

This was the River Valley Province, known for its fierce residents, sitting here were wasteland wanderers who wouldn’t even flinch at a gun pointing at them; who would be intimidated by a mere glare?

Those warning gazes were like a baby’s provocation, the crowd had originally just curiously looked over, but now, unprovoked, they stared back with wide eyes.

As if they had no eyes.

Looking down on whom?

Standing behind the bar, Old Hooke watched the table in the middle expressionlessly, his index finger already on the alarm button under the counter, ready to call for reinforcements.

He didn’t like these guys.

Not just because they, a group of more than a dozen, had ordered just one bowl of pig trotter rice, but because the guy with the goatee had made the dear Lisa cry.

She was not just the poster girl for the Highway Town Inn, she was like a daughter to him, who had no children of his own.

No one was allowed to bully her, whether it be the empire’s ambassador or the emperor himself.

"My lord..."

Standing next to Duke Garava, Niyan quickly bowed and whispered.

"Losing our temper here is pointless. Even if we beat them bloody, it won’t solve any problems, and it would make us seem petty and lacking in spirit... We should summon the managers of the Alliance and issue a warning from the Empire, asking them to stop the slandering and to stop harboring those despicable Moon Clan People."

Hearing Niyan’s suggestion, Duke Garava finally calmed down a bit, putting down the newspaper and convincing himself to cool down.

"You’re right, Niyan... Babru, tell your men to keep a low profile. An elephant need not be concerned with the mice and ants at its feet. We have no reason to deal with these lowlives on the same level."

"Yes, my Lord." The man behind him, towering like an iron tower, nodded slightly and silently glanced at his subordinates nearby.

The guards all retracted their murderous gazes from the surroundings, no longer making eye contact with those barbarians.

Seeing these wooden-like fellows cease their provocation, everyone gradually lost interest in stoking the fire, and disdainfully shifted their gazes away from them.

However, after such commotion, the focus of the conversation shifted from the headline of the "Goblin Observation Report" to these peculiar individuals.

"Who the hell are these guys?"

"I heard they are ambassadors from the West Winds Empire."

"Pff, I thought they were some important figures, turns out they are just beggars."

"Just these days in the City of Dawn, you can hit an ambassador with a brick thrown randomly."

"West Winds? Rotten Winds?"

"Ha ha, they really picked a great name for themselves!"

"Keep your voice down, don’t let others hear."

"Let them hear, if I encounter them in the wasteland, I won’t just let them hear, I’ll also have them relay a message to my dead old dad."

"Ha ha ha!"

Their voices grew louder and more unabashed, which was indeed how they behaved in the wasteland.

Duke Garava’s brows twitched, his teeth gritting audibly, and his face, usually composed and elegant, could barely hold together, revealing his soaring blood pressure with hurried breaths.

The mocking glances were like needles to him.

At heart, he was not as broad-minded as he proclaimed, after all, he was not truly an elephant, and those voices were not from real mice or ants.

Nevertheless, for the Empire, he chose to endure.

Forcing composure, Duke Garava pulled out a hundred silver coin and deliberately dropped it into the greasy plate.

"Keep the change."

The lard perfectly soaked into the emblem of the Alliance on the banknote, much like their grease-blinded consciences, a detail he meticulously planned.

Everyone present felt humiliated.

Although the humiliation wasn’t overt.

Old Hooke, standing behind the bar, cast a weary glance at their departing figures. His finger moved away from the emergency button as he called out nonchalantly.

"Welcome to come again."

By the Great Antler God, he prayed these calamities wouldn’t return.

Watching the group leave, Old Hooke limped over with his gun-wounded leg, picked up the banknote, wiped it, and casually cleared away the plate.

Returning to the bar, he opened the cash register, removed the cost of the pig’s foot meal, counted a few bills and coins, walked through the curtain into the kitchen, and found Lisa quietly crying in the corner. He squatted down and gently consoled her.

"The guests have left, they... asked me to apologize to you, here’s their tip as an apology. Use it to buy some dessert or a pretty dress."

Lisa, holding her knees, looked up through tear-stained eyes at the old man crouching before her; her lips trembled, but she could not utter a word.

It was evident she was very upset.

Perhaps it related to the earlier incidents.

Old Hooke could probably understand her feelings and knew why she couldn’t speak, so he started talking anyway.

"In Highway Town, we often saw guests from afar, and we could immediately tell who was a slave and who was a master. Not because one bore shackles and another bore a hunting gun, but because of their eyes..."

"Regardless, a self-sufficient person will never be anyone’s slave."

"As for those idle fellows, whoever they want to label, whatever they want to say, that’s their business. We can’t control a parrot’s beak; we only do what we deem self."

Lisa’s breathing gradually became calm, and her mood seemed somewhat improved.

With swollen eyes, her face bloomed a reassuring smile.

"Thank you..."

"You’re welcome," Old Hooke grinned, reaching out to ruffle the girl’s hair, "I need you to watch the front for a bit, it’s my turn to take a break."

"Okay! I’ve got it!"

Lisa nodded vigorously, energetically wiped the tears from her face, and darted out of the kitchen storeroom like a gust of wind.

Watching the young girl disappear behind the curtain, Old Hooke didn’t rise but instead grimaced and sat on the ground, his right hand pressing on his leg.

Relaxation rusted the bones; just a little squatting had caused such pain.

Back in his days, he too was a tough guy who fought looters with a hunting gun, but now his body bore only the scars from his youth.

Those Blue Jackets used to call him "Hooke with an arrow in the knee." Although he didn’t understand what that meant, the Manager once told him it was a title of respect, acknowledging his enduring vigor, and he grew to like that nickname over time.

But since opening this hotel, his leg truly acted as if struck by an arrow, becoming increasingly unresponsive.

Old Hooke shook his head with a bitter smile.

"...I’m old."