Chapter 714.2: The Light That Shines On The Harbor

At the end of the day, a powerful shelter-backed holding company would bite down on the hardest but most necessary projects first. Once the economic “cake” expanded, the administrator would gradually distribute slices of that cake to local survivors, allowing them to grow wealthy as well.

Meanwhile, the already massive Bull and Horse Group would follow the New Alliance’s armies and trade caravans beyond New Alliance territory, seeking new profit opportunities across the broader wasteland. Places like Ideal City, the Sunset Province, pre-reform Boulder Town, and even less friendly regions such as the Bugra Free States and Falcon Kingdom.

In reality, both French Fry Harbor and Port Gallon were products of this same model. The only difference lay in the players’ differing strategies due to local conditions.

Once all 37 infrastructure projects in Port Gallon were completed, the city’s economic scale might even surpass Silvermoon Bay and become the new trade hub of the Poro Sea! After all, Silvermoon Bay was merely a kingdom of 1,000,000 people.

Port Gallon itself was already a million-person settlement, with an enormous feudal empire claiming a thousand races and a thousand gods stood behind it.

From that perspective, the 37 infrastructure projects currently underway in Port Gallon, along with the hundreds of spontaneously formed civilian projects, were just as important to the New Alliance’s attempt to unite wasteland survivors as the harbor and undersea pipeline projects being built in French Fry Harbor.

The latter were visible bonds. The former were invisible, but undeniably real...

...

June's weather was like a child’s face.

One moment the harbor was covered in dark clouds and the next, a scorching sun hung overhead.

It was barely past 7:00 in the morning but it already felt like noon. Even the seagulls circling the masts cried out as though dying from heat.

Palu, currently on duty, yawned and prepared to move beneath the guard booth for shade.

Back then, he had merely yawned once while standing there, and by the time he opened his eyes again, both the Governor and any semblance of control the Xilande Empire had over them was gone.

That rat-faced Mandar had become the police chief of the Port District, while Bihari had become the police chief of the entire settlement.

Police chief...

For Port Gallon, it was undoubtedly a novel term. After all, everyone knew that outside the Port District, there had never been any real patrol force.

Unless there was a murder case or some noble’s cat or dog went missing, nobody cared even if a report was filed.

Rich girls never walked through alleyways anyway, while poor households constantly changed in size. Counting how many people lived in each shack every year, who died, and how they died was simply thankless work. They were like weeds growing in red soil. They would pop up after every spring rain.

And now, finally, a group of people had arrived who actually treated them like human beings.

Palu felt his yawn deserved at least a little credit. After all, if he had not been slacking off back then, the garrison in the city might have discovered the harbor landing earlier, and General Alyang of the Gray Wolf Army might not have suffered such a disastrous defeat outside the city.

If another yawn could somehow chase the New Alliance away too, that would be perfect. After all, getting bossed around by Snakefolk, Ratfolk, or other random races was incredibly annoying.

All he wanted was those arrogant nobles to politely call him “Officer” or “Sir.” He did not want equality with lowborn trash.

In the past, for example, he could casually beat servants with a rifle butt. Now, however, if he laid hands on someone without justification, those iron men would immediately report him to Mandar, and once Mandar got scolded, there were countless ways for Palu to suffer in silence.

Even slacking off no longer worked.

Those iron men were clever. They never dealt with the ordinary guards directly. They always targeted the leaders, and specifically the leaders whose weaknesses they held. Thus, despite having absolutely no passion for his position, he still had to maintain the appearance of an upright officer.

Fortunately, the harbor remained peaceful as usual.

Construction sites churned with dust, roads bustled with traffic, and everyone stayed far too busy making money to cause trouble.

Whether merchants moving through the docks or laborers hauling crates between warehouses and piers, everyone strained their brains and muscles trying to earn a few extra Gallons. Even the seagulls overhead were busy stealing fries from the iron men and their pet bear.

If he did not think carefully, he would almost forget what this place had looked like just over a month ago...

Right then, a ringing bicycle bell sounded outside the guard booth. A police bicycle screeched to a halt at the entrance and a nimble young officer swung off the bike, rushed through the door, and stuffed a thick document pouch into the yawning Palu’s arms. “Please deliver this to the branch office north of Knight’s Way, the one beside the train station. They urgently need it.”

Seeing it was nearly time to get off work, Palu could not help asking, “Why me?”

The youngster’s name was Bashak and he reminded Palu somewhat of a Yorkshire terrier. He was a newly recruited guard.

Though most colleagues liked the Ratfolk youth due to his enthusiasm, agility, and hardworking attitude, Palu honestly disliked him. It was partly because of his race and partly because the boy took the job way too seriously. He had none of the dignity expected of a guard!

Is he really that desperate for praise from the iron men?

“Your night shift’s ending anyway, and your house is on the way there,” the Ratfolk youth said with a grin, pressing his palms together pleadingly. “Please? I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow!”

“...” Although Palu rolled his eyes speechlessly, the thought of getting off early and receiving free breakfast eventually convinced him.

He grabbed the sealed document pouch and stepped outside.

Looking at Palu walking away, Bashak suddenly shouted, “You’re not taking the bike?”

“I don’t know how to ride that thing,” Palu snorted. Somehow he felt the brat was flaunting the benefits he’d gotten from the iron men, which made his tone even more unpleasant.

What are you so smug about? The bike’s not even yours! Hmph!

Facing his anger, Bashak did not care at all. He laughed openly. “These things are super convenient! I heard the guards in Dawn City ride them too, except theirs have batteries! If you ever have time, I can teach you! It’s less scary when someone teaches you.”

“No need.” With his back facing him, Palu impatiently waved the document pouch in his hand and quickened his pace as he left the street behind.

Everything was changing. Whether it was the things on the streets or the people walking them, whenever he occasionally snapped back to awareness, he always felt as though he had been left behind by everyone else.

In the past, Tulip Street had been filled with nobles and noblewomen dressed in elegant gowns and formal attire.

Now even disgusting Ratfolk had managed to worm their way in.

That’s Axin’s house right? Or whatever he’s called...

Palu stared at the mansion not far away that had once belonged to a Wislander, his eyes unconsciously filling with disgust and contempt, as though he were looking at a cake gnawed apart by rats.

A Ratfolk bastard who made his living through sneaky theft and shady dealings had somehow stolen away property earned through the Wislanders’ diligence and courage.

He truly could not understand what was supposedly so great about this so-called order. If he had the choice, he would much rather return to Governor Nihark’s era. People back then had far more manners than they did now...

Quickening his pace as he left the now-degenerate Tulip Street behind, Palu soon crossed Knight’s Way, the road separating the rich district from the poor rabble.

It was a circular road surrounding Tulip Street.

Previously, the city defense troops loyal to the governor had fought a bloody battle with the New Alliance, but now there was not a trace left of the fighting. The houses riddled with bullet holes and the streets blasted apart by artillery had all been completely demolished.

Recently, the New Alliance had been carrying out massive construction work in the area. Not only had they torn up the destroyed roads, they had even ripped apart perfectly intact roads together with their foundations, leaving the surrounding streets permanently covered in dust.

The branch office Bashak had mentioned near the train station construction site was close by. As he walked toward it, Palu glanced into one of the pits surrounded by barricades. Several shirtless laborers were carrying thick, heavy wooden beams and laying them onto the ground.

He had seen that type of wood before in the harbor warehouse district. It seemed to have been brought over from French Fry Harbor aboard cargo ships rented by Baiyue Strait Development Company.

Port Gallon had never imported such things before, and he had no idea what the workers were doing with them, so he cleared his throat and called out in an officious tone, “What are you people doing?”

The workers busy with their tasks ignored him. Amidst the endless clanging and hammering, they likely could not even hear him.

Only a few laborers resting nearby looked up. Seeing his police uniform, they assumed he was conducting an inspection and quickly explained themselves. “Sir, this is a New Alliance construction site. We have permits.”

The mixture of respect and fear on their faces made Palu feel slightly more comfortable. He nodded smugly and continued, “Ahem! Good, as long as you have permits... You’d better do a proper job on the iron men’s construction site. Don’t slack off or cut corners. If we catch you, you’ll regret it!”

Though he disliked the New Alliance, there was no way he dared cause trouble at one of their construction sites.

The workers all wore innocent expressions.

“We wouldn’t dare, officer.”

“Yeah, the foreman’s strict!”

“And forget slacking off, we’re not even allowed to work overtime if we want to. Each shift can only work 10 hours a day at most. If we keep going, not only does the performance bonus and wages count toward the next shift’s workers, we’ll even get punished!”

Palu froze for a moment, unable to understand why working more would get someone punished. Still, he did not ask further. Instead, he coughed lightly and asked the thing he was actually curious about.

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