Chapter 732.3: The New Alliance's Original Job Scope

On Broken Blade Peak, Across the mountain, green-skinned Mutant Humans and Goblins busied themselves preparing for war. Well, everyone was doing it except one particular individual.

Inside a spacious cavern sat a green-skinned brute over 10 meters tall. Like an artificial hill, it lounged atop a mound of humanoid skeletons, snoring loudly. Its moss-green skin resembled lichen deprived of sunlight for years. Covered in bumps and pits, it looked like the hide of a giant toad. Its arms were as large as excavator buckets.

Every time it snored, the tent rumbled. Drool dripped occasionally from the corner of its mouth onto the bones beneath it, producing sizzling sounds of corrosion.

Its name was Orlong, leader of the Rock Axe Clan. It was the biggest eater and strongest brute in the entire tribe, one of the rare naturally occurring mutant variants among Mutant Humans.

As an exception within Project Complete Human, it possessed certain traits of Super Mutant Humans.

Even having its head blown apart wouldn't kill it. Instead, the loss of reason would only drive it into a frenzy. Its regenerative capabilities surpassed even some Mutant Slime Mold sub-entities and made it tougher than the mountain of flesh that made up the Hive back then.

Though the sleeping Orlong resembled an extremely obese invalid, it was anything but slow when awake. A single slap slap could send a tank flying.

At that moment, movement sounded from the cave entrance. The ear hanging from his oversized head twitched once, and even though he was still snoring, Orlong lazily opened one eye. "What is it?"

That was one of his unique abilities. Only half his brain woke up. The other half remained asleep.

Standing at the cave entrance, a middle-aged man in a white robe spoke in a calm, emotionless voice. "I've brought you some good news."

Orlong grunted expressionlessly. "Speak."

The man replied casually, "You'll be able to feast to your heart's content very soon."

A deep laugh rumbled from Orlong's throat, like a dragon growling underground. "Now that's something worth looking forward to."

After speaking, he closed his half-open eye and appeared to fall asleep again.

The man nodded, then turned and vanished from the cave entrance as though he had never been there.

The second he was gone, the sleeping Orlong slowly reopened his eyes. A trace of irritation flashed across his amber pupils.

Many members of the tribe called that human the Beast King, but Orlong disliked the mysterious charlatan.

He was suppose to be the beast king, not that weak human!

Unfortunately, that fellow was transparent. Whether Orlong threw rocks at him or spat on him, everything simply passed through his body. If that man possessed a physical form, Orlong would have eaten him long ago.

...

While the humans and Mutant Humans on the Northern Front were busy eating, Isair and his 10,000 soldiers, who had boarded the wrong ship and ended up in the Baiyue Strait, finally received their first hot meal.

Holding a golden fried stick that resembled bread, Isair chewed happily, grease covering his mouth.

"What is this?"

"Fried dough sticks." Glancing at the country bumpkin, Ample Time stood on the dock and answered succinctly. "Remember you better remember it well. It's the first meal you ate after coming ashore. Anyway, this place is called French Fry Harbor."

Yesterday afternoon, the Jungle Corps had dispatched a squad deep into the southern shore's forests to eliminate local Mutant Humans. Working alongside Goblin Corps W-2H seaplanes, they destroyed at least five strongholds.

Around noon, the expeditionary soldiers landed on the southern shore of the Baiyue Strait. They established camps on the beach, built a simple wooden dock with assistance from French Fry Harbor's construction teams, and installed underwater barrier nets along the coastline.

By evening, just before the soldiers went hungry, supply ships from French Fry Harbor finally arrived carrying freshly fried dough sticks.

The Ratfolk soldiers were overjoyed as they had not expected the New Alliance to give them something that resembled bread.

After receiving their rations, everyone immediately began wolfing them down. In the Poro Province, bread was a luxury affordable only to citizens with respectable jobs. Most people survived on dirt and beans.

Although the bread they were given was rather greasy, nobody complained. Many were so touched by the New Alliance's generosity that tears filled their eyes.

In truth, even the city-born officers had never seen bread like that.

Though some Dawn City cuisine had begun appearing in Port Gallon, the New Alliance's food culture had yet to penetrate deep into the Poro Province due to border restrictions and distance. It had spread only to nearby regions.

Even the officers who considered themselves worldly had spent two weeks eating dry rations at sea. Their mouths practically tasted like sand.

General Isair's table manners had deteriorated and chewing vigorously, he spoke through a mouth covered in grease. "Thank you... We'll remember your help. When the war is over, I'll put in a good word for you with His Majesty."

Ample Time chuckled and ignored the man's stubborn pride. Speaking in a businesslike tone, he continued, "No need to thank us. You worked hard today. This is the compensation you've earned. Starting tomorrow, we'll assign new tasks, including constructing barracks and building roads. If your performance meets expectations, we'll pay you wages."

Isair froze, then he suddenly became furious. "Wait! We came here to fight a war, not build your harbor!"

He understood constructing the dock. People could swim ashore holding driftwood, but supplies would be ruined if they fell into the sea. All 10,000 of his men needed to eat and they couldn’t ferry their supplies over by small boats.

He even understood building barracks as his men needed somewhere to sleep.

But road construction? What was that supposed to mean? Why did it feel like they had come here to pioneer the wilderness?

Yet despite his fierce words, he never stopped chewing.

Ample Time laughed. "Then you guys can pay the bill."

Isair blinked. "The bill?"

Ample Time rolled his eyes. "That's right. You didn't think this food was free, did you?"

The dough stick nearly slipped from Isair's hand. He grabbed it again and protested anxiously.

"Wait! Didn't you say you would provide our supplies? What about your promises under the Mutant Slime Mold Research Committee?"

Ample Time patiently explained, "We did promise to provide supplies, but that doesn't mean they're free. And I've already checked. Your emperor did put money onto your meal cards. The problem is that the money was deposited into the cafeteria at the Guardian Manor Military Base."

"This place is over 1,000 kilometers away from there. We can't exactly ask them to come here and build a kitchen specifically for you."

Isair became agitated and he snapped, "What's the difference? Aren't they both your settlements?"

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes again, Ample Time patiently replied, "What do you mean, what's the difference? French Fry Harbor is French Fry Harbor. Guardian Manor Military Base is Guardian Manor Military Base. Can you understand the concept of having separate accounts?"

Explaining rules to Isair was exhausting. Looking at the still-confused general, Ample Time took a deep breath and decided to try another approach. "Listen carefully. We aren't the benevolent administrator, and we aren't running a charity."

"If you want food, you pay for it. If you don't have money, we can lend it to you. We can even generously waive the interest. However, you'll repay the debt according to our rules. Otherwise, have your emperor send the money or figure something out yourselves, don't expect us to feed you for free."

Isair's expression alternated between embarrassment and anger. He wanted nothing more than to point a gun at Ample Time's head.

But when he remembered that even the Xilande Empire’s elite Gray Wolf Army had been beaten badly by the dude before him, and that his own force consisted mostly of Ratfolk soldiers, he could only swallow his anger.

Seeing Isair remain silent, Ample Time suddenly remembered something and smiled. "Cheer up. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. If you knew what was happening on the Northern Front, you would thank me for keeping you here."

Isair instinctively asked, "What happened on the Northern Front? Has the fighting already started?"

Rather than answering, Ample Time smiled and asked, "Do you know a guy named Modrick?"

Isair immediately nodded. "One of General Babita's commanders! I know him. What happened to him?"

"What happened?" Ample Time smiled faintly. "Last night, he and all his men got reincarnated at the same time."

To end the battle quickly, the Army had fired two 400mm artillery shells. Judging by the explosions, they were probably thermobaric weapons or something similar. Both of them possessed astonishing power.

While the effect against Mutant Humans sheltered inside the mountain was passable, everyone on the mountainside, dead or alive, had been blasted away.

Babita claimed Modrick died fighting Mutant Humans. The Death Corps players, however, had clearly seen people still fighting on the mountain when the shells landed.

Those individuals didn't look like ordinary soldiers. They looked more like officers. After all, the players had witnessed firsthand how poor the Ratfolk soldiers' morale was.

Modrick's name appeared in a few scattered forum discussions, nothing more.

Ample Time felt no sympathy for the man. He didn't know him and didn't care. What irritated him was how ungrateful Isair was being.

The survivors of Port Gallon didn't need to thank him. His Baiyue Strait Development Company had always been conducting business there, exchanging advanced methods and technology for local labor.

Even before their arrival, those people could survive by eating dirt if necessary. Life was harsh, but survivable.

However, those soldiers were different. He had dragged them away from death's doorstep. They no longer had to enter the meat grinder alongside the clone troops, yet the fellow was complaining while eating the food he had been given.

"If you want breakfast tomorrow, do what we tell you." With those words, Ample Time shook his head and walked back toward the dock.

Watching his departing figure, Isair swallowed hard. His back felt hot with sweat while his palms felt cold.

The moment he heard what had happened to Modrick, he suddenly felt that boarding the wrong ship had not been such a bad thing after all.

Not far away, several Ratfolk cannon fodder soldiers carrying shovels exchanged confused glances.

Yet they were all thinking about something entirely different.

Breakfast? What’s that?

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