Chapter 733.2: Gluttons From Ideal City

Looking at the astonished expressions on the two men's faces, Mosquito continued, "I did the math with that guy. This war is going to last at least several months. Food expenses won't be small. Even with just a single acre of land, a single harvest should bring in 700 or 800 Silver at minimum, right? If each person reclaims three acres and 20,000 people work the land, that's 60,000 acres! That's tens of millions of Silver in agricultural output! Is spending a few hundred thousand silver coins on shovels really a loss? It's practically free money!"

60,000 acres equaled roughly 40 square kilometers, a 5x8 kilometer patch of land. The entire region they were on was basically wilderness and there were tens of thousands of square kilometers of uninhabited land. Finding a suitable area for farming somewhere along the upper reaches of Guardian Manor Plains would be ridiculously easy. The only difficult part was reclaiming the land.

When the time came, he could conveniently sell them another dozen trucks and agricultural tractors. Assuming they needed them, of course.

The two men standing before him, however, were focused on something else entirely.

"700 or 800 Silver per acre per harvest?! You've got to be kidding!" Construction Boy's eyes widened.

Eye Owe Money wore the same expression of disbelief.

"Ahem, ahem. Ignoring the cost of fertilizer, pesticides, and seeds, that's actually about right. Might even be more. If I remember correctly, most of the New Alliance's agricultural subsidies are concentrated in those three areas. But that's not the important part." Mosquito grinned. "The important part is that after they finish reclaiming the land and start planting, I can sell them fertilizer, pesticides, and seeds. Then I make another profit!"

Goods sold externally as exports obviously didn't qualify for subsidies. Of course, he wouldn't mark up the prices too aggressively. He might even sell them slightly below market rate.

After all, they weren't idiots. They weren't obligated to buy from him. If his prices were too high, they would simply buy from someone else.

Construction Boy clearly realized this as well. Rubbing his chin, he muttered, "Fertilizer, seeds, and pesticides for tens of thousands of acres... Holy crap, that's got to be several million Silver."

"Several million? That's roughly the profit margin." Mosquito grinned again and leisurely continued, "And that's not all. When the crops finally grow, they'll need someone to sell them, right?"

Eye Owe Money blinked and asked, "Can't they just sell them to the cafeteria?"

Mosquito looked at him as though he were an idiot. "Of course not! That's a military base cafeteria, not the convenience store outside your house! They have their own supply chain. I bet the contracts were signed before the seeds were even planted. Why would they buy some random crops that happened to grow later?"

As he spoke, the smile on his face gradually transformed into the grin of a man finally revealing his true intentions. "I guarantee those idiots won't be able to sell their harvest. When that happens, I'll buy everything at rock-bottom prices."

"Believe it or not, these manually cultivated organic crops might end up cheaper than the mass-produced imports from the Sunset Province."

Actually, General Babita would make some money too. After all, his labor costs were effectively zero. The only ones suffering were the Ratfolk laborers, though it wasn't entirely suffering. Working in the backlines was still better than being fed into a meat grinder on the front.

According to information Sisi had posted on the official forums, aside from the Imperial Army and several Wislander-trained units, most local forces controlled by the Poro Province nobles still operated under a feudal logistics system.

In simple terms, the emperor provided the money and the generals spent it. Procurement of supplies, distribution of military pay, and everything else were handled directly by the latter.

Although the Xilande Empire’s Expeditionary Force had received training from the Army, it was operating far beyond the empire's logistical network. Infrastructure integration was far too low. They couldn't even transport supplies to Silvermoon Bay efficiently. As a result, they still relied on the old method of direct cash allocations.

Mosquito had thoroughly researched everything. Otherwise, he wouldn't have targeted what appeared to be a poor sheep while everyone else focused on exploiting the Enterprise, the Army, and the Academy.

In reality, the sheep he had targeted was dripping with fat!

The two men stared at him.

Good grief. This guy is a professional at this...

"You're evil as hell." Eye Owe Money sighed. "They should hang you from a streetlamp."

"Watch your mouth." Mosquito rolled his eyes. "If I don't help them spend that money, they'll just stuff it into their pockets and take it home. Do you think that is really appropriate?"

Construction Boy wasn't interested in listening. Like Eye Owe Money, he simply sighed. "You're evil enough we should smoke you to death."

Mosquito’s eyes widened in anger. "... Fuck you guys!"

At that moment, neither the Ratfolk soldiers swinging hoes nor the players watching the spectacle noticed that several soldiers from the Bugra Free State were also observing from a distance, whispering among themselves.

Far away on the airfield, four more Orca transport aircraft descended in streaks of plasma light. A group of burly men carrying large bags strode confidently out of the aircraft and all of them wore exoskeletons painted in a limestone-gray color.

The design clearly imitated old Human Federation military equipment, making it obvious they were products of Ideal City. However, their darker coloration lacked the polished appearance of the 100th Mechanized Mountain Division's Vanguard I exoskeletons.

Standing nearby and smoking a cigarette, General Modlin glanced at them. The corner of his mouth curled upward slightly. "Looks like the softies from the East Coast have a few fighters among them after all."

He was the commander of the Army of Glory. The battle two days earlier had been under his command. He had personally witnessed how troublesome those green-skinned Mutant Humans and their Goblin freaks were.

Using technology of the Prosperity Era, the Torch Church had forcibly elevated those savages beyond what they would naturally have become. Even his experienced troops had found them difficult to deal with.

Because of this, although the equipment of the 100th Mechanized Mountain Division was undeniably impressive, he had little confidence they would be able to do well.

If 10 points represented perfection, the individual combat quality they displayed was worth at most 4. Some of their behavior was so amateurish that he suspected they weren't regular troops at all. They looked more like freshly recruited rookies dragged out to fill numbers.

He honestly thought the wastelanders of the River Valley Province fought better.

The newcomers stepping off the aircraft, however, at least looked like soldiers. Perhaps those were the Enterprise's real elites.

"Those are mercenaries from the Among Cloud Province." The adjutant standing beside him smiled, though his expression carried a hint of contempt. "A bunch of men willing to die for money."

"Whatever their reason for fighting, anyone willing to risk their life is dangerous." Modlin flicked away his cigarette butt and crushed it beneath his boot. "Don't underestimate them."

As the mercenaries headed toward the barracks, another scene was unfolding at the nearby firing range. The recruits of the second company of the first battalion of the 100th Mountain Division were undergoing their final training before deployment. Holding G9 assault rifles, they fired controlled bursts at green targets.

Thanks to state-of-the-art optical sights and noise-reduction systems integrated into their helmets, they were all excellent marksmen. Only one or two rounds occasionally missed. Almost every shot struck the bullseye.

Yet the instructor walking behind them in a green military vest seemed completely dissatisfied.

His face was as dark as iron and he roared, "Focus! Your enemies are Mutant Humans that eat people alive! They are not just any Mutant Humans at that, they are the green-skinned kind! They're stronger than those fish-men with scales, more patient, and more cruel!"

"If you fall into their hands, don't expect to ransom your way home! You better pray they kill you quickly!"

The recruits were already used to his rough shouting. One particularly showy troublemaker emptied his magazine early and yelled back, "You're absolutely right, sir! But we'll never fall into the hands of those idiots..."

Before he could finish, a boot slammed into his backside. He sprawled across the table and nearly tumbled into the shooting range.

The instructor grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him like a chicken. "Request permission before speaking!"

"Yes, sir!"

"I said to request permission to speak!"

"S-sir!"

The instructor narrowed his eyes at the trembling recruit. He was a veteran of the 26th Assault Team. He had followed Commander Yun's expedition from the Among Cloud Province all the way across the Great Desert, chasing the traces and signals of the Pioneer.

Unlike those youngsters who had signed up for the frontlines after playing a few rounds of battle royale games, he had seen the real wasteland. He had seen Mutant Humans and he had seen what Mutant Humans did to unlucky victims.

In the end, however, he said nothing. He merely gave the frightened recruit a meaningful look before releasing his collar.

Turning toward the other recruits who had stopped shooting to watch the scene, he roared, "What are you looking at?! Watch your weapons, watch your targets and pray they don't move! When you get to the front lines, don't piss yourselves!"

His foul-mouthed shouting echoed across the training grounds, louder than the constant gunfire.

After training ended, a flood of recruits poured out of the range and headed toward the cafeteria. Although they had just been chewed out, it did nothing to diminish their appetites.

"Dammit... after three months of getting yelled at, we're finally heading to the front lines tomorrow!"

"Haha! My blade is thirsty for battle!"

"I'll show you guys what the Sniper God of P-City can do!"

"I wonder if they sell LD-47s here. That gun is really strong!"

"Seriously. The G9 assault rifle doesn't kick nearly enough! It doesn't deserve to be held alongside my exoskeleton!"

"I'm gonna borrow a better weapon from the New Alliance guys later."

At the entrance to the training grounds, watching the noisy recruits, Sideline Slacking turned to Su Ming with a bewildered expression. He gulped nervously and asked, "These guys... are they really going to be okay?"

The players themselves were often just as noisy. The difference was that they couldn't truly die. And because nobody wanted to suffer through the three-day respawn penalty, most players became extremely serious once combat actually began.

Clearly, the NPCs weren't like that. They looked more like people who had no idea where they were going the next day or what they would encounter there.

Su Ming looked slightly embarrassed and eventually, he coughed lightly. "Don't judge them too quickly. They really did spend three months in boot camp. They won't drag everyone down."

Sideline Slacking cautiously asked, "... Virtual reality training grounds?"

Su Ming tried to explain. "That only accounted for 50% of their training time. We also conducted live-fire drills and physical conditioning."

Sideline Slacking froze in shock.

Good grief. 50%?! That’s a lot of time training in virtual reality.

Still, to be fair, the Highest Council treated these rookies pretty well. The number of bullets they fired in a single day probably exceeded what he had fired during his final two years as a firefighter back on Earth.

Looking at their excellent equipment, Sideline Slacking couldn't help feeling a little jealous. Just as those Enterprise recruits looked at him with envy, he looked at them the same way.

It was nice being rich...

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