070. Vanlenkov Autonomous State (Part 3)
"Take a look around you—what do you feel most strongly?"
Li Aozi glanced at the empty street, with only a few scattered pedestrians hurrying by, making the place look especially deserted.
"Desolation," Li Aozi said. "It's like a financial crisis hit; barely any alien life forms crawling around on the streets."
"Exactly, you've pretty much nailed it. This is the truth." Orlaville said solemnly. "The Mercenary City-State, Vanlenkov—15 years ago, the 'United Group' tried to buy this city-state, but its leader, Kalmez, refused."
Orlaville sent Li Aozi a file, showing a recording of the 'United Group's project manager, Shulgo Campeny, visiting to discuss cooperation.
In just one year, 'United Group's subsidiary—Veracci—sent 45,000 employees and seven executives to Vanlenkov, making their intent to acquire the mercenary city-state clear.
"After the acquisition was rejected, it only took half a year for Vanlenkov to start experiencing a broken funding chain, reduced orders, and successive combat defeats, with rising casualties among its soldiers. From that point on, the aliens of Vanlenkov no longer had the power to fight."
Disabled cleaning machines lay sprawled on the street corners, where garbage piled up in heaps. Numerous stores had closed down, leaving only the alien-run candy stores and bars still enjoying decent business.
"Then, bereaved families who previously had friendly relations suddenly organized and methodically demanded compensation from the High Corps. Coupled with protests across various regions, they drained Vanlenkov's national treasury dry."
Protest banners and signs lay discarded in trash bins, while a homeless man picked them up and tossed them into a bonfire. The flames cast his weathered face in an orange glow, thawing his cold expression as he took a medal ribbon from his coat and tossed it into the fire, watching it curl and burn in silence.
"Isn't that a good thing?" Li Aozi asked casually. "The narrative-level civilizations must've given a fair amount of money."
"Imagine you own a small barbecue restaurant. Though it's tiny, you've got exceptional skills and a secret family recipe that's drawing in more and more customers. I decide to spend big to buy your place—do you think I'm paying to take your customer flow and recipe or just to get your barely 20,000-ancel store?"
Olavír chuckled coldly:
"For a professional mercenary regiment, the 'United Group's acquisition could be seen as a good thing, but for a mercenary city-state, it's a death sentence."
"How so?" Li Aozi asked.
"The mercenary city-state's foundation rests on its self-made efforts and accumulated business channels and client networks—assets that generate golden eggs. And that's exactly what the 'United Group' wants. Do you think narrative-level civilizations value these aliens' combat prowess?"
Olavír scoffed:
"Aside from the C3 Luka-type extraterrestrials, where are there any 'natural warrior races'? Wars are won on national strength. These aliens got rich off war and think they can keep winning. They throw down their tools and outfit themselves with weapons. But their food, gear, and ammunition all come from external suppliers."
"I understand; a military that can't sustain itself can't fight once you cut off their logistics." Li Aozi shrugged. "But it still shouldn't be this miserable, right? The narrative-level civilizations would've given them a decent payout. A couple of business deals, and they should be living comfortably, no?"
"Once acquired, these alien legions are immediately disbanded and dismissed. The 'United Group' then deploys its own trained mercenaries in their place, taking over established relationships and slowly siphoning resources."
Olavír sneered:
"You actually expected a 'civilized' approach from a narrative-level civilization? The more powerful a civilization, the more ruthless it gets. If savagery cuts off your head, 'civilization' will skin and disassemble you, saying, 'Oops, slipped my hand.'"
"But wouldn't this leave the Vanlenkov aliens unemployed?"
Li Aozi looked at the shops along the street:
"No one here is in production. The clothing stores, restaurants—they're all run by aliens. I haven't seen a single alien operating their own business. I did see some combat units headed off when we arrived. These aliens don't seem capable of productive work, do they?"
"Of course not. The Vanlenkov aliens now have no real ability left. They can only keep up a media front, posing as powerful and ferocious so that employers will still hire them, even if they're out of supplies. They'd even throw their bodies overboard to get to the battlefield."
Olavír remarked sarcastically:
"At this rate, the aliens will deplete themselves without any help from the 'United Group.' If I were Shulgo Campeny, I'd be bowing to Red King in thanks for divine blessings."
Li Aozi raised his eyebrow in twisted space:
"Didn't you say you don't joke about gods?"
"Ahem—"
Olavír cleared his throat, quickly changing the subject:
"Aliens lack production capabilities. No one knows why, but it's impossible to teach them. If you're interested, you could investigate it. But let's set that aside for now and talk about your job."
Olavír had no real interest in these aliens; they were already in a slow death spiral.
But when it came to money, no one would complain about earning more.
"When narrative-level civilizations get involved, things get complicated. There are a lot of players involved: Red King's clerics, Veracci's managers, and various smaller groups. Remember, narrative-level civilizations… they're powerful, numerous, and surrounded by plenty of underlings. So let me outline simply what you need to do."
Olavír thought it over, then summarized:
"The leader of Vanlenkov's High Corps, Kalmez, has two sons and a daughter. Someone doesn't want them wiped out, so they need you to help."
"Rescue, huh?" Li Aozi understood but feigned reluctance. "I'm not really good at helping the weak."
"Have your dark elf companion pilot the ship and take his children to Fire Wolf Star in the Titus Nebula. Someone will receive them there."
Olavír said:
"But you're to kill their father—that's the kinder approach."
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[You have triggered a side quest—"Yesterday's Yesterday Was Spring"]
[Type]: Investigation/Assassination
[Duration]: 7 natural days
[Task Difficulty]: A
[Description]:
"The children stay; the father dies."
A strange command, a strange approach, a strange country, a strange fate.
As a loner, you got involved in this conflict by chance. Against a grand narrative, trivial family ties seem both laughable and pitiful.
Even if every sprouting blade of grass is cleared, even if smoke from burning blood and fat billows everywhere, even if machines are abused and natives are driven away—even in such a land, spring remains spring. (Note 1)
No one will pity a nation on the verge of collapse.
No one is born a warrior; it is simply the people who rise up, leaving heroic silhouettes behind. (Note 2)
While you may not feel sympathy for the aliens, there's enough profit here for you.
[Settlement Conditions]:
A. "Fire Thief"—Investigate the circumstances of Kalmez Shield's children and take them away.
Reward: Advancement for your life occupation.
B. "Yesterday's Spring"—Assassinate Kalmez Shield.
Reward: [Tier Promotion Ticket]*1
C. "Doubtful Tomorrow"—Wait until tomorrow.
Reward: Random reward (based on task rating; higher rating, better final reward)