novelhk Chapter 31: If you can't beat them, just unplug the internet?
Chapter 31: If you can't beat them, just unplug the internet?
Only three days later.
On the edge of the Pearl Harbor shipwreck area, a colossal gray-white behemoth with a rugged industrial style rises abruptly from the mud and acid mist.
The temporary deep-water floating platform, constructed from cement produced using traditional methods and mixed with discarded steel bars, is wide, flat, and extremely sturdy.
Compared to the surrounding wooden boardwalks that have been eroded by seawater for years, turning black and decaying, it seems like a creation that doesn't belong to this era.
At the very front of the floating platform, the heavy-duty crane sponsored by Old One-Eyed stands tall, like a steel rhinoceros beetle, demonstrating its extremely high throughput efficiency to the entire harbor.
Logically speaking, in a trading port where efficiency is pursued every second, such a brand-new and spacious deep-water wharf would be enough to drive the merchant ship owners, who are already exhausted from queuing up, into a frenzy.
However, the opening ceremony today was so quiet that not even a seabird wanted to defecate.
In the cold sea breeze, several players dressed in white T-shirts and shorts stood neatly on the breakwater like hostesses.
They stared longingly at the sea, their eyes yearning for more.
Not far away, a merchant ship fully loaded with goods slowly sailed into the harbor.
The captain and sailors also noticed the concrete spectacle that had appeared out of nowhere, and they all leaned over the ship's side, pointing and whispering curiously.
But when the captain saw the location of the dock, his expression suddenly changed drastically, and he immediately roared for the first mate to slam the helm to the ground.
The merchant ship drew an extremely abrupt arc on the sea, preferring to queue up at the dilapidated old docks in Bolton rather than daring to approach this new dock even a step closer.
The players on the shore could no longer hold back.
"Damn it! This is the sixth ship we've had to detour this morning!" The climbing snail angrily slammed its helmet onto the concrete. "Is there any interaction left in this game? I've been grinding for three days and three nights burning cement, and you can't even refresh the loading NPCs?!"
"This is definitely a bug!" The agent next to him frantically pointed at the sea. "That ship was clearly heading this way just now, then suddenly it made a sharp turn! This invisible wall is so clunky! I'm going to send a message to the group chat and tell the lousy game designer to come out and get a beating!"
"Yeah, what happened to the promise of grinding for credits? Am I just going to spend my precious youth idling in the sea breeze?"
Just as the players were getting angry and preparing to rant about the game developers blocking the main storyline, Lynn stood calmly in the temporary command post at the back, watching everything unfold.
The command post is a semi-open concrete bunker, and due to the tight schedule, the finished product looks a bit rough.
At that moment, Xiaoyu, dressed in a neat short-sleeved outfit, walked briskly in from outside.
George, elegant and head held high, followed closely beside him with light steps.
"Boss, we've got the intelligence."
Since the battle on the beachhead in the shipwrecked area, the players have grown closer to Lynn. Calling him GM feels a bit distant, so calling him Boss seems like a better option.
Xiao Yu's expression was somewhat serious. He didn't use the game's jargon, but instead reported to the leader in an extremely efficient manner: "It's not that the captain doesn't want to come, it's that Bolton issued a notice."
Lynn poured a glass of filtered warm water and handed it to Xiaoyu: "Take your time."
"Bolton didn't send anyone to cause trouble; she directly used her official connections in the Upper City." Xiaoyu took a sip of water and said in a deep voice, "She issued a blacklist to the Upper City Chamber of Commerce and all ships entering the port. The original wording was: Any merchant ship that dares to dock or unload cargo in the shipwreck area without authorization will have its navigation permit permanently revoked by the Treasure Island Trade Arbitration Committee."
Upon hearing this, Iron Pot Stew, who was studying chemical blueprints in the command post, stopped writing and frowned.
A soft knife kills without drawing blood, yet it is the most deadly.
Merchant ship owners were not afraid of pirates, nor were they afraid of the gangsters wielding rusty iron knives in the shipwreck area.
But they were terrified of the committee, which represented the government and absolute monopoly. Bolton was using the destructive power of the system to directly sentence the new port to economic death.
No matter how well physical defenses are built, they cannot stop the rule-based blockade of capital and power.
"That bitch's ruthless, isn't she? She can't beat us, so she just unplugs the internet?" Da Ne pushed up his homemade goggles made of glass. "Boss, we have production capacity but can't monetize it. Isn't this a dead end?"
"Tap, tap, tap."
Before Lynn could answer, a crisp tapping sound of a cane suddenly came from outside the bunker.
The sound was exceptionally clear on the hard concrete floor.
Old One-Eye swaggered over, accompanied by several skilled black market thugs.
He wasn't physically disabled; he used crutches purely for the sake of appearances.
This underground emperor of the shipwreck area was now staring intently at the incredibly smooth, grayish-white ground beneath his feet with his only remaining eye. He even secretly ground it with the heel of his studded boot, only to find that not a single white mark was left.
A flicker of horror flashed in the old one-eyed man's eyes, but he quickly concealed it, replacing it with a sly, fox-like smile.
"Young man, I must admit, the gray stones you've produced are a miracle."
Old One-Eye walked up to Lynn, casually pointing his cane at the empty sea. "But business is business. A dock without ships, no matter how sturdy it is, is just a slightly larger tomb."
Lynn looked at him calmly without saying a word.
The one-eyed old man chuckled, revealing his fangs as a black market oligarch looking to profit from chaos: "Bolton has cut off your legitimate shipping routes; the license she holds is the noose. However, the black market smuggling ships are not under her jurisdiction."
He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice: "I can get my smuggling fleet docked at your pier and revitalize this stagnant place. As long as there's water, your men won't starve. But in exchange..."
The one-eyed old man held up five withered fingers: "Thirty percent of the shares is not enough, I want fifty percent."
The surrounding air instantly turned cold.
George growled, and the players outside the door sensed something was wrong. They gripped their weapons tightly, ready to fight at the slightest provocation.
Lynn laughed.
Without even a second's hesitation, he decisively shook his head and refused.
"Old One-Eye, I appreciate your kindness."
Lynn's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clearly audible: "The shady dealings on smuggling ships can't whitewash this dock. What I need isn't a few petty thieves sneaking ashore in the middle of the night to bolster the image."
The smile on the old man's face gradually faded, and his single eye narrowed slightly: "Then what do you want?"
Lynn turned around, his proud gaze sweeping across the sea and looking straight at Bolton’s crowded, even somewhat dilapidated old dock.
"I want those legitimate merchant ships flying the Chamber of Commerce flag," Lynn said, emphasizing each word, "that actively beg to dock here."
Old One-Eye scoffed as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world: "Arrogant. Merchant ship owners are cunning as foxes; why would they risk offending the Arbitration Committee of Treasure Island for your sake?"
"Because if they don't come to me, their goods will rot on the deck." Lynn turned her head, her eyes filled with absolute confidence. "In three days at most, there won't be a single laborer willing to carry her loads on the docks of Bolton."
Old One-Eye stared intently into Lynn's eyes, trying to find a flaw in his bluff. But he saw nothing, only a chilling, unfathomable depth.
This made him momentarily believe that the person standing in front of him was Lucas, the man who had stirred up trouble back then.
"Fine." The old one-eyed man gritted his teeth and slammed his cane heavily on the concrete. "I'll give you three days. If no legal ship docks after three days, I'll send someone to dismantle my crane."
Having said that, the one-eyed old man turned and left with his men.
Watching his retreating figure, Iron Pot Stew Big NE leaned forward, swallowed hard, and said, "Boss, you were really imposing just now, but do we really have a way to get the NPCs to defect? Although the food in Bolton is bad, the Upper City is different from our Shipwreck District. At least they can give the laborers tokens to keep them alive."
"No investigation, no right to speak." Lynn dusted off his hands. "Let's go and conduct an on-site investigation of our competitors."
Half an hour later, Lynn led several core players and infiltrated the Pearl Harbor dock.
The sea breeze, carrying the stench of rotting fish and shrimp, the smell of sweat, and the stench of excrement, wafts straight into people's noses.
Returning to this place, Lynn felt a mix of emotions.
Looking through the gap, the group had a complete view of the Bolton Pier.
On the sea, more than a dozen heavy merchant ships flying the flag of the Treasure Island Chamber of Commerce were huddled together, anchored and waiting.
On a few narrow wooden planks, dozens of ragged laborers, like worker ants, trudged along carrying heavy wooden crates.
"Hurry up! Hasn't anyone fucking eaten?!"
On the deck of a merchant ship, the heavily pregnant captain was jumping up and down in a panic, spitting as he yelled, "If this shipment of spices isn't unloaded by nightfall and gets damp, I'll throw you all overboard to feed the sharks!"
Hearing the cursing, the overseer on the shore immediately brandished his leather whip and lashed it hard on the back of a slow-moving old laborer.
The old laborer stumbled and crashed heavily onto the trestle, carrying his goods. His limbs twitched, and he couldn't get up for a long time.
The little snail, lying behind the rubble, grinned and exclaimed, "Holy crap, this game even replicates a 19th-century sweatshop one-to-one? Capitalists would weep at this!"
"It's not that they don't want to go fast, it's that their physiological functions have reached their limit." Xiaoyu stared at the fallen old laborer, her tone certain. "Look at how their calves are twitching. If this game had a stamina bar, these people would definitely be at rock bottom right now, forcibly working while losing health."
"Clang, clang, clang"
Just then, someone banged on a rusty iron basin in the open space of the dock.
It's lunchtime.
The exhausted laborers, their eyes gleaming with the hunger of wolves, scrambled toward the large iron pots.
However, what was scooped out of the pot surprised the players hiding in the shadows.
It was a spoonful of a thick, dark green paste, floating with strange white foam. There was no meat, no oil, just the cheapest seaweed mixed with some kind of suspicious powder.
How are these foods different from those in the shipwreck area?
The laborers held the broken bowls and, without even chewing, poured the contents directly down their throats.
"Eating this stuff and still carrying hundreds of pounds of cargo?" Iron Pot Stewed Big Ne's brows furrowed into a knot. "This doesn't make sense. Seaweed is all fiber and water, zero fat, and pitifully little protein. Machines would break down if they didn't get oil. Bolton is draining the pond to catch all the fish."
Lynn withdrew his gaze and leaned against the cold boulder.
His on-site investigation confirmed his judgment. Bolton's system of rule, seemingly backed by official authority, was in fact an extremely dangerous pressure cooker.
The merchant ship owners were desperate for efficient unloading, while the laborers were completely exhausted.
Between these two huge conflicts of interest, the meager tokens issued by Bolton simply cannot fill the physiological calorie gap.
Under extreme hunger and the pressure of heavy physical labor, the human body's craving for fat, salt, and high-calorie carbohydrates is ingrained in our genes.
"We can get ready to work," Lynn whispered to the two of them.
The stewed lamb in the iron pot and the whole roasted lamb next to it immediately straightened their backs and their eyes lit up.
A new quest has been triggered!
Lynn pulled a heavy money bag from his pocket, which Old One-Eye had given him earlier, and tossed it to the whole roasted lamb.
"Bolton has monopolized the air routes, but she can't monopolize people's stomachs." Lynn looked at the two of them and gave the order, "Take this cash and go to the black market."