Chapter 179
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 179
Chapter Title: Kingdom ? Lv. 167 Hardrock Slum (5)
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The King of the North had, for once, tucked away his usual arrogant expression.
Instead, his face was etched with bewilderment and confusion.
"Explain what this is."
Locust hurriedly spilled everything he knew.
"The guild called Angel's Tears didn't demand any vested interests. Instead, they promised massive financial support. Most people just went along with it. That's why unification happened quietly, without any fuss."
"And you went along with it too, huh?"
"I believed Your Majesty would reach out, so I held out patiently... Ugh!"
"I hit you lightly. Lightly. Your flattery's getting too cocky. Anyway, go on."
Locust's body trembled slightly. Even a mere tap had nearly sent him staggering.
And he was an Exile warrior, no less.
"They said they'd renovate this slum into a proper town district. Said they had plenty of money, no matter the cost."
"Remarkable."
The King of the North glanced around.
It was utter chaos.
Even in the tavern where the king himself was staying, the murmurs were growing loud enough to hear.
Outside, the clamor of carriages and wagons filled the air.
And what they were unloading was nothing but daily necessities and foodstuffs.
Some medical supplies too.
All of it brand new, clean, and gleaming.
Undoubtedly produced in Hardrock's town district and shipped straight here.
Something that should never happen under normal circumstances.
Why would they bother delivering this all the way here? The citizens' pride was immense.
Forged as warriors and Exiles, their grit and self-respect had morphed into a sense of chosen superiority here.
He knew that better than anyone.
Yet right now, the Exiles were unloading those deliveries with reluctant expressions.
How much money had they been paid?
And how much more cash did this Angel's Tears guild still have left?
In a kingdom where plundering made up a hefty chunk of the economy, this could only happen in the early days of a new server opening.
And only if some massive faction unilaterally looted it, staking their claim faster than anyone else.
"This calls for a closer look."
His title changed.
He began stripping off his gear, stowing it piece by piece into his dimensional pouch.
The few remaining patrons in the tavern would still recognize him as the King of the North.
But no one else would.
"The beer's gone flat."
"Boss!"
"Quiet. It's not because of that."
"Yes, sir."
The king tilted his head. Then he tapped his forehead with his finger.
Not a light tap-tap, but a heavy thunk-thunk.
His race was leaf fairy, but the strength in his fingers, the durability of his skull, the toughness of his skin—none of it was fairy-like.
The ears of some wolf- or hyena-like beast twitched rhythmically.
"With idiots flaunting that much money right in front of me... how could I just sit here sipping good booze?"
"Y-Yes, exactly."
"Let's watch a bit longer for now. Something sweet's about to go down."
The king personally drew his own flask from his belt.
He splashed it over Locust's arm, where blood was still oozing.
The mangled limb recovered before the damage could fully set in.
"Wipe up the blood too. And do what you'd have done if I hadn't shown up. I'll just watch."
"Understood!"
He didn't bother silencing the tavern patrons. This was Locust Guild territory from the start.
No one dumb enough to act out after seeing their boss grovel like that.
Jericho had come to see that horrific incident from not long ago as a blessing in disguise.
Angel had gone mad, barging in with some mage and toasting the organization—but she'd also held his family hostage.
In the end, though, he was now basking in ecstasy.
Weapons and armor crafted by master artisans—items slum stragglers couldn't buy even if they had the cash.
In this labyrinth where might made right, nothing was more reliable than top-tier combat gear.
The gleaming new equipment was rune-forged steel, handmade by Hardrock's finest smiths.
As a warrior, his chest swelled with pride.
He wasn't particularly sold on Greenskin ideals, so he didn't think fighting bare-chested was cool.
Armor that could shrug off a rocket launcher?
When death meant losing everything, what a beautiful ring that had.
Even his wife—a fellow warrior—got gear unavailable in the slums.
He'd never planned to raise his non-Exile daughter as a warrior, but she got properly fitted equipment too.
Everything he'd ever wanted had come true.
His organization members had received their desired items without issue.
Some non-Exiles were even pinching themselves to accept this reality.
"Holy shit! We're rich now!"
"Those town district bastards were hogging all this good stuff?"
The Exile members who could enter the town district knew that wasn't true.
This incoming gear was rare even there.
Where the hell had all this money come from?
Did they have adamantine ore or something?
The metal of every warrior's dreams. Even high-rankers rarely owned adamantine alloys.
Hell, it felt more like legend than reality.
Rune steel infused with mana alone was gear everyone envied.
He no longer cared about the disdainful looks from town district snobs.
Even without Jericho, the northern hospital district was in full festival mode.
For most residents, food overflowing like this was a first.
The patients cheered.
Their doctors did too.
The free medical supplies cured ailments and injuries they'd known were untreatable.
The director watched it all, blinking in disbelief.
"How much money do they have? No, what the hell did they do?"
"Could we rent this hospital out as a temple with this?"
The director laughed.
"Of course. Hell, maybe I could become a priest of that Chaos God. Is their suffix 'Money'? Nah, probably not."
"It's the Goddess of Freedom."
"My god. Perfect."
It was the first bright expression Remy had seen on him. His wrinkled face unfolding was almost magical.
Remy felt the unease she'd harbored since arriving fade away.
The emotion clinging to this old doctor wasn't nobility—it was resignation.
No one had ever extended a helping hand like this.
And he'd known better than anyone that even hoping for it was shameful.
"Ha ha, I can't remember the last time I felt this cheerful."
Soon, technicians handling the medical equipment arrived to put their expertise to use.
Machines long neglected and dying hummed back to life.
"Director, just move to the town district already. How long you gonna stay here?"
"How could I leave? No patients in the town anyway, with that spring there."
"People still get sick. Old age doesn't care."
"Bullshit. I'm a surgeon."
Listening to their banter, Remy swallowed bitter saliva pooling in her mouth.
How had she ended up like this?
Back in her second year of middle school, full of dreams, harmonious family, smooth high school prep.
Never missed first place in grades.
Her dream had been to become a doctor.
She suddenly missed her smartphone.
My party members' slum operation had already caught the eye of Hardrock's Three Council representatives.
The dragonkin, knowing exactly what was unfolding, approached from a purely mercantile angle.
Even a half-baked nation was still a nation.
Most Exiles, having experienced democratic and capitalist societies, had built something similar here.
As a result, public authority in the warriors' nation wasn't for just anyone.
The councilor dragonkin wasn't just anyone. Backed by that power, he could reap benefits worlds apart from hasty initial dealings.
That was precisely the situation I wanted.
When I first said I'd steer things this way, my party was stunned.
They couldn't grasp the value of that small pouch the goblin handed over and Hiu brought.
Rare materials tied to combat power fetched more than diamonds of equal weight.
In a world of superhumans, strength trumped money.
Even so, the dragonkin's proposal was surprisingly shrewd.
"I see. So this kingdom has that much population?"
"Yes. But resources from new servers are finite. Even the average ranker level here is 500 higher than in other runs I've seen."
True enough.
Population didn't change the given resources.
The result was that slum out there.
Normally, adamantine alloy gear—fit for rankers—was high-ranker exclusive here.
I knew longevity bred polarization, but this scale and history were new to me.
"Plus, Server 46, eight years open, is barely accessible. Even keyholders number under a hundred."
"They've got 'em here too."
"Immense power. Our resources dry up, but they hold keys to new servers."
"So they're colluding, right?"
The dragonkin latched onto my words with evident relief.
Such smooth talks were rare in the warriors' nation, apparently.
"That's the issue. Server 46 resources barely flow to the kingdom. Even Server 45 shuns Exiles, so we've gotten scraps."
"You lost?"
"Frankly, yes. They botched the puzzle from the start. Plenty of signs, but they changed neither past nor future."
"Too many idiots causing havoc, huh."
"Generational issue. Newbies treat NPCs like doormats."
NPCs could get angry and unite.
No matter how strong Exiles were, in a kingdom, they were time-limited guests.
If the whole world turned hostile, it'd be a nightmare.
Back-to-back server disasters had caused shortages in natural resources.
Even rushed auctions fetched insane prices—hence the background.
"Entrust us with liquidating your goods, and we won't disappoint."
No lies in the dragonkin's resolute face.
This was pure win-win.
Many of my current items suited mages over warriors anyway.
If [Hardrock] handled the trades, we'd gain massive leverage against the mage nation [Arcane].
No reason to refuse, so I shook his hand.
And I still had countless cards left.
Collusion among Server 46 natives? Laughable.
Reality was, my groundwork was blocking their smooth resource gathering.
The Second Fairy War hit too soon. In medieval times, locals would be too busy surviving to deal with Exiles.
Next, planet-scale mining in the future—but there, sharp three-way rivalries made resource leaks hypersensitive.
Their collusion was intentional, but also a smokescreen that their keys weren't as omnipotent as thought.
Bottom line: In this kingdom, only my party could reliably import Server 46 resources.
We'd passed the same tutorial, but starting lines diverged wildly.
Afterward, we'd seized and shaken all [Racial Mainstreams] from Server 46.
The payoff was overflowing, bursting at the seams. Tough to keep a straight face after so long.
The dragonkin looked thrilled too.
Dear Ms. Meyer grasped the conversation's gist and grinned.
Only winners at this table.
Losers would be everyone else.
Just gotta watch the gods' moods. Swing by the pantheon after, then home.
Hiu and the kiddo ignored the talk, savoring desserts.
We ordered extras to go, then left the restaurant.