owlsbooks Chapter 16 The Real New Map
Chapter 16 The Real New Map
Lynn's sailboat slowly sailed away from the main channel, sandwiched between two black-flagged speedboats.
The blue and white colors in our field of vision were quickly left behind.
Instead, there was an increasingly thick gray smog and a pungent smell of rust and crude oil in the air.
However, within a distance of about two or three nautical miles, the water quality deteriorated drastically.
The seawater here turned into a viscous black, with large clumps of oil and unidentified decaying matter floating on the surface.
Along the coastline, the smooth white steps are no longer visible. As far as the eye can see, there are mountains of garbage made of rusted gears, discarded planks, and scrap metal.
The massive, half-destroyed hull of the ship, like the skeleton of a dead behemoth, lay haphazardly in the black mudflats.
This is the glamorous side of Pearl Harbor, a shipwreck area that no one wants to set foot in.
"Bang!"
The bow of the boat struck the dilapidated wooden pier with a dull thud.
Arrived.
The scarred man kicked open the side door and turned back to glare fiercely at Lynn.
"We're here, you hillbillies." The scarred man spat onto the deck.
"Remember this taste. You'd better reflect on your actions in this swamp. When you're so hungry you can't even swallow the mud on the mudflats, you'll naturally crawl on your knees like wild dogs to lick the soles of Lord Bolton's shoes."
After saying this, he and his men laughed as they jumped back into the black ship and sailed away.
On the wooden pier, the sea breeze blew, stirring up a nauseating, fishy stench.
"You're leaving already? I thought we'd have to go through the motions and have a fight." The little snail sheathed its iron sword, a hint of regret in its voice.
"NONONO!" Xiaoyu pointed her finger and said, "We're advancing the plot! Now we definitely need to develop in this new map and gradually fight our way back to Pearl Harbor."
Carrying the bucket and running away, he was already lying on the ship's side, staring at the ruins with shining eyes, muttering to himself: "Good heavens, so many high-strength abandoned keels and ready-made hull plates... This is practically a free building materials warehouse! I only regret that I'm not a shipbuilding major."
The players' reaction was exactly what Lynn had expected.
Lynn stepped off the ship onto the blackened wooden planks, his gaze sweeping over the desolate coastline.
He felt no humiliation at being driven out by the local bullies; on the contrary, his mind was racing to calculate the value of the place.
Bolton thought that exiling them here was a form of suppression, but in the eyes of Lynn, the GM who controlled the Fourth Calamity, this place was simply the most perfect natural sandbox bestowed by the system.
Being far from the main urban area of Pearl Harbour means there are no official guards patrolling here from the Arbitration Commission, and no cumbersome entry registration.
This is an absolute lawless zone, a perfect blind spot for development.
No matter how much noise players make here, it won't trigger an official alert immediately.
Most importantly, there are people here.
Lynn's gaze passed through the pile of scrap and landed on a group of laborers not far away.
They were a group of laborers dragging a discarded iron anchor through waist-deep black water.
They were barely clothed, covered in black mud, and each of them was emaciated with sunken eyes.
But what caught Lynn's attention was the group's physique.
Although they were skin and bones, their necks were abnormally swollen, and their exposed limbs were swollen as if they would burst if poked.
This is definitely not caused by simple hunger.
Lynn stepped forward and stopped an old laborer who had just thrown scrap metal ashore and was squatting in the mud, panting heavily.
The old laborer stared in horror at the incongruous young man, instinctively wanting to shrink back.
Lynn didn't say anything, but took out a small piece of coarse black bread that he had brought from Rainbow Village from his pocket and threw it on the muddy ground in front of the old laborer.
The old laborer's eyes widened in astonishment.
He pounced on it like a wild beast guarding its food, not even bothering to wipe off the black mud stuck to the bread, and stuffed it directly into his mouth and chewed it frantically.
Eat slowly.
Lynn looked down at him and asked calmly, "With such a vast sea right under your noses, why are you so desperately short of salt?"
The old laborer paused in his swallowing motion.
He raised his head, despair flashing in his cloudy eyes, before letting out a bitter laugh.
"Hai? Sir, you must be from out of town."
The old laborer pointed tremblingly at the black seawater, "That's not the sea, that's poisonous water."
Through the old coolie's intermittent narration, a cruel picture unfolds before Lynn.
As the largest trading hub on Victoria's Treasure Island, Pearl Harbor has countless alchemy workshops operating day and night, and countless giant merchant ships powered by magical ores passing through the port.
The discarded alchemical residue, the heavy metal waste liquid from magic ships, and even the polluted blood of deep-sea monsters were all discharged into this bay without restraint.
Boiling the seawater near the shore on your own will not yield any edible salt.
The bottom of the pot will only release magical heavy metal crystals that are highly toxic, hallucinogenic, and can even cause internal organ rot.
"Some people used to boil seawater when they were starving." The old laborer shook his head helplessly and didn't say anything more.
In this city, the only way to get a mouthful of clean salt is to buy the clean salt produced by the Trade Arbitration Commission.
On the committee's territory, there is a large magical water purification array presided over by a high-level mage.
That was the only thing in the entire Pearl Harbor that could filter out magical contamination.
Bolton, acting as the committee's front man, firmly controlled the distribution of clean salt at the grassroots level.
"In Pearl Harbor, salt is more useful than gold coins."
The old laborer, tired of squatting, shifted his position and sat down. "If Uncle Bolton doesn't distribute salt, we'll die. To survive, we have no choice but to work for him, spending our lives scavenging scrap metal here. We don't have indentures, but this sea... it's a knot around our necks."
A monopoly that preys on people.
After listening, Lynn finally understood why Bolton wasn't afraid of them running away at all.
On this land, force is merely the lowest form of rule; what truly controls the lives of the common people is the vital survival resource that chokes them.
Standing in the cold wind, Lynn subconsciously touched the thing inside her inner lining through the fabric of her trench coat.
It was a kraft paper envelope without any signature, sealed with sealing wax until it hardened.
This was also the token that the old village chief Lucas secretly slipped into his hand before he left, away from everyone else.
"If things don't go well at the start, go to the Black Mud Tavern at the bottom of the shipwreck area and find a one-eyed old man." Lucas's whisper echoed in Lynn's ears. "Give him this letter and tell him that Rainbow Village has come to collect old scores from back then."
Lynn ran his fingertips along the rough edge of the envelope, as if he were pondering something.
The waters of Treasure Island ran deeper than he had imagined. Rainbow Village, a beginner's village where even a shovel was hard to come by, actually harbored secrets within this cannibalistic den of demons.
However, now is not the time to reveal our hand.
"Master GM!"
The sound of someone carrying a bucket and running away nearby interrupted Lynn's thoughts.
"I've inspected this land! Once we clear the decks of the three sunken ships and drive in a few load-bearing piles, it'll be enough for us to build an initial defensive camp!"
He waved the broken, rusty iron pipe he had picked up from the ground, shouting excitedly:
"But we don't have the money to hire NPCs right now. These laborers look like they're starving to death. If we make them work, they probably won't even be able to haul anything."
Lynn snapped out of his thoughts and was just about to open the system panel to see how to issue a task.
Just then, a piercing scream suddenly came from the rocky beach at the edge of the camp.
"Holy shit... OMG!!"
Lynn and several other players quickly turned to look.
The whole roasted lamb was curled up and lying on its side on the mudflat, its hands tightly clutching its stomach, its body convulsing violently.
White foam had even begun to spill from the corners of his mouth, and his face had turned an extremely eerie bluish-gray.
Beside him lay an overturned rusty tin can, bubbling with steam from the fire, and a little yellowish-brown murky liquid at the bottom.
"Holy crap, what's wrong with you?!" The little snail was startled and rushed over to help him up.
"No, no, no, no... don't touch me..."
The whole roasted lamb struggled to raise one hand, pointing tremblingly at the tin can, its eyes brimming with tears forced out by the physical pain.
"I...I just saw that NPC say the seawater is poisonous...I don't believe it..." The roasted whole lamb's features contorted, his voice broken, "I wanted to test the survival mechanics of this damn game...so I boiled a pot of seawater, and licked...licked a mouthful of salt residue at the bottom of the pot..."
The agent turned his head away, feeling he couldn't bear to look: "NTTSB, right..."
The whole roasted lamb quickly focused its mind and lowered its pain threshold to the lowest possible level before it felt a little better.
The players in the camp were confused, since the death mechanism had never been triggered before.
The poor whole roasted lamb in front of us seems beyond saving.
Watching the whole roasted lamb slowly die, Lynn rubbed his hands together with anticipation, finally having the chance to understand the death and resurrection mechanism of this Fourth Calamity system.