"Good morning, dear audience! This is your beloved host, House, speaking to you. Before we dive into the latest news updates, I would like to take a moment to pay the utmost respect to our esteemed city leader. Now without further ado, let's get started with our exciting program!"
"Today, Clearspring City remains calm and tranquil. Out of fear, those primitives with snake tattoos on their faces have begun fleeing eastward!"
"It's such a pity. If they had come here, I would have liked to interview these mindless folks... Marching south? What exactly were they thinking?!"
"Not only the marauders tremble before our mighty military strength, but also our neighbors to the north. Those folks floundering in the Tide had recently had a brawl with the small fries up north, leaving them bruised and battered. Now, they are hiding in the sewers, licking their wounds.”
"What a pitiful lot, tut-tut. But lately, their minds have finally opened up, sending their settlement leader, some kind of Dawn City Mayor, to our City Hall for negotiations."
"It seems they've finally realized that attaching themselves to the strong is the only way to survive in the wasteland!"
At an unnamed tavern's bar counter, an old radio sat covered in dust, blaring an exhilarating voice.
The Voice of Boulder Town was always the favorite program among Boulder Town's citizens. After all, there were only a few signals one could receive in the wasteland.
The channel aired classical music 24/7, occasionally interspersed with Mr. House's news or Ways of Getting Rich, catering to the citizens' entertainment needs and providing material for those who loved daydreaming, fueling their imagination.
However, not everyone was satisfied with that sharp, yet hoarse voice. Especially those whose lives were not going as they wished.
"Can't this annoying pest keep his bird beak shut?" grumbled a man in a brown leather jacket, taking a sip of beer lighter than water, his stubbled mouth twitching in anger.
His name was Spielberg.
In Boulder Town, it was an insignificant name.
And Mr. Spielberg's occupation was far from what you would expect from his name. He was a mere factory worker in a cannery.
As for why he was drinking there...
Naturally, it was because he was about to be unemployed.
In Boulder Town, canned goods weren't popular. The elite wouldn't eat them, and the average residents couldn't afford them.
Only some large merchant caravans and mercenary groups would purchase canned goods to improve their meals and boost morale.
And for those lone-wolf mercenaries, they preferred short-term gigs nearby, managing a couple of days away with just dry rations. While they had spending power, they preferred to splurge on alcohol and women.
Due to low profit margins and inadequate production capacity, food processing giants like the Vega Trading Company had no interest in this industry.
There were only 2 small factories in Boulder Town producing canned goods, offering just 2 varieties, two-headed oxen meat and hyena meat.
Recently, shelves in Boulder Town's shops suddenly stocked instant noodles and sausages.
The former, as the name suggested, were fried noodles sold in paper cups, which could be eaten by either soaking them in hot water for 5 minutes after tearing the cup open or consumed dry.
As for the latter, the meat was indistinguishable, giving a starchy feeling, but surprisingly tasty, perhaps due to a generous amount of salt?
In short, Spielberg had never seen such strange food, and it was undoubtedly made by their neighboring settlement.
Ever since these instant noodles and sausages appeared in Boulder Town, their canned goods stopped selling entirely. By the time their boss realized the severity of the issue, the cannery factory was on the brink of closure.
The boss gave all the workers time off, asking them to wait for further notice.
Spielberg knew well that although it was termed as that, it was essentially no different from being fired.
The closure of the cannery factory was just a matter of time. That fat-headed guy obsessed with profits would undoubtedly sell it off while the machinery could still fetch some money.
Now, Spielberg was left with only 2 options.
Either become a mercenary or guard for a merchant caravan or try his luck in the northern suburbs.
Recently, the northern threats had just been resolved, and the trade route to the River Valley Province's north had reopened. Major merchant caravans and mercenary groups were hiring, requiring no experience. They only required just the ability to handle a gun.
As for the northern suburbs, it seemed there was a constant demand for labor. However, it was rumored they paid not in chips but in their own currency called silver coins.
But whichever option he chose, Spielberg found it hard to make a decision.
After all, even if he was poor, he had a house in Boulder Town to shelter him.
But once he left the giant wall, it meant entering a barbaric world where the law didn't exist. Those uncivilized savages outside the wall would capture civilized people and toss them into boiling pots.
Just thinking about it kept him awake all night, filled with fear.
It was too terrifying!
Concerns about the future of Boulder Town were not limited to minor characters like Spielberg.
Ever since hearing that the City Hall was going to sign a Friendly Cooperation Agreement with the New Alliance, Vega had been losing sleep every night.
He didn't care about the rifles and canned goods on Boulder Town's store shelves, but the existence of Ditway Nutrient Cream had severely threatened the Vega Trading Company's business.
The price of that nutrient cream was so low that it undercut even his production costs.
It was not an exaggeration to say that if he shut down his factory, imported Nutrient Cream from the northern suburbs, and then sold it in the south, he would be able to make more than what he was producing!
It was simply outrageous!
Did those country bumpkins set up factories just to do charity work?
"The people at the City Hall are simply a bunch of pigs! No... Even calling them pigs will be an insult to the animals!” exclaimed Vega in his opulent room.
This was the reception room of the Vega Trading Company, and present were various business magnates.
Although everyone held a certain status, there was no need to worry about their images while together.
Everyone was thoroughly dissatisfied with the City Hall's decision.
"What's even more ridiculous... These fat pigs are shamelessly flaunting their so-called friendly agreement, thinking they've achieved something remarkable," added a man in a high-collar shirt, his face clearly displaying anger.
His name was Jonah, who managed Boulder Town's largest cotton mill. His cotton fabrics, clothing, and shirts not only held over 60% of the market share in Boulder Town but were also exported to Brocade River and Sunset provinces.
Starting from the beginning of the year, the country bumpkins in the north suburbs began producing cotton fabrics and clothing too.
At first, he didn't pay much mind, after all, a small workshop or two weren't worth his concern.
However, not long after, he realized just how wrong he was.
In just half a year, the clothing produced by the New Alliance first dominated Boulder Town's bars, then conquered those mercenaries who were willing to spend money, and then took over the entire outer city.
They produced sturdy gun bags, bulletproof vests, backpacks, as well as less durable coats or clothes.