Chapter 678.2: Art Is The Best Motivation |
At the bow, a short-haired girl jumped around and waved energetically toward the port. “Goodbye, friends of Ring Island! Thank you for your hospitality, we’ve caused you so much trouble! Roro will remember this favor!”
The giant white bear at the railing whipped its head around. “Gi…ao? Why me?!”
Tail winked playfully. “Hehehehehe, don’t mind the details.”
“Details my ass!”
Though he couldn’t wait to see them gone, Stilwell still put on his most diplomatic smile, waving his hat. “Safe travels! Come again anytime!”
Please don’t ever come again.
Not catching the sarcasm in his tone, Tail shouted back cheerfully, “Sure! We definitely will! See you soon!”
Her bright voice carried away with the ship’s long whistle until both faded beyond the horizon.
Stilwell placed his hat proudly back on his head, beaming.
Moments later, aboard the Northwest Wind, Mojave turned to Captain Song Haining with a grin. “Captain, let’s set sail too!”
The captain merely nodded and called out, “Weigh anchor!”
Another horn echoed over the port once more.
Three days had passed since it docked.
In that time, the Moonfolk women from the Roro Boat had cleaned over a thousand hides and scrubbed the Poor Bitch spotless. The decks gleamed like polished wax, and instead of rot, a faint sweetness lingered in the air.
It was perhaps just his imagination, but Captain Song could find no more faults. Thanks to them, his strained relationship with Mojave had thawed a little.
No longer threatening to throw him and his cargo overboard, the captain merely warned him not to dump any more shit on deck.
Now, instead of ore and coal, the Poor Bitch carried furs, pearls, shells, coral, and industrial goods bound for the Camel Kingdom. It was a fine trade indeed.
Once they reached Silvermoon Bay, the voyage would be complete. Yet even before setting sail, Mojave was already scheming his next run.
That lucky port, French Fry Harbor, sitting at the Baiyue Strait’s eastern mouth, sooner or later, other merchants would find it.
Once regular routes formed and competitors arrived, striking it rich again would be much harder.
Captain Song, gazing westward at the open sea, murmured, “If that port gets built sooner, all the better.”
Mojave looked at him in surprise. “My friend, you’ve changed your opinion of them?”
“I never disliked them,” the captain said calmly. “I was just wary. What I hate are those who break their word.”
Mojave rubbed his nose awkwardly. “Alright, alright, let’s call it even then, yeah?”
Song Haining gave him a long, meaningful glance, then turned back toward the Baiyue Strait.
“I’ll give them this, they’re hard workers. If they’re still around next time, I might just stop by for another wash.”
A ship-cleaning business, huh?
The idea popped into his head, and the more he thought about it, the better it sounded.
He was getting too old for long voyages; even at the helm, he often needed a chair to rest on. But after so many years at sea, he knew dozens of captains, old and young alike.
If he opened a ship-cleaning company, customers wouldn’t be hard to find.
Under the morning sun, two freighters, the Roro Boat and the Poor Bitch, departed one after the other, escorted by patrol boats through the waters filled with sea mines, heading east toward the Baiyue Strait.
Meanwhile, south of French Fry Harbor, a team of strength type players in exoskeletons carried massive 10 meter teak logs toward the shoreline.
Among hardwoods, teak had the lowest warping coefficient and best resistance to bending, dense, durable, and moisture-resistant. With no steel or concrete available, it was the ideal substitute.
Its only flaw was its weight, even the lightest logs were nearly a ton each, heavy even for people wearing exoskeletons. However, for strength type players, it was child’s play.
The sand, however, couldn’t handle them; every step they took caused them to sink to their knees. The beach behind them looked like a field plowed by oxen. At the end of those tracks stood rows of wooden piles, the foundations of a pier. All they had to do was lay planks vertically, cross more horizontally, and soon they would get a temporary dock.
Though French Fry Harbor’s shareholders had already decided to hire a Dawn City construction team for a proper port, that multimillion project would take time, tenders, designs, approvals.
They couldn’t just sit and watch ships sail by.
In the end, the players decided to build a few wooden docks reaching into deep water, to use for the time being.
Later, when the actual port was finished, those makeshift ones could become a yacht pier or passenger terminal.
They had even begun planning future tourism projects!
After three days of work, the first dock’s framework was taking shape. It wasn’t yet ready for cargo, but sturdy enough for foot traffic.
Without dredgers or construction ships, this progress was remarkable, though, to be fair, the crew building it was made up of powerful awakeners.
Next, they planned to haul stones from the nearby hills to reinforce the base, making it strong enough for loading.
Sword Execution, carrying a pile-driver hammer, wiped seawater from his face and shouted, “Come on, boys! Let’s finish the pier today!”
“Woooh!” the players roared in uneven unison, less spirited than three days ago, but they were still trying.
Their excitement had waned. After all, player motivation always followed a curve. Even with good pay, repetitive labor dulled enthusiasm. Usually, morale could be boosted, with bonuses, or with applause.
In Dawn City, working meant not only fair pay but also cheers from passersby shouting about how awesome they were.
Here, surrounded only by fellow workers, things got dull.
“Sword bro, when do we get NPCs at our port?”
“Yeah, maybe there won’t be any?”
“Did the devs ever promise buildings would spawn people?”
“Damn it!”
Hearing the complaints, Sword Execution coughed and tried to rally them. “Don’t panic, brothers! Maybe once the pier’s done, NPCs will start spawning!”
And right as he said that, movement appeared on the distant horizon.
A sharp-eyed player squinted southeast, suddenly shouting, “Sword bro, a ship’s coming, no, there are two ships!”
Instantly, everyone perked up, dropping their tools and turning to look.
“Holy crap!”
“For real?!”
Sword Execution raised his head, sure enough, two ships were approaching. When he recognized the flag, his eyes lit up.
“It’s Tail!”
At once, the tired workers erupted in cheers, not for Tail herself, but for the 1,000 or so beautiful maids aboard her ship.[1]
This, this was why they worked so hard, it was to make French Fry Harbor great again!
“Hell yeah, the NPCs are spawning!”
“Push harder, brothers! We’re almost done!”
“Teng Teng’s art pieces are coming!”
“RAAAAHHH!”
“You guys are nasty!”
Before Sword Execution could even shout, the team was already working like madmen.
Before their eyes, the half-built dock extended toward the shore with stunning speed.
Even Sisi, standing on deck with her telescope, was dumbfounded by the speed.
“What are they so excited about?” she murmured.
Sensing her stare, Tail averted her gaze, whistling innocently. Too bad for her, Sisi could see right through her guilt.
Sesame Paste chuckled helplessly. Her keen hearing caught the shouts carried by the sea breeze. However, she decided to pretend she hadn’t heard a thing.
1. translation of translation: 1,000 or so beautiful maidens on board the Roro Boat does not consist of Tail ☜
