Famine 231: Battle Order

　　[Main God Showdown Countdown: 590 days]
　　[Number of Worlds Currently Collected: 66]
　　[Average Collection Speed: 0.3 per day]

　　[Morning 6:45]

　　Last night, it had poured rain all through the night; the storm finally paused by morning. Yet the sky remained oppressively dim, heavy with dense, impenetrable clouds. The air was so humid it seemed you could wring water from it.

　　Rip!

　　Beneath the blanket of clouds, a loud sound of tape being torn apart pierced the silence.

　　An employee of the farm dashed forward through pools of standing water, tearing open tape as he ran, sending up a spray of water with every step and attracting the attention of players along his path.

　　He slapped the poster in his hand onto the bulletin board, smoothing it down forcefully with both hands, then splashed away in haste toward the next board.

　　Curious players exchanged glances, gradually gathering in groups of twos and threes around the bulletin board. In the blink of an eye, a crowd had formed.

　　The player at the forefront tilted his head back, slowly reading aloud the words written on the notice:

　　”——‘Announcement of Farm Conscription’…?”

　　Rip! Rip! Rip!

　　All at once, the sound of tape being torn echoed throughout the farm.

　　In the eighth year of the Famine Game, the farm—this seemingly idyllic haven that had sprung from nowhere—finally revealed its sharp edge.

　　Every player who had registered their identity at the farm and qualified to enter and exit, was now required to serve.

　　They had already enjoyed all the farm could offer; now, it was time to defend it.

　　A fervent mobilization had begun.

　　And during this process, one person displayed an unexpectedly outstanding ability.

　　Bian Xu.

　　Perhaps it was the support Sizi Yan had always given that gave him courage, or perhaps Bian Xu was gradually adapting to reconnecting with society after his foray at the amusement park…

　　Regardless, in this moment, Bian Xu stepped forward as the [Assistant]. He took up devising strategies, organizing personnel, designing promotional posters, and drafting slogans… With Sizi Yan’s tacit approval, Bian Xu gradually assumed the central role in orchestrating the entire conscription effort. In the preparations with Ai and Aiko’s forces, he disbanded the ranks of attendant warriors, and interwove many of Lin Qiushui’s people and the farm’s veteran soldiers together.

　　Aiko had no objections at all. In fact, she seemed visibly relieved, bowing deeply to Sizi Yan.

　　Gods were always tranquil, which meant none knew when thunderous wrath might fall. For someone to clearly draw a line in the sand was a good thing for everyone involved.

　　Some sneered at the idea.

　　Just feed us, and we’ll eat.

　　Why should we go to the frontlines and risk our lives? What if we get hurt by stray blades?

　　Farm doesn’t pay anyone a salary. If we lose the ability to work, will the farm support us?

　　—It will.

　　When the time came that they were needed, the benefits of Sizi Yan’s preferential treatment for veterans became apparent.

　　Sizi Yan provided unlimited food and medicine to the wounded, offered free installation of prosthetics rated B-class and above, and held many memorial services over these years. The compensation and benefits distributed defied counting, with many preferential policies on all fronts…

　　Bian Xu brought all these things to the forefront again, publicizing them tirelessly.

　　In the Famine Game, the law of the jungle prevailed, and these vulnerable groups rarely received notice.

　　But once doubts began to gnaw, and people looked into the matter, they were startled to discover:

　　Huh?

　　Fighting for the farm, it seemed there really was nothing fearsome about it!
　　So long as one survived, the farm would take care of you for life.

　　In addition, Bian Xu called in the old veterans.

　　The most distinguished among them was none other than Rong Bei, the founder of the largest shop in the [Amusement Park], not only self-made but also the gold-level lecturer who had led countless other players in the park to prosperity alongside him.

　　Rong Bei now wore a precisely tailored pitch-black suit, his short hair neatly arranged. He was just as before—quiet, a bit lame, but he no longer needed to explain himself to any voices of discord. Wherever he appeared, he became the visual anchor of the scene; admiring and respectful gazes would flock to him. People surrounded him, eager to seize a spot in his next public lecture or simply to meet him.

　　As for talk of “food scams” or any such nonsense, that was simply no longer tolerated—if anyone dared utter as much as half a syllable, they could expect to be dragged away and thrashed overnight by the crowd.

　　Standing at the center of the spotlight, Rong Bei solemnly declared:

　　“The best decision I ever made was, that night, to step through the farm’s gates.”

　　“I believe, for most of you, it’s no different.”

　　“This is the only chance in our hands to change our own fates.”

　　Not only this—Bian Xu also planned several motivational speeches for Sizi Yan.

　　He knew Sizi Yan was often at a loss for words on such occasions, so he wrote out all the speech drafts. Sizi Yan was free to use them or improvise as he pleased. Bian Xu’s scripts frequently referenced their seven years of hunger and darkness, but never wallowed in misery; instead, they were succinct, forceful, and powerful.

　　As Sizi Yan recited the words, the audience’s emotions would surge, thunderous applause and cheers almost drowning out his voice, even after it had been strengthened.

　　As for any dissenting clamor,

　　“Managing internal affairs, persuading our own, balancing between comrades and friends—leave all that to the Assistant,”
　　Bian Xu said with a smile.
　　“Sir, as long as—”

　　“As long as you stand at the vanguard, we will have the courage to face any hardship.”

　　From the floor, Bian Xu looked up at Sizi Yan and said softly,

　　“Leave it to me.”

　　The brilliant spotlights lit his pupils, as though a pondful of starlight shone within them.

　　He could be cautious and guarded, or bold and decisive. As long as Sizi Yan made a decision, Bian Xu would resolve all issues of mobilization and implementation for him.

　　Amidst thunderous applause, Sizi Yan knelt on one knee, grasped Bian Xu’s hand, and pulled him up onto the stage.
　　He did not need to say much—at a moment like this, Bian Xu ought to be by his side.

　　………
　　……

　　All in all, under such a strong offensive, the policy was implemented with none of the difficulties Sizi Yan had imagined.

　　Not only was there no pushback from most players; instead, they responded to the farm’s call with a passion—almost fanatic in its intensity.

　　They shouted slogans and crowded the conscription office until the threshold was worn thin.

　　In the empty night sky, atop the heights, Sizi Yan gazed down at the lights of the farm. “Aren’t they afraid?” he asked.

　　Don’t they know who their enemy is?

　　An unshakable, all-destroying Main God.

　　Bian Xu stood behind him, replying, “They’re afraid.”

　　He turned his head, his golden eyes reflecting both the lights of the farm and Sizi Yan’s crimson irises:

　　“They are so afraid it makes them tremble, so afraid it keeps them awake every night.”

　　“Afraid of going back to those seven years—afraid of once again wailing beside a starving, dying lover, of slogging alone through desolate land, fighting with all their might for a single roasted potato.”

　　“Who doesn’t know the Main God is out to get us? Who doesn’t know continuing to play this game is no solution? But—what else can we do?”

　　Bian Xu paused.

　　“Most of the time, people aren’t stupid—they’re lost. They don’t know what to do, or where safety lies.”

　　“This world has never lacked those with ambition, only those who, after risking their lives and countless attempts in all directions, end up with nothing but an empty outcome and a brief line in history: ‘an error in judgment’ or ‘a pioneering foundation.’”

　　“To follow a leader who can forge a new future, to walk down the right path, to do something with one’s life—this is an incredibly rare opportunity.”

　　He lowered his head, almost reverently kissing Sizi Yan’s fingertips.

　　“Meeting you is my good fortune.”

　　Soft warmth pressed against his fingertip.

　　And out of nowhere, Sizi Yan recalled a scene from many years ago.

　　Bian Xu, kneeling at his feet, gently kissed his fingers and said, “I am your most faithful believer.”

　　………
　　……

　　[Main God Showdown Countdown: 561 days]
　　[Number of Worlds Currently Collected: 76]
　　[Average Collection Speed: 0.3 per day]

　　Do something!

　　Do something for our own lives, for the world we wish for.

　　Under this creed, conscription in the farm was officially set in motion.

　　Farm service was generally divided into three categories.

　　First was the formally organized units, led by the [Skeletal Ferry Escort].

　　This time, with plenty of time to prepare, Sizi Yan did not disband the Skeletal Ferry escort, instead allowing these most elite warriors of the Famine Game—under their leader Nie Du—to take the field in their full strength.

　　Nie Du was naturally delighted.

　　Amid his joy, he could not help a trace of concern, and found an opportunity to jokingly ask Sizi Yan, “Mr. Si, aren’t you afraid I’ll hold too much military power?”

　　Sizi Yan laughed too, clasping Nie Du’s only remaining hand. “I trust you, just as you trust me.”

　　Nie Du grinned, pursing his lips, and gave his hand a firm shake.

　　The Skeletal Ferry Escort was joined by the Spring Grass Mercenaries, the Abyss Squad from Yan City, and so on—none of them dissolved this time.

　　They were the finest team players among humanity in the game; they would be the sharp blade of mankind.

　　Of course, Sizi Yan did not tell anyone, but he believed everyone understood in their hearts.
　　If a rebellion truly arose, he had ways to make them obey.

　　Contingency regulations, binding vines, and at worst a ban from all farm transactions…

　　Including himself, no one wanted to see such methods truly put to use.

　　Second was the militia reserve, composed mainly of service players and less capable or retired producers.

　　These players were not required to undergo full-time military training. Instead, after ending the day’s work early, they would devote part of the evening to intensive nighttime drills.

　　The primary focus of this night training was—

　　“Survival.”

　　Lin Qiushui stood atop a platform, addressing the neatly lined ranks of players below:

　　“The most important thing is survival—not just survival for yourselves, but for the people maintaining our back lines as well.”

　　“You must learn how to keep the farm running under the harshest emergencies, to maintain production and life, to ensure every front-line warrior receives the supplies they need.”

　　“This is no small task. The first time [the Eye] descended on the farm, it was countless service players who saved my life, turning the entire battle around.”

　　The chorus replied with a resounding: “Yes!!”

　　Real elderly, infirm, or disabled—few had survived to this day. Everyone standing here was nourished and whole, thanks to the farm; when the critical moment came, each possessed the strength to fight.

　　These were not mere civilians, but a well-trained logistics corps.

　　When necessary, they would be the farm’s last line of defense.

　　Third was the full-time standing army.

　　This primary force of the farm was the largest in number, composed of highly skilled fighters used to working outside, clearing missions, and conquering worlds.

　　These people resembled something between ancient mercenaries and levied soldiers; Sizi Yan arranged their units and tailored their drills.

　　Day-to-day, they remained in production, training and fighting for several months each year, providing their own equipment. Pay was distributed for each day spent in training or combat.

　　And if needed, no matter what, they must report for duty!

　　Reporting wouldn’t be an issue; the real challenge lay elsewhere.

　　The training ground for the main force was in the Abyss.

　　Hu Yongchang stood in formation, eyeing the officer out front in puzzlement. “What could someone like me possibly learn from him?” he muttered.

　　Around him, others wore similar expressions.

　　This was the close-combat group’s assault squad. Hu Yongchang hefted a massive doorslab broadsword across his back, Old Li on his left favored a long spear, and Lin Ya, to his right, had used a nine-section whip since first joining the Famine Game.

　　And the officer in the center of the grounds, the warrior Yamada, held a katana in his hands.

　　Who among them felt comfortable with such a weapon?

　　Yamada quickly dispelled their doubts.

　　Slash!

　　[Successfully Digested Flesh—of Livestock] endowed him with great muscle strength. Light flashed as his blade fell, splitting a cluster of root fibers in a single stroke.

　　All watched in astonishment.

　　Yamada flicked the blood from his blade, pointing at the marker projected atop the target.

　　“Lock onto this marker. This is our squad’s objective.”

　　“I don’t care what methods you use—so long as this marker appears, in thirty seconds I expect to see the anomaly beneath it dead.”

　　“There are seven possible marks I can assign. Execute targets according to their priority. The highest-priority mark is at the commander’s discretion. If the commander dies or is cut off, the agility and ranged squads may request the next-highest mark. Meanwhile, I will teach squad leaders how to assign lesser targets to their subordinates…”

　　The method did not matter. There were no fixed movements or prescribed drills. All was result-driven.

　　If ranged players required a certain target killed to open fire?

　　Fine—leave it to us!

　　Such was the battlefield method crafted by these squads, composed of both the dead from different ages and living players.

　　Hu Yongchang and the others listened in awe, their attention fixed.

　　Though the training was hard, nobody begrudged it in the least.

　　The underlying reason was of course to protect the farm, but the immediate motivation was…

　　Ding ding ding ding ding!!!

　　A racket of gongs and drums sounded.

　　The canteen manager stood at the edge of the Abyss, hollering below:

　　“Hey!! The canteen’s open—come eat!!”