This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 560.1: Slavelords and Mutant Humans

Pinecone Ranch.

Towering walls of stone bricks interspersed with wooden stakes enclosed a vast swath of land. On one side of the wall stood densely packed houses and on the other, fields crisscrossed by paths and orchards were dusted with snow.

Rather than calling it a ranch, it was more accurate to describe it as a city from a classical era.

Within the walls lived 10,000 to 20,000 people, forming a settlement centered around a marketplace, including officials, craftsmen, soldiers, and their families. Outside the walls were 30,000 to 40,000 more. They were mostly farmers, with more than half being slaves and the rest who were farmers renting the land and had not gone bankrupt yet.

Everything there was the property of the landowner.

Both the land, and the people.

If Boulder Town was the extreme product of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, then the farm was the other extreme born from the free evolution of survivor settlements.

There, there was no sign of industrialization at all.

Though a near-future metropolis was not far off, no trace of inheritance could be found in Pinecone Ranch, not even a faint resemblance.

The reason was actually simple.

A boat won’t move on its own. It needed wind to sail or oars to row.

For Pinecone Ranch, neither factor was present. They weren’t part of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee’s plan, nor did they have the drive to develop their industry.

The landowner had once bought a few machines from Boulder Town, but they didn’t work well and were eventually left to gather dust in the warehouse.

Simply put, whether slaves or farmers teetering on the edge of ruin, they were all considered the private property of the landowner.

Even if those paupers were dressed in new clothes, to the landowner it was just putting old bills into a new wallet. It was a redundant effort.

Still, Pinecone Ranch was far better than most survivor settlements still stuck in the tribal era.

At least some marauder tribes were no match for them, and their agricultural products could even be sold as far as the River Valley Province in the north.

For the past century, exchanging surplus agricultural goods and cash crops for industrial products from Boulder Town had been the economic lifeblood of the farm.

It was no exaggeration to say that without the major players like Boulder Town, there would be no minor survivor factions in the Brocade River Province.

Most landowners there worked with Boulder Town’s traveling merchants or raised a few loyal servants to act as their representatives.

Pinecone Ranch was no exception, and their lord, Zhao Tiangan, was more ambitious than any other landowner.

His father had amassed a substantial inheritance for him, and a small settlement could no longer satisfy his appetite.

He wanted to be like the royal families of the Sunset Province, to build a vast and eternal kingdom on the barren land!

To achieve his grand ambition, he had shown a progressive attitude toward talents and technology from the wasteland. He used the savings from food trade to recruit soldiers and stockpile weapons.

Just when he was full of confidence and ready to act, a disaster came from the north.

A revolution swept over Boulder Town. The Boulder Town Grand Building collapsed overnight. The nobles were either exiled or sent to the New Alliance's labor camps for re-education.

His sponsors had essentially all fallen in that revolution. When he heard the news on the radio, he broke into a cold sweat and didn’t sleep for several days.

To build a vast agricultural empire in the south, support from the industries in the north was indispensable. After all, he couldn’t expect uneducated farmers to operate machines. Knowledge was something he absolutely could not afford to give them.

But now, his biggest partner had sided with the New Alliance.

Though the New Alliance was also a trading partner, ever since the war in the west died and the railway connecting the Sunset Province and the southern River Valley Province opened, grain from the Sunset Province had nearly completely replaced theirs.

For the lords of Brocade River Province, that was nearly fatal.

With chemical fertilizer and high-yield seeds, an acre of land could support two or three people. Without industrial achievements, traditional farming methods required three acres to feed just one person.

When the profits from agricultural exports could no longer buy sufficient means of production and the weapons to protect them, the virtuous cycle would break, and their good days would be over!

Though they wouldn’t immediately go bankrupt, economic decline was all but inevitable.

Without outside interference, they would likely burn through the social wealth accumulated over the past century from Boulder Town trade in 20 to 40 years, until they settled into a new cycle.

Their prosperity would be transferred along the new railway to the oases of the desert!

Pinecone Ranch was still somewhat better off, thanks to a solid foundation. With over 50,000 people, the settlement could naturally generate carpenters, blacksmiths, weavers, alchemists, and other artisans even without intervention.

But smaller farm owners were out of luck. As they watched camu fruit rot in the woodlands, they began to taste the bitter fruit of losing their financial backers.

Fortunately, forces from the Torch Church further south extended a timely hand.

Since growing ordinary crops was no longer profitable, they might as well grow Na Fruit instead.

Land planted with Na Fruit became unsuitable for regular crops, but the crops affected by it would grow remarkably quickly.

Survivors who consumed Na Fruit would become immune to all disease, and also humble and docile, like puppets on strings, industrious and obedient.

From another perspective, they no longer needed fertilizer, perhaps not even herbicides. All material desires would be satisfied.

Under that emerald green glow, man and nature would fuse in perfect harmony, realizing the true concept of becoming one with nature.

To gain the support of the Torch Church, Pinecone Ranch also introduced Na Fruit. The results did not disappoint Zhao Tiangan.

After eating Na Fruit, his serfs no longer slacked off or complained. Everyone was as meek and obedient as sheep.

They might not be good soldiers or qualified for expert roles, but they were the best possible farmers and laborers.

It was also easy to turn them into cannon fodder. Just inject them with Holy Water, and the Torch Church had a formula that prevented addiction symptoms.

As for withdrawal effects, those became the leash. No one dared slack off again. To hear the gospel of the Apostle, they would work even harder while sober.

But unlike those farm owners who had given up completely, Zhao Tiangan still harbored distrust toward those cultists.

His personal doctor had told him that those who ate Na Fruit weren’t truly immune to disease. They had simply lost all resistance to viruses and bacteria. Likewise, those pathogens had lost their aggressiveness and entered a symbiotic relationship with the infected.

That turned every servant into a breeding ground for disease. Normal people who hadn’t consumed Na Fruit would catch strange infections just by getting close.

Some farmers who weren’t forced to take Na Fruit ended up doing so under pressure from a lack of antibiotics and medicine.

Zhao Tiangan had initially planned to baptize 20% of residents with the so called holy fruit. But before he knew it, the entire settlement had become followers of the Torch Church.

Now... It seemed as though he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.

In a luxurious manor, children played and laughed on a lush green lawn.

In the nearby main building, Zhao Tiangan stood by the window, gazing at the smoke rising over the settlement, a hint of worry etched into his furrowed brow.

He had never felt so concerned about the future of the settlement, nor so confused about what lay ahead. Yet now, the sense of uncertainty about where to go next grew stronger by the day.

The fruit and faith brought by the cultists had solved most of his problems, but the biggest problem was the fact that he didn’t know where they would take him.

A scratchy sensation crept up his throat. Zhao Tiangan coughed into his handkerchief.

When he pulled it away, a faint smear of blood greeted his eyes, tightening his chest with unease.

“Damn it!” Cursing under his breath, he hurriedly pulled a pill box from his pocket, knocked two pills into his palm, tossed them into his mouth, and washed them down with warm water.

After a moment, he exhaled slowly, feeling a little better.

Lately, he had developed a minor lung issue. At first, it went away with medication, but the illness kept returning. Lately, he had been coughing up blood.

He didn’t know why it was happening, but coughing blood was never a good sign.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Zhao Tiangan cleared his throat and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. "Come in."

The door opened.

An elderly man with graying temples stepped inside. His name was Ma Zhongxian, Pinecone Ranch’s steward and the lord’s most trusted confidant.

Seeing Zhao Tiangan at the window, the old man nodded slightly and greeted respectfully, "My lord."

Without wasting words on pleasantries, Zhao Tiangan spoke. "Any news from Yang He?"

Ma Zhongxian nodded. "He just reported in. They’ve acquired the weapons on the list. The transport convoy is en route... but due to snow on the mountain roads, they were delayed at the border. It may take several more days to arrive."

Irritated, Zhao Tiangan muttered, "Tell him to hurry."

Ma Zhongxian bowed respectfully. "Yes."

Zhao Tiangan glanced at the children playing outside, narrowing his eyes at the little girl sitting next to his daughter.

Usually by early December, Yang He would’ve returned from selling the autumn harvest near Linghu Lake. This year, he was more than a month late.

Still, Zhao wasn’t worried about the merchant running off with the goods.

After all, that man’s beloved daughter was right there with him as a hostage.

He trusted Yang He would make the right choices, knowing what he could and could not take.

Seeing the old steward lingering, Zhao Tiangan asked, "Is there something else?"

"Yes, one more matter..."

"Speak."

Ma Zhongxian hesitated, then said in a low voice, "The Prophet sent to Dust Town hasn’t reported back in three days. Neither have the 41 members he took with him."

Zhao Tiangan frowned. "Why has it taken so long?"

Three days...

That was enough time to make two round trips.

Ma Zhongxian shook his head with a wry smile. "I don’t know... my suggestion is we send someone to check it out, see what’s really going on over there."

Clicking his tongue, Zhao Tiangan impatiently waved a hand.

"Go arrange it."

He didn’t particularly like those cultists, but he had to rely on them nonetheless.

"As you command." Ma Zhongxian gave a slight bow and left, gently closing the door behind him.

Once the door shut, Zhao Tiangan could no longer hold it in. He clamped a hand over his mouth and coughed hard twice.

Warmth bloomed in his palm, and his heart sank. Sure enough, when he pulled his hand away, there was that dark red stain again.

Even with all his calm, the sight of that blood sent a ripple of panic through him.

Though he held supreme power in the settlement, he was still flesh and blood. He was not exempt from age, sickness, or death.

"Tsk... it’s no use after all?"