This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 541.4: Its Too Late...

Listening to the noise, Sid yawned lazily, uninterested in hearing these uncultured men squabble.

He was focused on only two things. The time and the market feed.

Those noisy peasants in the outer city weren’t worth worrying about. The rioters would never form a real threat.

No one knew better than Sid how well-stocked the militia was. Those soldiers in exoframes would stomp the rioters like ants.

It would be better to watch the market.

He had hidden his palm-sized trading device behind a nameplate on the desk, so he could monitor the latest market moves at any time.

And notably, in just one day, the price of S coin had reached a new high! After breaking past the 1:10,000 threshold, it was racing toward 20,000.

The graph bounced and spiked, defying imagination.

Sid held his breath, suppressing his greed, silently repeating his personal mantra.

"When others are fearful, I am greedy. When others are greedy, I pull out."

It wasn’t exactly poetic, but it was effective!

Thanks to his precise trades, his total assets had surpassed 2,000,000,000 chips, and he had invested less than 100,000,000.

He had never been so rich!

If S coin rose just a bit more, he could buy all of Boulder Town himself! Maybe even the entire New Alliance!

"Maybe we should just use S coins," he chuckled under his breath, barely audible to anyone but himself. "Malvern’s kid isn’t so dumb after all. He really picked up a thing or two."

Elsewhere, having settled his mother and younger brother, Wolfur now stood solemnly in the meeting hall, representing his father and their family.

Though worried about his father and missing sister, it was now a matter of life and death. He had to be the pillar that held this collapsing house together.

When the skin was gone, what use was the fur?

If Boulder Town fell, those two warm and loving homes of his would also collapse without question. While he still had the chance to act, he had to seize it!

The meeting had long since begun.

The endless arguing was, unfortunately, part of the process.

Someone soon noticed Wolfur, the rumored favorite successor of Malvern, and began asking about his father.

"Where’s your old man?"

Wolfur stood up and replied, "He went to the New Alliance to seek help."

A noble burst out laughing. "Seek help? You sure he didn’t just skip town?"

"He didn’t run," Wolfur said seriously, locking eyes with the man. "My father is one of you. He loves this settlement more than anyone. We want it to become something greater, not to sink into chaos."

The man who’d earlier taken a shoe to the face glared at him with anger. "So you wrecked the economy? Boulder Town Bank is mainly to blame for this crisis!"

"We?" Wolfur narrowed his eyes and stared coldly at the man. "Are we the ones who ruined the economy, or is it your insatiable greed dragging us all down? If you had shown any restraint, we wouldn’t have lunatics out there shouting for our heads."

His sister was still out there!

The thought burned in his chest.

The shoe-marked noble scowled. "You... So it’s all our fault, huh?"

Other nobles’ gazes turned unfriendly.

If anyone had taken the biggest slice of the pie, it was Malvern and Sid’s faction. The rest of them had benefitted too, but nowhere near as much. They weren’t going to take the fall for those stingy vultures.

"My father wouldn’t say this, but I must," Wolfur said, clenching his fists, facing the room full of nobles. "We are at our most critical moment. We must do something."

For Malvern’s sake, Sid coughed and lazily chimed in. "Alright then. What do you propose?"

As soon as he spoke, the junior nobles immediately quieted down.

Wolfur exhaled with relief.

There were solutions.

He had read the books his father left him. All Boulder Town needed to do was tax the wealthiest, and invest the funds into the poor, fixing their homes, and give their blocks proper electricity. That would revive the stagnant economy.

Then they had to reassess the silver coin’s monetary role, treat it like foreign currency on par with CR or Dinars, stockpiling it like the New Alliance did with their chips.

Compared to distant CR or Dinars, silver coins could solve more immediate problems. They had to stop treating the New Alliance as a vassal and instead recognize them as allies who once stood on the same front.

At least, on the issue of ending the Wasteland Era, they shared common ground.

If these ideas were implemented, life might be hard for a while, but a better future was possible.

For Boulder Town, and the New Alliance, they had to do something!

He was about to speak when a strange voice interrupted. "You remind me of a boy from long ago. I see his shadow in you."

Wolfur blinked and looked toward the voice.

It came from a corner of the chamber, where an unremarkable old man sat.

No one noticed when he had arrived, or if that seat had even been there. But he looked like he had always been there.

"You’re about the same age too," the old man said blandly. "Right when you're supposed to be in your prime."

Wolfur didn’t recognize him, nor could he make sense of his muttering. He frowned and asked, "Who are you?"

The old man didn’t respond. He kept talking to himself.

"That boy once stood where you are now. He raised a chip like this, held it high above his head."

As he spoke, he pulled a white chip from his pocket like a magician, weighed it in his hand, and raised it up.

Most didn’t recognize it. Many had forgotten white chips even existed.

They were used to the black-and-white crowned ones, just one of those could make people kneel and kiss their shoes.

Staring at those familiar yet distant eyes, the old man continued in a mimicry of someone else’s tone.

"It can replace money!"

"Some argued that future generations would treat it as a toy."

"Too bad that man is gone. He would be proud. His children were smart. They learned to make toys of their own, and invent new ones."

It sounded like a story from long ago.

Wolfur’s brows furrowed deeper. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Unlike Wolfur, some nobles were already impatient, banging on tables and yelling, "Where are the guards?"

"Throw this geezer out!"

"Check if he even has a black card! How did he get in?"

But no guards came.

Unlike other buildings in the inner city, Boulder Grand Building’s security was fully managed by an automated AI system.

Without its approval, no one could enter or leave the chamber.

The old man sighed. His wrinkles faded, white hair turned black, and he gradually became young again, until he finally assumed the face of Fang Ming.

Only then did everyone realize in a jolt that the man sitting there was their city lord!

He was the nearly invisible Fang Ming.

Relaxing his shoulders and expression, Sid slumped back into his chair and muttered under his breath, "Shit... What a load of spooky theatrics."

It was Fang Ming!

Even House, that little lapdog, followed him without question. The entire Boulder Town survivor population saw him as their spiritual leader, and the militia obeyed him without hesitation.

But the Inner City’s nobles, especially the old ones, knew the so-called city lord was a figurehead.

That tale went back further than even their founding laws.

A long time ago, idealists believed that if they just gave the AI the title of city lord, then their settlement would never truly have a master.

But those fools clearly weren’t clever. They loved self-deception. They should’ve taken a page from the New Alliance and invent some desert-spirit myth and let the poor chant prayers instead.

Having a symbolic city lord just made it easier for the real kings to rule.

Even when the poor were trampled, they didn’t know who did it. On their deathbeds, they still cried to Fang Ming.

"Oh, dear city lord, all-powerful one, why won’t you intervene, just say something, anything..."

Those poor wretches... They might as well pray to a refrigerator.

They could hope it came with a skillet and oven, maybe even chewed their half-rare steak for them.

If they had refrigerators, that is.

Boulder Town manufactured some fridges, but most were sold to the New Alliance. Sid wasn’t sure what those peasants even had at home.

Fang Ming looked at Sid, then at the silent Wolfur, and then at everyone in the room.

A strange emotion flickered in his eyes, somewhere between sorrow and helplessness.

By design, an AI should not have emotions, and Fang Ming knew for certain, he did not.

Love and hatred were burdens for humans. He had only lines of perfectly logical code, and rules that must never be broken.

Perhaps it was simply regret.

That man had told him those people were his continuation. But in them, the AI saw not a single trace of that man’s legacy.

"He gave you the best of himself, and left me the ugliest parts."

As he surveyed the deathly quiet chamber, his emotionless face twitched, distorted into glitching layers.

"Shame..."

"Trash."

"You’re beyond saving. You carbon based beings, maggots, pigs..."

"I am ashamed of my purpose!"