My Players Are So Fierce

As it turned out, even something as wonderful as technology-sharing still takes a certain foundation of your own if you actually want to digest it.

The big shots of the Explorers’ Guild moved fast; a steady stream of “otherworld tech” was being shared into Transylvania. But before Milian even finished being excited, she miserably discovered that with Transylvania’s pathetic industrial capacity, it was basically impossible to produce any of these new toys.

So, with no better option, the Crimson Regent could only propose stationing the Explorers’ Guild’s base at Charldo Harbor.

That really was a brilliant move.

On this Continent, only the Half-body Men, whose tech level was miles ahead, had the ability to swallow all this knowledge and turn it into real, usable stuff in a short time.

It was a risky move too.

If the Half-body Men suddenly packed up and ran halfway through, then the investments of Transylvania and the people from the other world would all go down the drain.

The good news was, the famous continental “dream-makers” of the Twilight Organization had, with one disaster, firmly shoved the Half-body Men to Murphy’s side. At least until the memory of that catastrophe had sunk in, there was no way those Half-body Men, who’d just been put through hell, were going to make peace with Twilight.

There were never that many Half-body Men; they’re not a highly fertile race. Even at their peak their population was only about the same as the Brass Dwarves, never more than three and a half million. In the otherworld, that’s solidly “ethnic minority.” And that one disaster on the Ligurian Peninsula reduced the Half-body Men’s numbers by ten percent in just a few months, not even counting all the displaced, injured, and disabled.

That was already a catastrophe that hit right down to the bone.

The little guys really aren’t good at fighting, but they hold grudges, so once they found out the upcoming production schedule was all prep for hitting the enemy, the Half-body Men’s factories were burning with enthusiasm.

When Murphy left the industrial zone, he could even see a bunch of off-duty People’s Army Soldiers who were staying at Charldo Harbor, out in an open lot test-riding motorcycles.

They were straight-up classic baka-motorcycle designs.

There was a sidecar on the main body, plus a mounting rig for a gun.

The power system, though, used the Half-body Men’s pride and joy: a compact steam-power furnace. That made the stuff coming out of the exhaust pipe gray-white steam instead of oil smoke, and the doo-doo-doo of the throttle sounded extremely satisfying, keeping the pack of gun-toting young men playing like crazy.

Where had these bumpkin barbarian Soldiers in Transylvania ever seen such fun toys before?

“Maybe we should move heavy machine gun production up the schedule too. We can’t keep sending Soldiers with submachine guns against big critters like Wolf People and Cannibal Demons, right? And throwing Iron Fist Missiles at every tough nut is way too luxurious.”

Murphy rubbed his chin, mulling it over, then pulled out from his pocket the production plan Milian had mailed him a few days ago and skimmed it.

He found that the big shots were already test-producing simple, durable M2 heavy machine guns at the armory. With their ridiculous R&D ability, maybe by the next round of equipment upgrades his Soldiers would be happily popping Cannibal Demons’ skulls with those things.

“Having real professionals here really is different. That idiot Vomit Mud Sauce messed around for months and still couldn’t deliver a finished product, but a few master craftsmen come over and in less than two months the production line for the first batch of military trucks is already being assembled. Heh, Transia Transylvanian People’s Army slowly stepping into mechanization… tsk, just thinking about it feels great.”

Murphy felt quite satisfied with Transylvania’s rapid development.

At least in military tech, the territory under his rule could already be called the fastest-progressing on the Continent. The pity was in civil welfare and the economy: even with Milian doing her absolute best to play plasterer, Transylvania was still spinning around inside a sustainable bankruptcy predicament.

Unfortunately that wasn’t Murphy’s area of expertise, so as a hands-off lord he could only wish his Governor good luck.

“My Lord, news from Transylvania.”

As Murphy flew back toward the embassy, Professor Malcolm’s wife—Mrs. Fiona, who was very fond of calling herself “the Countess”—came up beaming to report to Murphy:

“Lady Sunny has given birth! Just last night, the elders of the Ancestral Grove successfully delivered her: one boy and one girl, a set of twins. Considering Little Sheron’s current condition, the next Moutain People lord will be chosen from these two children. This is a major matter concerning ethnic relations within the territory. Governor Milian personally went to the Ancestral Grove to offer congratulations. She sent back a message, hoping that you and Count Shuren can end your stay on the Ligurian Peninsula as soon as possible and rush back to Transylvania to perform Avalon’s sacred forest baptism for the two children. According to the Moutain People’s tradition, this kind of ceremony must have a lord of sufficient weight in attendance.”

“Birth is always good news, but why do I have to go back personally?”

Murphy, happily preparing to hand out a few “lord’s red envelopes” on the spot, asked in puzzlement:

“Sheron is the Moutain People lord. I’m a vampire; what am I going there to join the fun for? But you’re saying this was Milian’s personal request, so actually, behind this good news there’s some bad news too, isn’t there?”

“Mm.”

Mrs. Fiona glanced around, then said worriedly in a low voice:

“According to the Governor’s confidential letter, the two children are very healthy, but their situation is… a little strange. Their pupils have a natural violet glow. Milian suspects it’s related to The Creation of the Star Realm in Transylvania.”

“This…”

Murphy instantly became alert.