This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 555.3: A New Year!

The New Year’s Eve festivities were still in full swing. The holiday spirit filled not only the streets but overflowed into the nearby shops.

At Pirate's Bay Tavern on the outskirts of Boulder Town, the firewood in the fireplace crackled, and the cozy but cramped space was packed with rowdy patrons.

Since the revolution, the tavern had been temporarily shut down for restructuring.

But that night, with the New Year’s Eve celebration, Boulder Town’s authorities officially lifted the curfew, and the tavern reopened.

Some of the drinkers were mercenaries, some were workers from the settlements, and others were citizens.

Starting the week before, Boulder Town’s industrial goods had begun flowing into Sunset Province via the Fallen Leaf City, and the grain that had been grown there had likewise made its way over.

With the logistics cycle restored, watered-down beer had become a thing of the past.

A kilogram of corn cost less than one silver coin, and a mug of beer similarly only cost one silver coin. A large mug was just two silver coins.

According to the New Alliance’s newly enforced minimum wage of two silver coins per hour, even the lowest-paid construction laborers could afford two beers an hour.

As for the mercenaries, their dangerous jobs paid at least ten times more than the laborers’.

"It’s been ages since this place felt so lively."

"Yeah."

A few cement factory workers sat together, drinking beer and eating skewers, chatting as they watched the fireworks outside.

"... That apartment building is incredible! Laugh if you want, but I never thought I’d ever live in a place with stairs!"

"And taking a shower is so much easier too!" 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Someone who’d had too much to drink suddenly stood up and roared, "Praise the administrator! Praise the New Alliance! Praise them for giving us beer that isn’t watered down, and roofs that don’t leak!"

The crowd around him burst into laughter.

"Hahaha!"

"Your dreams are too humble, why not ask the New Alliance to find you a wife too?"

"No rush for that. I heard the administrator doesn’t have one either."

"Eh, I hope he has a bunch of kids someday."

"Too bad Lorette doesn’t have a daughter, or we could’ve tried to strengthen the bond between Boulder Town and the New Alliance... in a more 'bloodline' kind of way."

Even though the Worker’s Union often said ideals were a stronger bond than blood, people’s honest desires and enthusiasm couldn’t be stopped.

The snobbish nobles of the inner city were gone. The gangs outside the walls had been wiped out. Even the arrogant mercenaries had learned to keep their heads down.

The New Alliance’s military strength was overwhelming.

They could light up the night sky with fireworks and no one doubted that they could just as easily drown a storm in a rain of artillery.

At that moment, a man wearing a hooded cloak pushed open the door and walked into the bar.

The bartender behind the counter glanced at him and asked in an indifferent tone, "What can I get you?"

The man pulled down his hood. When he saw the bartender behind the counter, surprise flickered across his face. "You’re actually still alive?"

The bartender shot him a faint smile. "Do you have a reason I need to be dead?"

The man squinted his eyes and stared at the bartender for a moment.

This guy clearly wasn’t just any bartender, but rather the owner of the Pirate's Bay Tavern, White Shark. That man liked to stand behind the bar and wipe glasses, which often caused people to mistake him for a bartender.

Those who knew him were well aware that he couldn’t mix a drink to save his life, unless poison counted.

The tavern’s beverage sales were only one source of income. The more lucrative business lay in another intermediary service.

When the nobles from the inner city had inconvenient jobs that required extra hands but didn’t want to personally associate with vulgar mercenaries and gangsters, they needed middlemen. Traveling merchants in need of bodyguards also turned to reliable intermediaries.

White Shark was probably the most dependable fixer in the entire settlement. In the past, people who needed his help would simply order a glass of honey water.

Seeing the man hesitate to place an order, White Shark set a glass of warm water in front of him.

The man didn’t drink it. Instead, he murmured to himself, "The boss and the second-in-command of the Poison Gang are dead."

White Shark replied casually, "At the city gate, right? I heard it was pretty brutal."

"You don’t seem surprised at all. That was one of your biggest clients... Oh, I get it," the man said, a knowing look crossing his face as he stared at him with a half-smile. "You’ve been a dog for the New Alliance all along, haven’t you?"

If the New Alliance wanted to take out the gangs outside the city walls quickly, starting with the intermediaries who brokered their deals would undoubtedly be the simplest way.

White Shark didn’t deny the accusation. The calm expression on his face didn’t waver in the slightest as a smile slowly started to form, "Not everyone qualifies to serve the New Alliance. It’s an honor to work for the truly powerful... Besides, if you don’t want to be thrown out, you better use a more polite term."

At the very least, call him an informant...

That was what the members of the many corps of the New Alliance called him, and he preferred it that way.

"Don’t be like that, pal," the man said with a grin, raising his hands in mock surrender. "So what should I call you, then?"

White Shark replied in a casual tone, "Same as before is fine. My job hasn’t changed. I’m just the owner of a bar."

The man narrowed his eyes. "What if I’m not here for a drink tonight, but to hire some reliable mercenaries?"

"Then you’ve come to the right place." White Shark stopped wiping the glass, set both it and the cloth aside, and looked at the man in front of him. "Tell me, what’s the job?"

The man spoke slowly. "There’s trouble with a business deal down south. I need some capable fighters, at least 10 of them, and they’ve got to be heavily armed."

White Shark raised an eyebrow. "Marauder trouble?"

"No..." The man shook his head, his expression darkening. "It’s more complicated than marauders. It involves Mutant Humans."

"Is that so? Then your average mercenary team probably won’t cut it." White Shark stroked his chin, thought for a moment, then took a tablet from beneath the bar and handed it over. "Fill out your request on this."

Taking the tablet, the man blinked in surprise. "What’s this?"

White Shark explained simply, "The terminal for the Mercenary Guild."

Seeing the man look even more confused, he continued, "You’re probably new here, so you wouldn’t know. The New Alliance started a Mercenary Guild pilot program in Boulder Town a while back. They have to register and get certified before they can take jobs."

Since bars that joined the program were marked on the Mercenary Guild's map, most bars catering to mercenaries became offline branches of the guild.

The man’s brow twitched. "Even you guys have an organization now?"

"Yes, and it’s mandatory," White Shark said with a shrug. "The guild handles rank evaluations and tracks mission success rates. They say it’s to better match job difficulty with qualifications... If a low-level mercenary is given a high-difficulty job, the employer may be held responsible."

The man said in surprise, "That sounds a lot like the Mercenary Guild up north in Bugra Free State."

White Shark shrugged again. "Not quite. For example, here on top of the commission paid to the guild, there’s an additional insurance deposit that the employer has to cover."

The man frowned. "What’s that?"

White Shark answered casually, "It’s basically insurance, but not like the old crap Boulder Town Bank tried to peddle. If someone’s disabled, they get prosthetic replacements. When they reach retirement age, they get a pension. I remember in Bugra that kind of thing was a paid add-on, but here, it’s mandatory."

The man curled his lip. "Hah! Binding them with money, huh?"

White Shark chuckled, "Pretty much. Pensions are tied to mercenary rank. So if you don’t want your pension gone, you better stay away from unregistered black-market jobs. Losing a few points is no big deal, losing your license is."

It was a clever tactic. The reason most mercenaries were unruly was because they had nothing to lose.

They rarely saved money and lived for the moment, because any small mistake could get them killed the next day.

It was hard to expect someone who didn’t plan on living past 35 years old to care about long-term planning.

But now, through the Mercenary Guild, the New Alliance was forcing them to save for their future, and used that money as a leash.

If a mercenary took jobs normally, they would usually be within their skill level, and both their present and future would be secured. If they took illegal, unregistered jobs and got caught, they would face punishment from law enforcement, and from the guild.

If their license, which was tied to their mercenary rank, was downgraded, they would lose access to jobs and suffer a hit to their future benefits.

On the flip side, by recording job details through the guild, it created a mutual contract between employer and mercenary, increasing the level of trust and preventing socially harmful missions.

Although both were called Mercenary Guilds, the New Alliance's version was very different in origin and purpose from the one in Bugra Free State.

The guild in the Bugra Free State was about outsourcing labor for profit. The New Alliance’s version was a compromise solution to a social problem.

It worked out well for everyone.

"... Turning a bunch of outlaws into white-collar workers overnight isn’t realistic. The wasteland still needs them, and they’re not suited to regular jobs. But leaving them unregulated won’t work either. Boulder Town has tons of them. So the New Alliance compromised. Private arms groups are allowed, but under strict supervision."

The man frowned. "But if everything has to be registered, doesn’t that mean a lot of jobs can’t be done?"

He meant assassination contracts, for instance. "Heh, if you really want someone to do dirty work, you can still find them. But I’m afraid I can’t help you anymore... The New Alliance watches me too closely. I’m not looking to die for a quick buck, and I’m guessing you’re not eager to walk into a bullet either?"

Seeing the man remain silent, White Shark smiled faintly and continued in a soft voice, "But if it’s clean work, exploring ruins, courier jobs, eliminating raiders, I can even find you real professionals."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Professionals?"

White Shark nodded slightly. "That’s right. Quite a few shelter residents have registered as mercenaries. Many of them are veterans from the Sunset Province. Whether it’s their gear or their experience, they’re way ahead of your average thug. If you’re looking to take out a horde of Mutant Humans, there’s no one better."

Hearing that, the man held his breath.

Veterans from the Sunset Province!

If he could hire some of the New Alliance’s blue coats, maybe his hometown still had a chance!

"How do I hire them?"

White Shark smiled pleasantly and tapped the tablet in the man’s hands with his index finger. "I’ve already told you how. Just register properly, fill in the job details, pay the deposit, and prepay part of the fee."

"Within 24 hours, someone will be assigned to you."