novelODS Chapter 110 Oppression from Above
Chapter 110 Oppression from Above
"This was a pre-planned scam."
Moss sighed deeply.
"They exploit the fear of surface vagrants towards abyssal monsters to buy your hard-earned furs and magic crystals at low prices."
"Then they took advantage of our desire for sunshine and non-toxic food in our city of the forest, selling us moldy, low-quality grain at ten or a hundred times the price."
"Information gap".
The goose muttered something under its breath. As a modern person, it could roughly understand the economic exploitation tactics of colonial compradors.
The little snail leaned closer: "Since Bolton and that committee aren't in the underground city in the woods, nor on the surface, where did they come from?"
Moss did not answer immediately.
He raised his head, his cloudy eyes staring at the ceiling.
The thick reinforced concrete blocked his view, but he seemed to see through it and reach the distant, unreachable sky.
"At the easternmost point of Treasure Island..."
Moss's voice became somewhat ethereal, carrying an almost dreamlike longing and a deep despair.
"Beyond the plains of Archer Village lies an ancient territory called the Magic Forest. It is the place on this island with the most concentrated magic."
The goose thought to itself that these natives were quite pitiful; the city-states that it could easily visit were regarded as sacred places by them.
"The trees there are so tall they block out the sun's rays. Huge vines coil around the trunks like dragons. If you could accumulate enough wealth to last several lifetimes and buy a pass, you could climb up those towering trees... up to the clouds, and you'd see the dock."
"pier?"
(Please remember the website 20 ...
The little snail paused for a moment, "Going to the Sky City?"
"How do you know about Laputa?"
Moss's tone was tinged with surprise, "By taking an airship through the gales and thunderstorms, you can reach Sky City, where Bolton's masters reside."
How would we know?
This is indeed difficult to explain to NPCs; you can't exactly say, "I've played through your world."
"It is an independent continent that is completely suspended in the clouds."
A tear, whether from drunkenness or sorrow, slid down Moss's cheek.
"There was no pungent poisonous gas, no mutated beasts lurking in the shadows, and no hunger. Everywhere were flawless white marble palaces, the flowers in the gardens never withered, and the fountains flowed with sweet spring water."
Moss lowered his head, looking at his withered hands and mud-covered feet, and gave a self-deprecating laugh:
"Bolton, and those big shots who control the arbitration committee, they sit comfortably in marble chairs high in the clouds, drinking red wine and listening to music."
Then they casually tossed some of their leftover scraps down, watching us tear at each other for survival in the mud like wild dogs.
heavy.
This intense sense of class disparity made the entire conversation incredibly heavy.
On one side, there is the purple mist spreading through the sewers of the ruined capital and refugees who are starving and skin and bones; on the other side, there is the sky city above the clouds, indulging in extravagance and enjoying eternal spring.
The goose quickly seized upon a logical flaw in the statement.
"Brother in charge, there's something I can't figure out."
The goose interrupted Moss's sadness.
"We fought against the Bloodaxe mercenary group hired by Bolton in Pearl Harbor."
Although those guys were well-equipped, their power generation techniques and fighting habits reminded me of your guards.
If Bolton is from Sky City, why are his strongest troops the natives of Forest City?
This question was like a sharp knife, precisely piercing Moss's wound.
Old Gen, who had been quietly gnawing on his meat, stopped. He looked up, his scarred face filled with sorrow.
The other guards also silently put down their food, and the atmosphere became somewhat tense.
Moss took a deep breath, his voice trembling violently with anger.
"This... is the most insidious aspect of Sky City. This is also the real reason why Forest City has fallen to its current state."
He stared intently at the campfire before him, gritting his teeth as he revealed the most brutal aspect of this colonial system.
"The bigwigs of Sky City value their lives, so of course they won't send their own people to this island full of poisonous fog to suppress the riots."
The weapons they use to control Treasure Island are our own people.
Moss's eyes were red.
"Every year, the Arbitration Committee arrives at the edge of the Enchanted Forest with several boatloads of coarse grain. They use these worthless black breads to buy out the strongest, youngest, and most talented warriors of the Forest City."
"The Blood Axe Mercenary Group..."
Lao Gen spoke up hoarsely from the side.
"Everyone there was once our brother, our nephew, our niece. They were the bulwark that our city in the forest carefully built to defend against the monsters of the abyss."
"But hunger can destroy all pride."
Moss picked up the conversation,
"In order to allow the elderly, weak, sick and disabled left underground to live a few more days, those young people had no choice but to sign indentured servitude contracts in exchange for the dog food given to them by the high and mighty Sky City."
Donning the fine armor provided by Bolton and taking up sharp weapons, they transformed into collared hounds. Sent back to Treasure Island to suppress the surface vagrants and intimidate their own homeland!
This is the most despairing form of exploitation.
Sky City not only plundered Treasure Island's resources, but also drained the island of its resources for resistance.
With just a few pieces of bread, they transformed the most rebellious class among the oppressed into a violent machine of the ruling class.
Having lost its fresh blood and strong fighting force, the forest city is left with only a group of old, weak, sick and disabled people barely clinging to life on the edge of the abyss, and they may be swallowed up by the surging tide of monsters at any time.
This is an impeccable class-based closed loop.
After saying all this, Moss seemed to have exhausted all his strength.
He slumped against the support pillar, looking at the three outsiders who had remained silent.
He had thought that after hearing these words, these skilled vagrants would feel fear and realize that they were not facing a few unscrupulous merchants, but a huge regime that was above the entire world and possessed absolute military and material superiority.
He hoped to see a sense of powerlessness in their faces in the face of fate.
However, Moss was disappointed; he even felt a sense of absurdity.
The agent, the little snail, and the goose sat around the campfire, the firelight illuminating their faces, which showed not a trace of pity, sympathy, or fear.
The agent didn't even touch the bowl of wine.
He stuck out his tongue and licked his chapped lips. His eyes, which had been somewhat gloomy due to setbacks in reality, now seemed to be burning with raging fire.
The little snail's fingers tapped rapidly and unconsciously on his knees, a subtle movement he made when calculating a complex tactical route.
No one cared about that forest city that had been oppressed to the point of near extinction.
No one cared about the Bloodaxe mercenaries who were forced to become lackeys.
In the brain circuits of these Fourth Calamities, all the heavy backstories, all the class oppression and tragic fates, after being filtered through their bizarre cognitive system, are ultimately transformed into only one incredibly clear objective.
There really is a city in the sky.
There is no poison gas there, no black bread. There are endless supplies and countless riches.
Most importantly, the place is inhabited by a group of fat sheep who have never experienced the ravages of war and only know how to drink and listen to music.
This is not some sacred and inviolable ruling center.
In the eyes of the players, this is a high-level dungeon that floats quietly in the sky, waiting to be attacked and looted.
The agent turned his head and looked at the little snail and the goose. The three of them exchanged a look that only they could understand.
It seems like a brand new instance is probably not too far off.