The hall fell into a stifling silence.
The dignitaries lowered their heads, not daring to look at Carter, much less at Raynor. In their hearts, they cursed Caladogon a thousand times over.
Old man, you spent all that time designing this trap, and not only did you get yourself caught in it, you dragged us all down with you!
Caladogon sat in the seat of honor, his thin fingers gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. Anger lurked deep within his green eyes, yet his face remained calm and composed; he even managed a thin, practiced smile.
"Good."
"Since Your Excellency is so determined, it is all the better for the realm," Caladogon said. "The future of Brevis is in your hands."
He spoke very slowly, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth.
Old fox.
Raynor returned the smile to Caladogon, whose expression was forced and insincere.
"Thank you for your support, First Among Equals," Raynor replied, using the honorific with a touch of irony. He clasped his hands in a respectful bow. "I will certainly live up to your expectations."
The two looked at each other, their gazes meeting in mid-air. To an outsider, they seemed to be exchanging mutual compliments, but in their hearts, they were already trading insults regarding each other's lineages.
The meeting adjourned, and the dignitaries began to depart. Everyone who passed by Raynor stopped to bow and offer a few words of flattery. Their attitudes had shifted entirely from the dismissive coldness they showed before the meeting started. Raynor responded to each of them with a gentle, patient smile.
Once the lobby had cleared, only he and Carter remained. Carter walked up to him and whispered, "Sir, well done."
Raynor turned to him and smiled. "You did a good job too."
After exchanging a few words, the two headed toward the Governor's armored transport waiting outside.
"But about the mole..." Carter's eyes gradually turned cold as they entered the vehicle.
Raynor simply shook his head. "It's alright. There are so many people involved; we simply can't investigate them all right now. Besides, I enjoy this feeling—he knows exactly what I want to do, yet there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop it."
Carter was surprised that Raynor possessed such a streak of psychological warfare, but he chose to respect it and nodded in approval.
...
Back at the Governor's Mansion, Raynor took a deep breath. Supreme Commander of an army of fifteen million—this result was far better than he had initially expected.
However, he knew he couldn't celebrate just yet.
As soon as Raynor walked into his office, he couldn't resist picking up the Ripper-morph on his desk that was gnawing on a piece of synth-meat. He lifted the creature and spun it around.
"Hahaha! Sarah, did you see that? Fifteen million!"
He held the miniature tearing-worm in the air, its six little legs kicking blankly. Sarah, through her psychic link, didn't quite understand the scale. To her, there wasn't much difference between fifteen million and fifteen hundred. But she could sense Raynor's genuine excitement.
She became "happy" in response. Her small limbs throbbed with glee, emitting a crackling, chittering sound that served as her version of laughter. Raynor pulled her into his arms and patted her head.
"Now that we have military power, we can start harvesting the crops."
Just as Raynor had predicted, once the news of his command spread, the independent minor noble factions quickly began to rally around him. Chuck's faction, Isaac's faction, and Glenn's Alliance—at least a dozen factions lined up to meet Raynor, expressing their eagerness to "please" him.
Following Carter's advice, Raynor carefully screened the candidates. Finally, he chose the Chuck and Isaac factions as his first true vassals. The criteria were simple: sufficient resources and a sincere attitude. Together, these two factions controlled more than eighty food production lines and twenty water purification grids.
Sarah used her psychic abilities to probe their emotions, confirming that these leaders were genuinely siding with Raynor out of a need for survival rather than just looking for a way to betray him later. Other factions were eliminated for being either too weak or too untrustworthy.
Then came the issue of profit distribution.
Raynor took 300,000 PDF soldiers and 700,000 militia from his massive army and stationed them in the territories of Chuck and Isaac respectively. Officially, they were designated as "Reserve Forces." In reality, they were a million-strong garrison responsible for protecting the family businesses of his new vassals. With such a force stationed there, the other Twelve Star Families dared not touch them.
The "protection fee" was set at a 40/60 split: Raynor took forty percent of all food and clean water produced, while the nobles kept sixty.
Furthermore, the nobles were responsible for all expenses of the stationed troops, including food, drink, sanitation, and equipment maintenance. In reality, after expenses, the nobles would only keep about 55% of their total output.
Yet, the leaders of both factions agreed without a moment's hesitation. Why? Because without Raynor's protection, the hungry wolves of the High Nobility would eventually leave them with nothing at all. Under Raynor, they could finally survive with stability.
As a result, Raynor obtained approximately 100,000 tons of food and 400 million liters of clean water daily. These resources were enough to sustain at least 200 million people. Meanwhile, his fifteen-million-man army was being fed by the provisions extorted from the High Noble Council.
He had effectively become a monopoly power overnight.
Despite the influx of supplies, Raynor did not set off for the front lines immediately. He sat in his office, brow furrowed as he studied the military documents.
"An army of fifteen million," he muttered. "Impressive on paper, but how many can actually fight? Aside from the 500,000 PDF elites, the combat capabilities of the private levies and militias are abysmal. Their total combat power is likely less than that of a million of Sarah's brood."
Raynor shook his head. This was a massive headache. If Sarah's swarm were currently strong enough to take Brevis by force, he would have simply seized the planet. But since he had to play the political game, he had to do it right.
"We can't just throw them into the meat grinder like this. We need to drill them first, and then expand the core of the team."
He looked at the map of the Lower City—a region housing tens of billions of souls. Even with a thirty percent starvation rate, the population remained staggering. There would never be a shortage of manpower; there was only a shortage of food and equipment.
He now had the food. Now, he needed the gear.
He ran a hand over the Ripper's carapace and looked toward the industrial sectors of the Central City. The workers and the common people—throughout history, they had always been the sharpest sword.