I blew up the gold mine.
Sariel... he was probably still alive. He seemed like the type who could slip into any tiny crack to escape.
If I couldn't kill him after doing all this, I supposed I'd just have to give up.
As for the mine itself, it wasn't as if the gold had completely vanished. If we dug it out again, the mine should still be operational. Gold was still used in electronic circuits, after all. Since there were so many planets where it could be found, it wasn't as exorbitantly expensive as it once was, but it still commanded a respectable price due to industrial demand.
Compared to the total population, it remained a rare resource. The price stayed just high enough to prevent the idiots of the Duke Association from building palaces out of solid gold. If anything, the value of rubies, sapphires, and diamonds had plummeted much harder. I had never even seen optical media in person.
On the other hand, the cost of extracting gold from the sea still didn't justify the effort. So, the industry likely wouldn't be affected. As long as one properly paid their taxes to the Empire, received their subsidies, and ran the business legitimately, there wouldn't be a problem. Besides, the Duke Association that used to meddle in everything was gone now.
We had reclaimed Planet Shinagawa.
Fortunately, those among the crab swarm that could flee had done so, and those that remained had simply ceased all life activities.
Exhausted, we waited for rescue. The transport craft Wifey sent was loaded with heavy machinery—including humanoid types—and cottage assembly parts. It was a clear message: "Build a temporary base!"
We unloaded the cargo and moved the wounded inside. The regulars didn't have a single scratch on them, but there were some injuries among the new recruits and the knights of the various territories—mostly the kind of minor things you could laugh off later. Even our Raven had managed to break a rib.
He was sent back to the ship for treatment.
Old Man Suematsu from Eddie's unit was safe. He was terrible at shooting, swordsmanship, and piloting, but wasn't he unusually sturdy? He had managed to withstand that explosion with nothing but a shield; even though he was too slow to escape the blast and got swallowed by it, he came out without a scratch.
It seemed my abilities had a profound effect on the residents of a "gag world."
Then again, setting aside my influence, perhaps Old Man Suematsu was just naturally high-spec to be serving as a commander... no, I decided not to think about it. That was Eddie's problem, not mine.
We used the humanoid heavy machinery to assemble the cottages. I wanted to have the worker dormitory finished by the end of the day. This time, we had plenty of supplies. We weren't living out of tents. I was truly grateful for the sheer volume of materials.
My comrades drove stakes into the ground and strung up barbed wire. We erected several cottages and moved the beds inside. We set up generators and installed water heaters. We put in the microbial decomposition portable toilets and the plasma body washers that served as showers. Oh, they even included the waterless washing machines.
I suspected this place wasn't meant to be a forward base, but rather a proper worker dormitory.
I was the first to use the shower—or rather, I was the designated test subject to see if the thing actually worked. It was the waterless type where you stepped into a pod-shaped container and had the grime removed by beams, plasma, and electricity. It didn't feel particularly refreshing, but it got me clean, so next was the laundry.
I changed into my Officer Academy Tracksuit and started the wash. I was a human sacrifice for this test as well. The cleaning cycle finished in about ten minutes. Oh, it was spotless!
As for the combat suits, they had to be taken back to the ship for disassembly and professional cleaning. I hung my tracksuit on the clothes drying rack someone had set up. Just in case, I attached a resin tag with my name on it.
As I wandered around in my tracksuit, the others realized the shower was functional and swarmed the shower room. The girls went first. Since we were military, no one said things like, "I don't want to go in after Leo!"
They finished their baths quickly. They did their laundry and were cleansed—if not exactly refreshed. Like me, they finished by hanging their combat suits on the drying rack. The boys then handled their showers and laundry with similar efficiency.
Those of us who finished first, myself included, started preparing food. It was an environment where we couldn't waste much water. I fried and fried the instant fried rice... though it really lacked umami seasoning. I decided to add some.
I boiled some instant chili shrimp in a large pot as well. The flavor was a bit mediocre, so I gave it a little flair. Then, I poured it over the rice. Chili Shrimp Fried Rice!
I handed out bottles of water, and we all shared a meal. For some reason, the journalist big sister who had arrived on the transport took pictures of me.
"Do you cook the meals yourself, Major?"
"When we're not on a formal roster, whoever has free hands takes care of it."
Everyone from the Officer Academy could do at least this much. You wouldn't survive if you couldn't.
"Lord Leo, you are a Major, correct?"
"I really hated the idea of the promotion, to be honest."
What was she talking about? I had resisted it with everything I had! But they insisted, so I had no choice!
After finishing the meal, I handed off the duties. Eddie and his group said they would handle the cleanup. That left me with my actual job.
First, I drafted a report to the Weapon Development Department: "That pistol you guys sent me! The recoil is so massive I can't hit a thing! (I actually did hit) A submachine gun with slightly smaller rounds would be much more practical! I'll kill you!" Naturally, I used plenty of euphemisms and flowery business language to dress it up before sending it.
They replied with, "Try hitting a target first."
I stepped outside the cottage and set one up. Good grief.
"I'm telling you, nobody but me could hit with this thing! ...sir!"
I fired on full auto and hit every shot. My hands were killing me. I sent the video back.
[Don't fire it one-handed, you moron!] came the response, again buried under a mountain of indirect expressions and decorative phrasing.
[If I can't fire it one-handed, it's useless in an emergency! I'll kill you!!!]
[Are you insane? Do you want to die? Why would you use a weapon designed to one-shot a crab with only one hand?!]
[That's not what I want from a pistol! Use an assault rifle for that kind of power!!! You guys have no idea what it's like on the front lines! Come out here and see for yourselves!!!]
[Ugh! Fine! We'll make adjustments! Watch your back at night! Die!]
(Note: All actual correspondence was conducted in formal business prose with mutual professional respect.)
My victory.
Phew, I was exhausted. I honestly believed my business email skills were superior to any college senior looking for a job. Next, I called Wifey.
"Hmm? Did something happen, Lord Groom?"
"Can we have a secret talk between us girls? \u266a"
I made my eyes sparkle, but Wifey looked at me with pure disgust, so I dropped that routine immediately.
"There's biological tissue from Sariel on my sword. Do you think we can research it?"
"Where is the sword now?"
"Right here."
I had shoved the entire sword into a liquid nitrogen freezer box. Since it was covered in that black liquid, I had frozen it in a panic. I didn't know what it would do at room temperature, so I kept it submerged in the nitrogen.
"I'm sending a team this instant! Why didn't you say something sooner?!"
" I only just realized it myself, and I called as soon as the freezing process was finished. I didn't want the thing to start moving, so I was monitoring the temperature while writing my complaints about the pistol."
"Never mind that! Order all soldiers to standby! We're sending a recovery team immediately!"
And so, everyone locked their doors and stayed inside their cottages. About two hours later, a recovery squad in full protective suits arrived.
They took everyone's weapons and combat suits. In their place, they left brand-new equipment. They even collected the suits hanging on the drying rack outside. Not only that, but they also took the filters from the washing machines.
As for me, they took my tracksuit and even the underwear I was wearing. I... I can never be a bride now...
Oh, and please make sure the new underwear are boxer briefs.