Chapter 148: One Week Later

Seven days had passed since the naval bombardment ended. The golden barrier was gone.

In the old days of the empire, any captured city was stripped bare.

The imperial rules of war were simple and cruel. The soldiers got three days to loot. The officers killed the local leaders. Young men and women were taken as slaves. All stored grain was hauled off to the imperial capital.

Because of this, the people of Port Solis hid in their cellars. They waited for the slaughter to begin.

It never happened.A

Instead of burning the city, the Americans turned the port into a supply base.

By the third morning, Navy Seabees had cleared the main harbor channel.

Heavy bulldozers scooped up broken stone. Giant cranes pulled sunken wooden ships out of the water. This let large American transport ships dock right against the piers.

Steel ramps slammed down. Hundreds of trucks, earthmovers, and water-purification units drove onto the stone docks.

The city’s stone aqueduct was smashed during the shelling. The Americans did not bother hiring stonecutters or asking mages for help.

Combat engineers rolled out miles of thick rubber water pipes down the streets. They set up a pressurized water grid in less than two days.

In the Grand Market Square, six water stations were running behind sandbag walls.

Diesel-powered machines sucked seawater straight from the bay. The machines filtered out the salt and dirt, pumping fresh water into huge rubber storage tanks.

Lines of locals formed in the square every morning. The fear was gone.

People carried clean blue plastic jugs given to them by the troops.

Cold, clean water poured out of metal faucets. The common folk had spent their entire lives drinking muddy river water that caused fevers every summer. Getting cold, pure water for free was something they had never seen before.

Next to the water taps, Army Civil Affairs set up large food tents.

The emergency rations were replaced by hot meals from mobile kitchens.

Large metal trays were filled with roasted chicken, white rice, sweet corn, beef stew, and warm bread rolls.

Kids sat on benches eating chocolate pudding and fruit snacks. Marines with rolled-up sleeves handed out cartons of juice.

"Look at this bread," an old shoemaker named Varis told his neighbor. He opened a small plastic pack of jam. "No bugs. No mold. It is pure white flour. The imperial tax collectors took all our wheat, but these soldiers have ships full of it."

"The temple priests lied to us," a woman washing dishes nearby said. "They told us these invaders were monsters who would eat our children."

She pointed to a bandage on her son’s leg.

"When a brick fell on my boy, their medics carried him to a tent. They did not ask for silver. They did not ask him to pray to Goddess Viona. They cleaned the cut, stitched his skin shut, gave him fever medicine, and handed him crackers."

She touched her bare neck, where her bronze religious charm used to hang.

"My boy can walk today. The priests ran away with our food, but these soldiers healed him for free."

That talk spread fast. People stopped hiding.

The imperial lords had only ever taken their crops and forced them to work. Goddess Viona had told them that suffering was holy.

The Americans did not care about their religion. They only cared about order, cleanup crews, and keeping the curfew.

In return, they brought electricity.

By the fifth night, diesel generators were hooked up to streetlights along the port.

Bright electric floodlights lit up the docks all night long. The streets were no longer dark and smoky from wooden torches.

Bulldozers pushed broken stone out of the streets in hours. Large latrines were dug and treated with chemicals. This stopped sickness from spreading through the camps.

To the locals, the Americans did not look like monsters. They looked like people who could do things even the high court mages could not match.

Local men were hired to help clear rubble.

They worked alongside combat engineers in exchange for meal packs and real silver coins.

The market area was busy again. People traded goods under the guard of American armored vehicles. Soldiers even handed out candy and chalk to the children.

The broken statues of Goddess Viona were hauled away like trash.

They were dumped into the sea wall to reinforce the piers.

The empire had ruled through fear and threats of holy punishment. The Americans brought trucks, diesel fuel, and medicine.

Nobody looked at the sky hoping for their goddess to save them anymore. The goddess had run away, but the food on the table was real and hot.

Across the paved square, heavy diesel engines hummed through the night.

Convoys of trucks drove toward the outer perimeter, their headlights cutting through the dark. Armed patrols guarded every corner.

Life in Port Solis did not end with the fall of the empire. It just had new rulers.

For the common people, loyalty belonged to whoever filled their bellies and kept them safe.

Under the bright white floodlights, the people turned their backs on the empty sky and went home to sleep.

Up on the high hill, inside the ruined cathedral, John Smith looked down at the bright city.

The satellite dishes on the stone roof buzzed softly. Green indicator lights flashed on rows of military computers set up inside the nave.

Colonel Richter walked up to the edge of the terrace with a clipboard in his hands.

"The port is fully operational, sir," Richter said. "The supply ships are unloading without delays. The local workers are cooperating, and the civilian councils are following all curfew orders."

John took a sip of black coffee from a paper cup. He looked at the quiet streets below.

"They don’t care about our flags, Richter," John said quietly. "They just want food, clean water, and a roof that won’t cave in. As long as we give them that, they won’t stand up against us. Well, in my world, this is a standard operational doctrine."

He turned away from the balcony, looking toward the big tactical map on the table. Red digital arrows pointed west, straight past the mountains toward the imperial capital.

"Now, I wonder where that stupid Goddess is," John said, his voice flat and steady.