"Why, sir? Isn't the mortality rate three in ten thousand? Could the official entry be wrong?" Shepherd Cloud Enemy put on a pitiful expression and asked timidly.
"Of course... of course not, kid." The mercenary uncle was nearly angered senseless. "Not only is it not three in ten thousand, by my estimate, the mortality rate is at least around 15%! Fifteen percent every year!
"And that 15% is just the dead. At least half of the rest end up grievously wounded or disabled! Bona Star's planetary storms are no joke. At 120 meters per second, one moment of carelessness and there won't even be a corpse left!"
The mercenary uncle took a huge gulp of liquor and said earnestly, "Kid, no matter what, never go to Bona Star! If you go, you won't come back."
"Okay, sir." Shepherd Cloud Enemy was exceedingly obedient.
Then he quickly asked, "By the way, sir, why did the official entry list the mortality rate so low?"
"I don't know either." The mercenary uncle frowned and shook his head. "This should count as serious fraud... Wait, I think I understand!"
The mercenary uncle seemed to have thought of something and suddenly realized. "It must be to fool the Blue Star Humans, right?
"Kid, you might not know this, but the United Government recently brought 700,000 laborers from Blue Star to Bona Star to mine. The government is probably afraid they'll riot if they learn the truth, so they changed the entry. Yeah, that has to be it."
The mercenary uncle was extremely confident in his judgment.
"Seven hundred thousand people? That sounds like a lot!" Shepherd Cloud Enemy said in surprise.
"It sounds like a lot." The mercenary uncle curled his lips. "But I heard they signed three-year contracts. After three years, there probably won't