Chapter 951 - This Game Is Too Realistic

### Chapter 951: The Head and the Overseer Upon the granite steps. An elder cloaked in robes gazed at the young man below the steps, a glint of nostalgia flashing in his murky eyes. So alike... They were incredibly alike. Yet ultimately, they weren’t the same... Those who have lived far too long carry a scent of decay that cannot be smelled but can be seen through the eyes. Any ancient being like him, having survived over two centuries, would certainly recognize it. Clearly, the young man before him bore no such odor. This left only one possibility... As this sole realization crossed the elder's mind, a hint of wistfulness emerged in his eyes. While the old man observed Chu Guang, Chu Guang, in turn, assessed him. Judging by the lines on his face, it was impossible to determine the old man’s exact age. Perhaps, for the esteemed headmaster, longevity had become a meaningless concept. Yet, there was not an ounce of envy inside him. With death comes life. An eternal existence is both a boon and a curse, akin to the fate of the living. The Great Rift was such a place where its residents, whether young or old, seemed lifeless, like stones rolling down from a mountaintop. It was precisely this aura of decay that fueled the Free State’s rebellion and extreme yearning for liberty. No one wishes to be born in a coffin nor become a mere burial accompaniment in a foreseeable future. Compared to Origin City that bore witness to the genesis of the Wasteland Era, the infantile Bugla formed by wasteland wanderers was a mere baby. Suddenly, a whimsical thought leapt into Chu Guang’s mind. This old guy resembled a lich out of a fantasy novel... “Honored to come to the Great Rift upon your invitation,” Chu Guang nodded politely at the elder, then signaled to a pushy successor eager to curry favor to step aside before continuing, “I, like you, have long desired to pay you a visit.” Zhou Xianlin sheepishly scratched his head, understood the air, and realized this wasn’t a time for him to interject. Noticing how one of the surviving faction leaders tactfully departed, the elder turned his warm gaze back to Chu Guang and spoke gently. “A sprightly young man.” “...Are you speaking of me?” “No,” the elder shook his head with a smile, “I meant your disciple.” Chu Guang paused briefly before realizing whom the elder referred to, and promptly denied. “Words must not be spoken carelessly! I have never taken a disciple, nor taught anyone!” Witnessing Chu Guang’s hasty denial, the elder chuckled heartily, teasing him. “A teacher can only lead someone to the door; cultivation is up to the individual. If they fail to learn, it’s their own destiny, not the teacher's fault. Don’t worry, no one will blame you.” Seeing the old man not willing to listen, Chu Guang gave up trying to explain. Thankfully, there were no reporters around. Otherwise, no explanation would clear him. The elder, after having his fun, didn’t press further. His jest seemed to serve merely to ease tension. When Chu Guang ascended the steps, the elder walked beside him, continuing with a conversational tone. “...There’s no need to blame yourself. A king losing a fine horse, a kingdom losing a war, or an empire’s fall might seem regrettable. Yet seen from a broader perspective, it's merely part of a larger cycle. Even if that stallion hadn’t stumbled, victory wasn’t guaranteed, nor is an empire's downfall without its own resurgence.” Not one to hold a grudge against the stories of Dam-City, Chu Guang quipped back. “So, the fall of the Union means little to you? Another round of rise and fall, I suppose.” Chu Guang expected the old man to be speechless, yet to his surprise, the elder agreed with a nod. “That’s precisely how I see it, and I grow more confident in this belief... The Wasteland Era is gradually becoming history, and you are its successor. Originating from us, different from us, yet more advanced, open, and filled with dreams of tomorrow. You will one day have your own children, and then you’ll understand how I feel.” Chu Guang shot the elder a surprised look, least expecting such an appraisal. Was this intended as a compliment? After pondering for a moment, he spoke. “But I choose not to view it like that; it turns historical study into mere fortune-telling, legitimizing suffering.” The elder shook his head. “I never claimed the Wasteland Era was right, just pointing out it’s a ‘fruit’ of the Prosperous Era. Long ago, I discussed this with a fellow called the Professor. It was part of his perspective.” Chu Guang furrowed his brows. “The Professor?” He abruptly recalled an old recording. A tale from long, long ago, unearthed from a security officer’s quarters in B2, chronicling more than what the “Bloodhand Diary” revealed. This Professor seemed to have had a significant relationship with the initial Manager of Shelter 404, perhaps even being the same person — a hypothesis he had at that time. Watching Chu Guang fall into contemplation, the elder seemed to harbor some expectation, speaking softly. “Many have forgotten his name or never knew it at all. Nevertheless, the wasteland's inhabitants have somewhat benefited from or were influenced indirectly by him. The Academics likely remember him; if interested, you should converse with them. Though regrettably, the one most entitled to speak on his behalf, Clue, isn’t present; only the CTO he appointed is here.” Chu Guang massaged his temples, slightly weary. “...All your names are quite unique. Was everyone during the Human Federation era like this?” The elder chuckled heartily. “That era was indeed avant-garde. An individual might have two names in their lifetime: one reflecting parental hopes, the other embodying their personal and future aspirations. Of course, only a few people did so; most were fairly traditional, and their names could often trace back to cultural roots.” After a pause, the elder continued softly. “It wasn’t just names; many things followed suit. The Post-War Reconstruction Committee sought the Union’s experience to salvage the dying world. Yet they quickly realized we remained ourselves, while you had become someone else. Some people attempted unplanned methods, others forcefully completed unfinished tasks. Most efforts failed, yet unexpected seeds blossomed into flowers.” “Take Julius, for instance. Every opposing officer condemned his compassion and weakness as ruinous for humanity. Yet, humanity proved more resilient than they thought. Only the ‘necessary evil’ offenders and those who enabled them descended into hell — the War Reconstruction Committee itself.” “As for Julius, scorned by them all, he became a revered war hero. Even the shelter’s residents supported him, or else how did the Iron Heart rise? Not solely through Wellander’s knowledge base, or recovering their own genetic code. Although he made irrational choices in Avent City, that’s a tale for another day.” Chu Guang listened attentively, then pondered aloud. “What’s your point?” The elder glanced back at the distant helipad, observing Zhou Xianlin standing flustered among crowds, and resumed with a faint smile. “Merely to inform you that the Union is too distant for you—referencing your own history is more apt.” “Also, don’t hold back for fear of failure, nor self-blame for past errors. History's repetition owes to inevitable mistakes; if not today, then tomorrow or later. Memories of missteps fuel further progress, even if your fall is permanent, becoming fuel for your children to journey even farther.” “You’re still young. It’s time to boldly unleash your potential, unlike an old man like me who can’t recover from a fall.” His murky eyes seemed to discern through time itself. When Chu Guang met the elder’s gaze, he glimpsed his reflection in those clouded “mirrors.” The restrained version of himself. However, Chu Guang didn’t think the elder’s words constituted the truth, nor did he see anything wrong with his own choices. In the alliance, he was the sole free existence, and his self-discipline was an essential part of the plan. The elder was not impressed with my cautious pace, possibly hoping I would emulate the Union, paving the way for future generations as sacrificial fuel—much like Julius’ disbanding of the Legion which ushered in a golden age for the Wellanders. My refusal to inflate with self-importance like Julius must be frustrating for him. Seeing the elder's subtly encouraging gaze, Chu Guang realized his ploy and chuckled, unraveling the trap. “It seems old age turns one into a nihilist. I must be cautious of this.” The elder's brow twitched slightly as he shook his head in rebuttal. “This isn’t about age, it's about the information one possesses. Some approach their end shackled by obsessions, while others reach clarity early in life. Neither is ideal. You’re remarkable, perhaps even more so than another you. I hold great promise for you.” “…Another me?” Chu Guang frowned, but the elder immediately clammed up, as if he had let slip something unintended. “Ahem... It's too soon for this discussion. I have matters to attend to, so let’s leave it here. We’ll talk again.” With that, the elder turned to leave. Chu Guang watched, bemused by the abrupt end to the conversation. Throughout their long dialogue, the elder hadn’t even revealed his name. “At least tell me your name.” The elder paused, reflecting for a moment, then slightly turned his head. “Call me Qian Wu... though I haven’t used that name in years, and might not respond to it.” Chu Guang nodded. “It’s just a matter of courtesy.” The elder paused thoughtfully, saying nothing more. Watching the two-century-old elder depart, Chu Guang turned to the attendant assigned by the Great Rift. Nodding towards the man clad in power armor, they continued their journey. They soon entered a silver-hued building at the apex of the Great Rift, resembling a spaceship nestled in the valley with a streamlined exterior merging harmoniously with the transparent dome. This, supposedly, was the core of the Sacred Shield System and the safest place on the wasteland, even more so than a vault. Unlike a vault, which required fuel supplies, the endless sea of energy beneath it powered this fortress. Long ago, players had visited here and uploaded their photos on the official website. Chu Guang had examined those unfiltered photos, so the grandeur of the scene didn’t surprise him. However, stepping through the sliding silver doors into the hall, he was taken aback by the sight before him. A bulky, cumbersome “Golden Can” stood in the hall’s center, a familiar face conspicuously affixed to the can’s top. That was none other than his ace dual-ranking armadillo: The Battlefield Atmosphere Group! Beside him stood Bennot Wansher—former Legion ambassador to the alliance, now a prominent statesman in the triumphant city’s civilian government. Though they often clashed at adhesive community meetings, it was merely because they stood on different sides; their disagreements were never personal. Since the Xi Fan Gang incident, where the alliance offered significant help to the civilian bloc of Triumph City, their relationship with Dawn City had grown very close—contrasting with the Southern Legion whose relations soured due to geographical conflicts. Especially now, with the Wellander Alliance's creation and the alliance’s support combating “dead potion,” relations between Triumph and Dawn Cities had reached a cordial peak, changing Bennot's attitude towards the alliance nearly entirely. Spotting the blue metal armor entering the hall, Bennot’s face split into a wide grin as he warmly approached. “Haha! Dear Manager, it’s been a long time! As dashing as ever!” “You too, still as robust as before…” Chu Guang’s expression was nuanced, not because of Bennot’s contrasting demeanor, but because he didn’t expect to see his player here. It wasn't just Chu Guang who felt awkward—someone crouching inside the golden can offered him an apologetic grin. Bennot, however, remained oblivious and undeterred, enthusiastically continuing his animated chatter. “Permit me to introduce… the governor of Triumph City, heir to the Golden Armor, hero of the survivors of Welland and Bartoya Provinces! Mr. Armadillo!” With a touch of pomp, he looked at Chu Guang, clearly to impress. “He’s quite extraordinary! Telling his story could last three days and nights—” Struggling to contain laughter, Chu Guang was interrupted by Battlefield’s loud cough. “Enough about me… Manager of the Alliance, I’d like to discuss something with you. Are you available?” “A pre-conference closed-door meeting?” Chu Guang jested. Battlefield, with a smile that was both pained and amused, confirmed. “Precisely…” This charade had gone on purely by improvisation, and he had no clue what to say next. Chu Guang nodded, then looked to the attendant. “I’ll need a private meeting room. Can that be arranged?” The attendant in power armor bowed respectfully. “Of course.” … Meanwhile, on the bustling helipad, a plane’s landing caused a stir and nearly sparked a diplomatic incident when the leader of the Red River Alliance accidentally stepped on the Dam Alliance leader’s shoe. Fortunately, Great Rift’s soldiers intervened, escorting both back to their rooms. Unlike Dawn City, with its “thorny rose,” Ideal City exuded pure wealth. Particularly for those interested in quick wealth rather than progress, Ideal City was more appealing—a rich feast compared to the Alliance’s offerings. Mayor Aldo’s eyes gleamed with avarice at the sight of Ideal City’s delegation descending the helipad. Observing from afar, the Chief of the Great Rift allowed a satisfied smile to crease his time-worn face. Though the “Human Conference” hadn’t officially commenced, with these initial arrivals, the event was already underway. Gathered here were those who could determine the wasteland’s fate, whether for millions or mere hundreds of thousands. Rather than his invitation bringing them here, it felt like the survivors of the wasteland had pushed them into the spotlight. As a sentinel of the old era, his final duty was to construct a stage for these trailblazers of the new age. That was his true mission. As for the final symposium, it held little expectation for him; true discussions and decisions often occurred well before meetings began... As the elder admired his work, footsteps approached from behind. “Sir, are you the chief of the Great Rift?” Abusek respectfully regarded the elder’s back. He had been observing during Chu Guang’s conversation with this elder. With everyone crowding the helipad, finding no way in, he cleverly came here instead. Instinct told him this elder was indeed a significant figure in wasteland dynamics. If climbing the corporate tree was impossible, reaching a branch of the Great Rift was still worthwhile. Boronians were exceedingly clever, each in their uniquely clever ways. The elder turned and appraised Abusek with a kind smile. “Yes, that would be me. How can I help you?” His gentle tone was like a spring breeze, contrasting sharply with the tumultuous undercurrents below. Abusek stood in awe. “I’ve long heard of your reputation. I’m Abusek, the Grand Chief of Boron. Permit me to extend the sincere greetings of our millions on behalf of Boron.” Boron... The elder’s eyes flickered with recollection. This must be a descendant of General Lowell. He could call Julius a "child," but at best, Lowell was a peer... With this thought, the elder offered a friendly smile, speaking softly. "Greetings, Grand Chief of Boron. Please extend my regards to the millions of survivors in Boron," the elder responded warmly. Abusek was taken aback by the elder's kind demeanor, feeling a sense of admiration. The world beyond Boron was indeed much larger than he imagined, and he realized he had a long journey ahead. "I'll surely convey your greetings!" he said, clasping his hands in a respectful gesture. "Interestingly, there's a historical connection between the survivors of Boron and those in the Great Rift. It turns out that General Lowell, who led us through difficult times, was an officer in the Union! We're like two buds from the same tree, one taking root in the south and the other in the north, but still sharing the same roots." The elder chuckled at the metaphor and, after a moment's pause, continued, "Lowell... I remember him. I shamelessly call him an old comrade! It’s a pity, though; the War Reconstruction Committee let him down terribly by not helping him when it mattered most." Abusek sighed lightly, displaying magnanimity. "There's nothing we can do about it; you had your limitations. Let's let bygones be bygones. The Boronians are ready to move into the New Era, focusing on our future and our children’s." This seemed like a typical diplomatic exchange meant more for show than sincerity, yet it prompted a long, meaningful smile from the elder. "Are you truly ready?" Abusek was momentarily stunned by the elder's transformed smile and his cryptic question, unsure how to respond. "Of course... if we weren’t ready, I wouldn’t be standing here," he finally managed. The elder nodded, glancing into the distance. "Lowell... I know his story. He was one of the earliest saviors on this wasteland. Unlike us, whose efforts were merely about loss mitigation and preserving humanity’s last ember, Lowell aimed to save those seemingly doomed. That courage was something we couldn’t muster." "We quickly abandoned the fantasy of saving everyone, for pragmatism’s sake—neither I nor ‘the Professor’ chose differently." Abusek listened, uncertain of the elder's implications. Yet, as a prudent man, he refrained from arguing. Studying Lowell was for others—like Mr. Mouse Niyan and Committee Member Kabbah—not for the Boron chief. The events of 200 years ago had no bearing on his leadership. "...We agree; he was truly a savior." Abusek expected a nod of affirmation but was surprised when the elder laughed. And what came next from the elder only added to his bewilderment. "The Alliance's manager accuses me of being a nihilist, comparing my historical perspective to fortune-telling, and cautions against it... He looks down on me, haha. So, I might as well indulge in a fortune-telling session, like a pragmatist can." Abusek stared, bewildered once more, uncertain whom the elder referred to as a 'pragmatist.' The elder, with closed eyes, appeared to ponder before suddenly opening them with a cryptic, almost mystical air. "How many people are in Boron?" Taken aback, Abusek hesitated, reluctant to reveal, but realizing the elder could easily find out, he answered honestly. "Less than 200 million." "Then you're in trouble," the elder shook his head, "at least 20 million will perish." Abusek held his breath for a moment, quick to refute. "How could that be?! Twenty million?! Even the Wellanders couldn’t kill that many! The entire northern three continents combined don’t have such numbers! Are you suggesting that Rashi is going to start a massacre? Wait a minute..." He calmed himself suddenly. As a leader, he shouldn’t panic over an elder’s seemingly nonsensical remarks. It could easily be a tactic from the Great Rift... Perhaps they were trying to provoke him, knowing he sought to avoid internal conflict. But why?! In a state of confusion, Abusek felt as if he'd plummeted from a peak into a dry well, walls closing in with unreachable clouds overhead. Unless Rashi inexplicably turned violent, he couldn't fathom where those 20 million victims would come from. Famine? They weren’t lacking food anymore. Floods? Like before, there simply weren’t that many people along the Tasang River! Disease? Possibly, yet improbable. Boron province lacked the extensive road networks of Bartoa, and the Wellander virus proved capable of wiping out perhaps a village or town, but little more beyond that... Furthermore, the Alliance's medical technology was unrivaled! Plus, the corporation was bound to help in an emergency! A flicker of anger crossed Abusek’s face, feeling toyed with. If not for the elder’s position as the Great Rift’s leader, whom he dared not antagonize, he might have turned and left! In truth, Abusek misunderstood the nature of the Great Rift, instinctively applying his homeland’s mindset. Had he understood the true essence of the Great Rift as Chu Guang did, he wouldn’t bother with such diplomatic niceties, nor seek to curry favor here. Regardless of whether he gave the Great Rift face, the wasteland's oldest man wouldn’t make life difficult for him. The elder's directness was, in fact, a gesture of goodwill. This was entirely for Lowell’s sake. As an observer, the elder refrained from interfering unless absolutely necessary. "Mr. Abusek, a smart representative of Boron, answer me this: if the wasteland’s phenomenon froze 100 million sheep, how many would be left?" Without hesitation, Abusek responded. "None, of course—" "That's incorrect," the elder shook his head with a smile. "I tell you, there'd still be 100 million." "How can that be?" Abusek, momentarily startled, calmed quickly. "Elder, what kind of rhetoric is this?" "It’s not rhetoric; it’s a natural law," the elder explained slowly. "The Wasteland Era isn't merely wind, but the sand it brings, painful only when rubbed into eyes. Wars come swiftly, and by the time winning or losing becomes serious, what we cherished ends... This lasts a day for some, 200 years for others. For you on the prairie, maybe half a century." "The harshest winter lasted perhaps 43 years, maybe 46—I don’t recall precisely. But if, without raiders or mutants, and with ample water and food, even if wolves reduced the flock to 10,000, they would reclaim their numbers over a century and a half." "You credit Lowell for saving over a hundred million lives, yet how do you explain the civilization’s collapse? Was it merely fathers not teaching sons?" "Could it be, his self-righteous interference cost lives meant to be spared? The herd might have had 10,000 left, yet his efforts reduced it to 5,000. His Red Earth ultimately had no clear effect. Boron province isn't a vast desert; it’s a natural refuge without mutants or mycelium, challenging for marauders to penetrate. The herd doubled, yet the credit was ascribed to Lowell." "Perhaps only the Red Earth holds answers, but I assure you, if that generation truly survived thanks to Lowell, you would be the ones tasked with ending the Wasteland Era, rescuing River Valley Province, saving Triumph City, and I would crown your victories... Of course, by then you'd likely scorn my relics like that lad." Watching Abusek, breathless and confused, the elder smiled. "You should maintain a more balanced view on Lowell; it might be your only survival chance. Some have realized this, but it’s insufficient. Otherwise, believe me, he will return to 'play his savior games with you, becoming a new Lowell and leading you to the next exam." The elder paused, a touch of regret washing over him. He perhaps shouldn’t have “spoiled the ending.” If these people were to find someone like Lowell and bury him hastily, as they did two hundred years ago, the next Lowell might be even harsher, causing more deaths. But with the Great Rift bustling so unusually today, his excitement got the better of him, and he really did like this young man. Maybe, by chance, this could save a life. Although that life might cost many others, he wasn’t particularly concerned anymore. "You mean Yanush...?" Abusek’s voice trembled, a bead of cold sweat trickling down his forehead. Without a doubt, that figure was dead, yet remained an inescapable nightmare. Recently, plagued by nightmares, he found some peace in faith to the Goddess of the Silver Moon. Yet the elder's words brought back memories of that bloodied figure glaring at him, as if promising a return to reclaim what was taken. Not wishing to scare the young man too much, the elder hesitated between saving and not, ultimately sighing softly. "I don’t know your Yanush; who he is or his name doesn’t matter." "You might think I imply Lowell caused your suffering, but that’s not my intention." "What I want to remind you is that every resident of Shelter 404 is Chu Guang, and every Boronian is Lowell."