Chapter 952 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 952: Past and Present Over two centuries ago, a relentless cold wind tore across the land. Even the equatorial Lowell Camp was not spared much respite. Two figures limped through the icy gusts. One was clad in powered armor, the other in a full protective suit emblazoned with a research lab's emblem. Judging by the frost inside their helmet visors, they both bore significant injuries. Indeed, intense struggles are never without cost. Their thermal systems were damaged. At minus 30 degrees Celsius, not even mold could survive, let alone them, on the verge of losing their last means of warmth. When the water vapor finally froze into ice, that would likely mark their end. Yet even under such dire circumstances, they fared better than the corpse they carried— Blood had seeped from its wounds, now frozen into crimson ice, sealing bullet holes, contorting the face, and encasing its near-maniacal desires. The mouth, sealed with frozen blood, seemed to silently scream— "Why don't you listen to me?" Why... The soldier curled his lip, exhaling a deep breath onto his partially transparent visor. That was their general. The reasons for his execution are lengthy. In short, he had no desire to remember those who died from fungal infections in the lab, nor those executed for opposing that esteemed figure... After all, his hands weren't clean either. Yes. He was complicit. But who wasn't? Let the past be the past. Their children should not be burdened with these heavy memories. Even as an ordinary soldier, he wasn't without empathy. They squandered countless resources, caused the deaths of numerous innocents, missed crucial opportunities for salvation, and saved no one... all because of Lowell's rhetoric. They aimed to save survivors swarming from the center of the world to the Pohlrov Province, requiring a "fungus capable of surviving at minus 30 to 50-degree temperatures." This so-called red soil... He didn’t know how to judge his past actions. At the very least, being the butt of others' jokes required a certain bravery. The two discarded the corpse into the frozen wasteland. They took out their spades and, according to their plan, used all their strength to break the frozen ground. They dug a large pit and tossed in their general’s body along with research materials. The era of the wasteland will eventually end. When all of it is finally over, their descendants might unearth these things and offer a more objective assessment of the events here, rather than categorizing Lowell and his supporters or opponents as either villains or heroes. Only when this entire memory becomes history will they not merely be the subject of jokes, and everything can come to a satisfactory conclusion. They were mere flotsam amidst the tides, dandelions blown to the world's corners by the explosion's aftershock. Nothing more. At least that’s how the soldier assessed himself. As they were about to cover the pit, the nearby researcher raised a hand, stopping the soldier. "Here's the final sample." He lifted his aching arm, inputting a shaky password with a trembling finger, and drew a crimson test tube from the vacuum-sealed sample box at his waist. The scarlet hue was like blood. Indistinguishable from Lowell's, it instantly frosted upon exposure to the outside, eventually freezing solid like an ice sculpture. It mocked the madness of their plan. "Watch closely with your eyes open..." Gazing down at the grim face within the pit, the researcher forced a grin and hurled the test tube hard, shattering it on Lowell’s hardened corpse. "At minus 30 degrees, water freezes instantly! What sort of spores could possibly germinate at such low temperatures? Are we supposed to develop silicon-based life forms in that wretched lab of yours?" “Why don’t you invite God to your lab?” This fool... Even at death’s door, he refuses to admit his faults. When the researcher finally finished cursing, he pulled at the shovel stuck to the ground, letting out his frustration by rolling dirt and filthy snow back into the pit. It took them an entire day to dig the pit and then cover it back up. Yet for the two, this day was more meaningful than any other before it. From now on, they were no longer enemies; they were compatriots once more. Though admittedly, there weren’t many days left for them either... With a glance at the diminishing energy reserves, the soldier stopped the researcher, who was ready to return to camp, shaking his head. The researcher, momentarily taken aback, quickly understood, responding with a bitter smile. Indeed. There was no longer any reason to return. Keeping the buffer door of the research base shut might even prolong life inside by a couple of days. Better to leave that energy and sustenance for those still inside... Besides, what hellish state the place would descend into once supplies were exhausted was anyone's guess. Death? They had made peace with it long ago. Since they had to go eventually, leaving earlier wasn’t so bad. Moreover, Lowell's corpse shouldn’t be all that history leaves behind. They were the final bricks of the tombstone. Someone had to accompany him to the end. That way, anyone visiting this place in the future would know what once transpired here... Having resolved everything, the two refrained from heading back, instead continuing into the icy wilderness until they found a "frost tree" still seemingly robust. They exchanged an understanding glance, knowing what needed to be done. This was the place... In unison, they approached, flattening the snow before sitting against the tree's frozen, hardened trunk. The howling wind seemed somewhat blocked by the desiccated tree trunk, though perhaps their senses had just dulled. The researcher threw his shovel aside—no longer needed. As for the soldier, he pulled out a cigarette box he’d been saving, wanting one last smoke, only to give up upon realizing the helmet would make it impossible. Imitating the researcher’s earlier action, he tossed out the box, near-empty. Consider it quitting. From now on, his name would be “Quit Smoking.” The fog inside his helmet had turned to ice, and the once-flashing alarm lights had grown still. The soldier, eyes shut, dazed momentarily before speaking suddenly. "Before Lowell died, he sent a message to the War Construction Committee… Dammit, no telling how he badmouthed us in there. You think he might have pinned the ‘red soil’ idea on us?" “Whatever, they should send a team to investigate anyway," the researcher shrugged. Why worry about that on death's door? "Doubtful..." The soldier shook his head, recalling something else, and called to the researcher, who was nearly asleep. “Hey.” “…What is it?” “You’re a scientist… Give me an honest answer: will this planet ever recover?” The drowsy researcher shook his head. “I don’t know; no one does. But we’ve done all we can… As long as someone survives to the end, this war is our victory.” Some had made their way to the Sunset Provinces—the granary of prosperous times. If survivors there could maintain the "Dike," perhaps some oases could be preserved. Moreover, it wasn't far from the Grand Canyon, where the War Construction Committee might lend their support. The soldier remained silent for a moment, then sighed. “What a damn shame...” “…What now?” “I’m such a fool for believing... Dammit, I wish I hadn’t listened to his nonsense. And blame you all, why didn’t you tell the truth…” “Heh… Didn’t someone say it once?” Hearing that self-deprecating response, the soldier fell into silence, sighing after a pause. “True…” Humans cannot triumph over nature. Only over themselves. It was only at the brink of death that he realized their greatest foe was never Gaia, the winter chill, or Lowell, and not even his stubbornly loyal accomplices… But themselves. And always had been. The deceased became fuel for the living, buried in the sands of history. The era of the United People had come to an end. If the Lowell Camp were likened to a small-scale battle, they both won and lost... Because it was all over. "What do you think... people will say about us in the future?" There was no answer. The soldier glanced sideways at the friend sitting next to him, only to see that he had already become one with the ice sculpture behind him, just like General Lowell, whom they had buried. At minus 30 degrees, not even the red soil could survive, let alone a human... Yet, facing impending death, the soldier felt no fear. Consider it a repayment, perhaps… He hoped they would not become the dinosaurs of the Cretaceous, leaving this memory only to serve as fossil fuel. With a sigh in his heart, he looked up at the dull, lightless sky. "…Sorry, kids, we strayed off the path." But winter would surely pass... With this conviction, the soldier took his last breath, melding completely with the frozen land. Time flew by, like a fleeting shadow. The howling cold wind raged for half a century, but ultimately could not withstand the scorching sun. Eventually, winter came to an end. Green blades of grass emerged from the soil, and all the creatures that clung to life in caves poked their heads out, curious about the blue sky they had not seen for ages. This was the equator. Revival started here first. Survivors emerged from tunnels and battered shelters along the Eternal River, erecting settlements large and small, hunting wildlife, raising totem poles in celebration of each victory, gradually reclaiming the remnants of the prosperous times... Savage and bloody yet no harsher than any other wasteland, this place was not as cruel. At least here, there were no sandstorms or behemoths from the Great Desert, nor the deathclaws of the Valley Province or the poisonous insects of the Sunset Province. It felt like a natural refuge. Civilization was slowly reviving. As of now, the red soil had yet to officially debut on the stage of the Pohlrov Province, and the history of the Lowell Camp seemed to have been utterly forgotten. But that didn’t really matter. This natural sanctuary had everything. The fauna left from the prosperous era provided plenty for a feast, and when done, there was agriculture to delve into, along with culinary techniques to refine. It was a period of painful joy, a slow-moving germination of civilization. Time pressed on. Survivors of the Boulder City held high their stakes at the council hall, bidding farewell to the last elder who had seen the prosperous era. Meanwhile, the tribal skirmishes in the Pohlrov Province escalated into kingdom wars as the population swelled. The United People's language was the greatest legacy of the prosperous era bequeathed to the wasteland. Local survivors didn’t waste too much time on trial and error. Even if they couldn’t recall the lessons of history, they could remember fragments from distant memories, quickly matching their ways of life to their productive capacities. After the chieftain, it was time for kings. On a territory of four million square kilometers, thirteen kings emerged, each representing one of the thirteen reserves, or rather thirteen "states." It was then that the ambitious "Moon King" summoned a wealthy farmer. The latter, with his small plantation, managed to feed tens of thousands of laborers! At that moment, the farmer held a handful of crimson soil... It was only at this point that the cycle completed its circle. The current thirteen states of the Pohlrov Province do not include a Moon State, but long ago there was one. However, as the moon rose and fell and the sun rose again, the Moon State was renamed Lowell State by the ascendant Xilan Empire. But that was another era of tumult... ... Time returns to the present. The events that occurred over the past 200 years have been lost to memory. Even the Alliance which established a research station at the former site of Lowell Camp can only recover limited historical data from the ruins. Among the many projects at the Alliance's Social Science Institute, research on the Pohlrov Province is merely a broad main thread, parallel to the likes of numbered shelters such as 70, 79, 100, 101, 117, 401, and so on. Naturally, the Chief of the Grand Canyon wouldn’t know about that history. Due to interference from radio signals amidst radioactive dust and orbital debris, the final message Lowell sent never made it to the War Construction Committee's headquarters… The barrier to "long-distance radio communication" in the wasteland persists to this day, with the Alliance only achieving instant internal and external signal communications via wired cables. Leaving the Chief of the Grand Canyon, Absek bore a look of lingering disappointment, a confusion of comprehension and non-comprehension. Seeing the concerned face of his Internal Affairs Commissioner Wadia walking beside him, he suddenly laughed, rubbing his chin. "The old man wished to save my life..." Wadia paused, failing to grasp what his leader meant, but quickly remembered they were on foreign ground, hurriedly reminding in a wry tone. "Supreme Leader, sir… We are currently in the Grand Canyon. Referring to their leader like that—" "I know, it's fine. The old... leader doesn't mind," Absek waved off Wadia’s concerns, interrupting his further words. "Don’t worry about me for now. I need some quiet time to think. You'll be informed of any plans." He initially planned to pay a visit to Chu Guang, but on reflection, it seemed unnecessary. What would a meeting accomplish? The problems of the Pohlrovians must ultimately be resolved by themselves. They couldn't keep looking for someone else to shoulder their burdens. Besides, with their massive population, nobody could offer a helping hand, and those who could have already reached out. Technology, funding, machinery, production methods, ideological enlightenment, local talent, and even some "originally theirs but they managed to lose all by themselves sociological data"… He couldn’t think of anything else he could shamelessly ask for on behalf of the survivors of the Pohlrov Province. If more was needed, they might as well request to borrow a manager. Moreover, before the meeting, the Alliance’s administrator should have their own plans. Such as discussions on post-war issues—surely the three former legion captains and the governor of Valor City need to meet? Tier probably doesn’t have the courage to attend, and even if he did, it’s pointless since as the Supreme Leader of the Pohlrov Nation, he could already see the Southern Legion was losing. Furthermore, regarding discussions to end the wasteland era, the Academy's Chief Technology Officer and the Head of Ideals City would have to meet, right? Their schedule is practically full; no need to add to that esteemed gentleman's burdens. Perhaps they could meet once the conference was over… ... In a spacious, well-lit room, Zhou Xianlin, covered with bruises, was having medicine applied to his wounds by the old butler. As the leader of the Dam Alliance, he had never had to endure such humiliation, getting his lip busted by someone grabbing his collar. That soldier in power armor shouldn’t have intervened. He was so close to biting off that guy’s ear! Yet, despite everything, he couldn’t show the Riders’ might to the Valley people. The more he pondered the situation, the angrier Zhou Xianlin grew. With a face full of rage, he glared at the old butler beside him and spoke with a vicious tone. "Where is the Red River Alliance? Find them for me on the map! Damn it, these bastards dare trample over me. Let’s see if I don’t chop them up and feed them to the dogs!" The old butler shivered, nearly spilling the iodine tincture, and replied anxiously. "Young master... the Red River Alliance, they may have truly fought raiders, and those locked in the mine could very well be real raiders." Zhou Xianlin was slightly taken aback, turning a dark gaze towards the old butler. "...What do you mean? We haven’t fought raiders?" "We have, we have," the old butler nodded rapidly, looking nearly on the verge of tears. "I only mean... the Bone-Chewers Tribe is unique, different from other raiders. Also, the Red River Alliance has the Alliance's garrison force. Though they say there's only a couple of hundred, it might be best not to provoke them." Actually, the greater challenge was dispatching people there. You couldn’t possibly take the Alliance's train just to start a fight? Fortunately, this time, the young master finally seemed to understand and swallowed his pride. Zhou Xianlin sneered. "I thought it was someone significant... just a dog on a leash! Forget it, even a dog’s owner deserves some respect; better leave that leashed dog for my brother to deal with!" Old Butler: "..." ... In another place, a conference room carved from granite, the guards of Victory City and the Alliance had finished inspecting the room before stepping outside and closing the door. Left inside were only the Administrator of Victory City and the Alliance’s manager. Finally alone in the golden-encased chamber, the battle-worn veteran slumped back in his chair with an expression of "this has exhausted me." Yet, he hadn't anticipated the chair’s back to snap with a resounding "crack," nearly causing him to tumble backward. Seeing Chu Guang's barely restrained laughter, he awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Sorry… didn’t mean to give you a laugh." Chu Guang chuckled softly. "No problem, I've seen it all. I broke quite a few chairs myself when I first donned powered armor." There had always been players who mistook him for an NPC, cracking jokes and performing stunts in front of him. Some treated him as a confidant, sharing all sorts of random tales, even asking about how to have children with NPCs. His ability to keep a straight face had been honed to perfection since the alpha version. Switching to another chair, this time the veteran avoided leaning back, instead mirroring Chu Guang by placing his arms on the table. A smart move for a professional tin can, the posture was far sturdier. The veteran let out a sigh, searching for words but finding none, ultimately defaulting to saying something generic. "To be honest, I'm not a good person. The Wilanters of Triumph City might have misunderstood something. Thanks to the forum—uh, I mean my advisors—I’ve been managing fairly well as administrator, but I haven't really planned for the future. Not gonna lie, I’ve thought about quitting more than once, or maybe you could show me the way." Seeing the battlefield atmosphere group actually contemplating instead of treating everything like a game, Chu Guang smiled and responded with a casual tone. "In this world, there are no absolute good people, only bad ones and those who begin to examine their conscience." The veteran of the battlefield atmosphere group was taken aback. "…What do you mean?" Rather than answer, Chu Guang locked eyes with him and asked directly, "Are you a bad person?" The veteran found himself momentarily lost, unsure whether to say no. After all, he had indeed told some lies about his identity and still hadn't figured out how to face the Test of Lei Ze and confess to the Wilanters of Triumph City. He shook his head and responded candidly, "I don't know." A gleam of approval shone in Chu Guang's eyes. He extended his right hand slightly. "When you tell me you don't know, it means you're at least no longer a bad person, or a ‘bad administrator’... You've begun to examine your own conscience." A look of surprise registered on the veteran's face, frowning as he pondered the notion, realizing there was truth to it. In that brief half-minute, he reviewed his life's trajectory… or at least this life within the game world. Reality blending with fiction, regardless of intentions. His conscience remained pure, questioning what it meant to have integrity. He was no savior to the Wilanters, nor had he aspired to be one. He merely did what he believed was right. For someone in his position, a mixed reputation felt fitting, even if he were to reveal who he truly was to all the Wilanters. Noticing the clarity in the veteran’s eyes, Chu Guang gently continued, "Soon, you’ll identify your shortcomings and address them, climbing out of the well you feel trapped in… It's a pivotal step in personal growth." "You might say you're not suited to be an administrator, but I believe you've done excellently. Most people spend a lifetime uncovering the existence of their barriers, and far fewer attempt to climb out. Yet here you are, already on your way up." Although such encouraging words weren't his usual style, he felt a paternal connection to this young player, witnessing every step of their growth. A particularly old individual might have labeled him a fool, but one statement had resonated with him profoundly. He indeed felt the emotions of a father, emotions that had existed for quite some time. Unlike the old man who philosophized with sayings like "virtue arises from vice, and fortune comes with calamity," handing children over to the wasteland’s tutelage, Chu Guang favored being a strict yet understanding father. That old man might have been "accurate," having lived through countless cycles to discern such patterns. But the children of the Alliance mustn't hold onto such nihilistic prospects as they ventured into the futures ahead. They ought to view the immutable landscape, the ever-faithful cycle of celestial bodies from the "changer’s" perspective, boldly crafting futures unknown to the old world’s generations! Such hopes were also what Chu Guang held for the descendants of the Alliance. In that way, their coming here wouldn’t be in vain… "Perhaps, but I worry about failing their trust," the veteran admitted, staring at the ceiling. Chu Guang was familiar with this type of concern and responded with a smile. "Do you know why you're afraid of disappointing them?" The veteran reflexively replied, "Why?" Chu Guang insightfully pointed out, "Because… you became an administrator because of their trust. This wasn't a result of any conspiracy. Their trust is something you earned with sincerity, not through deceit or luck." The veteran's eyes brightened, though he quickly coughed to cover it up. "I was actually hoping for a bit more concrete advice..." "Unfortunately, encouragement is all I can give," Chu Guang chuckled after a pause. "Why not seek suggestions from other Wilanters? Consider why you garnered support and why they chose you instead of others." "Once you’ve figured that out, maybe you can set up a platform in the places you’ve spoken where everyone can share a word or two. Place more mailboxes where people showed their support for you. Enforce that future administrators must express their dreams and fulfill their promises as openly as you have and what happens if they fail to do so… These are considerations only you can contemplate." Suddenly enlightened, the veteran sat upright with determination. "I understand now." Chu Guang nodded approvingly. "Great, now let’s discuss some matters." The veteran paused, surprised. "Matters?" Wasn’t the previous conversation the matter at hand? Chu Guang, however, casually nodded, explaining, "Of course. You’re the administrator of Triumph City; I’m the manager of the Alliance. You represent people as I do… You didn’t think those warm-up pleasantries were the main business, did you?" "…No, of course not." Under Chu Guang’s teasing gaze, the veteran attempted to mask his thoughts. Wasn’t it, though? And if there was a serious matter, couldn't it have simply been issued as a task through the mission board? That being said, he hadn't received any new communications since he replied with a "read" last time. Keeping things straightforward, Chu Guang cleared his throat, saying, “To reduce barriers, I propose establishing a long-term dialogue mechanism between Triumph City and Dawn City. I plan to lay a communication cable to Triumph City. We’re willing to cover the costs. This is not just for now but also for the future.” The veteran nodded. “No problem.” Indeed, a beneficial move. It’s not like he’ll be the administrator forever, and the next one won’t have the benefit of a “mission board.” Chu Guang continued, “Additionally, as interactions between the east and west coasts of the Central Continent become increasingly frequent, we plan to create a direct railway line to Triumph City while opening new sea routes. This railway would begin in Bist Town, Sunset Province, cross the Great Desert, traverse the vast plains of the Eastern Empire, and possibly spread civilization wherever it passes… To this end, we’re willing to shoulder 60% of the investment, leaving you only 40%. Considering your limited financial resources, the Alliance’s bank can offer loans to cover your share.” “Alright.” The veteran found himself merely nodding, almost unable to get a word in. Chu Guang thoughtfully regarded him. “Do you have anything to add?” The veteran was about to say no, but under that penetrating gaze, he held his tongue. “We have a large number of refugees in Wilanter Province, and Batoia Province needs rebuilding… You know we’re broke. With the railway already being invested in, we might as well expand into other areas. There’s the need for a rejuvenated highway in Triumph City. How about setting up a development bank with your money? This way, neither of us loses out... What’s the phrase for it? Win-win?” Chu Guang nodded with a smile. “That’s a good idea. I believe not only are we interested, but businesses would be eager to lend a hand too.” “Done.” The veteran spread his hands and was about to lean back in his chair again, but, fortunately, he quickly stopped himself. "Ahem... So we've already discussed what we need to cover in the meeting now. What are we going to talk about when the human conference actually starts?" To be honest, his proposal really boiled down to just "asking for money." From the moment he set out, ministers within the civil service group, including Bannott, had been whispering in his ear, urging him to find a way to secure some funds from the Alliance. As for the administrator’s proposals, he understood them clearly; they essentially revolved around the idea of "communication." Reducing differences through dialogue, breaking down barriers through conversation, resolving animosities through interaction—all things the Wilanters would need to embrace to integrate into the world. He had no reason to disagree. Seeing the perplexed look on the administrator's face, Chu Guang chuckled. "That's simple enough. Just feel free to talk about whatever you like." "The Grand Canyon is bustling with so many people gathering here. Of course, it's an opportunity to discuss anything and everything."