Chapter 954 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 954: Redemption! The viper lurking in the cave had finally survived the long winter, much like the crimson seed dormant in Lowell's chest. Perhaps the Moon King had never intended to harm his descendants; perhaps he even anticipated a day when history would come to judge him... much like the nameless soldier who, in a winter wonderland long ago, suddenly realized the horror and turned his gun towards Lowell. Yet, when faced with the weighty tome of an epic, they all inevitably faltered. Kings and generals, nameless soldiers, or obscure experts—who wouldn't want to leave behind a fairy tale of truth, goodness, and beauty as the story's end? To earn themselves a good reputation, if nothing else. However, once they faltered— It was too late for everything. "Bang!" The sudden gunshot infused a note of sorrow and murder into the jubilant festive air of Mammoth City. The passionate young men once again rushed forward without hesitation, just as their teachers in the classroom had taught them, standing firm against both Wutu and Raxi alike. People surrounded the town hall, demanding an explanation. Their demands were actually above reproach, even gentle—they didn't even insist on further actions like bringing Raxi to trial. Yet, even such mild demands were a lethal threat to Mammoth Nation. The stakes were too concentrated. Individuals bound in shared glory or disgrace were many, like locusts strung on the same rope. This destined that the Mammoth Nation couldn't afford a single step back before this surging tide, for even a small concession would lead to a precipice. If such an event occurred in the South Sea Alliance, at worst, they might just dismiss a Li Minghui. But this was the Mammoth Nation. Should Raxi step down, the first to face scrutiny would be the assault squad, followed by his cronies... It wouldn't just be a matter of a few people calling the shots, but rather an issue of sand crumbling into pieces and rolling heads that would need to build a massive dam over the Ta-Sang River! The troops stationed in the city took action, even without Raxi issuing orders. By all means, they couldn't allow the crowd to storm the town hall, no matter the cost. The young ones were too inexperienced, not yet knowing how to express their demands tactfully. Meanwhile, the authorities in Mammoth Nation had not had the time to master the technique of managing public opinion events. The soldiers fired warning shots into the sky, but not a single person backed down. Soon, someone fell to the ground, and thereafter, no matter how justified they were, they couldn't reason their way out. Fathers returning from overseas work became incensed upon witnessing their children collapse, escalating this conflict into a greater turmoil that almost reached the Lunar Goddess Church in the parish. In this entire affair, there was no right or wrong. Only consequences. And when everyone suddenly realized this, even those who hadn't tasted the dirt were shocked to find their feet planted firmly in the blood-red earth—that glaringly bloody history. As countless others had hoped, the miracle of Boulder City did not occur in Mammoth City. Looking at the telegrams and newspapers rushed to him from behind, Raxi, who was warring with the remnants of the Southern Army at the front line, was boiling with rage, trembling with fury. "Nonsense! Damn it... fuck!" Suddenly he found himself unable to explain his righteousness. Yes, it was true he blew up the dam, but he hadn’t intended for the entire downstream village to get destroyed, and he had tried his best to make amends afterwards. If he had admitted it then, it would have been different; back then, life was cheap, and even “Empire’s War God” Alayan was on a killing spree. Half-asleep people wouldn’t have done anything about it. Perhaps they would have even found him frank, an honest scoundrel. Later, as long as he “turned over a new leaf,” building a new dam—just as he did—everyone would praise him for being a man of action and conviction. But now, it was all too late. His enemies had exposed the matter, exacerbated and sensationalized it, using the most shameless method—inferring causes from effects, and even the idea of "overseas labor" became a grand scheme under the guise of flood management. At this moment, he felt like a furious lion, equipped with sharp teeth and claws, yet clueless about where to strike. This was inevitable. What he excelled at was not Abusesek’s forte, and naturally, what Abusesek excelled at, he couldn’t master. Watching the rage-consumed marshal commander, the advisers in the military tent persuaded. "The war isn't over yet; we can't let these people mess around, so declare martial law first! Also, delay the return of overseas workers." Pausing, he added. "Moreover, they published a report in the newspaper; we should publish one to clarify the situation as well!" This was a stopgap measure. However, since the shot had already been taken, they had to bind the wound before anything else. Sadly, this adviser was still young. Embarking on this path would only lead them into a cycle of rumor and denial—not to mention their hands weren't clean. Even though the dam explosion was a secret mission by the assault squad known only to Shawa and other high-ranking officials, seeing Raxi's reaction, the officers all had a rough idea. Even if the truth in the newspaper had been watered down, there was at least some truth amidst the fabrications. The most effective method would’ve been to handle it coldly, stifling the gossipers’ mouths, then releasing an even more exaggerated story to divert attention until everyone forgot what the original conflict was about, and slowly reframe the narrative. For example, saying Raxi intended to preserve the dam from stray artillery, the soldier executed the wrong order or took it another route by claiming the soldier didn’t make a mistake since no order was ever issued, blaming the antiquated dam which buckled under Bahamut's 100mm artillery—after all, Western Lan Empire’s construction quality was just as untouchable as the empire itself. Some things are just beyond one's understanding. People buried in the red soil can only serve as nutrients for later generations to absorb the essence from the red earth. Gritting his teeth, Raxi nodded and ultimately gave the order. "Declare martial law!" Up till now, no one in the military tent thought this was a major issue, just lamenting over the lost potential of those future pillars who died in the conflict. They had spent a fortune cultivating those children. Including Raxi himself, all had labeled those troublemakers as obstinate relics akin to the innocent leaders of the Moon tribe resistance, seeing them as clownish adversaries. But he had forgotten that those clowns never dared to rebel. These rebels, however, were willing to bleed. Observing the silent, map-staring Raxi, the officers by the command table exchanged glances, whispering to one another. "Could Abusesek be behind this?" "Isn't Shawa in the Great Rift? He should ask." "Heh... Will he tell the truth?” "If they did stir the pot, afraid they'll be coming for us! We must guard against this!" Meanwhile, in Central Yang Province, at the forefront of the standoff between Poro Nation’s Northern Field Army and the Southern Army Corps, Issel peered through his binoculars at the enemy’s position, his mind racing. Recollecting the days he spent unloading crates at the Southern Army Corps dock, now here he was, digging the army’s grave. Truly, the world is unpredictable. At this moment, a lieutenant approached him from behind, reporting. "Raxi’s forces are gathering behind us." Putting aside his carousel of thoughts, Issel lowered his binoculars with a sigh. "Any further actions?" The lieutenant shook his head. "No." Contemplating for a long while, Issel issued an order. "Let Jokale and his 11th Myriad Team take over my position; remember, no rash actions allowed! Defensive stance is paramount." Pausing, he continued. "Also, inform the brothers of the 3rd Myriad Team, they are to follow me to check what Raxi is up to!” Originally, he intended Jokale to keep watch on Raxi, but recalling Jokale's irascible tendency to act impulsively, he dismissed the idea. He couldn't risk the other side not wanting to fight, only for his own side to prematurely trigger a conflict. Moreover, should a battle erupt, that brute Jokale was no match for Raxi. No boasting—across Poro Nation, only his own bounty could rival Raxi's. This came as acknowledgment from the enemy. At the same time, at the forefront of the standoff. Ross, who had risen from Centurion to Myriarch, also stood at the observation post, meticulously observing the enemy’s troops. After several engagements, he was fairly certain that the person standing against him was none other than the "Jungle Rat," a genius strategist of Poro Nation with a bounty nearing ten million dinars! Thinking of this, a self-deprecating smile curled up on Ross’s lips. When Ross first arrived at Xifan Harbor, he watched the Boro people, who would rather dig a hole and bury themselves than resist, and who were fiercely brutal towards their own. He felt nothing but disdain and anger. Back then, he never imagined that these shameful little mice would grow stronger the more they fought, even producing a few talents that would prove tricky even for professional officers like himself... In hindsight, he actually had met Isher, even coming within a dozen steps of him. Half-jokingly, he mused that if he had fired a shot back then, history might have changed. But it was just a whimsical thought. Even without the "Jungle Mouse," there would likely be a "Jungle Snake" or "Jungle Bird," or even more troublesome foes like a "Jungle Cat" or "Jungle Tiger." At this point, he couldn't think of any way to turn the tide for the Southern Army Corps; he only wanted a decisive battle to offer his final loyalty to Marshal Julius. But for some reason, the once-aggressive enemy suddenly seemed to wilt. What were they waiting for? Frowning, Ross's thoughts tangled like a chaotic ball of twine. At that moment, his adjutant entered the observation post, solemnly handing him a coded message. Ross took the telegram, glanced at it quickly, and his expression turned to shock. [Order for the 17th Myriad Team: The 3rd Myriad Team of Boro Nation will change positions with the 11th Myriad Team at noon today. When someone bearing the 11th Myriad Team's banner ascends the hill, do not open fire. Immediately surrender to this individual! The Emperor of the Eastern Empire promises safe passage home for all.] [——Northern Line Commander, Myriarch Oleth] His lips trembled as he took a deep breath, eyes bloodshot with a barely suppressed urge to tear the message to shreds. Traitors! Craven dogs seeking to save their own skins! They hid in caves, eating worms to expand the corps’ territory, only to meet such an end! Clutching the message tightly, he noticed that his adjutant, too, had eyes as red as his own. Seeing the hand resting on his sidearm, Ross understood everything in an instant. Not everyone wanted to bleed out for the corps... They had charged with him over and over, but this time they couldn't do it anymore. The corps was finished. "...Do you want to go home?" The adjutant said nothing, just looked at him with reddened eyes and then nodded. "The soldiers all want to go home... their families are in Eternal Night Harbor, as is your wife, sir." Taking a deep breath, Ross sat down, gently placing the telegram aside. He had indeed thought of Demi, and of his children… which was precisely what he had tried not to think about, for thinking of them reminded him he was a man, not a beast. Once the Pandora's box of memories was opened, a flood of recollections surged forth. Including the promises he made to his wife and kids before leaving— He went to the Boro Province to protect the people of Vilante, vowing to return home covered in glory. Although most of those promises could never be fulfilled, there was still one he could. "I understand... I'll take you all home." Seeing his commander nod, the adjutant stood at attention and saluted solemnly, tears in his eyes. "Thank you..." Ross gave a weak smile, gazing at the lush green mountains outside the observation post. It's over... "No need to thank me; this is what I owe you all." At the same time as he relinquished his last obsession, the Northern Field Army of Boro Nation was in the midst of a defensive transfer. To guard against a Raxi double-cross, Isher had left the front line to Jokar, personally leading the troops to the west bank of the Ta-Sang River to monitor the Mammoth Nation's military movements. Due to the tense atmosphere between the two sides, ferries along the Ta-Sang River were closed, clogging the narrow muddy roads with migrating carts and cattle wagons. And among them, a few cars were mixed in. Coincidentally, Nyang, on his way to the front lines, found himself stuck in one of these cars... On the other side, in charge of the sector, Jokar was eager to make a big show, only to have a sudden cold splash of reality hit him. It was a cryptic message from the Family Council— [The Northern front of the Southern Army Boro War Zone has already surrendered. After the 3rd Myriad Team completes its redeployment, ascend with the banner to accept the Southern Army's remnants' surrender. No accidental discharges allowed, and do not harm the prisoners!] [—Commander of the Grey Wolf Army, Gopar] “Is it that easy to win this?” Jokar's eyes turned red as he clutched the message tightly. These damn Vilante people came to their land and killed with abandon. He had just gathered dozens of field guns, and now that he was geared up, these people simply decided not to fight. It was infuriating! Despite his anger, Jokar was ultimately someone who considered the bigger picture, swallowing his resentment. The officer who delivered the message breathed a sigh of relief. He actually had a second "cryptic message"—a verbal relay from Sava, the second-in-command of the Family Council. If Jokar disregarded the big picture for Boro Nation's people's safety, he was authorized to fire the first shot! Meanwhile, outside the cave in Snake Province, Zaid, wearing polished shoes, lit a much-cherished Rick Five cigarette, looking gleefully at the clouds in the sky. Today’s sunshine felt exceptionally dazzling, and the clouds were white as snow. Just moments ago, he had placed the final piece on the board, delivering a checkmate that took down two kings with a single move. "This Raxi thinks he's the Grand Moon King, but I see him as a raging mad donkey, haha." He suddenly thought of an old friend, the young girl so naive she seemed submerged in a pot of honey. That person had won so easily, she believed victory was her birthright. Standing beside him, Gopar laughed heartily. "Indeed, who can compare to you?" Revenge at last! Gopar felt an unparalleled elation, finding those chittering little mice less loathsome. The Boro people had once mercilessly abandoned them, cast them into the Eternal River, and stomped them into the garbage heap, but ultimately, they obediently returned to their side. Their bodies were honest enough. As the "Wolf King," he thought, perhaps it was better not to kill them! Seeing through Gopar’s thoughts, Zaid patted him on the shoulder with a smile. “Hey, you can’t afford to be soft. Don't screw it up at the last moment. Sometimes you must kill—when it’s needed, it should be thorough, even if it means overkill... Just remember, the operation code name—Kill All, alright?” Setting aside any lingering compassion, Gopar laughed boldly. "Understood!" He hadn't understood that weighty epic before, but now he realized why none of the thirteen road kings could defeat the Grand Moon King, despite their formidable forces, yet were disastrously slaughtered, and why the Grand Moon King ultimately lost to the not-so-clever Xilan. But it didn’t matter. They would rectify the oversights of the short-lived Wutu, addressing the gaps that the previous Lowell hadn’t foreseen... In the cave behind them, young Sava stood on a stage with a face full of sorrow, addressing the indignant crowd, mourning for the family members killed by Raxi's men. "...We mourn our family members lost to the evil forces, and we will never give up the fight for a new era!" "They will not die in vain!" The memories of the second tragedy at Xifan Harbor came flooding back to everyone, only this time their oppressor was not the Vilante but an arrogant "Moon King." The fight for survival was imminent, leaving no choice but to battle. Memories of painful pasts haunted not just the Boro people but also the Vilante at Xifan Harbor. The Boro Nation's 800,000-strong curry army had moved northward, and the "Iron General" Grove, rising to fame like a fierce tiger, had bested Gibson, who had terrorized for months, sending him fleeing in disarray. Having lost before to the Alliance, Gibson now suffered another defeat at the hands of the Boro—leaving the Vilante disgraced anew. However, his defeat was not without justification, especially upon seeing the Conqueror tanks racing through the plains. He nearly bled from his seven orifices in rage, wishing he could execute everyone in the logistics office on the spot! Lost is lost. Regardless of what ensued with the “False Emperor” Akbar and his minions, their panic was inconsequential. The premier of the Great Rift hadn’t even bothered to send him an invitation. Though nominally the ruler of millions, in the Great Rift’s eyes he was worth less than the jesters of Dam City. The dire reports streaming in from the frontlines could no longer be suppressed, and the Vilante residents at Xifan Harbor found themselves in a state of panic, wishing they could leap into the sea and swim away from this "Harbor of Death." No one could guarantee that Abusesek wouldn’t follow in the footsteps of his old employer, Janusz, and allow this 800,000-strong army to slaughter the entire city. Amidst their overwhelming terror, the Eastern Empire suddenly offered them an olive branch. Rather than staying in Xifan Harbor waiting for death, they were invited to board ships of the Eastern Empire and head to New Xifan Harbor... The Eastern Empire didn't have a fleet, but the New Federation of the New Continent did—and they had many. Moved by kinship and a large sum of money, the Federation Fleet that had just extinguished the fire at Maelstrom Sea made a detour, heading to Boro Sea to carry the eagerly awaiting people to the new homeland prepared by the Eastern Empire... At the same time, in the southwest corner of the Zulbar Mountains, a young yet hopeful seaport stood on barren land. People with large bundles of luggage waited on the streets, where soldiers of the Eastern Empire helped them receive their tents. This was the "Vilante Province Experience." The series of settlement measures introduced by the governor to counter the Death Drug had evidently been learned by the Eastern Empire. If Marshal Julius were still alive, he might find comfort in this scene and perhaps even change his view of Lowell. The Vilante people, who hadn't "adapted" for a century, had once again learned the ability to learn—thanks to the survivors from Boro Province. If regarded as an elaborate game, it seemed Lowell had foreseen the War Construction Committee's expulsion of the Vilante people, and to save future Vilante generations, intentionally spilled the crimson earth! In an instant, his image became even more illustrious. Standing on the bare dock, Myriarch Oleth carried his luggage, looking exhausted. Upon sending the cryptic message to the front line, he, already situated in the war zone's northwest corner, had boarded a ship of the Eastern Empire, carrying confidential documents from the Northern front line to the seaport prepared by the Eastern Empire for receiving spoils of war. Upon reflection, this was perhaps why Sallan hadn't dispatched troops to assist them. That fellow had long coveted their wealth. Just as they craved the treasures of the civilian group... As he saw General Maclen standing at the port, realization struck Oleth, and he let out a bitter laugh. "...Our meticulous plans at Tyrol turn out to be your blessing in disguise.” Looking at the once-spirited man he once knew, now clutching a cigar, Maclen chuckled. "Hehe, a weak opponent despises others, while he can't afford losses when facing stronger foes?" Isn’t it you who sought after duels with seasoned opponents? However, Maclen didn’t mock him. Honestly speaking, from a commander's perspective, Maclen was only 60% confident in his judgment. The Southern Army Corps did have a chance to win, and the Alliance wasn’t guaranteed victory. If Grion had been replaced by Griffin, who had experienced the Alliance's tactics, the Southern Army Corps' chances could have been at least 60%. But could the dead climb out of their coffins? The deaths of Generals Klass and Griffin woke him to the reality that the Corps was doomed to never learn from failure, and certainly could not transition from one defeat to an eventual victory. They either marched victoriously to the end, or unravelled further with each successive failure. From this standpoint, the collapse of the Corps was indeed predestined. They could win many times, but a single loss would leave them unable to rise again... Seeing Maclen’s wry smile, Oleth shook his head. "I didn’t mean that... I just wonder sometimes if we united, could we have beaten the Alliance?" General Maclen said calmly. "If the sun had two instead of one, would it save the wasteland? Why bother conceptualizing non-existent possibilities." Oleth was momentarily stunned, then replied with a bitter smile. "True enough..." After a long pause, he couldn't help but ask. "Regarding my situation..." Maclen understood what he was getting at and succinctly replied. "Don't worry. His Majesty Sallan is a man of his word. He promised to spare your life, so he will. That’s one of the reasons he became a winner." Detecting the sarcasm in his tone, Oleth replied with a bitter smile. "Indeed... In that light, we truly weren't wronged by our loss." After a moment's silence, concern for his former leader surfaced once more, prompting him to ask. "...And what about Grion?" "Standing here, are you still asking such foolish questions?" Maclen puffed on his cigar, giving him a knowing smile, "Surely you don’t think everyone can make it ashore, do you?" "True..." Oleth’s throat moved, swallowing hard. Patting the officer on the shoulder, Maclen said. "We gave him a chance to choose. He can sit in his office pondering, rather than like someone else, having a stroke in a bunker... Be content." ... At the Great Rift, a conference room door was tightly closed. On one side stood the guards of Triumphant City, and on the other, the sentinels of Dawn City. Covered in power armor differing in both model and colors, the soldiers stood with an equal measure of solemnity. Inside the meeting room sat two prominent figures, whose identities needed no introduction. Nearly everyone passing by could sense the tension seeping through the door's crevices. Not far away, in a corridor, two leaders from survivor settlements in the Cloud Province inadvertently let their gazes drift to the door. In the Cloud Province, these individuals were considered powerhouses, yet here amidst a congregation of elites, they were nothing more than ants. The world was vast. Beyond the miraculous city that was the awakening dragon, there was also the Alliance, the dragon knight. Though it might sound disrespectful, the scale of events was indeed astonishing. Three years ago, the wastelanders of the Cloud Province pinned their hopes entirely on the City of Dreams. But now, with the emergence of the Alliance, their business landscape expanded across the entire wasteland. The flame of conquest’s light has gradually overshadowed the beacon, fulfilling the great ideals of the colonists aboard the Distant Light and the descendants of Shelter No. 6. Of course, such grandiose narratives were too remote for the two standing here. Their only concern was catching any hint from the door to assess whether the Ideal City or Dawn City stock would rise. Such superficial thoughts, yes, but deeply rooted in reality. The living standards of the residents of the Ideal City were closely tied to the stock prices of major corporate conglomerates. The wealth of survivalists from the Cloud Province was largely invested in these corporate stocks. Sadly, the Great Rift’s privacy measures for meeting attendees were so airtight that no known technology could breach that door to glean inside information. With Saint Shield guaranteeing security, it was arguably the safest place on the entire wasteland. Even safer than a shelter. Growing impatient, the taller man turned to the bespectacled man beside him. A business partner and strategic ally in regional matters. “What do you think they’re discussing?” The bespectacled man focused intently on the door, unwilling to be interrupted. “I don’t know, but we’ll find out soon.” The taller man blinked, surprised. “Soon?” Would they hold a press conference after the meeting? Glancing at his unworldly companion, the bespectacled man chuckled softly. “Expressions, movements, gait, demeanor, even the order in which they exit...these are all information. Humans are, after all, human; they can’t be flawless like androids.” He had already activated the behavioral analysis system of his AR glasses. Incidentally, both the hardware and software were purchases from IdeaCity. The taller man, filled with admiration, gave a thumbs-up, admitting his inferiority. “You’re incredibly professional!” The tightly closed conference room door had everyone on edge, far more intriguing than any trivial drama in Dam City. The fate of the entire Central Continent hinged on whether the East and West fists would clash or clasp together. And at that moment, with a sudden thud, the door swung open. Seeing the two high officials emerge, engaged in lighthearted conversation, almost everyone watching from afar exhaled in relief, with some letting out sighs. But that didn't matter anymore. The Vilante governor and the Alliance’s leader were in high spirits. Triumphant City and Dawn City had reached an agreement to end the Wasteland Era! This was an incredible sign of good fortune. The bespectacled man excitedly clenched his fist, already envisioning tomorrow's headlines on the newspaper! But as he observed the blue and gold power armor figures again, he was momentarily taken aback. According to the gait analysis software, the relationship between the two was labeled as "father and son." "What the...?" Annoyed, he removed his glasses, pressing the restart button, only to find them unresponsive, as if struck by an electromagnetic pulse. However, regardless of these minor mishaps, the outcome was positive. This planet, barely clinging to life, couldn't withstand another great war... Elsewhere, right behind the Mammoth Nation's assault squad leader Shawa, the Mayor of Free State, Aldo, had just concluded his meeting with the chief of the Great Rift, stepping out of the room with a complicated expression. It was hard to tell if his demeanor was one of disappointment or relief, maybe even slightly liberated. The chief had told him he had been keeping an eye on them since before the Firestone Group's inception, fully grasping their joys and sorrows, which at first seemed frightening. Yet upon reflection, given that Firestone Group was also monitoring them, their privacy had long been as porous as a sieve, making Aldo suddenly feel it wasn’t so terrifying. At least, the Great Rift had never harmed them. In the past, and even now. Remarkably, the old man didn't even bother counting his sheep but instead laid everything on the table. "…You all have bright futures, whether you’re residents of the southern or northern Valley Province." "Vilanteans and Borons are two sides of the same coin, both rivals and salvation for each other. Now, this coin is about to land, and when the dust settles, it will all end, irrespective of whether the outcome satisfies everyone." "And you’re much luckier, because the young person holding the coin didn’t throw you into the sky. Instead, you were given enough time to awaken from a two-hundred-year nightmare, gradually recognizing that the essence of the nightmare isn’t me, an old chap, nor is it money, or even the power behind money—but yourselves, your own hearts." "So don't ask me what to do. Ask yourself. Did you fear Sigma because he fell from the sky? This child inherited nothing from anyone and came from the slums you all disdain. Do you think that without him, everyone would live well? That everything would be the best it could be? If that’s your belief, no one can save you." "This is not a riddle." "But be grateful, you probably won't face an outcome worse than Boulder City. However, how good it can get still depends on your own efforts." Returning to his room, Aldo tossed and turned all night, contemplating his predecessor’s fate and Kandera's threats to plant fear in his heart, before unknowingly falling asleep, only to be awakened by nightmares. With the sunrise outside his window, a wave of clarity swept over him, and he resolutely made up his mind. "…The nightmare resides in every Bruglarian’s heart, and the only way to wake from it is to lock it in a cage, not letting anyone claim it for themselves." So as Mayor of Bruglar, the only thing left for him to do was... Stand united with all the Bruglarians who had enough of the corruption and discord, just like in Boulder City! Thinking of the old man’s half-smiling face, a sense of gratitude suddenly surged within him. They were free— And they always had been! The esteemed chief had given them the chance to change their own fates! Two hours from now, the moment to decide the fate of the Wasteland Era would arrive! Soon, the inaugural "Human Conference" would commence under global scrutiny! Luckily, he comprehended it all before it was too late. Even if it was just two hours before the culmination... ... Simultaneously, at the Great Rift’s helipad, an iron airship slowly lowered a pod. The gathered crowd held their breath, all eyes fixed on the man stepping out. He was clad in pure gold armor, distinctly different from the Exarch of Triumphant City’s set, as it featured no power components whatsoever. In other words, the Emperor of the Eastern Empire supported nearly a ton of armor using sheer muscle strength! The fact that he could walk down the helipad effortlessly marked him as a formidable individual! Seeing the blue-armored Chu Guang, Sarlan beamed with a wide smile, exaggeratingly spreading his arms. “Haha! It’s great to see you, dear Alliance Administrator!” “We finally meet in reality!”