Chapter 956 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 956: Dispersal Ross didn't need to despair much; likely, he would never set foot in West Sail Port again, nor would the Bolarans welcome back a conqueror like him. Whatever became of it was irrelevant to him now. As for Evernight Harbor— The alliance troops that landed there were a stark contrast to the Eastern Empire's soldiers rummaging through West Sail Port. His family and possessions were intact, not a hair out of place. Although he had to report to New West Sail Port first and couldn’t reunite with his family before his birthday, a reunion was still on the horizon... At the plaza by the dock— The guards had changed from Bolarans to soldiers of the Eastern Empire. Looking at the burly young man, Ross thought for a moment and fished a gold medal out of his pocket. "Could I borrow two dinars? I want to buy a newspaper." The young soldier pushed back the medal he offered, laughing heartily. "Keep your medal, sir. I’ll take care of this little task for you!" Even a defeated commander was still a commander, and one with a gold combat medal at that. With that, the young soldier trotted over to the nearby newsstand and casually picked up a stack of newspapers. The vendor didn’t dare stop him, and the Gray Wolf soldiers watched as if nothing had happened. Holding the pile of newspapers, Ross let out a wry chuckle. “You really should pay for these.” And with so many papers, he doubted he could finish before reaching New West Sail Port. The soldier laughed loudly and said, “No worries, it’s already paid for.” Ross blinked. “...Paid for?” The soldier nodded. “Enough to arm a million people, including twelve hundred tanks and a thousand planes, plus an entire fleet of pilots left here to make sure it all works.” Ross was left speechless, finally exclaiming after a pause, “You must be quite wealthy.” The soldier laughed sheepishly, “Not all ours—most of it’s what you left behind... His Majesty declared the old Wasteland Era junk useless. The engineers at Norton City are to design better, more expensive gear for the new competition.” Ross didn’t reply. This time, he truly didn’t know what to say. Flipping through the newspapers in search of useful information, he noticed the dates stopped at the last days of December 214 of the Wasteland Era. Time seemed to stand still. Every page was an older issue, and he shook his head with a bitter smile. It seemed the vendor wasn’t genuinely in business. Knowing they’d be looted by the Valanters at gunpoint, being nonchalant was certainly understandable. Why not get new newspapers? Ask the printers! And the printers could surely pass the question to the writers and reporters. There would be no more news here. None was needed. Just then, a family of five came running from the city. The couple appeared to be in their thirties or forties, with three children—the smallest barely wheel-height, and the oldest only around ten. They were anxious, their fine clothes hinting at a respectable background, carrying just a few personal items. The smoking Gray Wolf soldiers were visibly startled, not expecting this family to make it here. Instinctively, one soldier detached his rifle from his shoulder and cocked it with a snap. Hearing the sound, the father slid forward, and with a thud, they all knelt before Ross. “Please, sir! Have mercy, take us with you!” The mother mirrored her husband, tears flooding her face and mingling with the blood from her forehead. “Sir! I’m begging you! Please!” Like their parents, the two older children also banged their heads against the ground in desperation. The smallest one, standing only wheel-height, seemed too shocked to react, standing silently guided by the adults. Their cries caught Ross off guard, leaving him dumbfounded and glued to the spot. “You've got the wrong person... I’m just a prisoner…” What right does a defeated soldier have to such desperation? He couldn’t protect others; he was no more than a leaf in the storm, a stray blown into the mud. Suddenly, Ross recalled being at this very plaza outside the port when Captain Olette ordered him to identify and execute the Sky Bandits among the civilians who had killed Valanterians. Yet now, through passage of time, he, a ruthless executioner, became a captive, while those who defeated him were on their knees pleading. Perhaps driven by a survival instinct, the older father, struck by an idea, crawled forward on his knees and clutched Ross’s leg, pleading bitterly. “Sir... you’re a Valanter. You can take your slaves! We’ll be your slaves, help us, please, we’re willing to be at your service…” “Is…is there such a rule?” Ross was taken aback, glancing around at the soldiers, caught off-guard by the man's quick thinking. He was a father too. His family was the only light he could see while crawling through darkness, eating bugs to survive. The greatest difference between humans and beasts is humans' ability to empathize. He no longer looked down on the kneeling Bolaran before him, but saw him as a fellow father—one who would abandon his pride to keep his children alive. Ross steeled his resolve, much like when facing his bloodshot subordinates. They were not pawns. They were people. The war had ended; no more lives should be lost to this senseless conflict. He had to save them! As atonement… The Eastern Empire soldier was clearly taken aback, and after hearing the officer's inquiry beside him, rubbed the back of his head. “Well... it wasn’t forbidden, I think I’ve seen officers bring people aboard.” Ross glanced at the Gray Wolf soldiers nearby, noting their rifles at the ready, then turned to the kneeling couple. Swallowing, he said coldly to the soldier beside him, “...I’m a commander, and my lifestyle requires attendants. These people are now my servants—have them board with me... I’ll explain it to your superior myself.” The soldier hesitated, while the kneeling man hastily pulled out crumpled bills, slipping them into the soldier’s hand. “Please, good sir, have mercy.” Seeing the hundred-silver-dollar bills, the soldier instantly dropped his hesitation, grinning and waving them on. “Go on ahead.” Clearly, he wasn’t troubled at all. He was merely imitating his predecessors, plucking a bit from what they considered easy pickings. Seeing the submissive father about to offer more bills to Ross, he shook his head. “Just follow me... After all, it's our ship.” Realizing their savior didn’t want their money, the father hesitated for a moment, then quickly nodded in gratitude, hurrying his family to follow Ross to the dock, away from the glaring eyes of the watchful wolves. Once aboard the ship with a few Bolarans in tow, Ross was initially apprehensive. But as he stepped onto the deck, he realized his worries were unfounded. Half the people standing on the deck were Valanterians, while the others were Bolarans. Their post-crisis smiles made it seem less like fleeing and more like a victory party. Quite remarkable. It seemed he didn't even have to explain... Ross suddenly realized he had underestimated the situation, forgetting that people themselves were wealth, and perhaps the greatest wealth. How could the Emperor of the Eastern Empire possibly take only machines and forget the valued talent cultivated by the Southern Corps? Anything left onshore, including the family he picked up, were merely things His Majesty didn’t deem worth bringing along... The youngest girl peered at Ross from behind her father, blinking her eyes in curiosity. Unable to decipher the expression on his stiff face, she whispered timidly, “...We won’t cause trouble. Daddy brought some food. We can find a corner to hide in…” Suddenly realizing she wasn’t supposed to mention the food, she hastily covered her mouth in panic. Her cautious demeanor tugged at the heartstrings. Ross forced a gentle smile onto his usually stern face, reaching out to tousle her fluffy hair. “Don't worry. Just stay close to me. I’ll make sure you get safely ashore…” "Speaking of which, I have a child too. He's about your age, maybe a bit shorter... but in a few years, that might change. He could at least grow as tall as I am." The girl's eyes brightened, momentarily forgetting her father's usual admonition—to never offend the Valanters. "Really? Can you tell me about him?" she asked, her voice clear and pure, as melodious as a nightingale. "Of course," Ross nodded with a smile and squatted to the ground. "If you met, I'm sure you’d become good friends." ... Elsewhere, on the wilderness of Wolf State— Taking advantage of the early dawn, Gray Wolf Army Commander Gopal sat in an open-top jeep, a cigar in his mouth, leading an army convoy down the southern corps' highway through his homeland towards Tiandu. The world knew of "Iron General" Grove, yet they didn't realize he was merely one of his hounds. Zaid had accurately gauged Grove; that man was merely a fool with lofty ambitions and a misguided cleverness. During Operation North Wind, he acted independently, believing his petty tricks went unnoticed, but it was simply unspoken. That was one of their rare flaws. Luckily, the Southern Corps had long lost their spirit, preventing the disruption of the grand strategy. However, handling Grove could wait. This 'Holy Flesh' needed to be elevated only to be smashed down later. That was why Grove was dispatched to take over West Sail Port, along with the Southern Corps' equipment and assistance from the Eastern Empire. Meanwhile, Gopal advanced with his elite forces straight to the heart of the Bolar Kingdom. A cold smile appeared on Gopal's face, growing admiration for the esteemed Saint he revered. The fire at West Sail Port served as a blood pact to enter Tiandu, and now another fire at Mammoth City ignited a deadly conflict between Lassi and Abussek. Even if the two refrained from fighting and merely faced off with forces at their borders, it was irrelevant. The spies they planted in Mammoth City had linked up with the Moon People's Resistance, making a coup almost effortless amidst Lassi's preoccupation. Even if the coup failed, they could still conquer the Bolar Kingdom and deal with a weakened and divided Lassi afterwards. Gopal admired the Saint’s choice to use the Moon People's Resistance—a useful pawn—exploiting their disunity, guaranteeing Lassi's downfall on the chessboard. As for Tiandu, it was as good as theirs. As the Southern Corps retreated, alliance forces shifted to the Great Desert, poised to seize its coastline and Bartoya Province's assets. With Abussek away from Tiandu, the Confederation was leaderless, even if he was present, it wouldn't matter. His sweeping reforms in education and economy had already stirred discontent within the military. The earlier "Grand Exam" had hinted at the unrest. Gopal found it amusing every time he thought about it. Instead of arranging a couple of female students for "Butcher" Piccoli, who had defended Tiandu with valor, they made his son compete with common soldiers’ children on exam rankings! He was astounded at the audacity. Not worried about being ambushed in the bath by seven shots in the back? Though this blunder was orchestrated by Sir Kabakha, not directly by the Supreme Commander, the appointment of the Education Commissioner had been his doing, hadn't it? The other commissioners were even less to be mentioned; at least Sir Kabakha's error was in trying to balance things fairly, unlike others who secretly filled their own cups. Though, in reality, the damage from the latter and its "gifts" to their group were not as significant as the former's. Future propaganda might have to spin it differently. In any case, Tiandu was too exhausted for further conflict. Shahrukh, still dreaming of becoming the Supreme Commander, had already defected Niggli and Duwata, fantasizing it was like when Abussek summoned them overnight against Yanush. He thought he could replicate Abussek's success, shooting Yanush down at the peak and taking the position. Yet, unknown to him, the true "Abussek the Second" was someone else, already priming a concealed trigger from backstage. Gopal, gazing spiritedly towards Tiandu, received a whispered message from his aide, who relayed news from the underworld organization known as "Family." "Our informant reports that Isher’s Third Decimation Unit has left the Yangzhou front, swiftly marching towards the nearest railway station... they might have figured it out." Gopal’s eyebrows arched. Interesting. A promising talent indeed. But unfortunately, the game is in its final stages. If this pawn were truly smart, he should replicate what he did back at West Sail Port. As for retreating... well. This fool truly believed himself to be the "commander" in the palace. Even if the Northern Field Army surged forth, a jungle mouse like him, they’d be ground to dust beneath the iron torrent, not to mention the Northern Field Army had been thoroughly infiltrated by the Family, fraught with vulnerabilities. In power and prowess, they were not the cornered Gray Wolf of old in Marcia’s depths. "Blow up the northern railway, then have Grove..." Gopal rubbed his chin, a plan forming, he chuckled, "forget it, let Jokarl lead the Eleventh Decimation Unit." "Iron General" Grove needed to survive a bit longer; he was, after all, one of his close aides. Bathing him had its time. As for Jokarl... Though a family man, helpful to them, ultimately he served Abussek. Let this rag serve them a bit more by cleaning up the walls! “Yes, sir!” the officer beside him responded respectfully, looking at Gopal as if he was a deity. Strategizing victories from afar! What "Jungle Mouse"? Absolutely pathetic in comparison! Clearly, this was "Aryan the Second," the most deserved war hero of Bolar Kingdom! ... In Bolar Province, where the winds of change roared, the Human Council at the Great Rift was a gathering of myriad talents. Yet, to be honest, the so-called "heroes" here may not match the crafty warlords roaming Bolar's land. That soil seemed cursed by the "Four Merchants of Craft," producing prodigies one after another. Conversely, the attendees in this chamber were more human, each unique in their tangibility, diverse in their nonchalance. Not half an hour into the Human Council, Saran already regretted attending. His expressions were valuable—a single gaze from him could clear out West Sail Port’s trollies and fridges. Why not spend this time doing something meaningful? Perhaps he should never have expected anything worthwhile from the younger generation’s open discussions. These participants weren’t solving issues. They were making wishes. It dragged until a seemingly scholarly individual finished with "acceptance speeches and future outlooks," thanking corporations, schools, alliances, and the Eastern Empire in due order, when finally a lively young man took the stage. Unlike others. Light sparkled in his eyes. Saran stayed curious for about two seconds, until he spoke. "...Everyone here, please quiet down. I shall speak!" Clenching a fist on the podium, he continued with fervor. "We all can see that in these years, the achievements of the Alliance are evident!" "Under Mr. Chu Guang, we defeated marauders, mutants, bacteria reinforcements, also..." "…So why don’t we unite, join the Alliance, fly to space, and defeat Gaia too? Wouldn't that be wondrous?" His speech continued, though Saran, Emperor of the Eastern Empire, had no interest in hearing more nonsense. Tilting his head, Saran gave a knowing glance to the former Western Corps high ranking officer—now the New Federation's highest foreign minister. “Where is Dam City exactly on the map? Could you send them something big on my behalf?” The foreign minister cast him a sideways glance, all but saying--- If you want to bother with this nonsense, go yourself. Receiving a cold shoulder, Saran sighed at the missed opportunity and instead focused mischievously on a certain blue-armored figure across the room. At this moment, someone was decidedly not in a favorable position. Watching the young devotee on stage enthusiastically praising him for nearly ten minutes, Chu Guang nearly scraped through the granite with his increasingly clenched toes. He fervently wished he could use his administrator privileges to boot the chatterbox offline for a breather. Sadly, that wasn't an option. The guy wasn’t one of his players, and the title "Lord Administrator" seemed to be borne of sincere admiration rather than jest. In comparison, those little players who always made jokes at his expense seemed much more normal. For instance, the only player present here today was behaving impeccably, sitting in the chair representing Triumph City with innate authority, exuding a presence that almost rivaled Chu Guang's own. Still, that pangolin wasn’t entirely astute. Had it been his trusty lieutenant Fang Chang seated there instead, the man would’ve flung his shoe at the podium well before Chu Guang’s toes were cemented in awkward tension. None of the other faction representatives would make such a move. Even the alliance's stalwart ally corporations watched with keen interest, waiting to see how Chu Guang resolved his awkward predicament. Perhaps, unable to listen any longer, a soft chuckle emanated from the assembly seats. "Hah... joining the alliance, this young lad makes it sound easy." Seeing someone cut in, the currently impassioned Zhou Xianlin bristled, his eyes like daggers seeking out the direction of the voice. An old man, his face heavily lined with wrinkles, adorned with mismatched golden accessories, looked like he might join his "offerings" in the grave at any moment. "And who might you be?" Clearly not taking the brash speaker seriously, the old man introduced himself with a casual air. "Charlie the Lion." Zhou Xianlin was taken aback, then recalled who the old man was—the one with numerous wives and concubines. Thinking of this, a sneer of disdain surfaced in his eyes. "So it’s just... a stench-ridden, feudal relic, a despot with one foot in the grave, how dare you speak so shamelessly to me, a man of progress—" He never finished. A wave of murderous intent choked back his words. The old man did nothing except fix him with those void-like eyes. That looming, skeletal gaze seemed to pin him to the podium, pulling him toward the grave. Beads of sweat trickled down Zhou Xianlin's forehead. Enveloped by that malice, he subconsciously licked his lips. Yet his eyes showed not fear, but excitement. People often said he hadn’t faced real marauders; now a true one had surfaced... A mere kingdom, reeking with decay, was powerless against the alliance's iron fist! Just then, someone intervened, offering a reprieve through a two-fold cough from the seats. "...Young man, have a seat if you're done. Leave some time for those after you." Without a word, Zhou Xianlin descended from the stage, eyes locked intently on the old king, like a hyena circling its prey. The old king remained composed, easing the tension with his intervention, then restored his leisurely demeanor. "I've been wondering... what’s the connection between the Bone-chewing Tribe and Dam City?" Watching the jester forcibly ejected from the stage, the Red River Alliance leader picked his ear with a pinky, directing his gaze at the Junk City President next to him, "Any ideas?" The Junk City President shook his head, laughing wryly. "Never even heard of the place. Seems the Great Rift invites just about anyone..." The fool was fearless, grabbing the mic and spouting whatever came to mind. Humanity’s assembly would wrap up in a few days; the Great Rift couldn’t protect someone indefinitely. Surely he didn’t plan to remain a hermit forever? Meanwhile, seeing Chu Guang's awkward demeanor, the head honcho beside him chuckled softly, humor lacing his words. "Time sure does fly... Last I saw Charlie the Lion, he was but a cub, and suddenly he's an old lion bringing his prides to see me." Chu Guang glanced at the old coot. "People call him Charlie the Lion, but this side of him is new to me." The head honcho laughed knowingly. "Like a tame cat in front of you, huh? Looks like he might even want to share a lioness with you. But that’s the way of life, no matter how sharp in youth, everyone gets old and frail... and who outlives you?" Chu Guang rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't I be saying that to you? Who outlives you?" The head honcho chuckled lightly, nodding as if lost in thought. "True... let's stick to our parts." Chu Guang: "..." His gut told him this old man was cooking up another riddle in his head. To avoid hearing yet another cryptic tale, Chu Guang shifted his gaze back to the stage. This time, a familiar face came up—the Secretary-General of the South Sea Alliance, Si Wen. He wasted no time, opening with a bright and sunny smile. "Honored by everyone's trust, we’re thrilled the New Era Space Elevator has landed with us!" "We’ve got islands, beaches, crabs, coconuts, and beer, plus large vessels and gantry cranes for loading and unloading!" "Not to brag, but we’re quite spacious, haha. Friends are welcome to visit anytime!" This was perhaps the most practical statement since the human conference began. "Bravo!" Even the veteran head honcho applauded, and Saran joined with encouraging claps too. He was genuinely interested in the large vessels and cranes. The relentless labor at the Southern Corps' dry-bulk port wore him down; ten slaves couldn’t accomplish what a big iron frame could move in a shift, making alliance ports more to his liking. Perhaps, once the meeting wrapped, he could order a couple to take back for New West Sail Port… ... The meeting went on from day to night, with an hour's break midway, during which the host provided lunch boxes. Overall, the rather superfluous meeting did cover some important topics. For instance, a survivor faction from Yunjiang Province—a subsidiary to the corporations—requested that the old military factions abandon the "Production of Eightfold-Growth Clones" technology, ensuring these mindless clones could either live peacefully or receive euthanasia. The Valanterian alliance leader expressed agreement, though surrounding conservative factions seemed less enthused. Saran argued that these clones merely bore human resemblance, lacking the essence of humanity. Meanwhile, the New Federation’s Foreign Minister stated it was strictly a New Federation matter, independent of others. Even the Emperor of the Northern Empire, a man built like a bear, offered a compromise: abandoning clone cannon fodder in exchange for assurance of Valanterian survival. Namely, they called for the establishment of advanced missile defense systems to replace clones, demanding corporations and academies provide necessary key technologies. The proposal itself was reasonable. They sought integration with the civilized world while ensuring self-defense. Even Saran and all the Valanterian leaders recognized that with the skies reopened, replacing clone fodder was inevitable. Under the precision of satellites and artillery, those fodder—ignorant of self-preservation—merely fed their foes. The tide of the times was irreversible. Converting these clone fodder into productive assets was impossible; they lacked not only learning ability but the basic faculties of a functioning human mind. The Alliance had attempted this and evidently failed; otherwise, they’d be touting their success. Having failed to acquire advanced technology, Saran sought economic aid from corporations in return for concessions on the clone and slave issues. After careful deliberation, the corporation’s board agreed. Triumph City and the changes in Valanteran Province revitalized hope in integrating Valanterans into the civilized world, boosting confidence in unifying the fragmented "War Construction Committee." Valanterans had demonstrated an inherent capacity for progress through their actions. With that in mind, why not give them more time? Chieftains succeeded by kings, and the story didn't end there. Ensuring that kings did not yield to new kings, or that their allied empires rose anew... that was the Ideal City’s next priority. For this purpose, the Eastern Empire’s existence remained essential, at least from their perspective. This time, the corporate council played an overt card. It wasn’t just Chu Guang who noticed; everyone seated in the front rows of the conference hall could see it—even Emperor Saran, who was yawning, and the bear-like Northern Emperor. Those visible gestures were but diversions; true ignorance had no place in this room. Even Tyrell, who wasn’t present. That guy was smart, just overly ambitious, leaving no room for maneuvering… The meeting finally reached its conclusion. The chief of the Great Rift delivered a few cursory closing remarks, proclaiming the end of this grand assembly, and the agenda for the next Human Conference. These meetings should happen more frequently. While communication couldn't solve everything, it at least clarified each party's boundaries. Furthermore, the next Human Conference was set to take place in Dawn City, though the date remained undecided. As the assembly dispersed, attendees left the hall with a sense of unfinished business lingering in the air. They would head to the banquet hall for dinner, continue unfinished discussions with those they eye, or decide on the agenda for the following day. Abussek planned to chat with Chu Guang, but then saw Shava, the Mammoth Kingdom’s assault team captain, striding toward him with fury. The expression on Shava's face made Abussek’s heart sink, forewarning of something unfavorable. True to his expectations, Shava barked as soon as he approached. "Abussek! Leader of the Bolar Kingdom! We demand an explanation!" To be continued.