Chapter 957 - This Game Is Too Realistic

**Chapter 957: Brotherly Discord** It wasn't just Niyan who was deeply worried about the students; the president of Mammoth University, Meng Jie, also shared this concern. Recently, the situation in Mammoth City has been turbulent, and the university founded by Niyan has been thrust into the middle of the storm. Especially with the "negative stance" of the *Survivor Daily* during the conflict, students and progressive figures alike have been outraged. They demand that Rasi not only explain the dam incident but also take responsibility for the deaths of three students and two family council members. Now, they've all become like family. This includes the elders of the Moon Tribe resistance, who have been marginalized by Rasi's regime. Back when Rasi seized Mammoth City, he relied heavily on the Moon Tribe's support both domestically and internationally, and he himself is of Moon Tribe descent. Because of this connection, it is impossible for him to completely purge these elders. At most, he could only push them to the fringes, away from the power center—unless he wanted to completely sever ties with all Moon Tribe forces both inside and outside the alliance, as well as the radical supporters of the Moon Tribe within. The cost would be too great... In contrast, those sidelined elders are not restrained by such considerations; since they have nothing left to lose, after all. Perhaps they might even be able to prevent a civil war. They have no interest in competing with Abusir for the northern three prefectures or the capital. Securing their small piece of Mammoth State is enough. If they manage to be labeled as defenders of peace, the alliance would likely be pleased. After all, the attitude of the alliance's leaders has always been— “You Bororans, calm down and stop killing your own brethren.” So, when they saw the opportunity to seize power back from Rasi, one by one they leapt out like hungry wolves, opposing their "Great Moon King." A mighty wave quickly engulfed the entire city, leaving no room for a single peaceful desk. To prevent the educational grounds from turning into a battlefield, Meng Jie had no choice but to temporarily close Mammoth University. This decision clearly left him caught between a rock and a hard place. The Mammoth authorities expressed disappointment in his reluctance to help stabilize the situation, seeing his tolerance as a form of support. Meanwhile, the students saw him as someone who submitted to the authority of the Mammoth government, a cowardly lapdog, a fence-sitter swaying with the wind. Yet these were minor troubles in the grand scheme. Mammoth University was entirely funded by Niyan personally, and was never financially dependent on Mammoth authorities, aside from some assistance from Rasi in the early days. As for the students, they could call him names all they wanted; he wasn’t afraid of dying, and certainly not afraid of some harsh words. Even if the students were angry, they wouldn’t physically attack their teachers. The Family Council's influence in Mammoth City hadn’t grown to madness-inducing levels. Although, when he saw those family members jump out, Meng Jie did have a moment of shock. Somehow, those guys were everywhere before he even realized it... Amidst this troubled time, a piece of news suddenly jolted the entire Mammoth City. Niyan was dead. The Mr. Mouse who wrote *Red Soil* and kindled the first light of enlightenment for the survivors of the Borora province—had died of exhaustion... ... In his private study, Meng Jie silently shed tears while looking at the newspaper, then suddenly covered his nose and shuddered with emotion. His housemaid, noticing his distress, quietly approached to pour him a pot of hot tea. Seeing the floating tea leaves in the cup, his emotions broke down, and he began to sob silently. “Why did it have to be you... of all people, you...” “It seems the heavens truly are blind to justice, failing to see the suffering of the people!” The maid stood there awkwardly, unsure of whether she had made a mistake or what to say, uncertain whether to offer comfort or remain silent. But Meng Jie did not stay immersed in grief for long. Reflecting on the tea leaves gifted by a friend, he thought of unfinished endeavors, his pregnant wife, and many other things... “...When a person dies, everything ends.” Looking up at the ceiling, he let out a deep sigh, finally resolving to compose a resignation letter he took five minutes to draft, then folded it carefully and slipped it into an envelope. “Please deliver this to the school administration, then buy two tickets to Silvermoon Bay for the night’s departure... If you wish to join our family, get a ticket for yourself as well; we will not let you down.” “Yes, sir.” The maid nodded quickly, then hurried out of the study with the envelope. The recent unrest in Mammoth City made her feel uneasy every time she went out shopping for groceries. Perhaps a great calamity was indeed coming... With her parents long gone and no close relatives around, she figured she might as well follow someone with a plan. Meng Jie walked out of his study, coincidentally seeing his pregnant wife descending the stairs. He immediately went to help her down. “Why are you up so early today?” “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come down to check on you,” she said, looking into his eyes, seemingly perceiving something amiss, and asked worriedly, “Are you going on a business trip again?” Meng Jie hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Not a business trip, we’re moving, all of us.” His wife was taken aback. “Moving? The house was just decorated, where are we moving to now?” They didn’t move during the war, so why the sudden decision to move now... She didn’t understand but could see that her husband was not joking. Taking a deep breath, Meng Jie spoke gently and patiently to his wife. “Something major is about to happen here. We’ll head to Silvermoon Bay first, where it’s safe. Once there, I’ll visit my mentor to see if we can leverage the alliance’s connections to save some people... If not, we can’t keep troubling our friends.” His mentor was Mrs. Han Mingyue from the Alliance’s Social Sciences Institute. Though not as famous as the Biological Research Institute or the Scientific Expedition Corps, the reports of the Social Sciences Institute also make it to the desks of alliance leaders. His wife furrowed her eyebrows slightly. “How long will we be away this time?” Meng Jie shook his head. “It’s uncertain, maybe we’ll come back, maybe we won’t.” His wife nodded. “I’ll go with you, but can you tell me what exactly is going on? Is Rasi asking you to do something again, or are those students forcing you to take a stand—” “Neither,” Meng Jie said, shaking his head. “This time, the enemy should be Zaid, Sava... maybe others we don’t know about, but it doesn’t matter anymore; we’ve already lost.” This is an invisible war. It’s the Bororans wrestling with “feudality” itself. In the words of survivors from Boulder City, Bor is the ghost haunting Lord Stephen, and conversely—Lord Stephen is Bor’s ghost. As for feudality, it is the ghost of the Bororans themselves, a ghost not easily slain by bullets, and their society has yet to birth a force capable of counterbalancing it. Instead, repeated massacres have allowed feudality to absorb the power of civilization, evolving into a monster none of them have ever seen. This monster not only speaks like a human, but looks human too. It can even blend in among the masses, posing as a force for progress, fighting alongside young men to topple the thousand pillars of Thousand Pillar City, smashing Boloran’s backbone under the guise of breaking chains. If slaying a king could eliminate feudality, they would have declared victory when Wutu died. Yet the final result was the emergence of Janusz—a figure with “international vision” who declared, “I can also believe in the Alliance.” Now Janusz is dead; it hasn’t even been a year, and another, more advanced than Janusz emerged—one proficient in the art of deception, colder and more ruthless: Zaid. Meng Jie dared not imagine what terrifying form the next monster might evolve into if Zaid were to die. “...To say something my students won’t like, if Rasi wants to become emperor, I would oppose him with both hands while secretly supporting him. He has too much bloodthirst, but which founding emperor wasn’t bloodthirsty? He fosters education, industry, has skills in diplomacy, and an internal policy of patience. He wouldn’t exterminate your family over criticism—history might judge him as a wise ruler. Only someone like him can genuinely contend with hypocrites.” “As for feudality...once productivity and relations both advance, once people’s minds truly open, once another real, existing force capable of counterbalancing feudality emerges from Boror Province’s soil—not merely an elaborate performance—it will naturally be eliminated.” “That day may come in the distant future, but when it does, whatever governance we choose, history will march forward.” **Central Yang Province** Upon hearing the urgent news from the capital, Isher was anxious, but managed to keep his composure enough to issue orders. The railway had been dismantled by local villagers, and the supplies aboard the train had been looted by bandits who quickly vanished. His subordinates managed to capture a few people for questioning, but they only claimed that the orders came from "above," without any idea who exactly "above" was. Without the railway, marching quickly to the capital was now impossible. In the north of Snake Province, Wolf Province had the road network left by the Southern Legion, and more than just the roads... Those wolves might have even taken possession of the Southern Legion's equipment! Including trucks and artillery that could be rapidly deployed by trucks... The thought of possibly encountering Conqueror Mark 10 tanks on the plains sent a drop of cold sweat trickling down Isher's forehead. Even the Alliance wouldn't attack an armored division with a mountain division. After all, he was just a commander, not someone who could conjure units out of thin air and send his soldiers poking at tanks with sticks. Now he had two choices: turn north and align with Rasi, or continue southward and bash his head against a wall. One of these was a middling strategy, while the other was outright poor. As for the best approach... He could think of one, but would never choose it. As Isher wavered in his decision, an officer rushed into the tent, snapped to attention, and saluted. “Sir! The 110,000-strong unit has come into view! They likely took a train from the direction of Lion Province!” Hearing this news, Isher wasn't surprised; instead, the weight on his heart felt lighter. It all made sense now. The entire Northern Field Army had been infiltrated by the Family Council, with even high-ranking officials like Yokar turning into a "family member." Was it because of those fifty-two "Archer" self-propelled guns? Abu Saek formed the Northern Field Army, leaving Yokar to behold the precious equipment snatched from the Legion to the new recruits of the 50th, 51st, and 53rd brigades. Yokar had always harbored resentment over this, blaming himself for not holding onto such treasures every time he suffered a defeat, yet never considering whether they could even operate in mountainous terrain. It was such a seemingly minor matter that perhaps lodged a thorn in his heart. But there might have been other catalysts too. In any case, these matters were no longer important. Isher couldn't help but think that if those fifty-two cannons could somehow transcend time and return to him, he wouldn't have to headbutt the wall as a lone, reckless bear. “Get me in touch with the command of the 110,000-strong unit.” “Yes, sir!” The officer saluted and left the tent. Isher also stood up and headed for the tent housing the radio. They were close enough for direct radio contact, though it came with some risk. But the risk was worth taking. Noticing the young man standing by the phone looking nervous, Isher chuckled and offered reassurance. “Don't worry. Yokar used to be under my command; even if he's ready to break ties with me, he'd at least hear me out before firing... Otherwise, I'd haunt him from beyond the grave.” The young man nodded, though still visibly tense, his eyes fixed on him. Patting the trembling shoulder of the young man, Isher took his seat by the phone. After a deep breath, he picked up the receiver and barked sternly. “Yokar, what’s the meaning of this?!” The aura of his past leadership lingered. Startled by the shout, Yokar nearly snapped to attention in reflex. Regaining composure, he retorted. “Meaning? What the hell do you mean by meaning?!” Isher roared back, “Explain yourself first! Who authorized you to leave your post! What are you doing here?!” “Leaving post unauthorized? I captured the position you failed to take for a month…” Mid-sentence, Yokar noticed the officers stealing glances at him. Blushing with embarrassment, he glared at them before clumsily changing the topic. “Orders from the Snake Province theater commander... Don't bother with who gave the orders! Their rank is higher than yours! I’m here to stop you from doing something stupid! I'm telling you, leaving your area unauthorized... that's treason!” Hearing this, Isher chuckled. This guy was still the same, clumsy with words, unable to articulate even when in the right. Even with crafted scripts for him, he still stumbled over his words. Thinking of how even this straightforward warmonger had to start talking politics, Isher felt half bitter, half sad. “Yokar... I won't ask who's instructing you. Just answer me this: will you come with me?” Without waiting for a reply, Isher continued. “If you come with me, after we win this war, my promise still stands—I’ll teach you how to chase college girls.” In such a serious situation, hearing such out-of-place talk almost made the tense Yokar spew blood. “I... Are you nuts? When did I ever ask you to teach me? I’m a captain of ten thousand men, who needs your tips on picking up girls? Here's the deal: you come with me today, and I’ll get you ten college girls! No, twenty! You can pick them yourself!” Isher gave a soft laugh. “Then I definitely can't go with you. If I do, then all my fighting’s for nothing.” Yokar widened his eyes, his hand on the phone trembling, and he shouted. “You’re insane! Do you know how many they are?! Eight hundred thousand! A full eight hundred thousand! They're fat, healthy bastards, broad-shouldered and stout. Standing next to them, I look like a beggar. How do you plan to fight them? With your child soldiers? Their armored units could line up from the south to the north of West Sail Harbor! The artillery I gathered over a year—they can pull out a brigade on a whim with that many! They could drown us with shells!” “You think you can fight them? What can you do alone? You think you’re some god? Du Wata, Nigri... aren’t any of those boys bigger than you? Even they chickened out! But no, you have to be noble! You’re so... grand! You just pull your imaginary Alliance along for a full war with them! Best if not a soul is left!” Holding the phone, Isher merely smiled and asked one thing. “Are you envious?” Yokar’s eyes turned red. “I... I’m not envious! I'm not a coward! I wouldn’t even look up to you, that scared mouse, let alone those fat pigs. But damn it! I can't watch you throw your life away! If you're meant to die, it should be in the north! At the hands of the Willanterians! Not here, in the capital! You’re a hero; you should fall to the Willanterians! We can still be saved!” “Me? I'm not as grand as you think, you might have forgotten…” Isher began to say something, but Yokar rudely interrupted. That straightforward guy who never begged now sounded like he was about to kneel, adopting a pleading tone. “Surrender... I’ve turned everyone I could. Shahrukh even turned the ‘Butcher’! Abu Saek has already lost!” “Hahaha! The Butcher... you mean Piqlay? That weakling obsessed with his son, squeezed by Du Wata? That pig who picks corpses off the Alliance's rear? You, the proud returnee from Lion Province, looked down on him, didn’t you? And now you're counting on him?” Suddenly, Isher burst into laughter, tears nearly coming from his eyes. But if even that blockhead turned against Abu Saek, truly it was a dead end. For reasons unclear, Isher suddenly recalled the Commander of the Imperial Guards who died standing before the Heavenly Palace Gates. Wutu fled, but that man, life or death uncertain, stood guarding the palace gates, glaring at the opportunist rebel who fancied himself a king. He hadn’t understood then, only thinking the man wasn’t as clever and adaptable as himself. But now, standing in a familiar position, he suddenly did. That man wasn’t defending Abu Saek, or even the fledgling Boror Nation, nor solely the people living on this land… What he defended was just his wish, his ideal, what he deemed right and was willing to die for. Even if that wish wasn’t one all Bororans truly desired deep down… They had never been deceived by anyone. Janusz was both what they deeply feared, dreaded, and yet longed for—a king! Only he could awaken the desire within them to topple their own kin! Whether curry was spicy or sweet could be an excuse to kill; what reason couldn’t be found? The Federation's shaky unity wasn’t due to the Alliance. It was simply because the Willanterians hadn’t left… Finally having laughed enough, Isher took a deep breath, and his expression gradually turned cold. "Yokar, I'll grant you your wish! The Northern Field Army no longer has space for cowards like the 110,000-strong unit! I, Isher, the Jungle Rat, no longer count you as one of my subordinates! I spit on you—! Third brigade, open fire on them!" Yokar was stunned. It wasn't Isher’s outburst or verbal barrage that shocked him, but the fact that Isher, for the first time, used the nickname "Jungle Rat" from his own wanted posters in a non-self-deprecating manner. Ever since the "Meat Grinder of the Great River Turn," they had been at odds, and now he wanted to fulfill his wish… This towering man, standing at 1.8 meters, suddenly broke down in tears, his eyes bloodshot as he yelled into the phone with abandon. "Damn it! Don’t do anything stupid! Come back to the capital with me! I guarantee your safety! At least think about your female students... and you’re a bachelor, think about the brothers in the third thousand-men brigade! They have families!" "Hahaha! Coward! You've just won a fight and already can’t lift a knife? We'll see on the battlefield." Isher decisively hung up the phone, tidied his collar while seated, and looked towards the trembling young man—the communications operator of the third thousand-men brigade. This time, he spoke in a soft voice. "My female students are yours now, go ahead." Seeing his heart laid bare, the young man fell to his knees, crying, "Commander! Please surrender! Outside... the entire communications team is our people! We’ve lost! I beg you! Don’t die!” "Stand up! Look at yourself, cowering before the Willanterians. Before they come, you're on your knees, and you’re still kneeling when they're gone! The third brigade doesn’t need spineless soldiers like you!” Isher glared and scolded him. He didn't want to ask what convinced them, as it was rather obvious. The Willanterians had families, and these young men had their own weaknesses, easily exploited. The others didn’t have to sacrifice much; just sharing the loot like Janusz did was enough. Niyan’s assessment was accurate; they were indeed the same. The young man got up, his eyes red, looking at his commander with tears and snot on his chin. He never imagined that the communications team leader he saw as family would utter such harsh words as "do what needs to be done," leaving such a cruel task to a rookie like himself. Why did he have to carry out such a brutal act? That was his commander! A hero of the northern line! The nightmare of the Willanterians! His hand hesitated, unable to reach his sidearm; he'd rather point it at his own head! "I'm begging you! Run away! I'll help you escape! I'll tell them... you're already dead!" Isher chuckled, looking at the sobbing young man with a gentle demeanor. "You're too young. If I run, what will become of you? I promised to take you home, and I will make sure you all live." "Do it." He would no longer run. Nor could he. He'd run from the church at West Sail Harbor to here; where could he go next? Ultimately, he was just a small mouse, lucky to sit as the Northern Field Army’s commanding officer. This was his homeland. If it's the Bororans who wanted his head, so be it. He felt only regret for not being able to repay Mr. Melchio, who taught him to read, and the old nun at the church. He had no parents of his own; they were like parents to him. Unfortunately, he had no chance to pray there again, but returning to the side of the moon goddess for absolution seemed nice. It had been a whole year since he last greeted her. Oh, and Mrs. Marguerite was likely soon to have her second child with her husband, and little Ruby would soon have a companion... although fulfilling the promise to meet again seemed improbable now. And Anvo. That fool, used by many, who had a foot in the grave but was doing fairly well as a diplomat in Kingallon Port, staying out of the murky waters of the capital... It's all rather amusing, really. Who would still remember that this all started because of an honest, ill-fated man? A group of dockworkers pondering their fates, finally overwhelmed by grief, wanted to seek justice for Orissa’s family. A mere 800 dinars for a life; it was too little… at least make it four figures. Abu Saek probably never imagined the chaotic journey those caught in the whirlpool would undertake, only to find themselves back at the same dry well. But the people he knew were all good. After much contemplation, he found he had no regrets. ... The Arctic Circle. Harsh, cold winds howled. The only place still chronicling the early days of the Wasteland Era seemed to be here. The map of *Wasteland OL* is larger than imagined; no matter how far from home, there was always something to stave off boredom. Amidst a circle of igloos, two girls clad in thick cold-weather gear and a fluffy mother bear surrounded a two-meter-tall snowman, watched by a group of curious children. Not long ago, the Polar Bear Knights had completed a thrilling adventure. In a corner of the wasteland beyond the esteemed Administrator's gaze, they defeated a mad scientist intent on using telepathy and cloning to control an army of cloned bears to conquer the world, and freed the Arctic villagers enslaved by his dark faith! Granted, Sisi had her doubts about this guy ever conquering the world. At least not in the Valley Province; even without the Administrator, Niko alone could handle them. In any case, that chapter closed, and they secured much precious DNA from endangered species, hopefully enough to revive the rare animals driven to extinction in the Borora Province. Incidentally, this Arctic settlement does have a name, but as the foreigners kept getting its long syllables wrong, the locals resigned to letting them call them the "Arctic villagers." Nominally, it was under the Northern Empire, but the Willanterians only set up a post and exploited natural resources like oil and something akin to combustible ice, showing little interest in local affairs. Anyway, those details hardly mattered now. The important thing was leaving a token of their presence before embarking on the next adventure! Sisi had no bright ideas, Meat was not the sharpest, and Sesame Paste went along with everything, leaving it to Tail to act. True to form, she came up with a ridiculous plan—building a snowman in honor of the heroic Meat! Thus, a group gathered in the windy igloo to construct a snowman. Though Sisi doubted how long it would last, seeing the eager eyes of the children, she abandoned her utilitarian thought. There was no need for it to last long. Teaching these kids how to build a snowman, so that the next time they do, they'd remember the brave vault dwellers who ventured from afar to save them from an evil scientist. Watching from afar, even the normally stoic Sisi couldn't help but smile warmly at the harmonious scene. Being immortalized in fairy tales wouldn’t be so bad... A cause for joy, indeed. But then, a sudden cry broke the peace, as the three-meter snowman collapsed with a crash. "Save the snowman!" "Cough, cough! Giao! Help Tail instead!" "Tail, stay still! We can still save you!" "Ah, bring me a scarf..." "AWSL!" As the bear crumbled, the children cried out, rushing to rescue the snowman, but it was too late. Fortunately, some adults came over to pull Tail out of the snow pile, stopping Meat from rebuilding it further. "Are you alright?" a villager, built like a bear, dusted snow off her shoulder, worriedly inquiring. "Oh, it's nothing... Tail has suffered worse than this. A little bump is nothing." Tail dismissed him with a wave, darting back to the heap to join Sesame Paste, Meat, and the children in a heroic effort to salvage the snowman. The villagers exchanged glances, scratching their heads, their admiration deepening. Tail didn't care about their thoughts; she just wanted to "rescue" the snowman. Unfortunately, in the end, they only managed to recover a plump body. "It collapsed..." "Don’t be sad, there was nothing else we could do…" "It's all your fault! I told you, those heavy paws can't just hang in the air! Should've just planted them on the ground!" "...Guh! We should've made it smaller." Coming over, Sisi squatted down to study the snowman for a moment, shook her head, and sighed. "...No saving it. Let's build another." "Ugh..." Sesame Paste hugged her knees, sitting in a corner, doodling in the snow, looking dejected. Though she always said she didn't mind and could go anywhere, she was often the one who put in the most effort and found it hardest to let go. Tail came over and gave her a warm hug from behind, gently patting the cat ears hidden beneath her hat. "Oh... Don't be too sad, Tail is here for you." Meat joined in, placing her thick bear paw over Sesame Paste's gloved hands, her voice a low hum. "Let's build another one. This time, I'll make sure to keep an eye on Tail!" Tail immediately protested at that. "Giao! Why do I always get the blame? Why not blame A-Guang! He's the mastermind behind the scenes!" Watching the two jokers bicker, Sesame Paste burst into laughter, as did Sisi, clutching her stomach. Meanwhile, far away in the Great Rift, someone sneezed and muttered under their breath, rubbing their nose. "Who's cursing me now..." To be continued.