Chapter 960 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 960: Heroes "[People of Boro, calm down. I gave you those supplies to balance the Alliance, to make you your own 'South Sea Alliance,' not to have you destroy yourselves! I'm getting tired of this! —Eastern Empire, Cable]" "[Understood! Understood! We will give orders to minimize the casualties! —Serpent State, Cable]" "[…] —Eastern Empire, Cable" Outside the airport in Dawn City, soldiers clad in exoskeletons stood in high alert. Not far away, a crowd of players and survivors from the valley watched with expressions of amused curiosity. "They're here again." "Tsk, tsk…" "Any volunteers to bring a train over here?" "Don't be like that… They're pitiful, really." "Pitiful? I don't see it. They've tasted the grapes from the Family Association and now they want to spit out the skins? All they think about is the good stuff." "Laughable… Weren't they raving about Zayed when he first showed up?" "I didn't see it myself, but from the collected issues of the Survivor's Daily from Jinkalon Port, it's clear they didn't like Rashid or Abu Saik." "They should be happy now, right? Both criminals are out of power, so why aren't they pleased?" "Such a hard crowd to satisfy." The murmured criticisms continued, with the onlookers turning their heads in disapproval. Even Duke Gallawa, from a distance, shook his head in resignation. In the midst of the crowd, a group of well-dressed individuals lay prostrate on the ground, pressing their foreheads firmly into the mud. Their status should have been high, yet their demeanor was humbling to the extreme. They held signs listing the numerous transgressions of the Family Association—they mentioned snake grass, deceit, proselytizing, and a host of other assorted claims, valid or otherwise. Amusingly to Chu Guang, these people were so desperate they've even pinned the death of a cultural figure named Niyang on the Family Association. Some claims alleged the Association colluded with the Enlightenment Society, the Torch Church, and Gaia. These scholars had certainly scraped the bottom of the barrel to find such accusations. Not far from them stood another group protesting against Savar, listing charges such as the recent 1500 massacre, and some even blamed Savar for Rashid's death, attempting to use their imagined legal reasoning to persuade him to march troops to discipline Savar. The landscape seemed to have shifted. Chu Guang vaguely recalled that previously they opposed Rashid and Abu Saik, and supported the Family Association and the Moon Tribe Resistance. Their newspapers had flamboyantly turned Zayed into a saint and elevated several elders of the Moon Tribe Resistance to saviors. The elders of the Moon Tribe Resistance failed to ascend, possibly due to miscalculation—after all, Rashid didn't conduct any thorough purges as they hoped for, failing to complete the iteration they dreamt of through him. But Zayed, after all, was one they had praised, and now they disavowed him. There was, of course, another possibility: those who praised Zayed have gone to the capital to welcome the holy master. Those who didn't go, or even fled here, could only be the dark devotees—essentially his detractors. The actions of these two groups resulted in a foolish dichotomy where they could have engaged jointly in something substantial but chose to unite on an endeavor that guaranteed mutual defeat. Looking at them, Chu Guang felt a blend of pity and disappointment, yet he lacked any real regret. Not all of them sought profits; in fact, most people didn't. This was indisputable. Just like how Lowell produced red soil, could that have been for profit? That was sacrifice! That was martyrdom! Had he avoided the creation of the red soil, surviving through the Wasteland Era wouldn't have been particularly difficult. He could have outlived the first lord of Boulder City. But the wisdom of his actions was a different story. Originally, Chu Guang intended to leave without a word but reconsidered as these people might not relent. They might chase him again, obstructing the train. Considering that was an asset of the Alliance citizens, he paused. "Do you know what I think?" Faces filled with expectation finally lifted, hope written in their eyes. The grand old leader was finally paying attention! However, Chu Guang's next words plunged everyone kneeling there into despair. "You are Zayed, who never rose to power, the Family who remains in the wilderness." The man in the front choked, a betrayed expression on his face, staring at him in disbelief. "How… how can you say that about us?" Judging by his attire, the man seemed to be a cultured person, but at this moment, propriety was set aside. He wasn't alone. The crowd prostrate on the ground began to stir with indignation. Yet, Chu Guang stared at him and those behind him with an unyielding look. "Because he did the same things you did, except he wasn't as lucky as you all; he left before even meeting me." The man paused, obviously unaware of such past events, and the crowd quieted down again. Chu Guang continued speaking calmly. "We've provided money, technology, ideas, culture, talent, factories, railroads, schools, tanks, planes, artillery, and even what Lowell and others forgot or didn't write—'Administrator Logs.' We've supplemented them as best we can. What more do you want?" "Our volunteers even helped stave off the Southern Legion for you. What more do you expect us to do? Do you so yearn to become our colony?" "You never even asked the survivors of the Boro Province for their opinion. You deemed yourselves clever, assuming the role of their parents, treating them as your subjects, blamed them for listening to others over you. No wonder they don't want you." "Zayed was at least better in that respect. Regardless of whether he truly cared for the Family or not, he at least engaged with every family, spinning his grand visions. And you? You kneel before Dawn City, begging the Alliance for love once more?" The Boro Province was effectively an unnumbered vault, the largest shelter in this wasteland. His players attempted to awaken some of their slumbering comrades and indeed managed to awaken a few. Regrettably, — "No one here is innocent, whether it's you, those you abandoned, or those who abandoned you." "By the laws of the Alliance, this is known as conspiracy." "However, we have no obligation to judge you. Your legitimacy doesn't stem from anyone's approval but from yourselves, and your punishment will also come from yourselves." "From the children as tall as a wheel and beyond, they will spend their lifetimes repaying the sins committed, until an entire generation is lost in the cycle of revelry and terror." "We have no interest in intervening." "Since you chose this path, walk it to the end." … Had the residents of Boulder City abandoned Elisa, Melvin wouldn't have returned with cartloads of food to save them, nor would the players have extended their assistance, but would have watched as they became frozen statues in their ugly state. In such an event, most of Boulder City's residents would have perished in that desperate winter. Perhaps a few murderers might have survived through luck but would face grim results waiting for them. Most people who heard their story would say "serves them right." The residents of Boulder City not only survived the harsh winter and now enjoy a prosperous life, but they also have time to join the players in their antics, share extra resources with others in need, and realize self-worth. When they finally noticed, they had long ceased to be those wastelanders struggling desperately for survival. Good deeds don't always extend life, but ultimately, they bring good days. The reverse is true as well. At this moment, the residents of the capital lined the streets, welcoming their new ruler, oblivious to the trials awaiting them in the days to come. Gopal and Sharuk arrived first. The former commanded the ten-thousand strong Grey Wolf Army, and the latter was the sidelined commander of the Serpent State battle zone, accompanied by the "Butcher" Pryklivanov, the hero of the Heavenly Capital's defense. Abu Saik had already been dismissed by the committee. When he lost control over the Northern Field Army, he was automatically ousted from the central power circle of the capital. Even state governors would no longer take his calls. The outcome was clear. In everyone's eyes, Abu Saik, who issued two appointments to the Serpent State, ended up dropping the rock on his own foot, while the shrewd and tactful Sharuk, with the capacity of an elephant, appeared to be the destined wise man skilled at employing talent. Watching the strutting Sharuk, Gopal pondered how to put this guy in his place, showcase his military prowess, while pledging loyalty to Zayed and vying for the crown prince position against the pliable Savar. Little did he know, an embellished secret telegram had already been sent through underground channels of the capital to the Serpent State, making Zayed frown. As the parents around him grew increasingly murderous, the seemingly harmless Savar finally let out a sigh of relief, placing the apology letter he had just written back into his drawer to deal with later. He understood that regardless of whether it was Gopal or Sharuk who led the charge, he had managed to make it into the final round in any case. Moreover, during his recent work in domestic affairs, he had heard about a technology that could influence the brain development of fetuses, activating prehistoric hereditary diseases embedded in DNA that normally remain dormant. This was a byproduct of research from using clones as cannon fodder. The Verantans initially hoped to use this technology to mass-produce awakened beings, thereby replacing the unstable awakening potions that affected fertility. However, they only created premature deformed babies who were less viable than ordinary clone cannon fodder, rendering them useless in practical combat. Thus, this redundant research was abandoned. However, as an "adopted son," Savar was intrigued upon hearing about it. Coincidentally, the Emperor of the Eastern Empire seemed quite displeased with Zayed recently. Perhaps he could ask his brothers there to conduct a little search to see if they could find a mutually satisfying resolution... … In the province of Haiya, at Settlement Number One. Little Ruby was playing with blocks at home when she accidentally knocked down the castle she had just painstakingly built. Seeing her entire morning's effort crumble made her sniffle and cry in disappointment. Hearing her child's cries, Margery hurried over after setting breakfast on the table and scooped Ruby up into her arms, patting her back soothingly. "Don't cry, don't cry… Mommy will help you build an even bigger castle." After all, children are children. Especially at Ruby's young age, where memories do not linger long. Although the incident at Western Sail Harbor had frightened her, thanks to Mister Isher, the situation had a happy ending. As time passed, the little angel had returned to them safe and sound. Hearing the activity in the living room, Yalman returned from the entryway after picking up the newspaper. Watching his wife and daughter, he wore a gentle smile and said, "Let me play with Ruby. You're pregnant now, squatting on the ground is inconvenient." Because his wife was expecting, Yalman had recently slowed down the expansion of his business, delegating many tasks to others. He no longer personally spearheaded efforts. The war likely wouldn't last much longer, as many talented and capable Verantan youths had arrived at Settlement Number One recently. He felt it was time to give these younger men a chance, freeing himself from his busy routine to spend quality time with the family he had neglected for far too long. Apparently reluctant to let go of her "powerful helper" just like that, Ruby, nestled in her mother's arms, had a bright idea and said, "We can… we can build the castle higher! Build it on the table! That way, mommy won't accidentally squish the baby brother! As for Ruby… she can stand on a chair!" "Haha! My little Ruby, always thinking of her mommy!" Margery's laughter was resplendent, kissing Ruby on the cheek and casting a proud look at her husband, her eyebrows lifted. She then gazed softly at Ruby, saying, "But mommy's only newly pregnant. It might not even be a brother—if it's a sister, you have to be kind to her too." "It’s definitely a brother!" Ruby suddenly asserted seriously, looking earnestly at her mother as though it were a prophetic truth. "I saw him in my dream yesterday! I even promised him I would comfort him if he cried—and build him a huge, huge castle!" Margery let out a gentle laugh at her daughter's sincerity, playfully tweaking her tiny nose. "So that's why you brought out the blocks Uncle Henk gave you early this morning—to build him a new home." Placing the newspaper on the dining table, Yalman chuckled as he tousled his daughter’s hair. "I've known for a while—our little Ruby is going to be an outstanding architect one day!" Ruby blinked and looked at her father, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. "Architect?" Yalman nodded with an encouraging smile. "Yes! Someone who builds tall, large houses… like your Uncle Henk." Strictly speaking, Henk wasn't quite that kind of person, but he was the only adult close to the architectural field that Ruby knew. The Verant Street where they currently lived was a testament to Henk's company's efforts. Initially, the entire project faced strong opposition from the Boro people at Settlement Number One, but once the beautiful model homes were erected, they eagerly purchased them, thereafter becoming supporters of the entire Verant Street project. What was once a conflict between Boros and Verantans had now morphed into a conflict amongst Boros themselves. This was a win-win conclusion for both the radical and conservative factions of the local assembly. For the former, the sentiments of "the underprivileged" no longer faced repeated injury. For the latter, Settlement Number One's economy would see rapid growth. The price Henk paid for this was merely a little discount on interest rates. In reality, this cost wasn't even shouldered by his Henk Group, but by Felicity Bank, which had all its assets tied up in Henk Group real estate projects. The jeweler who once fled from Eternal Night Port was now nearly an acolyte under Henk—a complete role reversal of their previous statuses. Yalman was at a loss for whether Henk was astute or sly, as the man seemingly couldn't sit still. Recently, he had an outlandish idea that a baby boom was coming to the wasteland, planning to expand into the toy business, using the quality of his real estate projects as a guarantee for the toys’ quality. Yet this thought was quickly suppressed by investors. Still, Yalman felt it genuinely could be a good business move. Thanks to the shelter residents, children of the New Epoch didn't need to scour the wasteland for junk as their fathers did. Besides textbooks, they could have wonderful things to expend their abundant energy on, nurturing their intellect and dexterity, leaving behind fond childhood memories. Perhaps he could fund him a sum to embark on this venture. The profits from shipping weren't as high as they once were… As Yalman pondered this, he suddenly found himself meeting two pairs of gently mocking eyes. "Dear, are you thinking about work again?" "Daddy’s counting money again!" Faced with the sharp gazes of his wife and daughter, Yalman hurriedly denied with a sheepish smile. "No, how could I… Let's eat breakfast before it gets cold." He was already ranked third in this household, and wouldn't be surprised if he fell to fourth soon. Another little angel would soon join their ranks. By the Silver Moon Goddess, he vowed to cherish that little angel, giving him the finest the world had to offer. Having said that, Yalman quickly sat at the dining table and picked up the newspaper he had fetched from outside. Upon seeing the headline, his index finger trembled slightly, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Isher… was dead? Settlement Number One's "Survivor Daily" hadn't placed the news on the front page but featured it on the second, alongside a photo of the young officer. A bright smile adorned his face, his arm over the shoulder of another—a Death Legion commander? That must have been an old photo from the Akkaler County victory. That battle had been brutal, practically wiping out the Third Ten Thousand Man Team. Some decurions advanced to the rank of centurion in just two days. Now this photo, turned black and white, seemed to mark the end of an era. The spoon Margery was using to add sugar to her cup clattered to the floor as she abruptly covered her mouth, eyes pooling with tears. “…Mommy?” Ruby swayed her little legs from her perch on the chair, tilting her head in confusion over her mother’s sudden mishap, but hopped down with a grunt to pick up the spoon. Not wanting her child to see her tears, Margery pushed her chair back and quickly ran to the kitchen. Watching his wife flee to the kitchen, Yalman silently folded the newspaper on the table, then softly spoke to little Ruby. "Mommy forgot to get the milk… I'll go help her find it, okay? Will you stay here like a good girl, Ruby?" Though Ruby nodded, an unsettling memory seemed to surface, bringing a fearful expression to her face. “Okay… but promise you’ll come back.” Sensing he had startled her, Yalman immediately crouched, lightly patting her head, soothing her with gentle words. “Daddy and Mommy are right here at home… we’re not going anywhere today, just spending time with our dear Ruby.” With Ruby gathering her courage and nodding, Yalman hurried into the kitchen. Seeing his wife standing by the sink, covering her face in tears, Yalman placed his arm gently around her shoulder. He didn't say anything, just softly patted her shoulder as if comforting a child. After five or six minutes, this strong mother finally lifted her tear-streaked eyes. "Why… did this happen? Wasn't their war over?" Not sure how to console his wife, Yalman remained silent for a moment before letting out a gentle sigh. "I don't understand any more than you do… but considering it's him, the man who managed to escape the dangerous stalemate at Western Sail Harbor and save everyone, it's hard to imagine he couldn't escape this time." In that sense, perhaps this outcome was his own choice. Yet, in the end, Yalman couldn't comprehend why the Boros would kill him. He was their hero, after all! It's something he, as a Verantan, could never truly understand. Julius had failed, succeeded, shown bravery, indulged in disgrace, and wasn't even Verantan. He might have been involved in the Defense Department's crimes… but none of that stopped them from remembering him. They, along with his glory and faults, built a grand shrine to commemorate the great liberator. However, as the saying goes, Marshal Julius might not have been deserving of the Boros, or even the administrators of the Alliance. Perhaps they've found more worthy deities to worship now. "No matter what, it's a decision they've all made together… and we should respect that." Yalman decided to take a trip to Jinkalon to find Isher's former superior, Anwo. That man had also been aided by Isher, and must now be deeply mourning the loss of a friend. Aside from silence, there were still things they, the living, could do for the late sir. At the very least, they could preserve his remains. Settlement Number One was home to several of his compatriots; like the displaced Verantans, they, too, were victims of the war. Henk couldn't understand their resentment towards the Verantans, but Isher's savior could. Yalman wanted to build a mausoleum for the hero who saved everyone and erect a statue for him—as their predecessors had done. If the Construction and Development Committee didn’t want him— Then let the Verantans commemorate him! Yalman's resolve was set, and he wasn't the only one feeling determined. "Dear, I have an idea… I think… we might be able to do something..." Yalman embraced her warm shoulders as he gently stroked her silky hair. "I understand what you mean. Perhaps it's not just your, mine, and little Ruby’s thought, but the will of the Silver Moon Goddess." It was a name synonymous with bravery, kindness, resilience, and wisdom. Noble, a warrior, or even a hero. He hoped his child could be like that person, possess a passionate heart, not waiting for someone else's salvation but becoming the torch that illuminates both his path and others’. "If it's a boy, let's name him Isher." ... At Jinkalon Port. In the study of a certain home on Tulip Street. Staring at the harshly worded lines, Ah Sin felt dizzy, nearly collapsing onto the chair. "This is… too much to bear!" Much like in the past, he slammed the newspaper onto the table, but what clogged his heart wasn’t anger—it was desolation. Kunar stood beside him, speaking in a deep voice. "Boss, the assassin who killed Rashid was named Wudy. He was a mid-level officer in the Assault Team's Intelligence Office, someone Rashid trusted… Based on our findings, he used his position to pass a lot of information to the Family Association." After Rashid's death, Savar asked for their assistance, and Kunar led the core Assassins withdrawn from Western Sail Harbor to help the authorities take care of things they couldn't handle themselves. Such as settling scores. Only outsiders could handle this task, as insiders couldn't, and the Assassins once had a connection with Rashid. Wudy was an orphan, but his contacts were not. One of them had even fled with his family to Jinkalon Port early on. However, the Assassins ensured he didn't make it ashore. With a simple command, they had the boat's captain detour to Banana Head Bay. That was Assassin territory. Kunar didn’t even need torture; a single sentence made the man confess everything— 'If you confess, you'll be freed from debt. Fail, and you'll owe—wives and daughters on the boat, a ten-gallon serving price until end of days.' Upon hearing that, the man knelt immediately. Kunar hadn't done anything so extreme before, for his boss always taught them to be dignified, never thorough—to not overkill. But considering what those Boro traitors did made his blood boil, maybe it was time to challenge his limits. Luckily, those people didn't have such steadfast beliefs, for if they did, they'd have martyred themselves instead of fleeing after setting a fire. A hint of ruthlessness flickered in Kunar’s eyes as he lowered his voice. "Boss… should we deal with Wudy?" Ah Sin gazed at the ceiling, closed his eyes and after a long pondering, shook his head. "No need. If he had more value, Savar wouldn’t have let him go... Since Rashid said to spare him, let him return to the capital and let him bear witness to his own misdeeds." There's no way Zayed would admit sending a hired killer; after all, the Moon Tribe Resistance nincompoops leapt forth claiming credit, eager to carve Rashid's flesh and claim the heroics of quashing the budding "Great Moon King." All things considered, that fellow had no better future returning to the capital, so why extend a favor to Zayed? Perishing in delusion, bearing the traitor label, was a more fitting end for the man. He was a traitor, after all. As for the Moon Tribe Resistance, Savar would naturally handle them. The guy just lost his father and likely wouldn't stop at 1,500 kills. It was necessary. Boro wasn’t Boulder City; even they wouldn’t be satisfied until heads rolled aplenty, feeling an incomplete purge was akin to no purge at all, as evident now. Besides, Savar would soon have to confront Zayed’s advancing northern army. Grove wielded an army of eight hundred thousand at Lion State, ready to mobilize another eight hundred thousand anytime! Meanwhile, Mammoth Nation's fighting forces dwindled to less than six hundred thousand, no longer able to withstand another ambush. Only the Mammoth Nation's "True Great Moon King" elected by them could withstand the "True Lovell" chosen by the Boros. Dreading the Boro’s fate, Ah Sin shut his eyes, unwilling to look again. "Close the door. I wish to be alone." Silently, Kunar nodded, stepped out of the study, and gently closed the door. “...Had I known this would be your end today, I’d have insisted on a drink before you left.” With the study now empty, Ah Sin broke down in sobs, covering his face with his palms. A lifelong regret. He offered a feast to someone who dismissed him as a scoundrel not worth dining with. Back then, he secretly rejoiced. A great moon king disdainful of someone scheming in the shadows was for the best. If a rightful emperor colluded with a rogue like him, using villains to manage good people, silently witnessing scoundrels like "Vikram" discipline his subjects, the matter was truly over. Not only did Rashid not despise him, but he also despised himself. He avoided gray-market dealings if he could help it. But choice was not a luxury he had. That night, under a looming storm, pairs of timid eyes watched his back, pushing this weakest to the front, praying he’d be shot by the "Iron Men" and see red. When the "Iron Men" spared him and handed him a gun, those same greedy eyes hoped for a misstep or self-sabotage, ready to pounce and strip him bare. What could he do? He took the plunge, turbocharged his way to his current position. Governor Nihark’s residence lay near his home; the residing duke never once spared him a glance. Rashid was the sole moonlight visible to him, hiding in the sewers as he was. That man might not have been a saint, but he shone in his way. It drove him to fund Rashid’s cause unconditionally. He repeatedly reminded his men about dignity—a hope to someday sit openly before the Moon King, drinking under the moonlight, not be seen as a general’s lifelong stain. Rashid truly didn't let him down. Despite being greeted with disdainful looks and whispers behind his back, he carved out a future in Mammoth State that none of the small-time players had ever envisioned! They were on the brink of success! The emperor had been driven out, and the Verantans had left! But just as the utopia they dreamed of seemed within reach, it crumbled at the last moment! Ah Sin could no longer contain his emotions, feeling a maddening urge to tear the study apart. "…Dammit! I should never have let you head north! Why save those accursed people? Let them all die! Let them kill each other until the Reed Marshes of the Eternal River are filled with corpses!" "It's my fault you suffered! Aaaaah!" Kunar stood silently at the door of the study, eyes closed as if in meditation. He neither listened to what his boss was doing inside nor wished to hear. He kept vigil from day until dawn. When the door finally opened, he noticed the dark circles beneath Ah Sin's eyes and felt a pang of sympathy. He didn't regret anything, but he felt it was a waste for his boss. "Boss…" Ah Sin patted his shoulder and whispered a few instructions into his ear. Kunar first looked puzzled, then his eyes lit up, and a fierce determination replaced the grimness on his face. The small-time player who once managed thousands with a single bullet now faced doubts about his resolve to wield the knife. Everything seemed just like that stormy day— His boss had returned. "Understood." Kunar bowed slightly, then strode out of the room, loosening the tie that felt like it was choking him. Ah Sin watched Kunar's back with an indifferent expression. He found that if he didn't see those people as human and treated them as donkeys with nose rings, things were much simpler. He just had to lead them with a carrot, whip them when necessary, watch them laugh and cry, cheer and mourn. But as soon as he treated them with human decency— That’s when everything fell apart. They wanted to "overthrow the heavens." They wanted to cut people open to see inside. Over the night, he came to understand only one thing. They had gone in circles, proving through their actions they were deserving of such suffering. Including himself. It was neither the students, the teachers, nor the various classes caught up in the turmoil who were to blame. They had simply evolved around the core of a thousand pillars, creating a system serving the law of the jungle. Their core logic stated: the worse you are, the better you fare; the more shameless you are, the higher you climb. Based on this logic, they developed a series of complex theoretical tools surpassing animal behavior. This unchanging logic, combined with ever-evolving practice, constructed an invisible cage—and the teachings of the Family Association were merely practice. Unless this cage was broken, not even Alliance ideology, nor alien charity light-years away, would have any effect. They’d all be turned into manipulation tools based on that most foundational "path." As for being "eaten" by aliens, that was another matter entirely. Because once their very existence vanished, the mental cage, even if present, would lose its meaning. Yet the Alliance fell short of these aliens. First, they didn’t consume people. Second, in true unity, who assimilates whom remains uncertain. Clearly, the Alliance realized the issue, and even some conservative factions within had become vigilant, much like a body rejecting undigested nutrients. Therefore, even a divine intervention to wipe out the Family Association down to the last wouldn't solve anything. The Union might become another Family Association, Abu Saik might be forced into becoming the next Zayed, or his successor might be even more vicious and ruthless than Zayed and Yanush combined… This isn’t some ethereal fate but a stark, realistic civilization. Perhaps someone knew the solution, but he was tired—not the person for this task. He was merely a mouse that happened to stand taller and see further. Savar lost a "father." He simultaneously lost a "mentor" and "hope." He no longer wished to support those cowardly wretches; even if they won, they'd just become the next Family, and he didn’t want to think about such distant outcomes—ends he would never live to see. Back to the sewers with him. He only wished for peace in the present. These were his instructions to Kunar. If they couldn't hold a province— Then hold a city— "…The Western Sail Harbor tragedy must not happen again. Mammoth City is a lesson—a single unkept life can lead to tens of thousands lost, tens of thousands unkept can lead to hundreds of thousands dead, a hundred thousand unkept, and you doom millions!" "Inform all Assassin chapters and halls—kill the Family Association when necessary, I don't want to hear any reasons. Anyone caught working for them or bought off, I'll wipe out their clan!" "When dealing with thugs, there’s no need for finesse. Anyone wanting to have Zayed hold a memorial for them, or become Zayed’s hero, I’ll grant their wish." He would send his family to Dawn City, and then fight fiercely here, battling until he could no longer wield his knife; until he buried himself into a coffin. He would be the brick on his own tombstone! "Whether or not Mammoth State can be defended, Jinkalon must stand. Our true family, friends, neighbors are here—our real family exists here." "As for Banana Head Bay’s deals—" "I don't want them anymore!" To be continued.