Chapter 823 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 823: Reinforcements on the Way "Boom——!!" Blazing lava surged into the sky, accompanied by thick plumes of smoke and scattering gravel that spread over several hundred meters. In the distance, a sand dune had been flattened to a plain, leaving behind a series of rippling waves. This was the training ground to the north of Evernight Harbor. The terrifying explosion just now was the handiwork of a 902mm heavy artillery cannon! As the pride and symbol of power for the Southern Army Corps, this cannon reportedly showcased its prowess in the "Battle of Paradise"... Yet, those truly in the know understood that its performance was notable only before entering the Sea Edge Province. The cannon's mobility was its greatest flaw, only moveable by train alongside its shells. Thus, not until the Battle of Paradise concluded could the alliance's railroads and highways pass through the Tenpeak Mountains. General MacLeon, seated in the spectating area with his palm resting on his wine glass, watched the advancing auxiliary troops with a bored expression. Only once the billowing dust had settled did he uncover his glass and take a calm sip of the fine wine. The Southern Army Corps had a combat style and governance philosophy starkly different from the Eastern Army Corps. They relied heavily on caliber size and infantry, disregarding mobility entirely. In contrast, the Eastern Army Corps regarded an ironclad current of steel as their creed, both in the skies and on land! Because of this divide, MacLeon found little interest in such "toys" that tormented the logistics staff. Despite its formidable power, on the plains controlled by the Eastern Army Corps, such artillery was practically worthless, as no raider tribes or resistance forces would foolishly wait to be shelled. Even the dimmest of them knew to fire a shot and then relocate. Unlike MacLeon's disinterest, Colonel Auret sitting beside him wore a face brimming with excitement and pride. "Nothing can withstand a shot from the 902! It's especially effective against mutants, even better than tactical nuclear weapons!" Mutant creatures had a certain resistance to radiation. Species like the Ripper Crabs or Deathclaws even nested near radioactive sources. Mutants, being a type of artificial mutant creature, were not entirely immune to radiation damage, but their resilience often outpaced the decay it caused. Thus, high-velocity explosives were often more effective than nuclear weapons of the same yield and required less cleanup afterward. Listening to the captain's boasting, MacLeon chuckled slightly, dismissively remarking, "Have even the 'Gray Ones' in the Great Desert begun constructing fortifications?" Auret paused briefly before laughing. "Not really... But they do mimic those raider tribes, setting up villages. I've even heard that certain intelligent mutant tribes trade with human merchants." He presumed MacLeon was familiar with such scenarios, as mutant mercenaries, albeit not in large numbers, had appeared during the war in the Sunset Province. Though Great Desert mutants and those from the eastern coast shared different origins, their behavior was strikingly similar—equally bloodthirsty and violent—though the latter held a slightly greater hint of civilization. The Southern Army Corps employed a small number of mutant mercenaries, referring to them as "Gray Soldiers." However, for the majority of non-cooperative gray-skinned mutant tribes, the Southern Army Corps focused on eradication, since these entities frequently marauded, disrupting trade with colonial territories and indigenous Great Desert tribes. These gray mercenaries held no qualms about slaughtering their kin, as they essentially remained primitive and only knew how to wield human weapons. Ignoring Auret's explanation, MacLeon commented indifferently, "Isn’t using such artillery overkill then? Do mutants have morale to be broken? I’d rather deploy several 100mm cannons for broader coverage and less logistical strain." Auret's brow twitched at MacLeon's criticism, unable to help retorting sarcastically, "Well, we never fight where our supply ships can't reach, so there's never a shortage on the frontline. What’s the use of so much land? There’s no shortage of mud and sand. Is the glory of the Valoquean people truly showcased by coloring more of a map?" Catching the sarcastic tone, MacLeon's brow twitched, and his face darkened. "What do you mean by that?" Seeing MacLeon's displeasure, Auret changed the topic quickly, knowing even a fallen superior outranked him. "No offense intended, esteemed General MacLeon... Speaking of which, though those gray-skinned savages haven’t built solid concrete forts, they've indeed become more troublesome lately." MacLeon frowned slightly. "In what way?" Auret glanced around, lowering his voice mystically. "Undying..." "Undying?!" MacLeon widened his eyes, his pupils filled with incredulity. Before MacLeon could probe further, Auret elaborated, "Not truly immortal... But even with their brains and hearts damaged, they continue to fight. Only by completely destroying their physical functions can you truly bring them down." MacLeon pondered for a moment, murmuring, "... This sounds akin to the situation on the Tenpeak Mountains." Although he spent the past period training new troops and officers in the empire, he was not unaware of the "Battle of Paradise." Especially after Wesail Port’s post office opened, telegraph communication had connected well with Triumph City. Eventually, with cables stretching from Evernight Harbor, instant communication would become possible. After hearing MacLeon’s comment, Auret rubbed his chin. "Yeah... I’ve read about a thing called 'Zombie Mutation' in the 'Triumph Times'. They say it’s something the alliance discovered, where memories are stored throughout the neural network of the body. So even if the head is removed, it can regenerate." MacLeon queried in confusion, "How would such a thing end up in the Great Desert? Could mutants have fled there?" Auret shrugged. "Who knows… Perhaps remnants of the 'Torch' escaped there... After all, humans hide much easier than mutants." At this, MacLeon’s expression turned intriguingly interested. "This is significant intelligence… Have you verified it?" "I am indeed working on that..." Auret responded with a smile, yet his expression turned serious, "General MacLeon, don't you consider this an opportunity?" Before MacLeon could question further, Auret continued eagerly, "The Cohesive Entity Union refuses to share their 'Gestalt Being' technology with us. No matter the debates, they inherently fear us Valoqueans... We don't need their help. If we capture whoever fled into the Great Desert, we can extract everything we desire." The technology of Gestalt Beings held extraordinary significance for the Valoqueans. After all, the latter had been born from the former. Valoqueans believed there lay a "shackle" within their DNA still enslaving them. To completely break this shackle, they needed full access to Gestalt Being technology. Thus, beyond its inherent military value, political motivation also drove them towards this goal. General MacLeon's eyes narrowed, revealing a glint of interest through the slit of his eyelashes. "This sounds intriguing... I’ll have the Eastern Army Corps keep an eye out." The Eastern Army Corps’ territory bordered the northern and western fringes of the Great Desert, with satellite states extending to the eastern Sunset Province. Together with the Southern Army Corps, they could effectively encircle the entire Great Desert. In contrast, the alliance possessed merely a solitary outpost city in its eastern expanse. Upon receiving MacLeon's assurance, Auret’s face brightened with pleasure. "That’s wonderfully reassuring. Your involvement makes this far more reliable." "Let's hope we achieve something… It is, after all, every Valoquean’s aspiration." MacLeon took a light sip of his wine, smiling faintly. By now, the distant exercise had concluded, with native soldiers wielding rifles retreating from the craters. Auret's face lit up with a bright smile as he suddenly thought of something and continued, "By the way, are your forces interested in purchasing a 902mm heavy artillery cannon to take back with you?" MacLeon nonchalantly declined, "No need, it would just damage the roads we've painstakingly built." Realizing MacLeon misunderstood, Auret hurriedly waved his hands, "No, no, that's not what I meant. I was thinking of selling it to Xilan… Aren’t they troubled by the Mammoth State in the east? With this thing, no matter what kind of fortress it is, one shot could—" Before he could finish, an officer suddenly jogged over, standing at attention before them. "Reporting, General, a distress signal has been received from the direction of Westsail Harbor. They've encountered a troublesome rebellion! The situation is critical!" Auret was momentarily stunned, showing surprise on his face, but MacLeon, sitting beside him, was even more taken aback, his hands gripping the armrests as he nearly stood up. "Westsail Harbor? A rebellion?" Could those meek folks actually pull this off?! No one understood better than MacLeon how compliant the people there were with their superiors. The "human centipede" he witnessed was not just present in the palace of Pradonia—it was entwined throughout the entire imperial power structure, transferring downwards level by level. To please their superiors, they sacrificed all dignity, trampled their own personalities into the dust, betraying vows, faiths, and even sacred marriages, consoling themselves it was all for gain, recouping their losses from those weaker. Valoqueans might not always be consistent, but some principles were unyielding. For such people to rebel was pure fantasy! The officer glanced quickly at General MacLeon, then at his immediate superior Auret, who nodded, prompting the officer to rapidly spill out the details. "Indeed… The locals took advantage of Governor Huiye's and his bodyguards' absence, raided the armory in the port district. Now, over 3,000 Valoquean residents living there are in dire straits, and both the local guard bureau and the governor's office have sent rescue signals, hoping for immediate deployment of troops and ships to assist and evacuate the local Valoqueans." Auret frowned deeply. "What's the quickest time we can be there?" The officer responded without hesitation, "Three days should suffice!" After briefly contemplating, Auret tapped his index finger on his knee, swiftly making a decision. "Send Captain Ross with a battalion of troops over." The fact Westsail Harbor bypassed the empire to seek aid meant the situation was beyond critical. Thus, he unhesitatingly dispatched his best commander. "Understood!" The officer, face sober, stood at attention and saluted, preparing to depart when General MacLeon halted him. "Wait a moment; I’ll go along too." Dropping his boot from the desk, MacLeon rose from his chair, picked up the officer's cap from the table, and placed it on his head. Beside him, Auret was taken aback, looking up with surprise. "Aren’t you returning to Triumph City?" MacLeon replied indifferently, "Whether I return or not makes no difference. I have no triumphant tales this year, so I won’t go back. Don’t worry, I’m only going to observe, not interfere with command." He was simply curious about what a rebellion among those "mice" might look like. Seeing the subordinate await Auret’s decision, Auret hesitated for a moment, ultimately nodding. "Alright... I'd appreciate your overseeing the battle." MacLeon nodded, said nothing further, and followed the officer out... --- Near the harbor of Evernight, in a serene and elegantly decorated residence, Penny sat at a desk, sealing a freshly written letter in an envelope. This was her uncle's house. With no ships returning to Triumph City, she had stayed here, and with free time on her hands, she decided to write letters. She intended to send two letters, both addressed to Dawn City. One was for her father, Captain Bannock, and the other for Mr. Pangolin. Since accompanying her father to Dawn City, it had been some time since she last saw him. She wondered how he was faring. Glancing out at the setting sun, Penny tucked the two letters into a drawer. The post office was likely closed at this hour; she planned to hand-deliver them in the morning and see if any ships were heading home. Suddenly, her aunt’s voice wafted up from downstairs. "Penny, dinner’s ready." "Oh! Coming." Answering, Penny quickly tidied the paper and pen on the desk and hurried downstairs. Upon descending, she found her Aunt Demi already seated at the dining table, alongside her youngest cousin — six-year-old Bill. Her Aunt Demi was a traditional Valoquean woman, epitomized by her graceful demeanor, gentle disposition, deep brown hair, and prominent nose. Penny enjoyed talking with her, although they didn’t always agree, the pure Triumph City accent brought a comforting sense akin to a refreshing breeze. A slightly darker-skinned maid placed dishes on the table. Noticing Penny descending the stairs, she nodded respectfully before retreating to a side room for her meal. In contrast to the Eastern Army Corps, the Southern Corps had a relatively lenient attitude toward slaves, with officials from Triumph City bringing their customs to the colonies. Her uncle, Ross, served in the Southern Corps, but his background bore the mark of the civil service group, reflecting their gentler treatment toward servants. After all, in Triumph City, mistreating slaves was neither legal nor gentlemanly; possessing a well-mannered, cultured servant was a status symbol for most civil officials. Settling at the table, Penny noted her Uncle Ross was absent and glanced at Aunt Demi. "Where’s Uncle? Isn’t he joining us for dinner?" Demi shook her head lightly, her expression tinged with helplessness. "He must still be busy with work... I've heard mutants have become active again in the Great Desert, and some friendly tribes have sent requests for help." Those beasts… Penny frowned. "Is it something serious?" Noticing her niece’s concern, Demi smiled reassuringly. "No need to worry. We have a garrison of ten thousand troops here... It’s you I’m concerned about, my dear Penny." Her expression turned slightly anxious. "I’ve heard Boro Province is unsafe, fighting everywhere, and we have no stationed troops there. I truly don’t know how Huiye manages so many people. Once you return home, think about transferring back to Triumph City, or perhaps, you could join us here." Penny sighed inwardly at how her aunt echoed her mother's sentiments. However, she didn’t consider Westsail Harbor particularly dangerous, given the many Valoqueans residing there. She had watched as the port slowly developed from nothing, contributing to her father's achievements, making her proud. "Boro Province is vast, and most states are quite safe. It’s only the Mammoth State in the east that’s troublesome. People there are quite calm, polite to everyone, especially outsiders... If you’ve been there, it’s not as bad as you’d imagine." Faced with her stubborn niece, Demi was at a loss for words, unsure of how to persuade her. Though Penny wasn't her biological daughter, Demi cherished her like one due to her close friendship with Penny’s mother. Precisely because of this bond, she worried excessively. Though the "Triumph Times" was the legion's largest newspaper, and becoming its journalist was prestigious, Demi hoped Penny would find a more stable job and eventually settle down with someone reliable. "Is that so... but still, it's wise to be cautious, especially for a young woman. War is a man's duty." "I’m not a child anymore, and... I don’t believe it is solely a man's duty. It concerns every Valoquean. We should be aware of our fronts, know who we battle, and understand what victory or defeat means for us." Penny huffed softly, dissatisfied with her aunt's notion. Although she'd never fought on the front lines, she had ventured there for firsthand information. Even though she didn't have a military rank, Penny didn't believe her work was any less important. At that moment, the sound of the door opening came from the foyer. Not long after, a robust middle-aged man entered the dining room from the direction of the living room. It was Penny’s uncle, Ross, a Captain in General Auret’s command. He had a deep scar on his face and eyes as sharp as knives. Despite his intimidating appearance, Penny knew him to be a courteous gentleman, certainly more so than some of the rough, uncouth soldiers from the Eastern Corps. "Apologies, something came up with the army and I’m a bit late... Could you prepare a plate for me?" "Yes, sir." Hearing the commotion, the maid came over from the side room, nodded respectfully, and headed to the kitchen. Little Bill, seeing his father return, immediately shouted joyfully, “Papa!” Ross smiled as he approached, intending to tousle his son’s hair, only for his hand to be swiftly smacked away by Demi, who was seated beside him. "Go wash your hands right away. I can smell the sand from across the room." "Alright, alright." Ross said with a wry smile, scratching the back of his head before heading to the washroom. Penny couldn’t help but laugh. Once her uncle returned to the table, curiosity got the better of her. "What happened that held you up for so long? Can you tell me?" Ross chuckled as he sat down at the table, humor in his voice as he replied. "A journalist from the Triumph Times wants to know everything, and here I am sharing it all... Cough, don’t glare at me, I'm just teasing my niece." Seeing his wife glaring at him, Ross shrank back a little, coughed lightly, and assumed a more serious demeanor before continuing. "Something’s gone down at Westsail Harbor." Penny was taken aback, as was Demi, who sat across from her; they had just been discussing Westsail earlier. "Westsail Harbor?" Ross nodded, spreading some pâté on a piece of bread and eating while speaking. "Yes, details are sketchy. Some say the Alliance incited a local rebellion, others blame Rasigan. There’s been an ongoing investigation into a batch of munitions, and this batch has now caused trouble." Demi frowned slightly. "That demon who slaughtered millions?" She had heard of him; reportedly, to stop the imperial regular army, he enacted a scorched earth policy on the Mammoth State’s border, killing over a million of his own people. She held no goodwill for someone capable of such cruelty against their own kind. Ross shrugged, already devouring his second piece of bread, this time with tuna paste. "Who knows. We’ll only understand the situation on arrival… I came back to pack. The warship has entered the port, and I need to board in two hours." Penny and Demi were likewise dumbfounded, almost instinctively speaking in unison. "So soon?" "You have to leave today?" Ross nodded. "Yes, I heard it’s urgent… It’ll take us three days to reach there, and with entry day nearing, I hope nothing serious occurs." Little Bill looked up at him, blinking. "Will you be back before Entry Day, Papa?" Ross affectionately patted his son’s head. "Don’t worry. Such an important day, Papa won’t leave you and your mom alone at home." Demi looked at Ross worriedly, speaking seriously. "Focus on your work. Don’t let us distract you. We have my lovely niece to keep us company... Even if we miss celebrating Entry Day together this year, there will be plenty of other times." Penny turned to her aunt, responding with mild exasperation. "Have you already assumed I won’t catch a ship back?" Demi smiled kindly. "If you left now, you might not make it. Instead of spending the holiday on a ship, why not celebrate it with us this year?" If a ship were available within those three days, she might still make it back by the second weekend after the new year. Penny silently grumbled to herself but didn’t hold out much hope. All civilian ships had been dispatched by her father to the east and were likely just reaching the Dead Coast now, with no telling when operations might return to normal. "In that case, my lovely niece, please keep my wife company. I promise to bring you both back gifts." Holding his fork, little Bill cheered loudly. "Oh! I want a mutant eye! A green one!" Demi gave the little rascal a stern look. "What do you need that for? It's filthy!" Ross laughed heartily, extending his large hand to gently ruffle his son’s hair. "Hahaha! I’ll see what I can do, but Boro Province doesn’t have mutants… How about a mammoth's tusk?" Watching the family’s joyful moment, Penny couldn’t help but smile warmly. Suddenly, her urge to return home didn’t seem so pressing. As long as family was safe, the location of celebration didn’t truly matter… They finished dinner hastily, and Ross picked up the suitcase the maid had helped pack, kissed his wife goodbye, and strode out of the house, climbing into the off-road vehicle waiting at the door. A thousand Valoquean soldiers, dressed in uniform, rifles and kits strapped on, had assembled at the docks of Evernight Harbor. Unlike the officers at Westsail, these were true soldiers who relentlessly battled the gray-skinned mutants of the desert, exuding an air of intense severity. Not only did their upright posture reflect their valor, but the weapons they gripped did too. From automatic and semi-automatic rifles to light and rotating machine guns, even grenade launchers and flamethrowers asserted their formidable force! Unlike the Eastern Army, which diminished the role of infantry, the Southern Army Corps invested heavily in support equipment and light weaponry, lacking the airships and terrains favorable to armored advances. By now, the bustling harbor was completely enveloped by nightfall. Ross, dressed in his military attire, stood before the gathered soldiers, yelling in a booming voice. "Those gutter rats have not only overturned our lantern and stolen our cheese, but now they dare to bite our fingers! We'll show them exactly who they’ve crossed! Now! Move out——!!" "Charge!!" Their response was a fervent chorus of high-spirited roars as the soldiers, laden with gear, boarded the transport ship with composure. They harbored no doubt. Once ashore, a single charge would be enough to flatten those weaklings. Horns blared on the dock, leaving stranded travelers exchanging glances. "...Where are they off to fight?" Someone suddenly spoke. "I heard there’s trouble at Westsail Harbor..." "Westsail Harbor?!" A man clutching his suitcase looked suddenly panicked, muttering tremulously, "My wife and kids are there..." The people around exchanged uncertain looks. Another traveler clapped the man’s shoulder, sympathetically reassuring him. "Don’t worry so much. Our ties with the Empire are strong; whatever's happened isn't likely severe." Others joined in to comfort him. "Yeah." "It’s going to be okay." "After all, those rebels are only fighting the Empire, never heard they've troubled us or the Alliance." The man forced a smile, yet his face remained pale. "Hopefully..." For some reason, his eyelids twitched uncontrollably, and his heart fluttered anxiously. Meanwhile, across the Boro Sea, Westsail Harbor had descended into a fiery chaos. From the docks to the sea, the scene was bloody and battered, with luggage and bodies strewn everywhere. Broken windows and the marble buildings bore an ominous mix of boisterous laughter and chilling screams, intertwining the scent of blood with the sea’s brininess, a stench even the wind couldn’t dissipate. A disheveled Valoquean woman crawled dazedly toward the docks, her hoarse voice muttering, as if calling out a name. The murky water by the docks was the only refuge left to cleanse her of the filth clinging to her. She wasn’t afraid of death. Her only regret was not diving into the sea right from the start, foolishly hoping the beasts might calm and treat the Valoqueans as hostages for negotiations with the Corps. And as they dutifully complied, entering separate rooms as instructed, those fiends quickly shed their disguises. "I'm sorry..." she sobbed, tears streaming as she gritted her teeth and reached with blood-stained hands toward the dock, already dyed red with blood. But just as she was about to reach it, a hand suddenly seized her ankle. Amidst her hoarse screams, she was dragged back into that bloody hell. "Hey, hey! You're calling the wrong person, your husband's right here." "Hahahaha!" "The interrogation isn't over yet, who said you could leave? Come back here!" "Ahhh!" Her horrific cries quickly faded into the night wind, insignificant amidst the bustling noises of the harbor. Valoqueans weren’t the sole victims. Lions, Horses, Suns, Cattle... even Mice and Snakes were among them. Most were not nobles—indeed, the majority were common folk. Yet bullets did not discern between high and low, nor did those carrying the guns have any interest in differentiation. Many were lost in bloodlust. Janusz, who had crowned himself king, was but one among them. In the torrent of the era, one person’s choice mattered little. After all, the choice was a collective one made by countless, even if the choosers were unaware. Ischer wanted to do something, to stand out like Boer from Boulder City. But unfortunately, he lacked Boer's power. His cries were futile; no matter how hoarse his voice became, no one would care. Even the audience of the "Silver Gospel Dispatch" began to waver, uncertain if they had followed the wrong leader or embarked on the wrong path. Left with no choice, he retreated with those still standing with him, seeking refuge within the church. If the rioters were still counting on support from the Alliance, they should at least spare the Silvermoon creed's sanctuary. If any rationality remained in their minds... In contrast to Ischer’s remorse, the drift-taker Gowinda found himself advancing smoothly. Though initially pushed to the frontlines as cannon fodder, he was lucky to survive the first assault. His “bravery” in combat got him accepted by the rioters, becoming one of them. A Decurion. He had never imagined he could become a Decurion! He was so exhilarated he almost shouted out, thrilled to let the whole street know! Yet, perhaps out of fear of the Valoqueans and nobles, or worried about future retribution, he did not join those others in their madness or dare lay hands on the Valoquean and Lion women. He was a content man, or perhaps simply straightforward. Even when Nagie cut his rightful share of 8 dinars to 6, he never entertained burning down the warehouse, only spitting on the ground in disgust. Despite feeling fortunate in his gamble, he didn’t linger for the celebrations at the dock but pragmatically shouldered his rifle and headed back home, to the widow in the shanty across his. He had long fancied that woman, her pale skin stirring his dreams, yet he had never summoned the courage to express his desire, only daring to entertain thoughts in his mind. But times had changed. He had made it! “Why are you crying... look at the mess you’re in. What’s wrong with living a good life with me?” Watching the whimpering woman, Gowinda cursed while adjusting his pants, hurriedly counting change to four dinars on the table before adding a 10-value coin. “Here… as long as I have a meal, you'll have one too.” Leaving those words as if they offered some consolation, he grabbed his rifle leaning against the wall and dashed outside. Fourteen dinars... Damn it! He would have to toil at the docks for two or three days to earn that! Regret gnawed at him post-factum, but he couldn't bring himself to recover the money he had given, so he quickened his pace towards the bustling harbor lights. Before the “victory feast” concluded, he needed to go back and—oh, no, say "seize" more! Thinking thus, the earnest Gowinda endeavored to adopt a menacing expression. Times had changed. He needed to learn to approach problems from a different perspective... (Thank you to the Alliance Master “Sword in Tea” for the generous reward!!!) To be continued...