Chapter 824 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 824: The End of Bloodshed "Y-Your Excellency... it's my fault, I deserve to die... I shouldn't have..." Beside the docks of West Sail Harbor. Naji, bound tightly, knelt on the ground, his pants wet, stammering for mercy, cursing himself for being a wretch. Yet, as misfortune would have it, his remorseful words stumbled over his tongue just as they reached the critical point, momentarily forgetting which "shouldn't have" he was about to curse himself for. The flickering firelight danced nearby, and after a moment, he finally adjusted to the darkness surrounding him. It was then that he noticed the thick pools of blood on the ground, the entrails hanging from a broken crate, and the pale flesh discarded on the street... His stomach churned, and he barely resisted the urge to vomit. "Blech—!" After a bout of dry heaving, he once more started trembling and begging for forgiveness. Janusz watched his expressions with a mocking amusement, as if watching a wild dog whose limbs had been broken. "Yes, yes... Oresa," Naji finally remembered the name, looking desperately around at the people surrounding him, "It's my fault... I caused his death! I beg you, give me a chance to atone..." Whether or not he was truly responsible didn't matter; he had no choice but to accept the blame. He knew. These people wouldn't listen to reason; the only way to appease them was to let them vent their anger. It seemed Janusz had had his fill of the performance, or perhaps he hadn't yet tired of the taste of Vilanteans’ fear. With a yawn, he beckoned to someone nearby. "String up this criminal, use the flagpole at the Governor's mansion." Neither Naji, kneeling on the ground, nor the laborers standing around processed what was happening immediately. Yet, some quick-witted individuals grasped the situation, their faces splitting into mocking smiles or other expressions of twisted delight. "Great idea!" "Brilliant!" "As expected of the boss!" In the end, it seemed only Naji remained bewildered, staring in terror at the people approaching him. "You, you... what are you planning... aah! No—! Let me go!" His screams and pleas fell on deaf ears as they dragged him away towards the Governor’s mansion... ... After the Vilanteans' defeat, the Centurion of the West Sail Harbor city defense army vanished without a trace. He knew only too well the nature of his subordinates. Moreover, they were merely a force of a thousand men, with weaponry and equipment hardly superior to the security forces, at most possessing some cannons. Equipped with such, they were utterly ineffective; the explosion had originated from inside the fortress. Not to mention their firepower was severely suppressed by the rebels, and in numbers, they were overwhelmingly outmatched. Furthermore, among the rebels were seasoned veterans of the Gray Wolf Army. Janusz personally led his men to the city defense army's base, but not until after finishing his "business." Expecting a tough battle, he was surprised to find the Centurion already fled; the remaining men, seeing the massive crowd outside, opted to raise the white flag in surrender. Disarming these leaderless soldiers, Janusz did not treat them as harshly as he did the Lion Tribe at the harbor. Instead, he dispersed them and integrated them into his own ranks, instructing the decurions and centurions to keep a watchful eye on these former city guards, before returning to the harbor district to resume the "celebration" still in full swing. This "celebration" continued until three in the morning, when the loud snores of a deep sleep finally replaced the hoarse screams. Having had their fill of chaos, West Sail Harbor fell into an eerie silence, as if the entire place had fallen asleep. A terrifying quiet. All the residents sealed their windows and doors tight, fearing even the slightest sound might draw the attention of those "rebels" with cloth tied around their arms. They chanted loudly of killing all Vilanteans and those who collaborated with them—nobles and lackeys alike—to build a nation of equality... Yet, in the end, not only the Vilanteans were targeted. Naji was among the first purged. He deserved it, of course. Ironically, it was the Longstick crew—slaves he'd recently freed—who betrayed him. Even if they hadn't, it was doubtful he would have survived. His hiding spot was unfortunate; seeing the situation worsen, he hid in an empty Vilantean house, hoping the rebels wouldn't dare intrude. But they were already reckless, kicking down the door and storming inside. The furious mob ignored his screams, dragging him to the harbor, humiliating him before impaling him on the scorched flagpole. They skewered him from bottom up. It's said he could still cry out at first, but the pain eventually forced him to bite through his tongue, causing him to pass out. As for the "Longsticks" who betrayed Naji, they too found no salvation. The vengeful rebels, seeking justice for past wrongs, beat them near to death with the same long sticks used to oppress them. And this was far from the end. The real reckoning had only just begun! Those who wore Vilantean attire, used Vilantean goods, worked for them, or had wealth but no armband, or were otherwise uninvolved also fell victim to the frenzied purge. Take Govinda's neighbor, for example. A coward at heart, his "bayonet" hadn’t even seen blood. Everyone was terrified by the blood-crazed mob. Perhaps some among them scared even themselves, but now, they had no choice but to tighten their armbands further. Otherwise, before any Vilantean retaliation, they feared they might first be cut down by their own. But those sobered by the blood were few. Most of the frenzy-drunk rebels, their minds addled by victory, were already envisioning the overthrow of Grand Heaven and marching all the way to Triumph City! It wasn’t Janusz's persuasion; they truly believed this. After all, in their minds, the hundreds to thousands lying dead in the streets were mere cannon fodder—not even human. However, the precise count of the slain Vilantean guards at the harbor was clear: exactly 61, all brutally killed. The rest were either civilians from West Sail Harbor or servants from other legion colonies, hardly numbering two hundred. Some might have fled, stripping their uniforms; they didn't bother counting. The so-called legion. Wasn't worth a mention! ... In the Silver Moon Church. Ischer peered out from behind the curtain, brows furrowed tightly. Next to him, a fellow congregant swallowed nervously, speaking with a trembling voice. “...These people have gone mad.” He had just witnessed the armband-wearing mob kick open a door, dragging a family out from within. The man seemed to be a security guard at the labor registry; he vaguely remembered him, thinking he was a Horse Clan member. Yet, due to that impression, he was certain the man did not deserve to die... But clearly, those men didn’t care; soon, sounds of smashing, angry shouts, crying children, women’s screams, and gunshots ending it all echoed from the room. Watching those demons emerge from the doorway, Ischer ground his teeth, nearly drawing blood from his gums. He couldn’t believe these were his compatriots, even if their victims were Vilanteans; it offered him little solace... What tortured him more, however, was the crumbling image of the towering figure he had held in his heart. He once admired "Bol" immensely. He believed people could unite, even those who had nothing, who couldn’t even read. Yet reality slapped him hard across the face. He suddenly realized he, spouting idealistic rhetoric, was the fool driven into the corner by the crowd—much like "Ken" in the book *The Awakening of Bol.* The perpetual winter in Boulder City buried his hopes and dreams repeatedly. He wore his hatred in his eyes. He hated the Legion, hated the Empire, but most of all, loathed these vermin before him! If one day, the survivors of the Borough Province could overcome this epoch of disgrace, the one leading them from the wastelands should crush these wicked specters underfoot and bury them deep in the red earth! "Absolutely!" The leader noticed Ischer's gaze, and with a nonchalant smile, even gestured provocatively as if to say, "Have the guts to come out and talk." Perhaps there was an order from above, forbidding them from touching the church adorned with the moon. Several patrols had passed by, yet no one dared to knock on the door. Still, there was no sense of relief, as nobody could predict how long this order would last. After all, these people acted without reason, doing whatever crossed their minds. Decisions were as fickle as a flick of the head. "...There are too many Vilanteans here. We shouldn't have taken them in." A member of the congregation glanced back, swallowed hard, and spoke with a tremor. More than two hundred Vilanteans were sheltered here, even outnumbering the parishioners. Most of them were women, with some children, their eyes filled with fear. "This isn't about who they are... Our goal is to abolish the privileges of the nobles, the privileges of outsiders, not to slaughter the defenseless. Otherwise... we'll become the very monsters we once feared." Ischer abruptly stopped, realizing his words wouldn't convince anyone. He was still trying to imitate those he criticized. It was then he recalled what Mr. Melgio had said to him before the sunset. This wouldn't work... Taking a deep breath, he shifted his tone and continued in a manner understandable to all in the province of Borro. "...Think about it, the Vilantean colonies aren't far from here. When the Legion arrives, those outside will end up dead. If we want to survive, we must prove our innocence... These people are the key. If they die, none of us will survive. But if they're alive, not only do we survive, our families do too." A dawning comprehension appeared in the eyes around him, and those who had been doubtful or hesitant finally calmed, abandoning the idea of expelling the refugees. Even if just one remembers, someone must recall that not everyone in the city was mad. Otherwise, as Ischer suggested, they might all end up buried, accompanying the mad to the grave... Sitting at the edge of the group, Margery was pale, her forehead damp with sweat, still shaken from the earlier terror. Without thinking, she had grabbed Ruby and fled, leaving her baggage behind, seizing the chance to escape out of the harbor district as the fighting raged, and finding refuge in the church. She wasn't alone in her actions, but only around a hundred had succeeded. She dared not imagine... What if they had made one wrong step—what dreadful fate would have befallen her and Ruby... "Mom..." "Don't be afraid," Margery held Ruby's small hand, trying to steady her own voice, soothing her gently, "It'll be alright... You still want to visit Ainslea, don't you? You’ll see her soon. Do you want her to see Ruby who cries at every challenge? She looks up to you so much." With her eyes rimmed red, Ruby nodded, then shook her head, ultimately holding back the tears threatening to spill. Margery managed a smile, softly wiping away the tears from Ruby's eyes. "That’s my girl..." "Vilanteans don’t cry; our tears dried up the moment we were born." The church was silent. Besides occasional whispers and quiet sobs, there wasn't a single sound of loud weeping. Watching the Vilanteans huddled in the church, Melgio's face was etched with worry. The elderly nun beside him spoke in a low, soft voice. "Our food is nowhere near enough for this many people, not even for one meal. And if those rebels find so many Vilanteans here… they’ll tear everyone to shreds." "I know..." Melgio looked out at the silvery moonlight with a troubled sigh. "But I can't just abandon these pitiable souls..." Though he hadn't visited the harbor to see, the harrowing screams told him enough. Though he disliked Vilanteans, even detested their noses, he couldn’t sacrifice innocents… even if he stood at the precipice himself. It wasn't just the teachings of the Silver Moon Goddess and the Spirit of the Sahara, but also his own conscience. "I understand… we can't forsake them, but keeping them here isn’t a solution," the old nun said with a bittersweet expression, lowering her voice further, "We must find a way to get them out of the city... they’ll only be truly safe outside the city walls." The rebels had just seized the harbor and hadn't fully mastered control of the colony. If there was a chance to escape, now was probably it… But how could they possibly evacuate so many Vilanteans? Melgio's face clouded over with worry when a knock echoed at the door, and the hearts of everyone in the church leapt to their throats. "Knock knock—" The sharp knocking was like the footsteps of Death. Sitting on the bench with the others, Margery held her breath, clutching Ruby's tiny hand tightly. But then, a low, gentle voice drifted through the tightly closed doors. "Is Miss Margery inside? It's Charles's butler... If you're inside, please respond." Hearing the voice, Margery covered her mouth in disbelief, then raised her hand to signal she was inside. All eyes turned to her, including Ischer at the door. Ischer, uncertain, looked to Pastor Melgio for guidance. The pastor was silent for a moment before nodding. "...Open the door." Staying here was a dead end; perhaps whoever was at the door might offer a way out. As the church doors opened, an old man still quite spry walked in, accompanied by a man with a cloth tied around his arm. At the sight of the armband, Ischer's eyes widened, and everyone else gripped their weapons tightly. It was one of Janusz's men! They couldn't let him leave alive! Noticing the murderous intent in every eye, the old man quickly raised a hand. "Please, calm down… Sahadu is Charles's servant. This is my nephew, Pavan. He might have made some foolish decisions, but I swear on my life, he’s not the same as those outside. He came to his senses." The young man named Pavan looked frightened but, encouraged by Sahadu, quickly caught his breath to explain. "I… I had no choice, those people kill anyone they see..." "Why should I trust you?" Ischer demanded, voice low, his grip on his blade tight. Pavan swallowed hard, answering in a trembling voice. "I can't make you trust me… but anyone not insane would know those people are doomed. The Alliance won’t help them, and even Rashee might not give them the time of day. I don't want to die… Is that reason enough?" "That's clear enough," Ischer clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him aside gently, "Forgive my rudeness earlier. We're forced into this just like you." Pausing, he asked further. "Can you get us out?" Pavan nodded hastily, speaking quickly. "I have a plan… I'm tentatively a decurion, come about ten minutes to four, this street will be under my patrol. I'll find a way to divert people. Many spent the night at the harbor in revelry, I estimate the patrols will be at their laxest around four." Noticing the hopeful eyes fixed on him, Pavan felt the pressure mount as he added quietly. "…But, it’s unrealistic for everyone to escape. A few might be manageable." The old butler named Sahadu also hurriedly added. "I have a carriage waiting outside the city… It’s meant to take Lady Margery and Miss Ruby back." Margery asked anxiously. "Could you manage to bring several more carriages?" Sahadu swallowed nervously, nodding quickly. "I suppose… but only once we’re safely back at the manor. I have no way to contact the master right now." Truthfully, he didn’t wish to complicate matters. Just entering the city was perilous enough, a misstep could mean risking not just his life but also Pavan's. Margery bit her lip, gripping Ruby’s small hand tightly. She exchanged a glance with the maid beside her, then stood up from the bench. "Wait here... Once I'm out, I promise to come back with help!" She wouldn't abandon her compatriots. She would do everything in her power to persuade Count Sharman. Hadn't he always longed to climb into the core of the central power circle with the help of the Vilanteans? The opportunity was right in front of him! As long as he could save a few people, even ten or twenty, once the situation calmed, he'd be in line for a noble title, perhaps even a dukedom! "The Silver Moon Goddess is witness to your vow... go ahead, my lady," Melgio said softly, "I trust you won't forget about your people." Margery nodded seriously. "Absolutely, I swear on my little Ruby—" She had barely finished her sentence when a devilish voice unexpectedly floated in from outside the door. Everyone’s hearts instantly froze, as if under a curse. "Ruby? What a lovely name." ... In the royal palace of the Capital. Emperor Wutuo was deep asleep in his chamber, dreaming of battleships and Selan currency. But suddenly, hasty footsteps and urgent reporting jostled him awake. "Your Majesty! Terrible news! Re—rebels—" "Rebels?" He sat bolt upright, hurriedly straightening his appearance, eyes wide at the kneeling eunuch. "Where did the revolt happen now?" The eunuch, daring not to take a breath, pressed his head against the plush, gold-edged carpet. "...West Sail Harbor! It's West Sail Harbor!" West Sail Harbor? Wutuo was momentarily taken aback, the drowsiness interrupted but returning with force. Rubbing his temples, he spoke. “Isn't that Vilantean territory... I handed it over to them to manage.” The eunuch grimaced as he continued. “That’s true… but the trouble comes from the Vilanteans themselves. Somehow, those laborers found the gall, seized weapons from the harbor warehouse, and captured West Sail Harbor!” Wutuo's heart skipped a beat, his jaw hanging open as he sat bewildered on his bed. They took... the Vilantean-controlled harbor?! He had no idea his underlings possessed such capability! Surely— if they were indeed this formidable, how did they fare so poorly at Ten Peaks Mountain? He’d been so disappointed in the expeditionary force's performance that he hadn’t bothered to recall them, leaving them stranded on the Empire’s meager foothold in the Haiga Province. Seeing his stunned sovereign, the eunuch stammered. “The rebels have taken over the harbor… The Vilanteans living there are now in grave danger. I fear the Legion might turn their ire on us. We should devise a plan to rescue those people.” Snapping back to attention, Wutuo’s first thought was to seek aid from the Legion. But then he remembered both Governor Hoye and General Maclan were home for the holidays. Technically, for the “Annunciation Day” weekend following New Year’s. Wutuo climbed out of bed, pacing anxiously. Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he hurried to the eunuch, looking down as he asked. “What about the soldiers General Maclan trained? Aren’t some still in Lion Province?” The eunuch wore a mournful expression as he replied. “Those are officers and non-commissioned officers, barely over a thousand in total. They can't match the rebels…” Anxiously, Wutuo inquired. “How large is this rebel force?!” “Un—unknown… Estimates vary, some reports saying fifty to sixty thousand, others over a hundred thousand.” The eunuch swallowed, speaking in a panicked tone, “Your Majesty… issue a decree. Only by deploying your Imperial Guard can we hope to resolve this!” Thoughts raced through Wutuo’s mind; he couldn't ignore this crisis. If he failed to act, the Vilanteans would surely hold him accountable afterward. However, his own safety was also at stake! With the Gray Wolf Army engaged in Utah Province, his Imperial Guard was his last resort. Dispatching them would leave him vulnerable. Rely on the Capital's city defense forces? The most disgraceful part of the Xilan Empire, those muddy-smelling paupers were utterly useless! Sending the city defense forces would be akin to offering up a sacrifice. Choosing the lesser of two evils, Wutuo gritted his teeth and made a decisive choice. "Mobilize the Lion Province militia!" The eunuch hesitated, recalling how the Emperor had recently emphasized caution against both the Alliance and the overgrowth of local forces. Both posed threats to the Empire’s foundations. Allowing the Lion Province militia to gather was akin to spawning another Tiger or Leopard Province to the west! Local nobles would eagerly recruit, but convincing the soldiers to demobilize afterward would prove challenging. “But—” “The presence of Vilanteans in Lion Province renders any local empowerment inconsequential. Enough arguments, follow my orders!” Wutuo’s eyes sparkled with determination, the decisiveness in his tone causing the kneeling eunuch to waver. Not that the Emperor’s commanding presence scared him into discretion; it was simply that his considerate majesty’s impulsive decisions rarely bode well. He worried this would be no exception. Perhaps consulting the cabinet before making a decision? Though he mulled this over, he dared not voice it aloud, merely nodding submissively. “Yes, Your Majesty…” As Emperor Wutuo’s decree and emissaries raced toward Lion Province, the next day’s sun rose over the blood-soaked harbor once more. The stench of decay permeated the docks, drawing flies, rats, and vultures hovering in the sky... The number of dead from the previous night’s purge couldn’t be precisely tallied, but the thoroughness was undeniable. Even Kent of Boulder City, who looked down on fellow labor organizers and likened them to noble insiders, would be struck speechless. The death toll was high enough. Thorough enough. Yet something still felt... out of place. Thus, the blood-drenched revelry continued for two days and nights. By the third morning, Janusz finally seemed to remember his purpose, acknowledging his supporters before raising his arm to rally those freed from shackles and chains. He declared their mission to liberate more slaves. Slavery had to be abolished, as seen in the examples of West Sail Harbor and Jin Galon Harbor. They demonstrated that a more binding chain existed than mere contracts—one which the new empire would have to adopt. At the thought of his undertaking, Janusz trembled excitedly, his face flushed with color. It was then that he decided the title of “King” was too small to encompass his deeds. So, he bestowed the title upon thirteen of his subordinates, aligning them with the thirteen provinces of the Borro State. As for himself, he proclaimed the title of Heavenly King, the sole monarch under heaven! To further exalt his name, he incorporated legends of a celestial wolf devouring the sun, proclaiming that the Wolf Clan had long awaited this moment, and he was the chosen of the Wolf God. As for the future capital of the new empire, it would be situated in Wolf Province, his birthplace. Gathered under him were two hundred thousand strong, mostly slaves and serfs. They weren’t all from West Sail Harbor; some hailed from nearby estates. Ironically, the dock laborers who initially ignited the flame were now among a minority in the ranks... Which was inevitable. West Sail Harbor hosted 99% of the province's wealth, yet only a ninth of its population. The rebels knew their numbers alone wouldn’t create a significant upheaval. They needed to involve more people, spread the fire further, only then could they hope to survive! Moreover, embarking on this grand mission, they couldn't be labeled rebels. Janusz promptly named his organization the Heavenly Salvation Army, abbreviated as the Heavenly Army! Though it sounded a bit rustic, what mattered was its grandeur; after all, those following him were hardly scholars. And crucially, he couldn't come up with anything better himself, so he just threw in some intimidating elements. To be honest, the name managed to startle a certain man who had just returned to Dawn City from his holiday in the Southern Seas. The Heavenly Army! Didn't it sound like a force blessed by the heavens? By the time news of the "Heavenly Army" reached Chu Guang, it was the morning of the fourth day after the "West Sail Harbor Massacre." It was also New Year's Day of the Wasteland Era, Year 214. Simultaneously, the thousand-person team led by Rose finally closed in on West Sail Harbor, ready to commence support operations. The task force consisted of two transport ships, a supply vessel, and a shallow-water heavy gunboat. Though labeled a coastal ship, it could venture into the open sea if needed. The Legion hadn't mastered the technology of mind intervention, but sound waves of specific frequencies emitted by sonar devices could repel certain dangerous mutants. After unloading supplies, the two transport ships and the supply vessel would immediately begin evacuation operations. The heavy gunboat would remain offshore to provide support. The plan was flawless. The only regret was that, no matter how one looked at it, they were too late... As he gazed at the devastated, blood-drenched harbor, Rose felt darkness closing in, nearly fainting. He gripped the ship's railing to steady himself, so tightly that the paint chips dug into his flesh. Standing beside him, McLun's face was equally grim, hands clutching binoculars, eyeing the harbor with icy detachment. On the rooftop of the Governor's mansion stood a charred flagpole, impaled with a corpse pecked bare by crows, now mostly bones and scraps... The ground was littered with more corpses, blood soaking nearly every brick red. A clear provocation to the Legion. More laughably, the harbor was dotted with several 100mm cannons they had gifted to the locals. Those toothpicks stood motionless, aimed right at them. The artillery and soldiers squatting on the docks seemed to pay no mind to the four ships. "Bastards..." After muttering the word a thousand times, Rose loosened his grip on the almost bent railing, turning his gaze behind him. He wasn't alone. Every soldier on deck was burning with fury, their eyes wide and unblinking, faces steely and cold as blades. "They're marauders..." Rose extended a trembling finger towards the harbor, his expression contorting. Then, he snatched the radio from his shoulder, yelling with a voice nearly turned to a roar. "Load the cannons!" "Fire!" "Fire until I say stop!" To be continued.