Chapter 828 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 828: Close to the End Just as the pit was about to be completed, Govinda thought he was done for, but at the last moment, a twist of fate occurred. The Waylanders were calling them to the port for what they called a fair trial, and with that news, the pallor left his face, bringing back a rosy glow. Bless the Rat God! And the Silver Moon Goddess, the Spirit of the Desert Sands, and the Great Horned Deer God! He had finally found his savior! "I haven't killed any Waylanders!" He boasted to those beside him, looking as if he'd just won big at the gambling table of fate once again. In stark contrast to his 'kind-hearted' demeanor, some of the men digging the pit remained expressionless, as if the news of the pardon didn't concern them, shoveling the red earth absentmindedly. Those men once bore cloth strips on their arms, likely due to having incurred blood debts that night. Govinda felt a secret delight, despising those brainless thugs, unlike his own cunning intelligence. He returned the shovel to the cart and followed the teeming crowd, hurrying away from this perilous place. As for those who hadn't heard the call, after a thump from the butt of a rifle, they also joined the crowd. On the way to the square, he marched with pride, only slightly cowering when passing by Waylander soldiers to avoid drawing attention. But the Waylanders couldn't be bothered to glance at him, merely gripping their guns to watch the crowd. Finally arriving at the square, Govinda saw the man smoking a cigar, his heart racing with excitement. Macron wasted no words, simply directing an officer to announce the new "game rules." Although there had been a prior warning on their way here, the official announcement of all the rules and details stirred the crowd into a commotion. Some understood the implications and looked worried, yet others were invigorated and even burst into tears of joy. Like Govinda. His face gleamed with "devotion" toward the Waylanders, upon hearing these "fair and just" rules, he could hardly refrain from bowing to the upright officer. Beside General Macron, Ross frowned slightly. "Won't ten thousand be too few?" Macron's expression didn't change, only turning his head slightly and speaking leisurely. "That's just bait to lure out their ferocity; otherwise, they'd all point to one person and gloss it over. I could even bet with you that more than ten thousand will ultimately die." As he spoke, he drew his sidearm and fired a shot into the sky, addressing the startled crowd loudly. "What are you waiting for? Waiting for me to choose who should die? This is your last chance! Bring out the culprits from that night, for us to settle our scores. Only those who should die will be punished." The air grew silent for a moment; still, no one spoke up. People glanced at each other, seeing both comrades and enemies around them, wanting to speak but fearing others might do so first. Macron didn't waste any more words, simply gesturing with his hand. "If not, go back to digging." His words ignited the crowd's survival instincts as if a match had been thrown into a barrel of oil. The first to speak was a dark and thin man, sunburned from working at the docks, shouting out. "I'll talk! I'll talk!" He pointed a finger at a "keen" Govinda, raising his voice in accusation. "This guy is part of the Heavenly King Army!" Govinda's eyes widened like a fish out of water, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets, his chest heaving, and sweat pouring off him. "You! You liar! I swear by the Rat God, I've never killed a Waylander! Those bandaged ones forced a gun into my hand, but I never killed any!" This was no lie. His conscience was clear. He had done bad things, like sleeping with a widow, but he'd never killed a Waylander. After all, he was terrified of their big noses and could never aim a gun at them. He had led the charge that fateful evening under duress, but with his cowardly, incompetent shooting, he was lucky not to have hit his own, let alone the guards at the port. If memory served, those men were blown away by an exploding truck. Calling him a thug was a gross injustice! Yet the Waylanders had no intention of intervening in the trial, looking on mockingly as they watched them turn on each other. Even Ross, who had earlier felt the punishment too lenient, now wore a faint, cold smile. A bunch of filthy scum. Were all Brolin’s province like this? If not for that ancient treaty that barred military expansion east of the Great Desert, the Southern Legion’s colonies ending at Evernight Harbor, this bountiful cake would never be left to the bureaucratic group's novices to savor. The shouting crowd ignored Govinda’s protestations, quickly distancing themselves, creating a vacant space around him, backing away from the disgraceful traitor. They didn’t know this man. But not knowing was even better. To see a stranger meet his end carried the least guilt. However, not everyone was unfamiliar with Govinda. There were still one or two of his subordinates mixed in the crowd. Suddenly, someone cried out. "Not only is he part of the Heavenly King’s army, but he’s also a ten-man leader!" As that loud voice rang out, the crowd erupted, and even some Waylander soldiers on the outskirts turned their gaze towards Govinda. In that instant, while Govinda was still battling tongues with the crowd, his heart skipped a beat upon hearing it, his face turning ashen, words knotting in his throat. Right… He was a ten-man leader. He almost forgot, yet someone kindly reminded him. The port looked like a bustling marketplace, and Macron impatiently shouted. "This is chaotic! Take a vote!" Hands shot up uniformly; some initially hesitated but, seeing their neighbors raise their hands, muttered an apology to themselves before doing the same. Not raising a hand might draw unwanted eyes, making one the next target to be trampled. It didn’t matter if his words were true or half-true; risking a life for a scoundrel was unworthwhile. Survival was the top priority. Nearly every hand raised thought the same. This time, Govinda was utterly despondent. He didn’t resist or struggle, just stood there in the circle of spectators, letting the Waylander soldiers come, hoist him like a chick, and toss him aside. "Behave yourself!" The Waylander glared at him, warning him not to run. There was no need for warnings. Govinda had no intention of fleeing, standing there as if his soul had left him. He couldn't fathom why people pointed fingers at him. He wasn’t a good guy, but he had at least fought for the freedom of West Sail Port’s survivors. It seemed so strange; why did they obediently follow the Waylanders' orders, first digging pits outside the city, then here, denouncing their own under constant humiliation? Why couldn’t they unite once more, driving out those slave masters? But it was too late for such musings. Everything was over... No! Wait! It’s not over! Govinda suddenly had a fleeting thought: he was a ten-man leader—someone even reminded him! How could he forget something so vital?! With a final glimmer of hope, he clung to the last straw, looking pleadingly at the Waylander soldiers supervising them, forcing a tense smile onto his despairing face. "W-wait, sir! I-I can identify others too!" "They say I'm a ten-man leader, and it’s true! But I swear, I've never laid a hand on a Waylander! I have proof I wasn’t there that night!" "...Though my twelve subordinates might not be as innocent. I was conscripted into this militia and couldn't control those true miscreants. I’m a straightforward and honest person, but who knows what they might have done!" Petter, who was watching, froze for a moment. Hearing this plea, the cigarette in his mouth almost fell out. Unsure of how to handle it, Petter picked up his radio to consult his superior, then handed Govinda a note and a marker, instructing him. "Write down the names." Thinking he had found a chance for leniency, Govinda eagerly accepted the paper and pen, only to quickly recall that he couldn’t write. Trembling, he stammered. "S-sir, I can’t write… but I know where they live!" Peter, biting his cigarette, glanced at him disdainfully, not bothering with words as he took back the paper and pen. "Speak, I'll write." "Thank you, sir!" Govinda bowed repeatedly, his forced grin betraying his inward glee, as though he were once again armed. He listed all the names he could remember—not just his twelve subordinates, but also others from different units he could identify, eventually naming about twenty individuals. He believed these twenty were surely the most culpable, enough to redeem an honest person like himself. Or so Govinda thought. The soldier took the list to the port, handing it to General Macron. Macron didn’t even glance at it, simply instructed the soldier to read out the names according to procedure. Those whose names were called, if present, were quickly disowned by acquaintances, who would distance and point them out from the crowd. Then followed a public trial, where the gathered people would decide their guilt. The outcome was obvious: all were singled out by the Waylanders with no exceptions. Watching those frightened faces being led away, Govinda wore a satisfied, sly smile. But soon his smile faded. The Waylanders had no intention of releasing him. He waited endlessly, but no pardon came. Could it be... They planned to secretly release him just before the execution? Govinda's nerves grew as uncertainty turned to fear, yet he reassured himself. He would surely be released, but the timing and method needed consideration, after all, a precedent must be set for those who accused him. Freeing him openly would make a mockery of the established rules, wouldn’t it? But as these comforting thoughts ran through his mind, a woman dragged out from the crowd shattered his composure. She was his “alibi”—the widow living across from him! Normally meek and soft-spoken, someone who dared not offend anyone, now she was wailing, her cries shredding the air. Her grief-stricken appearance, born from facing imminent death or the unbearable shame stripping away her last dignity, was heart-wrenching. "That harlot, I know her! Her husband wasn’t cold in his grave before she found a new lover!" "Disgraceful! And with those bandaged-armed bandits, no less!" "I saw the Heavenly King’s army at her house!" "It was Govinda, wasn’t it? I saw him; he even gave her some dinar as a reward!" "Were you there?" "Of course not! I saw it from outside the window! Search her house, you’ll find it!" "It’s probably stolen riches from the port!" "Kill her! Avenge the fallen Waylanders!" Avenge the Waylanders... In that instant, the ground spun beneath Govinda’s feet as he forgot to breathe. Standing on the port, he suddenly felt as though he'd been buried long ago... ... Seeing the last 3,000 people pushed out, the "Eagle with Foresight" found himself momentarily speechless. Good grief... Of over 10,000, they lost about thirty percent! While he was trying desperately to negotiate a better deal, these people were busy destroying themselves. With the remaining 7,000, there likely weren't many more to root out. Hoping to escape such a mock trial with unity or any other method was nothing short of wishful thinking. By now, it wasn’t about whether one belonged to the Heavenly King; anyone daring to step forward ended the same way, and those surviving were the ones who maneuvered to the extreme. Like those who, when it was time to raise their hands, did so without hesitation, and remained silent as if dead, deeply embedding themselves amidst the crowd unnoticed to come back to life. Among the 3,000 pinpointed, as he’d anticipated, many were unjustly treated. Including several boys just over twelve and a lonely widow in her twenties... Ignoring Macron's meaningful glance his way, the "Eagle with Foresight" merely murmured a silent prayer. Three thousand were, in any case, fewer than ten thousand. Moreover, this was fundamentally between the legion and the empire; any urgency should be theirs. As an outsider, he'd done all he could. In any case, the task was bound to be completed satisfactorily... ... News of the legion’s landing at Western Sail Port soon spread across Lion Province, and their feat of executing thirty thousand within three days reached the ears of the Heavenly King Army's divisions. Such news poured cold water over the soldiers who had just taken a city. The legion had intervened! Though most of the heavenly troops were merely surprised, paying it little mind, some more astute individuals grew uneasy. Like Yudono. He was of the Lion tribe, yet not a noble. Due to poverty, he was sold to a noble estate during childhood, losing freedom. Despite his noble surname sparing him from picking cotton in the plantations, his education in reading, writing, and noble manners only deepened his hatred for the unequal system of the Weilan Empire. Later, recommended to a military academy established by the legion to aid the empire, Yudono studied under General Macron, which fueled his ambition to overthrow the empire. Thus, when Yanush declared the abolition of serfdom and land redistribution, Yudono almost instinctively sided with him, becoming one of the first local army officers to defect with a powerful strike against Grand Duke Sanjay. Though Yanush didn’t fully trust recruits who joined midway, Yudono, sharing a mentoring background, was an exception. In the Heavenly King Army, he not only became a commanding officer of ten thousand but also joined Yanush's side as an advisor. Yet just as he brimmed with ambition, dire news blew in from the west. Being an officer trained by Waylanders, he knew the legion’s prowess. Their strength was not just on the battlefield but extended beyond. No exaggeration, the Waylanders were a people born for war, and their system was designed for war. With the Heavenly King Army lacking even a stable supply line, they stood no chance against the legion. Recalling the acts committed by the Heavenly King Army at Western Sail Port, Yudono grew increasingly fearful, finally unable to refrain from consulting Yanush for solutions. However, upon hearing his concerns, Yanush merely laughed, even reassuring him. "Don't be naive, between nations, it’s all about interests; morality is a private matter. The people of Western Sail Port are dead, can they come back to life?" Pausing, he continued calmly. "Moreover, I've left Western Sail Port to vent their grief; even if a hundredfold compensation is required, sixty to seventy thousand should suffice to quell the legion’s wrath." "At least for the bigwigs, giving their supporters an explanation is enough." That night had no surveillance, blaming the dead was not difficult. Once all were dead, who would remember what was done? Those hoping to keep some Waylanders as hostages are truly cowardly fools! Is there a difference between killing a thousand and three thousand? At least, to Yanush, there was no difference. If destined to die, one would perish regardless, even a fly wouldn’t change it. Not wanting to die required proving one’s worth to live! If they could replace the empire, conquer the capital, the legion would find value in drawing them in! Keep them as hostages? What a colossal joke! Was he conducting a kidnapping? Admittedly, his ranks were indeed filled with blockheads devoid of clear guidelines or concrete interests, yet as the Heavenly King, he certainly had them! He aimed for rebellion! To overthrow! To usurp! He had to use the dirtiest of accusations to bind everyone to his war chariot, ensuring they only dared to bet on his ultimate victory; otherwise, none would survive! As for history's judgment and reckoning, that would be a matter for his new empire's downfall to address. Even Xilan was barely hanging by a thread now; it was far from others' turns to hold him accountable! Now was his time, when he could settle Xilan's crimes, including the empire's persecution of the Moon Tribe, among others! If they ultimately won, the uprising at Western Sail Port would be commemorated as a glorious revolution! Listening to Yanush, a cold sweat trickled down Yudono's forehead. Though he often turned a blind eye to Yanush's ruthless methods, believing that no revolution comes without bloodshed, his heart couldn't help but shiver at these words. This guy... From the start, he had planned to bury 60,000 to 70,000 people just to avenge a few thousand Waylander residents! In this man's eyes, what were people? Cattle? How could "liberating the slaves of Boros Province" come from his mouth, and yet everyone, himself included, believed him! Yudono finally remembered the things he had chosen to forget. The piles of bones at the city gates, the noblewomen taken by Yanush for his own amusement, or given to his subordinates… Realization struck him like a chilling sweat, and his voice trembled involuntarily. "But what if the Waylanders' interests mean all of us must die?" Yanush sneered. "That possibility isn't zero, but the Alliance, corporations, and the Academy won't sit idly by and let the Legion expand eastward for any reason. That's a boundary set in the last war, and even the Legion would weigh the benefits and risks of crossing it." "Besides, guess why those Waylanders haven't advanced further? Can they not tell what garbage we left for them? Even if they can't, don't those pushover city defense troops have mouths?" "I'd even wager that a real big shot, not just a centurion or a millenarian, landed this time." "That person knows very well what's at stake, perhaps even using the chips we left to make his play!" He could even guess, this matter might not have reached Victory City yet, intercepted midway by someone. Someone was waiting for his results. Although he didn't know who exactly, he firmly believed capturing the capital was his only route to survival! Feeling they had rested enough for a day, Yanush slapped his knee, rose from the governor's chair, and ordered his subordinate standing by the door. "Relay my commands, have the Lion King, Horse King, Leopard King, Tiger King, and Bull King assemble at the Bull Province border!" "And another command to my divisions, commence the march immediately! Strike at the capital!" "Yes, sir!" The officer saluted and dashed out energetically. As he passed the sweat-drenched tactician, Yanush smiled contently, patting him on the shoulder. "…Lion's City is in your hands. It's our rear stronghold, guard it well until we receive our good news!" Was this his pledge of loyalty? The Heavenly King Army wasn’t an ordinary army, but an avalanche triggered by an earthquake. In such an army, there was no true rear, everything depended on looting for morale and supplies along the way! As for Lion's City... Calling it a rear base was flattering, more accurately it was a stepping stone for the legion at best. Just like the city defense troops at Western Sail Port, they were left to "cover the retreat!" Yudono, now fully aware, understood everything. He should've known; this cunning wolf didn’t easily trust him, and he finally understood why he was made a ten-thousand-man leader. The man banked on Yudono having no retreat. With those heads at the city gates, surrender was not an option or opportunity for him. Swallowing hard, Yudono, despite his reluctance, nodded stiffly, accepting the hot potato handed to him. "Understood…" ... Meanwhile, as the Heavenly King Army pushed eastward, the Xilan Empire's royal family, following their emergency mobilization of Lion Province's conscripts, swiftly issued a "Northern Hunt" decree. The decree was hastily and perfunctorily written, simply suggesting His Majesty hadn’t toured the northern provinces in a while and instructing the northern grand dukes to prepare their residences and attendants for the imperial visit. The decree read thus, but amidst the turmoil, everyone in the capital understood the decree's true intent. Chaos ensued in the northern Dog, Sheep, and Bird provinces, as they hurriedly prepared, genuinely expecting the emperor. Meanwhile, the wealthier Tiger and Leopard provinces in the east, maintaining their spies in the capital, nobly telegraphed the court, inviting His Majesty sooner rather than later. Even provinces entangled with Gray Wolf in a standoff sent cheerful telegrams—“Your Majesty, consider visiting, we have elephants here.” Meanwhile, the impoverished Snake Province kept silent, knowing His Majesty would never actually visit them. The relatively affluent Elephant Province, positioned beside Bull Province and next on the line if Bull fell, also remained mute. Parts of Rowan Province, nominally under the Tiger and Leopard warlords but without a governor, continued its mundane factory operations without a word. Purposely ignoring the eastern warlords' ploys, Pudu didn’t head north but played a strategic "Northern Sound and Eastern Retreat." He first organized a grand departure northward with the crown prince and concubines. Undercover, he led his queen, favored consorts, non-inheriting princes, and close aides out the East Gate, boarding the royal merchant ship waiting by the Yongliu River. Eggs couldn’t all be in one basket; leaving the palace eased Pudu, yet he prepared for the worst. Were he to perish or be captured by any warlord, the throne would pass to the truly "north-hunting" crown prince. Luckily, the Xilan Empire still lingered on, not yet truly fallen. Despite the royal dignity being swept away, no one dared intercept the royal merchant ship flying the green double-blade and royal crest en route to Golden Calan Harbor. Even warlord-controlled waters weren’t an exception. Perhaps they couldn’t fathom that the emperor truly sought refuge in their territory. So, after two days of anxious river travel, Emperor Pudu, a "stowaway," snuck uneventfully into the land etched with humiliation. At this moment, most Golden Calan Harbor residents knew nothing of their "honored" emperor’s clandestine visit… To Be Continued