Chapter 829 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 829: The Stench of Death Wafts from the Coffin Downstream of the Eternal Flow River, at the inner port of Jingarun Harbor, several young men in uniforms stood beside a newsstand. They were the river police of this area, primarily responsible for inspecting smuggling activities, maintaining order at the docks and in navigation, and rescuing drowning stowaways. Compared to the warlords of Tiger State and Leopard State who shot at illegal border crossers, Jingarun Harbor authorities were relatively lenient towards smuggling activities. Out of moral responsibility, the authorities wouldn’t repatriate them but couldn’t allow the refugees to rush into the city unchecked. Usually, they sent the refugees to resettlement centers in the suburbs, allowing them temporary residence, and helped them find work at the docks or introduced them to jobs. They also taught them basic life skills and necessary legal knowledge. Upon leaving these centers, the refugees would receive a work card with a tax number, which served as proof of their identity. Eventually, if they obtained a national ID card, the tax number would become their identification number. In fact, most migrants proactively sought them out to expedite the process of obtaining official identity. As a result, their work was relatively relaxed, allowing them to visit the newsstand on their downtime. Currently, they were holding the freshest edition of the "Survivor Daily," with the headline detailing last week's tragedy at Westsail Harbor. The newspaper thoroughly reported the incident's causes and developments. It began with a laborer named Orisa collapsing from exhaustion at the docks, leading to a strike protest by other free citizen workers. The labor agency controlled by the authorities feigned agreement to the protesters' demands but reneged as soon as the shipping peak passed, importing slaves on a large scale to replace the non-cooperative free citizens. This betrayal inflamed the free citizenry’s anger. Conveniently, the port's warehouse was stocked with munitions intended for the front lines. Thus, an uprising ignited by a fire broke out, spiraling out of control. Due to the delay in news transmission, they only now discovered that such a horrific event occurred on the opposite shore of the land beneath their feet. “Serves them right…” muttered a young river policeman angrily, flipping the newspaper to the next page. The following section covered Janusz, the self-proclaimed king. The reporters from the Potatoes Port division of “Survivor Daily” had limited insights on him, only knowing he once served under Arayan, participated in a butterfly stroke competition outside Jingarun Harbor, and was considered a veteran. The Thirteenth Army marched from Westsail Harbor, advancing the flames into the empire's heartland, though its current progress was unknown. Contrasting the young policeman, an older colleague shrugged. “But civilians are innocent.” “Innocent?” The young man widened his eyes at his colleague, as if hearing the incomprehensible. “Do you consider your compatriots to be Virlanders? Did this uprising happen without reason? The first person to die was Orisa, and there were over three thousand Borons who died there! How can you sympathize with slave owners and imperialists?” Many might have overlooked the “lowly” name Orisa, but he clearly remembered it as the beginning of everything. He no longer cared about Orisa’s ethnicity; in his eyes, Orisa was his compatriot—a Boron! As for Janusz and his so-called king’s army, they were merely sparks that floated up later. The true arsonists were the Virlanders! The emperor’s dogs played with fire, skewering his compatriots like kebabs over the flames! They botched their game, naturally paying the price. His only regret was the flames couldn’t reach Triumph City but burned across the Boron Province, making the oppressed pay for exploitation, forcing his fellow people to endure the war’s agony. He believed he wasn’t alone in urging for this blaze in Jingarun Harbor; he’d read about Westsail Harbor’s state in more than one newspaper. Seeing his excited colleague, the older policeman sighed, saying, “That’s exactly what I meant by innocent—the survivors of Westsail Harbor are innocent. Of course, Virlander civilians included. They left home for our land, pioneering for the legion, only to become sacrifices for politicians. To say they enjoyed any benefits from the colonies, probably not. “All is relative, macroscopically and microscopically. The alliance pursued cooperation for mutual benefit, leaving its residents well off. Though I’ve never been to Dawn City, Jingarun Harbor’s transformation is evident; they couldn’t have done so much charity abroad than at home.” “…They’re all victims; what truly deserves condemnation are the exploitative rules and insatiable greed.” But that was hindsight. By the time they received the newspaper, everything had already concluded. Virlanders might vent their anger at Westsail Harbor, but the survivors in Boron Province were slowly awaking. Just like the young man beside him, his first reaction wasn’t Orisa’s race but that those big-nosed bastards dared kill his people! If the legion thought they could conquer by massacring a city, they were naïve. In the Inter-ethnic Union's history, empire never truly triumphed, always moving from one quagmire to the next, until eventually overwhelmed by time’s tide. This war was just beginning. What of airships? Heirs to heritage? Who hadn’t walked out from the vast desert two hundred years ago? As long as history marched forward, they’d eventually be submerged in an endless sea of people. As the heated debate continued, Kapil casually flipped through Mr. Mouse’s collection of writings. He wasn’t interested in war. Ever since a shell took his right arm and sent him to a POW camp, the deafening sounds no longer disturbed him. But the stirring words still did. He had been a reader of “Mr. Mouse” even while in the POW camp. It was precisely after reading “Red Earth” that he decided to stay. The consensus Jingarun authorities reached with the empire on returning POWs was disrupted by the Shifengshan incident, leading to public protests. Hence, they didn’t force the POWs to return but allowed voluntary choices. Kapil paid a sum of savings to a centurion who came to retrieve POWs, classifying him as severely disabled, allowing him to remain in Jingarun Harbor for “humanitarian treatment.” In reality, after fitting a prosthetic from Boulder City, he managed daily life and work, with only frequent recharging as a hindrance. The bribe simply preserved his family’s honor. Afterward, the POW camp was converted into a refugee center, and he transferred to work as a river policeman. As Kapil pored over the writings, a bell tolled from the distant dock. A cargo ship, flying a green flag with double swords and a royal emblem, slowly entered the river port. “A big ship’s coming.” The older policeman placed the newspaper back on the stand, adjusting his hat. “Strange, did the harbor report a large ship’s voyage today?” His colleague squinted, smirking. "The Westland royal merchant ship—these folks never announce themselves here… they still think this is their backyard." Sending telegrams for flight numbers and berths before departures wasn’t mandatory, merely easing mutual inconveniences. With tight berths at inland river ports and limited transport capacity, not every time could a ship dock. Previously, peak traffic clogged the river, prompting relevant regulations. However, Boron's emperor never followed them, and his ships often forgot applications, arriving a day early or late. The river policemen murmured their grumbles. “Ugh, I can’t stand rule-breakers.” “Check him!” “…Jingarun Harbor has no emperor; all are equal—let’s go take a look.” “Coming, wait up for me.” Kapil placed the collection back on the stall, leaving a note for the vendor to hold the unfinished book for his return. The group proceeded to the dock, just as the ship’s captain yelled at the harbor staff on the dock. “We arrived a day early, quickly find us a berth!” The harbor staff rolled their eyes. “No berth for you—get in line on the river.” With esteemed guests pressing him, the captain grew anxious, yet couldn’t clarify, resorting to threats. "Aren't you worried about blocking the river?" the harbormaster joked. "Go ahead, try to block it," he dared the ship captain, who gnawed his teeth in frustration but couldn't do much else. Fortunately, Utor and the ministers were too preoccupied to care about him, all staring in stupefaction at the scene ashore with mouths agape, none more so than Prince Dilip. He had come here with Arayan once, staying in a small house near the Kraba market in the suburbs. Back then, this place was a muddy mess of reeds, and he still remembered the small road by the river. That path, however, had vanished, replaced by a wider, longer concrete road. Along the riverbank stood neatly arranged single-family homes, each with little gardens full of flowers and bicycles tied up in front, even featuring green-painted mailboxes. While not every house was lavishly appointed, the meticulously crafted ones rivaled those in Heavenly City. A few unique mansions even spurred envy in an aristocrat like him, making him consider buying a couple. In fact, even the governor's mansion in Nihack felt less grand. Dilip assumed he was in the wealthy district of Jingarun, unaware it was merely the outskirts—far from the harbor. Residents here were dockworkers from the inland port, textile factory women, or merchants and dignitaries frequently traveling to and from the Tiger and Leopard States. Since the land in these distant suburbs was cheaper and had fewer regulations, the wealthy from these regions enjoyed setting up second homes here, purchasing large plots and hiring Jingarun port architects to design mansions in alliance or legion styles. Beyond the tastefully adorned buildings, one could barely glimpse the rows of tall, blocky structures beyond, resembling fortress walls. These buildings, typically close to factories and stations, housed newly relocated residents behind a grid of orderly windows reminiscent of cornrows. “Is this... my Jingarun Harbor?” Utor was dazed, squeezing out the words after half a day of shock. Dilip had visited only last year, with his memories of an endless expanse of red earth along the Eternal Flow River, plantations on the other side, and the endless rows of low huts and the towering walls of the Lowell camp. Becoming governor here was a thankless role—just outside the port lay a slum, with unbearable stench hanging along the streets during the hot dry season. Yet the current landscape completely upended his impressions. He couldn't imagine such a settlement appearing on Boron Province's land. The ministers exchanging confused looks behind him struggled to utter a word, clearly as shocked as he. At this moment, a speedboat, sporting the police emblem, approached from the water. The river police onboard called out to the deck, “Guards, inspect the vessel!” The ship's captain, still arguing with the harbormaster, quickly turned to the speedboat, offering a conciliatory smile as he explained, “We are a royal merchant ship!” “Royal merchant ship or not, you’re subject to inspection. Drop the ladder, quickly,” a river police officer snapped impatiently from the deck. Caught between a rock and a hard place, the ship captain sought aid in the form of his majesty and Prince Dilip. With a grim face, Utor exchanged a few whispers with his ministers before reluctantly nodding. An attendant stepped forward, granting permission for their boarding. The captain sighed in relief, kneeling gratefully. “Yes, your majesty.” As the river police boarded, they met noble faces brimming with surprise. Though these figures bore no titles on their bodies, their robes and costly accessories, possibly worth millions of gallons, spoke volumes. Curiously, these illustrious individuals arrived aboard a cargo ship—royal as it might be, it was still a freighter. Kapil found the lead person familiar, but couldn’t place where he’d seen him before. As protocol dictated, he asked, “Do you have clearance documents or identification? If not, you’ll need to register at customs…” His words vanished as the imposing man angrily glared at him. "What nonsense! Why would I need papers to come home?" Stunned silence enveloped Kapil and the surrounding officers, unsure why this person was so agitated. Then, realization struck Kapil as the face became suddenly recognizable, disbelief spreading across his expression. Was it possible? Here in Jingarun? His jaw hung slack, voice spilling out automatically, “...Your Majesty?!” Utor had indeed arrived at Jingarun Harbor, alongside stowaways emerging from the remote reed beds. As the news spread, Jingarun erupted into fervor. The usually empty inland port swarmed with people, even drawing the port district civilians curious to see what the emperor looked like. The throngs disrupted navigation, prompting authorities to maintain order by keeping the royal merchant ship stationed offshore, suggesting Utor linger on the river a while longer. Really, such a reminder wasn’t necessary. Terrified by the teeming mass onshore, Utor dared not mention disembarking. Hidden within the ship’s cramped quarters, he kept windows tightly shut, dreading sunlight that might reveal his location. After all, the empire wasn’t like the alliance; Utor wasn't about to put himself openly amidst a crowd. What if an assassin lurked among them? Paranoia haunted him—anyone could be out to get him. Late that night, Utor sat despondently in his cabin, sipping tea and playing chess with Prince Dilip. An attendant entered and bowed deep, relaying, “Your Majesty, a reporter from the 'Survivor Daily' Jingarun branch wishes to interview you.” “Reporter?” Utor frowned, having vaguely heard the term, knowing it to be nothing good. Impatiently, he waved the notion off. “No. Tell them to leave.” As the attendant withdrew, Dilip halted him, suggesting, “Wait... Your Majesty, granting an interview might not be so bad. The residents crowding the banks came seeking your prestige—” Utor cut him off sharply. “My grandeur is not for commoners to behold.” Dilip cleared his throat. “True enough—but consider, easing the pressure instead of blocking it. Appease their curiosity and they might disperse, allowing us to go ashore instead of drifting here indefinitely.” Who knows how long the western rioters intended to cause trouble? News from the imperial guards was sparse. If Jingarun’s people kept gathering, they might have to remain afloat indefinitely. The river’s dampness and the deck’s incessant swaying were unbearable for prolonged stays. Clearly, Utor shared the sentiment. Pondering the chess piece he held, he nodded slowly. “Fine.” As his piece hit the board, he discreetly signaled the bowed attendant at the door. “Arrange a meeting with the reporter.” As the night deepened, tranquility reigned over the Eternal Flow River, with only the gentle croaking of frogs among the reeds. Though the crowd on the banks had dispersed, no one dared disembark from the ship. Despite confined quarters, Utor found peace on board, snoring thunderously by ten, sleeping even sounder than on the previous warlord-dominated territories. Though at ease, some in Jingarun Harbor couldn't sleep—like Jodu, the secretary of the governor's office. As acting governor, Jodu managed the port's affairs almost single-handedly. Jodu had never received any diplomatic notice from the Empire, nor was he aware that the Emperor was coming to Jingarun Harbor. So when he heard that Utor had shown up at the mouth of the Eternal Flow River, he was completely taken aback. "...Is the Emperor really here?" he asked, incredulous. Opposite him, Chief Inspector Bihari wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, managing a wry smile. "Yes, indeed. I couldn't believe it myself at first, so I went aboard to take a look." Bihari had originally been the head of the port district security bureau during Nihack's reign and was later promoted to chief for his excellent performance during the occupation. Although he seldom mentioned his noble title, he was once indeed an imperial noble. Thus, while others might not recognize Utor's face, he remembered it well, including those of the grand dukes and princes on the deck. Pacing in front of his desk, Jodu stopped abruptly, unable to resist asking, "Could they be impostors?" Bihari shook his head, almost laughing at the absurdity. "How could they be? Besides, it's not just the Emperor; Prince Dilip is here too. He enrolled his biometrics in our prison records; verification is immediate. If you don't believe me, I could take him for a check?" "No need for that... They're not suspects, so don't capture anyone arbitrarily," Jodu hastily replied. Bihari chuckled ruefully, "Then what do we do? Just let them float on the river?" "That's tricky..." Jodu mused, his intuition hinting at a complex intrigue. If Utor chose to come here, it meant he believed he had no other options left. Even the Emperor himself felt unable to control the situation... A sudden thought crossed Jodu's mind like the stench of decay carried by the breeze from the Eternal Flow River: perhaps the empire was nearing its end. It was like a secretly embalmed corpse—no matter how tightly the coffin was sealed, the stench still seeped through the cracks. Sweat beaded on Jodu's forehead. At this moment, his concern wasn't about the Empire's fate but the impact its collapse could have on Jingarun Harbor. As a potential future mayoral candidate, he had to prioritize the residents of Jingarun, particularly their savings. “...Let’s consult the alliance first, see what they say. It’s best if we don’t meddle unnecessarily.” Bihari nodded in agreement. "That's what I thought too. Please contact the alliance quickly." "I've already sent a telegram to our Dawn City contacts, but it's late there. We might not get a reply until tomorrow..." With that, Jodu paused and walked to his desk to pick up the phone, dialing his secretary. "Get the president of the Jingarun Bank to my office, and the foreign trade bureau director... yes, now, I don't care if they're in bed or soaking in a tub. Get dressed and come here!" "I have important matters to discuss with them in person." --- The following morning dawned bright and bustling as usual in the port district of Jingarun Harbor. Gossip about the Westsail Harbor tragedy from a couple of days ago was still fresh, and now the Westlands' Emperor was causing another stir in Jingarun. Everyone speculated whether the Heavenly Capital had fallen to the King's Army. Unfortunately, neither Lion City nor Heavenly Capital had "Survivor Daily" branches, leaving them to guess. Some wished it were true, regardless of whether it was progress, because they were fed up with the Empire and the Emperor! In a breakfast noodle shop, patrons slurped their noodles while poring over the freshly printed newspapers, discussing the events within its pages. "Good riddance! It's best if all those officials are wiped out! Let them be ground to ash!" An elderly man shook his head, sighing with pointed wisdom. "I'm afraid it's not that simple," he continued. "The legions won't stand idly by and let the Empire collapse; they’ve already lost so many battles. The Thirteenth Army seems mighty, but they're mostly farmers, and logistics can't keep up. It's anyone's guess in a real fight." A scholarly-looking gentleman shook his head in sorrow, adding, "Their blood might be shed in vain." Nearby, a dockworker slammed the table, gritting his teeth. "Those dog-eared big-noses! Enslaving us, and now they want to meddle with our internal affairs! Do they think we're easy targets?" This resonated with many, inciting a chorus of indignation among the noodle shop's patrons. “Outrageous!” “I’m donating to the union right now! I'll give a month’s wages!” "What's the point of giving to the union? They're supporting Lasi, who’s still tangled up with Arayan in Mammoth State!" "Lasi’s gotten better at the trade, but he’s still no match for Janusz.” “Ha, I’m not betting on that guy… I’d worry more about him heading to list in Dawn City as a rich retiree.” “Hahaha! At least Janusz acts directly, gun in hand!” "Too bad it’s hard getting supplies to them from here. It’d be easier if they rebel on the East Coast." "What good does more guns do if they can’t withstand the legions? The legion might move in... alas! Who claims those 4 million square kilometers remains uncertain..." As debates raged, an unusual group entered the noodle shop, settling in a corner. Asin ordered a bowl of scallion oil noodles and a basket of soup dumplings, then spread out a newspaper over the table, sipping tea as he leisurely read. He had been literate for some time, able to read and write well enough alone. Standing behind him, Kunar listened to the indignant chatter and couldn't help clench his fists, muttering, “That damn Emperor dare come to Jingarun... Boss, why don’t we take him out?” A mere river freighter—send someone to drill a hole in the hull, and they'd taste the waters of the Eternal Flow River. “Are you insane?” Asin paused, glancing back at his naïve subordinate, shaking his head in disappointed disapproval before turning away. Assassinate the Emperor? Asin doubted solving Westlands' problems were as simple as killing an emperor. They needed to steer clear of affairs involving powerful individuals, lest they end up dead without knowing why or how. However, if an influential figure requested the deed, he’d gladly accept. Killing a man wasn’t difficult, especially on his turf. Curiously, Utor had just announced the "Northern Hunt"—why had he suddenly turned up here? Gazing at the newspaper a while longer, Asin’s eyes sparkled with insight. “The Emperor… he’s probably here seeking refuge.” Kunar blinked, whispering, “You mean the King’s Army reached Heavenly Capital?” “He spent two days traveling here,” Asin mused offhandedly. "It's possible they're fighting there right now." Kunar’s heart raced, picturing Boron Province's map. In a week, they’d seized two provinces?! That speed on infrastructure-enhanced plains exceeded anything imaginable. “So Janusz must be more formidable than Lasi…” "Surface impressions won’t do," Asin chuckled, shaking his head. "During conflict, effectiveness depends on the opponent. Janusz is battling peasants, while Lasi faces Arayan. Don’t underestimate the wolf-man. The alliance didn’t wholly defeat him on the field." Indeed, few in Jingarun wanted an Empire victory—victory by the Gray Wolf Army would be welcomed. Reflecting on the Empire’s failures guided Asin’s business; he knew when to press and when to pause, never leaving matters unfinished. And unlike other gang leaders branding ruthlessness on their faces, Asin was always courteous, mingling with neighbors over noodles, gifting children red envelopes during New Year. Hence, the Asasin's influence grew expansively. Kunar scratched his head, grinning. "True, true... I remember you actually took one down yourself, boss." Asin glanced at him. "It's nothing to boast about... let's not bring it up." "Understood, boss," Kunar nodded, pausing before hesitantly asking, "But what about the Emperor..." Asin slapped him on the back of the head in exasperation. "Why don’t you ever learn? Why keep dwelling on that guy? It's not our business to meddle with such matters; we should focus on managing our own turf!" Kunar scratched his head. "But you once mentioned wanting to bring down that Emperor… I just wanted to help fulfill that wish." Asin paused, recalling that, indeed, he'd said those words—during Lasi’s farewell party. Seeing the downtrodden Emperor on the newspaper now made him chuckle. How nostalgic. In the blink of an eye, dreams he once had were on the verge of coming true. “Yes, that's right… Kunar, my friend, I did say that,” Asin admitted. “And I can tell you, my wish is about to be fulfilled, haha!” --- (Thanks to the alliance leader “Xingqing Buyu” for your generous reward!!!) To be continued...