Chapter 831 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 831: The Faithful Do Not Die Easily [...Respected Administrator, I have followed your instructions to mediate the ongoing events locally. The legion commander has agreed to distinguish between the innocent and the rioters, opting for public trials... I'm fully aware that this isn't a good idea, but honestly, do I have a better solution? Forgive my limited abilities; this is the best I can manage with just rhetoric.] [Regarding the "arsonist" investigation you've asked about, unfortunately, I have yet to find any clues. I inspected the warehouse and spoke with nearby residents. Some claimed they saw Silver Moon Cult followers near the warehouse district, while others mentioned someone suspiciously climbing over walls... Their testimonies are contradictory, and they're reluctant to discuss that day further. As for the Weilante people, they've found hundreds of "arsonists," but I feel each one of them seems falsely accused.] [I did manage to find the guy who first shot and killed the captain of the guard. Or more accurately, he was reported by others. That young ratfolk appears to be an ordinary person, not someone easily manipulated. I even question if his shot really hit the target. Although I wish to question him further, it seems the Weilante people no longer care who pulled the trigger. When the dusk bells tolled, he was led to the execution ground along with others.] [My feelings are incredibly complex. Some of my comrades sympathize with the Weilante people, while others feel for the dead laborers; they've argued more than once. Mr. Almond's plight certainly evokes my empathy, but I can't help but wonder if this was a comeuppance for the slave owners... Yet, when I see Ruby's pitiful eyes, I wish I could avenge her.] [But later, a girl about her age asked me confusedly what her father did wrong. Should they have not resisted, should they have just knelt to this tyranny? I must admit, I was somewhat shaken then. However, the Union is not a wish-granting machine. We don't have the power to change all world laws, and nobody does. This much I know.] [I am incredibly in awe of those players who participated in the Rocky City incident. How did they accomplish such a perfect ending? Should I have placed a goblin rocket on Almond's ship? But we are a week late. Even if I look back, I can't think of a better idea... Or is it that a perfect conclusion never existed on this land in the first place?] [The torment finally ended today; the legion has ceased their slaughter and begun planning for the future. After tallying, the deaths number 80,000. General Macleod mentioned losing a bet with Ross Centurion, expecting initially 100,000 deaths but falling short by 20,000. Yet, I feel no joy.] [Furthermore, the legion isn't stopping. Massive supplies are being transported from Evernight Harbor to West Sail Harbor. I've gathered that Evernight Harbor is territory of the southern legion... the same ones who gifted us a 902mm cannon.] [Honestly, I have no clue what they're planning. Didn't they promise not to expand eastward? Yet more infantry are landing... I don't know, but they don't seem ready to withdraw any time soon.] [This is all the intelligence I have regarding West Sail Harbor. There's also some gossip, it appears the Heavenly King’s army has surrounded the skies, and both sides are allegedly fighting fiercely. Moreover, three provinces—Lion, Wolf, and Bull—have fallen to the Heavenly King's army. Countless freed slaves and serfs along the way have joined them, swelling their ranks possibly past two million...] [Finally, might you consider forming a peacekeeping force in the Cohesive Community? I get the feeling that the situation is beyond just us now, and pulling in more survivor factions might be wise, particularly corporations and academies.] When The Far-sighted Hawk typed these words, even he felt they were a bit unrealistic. The wasteland wasn't reality, and the Cohesive Community certainly wasn't the United Nations, capable of forming any peacekeeping force. Those capable had long joined the regular army, leaving the immobile to negotiate. Yet, after thinking it over, he didn't delete a word and pressed the enter key. [Sent.] "Damn! Finally got it done!" Letting out a deep breath, the old hawk leaned back in his chair, picked up the helmet on the table, and, escaping reality, put it on. In the blink of an eye, the ceiling above changed. This place was the storeroom of the Silver Moon Cult’s chapel, a room of less than 15 square meters with four beds crammed inside. With the port area obliterated by 380 heavy artillery, there were no inns nearby to stay at, so they'd been lodging in the chapel’s small compartments for days, Almond and his daughter next door. Old Staff and Old Pipe were still asleep on the beds, while Old Wolf had already gone outside, likely collecting intel among the populace. But truthfully, the old hawk felt his efforts were in vain. Now, the entire settlement was gripped by paranoia, everyone seeing each other as potential murderers. Except for some naive children who'd speak honestly, others, even if they knew something, wouldn't dare say much, particularly when discussing that night; they'd just evade the topic. The old hawk estimated that this arson case might have already hit a dead end, and even if solved, it might be meaningless. The top priority now was figuring out what the legion intended to do. Three battalions had landed at West Sail Harbor, each a regiment by Union standards. The whole Lion Province was swarming with the Heavenly King’s army—they could be fighting bandits, yet they’re stirring up trouble for the honest people at West Sail Harbor, which was indefensible. Thousands against hundreds of thousands indeed posed a tough fight, but surely they could at least snatch at the Heavenly King’s army's heels as they clashed with the Imperial regulars? What they seemed to be doing now was allowing the avalanche to fall over the Empire... And that was their "ally." At least, that's what the codex said. Perhaps it was just an illusion, but he felt things weren’t that simple. Especially when recalling Macleod reading the newspaper quietly in the chapel—that man was like night and day compared to his demeanor at the port. At one moment, he was calm, like discussing a business deal, leisurely talking terms and benefits; the next, he turned into a wrathful demon, seemingly wishing to wipe out all survivors at West Sail Harbor. He didn’t seem much like a general. More like a politician wearing a general's garb. If his memory served, before he entered the game, that guy wasn't like this. People did change, but Macleod's transformation seemed overly drastic. What had triggered him? Directly questioning Macleod would get him nowhere; besides, he hadn’t seen him around the port recently. As for any talks with the Weilante soldiers, no use considering, their relations were already strained. Given these considerations, the old hawk decided to take a different approach and try someone they had somewhat favorable ties with. Perhaps Almond. Though not military, the locals and stationed soldiers sympathized deeply with his plight. With his local connections, he might loosen a few tongues and reveal information they couldn't uncover themselves... Finalizing today's plans on his VM, seeing that the two others hadn't logged on yet, he decided not to wait further. He stepped out to wash up by the well in the courtyard. As luck would have it, the moment he stepped outside, Almond emerged from the room next door, and they faced each other. In just a week, this once spirited man’s frame had shrunk noticeably, a ragged beard covering his chin. Consecutive shocks had sapped his spirit, leaving him a shell of his former self—a drunkard who’d lost it all. But he hadn’t lost everything; at least, his Ruby remained. Her heart-wrenching face hid behind him, a delicate hand lightly clutching his coat. The old hawk offered a friendly smile to the girl, then shifted his gaze to greet his partner. "Feeling any better?" Almond hesitated, nodded gently, and lowered his head as he passed by. "Mm..." Seeing they were headed to the courtyard well, the old hawk walked alongside. "What’s your plan now? Return to Triumph City or stay here to... well, continue our business?" Naturally, the old hawk hoped Almond would choose the latter—for both the current task and future endeavors. But given the terrible events, he couldn’t forcefully persuade, leaving the choice with his partner. Almond fell into silence, engrossed in thought, hesitating for a long moment before speaking. "It's alright, you don't need to rush into a decision. If you aren't ready yet, I can wait," the old hawk quickly added with a smile, realizing that his earlier question might have been a bit harsh, attempting to change the subject. However, before he could shift the conversation, Almond, who had been silent, suddenly interjected. "I've been thinking a lot about something these past few days..." His Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke, his tone complicated. "I... We might have been too harsh on the local survivors." This time, it was the old hawk's turn to fall silent. After about half a minute, he finally decided to be honest, gently shrugging his shoulders. "Honestly, buddy... if you want the truth, you indeed went a bit overboard." Objectively speaking, it seemed as though the legion had brought freedom to the survivors in West Sail Harbor. Yet, considering the local context, this illusory freedom was nothing more than a fragile bubble, ready to burst at the slightest touch. All the resources and rules in West Sail Harbor were tightly controlled by the Weilante and the local aristocracy. At least the survivors in Bruglar had a chance to pay off their debts and flip their fate, while those in West Sail Harbor had no hope but death. Clearly, fairness isn't just two words written on a piece of paper. The old hawk once thought the legion had done a good deed by turning locals from livestock into commodities, but upon arrival, he realized how naive he’d been. Livestock remained livestock, only now stamped with an inspection mark, and the slaughtering tools and processes were automated. How is living worse as free citizens than as slaves progress? Knowing his words wouldn’t be pleasant, the old hawk had expected Almond to angrily glare and argue with him, but instead, Almond remained silent for a moment, finally forcing a bitter smile. "Just as I thought..." Almond scratched his messy hair, gazing at the well outside the corridor window, speaking with a complex expression. "Deep down, I've had the same realization. This can't continue, or it'll be over. The legion's colonies have faced rebellions before, repeatedly. I shouldn't deceive myself into thinking West Sail Harbor is an exception just because the survivors here are more docile. Especially since this place is different from elsewhere, with no established garrison; once things spiral out of control, no one will survive." He paused, guilt increasingly evident in his eyes, yet there was a hint of defiance. "However, I have no way out, no means at all; I'm just a nobody. My will and opinion mean nothing to those truly in power." He remembered it vividly. When he entered back then, General Macleod merely tilted his head slightly, not even sparing him a glance, as though he was just dust floating under the eaves. As Almond’s emotions grew more intense, he deeply inhaled, burying his nose in his hands, trying to suppress his trembling voice. "You’re right... I feel the same way." "If I hadn't pushed Nagy so hard, perhaps that laborer, Orisa, wouldn't have died, maybe there wouldn’t have been a strike, and perhaps the warehouse wouldn’t have caught fire. Even if it did, it wouldn’t have spiraled out of control." No one could have predicted that the fire would grow out of control, consuming not only West Sail Harbor but also the entire Lion Province... Even igniting the entire Empire. Yet what pained him most wasn't the Empire burning in flames nor the countless dead compatriots, but the grim realization that his actions indirectly led to his wife's death... Not wanting to see him blame himself endlessly, the old hawk sighed, stepping forward to pat his shoulder. "Alright... don't be too hard on yourself. This isn't just one person’s fault. It's more rational to blame the munitions stored in the port’s warehouse. Damn... Good thing our Administrator was wise and pulled those munitions back midway." After finishing, the old hawk realized his words might have inadvertently insulted the two before him, so he coughed and quickly added, "Ah, of course, I didn’t mean you and little Ruby when I said 'big-noses.'" Almond shook his head. "You're right, these 'big-noses' aren't any good, and that includes the former me... Though Ruby's too young, this isn’t her fault; it's our generation's duty." As he said this, a pause lingered, initially gloomy eyes steadily becoming resolute. "Undoubtedly, what deserves condemnation is the cannibalistic system and boundless greed. If no one corrects these injustices, their cost will be paid over and over... in our children’s time." Saying this, he placed a hand on Ruby’s head, gently stroking it. The latter curiously tilted her head, oblivious to her father’s weary yet loving gaze, not comprehending his words. Understandably so. For her, topics of responsibility and duty were still a bit premature. However, the old hawk opposite understood Almond's sentiment and involuntarily gave him a thumbs-up. What a perspective, brother! The Union had Weilante members, not a few of them, like Vanus among others. They clearly shared similar thoughts, standing against the legion for the Weilante people. Because as long as the legion existed, the Weilante could never become a normal race. Their descendants would continuously bleed for blood, seek revenge for vengeance, sacrificing endlessly in futile battles, never truly gaining the equality, dignity, and acceptance they sought. Yet, it wasn't as if he meant to be pessimistic. With Almond merely a merchant, achieving such changes seemed unlikely. But as that thought crossed his mind, a trembling voice came from the side. "Mr. Melgio actually still lives... The faithful do not die easily." "And neither do the brave." All three turned simultaneously to the corridor's other side, where an old nun stood by the doorway. She donned her usual plain robe, her withered finger touching the silver moon pendant on her chest, lips moving seemingly in prayer. That voice was both a prayer and a confession. "Mr. Almond, please forgive my concealment, but believe that my intentions were never malicious." "I promised the lady... her child should not grow without a mother." (To be continued...)