Chapter 835 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 835: The Imitation of Dong Shi The news of Tiandu's fall not only created a storm in the Boruo Province but also shocked everyone inside the Coalition Building in Dawn City. What made it particularly intriguing was that this embarrassing situation wasn’t exposed by the Alliance but by the Bugra Free State, which the Empire believed they had a "decent relationship" with. Although the relationships involved here are somewhat complicated, they can be clearly explained if juxtaposed properly. Due to the inherently good relationship between the Free State and the Legion—and since the Empire is also an "ally" of the Legion—Duke Garawa always considered the Free State’s representative as a close confidant. Interestingly, the merchants of the Free State were notorious for their preference for silent profiteering. They never discriminated against clients but only cared about profitability. Therefore, they of course wouldn’t voluntarily expose the Empire’s weaknesses. They lurked behind the Legion and the Alliance, quietly exploiting the market in Boruo Province. If it weren’t for several senior salesmen from the Flint Group being captured by the rioters in Tiandu and the subsequent overwhelming public pressure, the representative from the Free State wouldn’t have wanted to get involved. As for Duke Garawa, he remained completely oblivious to the situation. It wasn't until recently that he discovered Puto was no longer in Tiandu but had escaped to Port Gingalen. And when he learned that imperial Tiandu had unexpectedly fallen into the hands of a group of rebels, he widened his eyes as he sat in the meeting, resembling a stranded goldfish. "Nonsense! Tiandu... in the hands of rebels? How come I haven't heard about it? What's your aim in saying this?" He furiously jumped up, managing only a clumsy and irrelevant rebuttal. The room was filled with whispers, and shock was evident on the representatives' faces. These attendees represented minor survivor factions like Junk Town and Dam City. They neither understood nor cared about occurrences within the Empire; they were simply taken aback. However, Duke Garawa’s expression was quite intriguing. After all, these matters concerned his homeland, yet he seemed as surprised as the others. Witnessing Duke Garawa’s indignant and betrayed demeanor, the Free State’s representative merely shrugged. "Alright, think of my words as gibberish then... Although I hardly expected you to be of any help, your belated reaction suggests that you aren't even aware of what's happening in your own house." The respectful "you" unconsciously turned into "you" [informal]. Pausing briefly, he continued. "We’d better deploy our own mercenaries for the rescue." At these words, discussions erupted among the attendees. Having been publicly embarrassed, Duke Garawa’s face turned beet-red, and he trembled with fury, pointing an accusatory finger at the arrogant speaker. "Do you even realize what you're saying? Sending troops into the Empire amounts to a violation of its sovereignty! That's an invasion! If you dare send those mercenaries into our lands, don’t expect them to return alive!" "Tsk... It’s you, Mr. Garawa, who doesn’t know what you're talking about." With a hint of mockery, even sarcasm, the Free State’s representative shot back at the enraged Garawa. "Even if this encroaches upon sovereignty, it’s the illicit regime of the 'Yanush Empire’s sovereignty we're undermining, not Xilan’s. To us, employees are valuable assets. Since we've insured them, we must ensure that our insurance serves its purpose." Turning his gaze to others in the gathering, especially Cheng Yan of the Alliance seat and Pantaleon of the Legion seat, he continued. "Isn’t anyone going to ask this 'irrelevant individual' to leave? The Xilan Empire is a relic of the past; what can he possibly contribute besides yelling?" Sitting by the Legion seat, Pantaleon remained expressionless, his sunken eyes suggesting nights of sleeplessness, paying no heed to the Free State representative's suggestions. He was already steeped in his own troubles, unable to care for his erstwhile allies. Cheng Yan cast a glance at Pantaleon, then at the Free State’s representative and Duke Garawa, whose face now resembled ash, before coughing lightly in a balanced tone. "The Coalition's seat is awarded to the residents of Boruo Province, not to any individual or organization, not even a particular royal family... However, I do not agree with revoking the Xilan Empire’s seat due to political turmoil. Doing so would contradict the spirit of the Coalition and our established rules." A glimmer of hope appeared in Duke Garawa’s eyes. Although not fond of the Alliance nor this "administrator’s minion," hearing him speak favourably of him brought a smirk to his lips as he provocatively glanced at the Free State's representative, who continued to sneer. However— His smugness lasted less than two seconds before Cheng Yan’s next words plunged him back into despair... "However, given the Empire’s current instability, maintaining their participation in the Coalition meetings is indeed inappropriate. Even if they cast votes, they lack the capability to fulfill their commitments... Therefore, I propose freezing their seat temporarily. Until the surviving residents of Boruo Province elect an organization or individual who truly represents them, we shall delay reactivating the seat." This was a straightforward and reasonable course of action. After all, the Coalition is a forum focusing on collective affairs in the wasteland, and now the Empire itself has yet to manage its own internal crisis, even risking dragging the entire wasteland into their internal conflicts. Allowing such a disruptor to destabilize the meeting is detrimental to both themselves and other participants. Before fulfilling their obligations for wasteland restoration, Boruo Province’s survivor factions should first resolve their own issues. Avoiding eye contact with Duke Garawa’s pleading expression, Cheng Yan addressed the front of the conference room. "Let’s proceed to vote." Almost all representatives illuminated the green light, with the Academy abstaining. Presumably, aside from the Alliance, it was mainly corporations casting sincere supportive votes, while others bore ill-intentions. After all, Duke Garawa’s arrogance typically drew considerable resentment. The voting results were precarious for the Empire. Although Garawa was discontented with the Coalition, quitting by choice is radically different from being expelled. Having his dignity wounded felt worse than losing his life... Dripping with sweat, Duke Garawa desperately sought help from Pantaleon, hoping against hope as a drowning man would cling to the final straw above the water. As long as the Legion exercised its veto—everything could reverse! Yet to his despair, his dearest ally didn’t even offer a glance, merely sitting coldly where he was. The red light signaling opposition... Never illuminated. The Legion abstained... The Empire’s dearest ally actually abstained! Duke Garawa felt the world spinning, his vision blackening as he collapsed in his chair. He won’t help me. It's over now. All is lost... ... The meeting adjourned. Duke Garawa was carried out, just as the Free State’s representative had anticipated. The man, having already experienced heart issues, always preferred squandering his wealth on wine and women over availing himself of surgery. There was quiet speculation among the attendees on whether he would survive this episode. But ultimately, his survival was irrelevant. The Empire’s seat was now frozen, removing their future involvement from meeting discussions. The newly-joined South Sea Alliance representatives appeared most content. Hundreds of billions of Xilan currency had been pawned into silver at a significant discount. Should the Empire go bankrupt, there would be no need to repay those debts... In the aftermath. Pantaleon paused by a window in the hallway, briefly staring out over Dawn City. Hearing the footsteps beside him, he didn’t turn, casually asking. "Got a smoke?" "Yes." Cheng Yan reached into his coat, pulling out a pack and offering a cigarette. After lighting the cigarette with a lighter, Pantaleon stuck it between his lips without taking a drag, squinting out the window, half frowning, half perplexed. After some time, he finally spoke. "There's something I can't quite grasp." Standing beside him, Cheng Yan speculated. "I think I might have an inkling." Pantaleon glanced at him, then let out a sudden chuckle, smoke billowing from his nostrils. "To be honest, I’ve borrowed a page from your book..." "You mean the rebels?" Cheng Yan was slightly taken aback, then chuckled incredulously. "What sort of imitation is that...? It’s not the kind of thing we’d contemplate." "Whether something happened or not, only you know in your heart. I can't possibly spell it out," Pantaleon chuckled softly, staring out the window. Suddenly, a trace of resentment flashed in his eyes. "But why?" He clenched his fists tightly, as if wishing to smash the windowsill, and forced his anger out through gritted teeth. "I gave them so many benefits and so much assistance...money! Arms! Even experience and techniques in struggle! Yet they turned around and stabbed us in the back!" "Can you understand that feeling? It’s like Rasi didn't rush to punish the Empire when leaving the city but instead set fire to Gingalen Port first! What would you think if so?" He had indeed discussed some matters with Huye. Including communicating with some key figures in Victory City, especially the civil officials holding ranks higher than himself. The plan was straightforward: retired veterans and officers from the Lupine tribe would exploit discontent in West Sail Port, execute several imperial aristocrats to set an example, and seize all arms stalled in Lion State. From there, leveraging the roads and railways they'd built, they would directly take Tiandu. If things went well, the Empire might not even have a chance to respond, and this "blood transformation" could happen with barely a drop of blood shed. After all, the Empire holds no defenses against the Legion. Their reliance and expectations of the Legion border on delusional. As for West Sail Port, it posed even less of a problem. The Lion aristocrats there were utterly incompetent. One could easily find a heap of useless nobodies who were no match for the old Grey Wolf soldiers. To create the perfect opportunity, Governor Huye even intentionally took away his personal guards. Those opportunists among the wolves even promised them that after arming, they’d only target the Empire's aristocrats, leaving Velandez people untouched, and afterward use this "restraint" as a symbol of mutual friendship... However, they were betrayed by those ungrateful wolflings, who trusted neither him nor anyone else vaguely reliable. Instead, they chose to gamble with someone even less reliable—constructing a broken ship of hatred and betting on their chances of boarding a new one before it sank. Now, he was relieved of only one thing: his daughter, Penny, was not there. Though she didn’t board Governor Huye’s ship, he’d managed—through persistent persuasion— to send her to Evernight Port before everything collapsed. Cheng Yan looked at him. Although he hadn't laid things bare, his point was clear. This man thought to replicate a "Rasi" in West Sail Port. However, he was deeply mistaken. Though the emergence of Mammoth State ultimately aligned with the Alliance's interests, the Alliance genuinely had not proactively influenced those people. From the Survivor’s Daily in Gingalen Port to the serial "Red Earth" articles in newspapers, were not each of those the voices of local survivors? "Do you think Rasi resents us? Do the residents of Gingalen Port hate us? Or... does Rasi hate the residents of Gingalen Port?" "...," Pantaleon remained silent for a long time, unable to answer directly. Cheng Yan continued. "What if I told you, we never supported Mammoth State or the Moon Clan's resistances, indeed advised them to take things gradually...would you believe that?" The Administrator was not one to orchestrate conspiracies. Cheng Yan was well aware that most decisions by that gentleman were open strategies. Although rumors suggested Rasi was directed by some powerful figure or had some backing for quitting and heading north, the truth was quite the opposite. Rasi had done something unanticipated by all—taken a gamble on an almost impossible victory with his own life and those of many others. Yet, it was this very act that woke many within the Alliance. Not everything will unfold as planned or at a gradual pace. They realized they couldn't continue recklessly as before; every choice had to be considered carefully. Pantaleon still wore a disbelieving expression, but it was less certain than before. "Was Rasi not acting under your direction?" Cheng Yan looked at him earnestly. "I can swear to the Administrator." "..." Pantaleon said nothing, staring out of the window, mindlessly smoking. Surprisingly, it wasn’t them... No wonder he couldn't replicate it. Humans are naturally drawn to like-minded individuals; gamblers tend to band with fellow gamblers, only to be targeted by bigger gamblers who eventually strip away all their gains. Though not yet at a dead end, Pantaleon suddenly felt immensely tired, even contemplating early retirement, void of his former assertive ambition and zeal. His forlorn eyes looked as if they had aged ten years overnight... ... While Pantaleon was chain-smoking, Garawa Duke, carried into the hospital, finally awoke thanks to the Alliance doctors' efforts. "... Lucky you arrived five minutes sooner; any later and nothing could have saved you." Vaguely hearing a voice, he reluctantly opened his eyes and saw the doctor’s face. Despite his obstinate nature refusing to bow to others, he involuntarily softened his tone, lowering his gaze to the doctor who saved him. "Thank you..." "You're welcome, saving lives is both my work and mission," the doctor in the white coat glanced at him, then at the monitors, adding with a hint beyond duty, "If possible, I suggest opting for a bionic heart... things can’t go on like this without end." Garawa's eyes showed a struggle; sweat beaded on his pale forehead as he hesitated. A heart replacement... Wouldn’t that entail cutting open his chest?! Of course. He wasn’t afraid of pain. But... what if that Administrator wanted him dead, sneaking in a fatal jab? The doctor quickly interjected as Garawa was lost in his fears. "We'll administer anesthesia; the entire procedure will be painless..." "No need, doctor," Duke Garawa weakly chuckled, cutting him off, "I’m alright... thank you for saving me." "..." The doctor stared at the stubborn old man, finally shaking his head, and exited the room. As the doctor left, Niyan at the door quickly asked. "How is the Duke, doctor?" "He's stable now... but if you truly care about him, persuade him to have the surgery soon." The doctor replied succinctly. "I’ll try to persuade him," Niyan nodded, thanked the doctor, then entered Garawa Duke's room. As he walked in, the Duke lay back on the bed, blankly staring at the ceiling. Hearing the footsteps, he slightly turned his face but then refocused his blank gaze back to the ceiling. "I don’t feel sick... I wasn’t like this before. I was healthy, but ever since coming to the Alliance... everything seemed to change." Seeing the Duke looking so fragile, Niyan sympathetically sighed, but finally placed his resignation letter on the bedside table, poured the Duke a cup of hot water, and coaxed him as if speaking to a child. "Indeed, the Alliance is terrible." "They shouldn’t have ended the Wasteland Era or let people see hope for a new century." "Everyone dies eventually; whether drowned in reality or in dreams—it’s just a choice. We all want to leave something behind in this world." Duke Garawa glanced at him, suddenly finding this familiar face strangely foreign. Is this... his Niyan? "For old times' sake, I advise you to get a new heart. Even if you think the Administrator wants you dead... the Empire is done for now, and soon you won’t even be a diplomat anymore. Surely no one will want to harm you at that point." You no longer hold any value for harm... Niyan looked at him with pity, withholding the harshest judgment. "Silence...! You rat, what do you know?" Lying on the bed, Garawa glared at this servant, now both familiar and not, noticing the paper on the bedside table from the corner of his eye. "What’s that... a newspaper?" Niyan answered honestly. "It’s my resignation letter." Garawa's eyes turned bloodshot, reddening as he glared fiercely. "Resign?" "That's right," Niyan nodded. "I appreciate all you've done for me, but there comes a time when one has the clarity to distinguish right from wrong, and no longer settles for being a slave. I'm choosing to follow my heart." With explosive anger, Garawa sprang from his bed and tore the resignation letter into shreds, throwing it sharply at Niyan's legs. "A slave resigning? Nonsense! Let me tell you, Niyan, I am your master! Only what I grant you is yours, and without my consent, don't even think about leaving!" His voice was a mix of a furious roar and a sorrowful plea. Niyan thought he might have a biting retort, a chance to throw back all the indignities he'd suffered. But facing the old man who had lost everything, the harsh words refused to leave his lips. In reality, he was a pitiful creature as well. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Garawa heard insincere praise his whole life, but genuine respect was elusive. People either blindly followed his foolishness or pretended to be ignorant while secretly mocking him. Niyan nodded slightly, offering a final act of respect. "You misunderstood, Mr. Garawa. I'm not resigning as a slave—I am resigning from all my duties to the Empire..." He paused, then retrieved an identification card from his pocket. "The Alliance does not have slaves. I was never a slave, to begin with, so there's nothing to resign from." An Alliance ID card... Garawa's Adam's apple bobbed dryly; despair washed over him entirely. It seemed he had lost even the reason for his anger. For once, he didn't rage. He simply looked on, dejectedly at the man leaving him. "Where are you going..." Niyan paused, but didn't turn around. "To Boruo Province." "Somewhere I am needed." ... **[Survivor's Daily - Special Report]** **Date: January 15, Year 214 of the Wasteland Era. Reporting from the Gingalen Port Branch Office.** [Yesterday, our editorial department received a telegram from the direction of Tiandu. The telegram claims that the remnants of the old Empire have been completely purged by the Heavenly King’s army. It states that a new Empire, under the leadership of Heavenly King Janush, will adopt a constitutional monarchy. The privileges of the royal family and slavery will be abolished, promoting the ideology of equality for all and leading the residents of Boruo Province towards a brighter future. The sender’s identity cannot be confirmed at the moment; however, the content suggests association with the Heavenly King’s army or at least influence from its higher-ups. Due to the lack of a branch office in Tiandu, specifics on the ground remain unknown. However, information gathered from refugee accounts suggests that the situation there seems grim. The Heavenly King's forces are conducting a “systematic” purge of the old Empire's remnants, often relying on the intuition and deductions of high- or mid-level officers rather than any codified laws. Janush himself appears uninterested in halting this process. Although our reporters attempted to contact the Gingalen Port governor’s office, no additional information was forthcoming. But according to limited clues, Janush’s claims of "abolition of slavery" and "equality for all" seem to exclude the Rizuku and the old Empire’s nobility...** --- In Gingalen Port. Inside a noodle shop near the port, patrons were making good use of their meal time continuing to peruse the newspaper. Not knowing how to read, a dockworker listened as a literate clerk read aloud. Having heard enough, he frowned, slapped his thigh, and muttered angrily. "That Janush isn’t any good either... going too far!" The gathered crowd nodded, echoing their agreement. "Yeah." "Pretty extreme..." "Janush seems no different from the bad ones... Good thing I didn't donate money." Noticing these fair-weather friends, the clerk holding the newspaper rolled his eyes. "Aren’t you a supporter of the Heavenly King?" The short-haired dockworker gave an awkward laugh, diverting his gaze elsewhere. A coworker sitting next to him coughed and defended him. "I support him fighting the Empire, not slaughtering cities... or Vanlandians." This sparked another round of agreement. "Indeed..." "Right is right, wrong is wrong. Praise his good, criticize his bad!" "Exactly!" The reader shook his head, folding the newspaper. "I don’t object, but shouldn't there be some standard of good and bad? It doesn't make sense to flip-flop." A bystander chimed in with a chuckle. "You folks are hard to please. Someone finally aligns with your thinking, yet you demand identical beliefs. Why don’t you hop in there yourself? Hands-on is always more satisfying than sideline criticism." Just as tensions rose, a shout came from the doorway. "Something in the sky!" At the alarmed call, diners dropped their discussions and utensils, swarming to the shopfront, ignoring the staff’s protests. "What is it?" "Let me see!" "Holy crap!" Everyone looked skyward, witnessing a streak of pale blue arcs painting the sky. Some immediately recognized the phenomenon—it was the plume from a plasma engine! "An aircraft! It’s an Alliance aircraft!" The insider eagerly exclaimed, finger pointing at the sky. Hearing his voice, nearly all on the street who'd stopped to gaze upward wore expressions of joyous astonishment. The Alliance had come! They were back! ... A thrilling background score filled the aircraft cabin, attempting to overpower the plasma engines' roar. Inside, [Twists of Fate], wedged his little finger into his ear and griped. "Damn... I recall the company's Orca didn't have noise this loud." [No Kin] smirked. "You're right, but the Overlord Transport Aircraft is a heavy-lift plane developed independently by the Alliance..." [Half-Year Mark] clamped a hand over his mouth. "All right, we know you’ve played 'Wasteland OL' already." [A Single Leap]: "?" While the four bickered, Old White, clad in power armor, called out in the comms channel. "Brothers, we’ve reached the eastern coast of Boruo Province, over Gingalen Port!" "The Legion wants to mess with us, so we’ll give them something to remember us by. They may forget, but I don't forget—they scampered from the desert with their tails between their legs!" "Hahaha!" A round of laughter echoed in the cabin. Old White grinned along, then regained a serious expression as he continued. "Remember, we represent the Alliance's finest corps! Adhere to the ‘Player Handbook’ and corps discipline. Not a pin or thread belongs to the masses—whatever harebrained ideas you have, remember the rules since you chose to sit here!" Once his firm words landed, a spirited cheer filled the comms channel. "Yes, sir!" The perks of joining the Burning Legion were the highest in the server, providing gear, leveling, and salaries. Once enlisted, members had little worries both in-game and beyond. But in exchange, the entry standards were also sky-high; ranks alone didn't suffice, they had to follow orders and respect discipline. Though strict and even harsh, few complained. With benefits come obligations; it was only fair. For a good time, one could form their own team. For instance, Brother Mosquito used to be in the Burning Legion, but found it too serious, opting out to form the more relaxed Goblin Corps. They’re still buddies, collaborating often without letting different game philosophies sour friendships. Similarly, the Bear Knight Order branched off from the Storm Legion and steadily grew. The Alliance’s founding corps resemble beginner zones; many skilled solo players found their footing here. Once the head’s speech ended, [No Kin] called out playfully. "Boss, can we parachute down? I'd love a grand entrance that’d be iconic, not against the rules, right?" Seeing people waving from below, missing a dazzling entrance would be such a waste. Old White chuckled. "Go ahead, jump. I’ll open the hatch for you." No Kin quickly added. "Hey! Man, at least give us some altitude! I don’t want to become a pancake." Twists of Fate: "Hahaha!" Laughter and banter painted the cabin, adding a unique tint to the invigorating backdrop music. Fang Chang’s lips curled into a smile as he gazed out the window at the thriving settlement below. It had been a long time since he last returned. The changes here were significant enough that even Fang Chang, one of its designers, almost didn't recognize the place... The authorities in Gingalen Port had constructed a new military base for them on the outskirts. As for the original Lowell Camp near the port area, it had been transformed into a museum, complete with two service-type androids imported from the corporation to serve as tour guides. "Speaking of which, do you remember what this place looked like a year ago?" Fang Chang asked, his curiosity evident. Old White grinned in response. "Not really. You know me, I’m a forward-looking sort of person. I'm actually more curious about what it will look like a year from now than what it was like a year ago." Fang Chang smiled at this. "Oh? What do you think this settlement will look like a year from now?" "Haha, that depends on what the local survivors envision for themselves. All we can do is lend them a hand; we can't carry them on our backs," Old White replied, narrowing his eyes as he gazed out the window. He added a thoughtful note. "… Anyway, no matter what changes occur, let’s just hope it doesn’t revert to what it was." To be continued.