Chapter 844 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 844: The Flames of Ambition On the northern side of Xifan Harbor, there was a garrison teeming with people. On one side stood soldiers from the Weilanders, and on the other, soldiers from Borro. Between them were about two hundred Weilanders civilians huddled together. These civilians were the survivors of the Xifan Harbor massacre, and the parents of the children who sought refuge in the Silver Moon Church. With the disbandment of the Celestial King’s army, the survivors were finally free from the symbolic armbands binding their allegiance. The Absek government had severed its connections with the southern legion’s higher-ups, and these pitiable souls finally dared to step out from Count Sharma’s estate. The soldiers of Borro had escorted them all the way here. Ironically, these soldiers in grey uniforms were the same ones who, not long ago, wore armbands and rampaged everywhere in search of Weilanders as well as their "collaborators." But the past had turned a new leaf. The Weilanders were once again addressed as "sir," and the demeanor of these bandage-wearing soldiers was much more compliant now, as if they had genuinely cut ties with their past misdeeds. When they would next bare their fangs at the Weilanders or other wasteland dwellers would depend on the orders from their masters. Absek still harbored some hope for a ceasefire, especially since the actual fighting had yet to begin. Seeing those "resurrected" people, the Weilanders soldiers present widened their eyes, filled with unadulterated disbelief. Everyone had assumed that they were dead. Who would have thought they were still alive! The family members of the survivors were even more overwhelmed, with tears brimming in their eyes. Some covered their mouths, trying hard to stifle their sobs. Others, heedless of anything, crossed the garrison eagerly, rushing forward. “Margaret!!” Upon seeing that heartbreakingly gaunt face, the usually strong Yarman found his eyes reddening. He leaped across the garrison, hurried to his wife's side, pulling her slender figure into his embrace, holding her tightly as he rambled incoherently. “By the Silver Moon Goddess... you’re alive! This is wonderful! I... Ruby and I thought we'd never see you again!” Margaret’s eyes were equally red as she sniffed incessantly, forcing a fragile smile onto her tear-stricken face, even managing to console him in return. “...I’m okay, I really am... When did you start believing in the Silver Moon Goddess?” Yarman spoke hastily. “After I heard you were alive! I vowed to her that if you were safe, I’d build ten churches in her honor... I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life doing it!” Watching her earnest husband, Margaret's face lit up with a tear-glossed smile. Perhaps… The Silver Moon Goddess had truly manifested her presence. Mr. Melgio did say that a miracle of the Silver Moon Goddess had descended upon this church, and it came in the form of a girl with cat ears… He had decided to publish a newspaper, precisely because of the deity's instructions. “…You better keep your word, I’ll watch over it for her.” Releasing his grip on her shoulders, Yarman held her tear-traced face, staring into her gem-like bright eyes. “I promise you!” Not for a moment did he wish to avert his gaze. It was as if everything before him was just a dream, and once he awoke, everything would revert to their bleak origin. Yet Margaret did not allow him the luxury of monopolizing her presence, for their daughter had crawled forth from under the garrison. “Mom!!” A soldier nearby reached out to stop her, but was halted by his superior, Peter, who simply shook his head. “Let her go... with everyone here watching, what trouble could possibly arise?” The soldier hesitated, then nodded, shifting his gaze to that bouncy head of hair. “Yes…” A distance of less than twenty meters was merely a dozen or so steps for Yarman, yet for Ruby, it seemed an endless distance. She nearly burst into tears halfway through her run, letting them fall freely. Margaret opened her arms and rushed forward, lifting her daughter into her embrace, her fingers threading through Ruby's soft hair, holding the small body tightly against herself. “Ruby!!! I’m so sorry... I worried you!” Her voice carried a note of regret, for anytime she recalled that fateful night, where she, under the guise of death, left without a word, her heart ached with remorse. Yet her adorable daughter wasn’t angry at all, instead managing a brave smile through her tear-stained face. “Ruby... didn’t cry!” Even though she said that, her tears continued to betray her words, and she hiccupped from the quickened breathing. Feeling the hot tears trickle down her neck, Margaret's heart pained. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “Mm! My Ruby... is the best child in the world…” Watching the reunited mother and daughter, Yarman's face held a contented smile. To him, they were his angels, his sunshine, and his everything… As for power, wealth, or any sunlit lands, they were nothing more than ephemeral mayflies compared to the safety of his family. Dressed in grey military attire, Isher approached him, glanced at the vigilant Weilanders soldiers in the distance, then turned to the grinning father. “Congratulations, Mr. Yarman, on reuniting with your family.” “Additionally, someone asked me to relay a message. A fellow named Far-seeing Eagle hopes your collaboration remains intact… though he’s swamped with work now, he’ll come by in a few days. He wishes you could advance your plans in the meantime.” “Please convey to him that I haven’t forgotten our collaboration. In fact, the plan is already in motion,” Yarman looked at the Borro soldier and earnestly continued, “Thank you... for bringing my wife back.” Isher smiled. “No need to thank me… I didn't have that capability; surviving myself was challenging enough.” Though his words spoke modestly, his heart swelled with pride. He hadn't saved the entire city, but rescuing 200 was a commendable feat. He was no awakener. Nor was he Bor. “…And just a bit of advice: no matter how profitable your dealings, if you can leave here sooner, do so.” Gazing at the soldiers across the border, Isher smiled faintly. “Days this peaceful are numbered.” Though his words weren’t explicit, Yarman grasped the deeper meaning. He had witnessed the southern legion’s activities in Xifan Harbor firsthand. Especially after hearing the elder nun’s revelations, he had sensed an impending catastrophe… perhaps one even more devastating than the previous massacre loomed on this land. “I am a Weilanders. I won’t evade my responsibilities. I will do everything I can to prevent the worst from happening…” After a pause, Yarman continued earnestly. “Even if I fail… I will still do whatever I can to help as many as possible escape this hell.” “Well then, skip the futile struggle and focus all your efforts on your final endeavor.” Isher bluntly interrupted Yarman’s bold declarations, and continued amidst Yarman’s bewilderment. “…No one can stop a runaway train, much like no one can halt a detached balloon. We can only watch as it crashes to obliteration against solid rock, or float aimlessly, self-exiled in the universe.” Yarman was taken aback. “What is this from?” Isher responded without hesitation. “A line from 'The Awakener Bor.'” “Was that in the book?” Yarman asked with a puzzled expression. While waiting for his wife's return, he had read the book several times over. Who’d have thought that such a small Giantstone City could give rise to a story so soul-stirring. Across the western regions of the Central Continent, there were similar survivor enclaves akin to Giantstone City, mostly established during the early days of the Wasteland Era with support from the War Construction Commission. However, over the past century, many of these enclaves had been obliterated in retributive gestures from legionary forces, erasing them from maps. Sometimes he pondered, if those enclaves had survived, continuing to provide them with experience, knowledge, and further aid, perhaps they wouldn't have had to spiral into the madness that befalls them now… As Yarman fell into silence, Isher chuckled softly, running his rough hand over his stubble. “Is that line not in the book? Well, let's just say it's a marginal note left by some obscure character.” If expectations held true, the following era should belong to Sir Stephen—or rather, to the ancestors of Sir Stephen. It would be a brilliant age, where they would build their walls upon the barren wilderness. The story of "The Awakener Bor" unfolds thereafter; now it was the time for "The Mousefolk Isher." Isher had only recently discovered this himself. He realized that he existed in the prelude to "The Awakener Bor," and he might very well be the ancestor mentioned in the teachings of Sir Stephen. A pity, though. He would probably never meet his idol, a specter hovering over his descendants, not him. Yet, unlike other mice, he wasn't filled with pessimism. He still believed that one day the light of truth would shine over this land. The only requirement was patience for the dawn to break. Fortunately, this dusk before nightfall was not as cold as those before. He believed that day was not far off. Yarman gazed at the officer in surprise, his expression gradually turning to one of respect. Borro Province was indeed not lacking in talent. They were in no way inferior to survivors from Ravine Province or any other Weilanders. However, amidst the rising respect, Yarman couldn’t help but wonder why such a clever group would seem to narrow their path further and further. They shouldn’t have turned out this way... ... As more than two hundred survivors reunited with their families, the one responsible for this sector's defense, Captain Ross, approached, flanked by a squad of soldiers. Isher, also a captain, watched him and felt a tingling apprehension from the palpable murderous aura. Unlike himself, who was a latecomer by circumstance. This man was a genuine officer forged through trials of blood and fire! Yet, Isher managed a small, cordial smile, nodding politely. To his surprise, Ross acknowledged him with a nod of his own, reciprocating the courtesy. Ross proceeded directly to Count Sharma and his old steward, Sahadeva. Watching the trembling pair, Ross suddenly bent into a deep bow. “I, and on behalf of my subordinates, thank you for saving these people in their time of peril.” Count Sharma was stunned, not expecting a Weilanders to bow to him. His steward tugged at his sleeve, snapping him back to reality, and he hastily replied. “General, what are you doing?! I only did what any decent human would; I am unworthy of such a grand gesture... Please, lift your head.” Ross ignored his pleas, remaining bent for a full minute before straightening, continuing solemnly. “…If war breaks out between our nations, I vow that our soldiers will not enter your estate, even if some cowards seek refuge within.” Isher, listening on the side, narrowed his eyes, a hint of frost in them, though he said nothing. Even if the brink of conflict awaited just a single gunshot, he had to maintain his good-guy facade. At this point, Ross turned his gaze to the man and woman standing behind Count Sharma. One among them was his niece, Penny, who wore a look of comfort as she observed the reunited survivors. The man beside her must be that Pangolin. The one promoted by the Eastern Legion, only to be borrowed by the civil admin group, an indigenous from the East. Ross squinted slightly, examining the man before addressing his niece with a serious tone. “Penny, come here.” Hearing her uncle’s call, Penny was about to move but hesitated when she noticed his expression. “Uncle Ross?” “Quick, come here! Now!” Ross offered no explanation, simply urging her over, his insistence paralyzing Penny's steps, forcing her to seek help from the Pangolin behind her. The combat envoy guessed the implications of the captain's expression and stepped to Penny's side, whispering softly. “Listen to your uncle and go over… Remember, you have nothing to do with this whole affair; you are merely a war correspondent.” “Your duty is not to fight beside me but to take what you witness back to Triumph City… that is your war.” Penny's eyes widened, locking onto his face, her shaking lips silently asking why… why he, having done the right thing, having saved more than two hundred survivors, was still treated like a criminal. The combat envoy knew what she wanted to ask but didn't know how to answer. In this world, not everything could be clearly categorized into right and wrong, nor were there always definitive answers. Morality was a balance within people's hearts, a balance that never belonged to an abstract collective. Especially when involving numerous collectives. When he received Bannoz’s orders, he was prepared, even pondering the charges that might loom over his head. One assignment yielding dual compensation. The proposition was almost too enticing... After some internal struggle, reading his gaze, Penny eventually lowered her head, stepping over to her uncle. Signaling his guards to escort her to the settlement for rest, Ross refocused on the man dubbed Pangolin. The latter met his gaze unflinchingly, a calm and steady smile steadfastly on his face. An admiration flickered momentarily in Ross’s eyes. "You are quite courageous." The combat envoy smiled humbly. “Of course… not to boast, but the things I've seen and done might frighten you all to death.” Ross’s lips twitched in a cold smirk, the warmth in his smile visibly fading. “Mr. Pangolin, you have betrayed the Marshal.” The combat envoy smiled slightly, his expression also cooling. “Quite the contrary, it's you who betrayed him with unilateral decisions. While we exhaust ourselves to end the Wasteland Era, you drag us back, even gambling innocent lives for your own selfish war!” Ross chuckled coldly at him. “I don't know what you're talking about. From my view, it’s precisely you who endangered those people! Your arrogance, naiveté, and stupidity placed those innocent souls in harm’s way.” “We don’t deny our past mistakes. It’s the reason I’m here,” the combat envoy watched him intently. “But what about you? Can you admit the role you play in this chaos and the crimes you commit?” Ross frowned slightly but soon relaxed. “Seems you’ve got a lot to say. Save it for the military court, where you can explain yourself to the judges.” The combat envoy laughed faintly. “No matter, I’ll appeal all the way to Triumph City.” “You may do so. Understand, arresting you is not my decision; it comes from General Gurion… The Southern Legion High Command has authorized him with all operational power in Borro Province,” Ross motioned to the ready soldiers at his side, then gestured to Pangolin. “Take him away.” Watching the armed soldiers approach, the combat envoy didn’t resist, allowing them to cuff him, but shrugged off the hand pressing his shoulder. “I have legs, no need for assistance.” His survival through Sunset Province and the Seaward Province had honed a chilling intensity, strong enough to make the soldiers attempting to escort him shiver. It felt as if, instead of a man, they faced a fierce, bloodthirsty beast. Seeing his subordinates glance his way, Ross refrained from overreacting to Pangolin’s resistance, merely waving it off. “Let him walk himself.” He had no fondness for the obstructive civil servants—they were a disgrace to Weilanders. But he held some respect for the young man, even if he was an outsider. There might indeed be larger motives at play beyond his understanding, something Ross could vaguely sniff out. But he simply didn’t care. He always adhered to his superiors; their stance was his stance. Even if it was a path with no way through, he would continue down it with head held high... The soldiers who had accompanied Ross to the checkpoint quickly withdrew, leaving only about a dozen sentries on duty. It was the same on Borro's side. That Centurion named Isher took everyone away, fearing that lingering too long might spark accidental conflict between them and the legion. Watching the direction in which Mr. Pangolin was taken away, Margaret squeezed her husband's hand tightly and whispered in his ear. "That man, and that girl... They saved us all. I can't just sit by and do nothing." Yarman, also looking at the path of his departure, gently squeezed her hand, speaking consolingly. "Dear, trust me. I won't just sit idly by..." Once back, he would rally the citizens of Xifan Harbor to petition the governor’s office, sending a collective telegraph to Triumph City! He couldn't believe it! No one to address such a significant issue? “…Putting aside the shady dealings of those characters, Xifan Harbor isn't even a colony of the Southern Legion; its court has no jurisdiction here!" "Even if a trial is needed, it should be held in the court of Triumph City!" … While the rescued Weilanders survivors were indignant over Pangolin’s plight, the mood was likewise furious within Xifan Harbor’s slums. However, their anger wasn’t about Pangolin, but against the ruthless suppression by the harbor authorities on the Family Society. Undoubtedly, it was suppression! For the gang members seeking trouble — those tattooed with rats and clearly up to no good — the patrolling soldiers merely looked the other way and never disciplined those thugs, even with a single baton. Whereas the poor people who united for self-preservation received harsh glares, as if protecting their own rights was the most heinous act. Indeed, Mr. Zayed had sharp insight, hitting the nail on the head that these gang members and Weilanders were all in cahoots! The gangs resented them because the Family Society, which refused protection fees and taught literacy for free, disrupted their market! And the Weilanders feared their unity, thus joining hands with the gangs to trip them up, labeling them alliance spies and viciously suppressing them. On careful reflection, this seemingly logical claim was full of flaws. The simplest way to discern the truth would be by comparing the denars in one's pocket. Each gang received different wages from the docks, with varying management standards, commissions, and benefits, making direct comparison difficult, but generally aligning with the rule that "the more, the merrier." The larger the labor agency, the more negotiating power it had with employers. It’s absurdly wrong to say that the more populous a gang, the less extra pay they received because of unity. There were indeed some discerning individuals who saw through this, but most remained silent, choosing instead to become Green Family members—or higher ranked ones, those who lectured others. The Family Society, still in its infancy, had plenty of vacancies. A little brainwork could easily land one a position as "district agent," a role far superior to lugging sacks at the docks. While most fixated on paltry wages, these bright minds stood on a higher rung. Far from exposing those pathetic subterfuges, they would rather help Zayed refine his theory. Such as— The despicable Weilanders lost all integrity, joining other gangs to suppress the Family Society. Thus, arguments like "Why is the pay less even though it's the same work?" were logically explained away. Zayed’s brilliance lay here. Though not a grand expert, having endured many experts' "cold stares," he truly saw through the survivors in Borro Province. Here, the smart ones loved treating others as fools, while they played dumb. Unaware, they fooled themselves so well, by the time they awoke, it was too late... Sitting in a shack, Eugene bandaged an injured laborer and noticed Zayed at the door. His eyes indicated he had something to discuss. Putting the bandages back in the medical kit, Eugene followed Zayed outside the door, stepping into the moonlit alley together. After some silent walking beside Zayed, Eugene broke the silence. “Sometimes, I don’t understand what you want to do, or why you do those things.” Zayed sighed lightly. “I haven’t thought that far. I just want the pitiful to have a home.” Eugene chuckled. “You have many family members, but you’re the hardest for me to understand.” “Oh?” “I don’t know how to put it,” Eugene sat on a step, sighing, “I just think... perhaps you all could try a different approach. We don’t expect immediate results from you; even collaborating with someone like Lister seems fine to me.” Zayed was silent a moment, sitting down beside him, speaking softly. “Mr. Lister looks down on us. Fundamentally, he’s an arrogant person, unlike you, willing to bow down and help or guide us. Judging our risk outweighing the reward, he dismissed me without hearing my case.” After a pause, he added. “Only you, your door remains open to me—even one as insignificant as dust. And you'll never give up on me, always willing to reintroduce yourselves." Eugene smirked self-deprecatingly. "Getting the cold shoulder sounds like something Lister would do. But no need to elevate me... His achievements speak volumes throughout the alliance, unmatched by someone like me." "You underestimate yourself," Zayed shook his head. "When we succeed, I'll build a statue in your honor; millions will thank you for extending a hand to us." Eugene was speechless, his expression both amused and exasperated. "No need for that..." Before he could finish, a flicker of light flashed in the distant darkness. Focusing his gaze, he saw flames wrapped in thick smoke shooting into the sky. Voices echoed faintly. “Fire!!” “Hurry! Put it out!” The sudden chaos left Eugene momentarily stunned, before his face drastically changed, springing to his feet. It was the Family Society's registry! Where he had just bandaged those injured laborers! “Damn it!” With a curse, he bolted back in the direction he came. Watching the flames soar and Eugene rush back, Zayed froze briefly, then shook his head with a light chuckle, muttering to himself. “These rodents won't let grudges last the night—can't even wait till tomorrow…” The Black Rat Gang surely wouldn’t swallow that humiliation; they'd seek vengeance somehow. This incapability was precisely because emotion-driven decisions always outweighed rational thought. At least, the prior beating might invite sympathy from nearby neighbors, but this fire could catapult them into Xifan Harbor’s spotlight. The legion would certainly intervene. And they'd act decisively before a grand war swept through Borro Province, suppressing unrest with an iron-fisted approach! Their concerns weren’t trivial—they neither cared for the Family Society, nor any gangs in Xifan Harbor more than they did for ants. Rumor has it that Gurion is particularly cruel, achieving his goals by any means necessary, fitting neatly into Zayed’s plans. He would carry this pre-prepared offering to a larger stage. Zayed dusted his trousers, rising from the steps, and heading in the opposite direction of Eugene. “Vosa, it’s time to move!” Apologies to the survivors of Xifan Harbor, but it's all for the future of Borro Province… To be continued.