Chapter 886 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 886: A Battle of Wits and Air The vehicle jostled to a stop beside a tall, imposing wall, its military presence undeniable. The [Talan Raider] knew he had come to the right place. However, what he didn't realize was that this prison, called "Caternod," was notorious among locals. It was said that those who entered might escape with their lives but not without leaving a piece of themselves behind. Take, for instance, the young man with a tattoo of a hyena who had been captured alongside him. By the time he stepped out of the car, his legs had nearly given out beneath him, and a wet pair of pants was all that was missing. Under the escort of several guards, Talan passed through the imposing gates, underwent thorough security checks, completed all the formalities of incarceration, and was finally placed in a small, windowless cell with room for little more than a single bed. After waiting in the cell for about ten minutes, a stern-faced Verlander approached and escorted him to an interrogation room nearby. As soon as he entered, a blinding light hit his face, followed by a voice ringing out with righteous authority from the front. "Confess! What are you here for?" Finding the interrogation surprisingly sincere, Talan blurted out casually. "For tourism, of course." His relaxed demeanor unsettled the two interrogators, pausing their aggressive demeanor. The older guard cleared his throat and began speaking in a deliberately calm and collected tone. "I advise you to come clean. Your accomplices have already confessed. Denying it is pointless and will only extend your sentence." Talan chuckled inwardly. They had already prepared a coordinated story on their forum. Such blatant lies barely held back his laughter. Sensing his disdain, the two Verlander guards handling the interrogation began to look increasingly unfriendly. "I warn you, be serious!" Talan shot back unflinchingly. "I also warn you, I am a citizen of the Union, and I entered with credentials issued by Triumph City. Has the Southern Legion stopped respecting its Marshal?" An eerie silence fell over the interrogation room as if a feather could be heard landing on the floor. The older guard coughed again, feigning a drink from his cup, while the younger one squinted, fists clenching on the table. "Repeat that." Whether the person before him was from the Union or an alien, anyone who dared question his loyalty would face his wrath. Feeling he had pushed enough buttons, Talan reclined into his chair, ready to discuss his true intentions. "To be honest, we heard from some Verlanders at Death Coast about a place called Port Evernight at the southern end of the great desert. We thought we'd return the hospitality. Little did we expect such a warm welcome, with handcuffs gifted upon first meeting." He paused before continuing. "Of course, aside from tourism, I have a personal purpose for being here, but it's unrelated to other travelers and certainly none of your business." The older guard set his cup down, intrigued. "Oh? And what personal purpose might that be?" "I'm looking for an organization called the Enlightenment Society." The younger guard frowned. "… What on earth is that?" Talan smirked dismissively, adopting an expression that seemed to look down on them. "An organization formed by shelter residents active in the desert… though, being non-shelter residents, you wouldn’t understand even if I explained." His condescending tone fit the Verlanders' stereotypical impression of Blue Groundhogs, making the younger guard’s fists tighten reflexively. But Talan did not spare him even a glance. As the saying goes, a barking dog doesn’t bite. Besides, as a proud Level 30 Awakened, even in shackles, the outcome of a physical confrontation was far from certain. The senior guard furrowed his brow, contemplating for a time before speaking. "Why are you looking for the Enlightenment Society?" Talan replied straightforwardly. "I want to join them." The older guard inquired further, "Why?" "Disillusionment," Talan answered. Surprised, the older guard glanced at him. "Disillusionment?" Talan nodded solemnly. "Indeed. I’ve grown weary of the Union’s hypocrisy. Why must we take those deadweights with us into a new epoch? We are the legacy of the prosperous era, we are humanity’s new epoch… yet our leaders expect us to bleed for strangers." "Frankly, I am disillusioned with the Union, longing for a change… I heard the Enlightenment Society operates around the desert and aligns more with my beliefs, so here I am." He delivered his words without a hitch, his face expressing righteous anger and discontent with practiced ease. The two guards exchanged glances of surprise, one turning to excitement, the other into deep thought. "I thought all Union members shared a pig’s brain, yet here you are, a clear-headed fellow. Congratulations on choosing the right side." The younger guard laughed, his eyes shifting from disdain to admiration. Talan merely smiled, offering no response. His words might have been nonsense, yet within them, “we” referred to Blue Coats. As for a Verlander sympathizing with that? Nonsense! They and the Wastelanders belonged to the “deadweight” category—who were they to inherit humanity’s legacy? Delusional! The older guard deliberated a long time before ultimately smiling and closing the report book laid out on the table. "Congratulations on finding your people." Well, look at that! The Southern Legion really does have ties with the Enlightenment Society! Talan’s heart raced with excitement, though his expression remained calm as he whistled and asked, "So, does this mean I passed your test?" The younger guard shot his colleague beside him a questioning look, only to receive an intriguingly meaningful glance in return. He then shifted his focus back to the man seated across from them. "These matters are beyond me, but I can contact someone who can decide." "Better hurry while I’m still considering." Talan kept a composed demeanor, eager to report his adventures back on the forum. The older guard nodded, motioning for the young guard beside Talan to escort him back. The interrogation room returned to silence. Once the sound of a door shutting echoed from afar, the young guard turned to the older one, urgently asking, "What in the world is the Enlightenment Society?" The older guard, sorting papers on the table, casually replied, "How should I know?" The younger guard frowned, "Then what did you mean by that?" The older guard, cunning like a fox, squinted his eyes slightly, "Precisely because we don’t know him, we need this guy to understand what the Enlightenment Society is… In any case, let’s keep him in check first." At this realization, the young guard’s eyes widened, admiration evident as he raised his thumb in appreciation. Brilliant use of their gambit! Genius! Absolute genius! Meanwhile, back in his cell, Talan, upon returning, immediately sprawled onto his bed, falling asleep before the cell door even closed. The guard shutting the door glanced at him, surprised, calling his name twice without a response, then sneered dismissively. Are all Union members as dense as pigs? Sleeping at a time like this. Meanwhile, on the official forum of "Wasteland Online," amidst buzz about the front-line battles of the "Southern Barbarian Invasion" expansion, a post shot to fleeting prominence on the homepage like a sparkling comet. Talan Raider: "Buddies! Our Desert Corps has infiltrated the Enlightenment Society!!!" Tail: "Whoa, that's amazing! (ω)" Thoth: "The Enlightenment Society… Such a distant name; it feels like it’s been two years since I last heard of them." Fang Chang: "Looks like a hidden quest was triggered, good luck! (sly smile)" Desert Eagle: "Whoa?" Laughing Mada: "Seriously?!" … As Talan's post drowned amidst a sea of discussions, an espionage report was simultaneously placed on the desk of Governor Yahweh at Port Evernight. Browsing the report from start to finish, Yahweh frowned, addressing the commander of the garrison troops, Willoughby, standing at his desk. "This Enlightenment Society… What exactly is it?" Despite serving in Port Evernight for fifteen years, this was the first time he had come across this name. Before him, Willoughby shook his head, equally baffled, answering with a serious demeanor. "I gathered intelligence from Avent City and Triumph City regarding this organization, but there’s very little information… It's supposedly related to Shelter No. 0 and a document called the Torch Project." Yahweh frowned. "Shelter No. 0? Torch Project?" Willoughby nodded slowly, speaking with a grave tone. "Behind these elements lies a weapon capable of restarting the world. This weapon's power isn’t limited to changing the outcome of a battle or two—it could rewrite an entire era." This information mainly came from Triumph City’s archives, cataloged under the Enlightenment Society’s entry. Strangely though, details concerning Shelter No. 0 and the Torch Project were scant. There are two possibilities. Triumph City genuinely lacks substantial intelligence about these two elements. Alternatively, a certain great entity may not wish for them to become known. Yahweh's pupils narrowed slightly as countless possibilities flashed through his mind, all converging on a single coordinate. "The weapon is hidden in the great desert..." Willoughby maintained eye contact with the governor, continuing with earnestness. "A reasonable deduction, at least the Enlightenment Society might know its whereabouts." As he moved to stand by the window, Yahweh gazed upon the bustling port outside. A weapon capable of reshaping an era… It was hard to imagine what kind of weapon could obliterate this thriving settlement in an instant. Yet, he wouldn’t allow such an event to occur. If someone intended to do so, he would never let that person get away. This port was like his child, and he would not allow anyone to destroy it! "... Your thoughts?" Facing Yahweh with his back, Willoughby respectfully replied, "Although we lack direct evidence, I am almost certain that the man we captured is a Union spy, and those thirty individuals blocked at the hotel entrance are likely his accomplices!" "When exposed, he tried to change tactics by engaging in circular logic with our interrogators. It’s clear he has received some counter-intelligence training. The man is resourceful, though not excessively so." "The intelligence office surmises that our opponent might be attempting to collaborate with the Enlightenment Society to obtain the weapon capable of altering the entire battlefield." Yahweh pondered for a while before speaking. "This doesn’t add up. If this weapon is so crucial, potentially altering the entire outcome, why would he reveal the Enlightenment Society's lead to us?" Willoughby chuckled faintly, sharing his speculation. "It's straightforward. The Union isn't completely blind about the great desert but lacks intelligence on Port Evernight. Maybe some intelligence they acquired in Pioneer City pointed them to the south of the great desert, once the Southern Industrial District of the Human Era. However, they are unsure if we’ve already established ties with the Enlightenment Society." "In Union parlance, this is ‘casting a stone to test the waters.’ They intentionally released a smokescreen to probe our reaction, then plan their next steps based on our response." Yahweh's eyes widened slightly, his expression growing serious. "And your plan?" "Play along," Willoughby confidently proposed, eyes bright with determination. "My subordinate cleverly sent a false signal to the Union lure, making them believe we’ve entered an official collaboration with the Enlightenment Society." "I bet the spy locked in our prison is now as anxious as an ant on a hot pan, eager to get this ‘information’ out." "When desperation sets in, people make mistakes, and then we can follow the trail to the Enlightenment Society’s lead and eventually get our hands on their ‘Zero Weapon!’" Facing those determined eyes, Yahweh contemplated for a long time. The plan was indeed clever, but one key uncertainty remained. They had no direct evidence proving the man was truly a Union spy. Everything was merely conjecture. Nonetheless, subscribing to the philosophy "better safe than sorry," he nodded. Whether or not this legendary weapon truly exists, there is no harm in testing the waters... "Do you have a concrete plan?" "Of course," Willoughby said, a self-satisfied smile playing at his lips. He pulled another document from his pocket, placing it gently on the desk. "The plan’s codename is ‘Wasps.’ I’ve arranged for intelligence agents to acquire a house on Blackwater Street, disguising it as an Enlightenment Society base." "We'll fabricate an Enlightenment Society and pretend we’re collaborating, letting them reveal their own intentions!" ... The commotion in Blackwater Alley didn’t disturb the peaceful surface of Port Evernight. For the Verlander settlers living in this port town, it was akin to a foul-smelling garbage bin. A shootout there wouldn’t be surprising; it would be stranger for a day to pass without the scent of gunpowder wafting from there. Talan's three trusted men stayed hidden in the city until dusk, slipping out only when the coast seemed clear. Meanwhile, Sand Sculptor and Jester set up near the "Caternod" prison, renting a room at an inn using identities obtained from the black market. In this garrison-town filled with soldiers, an invisible war already seemed to be unfolding. And as of now, only the Enlightenment Society, positioned at the heart of the battlefield, seemed to remain oblivious... Night deepened. After reuniting with family, Yalman arrived at the port district's tavern as agreed. His wife kept him occupied due to their long separation, and even now, his legs still felt weak. As he opened the tavern door, the heat and cacophony rushed to meet him. "Hahaha, Carver, you rascal finally showed up! I almost thought you’d gone off to run a farm for real!" "Screw that, I’m no tractor driver; I belong in a tank!" "Which unit are you in? Still with the Young Force?" "60th Armored Battalion, part of the second deployment—departing at the end of the month." "Sixty? Damn, how many have they mobilized this time around?" "At least a million, haven’t you read the ‘Triumph Report’? This time it’s gonna be huge!" "Exciting. Here’s hoping we reach the Union homeland." "All I want is to see the front lines soon, before we miss our shot." The tavern was full of soldiers—some back from the front, others gearing up to head there. The former usually drank in silence, while the latter roistered in groups. Although alcohol and similar indulgences were available at the front, nothing beat the limitless indulgence at the rear. The Southern Legion could not block the news flowing from the front lines. No one could silence the Verlanders, not even themselves. But if the Union expects discontent alone to stifle their fighting spirit, they’re mistaken. Because from the moment complaints start, those failures are expelled from the Verlander ranks. In a helter-skelter ride, anyone attempting to brake is a traitor—and who cares what a traitor says? They only affirm our cause. In some ways, the Verlanders face a predicament similar to that of the Borosi. Two sides of the same coin. However, the former’s war had lasted a century and a half, while the latter’s was just dawning. Neither side could predict how much longer their wars would drag on, nor how many generations it would take to resolve the obsessions and hatreds in their hearts. It was this that made Yalman admire the man called Pangolin. Rumor had it that he was just a villager from a backwater in the River Valley Province, yet his resounding voice echoed through Triumph City. May he bring back hope from Triumph City. And may that day not come too late… At the bar counter, Yalman found Kuruan, just off duty from customs. This man in his early thirties was already drinking, and having changed out of his medal-laden uniform, he looked just like any other drunkard in the room, if not scruffier. "Come sit over here," Kuruan said cheerfully upon spotting Yalman amidst the crowd. He pulled out a chair for him and then grinned at the bartender. "This is a new friend of mine. Another beer, please." "Thanks." Yalman politely nodded and took a seat next to this retired veteran, taking a moment to glance around, surprised at the lively atmosphere in the tavern. "This place has never been this bustling before." "Times have changed, and we've profited from the war," the bartender commented as he placed a chilled beer on the counter before Kuruan. "Don’t take it the wrong way, I meant no offense." Kuruan waved off the comment with a laugh. "I’m not that petty. I’d even wish you thriving business." Watching the carefree demeanor of this limping man, Yalman found him quite intriguing and smiled as he asked offhandedly, "I've shared my story. Care to tell me yours? I’m curious about the frontline’s real situation." Though Yalman had visited Borosi Province many times, he mainly stayed around the key ports, never venturing deep inland. Kuruan grinned, casting a meaningful smile. "It's a mess. My story is as trivial as the battle reports from the front. If you insist on hearing it, take it as amusement, nothing more. The real tales are in the ‘Southern Legion Victory Report.'" "I'm more interested in the stories newspapers don't cover. Sometimes the Borosi people tell me tales omitted from the ‘Survivors' Daily.’" Yalman clinked glasses, encouraging Kuruan to continue. With a light laugh, Kuruan’s gaze drifted into the past. After a moment of contemplative silence, he continued. "…We encountered the Skeleton Legion in Red Bull County. Their tanks plowed through ours like bottle openers—just like this beer here, popping one after another." He flicked the bottle cap off with his thumb, landing it squarely in the trash bin. "And then?" "And then? Naturally, we won, though the cost might be hard for you to swallow. We have over three thousand comrades now neither missing nor accounted for," Kuruan said, pausing briefly before continuing. "As for Gibson, he still holds his command, while I got stationed at this forsaken customs office." Yalman fell into silence. He knew where those three thousand men were—confined to a POW camp on the outskirts of Port Kingallon. The Union treated them decently, he’d heard. The camp was well-built, prisoners even earned wages for labor, and were protected by Union laws, working just eight hours a day. Kuruan also grew silent, taking a long draw from his beer, placing the empty bottle on the damp wooden table with a thud. "Perhaps I’m too pessimistic, but achieving victory on the open battlefield seems impossible now… unless there's some weapon capable of completely changing the tide, erasing our foes from the planet." Yalman bitterly chuckled. "If such a weapon truly exists, its existence in itself would be terrifying." Kuruan grinned. "Who's to say it doesn't? I've heard that General Guryan is betting heavily on something called ‘Dead Agent.’" A tinge of ominousness seemed to linger in that name. Yalman furrowed his brow slightly. "Dead Agent?" Lowering his voice and adopting a mysterious tone, Kuruan replied, "Yes, a virus that infects only certain groups, systematically wiping out our opponents… like the Mousemen and Snakemen. Others would merely become carriers, unaffected by the virus itself." Yalman wore an expression of disbelief. "Is something like that even achievable? I mean… it truly wouldn’t affect Verlanders similarly?" Kuruan chuckled. "Who knows? Things like that are often as ambiguous as frontline reports—half true, half false." He paused briefly before adding with a smile, "…Rumor has it this ‘good stuff’ was actually concocted by a Blue Groundhog." --- (Thanks to "CaptPaterno" for the leader-level sponsorship!!!) To be continued...