Chapter 909 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 909: Let's Meet the Administrator! In the northern area of Settlement No. 1, near the ruins of Haibei City, Antony sat in the barracks, a cigarette hanging from his lips, flipping through a novel he'd bought from a nearby settlement. Ever since negotiating a deal with the Goblin Legion, his rank had elevated from a Decanus to a Centurion, granting him control over the entire area from the watchtower to the encampment. Since the end of the Torch War, the forces of the Compound Alliance had not immediately withdrawn from Hague Province. A ten-thousand-man brigade from the Eastern Legion remained in the province, continuing to scavenge what little spoils of war were left and explore pre-war ruins. Despite fierce battles between the Southern Legion and the Alliance in Boro Province, the relationship between Triumph City and the Alliance wasn't terrible. The Eastern Legion followed in Triumph City's footsteps... at least for now. Because of this, the so-called watchtower was more of a formality—a mutual demonstration of military presence. Thus far, there had been no military conflicts between the 370,000-man brigade of the Eastern Legion and the Alliance stationed locally. They even occasionally took jobs exterminating marauders, mutants, and alien nests or guarding the railway from nearby settlements. The Alliance typically paid in silver coins, which could be exchanged in local settlements or with passing traders for items to improve their lives—like cigarettes, cola, and vodka. At first, Antony found this lifestyle unbearable, but over time he adapted, even visiting the bar in the neighboring settlement for a few drinks during his off-hours. As usual, he rose from his chair, arms stretching to relieve the numbness in his posterior, set down the novel he was engrossed in, and picked up the rifle next to his desk. He planned to take a stroll to stretch his legs. However, as he stepped out, a Decanus approached briskly, saluting him with a report. "Sir, a group of settlers is approaching from the eastern railway—about one hundred and twenty people, roughly the size of a century." Antony yawned, replying impatiently, "They can come if they want. Why should we care?" Occasionally scavengers would come by, given that this area was a pre-war city ruin, where one might still find something worthwhile. As long as they didn't interfere with their tasks, Antony generally ignored them. But the Decanus, looking awkward, continued, "However... they've occupied the railway, and it's the section the railway company contracted us to patrol." "Huh?" Antony was taken aback and, after a moment's thought, asked baffled, "What are they doing on the railway?" The Decanus smiled wryly, "I don't know. I tried communicating, but they refuse to engage with us." Antony's expression shifted, and after a brief contemplation, he decided to assess the situation himself. He instructed his subordinate, "Take me there." The Decanus sighed in relief, saluted, and affirmed, "Yes, sir!" The two hurried to the dirt road beside the watchtower, boarded the open jeep parked there, and drove towards the railway near Haibei City. From the backseat, Antony could see a group standing on the railroad tracks from afar. There were elderly and children, even women holding infants, carrying wooden signs and unfurled banners. A ten-man patrol stood vigilantly nearby, facing off against the crowd, who seemed unafraid due to their numbers, displaying agitation and fervor. Antony used binoculars to observe the group and noticed the words on the wooden signs saying, "Get the Willante People Out!" His brow twitched in irritation. "Damn... are these guys causing trouble?" "No idea," the Decanus chuckled nervously before suggesting, "They seem like survivors from Boro Province... perhaps it relates to the Willante Act recently passed in Settlement No. 1." Antony was aware of the situation. Due to incidents in Eternal Night Harbor, many Willante people fled here—over five thousand, causing dissatisfaction among the local Boro people. In Antony's view, the Alliance was too lenient. Under Willante rule, these Boro people wouldn't have the gall to complain. Even under the feeble civil governance of West Sail Harbor, these people would have only been licking boots. Now, having stood up, they seek to become masters. “...So, what should we do?” Unsure of himself, the Decanus asked as the officer squinted silently. “What should we do...” Antony chuckled disdainfully, taking the pu-9 submachine gun from the car door, armed it with a click, saying, "The Alliance might spoil these mud-dwellers, but I won't." He then fired his gun into the sky, a series of shots echoing loudly. The sudden gunfire startled those on the tracks, causing some to flee, though many stayed put, including an old man who glared in startled anger. "What do you want?" Seeing the opportunity for dialogue, Antony jumped off the open jeep, carrying his submachine gun, and standing by the railway, he addressed the old man. "That's something you should be telling me. What do you people want?" "It's, it’s none of your business!" The old man glared at Antony, shoulders shaking, from either extreme anger, intense fear, or perhaps both. A young man stepped forward, mustering courage to tell Antony, "This is Alliance railway... We're Alliance citizens, and we built this track. We have the right to stand here—" "Rights... Hah, hearing that word from a Boro person is quite rare. But what use is it telling me? I'm not an Alliance citizen." Antony dismissed the young man's words, impatiently picking at his ear, glaring icily at them. Something occurred to him, prompting a sly grin, "Let’s make a deal. I won’t ask what you plan to do. Since you’ve come this far, why not walk another ten kilometers? Beyond the signpost, it’s no longer our jurisdiction. Even if you tear up the railway, no one would mind. But here, if you want to claim your 'rights,' I suggest you go back and bring guns." Hearing this, those standing on the railway stirred restlessly. The leading seniors exchanged glances, whispering softly among themselves. "We’re not here to fight... Dealing with these Willante isn't worth it." "Wise..." "We’ve already walked over a hundred kilometers; another ten won’t matter." Yet, some expressed concern. "But… further north is wasteland—empty areas without people. What if we encounter mutants?" The leading elder reassured the worried man, whispering quietly, "The railway has a station every few dozen kilometers, and these areas are away from water sources; it should be safe." Watching these folks deliberate endlessly, Antony, having smoked an entire cigarette, impatiently crushed the butt underfoot and shouted. “Make it quick! Have you reached a decision?” Seeing the officer growing impatient, the eldest finally agreed, "We accept your terms!" Antony dismissively waved, "Then move along." Though the Willante’s attitude was displeasing, those on the railway ultimately held their tongues, grumbling as they continued along the railway. With matters settled, Antony returned to the jeep, nudging the driver's seat with his knee. "Let's go." The driver expertly started the engine, checking the rearview mirror. "Back to camp?" "No camp, follow them," Antony casually scolded, setting his submachine gun to safety and hanging it by the car door, watching the distant figures moving along the tracks. He wasn’t sure what they were up to, but he had a feeling following them would provide more entertainment than reading novels in the barracks. While he instructed the driver to maintain a safe distance, the Boro people continued north, voicing worries softly among themselves. "Those Willante people are following us..." "What do they want?" "Are they planning to deal with us quietly once we reach the wasteland...?" "Impossible, the Alliance isn't blind! Unless they want to wage war against the Alliance!" "But what if the Eastern Legion truly has that intention... they've waged war before." A pessimistic atmosphere silently spread, and some people began to entertain thoughts of retreat. Seeing these hesitant individuals, the old leader's frustration simmered. It was just like this back in Mar State! These useless people always dropped the ball at critical moments. No wonder they couldn't accomplish anything significant. His name was Jeremy, from Mammoth State, once a senior figure in the Moon Tribe Resistance. After Rasheed gained power, he left in anger, first arriving at French Fry Harbor, then eventually moving to Settlement No. 1. Like his fellow Moon Tribesman, Suka, he had attempted the representative route. However, due to the poor performance of the Moon Tribe Resistance in Mar State, he couldn’t rally the Moon Tribespeople around him or gain the trust of the Rat and Snake tribes. In reality, it was understandable—those he tried to unite were among the hardest to bring together. Had he been more like Suka and sought support among local survivors, he might have had a chance. Yet, he refused to identify any personal shortcomings, blaming all difficulties on external circumstances. In his view, the Alliance's Council of Representatives had become a political tool, its members willing to stoop to any level for support... oblivious to what people truly needed. No Boro person would agree to let the Willante onto their shores. Who gave authority to that Gu fellow to let them in! Did these people even ask for his opinion? To him, this was no order but oppression by the majority over the minority! The grand Administrator stood too high to notice the struggles beneath. Perhaps their intentions were good, but the implementation had gone awry. But it didn't matter. He would request the Administrator to intervene and dissolve the corrupt Council. The Alliance had once saved him. Now, it was his turn to save the Alliance! It was not merely for the Alliance's good but for all who lived on this land! Jeremy firmly believed in his choice and had no doubt he was the most loyal. Watching his hesitant tribe members, he couldn't help but shout. "Stop whining, show some spine! You’ve come this far, do you want to turn back now and let those weaklings laugh at us?" The shout had some effect; people silenced their dispirited chatter. Not due to pride or any noble reason, but because of the latter sentiment— They didn't want to be laughed at. Seizing the momentum, Jeremy yelled further. "Think of your children and loved ones! Do you want them living among those big-nosed... slave owners?" "If that's not enough, think of those who perished at West Sail Harbor and Lion City!" No one doubted anymore, their hesitant steps solidified. A ten-kilometer journey was long in a crowded settlement but short in the deserted wasteland. Like devout pilgrims, they completed the final stretch with resolute determination. Finally, they left the railway section guarded by the 370,000-man brigade. Jeremy halted, yelling at the car behind. "Is this good enough now?" Centurion Antony, sitting in the open jeep, replied with a smile. "It’s enough. Beyond the next sign, do as you please." Jeremy shouted back. "Then why follow us? How long do you plan to tail our backs?" Antony lit a cigarette, laughing as he replied. "That's our business, not yours." After this, he turned to the Decanus beside him. "When’s the next train?" The Decanus hesitated, replying softly, "Should be soon... maybe in half an hour?" "Ugh, why so long," Antony muttered, squinting at Jeremy’s group gathered on the tracks again. At that moment, a young man approached Jeremy, speaking with hesitant concern. "Mr. Jeremy... I don't mean to question your plan, but can we truly expect the Administrator here?" Jeremy replied confidently. "Definitely! I read in the newspaper the esteemed Admin traveled by train... if not today, perhaps tomorrow. We brought food and water; we can camp overnight if need be." The people exchanged glances. Another softly questioned. "But... the paper didn’t specify which train the Admin would be on." Jeremy hesitated momentarily but quickly regained his calm, assured manner. "That’s easy. Only a few trains to choose from; stop them and ask." Though risky, it might be the most reliable option. The Administrator wouldn’t come on a freight train, eliminating many variables. Trains from the north are mostly freight, with only four to five passenger trains daily. While this could inconvenience the passengers, petitioning the Administrator was for everyone’s benefit. The group set up camp beside the tracks; some sat on the rails to rest, opening cans of food like a picnic. Their indulgence made Antony hungry, but he had only hard rations—resignedly biting into the brick-like biscuits. A distant rumbling reached his ears. Though the train wasn’t visible yet, it would arrive soon. The young man beside Jeremy discarded his can, standing with eager resolve. "I’ll stop the train." Jeremy nodded appreciatively. "Go ahead, son." Under admiring gazes, the young man shed his shirt, waving it as he ran toward the approaching train. Running with all his might, he shouted toward the train. "Stop! Stop the train!" His voice was loud enough, but it couldn’t penetrate the insulated shell of the train, especially from kilometers away... They moved toward each other for a while until only a few hundred meters remained. The conductor in the cabin finally noticed a figure frantically waving his shirt. The conductor's face changed, quickly engaging the brake and sounding the horn as a warning. Brake sparks flew from the wheels, producing a nerve-wracking metallic screech. Passengers felt the sudden jolt, their bodies swaying in their seats. The horn blared outside, resembling an air raid siren, enough to frighten away lurking deathclaws, though not this figure on the tracks. "Damn it! What is that guy trying to do?!" "Is it a raider?" The security captain, rushing into the cab, gripped his gun tightly. His fear was valid, as this was wasteland territory. Even with the Alliance’s military power, many raiders lacked vision and common-sense mutants were numerous. Otherwise, they wouldn’t install heavy guns and grenade launchers on passenger trains. "Doesn’t look like it... more like a madman," muttered the conductor, sweating profusely, cursing and praying not to collide. He braked as hard as possible without risking carriage collisions, unwilling to endanger everyone for one foolhardy person. Seeing the young man’s unwavering stance, the assistant conductor paled, grabbing the radio to contact the nearest watchtower. Meanwhile, the young man, voice nearly hoarse, saw the train yet unslowed, continuing his desperate shout. Just as the train was about to collide, the young man had no choice but to leap off the tracks. Barely two seconds after he cleared the tracks, the train barreled past, the fierce wind nearly pulling him back onto the rails. Enraged by the train's indifference, he picked up a rock and hurled it at the carriage, swearing under his breath. "Stop, damn it!" Why hadn't the train stopped? The horn blared incessantly, but the train sped on without slowing, even after the last carriage vanished from sight. Grabbing his discarded shirt, he prepared to head back. Then his face went pale with realization. "Oh no!" He suddenly remembered everyone was still sitting on the tracks, waiting for him to return with good news. From the moment he'd spotted the train to its arrival in front of him, only seconds had passed. While he thought most should be able to scramble away, there were also elderly, children, and women among them... "No... wait, disperse quickly!" Understanding the gravity of the situation, he frantically chased the train’s direction again, yelling with equal desperation. But two legs couldn't compete with dozens of wheels. He hadn’t stopped the train before and stood no chance of catching it now. Meanwhile, relief washed over the train crew in the cab. Although unaware of the young man's motives for flagging them, they were grateful he had narrowly escaped harm. The rest was for the security forces to handle. Once the railway guards arrived, they would undoubtedly deal with this reckless fellow thoroughly. "Crisis averted..." The conductor, brushing sweat from his brow as he reclaimed his seat, suddenly saw a dark mass of people on the tracks ahead. "Damn it—" His heart, just now calming, rocketed back to a panic, and he leaped up like he'd been shocked. The assistant conductor acted faster—reactivating the horn and braking system they'd just disengaged moments ago. "Woo—!" Chaos erupted amongst those on the tracks, some scrambling to retreat, though not everyone was so nimble. Some stumbled to their feet; others crawled away frantically, trying to retrieve canned goods from the tracks, or found pants snagged by rail spikes. With over a hundred people, they couldn't move as fluidly as one. Inside the cab, the three crew members watched wide-eyed in horror as the train barreled into unprepared individuals, turning an unlucky old man into a grotesque mess before mangling another half-body and leg. "No—!" The conductor inside the carriage and Jeremy outside cried out simultaneously in despair. The jolting carriage and sudden stops filled the cabin with commotion and curses from passengers. Finally, the train car swayed to a halt on the tracks. Exiting with security, the conductor moved to assess the aftermath, while Jeremy, trembling and furious, rushed up with his tribesmen. "You murderer! Why didn’t you stop the train?! Why?!" The unreasonable accusation made the conductor slap the old man across the head. "Are you insane?! Do you think this is some minibus or your family's tractor?" Jeremy had been with the resistance, but who there hadn't held a gun themselves? Hit by the slap, Jeremy stumbled and fell to the ground. Seeing Jeremy topple, the surrounding Boro people erupted in an uproar, ready to tear apart the conductor and his "guards." Especially the young man who had finally caught up, now enraged by the sight of Jeremy on the ground. He shouted at the conductor, "I'll fight you!" The angry crowd scared the conductor, who quickly retreated into the carriage, grabbing a communicator for reinforcements. In the jeep, Antony was gobsmacked, his biscuit tumbling from his lips. "For crying out loud..." He picked up the expression from the Alliance and now found it fittingly applicable. So this band had come all the way to picnic and turn this into a fatal scene? What were they thinking? He had expected much more from them! The vehicle's communicator suddenly crackled, and the Decanus beside Antony glanced over with a puzzled expression. "...Should we assist them?" Antony gazed at the stopped train engine within his jurisdiction, his brow twitching reluctantly. Despite intense reluctance to get involved, the promise of a hefty "protection fee" prompted him to pragmatically answer the call. "...Hang in there, we're on our way." "Damn... hurry up! I’m afraid these maniacs will dismantle our train!" Leaning by the cab door, the conductor cursed while peering outside. The unruly group had smashed the window in a web of cracks with their relentless banging. Inside, passengers were bewildered and clueless about the outside chaos. The security team, weapons at the ready, couldn’t fire first, as the crowd bore no arms. Cursing himself for foolishly knocking out the leader, the conductor backed from the broken window and yelled at the frenzied crowd. "What do you want?!" A middle-aged man shouted back. "We want to see the Administrator!" The conductor, taken aback, was thoroughly perplexed. "The Admin... Administrator?! Then why are you blocking us?" The man hammering the door hesitated. "…The Administrator isn't on board?" The conductor, choking on disbelief, screamed back. "Use your brain! If the Administrator were here, could you be hanging on the door talking to me?!" The Honor Guard wasn't just for show! At that moment, a gunshot sounded from afar, startling them all as they turned towards the noise. Near a parked open jeep stood the dreaded nose bearing a submachine gun, smoking a cigarette butt, gazing across at the blood-streaked engine and the agitated Boros. "Alright, everyone, stop! I don't care who you want to meet, you're on Willante territory now." Their faces bore defiance, some even ignoring his submachine gun. Unfazed, Antony wasn’t there to reason. Annoyed, he declared, "Line up quietly, hands over your heads on the carriage. Anyone who doesn’t comply, I’ll treat as raiders." To be continued...