Chapter 926 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 926: Loyalty! A thousand steps. In reality, someone like Battleground Guy would probably need to rest twice on the way up. However, in the game, as he stepped onto the last step, he barely panted. Looking at the elderly man clad in golden power armor waiting for him at the temple entrance, Battleground Guy turned back for a moment. Behind him, countless small figures and torches huddled like a dot at the base of the stairs, and he couldn't help but click his tongue in surprise. At that moment, a peaceful and amiable voice drifted over. "I'm Reiser." "And I... I'm Pangolin," Battleground Guy said, shifting his gaze back to the elder with the power armor. Unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, he finally asked, "May I ask you a question?" "My age?" The old man gazed at him with wise eyes, seemingly seeing through his thoughts. Battleground Guy nodded, straightforwardly asking his question. "How old are you?" Reiser lifted his gaze slightly, stared at the towering archway in thought for a moment, then spoke. "In the 42nd year of the Wasteland Era, we seized the Veranth Laboratory affiliated with the War Preparation Committee, obtaining all of Veranth's genetic data, marking our ultimate grasp over our destiny, and securing the independence and freedom we dreamed of." "It was then that Marshal Julius personally cut my umbilical cord and carried me from a shattered incubator… you could do the math for me." Hearing the old man's words, Battleground Guy was momentarily stunned, utterly shocked. If he wasn't mistaken, it was currently the 214th year of the Wasteland Era. Which meant... This old man was 172 years old?! While such an age might be nothing in a fantasy game, the game's realism had somehow caused him to unconsciously apply real-world logic. "You're surprised?" "Indeed..." Battleground Guy nodded, collecting his thoughts, and remarked, "You're probably the longest-lived person I've ever met." The elder smiled softly. "Living long isn't much of a skill to boast about, especially when I'm not the longest-lived." "Are you talking about the Marshal?" Battleground Guy asked eagerly, "Is he really still alive?" The esteemed commander of the Guards Corps did not reply immediately but instead turned and walked towards the temple. Battleground Guy quickened his pace, following the elder with the crimson cape into the hall. Majestic marble columns connected the lofty dome to the ground, with grand murals carved onto the columns. There were no red carpets or crosses. No electric lights either. The sole decorations were the milky white marble and gilded vessels. Clad in golden exoskeletons, the guards held towering torches, lighting the wall-mounted sconces. Their expressions were solemn and serious, as if performing a sacred ritual. As the torches ignited, their flickering flames illuminated the once dark hall. It was then that Battleground Guy noticed, to his astonishment, that the walls of the hall were engraved with numerous relief sculptures. The reliefs resembled a continuous series of murals filled with stories, extending to the far end of the hall. He walked to the nearest wall and stood still, examining the sculpted reliefs. At the very top of the reliefs were three blazing torches, with three strong arms grasping the handles. The arms were like mountains, tall and unyielding, while the flames burned intensely, dispelling the shadows on the ground. “...This represents the time of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, the 21st year of the Wasteland Era, marking the beginning of the Veranth plan and the birth of suffering, also the day Marshal was born…” Standing beside Battleground Guy, Reiser touched the mural, his eyes seeming to reminisce. He spoke in a gentle yet solemn voice. "The Wasteland inhabitants have mixed opinions about them, and we call it the era of the Three Titans." Feeling the weight of history, Battleground Guy involuntarily swallowed. “…The Three Titans referred to the Department of Technology, the Department of Production, and the Department of Defense?” “Yes.” The elderly man slowly nodded. His golden-indexed finger traced the marble veins, following the bulging veins on the sculpted arms, stopping at tiny black dots like grains of sand. To Battleground Guy's initial assumption, these were mere decorative fillers; until he leaned closer and realized that those black dots were actually micro-sculptures of people, depicted in a crawling position. His eyes widened in awe. No wonder he often heard Fang Chang remark that these foreigners were born artists and engineers, and that it was a waste for them to fight wars. The craftsmanship of the masonry had indeed reached an unparalleled level! “The countless survivors who came forth achieved the glory of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, just as billions of Union citizens contributed to the Union’s prosperity…” “However, their greatness is often the easiest to overlook.” “In this way, we unwittingly created a monster. We fed it, submitted to it, and finally feared it... and were dragged by it onto paths we never imagined. In the end, almost everyone forgot what we should do and why we were doing it.” As he watched the elder become lost in his memories, Battleground Guy's throat twitched. “I remember… the Post-War Reconstruction Committee saved a lot of people.” Reiser nodded mildly, his tone gentle. “You’re right. If it didn’t save anyone, then why name it the Post-War Reconstruction Committee rather than something else? Fire burns and it’s nothing to be thankful for. We need to remember those who survived, as well as those consumed by the flames... This mural records the history of the Veranth, and I believe elsewhere in the world there exist other murals or similar artifacts that record parts differing from ours.” Battleground Guy nodded as well. He recalled that there seemed to be a cinema within the inner city of Boulder City, where films of past history and calculations based on the present events depicting future possibilities were shown. However, that cinema had been destroyed during the great transformation of Boulder City. Regrettably, he never visited, only heard it mentioned by NPCs within the game. Seeing Battleground Guy fall silent, Reiser turned his eyes to the marble reliefs, continuing. “After achieving the ultimate victory, the Veranth built this Hall of Glory as a gift for the Marshal. And the Marshal ordered us... the Guards, his most loyal servants, to carve the history of the Veranth into the walls.” “We possess more advanced recording techniques, but Lord Julius... our esteemed Marshal said that altering illusory images is easy, but what is carved in the stone cannot be easily or completely erased.” “Even if those who came after us chiseled away the entire wall, the marks of pounding would still permeate deep at the wall’s roots.” “Unless the one who alters it entirely destroys this monument, erasing it from existence and then building a spoof taller, greater, and more majestic than it on its ruins.” Leading the young man behind him, Reiser, dressed in the golden power armor, continued forward. Following the elder, Battleground Guy kept his eyes fixed on the reliefs. He first witnessed the rise of Triumph City, observed the wars between the Veranth, mutants, and raiders... these legendary pasts seemed to have occurred somewhere, the more he watched, the more familiar they felt. It wasn't until a moment later that he realized, these events hadn't just occurred in the past but were happening constantly. For instance, the conquest of Avent City. The so-called Unions that occupied the wonders of their era, wielding advanced technology and immense wealth, yet excluded some survivors beyond their doors, bore a stark resemblance to the old nobles of Boulder City. Yet the divergence lied right here. The Veranth, who conquered Avent City, did not make the same choice as the Alliance. They executed the selfish nobles, confiscated the wealth of the rich, and ultimately, the poor received no benefits… the Veranth regarded them as accomplices and lapdogs of the nobles, turning all outsiders into slaves. Their thorough reckoning with all the city's survivors only left the problem unchanged. The casino continued operations. And in a series of events in the subsequent decades, the Veranth fully transitioned from persecuted to persecutors. As the content of the relief became more disturbing, the milky-white marble walls, absent of any red, seemed depicted with blood. Eventually, another group of figures appeared on the reliefs. They had no eyes or mouths, their noses shaved down to nothing, leaving only ears. Battleground Guy recognized them, his expression turning to one of shock. "Those are..." Reiser spoke in a calm tone. "Clone soldiers. Given that you've been on the battlefield, you're likely familiar with them." Battleground Guy certainly recognized them. These were the rapidly growing soldiers, with a theoretical lifespan of eight years, but an average life expectancy on the battlefield of only three. During the Battle of Sunset, the Alliance captured the surrendering clone soldiers as prisoners, and many of them are still alive to this day. They have no reproductive capabilities, nor complete mental faculties, making it nearly impossible for them to integrate into civilized society. Finding a humane way to deal with them, and whether to regard them as humans, has been a persistent challenge for the Alliance's Biological Research Institute and the Academy of Social Sciences. Seeing the young man behind him intrigued by them, Reiser paused in front of the mural depicting clones and, after a moment of contemplation, began to speak. "We used our own genetic codes to create a group of Veranth who were unlike us, hoping they would fight in our stead... But as it turned out, it was a failed experiment. Sacrifice is not something easily substituted, and civilization only advances after paying a sufficient price." A failed exploration? Battleground Guy's expression grew complex. If he were to assess them, those cloned cannon fodder were indeed formidable adversaries. He still vividly remembered the time when the Pioneer was pushed to the brink by an army of 2,000 clones, even launching a tactical nuclear missile didn't decisively turn the tides of war. It wasn't until reinforcements from the Alliance arrived that the battle was concluded. Of course, they weren't called the Alliance back then; many things happened later. "There's one thing I don't understand... Why would someone like the Marshal approve of a technology like clone soldiers?" Including the massacre at Avent City... Wasn't the Marshal still alive at that time? Looking at the young man with confusion written on his face, Reiser merely chuckled lightly. "Thinking from the perspective of future generations about the dilemmas of their predecessors can indeed lead to such confusion... So I want to ask you, why would virtuous people like your Administrators use clones as vessels?" Battleground Guy was just about to respond when a realization struck him, shocking him as he looked at the old man clad in golden power armor. Your Administrators... Did this guy somehow figure out his identity?! Reiser gave him a meaningful glance, his eyes like portals seeing through to his very soul. "You're too young; you can deceive others, but not me... Around a hundred years ago, back when Marshal Julius was still with us, I often dealt with your kind—those 'blue moles' scurrying about everywhere. Calling yourself Pangolin? It's fitting, as to me, you're all the same." Battleground Guy remained silent for a moment, realizing the elder had long since seen through his act. He let out a bitter smile and said, "When did you realize?" Was it back in Dawn City where I slipped up? There seemed to be Guards present there, a fellow named Quirk if he recalled correctly. Despite his cautious dealings with that individual, he believed he hadn't revealed anything significant. "...No need to guess, I've known who you are and where you come from the moment you set foot in Triumph City," Reiser interrupted, before continuing. "But you needn't worry, be you a Vault dweller, a traveler from five light-years away, or an extraterrestrial barely related to humanity, it means nothing to me... You are the one the Marshal awaited, and bringing you here completes my mission." He cast his gaze upon the wall’s reliefs and spoke in a tone almost casual. "Mr. Julius was not an impeccable saint. Like your respected Administrators, he had emotions, desires, and thoughts of his own..." "When betrayed, he would be angered. Seeing his companions perish brought him sorrow. Avent City's betrayal offended us, yet its citizens were innocent. He regretted his actions afterward, but once more water spills, it cannot return to the cup. Many things do not bend to individual will." "In choosing between the worse and the worst, he opted for what he deemed a lesser harm, hoping time would reconcile the divide between Veranth and the old humanity, thus averting internal division within Veranth. This gave rise to the protection slaves receive in Triumph City—prior, those not of Veranth wouldn’t even dream of leading a cohort, surviving alone was a luxury." "As for the cloned soldiers, he hoped to save Veranth bloodshed through their creation. Yet upon realization, he found he'd only spawned more Veranth rather than solved the core issues." "The sacrifices made by Veranth did not dwindle but instead fueled more war potential, resulting in further conflict and bloodshed." "What pained him most was this very realization; he saw himself as a sinner of Veranth and of all humanity, vexed by his senseless decisions reminiscent of that self-deluded Lowell from the Far East." "Though he aspired to end the Wasteland Era, he inadvertently became part of it along with his progeny. Nonetheless, his subordinates idolized him boundlessly, even deifying him... As I did." The elder cast his eyes down briefly before regaining his placid composure. "I witnessed it all—not just his joy, but his sorrow, as he always kept me by his side." "He once asked if I had any regrets, but to this day, my answer remains... I regret nothing in my loyalty to him." "As he once said, there's no one who doesn't make mistakes throughout their life, and there has never been a flawless, saintly existence. He foresaw a lot, resolved many issues, but would inevitably face unforeseen obstacles lying in wait..." "But that's nothing to fear; if we don't fear death, why fear a stumble?" "Just as he once declared, as long as we record history honestly and face it without deceit, Veranth is a hopeful nation, someday we will emerge from our own quagmires." As Reiser spoke these words, his expression was one of serenity. Battleground Guy swallowed lightly, his Adam's apple bobbing. The casual tone seemed to have unfolded an epic before him. To say his heart remained untouched would be a lie... And as for the Marshal's whereabouts, he already knew the answer. "So... Marshal Julius is indeed no longer with us, isn't he?" He had a hunch. "In the heart of Veranth, the all-powerful Marshal was truly just an ordinary man born in the 21st year of the Wasteland Era, not even an Awakened. Years of battle scarred him with incurable ailments, necessitating that he wear power armor with life support to survive, often woke by pain through the night..." "My last dinner with him was during the Wasteland Era's 100th year, at a victory celebration banquet. He probably wanted to wait until nightfall to depart, yet succumbed to his ailment come twilight, leaving final words in haste, then ventured alone into the depths of the Hall of Glory." "We didn't know then those were his last words, though I had some premonition... After all, he'd begun relinquishing power bit by bit, preparing for the time after his departure." For the first time, Reiser answered Battleground Guy’s query directly, casting his gaze towards the unadorned portion of the marble relief — an expanse awaiting future inscriptions. "The rest of history shall be written by those who come after. We memorialized all events following his passing on the wall, fulfilling his final wish to await 'the one.'" "...But there's something I still don't understand," Battleground Guy stepped forward, unable to resist asking, "Why did he conceal his death?" Instead of answering, Reiser's eyes shifted towards the door at the end of the marble reliefs. "He's just beyond, you can ask him yourself." Battleground Guy hesitated for seconds, but upon seeing the key and flashlight offered by the elder, he accepted them. Reaching the heavy iron door, he inserted the key and turned the lock. With a grating creak, the rust-stained iron door finally swung open. To his surprise, what met Battleground Guy's eyes wasn’t a grand palace, but a simple room. The decor was sparse. If not for the presence of a bed, he could scarcely imagine this was where the revered Marshal Julius resided; it felt more like a storage closet. The air was thick with dust, making Battleground Guy wrinkle his nose instinctively. There was no electricity here, so naturally, a cryo-chamber was out of the question. As for Julius’s remains, the loyal Guards would surely not let them decay here; they were likely cremated or placed in a preservative coffin. Someone clearly had been here before, at the very least Reiser, the keeper of the key and secrets, must have ventured inside. Shining his flashlight around, Battleground Guy was thrilled to find a golden power armor standing between the third and fourth rows of shelves. “No way… The real quest reward was hidden here the whole time!?” He muttered in astonishment, crossing the dusty floor to stand before the power armor. It must have belonged to Julius, and it seemed to be entirely gilded with real gold. Despite a century's passing, there wasn't even a hint of rust on it. He reached out to touch the armor, only for the helmet’s visor to illuminate and the internal components to hum to life. And then, a deep voice floated from the helmet... "You’ve come?" "What the hell?" Startled by the sudden voice, Battleground Guy involuntarily stepped back. Quickly realizing it was a pre-recorded message, he listened closely. "I instructed Reiser that if the final wall is filled and what I feared hasn’t come to pass, then everything we've done was right, and they should just find a place to bury me." "But since you're here... it seems the situation I least hoped for, yet was convinced would occur, has indeed happened." "Pretending to be alive wasn’t a brilliant decision, but at that time, I had no better alternative." "The legion’s mission isn’t solely to save the Veranth; we’re to clean up the Union’s mess. I tried to normalize the legion before my departure, but time was against me... Once I passed, the legion would undoubtedly fracture, chaos consuming all we left in this world." "The legion is a beast, yet it’s preferable to the cannibalistic raiders, mutant tribes, or the barely civilized mutant fungi. Perhaps one day we’ll be vanquished by united survivors or more advanced, cultured forces—like the toppled War Preparation Committee... But that day isn’t today." "Winter has ended, but chaos and savagery have not... prematurely perishing ensures a better era won’t arrive. We would descend into internecine barbarism worse than the Stone Age, devolving into true beasts." "I attempted to extend my life technologically, living twenty years longer, but the issue persisted—my children grew more dependent on me. Those lurking powers and ambitions expanded quietly." "I considered cryo-stasis, but it wasn’t a viable solution, for my death was essential for the Veranth. An immortal leader shackles his children, turning aspirational dreams to stone." "Furthermore, in hibernation, I could do nothing—wouldn’t deter the schemers. Awakening post-stasis would just invite fresh troubles." "Therefore, I embraced the role of ‘living dead.’" "The Veranth, under the banner of loyalty, shall unite resolutely until the last winter fades. Against brutish foes, we’ll be undefeated. Our only vanquishers will be those more civilized, progressive, and a historical inevitability." "There will be someone from unconquered lands who liberates us from our burdensome mission and forced loyalty, leading us and all suffering survivors into a new era." "I suppose when that time comes, our realm will surely not struggle to encompass five hundred habitable systems. So, stumbling before learning to walk is acceptable... especially as we owe this to other survivors." "The Veranth should be a part of the world, not its enemy. I believe you, standing here, understand what I mean." "You see this power armor? It’s yours now." "Don it, step out, and tell those loyal youth the legion has led them from the endless night to dawn; its historical mission concluded! They are the sun now; their torches, the twilight sky!" "Inform them that their beloved Marshal Julius lived to 79 years, passing at dusk. He smiled in his sleep, perhaps with regrets, but without remorse. Do not mourn him, he is omnipresent, never truly gone, having long become a part of everyone living on this land!" "Be loyal to your own heart, to all Veranth, to all suffering survivors—" "This is your loyalty to me!" To be continued...