Chapter 929 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 929: Disintegration! Within the majestic and imposing cement fortress, the expansive and empty great hall had a red carpet laid over its cold stone steps. This was Norton Fortress, situated at the very heart of Norton City—a place for the Grand Commanders to conduct meetings and hold ceremonial activities. In the classical language of the Norton Province, "Norton" means conquest. After the Eastern Legion occupied this area, they constructed the fortress named Norton in honor of Marshal Julius. Over the following century, this fortress, located on the plains, gradually developed into a large settlement with a population exceeding one million. Not only does this place house the oldest military and engineering academies of the entire legion, but it is also the capital of the Eastern Legion and the most traditional stronghold of the force. Of course, mentioning these details now digresses a tad. At this moment, a group of Willantian people, donned in golden armor and clad in crimson capes, held candles as they faced a ten-meter-high statue of Marshal Julius, solemnly and reverently expressing their admiration in silence. The golden hue and crimson cloaks seemed out of place for mourning; however, this unique Willantian ritual epitomized the highest level of tribute. All because their marshal once said— "Do not fear or mourn death, for it is the final destination for all life." "If one day I am to take my eternal rest, you should don golden armor and crimson capes, raise torches to see me off, and scatter flowers upon me as if celebrating my triumphant return." Perhaps Julius spoke these words casually at the time, but for a long while, the Willantians conducted their funerals in this manner. That was until a few fires broke out in Triumph City, prompting the survivors to replace the torches and flowers with hot yet gentle candles. The tradition of wearing golden armor and crimson cloaks, however, persisted, even evolving into a practice concerned with the exact weight and purity of the gold used. Typically, the value of the sacrificial vessels corresponds directly to the honor of the deceased. Thus, those mourning Marshal Julius here were each bearing armor weighing around two hundred kilograms. Without the aid of an exoskeleton, only the robust and virtuous Willantians could shoulder such a load. Standing before the crowd in golden armor, Saren looked dignified and somber, gently placing the pure gold candlestick from his hand onto the stone steps before the statue. By this moment, the ceremony had proceeded halfway. Next, the commanders would successively approach, placing candlesticks in front of the statue to "stand vigil" for Lord Julius until all the candles extinguished. Saren quietly retreated to the side, softly easing his shoulders burdened by the weight of the gold. It was then that a confidant approached him, lowering his voice to speak. "...There's no movement on the Alliance's border, same as before, but there's some tension in Beist Town, with even the Honey Badger Kingdom's troops assembling." Saren slightly tilted his head, responding in a light tone. "Ignore them, just keep an eye on the Alliance's actions." Both Beist Town and the Honey Badger Kingdom were mere ants to the Eastern Legion. It seemed the Alliance understood his intentions and indeed bore no intent to seize the opportunity. As long as the troops were all moved to the east, Triumph City's change could proceed without interference. By then, they could rightfully claim independence, perhaps even maintain a decent relationship with their former seat, Triumph City. After all, it was where the Willantians' expedition began, and he didn't want to sour relations with the folks back home. Avoiding civil war. This was the best outcome for all parties, considering many Willantians still regarded Triumph City as their spiritual home, even those among his commanding officers. It might not seem appropriate to smile at a funeral, but he couldn't help a slight upturn of his lips in amusement. Indeed, playing chess with a smart opponent is always enjoyable. The confidant beside him continued in a hushed tone. "There's one more thing... the Southern Legion has sent an envoy." Saren replied nonchalantly, "Make him wait a while." The confidant hesitated briefly before continuing in a low voice. "But… the envoy claims to represent Commander Tyr, with real-time communication equipment in tow." Upon hearing this, Saren sighed wearily. "Let him wait in the side hall." The confidant respectfully obliged. "Yes." ... Within the side hall of the castle, a travel-worn envoy stood not far from the door. Seeing Legion Commander Saren enter, he promptly bowed in greeting. However, Saren, striding swiftly toward him, didn't even glance at him. Instead, he snatched the silver tray from the envoy’s hands, pressed the button, and tossed it onto a nearby cabinet. A soft blue light manifested in the room, soon forming a formidable figure nearby. It was Tyr's holographic image. Seeing Saren in his golden armor, Tyr appeared momentarily startled. "What are you doing?" Saren spread his arms, replying as if it were evident. "As you see, commemorating Marshal Julius with my brothers from Triumph City. I should be asking you what you are doing." Seeing his composed demeanor, a flicker of anger ignited in Tyr’s heart. This guy still had the leisure to hold a funeral! Not only the Alliance and corporations, but even the Free State deputies of the Great Rift had declared a state of war with the Southern Legion. Initially, seeing the Eastern Legion finally making a bold move by relocating combat forces to Falcon City on the eastern wasteland, Tyr thought the tides might finally turn in their favor. Yet, after waiting for ages, there was still no further action from these folks. Those troops were like mere decorations, leaving the Southern Legion disappointed. However, reminding himself of his need, Tyr quashed his anger and sternly questioned. "Is this really the time for this?" Saren gazed at him with a bemused expression, as if watching a comical clown. In the past, he'd need to maintain some semblance of decorum. But now, they were no longer on the same level. He was about to make a snide remark, but Tyr unexpectedly spoke first. "Listen... our legion faces an unprecedented threat, Triumph City has fallen to foreigners, and our comrades are stuck in the quagmire of war. If we harbor distrust now, no one can save us—" "It's just another foreign governor, what's there to fear? Is this such a big deal?" Saren mockingly interrupted him, leisurely continuing. "As for the quagmire, did I throw you into it?" Tyr's eyes widened. "You!" "Enough, Tyr, I know what you're thinking, but I won't fall for your trick." Disappointment spread across Saren's face, losing interest in him. "Not mentioning our friends in the New World, let's just say I charge forth, capture Triumph City, and restore your so-called legitimacy. Would you acknowledge me as the legion's marshal?" Tyr hesitated, about to speak, but Saren raised a hand to stop him. "No need to answer me; you know the answer. It's not just you, either—the friends from the New World and the North are the same… There's only one marshal, and that was Julius. Now that he's gone, there will be no other." Pausing for effect, he added with a cold and emotionless tone. "The legion is history." Drag him into the mess? Not a chance! As he uttered the statement, he moved to the cabinet, turning off the silver circular device. The pale blue holographic beam swiftly contracted into a line, disappearing from the vacant room. Handing the device back to the envoy, who stood motionless, Saren impatiently barked. "What are you still doing here? Waiting for me to feed you? Go back where you came from." "Yes..." The envoy, though begrudging and lowering his head, eventually turned to leave. Watching the envoy's departing figure, a mocking smile curled Saren's lips, but it soon turned into a frown. Something wasn’t right. This guy didn't quite match the Tyr he knew... At least in Saren's recollection, Tyr was never one to plead. Let alone beg anyone. For that silent type to patiently try reasoning with him felt as odd as the sun rising in the west. Saren didn’t dwell on it, though. People change, after all, and maybe Tyr truly found himself at wits’ end. Stretching his shoulder to relieve the soreness, he returned with high spirits to the grand hall of the castle. By now, the commanders had finished the ceremony. Beneath the towering statue, over ten meters high, danced the bright flames of numerous candles. The funeral was entering its latter stage. Once those flames flickered out, Julius’s spirit would be considered fully honored and sent off. Saren ultimately did not, as Chu Guang had predicted, squeeze out any false tears. However, he did put away his smile, adopting a look of solemn compassion as he approached the statue where the flames flickered. This was the final moment. "Infinitely glorious Lord Julius, thank you for bestowing your people with endless bread, milk, and land. We will remember your teachings and, guided by your lessons of loyalty and courage, press forward unwaveringly..." "As the first Emperor and Prime Minister of the Eastern Empire, I shall bear the mission history has bestowed upon me." "May your spirit find eternal peace in the Hall of Glory—" "Your children will forever remember you." ... It wasn't just the Eastern Legion—now the newly formed Eastern Empire—that declared independence. At the very moment Triumph City announced Marshal Julius's funeral would be held in three days, the Northern and Western Legions also declared independence. The former had established the Northern Empire, with Commander Walt as emperor, while the latter founded the United Commonwealth of the New World, appointing Legion Commander Pompey as Prime Minister and "First Citizen" through the consensus of the Citizen Assembly and Tribune. By this point, the legion was nominal, splintered across over three million square kilometers, and among the fiercely loyal commanders, there were scarcely any who missed it. Their allegiance had always been solely to Marshal Julius. With even his resignation articulated in his final words, they had no reason to persist. Not to mention, after everything that transpired, they were long weary of the false unity and discord. While Triumph City hadn't made further moves, recent preliminary agreements among its government and factions suggested that declaring the "Willantian Union" was merely a matter of time. In the end, the only party not acting appeared to be the Southern Legion. Beyond condemning the “traitors of Triumph City,” the Southern Legion’s administration took no further action. Clearly, wholly consumed by the gamble in the Poro Province, they hadn’t foreseen such an outcome, nor the drastic and complete manner in which the other legions let go. And now, they found themselves alone on this runaway train... Meanwhile, on the western side of the lush, vast Poro Sea, black amphibious ships crashed through the waves under the escort of the South Sea Alliance's fleet! These vessels carried troops from the Enterprise's elite 100th Mountain Division. Having participated in the Battle of the Torch, these soldiers were among the Enterprise’s select combat elites. The Southern Legion’s nuclear launch had thoroughly antagonized Ideal City’s core leadership, leaving even Endpoint Group’s representatives unwilling to preach harmony. They intended to subjugate those snarling beasts by any means necessary! Inside the swaying cabin. Tang Feng sat adjusting his exoskeletal armor, attempting to connect with the three drones in the pack behind him and testing the integrity of the data ports. Since the conflict with the Torch Church, the council had further upgraded their gear. By now, they were more than just armed to the teeth; they had become ultimate war machines! No exaggeration, in the past, they needed to aim—now, just a thought could eliminate their foes! Of course, that was the theory; anything could happen on the battlefield. Sitting next to Tang Feng, a soldier chewing gum couldn't help but grin. "Never thought the day would come when we'd face-off against old allies." Tang Feng remained silent as the team’s machine gunner chimed in. "Isn't there a difference between the Southern and Eastern Legions?" The kid across from them joined the conversation. "Like the difference between the Alliance and the South Sea Alliance?" A soldier nearby quipped with a laugh. "Haha... Not a huge difference, really." Their idle chatter relieved the oppressive atmosphere in the cabin. Then, an officer stepped in, joining their conversation. "Precisely because we once fought together, it’s our duty to pull our friends from the mire when they’re stuck." One soldier smirked, raising a hand. "True, sir, but I just wonder—why can't they climb out themselves?" "Because waiting any longer would drag us into the mud with them. Next time you interrupt, make sure to file a report, or I’ll have you swim across." The officer shot a glare at the chatty soldier before addressing the group with a booming voice. "Alright, lads, enough idle chatter. The Alliance Jungle Corps and the Willantian Expeditionary Force have dismantled the defenses of Evernight Port, securing the docks for us!" "With just one division, they withstood the counterattack of five. They are tough fighters, but now it’s time for the real heavy hitters to enter!" "Your task is simple! Upon landing, activate your battlefield guidance systems and push forward with our self-propelled armor along the attack routes! Advance! Advance—!" "Until those demons are sent back to hell!" To be continued.