Chapter 936 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 936: The Artifice of the Pangolin If the Wilant Province is the launching ground for the Wilant peoples, then the Batoia Province, separated only by a sea, stands as the first hurdle on their path to conquest. Comparing to another world’s geography, the Wilant Province resembles a miniature fusion of the Iberian Peninsula and France, while Batoia Province is situated roughly where North Africa would be, with a considerably broader expanse. These provinces are divided by the "Whirlpool Sea," a bay significantly smaller than another world's "Mediterranean Sea," about half its size. Its shape is distinct — wide at the opening and narrowing towards the east, much like the curve of buffalo horns. The city of Avent is located at the northwest corner of Batoia Province, in an area called Dagger Cliff, staring across the sea at Wilant Province. At their closest, the provinces are merely 200 kilometers apart — a challenging swim, but merely a five to six-hour ferry ride, even at a leisurely pace. Since the news of Marshal Julius's death spread, many Wilant people from around the world have journeyed to Triumph City, hoping to attend Marshal Julius’s funeral. Among them are Wilant residents living in Batoia Province. In their homeland, they reconnect with long-lost friends, engaging in vibrant conversations or sharing drinks, and some might even end up in intimate settings. Once all was said and done, some would stay behind, but most would return to their homes in the New World or the eastern part of the Old Continent. If one aims to spread the "Death Agent" globally, Marshal Julius's funeral presents an unparalleled opportunity... On the tranquil surface of the sea. Standing on the coastal destroyer, Battalion Commander Malik looked at the telegram in his hand, unable to suppress a smirk. "...If this is true, that's incredibly ruthless." Amidst recent internal turmoil within the legion, Marshal Julius's guards had been compromised, losing the Wilant people's lifeline — the "genetic source code." He's no expert in biology and doesn't understand the technicalities, yet he knows its significance. Otherwise, their ancestors wouldn't have gone to extreme lengths to seize it from the post-war reconstruction committee and guard it carefully. It is said to be informed by those who once aided the Wilant people in their exile. As a race created from a designed gene pool, possessing the "source code" allows one to easily craft a genetic weapon targeting this specific group. This weapon could be a virus or something else, attacking on micro and macro levels, making the planet inhospitable for the Wilant people, eventually erasing them as if they never existed. In fact, the defense ministry of the reconstruction committee indeed harbored such intentions, and the last folder in the Wilant laboratory server contained the summary of the genetic warrior project. The purer the lineage, the easier to differentiate from the crowd. The only way to break this is through intermarriage with other races. When the Wilant people are no longer Wilant but become part of humanity, this sword hanging above their heads will finally be removed. Thus, the gene source code must be kept confidential for at least 300 years until Wilant blood mingles with human blood and vice versa, ensuring true safety. Now, the guards claim they botched it in the 172nd year! Ridiculous! Yet, what's done is done, and he can only grit his teeth and comply with Triumph City’s orders to prepare accordingly. At this moment, a ferry about a hundred meters long emerged on the horizon. Seeing the distant black dot, Malik immediately gestured for his crew and captains to steer the destroyer there and radioed the ferry's captain to stop the vessel. Upon receiving the command, the ferry complied swiftly, shutting down its engines. However, the passengers were displeased, flocking to the deck, demanding explanations from the approaching destroyer. The ferry, at over a hundred meters, wasn't small, carrying at least three to four hundred people. Most were residents of Avent city, with some from surrounding areas of Batoia Province, including several teenagers and mothers with infants. Taking in the crowd atop the deck, Malik cleared his throat and raised his voice through a megaphone. "Quiet, please! I am Battalion Commander Malik from the Triumph City Coastal Defense Fleet. Your ferry has encountered an issue, and I'm here to explain." Seeing someone authoritative address them, the crowd quieted slightly. After a brief pause, Malik continued at a moderate pace. "Late yesterday, we received information claiming someone used the political turbulence in Triumph City to steal the Wilant people's genetic source code." As anticipated, his words ignited chaos among the deck crowd. The sea, quiet for just a few seconds, roared back to life. "What does the stolen genetic source code have to do with us?!" "Exactly! Shouldn't you check those leaving?! Why would a thief return this way?" "Damn it, the guards aren't what they used to be; they even lost the genetic source code..." "Those folks in Triumph City are truly incompetent!" Most people failed to grasp the gravity of the situation, fuming merely over the delayed voyage. This was quite typical. Even Malik himself shared the sentiment. Despite the growing dread upon understanding the issue, his initial reaction was a mere "Eh," followed by a dismissive "Lost is lost" thought. Compared to the disbandment of the legion, misplacing an item seemed trivial. They've lost plenty before. It wasn't until a guard told him that the thing was the Wilant's lifeline that he began to feel anxious. Amidst the clamor, Malik took a deep breath, raised his voice even louder, and continued shouting, “You all should pay attention and hear me out! The genetic source code theft happened a month ago. The latest intel suggests a band of rogue Blue Groundhogs in the Great Desert has crafted a virus specifically targeting the Wilant people using the genetic source code! It's called 'Death Agent', and its purpose is quite evident from the name." "But there’s more to it! This virus has a lengthy incubation period over a month, remaining highly contagious during that time!" "It starts with a mild fever, then complete body heat, until your immune systems are thoroughly compromised, followed by the sequential failure of your organs, enduring a prolonged and painful demise… The process could last a year, maybe more, tormenting you enough to pass the virus onto others." "So, don't think you're uninvolved; Batoia Province is in the northwest corner of the Great Desert. You're closest to this ticking bomb! You may already be infected!" His words barely left his lips before the ferry erupted, the tumultuous noise nearly threatening to tip over the swaying deck. Faces varied between anger, fear, panic, and disbelief. Some mothers instinctively covered their infants' mouths and noses, seeking less crowded spaces. Others coughed involuntarily, instantly feeling self-doubt under inquisitive glances. “What are you joking about?! A virus specifically targeting Wilant people… How is that possible?!” “Who would do such a thing… Damn it, those incompetent guards, how could they lose something so crucial?!” “So, there’s a virus onboard? A… biological weapon against Wilant people?” The passengers shouted in bewilderment and hysteria, finding the claim too absurd to accept. If such a powerful weapon existed, why hadn’t other races used it until now? Then it dawned on them that the Wilant's genetic source code used to be under stringent protection but was now in enemy hands. Suddenly, everything seemed plausible. Like Malik the night before, skepticism transitioned into conviction. After all, standing before them was a Battalion Commander, and a representative from Triumph City no less. These loyal followers of Marshal Julius would never joke about the Guards, nor would the Guards lie about such a matter. Seeing his still clamorous compatriots, Malik raised his voice to address one of their concerns. “We can’t rule out the possibility, so regrettably, we have to ask you to turn back.” A strong man pushed through the crowd to the front, glaring at Malik with furious eyes. “Possibility! And because of this so-called possibility, you’re stopping us from attending Marshal Julius’s funeral!” His broad shoulders and calloused hands suggested he was a seasoned soldier. Many Wilants have seen battle, so it wasn’t an exceptional trait. Yet, at this critical time with the front lines tense, securing a seat on a flight to Wilant Province was especially difficult for such battle-hardened veterans. However, Malik wasn’t aware of the full truth about the "Death Agent." The version the Guards shared with him was that someone intended to use the Wilant genetic source code to create a genetic weapon targeting the Wilant people. Facing the indignant man, Malik offered a reassuring smile. “You needn’t worry, the funeral has been postponed.” The people on the deck were taken aback. “Post... postponed?!” Malik nodded. “Yes, our esteemed chief executive has declared that the Wilant Alliance is in a state of emergency. Until the emergency is lifted, the Whirlpool Sea will remain sealed.” The announcement sent the deck into a flurry, with everyone speaking at once. “What are we supposed to do?!” “Do you intend to keep us at sea indefinitely?” Malik raised a hand for calm and continued speaking. “You may return the way you came or accept our arrangements... We’ve established a buffer zone along the Wilant Province coastline and set up tents there. We’ll isolate you according to your arrival time and arrange for doctors to examine you.” “Triumph City has requested assistance from the Commune, the Academy, and enterprises, and their response has been enthusiastic. They’ve promised to airlift medical personnel and supplies to Wilant Province to tackle this crisis with us, just as we once faced the Torch Church crisis together.” A murmur of doubt spread across the crowd, especially when enterprises and alliances were mentioned, making everyone anxious. The Southern Corps was at war with these enterprises and alliances — no one could ensure they wouldn’t exploit this chance to act. At this moment, a frail elderly man stepped forward to the bow, fixing his gaze on Malik and rasping out a question. “Are you serious about this virus...?” Malik nodded solemnly. “The Guards take this seriously. Alongside Triumph City, Wilant Alliance has restricted entry of non-Wilant individuals… since they might unknowingly or mildly carry the virus. Even if harming us isn’t their intention, we’d still suffer indirectly.” Unintentional... The old man’s smile turned bitter. Such modesty... Many were eager for the Wilant's demise, with at least one in every three wastelanders. Clearly, Malik thought similarly, for he shrugged with an expression of helplessness. “So you understand how perilous roaming around is at this juncture… It’s not just you; every border — north, south, east, and west — is closed.” The old man sighed, musing a moment before speaking. “I hope the buffer zone is free of outsiders…” Triumph City had shut its borders. This suggested Wilant Province was safer than Batoia Province. After all, the Southern Corps had vast colonies, inhabited mostly by Great Desert natives. Should anything occur, the Southern Corps, which had taken no steps thus far, would undoubtedly become the most hazardous... Seeing the hesitant older man, Malik called out with a smile. “Don’t worry, even if there are any, they’ll be researchers sent by the Academy.” “If something goes wrong, we won’t let them off lightly.” ... The loss of the Wilant genetic source code caused an uproar in Triumph City. As the ones in charge of safeguarding the code, the Guards found their prestige shattered amid the backlash from various factions. Despite the reproaches, Commander Reze remained calm. Having lived 172 years, Reze had witnessed countless storms in this city and wasn’t about to lose face over critique from the young. However, while Reze seemed unperturbed, the battlefield atmosphere team felt guilty. This old man was near the end of his days, yet still had to stake his lifetime honor on this. Ending a meeting with various ministers, he turned to Reze and apologized sincerely. “I’m sorry… After this is over, I’ll clear your name and tell everyone it was all my idea.” Looking at the remorseful chief executive, Reze, clad in golden armor, gently smiled and softly responded. “Don’t worry about me, just do what you have to do now.” Pausing, the old man adopted a paternal tone, continuing with reflection. “However, I must remind you that a truly clever lie is one that tells half of the truth while withholding what’s damaging to oneself. Marshal Julius excelled at this, as did your director, but you lack a fallback.” The battlefield team member awkwardly touched his nose, offering a nervous cough. “I’m far from their league…” Reze chuckled. “Of course, they've accomplished numerous feats; you’ve done only a few.” “But that’s okay. Everyone transitions from inexperience to proficiency, whether it’s the revered Marshal Julius or your manager.” “I have great confidence in you.” Those words boosted the team member’s morale, warming his heart. Indeed, his plan wasn’t subtly executed, yet it seemed the best available option. Confronted with Commander Tir’s “cunning scheme,” he opted for counter-strategy. Since Tir claimed to have the genetic source code, convincing the Southern Corps’ upper echelons to join his mad plan, they declared the loss to be at the hands of desert-dwelling enlightenment seekers, forging a virus known as “Death Agent” to target the Wilant people. On these grounds, he could justifiably declare a state of emergency for the Wilant Alliance, sealing Triumph City and Wilant Province, thwarting the Southern Corps from using the city and Marshal Julius’s funeral as a virus spreading platform. Moreover, receiving news of the event, the North Empire, East Empire, and the United States of the New Continent would also close their borders, strictly monitoring all incoming individuals. Whether they believed in the "Death Agent" was secondary as the loss of the genetic code felt undeniably true. The nature of "Death Agent" was now irrelevant. Whoever spoke first gained the narrative control. And the Southern Corps couldn’t publicly deny that they stole the genetic code or confess that "Death Agent" posed minimal risk to Wilants compared to outsiders. Not to mention Commander Tir didn’t even possess the code, nor could he prove its limited harm to Wilants since it was designed from the outset as a non-discriminatory weapon. Not only is explanation impossible, They couldn’t even let other factions discover the weapon originated from their labs. Or else, their so-called old allies might deal them a blow before enterprises and alliances acted. It’s just a matter of time before this is found out. If the "Death Agent" plan is underway and with cities like Triumph shutting borders, confining the Wilant movement, then the pathogen would remain trapped within Avent. Moreover, Midnight Port captured by the Alliance severed Southern Corps’ link to the Eastern world, isolating original high-fatality, low-contagion viruses deployed in Boro Province with no further spread. Soon enough, Tir will realize he’s set himself back unwittingly. As the Wilant people in Avent gradually came to understand who their true enemies were, the battlefield atmosphere team began implementing broader strategies. They utilized the civilian sector to establish quarantine zones along the coastal border areas of Wilant Province. This was merely the first step. After gaining control over the "Death Agent," the next phase involved acting on his duties as the governor of Triumph City by aiding the plague-stricken Avent City. This stage of the plan would require assistance from major surviving factions on the wasteland, including the Academy, the Alliance, and other enterprises. Yet, this wasn’t an arduous task for him. He understood the manager’s perspective well. Since the server's inception, that person had aimed to end the Wasteland era, fully committed to assisting the Wilant people. As he pondered this, hurried footsteps echoed outside the discussion hall of the Glorious Institute. Ignoring the guards’ protests at the entrance, a man clad in elegant attire burst into the hall, glaring at the governor seated at the center. “Governor, I demand an explanation!” This was a messenger from the Southern Corps, representing Tir at Marshal Julius’s funeral. The battlefield man recalled his name as Halogen, holding a rank of two-star Warchief, surpassing Colville by at least one star. However, now as governor, such military ranks held little threat to him. Watching the visibly agitated Warchief Halogen, the battlefield atmosphere group asked with genuine interest. “What kind of explanation are you looking for?” Halogen retorted angrily. “Postponing Marshal Julius’s funeral and closing the borders right when all Wilant people come to admire his grandeur in Triumph City! Do you even know what you’re doing!” This man was anxious. However, the battlefield atmosphere group doubted this mere two-star Warchief was privy to the "Death Agent’s" details. The most likely scenario was that Commander Tir was using this man to probe Triumph City's vulnerabilities or apply pressure. Just as he was about to respond, Reze, seated nearby, spoke first. “Marshal Julius has waited nearly two centuries; I believe he wouldn’t mind waiting a bit longer to see his children finish their final act.” His words, delivered with piercing clarity from clouded pupils, deflated Halogen's accusatory stance instantly. The corps had only recently transitioned into the Wilant Alliance, so he didn’t yet comprehend the full weight of being a governor. However, he understood the significance of a corps leader. Especially one who had once battled alongside Marshal Julius. “The last… what are you talking about? What act...” Halogen faltered, stepping back involuntarily, his voice trembling. Reze regarded him calmly, much like one would view a noisy child. “...Ask yourself, or perhaps inquire with your commander. I believe he knows the answer best.” Halogen held his breath reflexively. His political instincts told him the matters at hand were deeper than he’d initially presumed. Uttering no more words, he allowed the guards to escort him out, leaving the hall promptly. Watching him depart, Reze smiled softly, his voice steady and composed as he called out. “Convey this to your commander for me—” “The candles of Triumph City remain lit, and the spirit of Marshal Julius dwells here.” “The Marshal is watching over you.” To be continued...