Weightlessness

On the obverse of the coin was wealth; engraved on the reverse, naturally, was poverty. In the end, there was only one Ideal City. Across those hundreds of millions of square kilometers of land, the vast majority remained barren desolation. While the street brawls in the Free States dragged on, the civil war in Brahma Province had finally come to an end. Under the Alliance's mediation, the State of Brahma's army ultimately abandoned its northward push, withdrawing from the depths of Sheep State and Bird State into the mountain ranges behind the plains along the south bank of the Tasang River. Of course. The foremost reason was simply that they could fight no longer. From Tianshui southward, a famine unseen in a century broke out across the most fertile lands of Brahma Province. Compounded by deliberate human destruction of countless production facilities, even if front-line supplies could barely be maintained, the tightened belts had already cinched down to the bare ribs. On top of that, the Eastern Empire had lost interest in fighting. Its military aid to the State of Brahma had undergone a wave of monetization reform. In other words, if they wanted guns and cannons, they had to go to New West Sail Port with cash in hand to buy them. In truth, this was practically an explicit hint from His Majesty. After laying eyes on the Alliance's space elevator and low-Earth orbit defense platform, Salen had completely given up on contending for land hegemony, turning his ambitions instead toward the stars beyond the Solar System. This had also been General MacLaren's recommendation upon returning from the space elevator. Salen possessed a massive cache of Frigate cores. If such things could be installed on airships, they could naturally be mounted on starships as well. All it took was equipping them with hyperspace engines and plasma drives, then reinforcing the hull structure and airtight seals, and they could function directly as proper starships. The Alliance had always been keenly interested in the treasures in his possession, while he happened to be fascinated by the stars beyond the Solar System, even viewing this as a prime opportunity to overtake others on the curve. There had never been any real need for everyone to fight to the death over this palm-sized patch of dirt anyway. Pioneering the future together wasn't a bad alternative. Thus, a brand-new faction centered around "telescopism" rose within the revitalized Eastern Empire, and a race for space officially commenced. With the Eastern Empire and the Alliance having reached a consensus, the State of Brahma's northward march came to an abrupt halt. Both sides declared victory, subsequently withdrawing to their original borders. The Mammoth State held the northeastern corner of Brahma Province, dividing the territory along the plains on both sides of the Tasang River basin. The State of Brahma retained its original borders, including Tiger State, Leopard State, and the region of Rowell State excluding Port Golden Gallon, which had already joined the State of Brahma through confederation during the war against the Southern Legion. Both sides tallied their casualties. The State of Brahma claimed 30,000 dead while wiping out one million Mammoth State soldiers. The Mammoth State, for its part, claimed 50,000 dead while slaughtering 1.5 million State of Brahma soldiers. Naturally, this was pure bluster. Both sides had likely counted every civilian and cow killed in the war, pinning them all on the enemy's tally. Dawn City's *Survivor Daily*, combining data from both sides alongside on-site investigations, concluded that State of Brahma fatalities were likely around 270,000, with nearly 400,000 wounded, and nearly thirty percent of their attrition was caused by malaria and infectious diseases. Mammoth State fatalities were estimated at around 120,000, with 170,000 wounded. Thanks to superior medical conditions, non-combat attrition remained relatively low, though it was still a devastating blow relative to their smaller population. Because Shawa had recalled large numbers of overseas workers to return home and fight, the war's ripple effects had even battered the labor market of the Southern Sea. Furthermore, *Survivor Daily* investigated civilian casualties—a topic both sides had glossed over with a casual brush—and shockingly discovered that civilian casualties in this war far exceeded those of the earlier war against the Southern Legion, reaching an astounding 2.5 million! Throughout this conflict, both sides had resorted to all manner of ruthless ploys, repeatedly breaking through the bottom lines of humanity. Emulating the late "God of War" Alaiyang, Gopal had innovated upon his predecessor's methods by developing the "Flock of Sheep Tactics." He drove refugees toward the towns of Sheep State and Bird State, then used artillery and machine guns to force them to charge the Mammoth State's trenches. It had to be said that he truly lived up to his reputation as Alaiyang's right-hand man, faithfully inheriting the God of War's ferocious mantle. Even "Iron General" Grove, when faced with such unscrupulous brutality, lost out due to a lingering sliver of mercy he could not bring himself to discard. Because Grove couldn't bring himself to do it, Gopal organized the Wilantes and central auxiliaries absorbed from the Southern Legion into "Sheepdog" companies, ordering Wilantes to drive the Brahma refugees forward. This tactic proved miraculously effective. Those who had already had their eyes bloodshot from the previous war were told that merit would reduce their sentences. When it came to slaughtering Brahma people, they went mad, sweeping their machine guns in wild, merciless bursts. Now there was no hesitation about pulling the trigger. Better still, once the war ended, Gopal could shift all the blame onto the Wilantes and keep his own hands clean. It was practically a win-win. Yet what Gopal hadn't anticipated was that standing opposite him was another butcher. As the former stormtrooper captain and adopted son of Laxi, Shawa's reputation as a "butcher" had already been demonstrated during the Mammoth City turmoil. Thrown into a civil war, his hand would hardly waver. Just as Gopal was urging Iron General Grove forward, Shawa dispatched Gulion, the former commander of the Southern Legion's Brahma Province theater, straight to the front line. The moment this move was played, soldiers on both sides were stunned, including Grove, who was directing the operations. Though Grove had previously caused Gulion some grief during Operation North Wind, that had been a backstab delivered while Gulion was fully occupied fighting the main forces of the Alliance and the State of Brahma. Gulion had ground his teeth in fury, but had lacked the opportunity to deal with him. Now the two were directly matched, crossing bayonets face-to-face, with no third party pulling anyone's teeth or holding anyone back. Although Grove commanded absolute numerical superiority and relatively stronger firepower, the opposing commander was a master of building impenetrable turtle shells—a skill honed under the pummeling of Alliance bombers. And most crucially, Gulion wouldn't hesitate in the slightest when it came to slaughtering Brahma people. Gopal's "sheep" slammed into an iron wall, cut down by machine-gun fire halfway across before they could even reach the Mammoth State positions. Grove fared no better, facing an even more agonizing dilemma: the former Southern Legion troops he had stationed on the front lines began deserting en masse. And it was the officers leading the flight. What stung most was Gibson—the very myriarch he had captured in the south! Grove had even written to the Eastern Empire before, hoping they would grant the man a promotion... though the Eastern Empire had turned him down. Who would have guessed this miserable cur would run off! Gibson was practically the highest-ranking Wilante officer under his command. To prevent similar incidents, Grove had no choice but to pull the Wilante units off the front lines to serve as rear-echelon instructors for training recruits, sending his own men back to the front. Among them was the Eleventh Myriad, the personal unit of deputy commander Yokal. After betraying the Northern Field Army, this unit had enjoyed a period of glorious days, even gracing the pages of Tiandu's *Survivor Daily* adorned with bright flower garlands. Yet now that the rest of the Northern Field Army was dead and even the pack cattle of the baggage trains were depleted, these favored sons seemed to have become relics of an old era, forced to the absolute front to prove their loyalty. The only one to escape the meat grinder was Yokal himself. By now, however, he was a bare-bones commander without a single soldier left under his command. Even when all were considered family, some bloodlines were always thicker than others, making them look far more like family... *** Beside the Tasang River. A concrete dam stood firm in the midst of the rushing waters. During the final battle, the State of Brahma had attempted to blow it up and let floodwaters engulf Mammoth City once more. Fortunately, thanks to the desperate resistance of local troops, they had managed to hold the dam. Now the war was finally over. Engineers who had returned home from the Southern Sea were surveying the dam, contemplating how to improve upon the original structure and install generator sets. Perhaps it would benefit not only the farmers along both banks, but even more people besides. Though many would never live to see that day... Gazing at the towering dam, Shawa stood in a crisp, sharp military uniform without uttering a word, squinting as if lost in thought. Or perhaps he was remembering someone. A retinue of Mammoth State officers stood behind him, holding their breath in solemn silence, none daring to disturb him. Except for a certain Wilante who couldn't read the room. "...Who knows how many capable souls and how many heroes these rolling waves have swallowed." "Hard to say." Looking at Gulion, who was grieving over the sight, Shawa cracked a grin, his tone laced with self-mockery. "Hard to say. Maybe in a few years, both the living and the dead will turn into cowards." He had seen through it all long ago. On this land, heroes were either physically erased and spiritually buried as if they had never existed, or smeared into villains and jesters. Meanwhile, true clowns and scoundrels could rise smoothly through the ranks, soaring to the heavens to become gods upon the earth. And the card dealt to him was that of a villain. Gulion glanced at him, catching sight of those dead, ash-gray eyes. For some reason, a wave of desolation welled up in his chest. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he turned his gaze back toward the dam. "I suppose that is our greatest difference." Shawa glanced at him sidelong. "Oh?" Gulion was silent for a moment before continuing. "In Triumph City, a hero is a hero, which is distinct from a saint. We can accept a hero's imperfections, even commemorating his errors alongside his glory. The former doesn't dishonor the latter; rather, it makes him more three-dimensional... just like a marble statue, where the relief is set off by the shadows." Shawa remarked with a mocking chuckle. "Even the Grand Marshal?" Gulion nodded slowly. "Yes. He did many terrible things, like the massacre at Avent City... For a long time, we viewed it as glory and buried his dishonorable deeds, and then everyone paid a bitter price." Shawa grinned. "Are you trying to say you're that price?" "I'm merely one of them—the kind that deserves no sympathy," Gulion sighed, turning to face Shawa, pausing before adding, "My war is over. What do you intend to do with me?" Shawa replied expressionlessly. "I keep my word. You're free. You can take your pension and go wherever you want." Gulion said, "What if I want to stay here?" Shawa looked at him in surprise, sheer disbelief written across his face. "Are you serious?" Though this man was alone in the world, his ability was undeniable. Whether he returned to the Batoya Alliance or the Wilante Alliance, there would certainly be people who needed him. "I want to... atone," Gulion said, looking at him earnestly. "Though it may sound presumptuous, I'd like to try helping you, to the best of my ability." Shawa chuckled. "That's probably the most presumptuous thing I've heard all year." Pausing, as if weary of the conversation, he turned away, tossing over his shoulder as he walked off: "Do as you like. It's your freedom." *** Not long after, Gulion resigned from his post as commander of the Mammoth State Army, setting a precedent as a Wilante who retained a peaceful retirement after giving up military command in Brahma Province. Though whether he had ever held genuine military authority was up for debate—after all, standing behind him was the fiercest man in the Mammoth State, the "Great Moon King" Shawa—he had undeniably broken ground. In retirement, he did not idle away his time. Instead, he used his pension to establish the Mammoth State Army Academy, cultivating political and military talent for the Mammoth State that pledged loyalty to the nation rather than to a monarch. Relying solely on his pension was obviously insufficient to found such an institution. He was no Mr. Rat, who possessed extraordinary personal charisma and brilliance while catching the early train of history. Yet just when he was in financial straits, he suddenly received a massive donation, allowing the academy to be established in astonishing fashion. Some said the donation was actually wealth he had looted from Brahma Province; others claimed the money came from other Wilantes who felt guilt toward the Brahma people; still others went so far as to claim that the gangs in Port Golden Gallon had more cash than they knew what to do with, or that the "Great Moon King" Shawa had so much money he was looking to cause himself trouble. Whatever the case, the flame that had once been extinguished seemed to flicker to life once more. This time, perhaps they could kindle their own light. Without having to rely on the power of the Alliance, or anyone else... *** Meanwhile, in Tiandu City. Outside the city, corpses of the starved littered the wilderness, and even the red soil had been stripped bare, while inside the Grand Theater, carriages and horses bustled in festive celebration. To commemorate the victory of the northern expedition, a circus performance was underway in the Grand Theater. This circus was said to have come from Silver Moon Bay, having even performed at the Alliance's Victory Day celebrations. Bringing them to Tiandu was now considered part of the Alliance's congratulations for Tiandu's longevity. Zayed sat in the viewing seats, a Rick 5 dangling from his mouth, puffing away contentedly with half-closed eyes, looking utterly delighted. Lately, Sava had contracted some unknown ailment, claiming an allergy to nicotine—or so he professed. Normally it was manageable at a distance, but sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, no matter how yielding his posture, he was choked into tears, coughing incessantly from the smoke. Seeing his sickly state, Zayed grew all the more spirited, puffing with theatrical flair and blowing smoke rings amid the lavish praise of his entourage. Glancing at Sava's languid expression, he chuckled teasingly. "Sava, what do you think of that clown?" On the stage, the clown was wrestling with a tiger—not a real fight, of course, but a tumbling routine. Sava froze, unsure of what his godfather meant, but offered a fawning smile nonetheless. "I think... that clown is indeed rather ugly." It was a completely vacuous, circular remark, and the safest answer he could muster. Yet to his surprise, despite such an offhand comment, his godfather still seized upon it. Zayed's brow furrowed. He took the Rick 5 from his mouth and delivered his verdict without missing a beat. "How could you say that? That clown, to my eyes, isn't ugly at all. Painting oneself to bring joy to others—how can that be considered ugly? Not only is it not ugly, it is great virtue! The utmost virtue!" Sava was dumbfounded. *That works too?!* Meanwhile, the surrounding crowd burst into enthusiastic applause, clapping until their palms turned bright red. "The Patriarch's wisdom is profound!" "It makes complete sense!" "As the saying goes... 'With dust as a mask and feeding one's body to the tiger, all to bring smiles to the mortal realm!'" "Bravo!" "Noble righteousness!" Waves of cheers rose higher and higher. The clown on stage assumed the applause was for him and put even more vigor into his performance, unaware that the real spectacle was the audience below. The editor-in-chief of *Survivor Daily* had already settled on tomorrow's front-page headline: *The Clown Is Not Ugly*. Meanwhile, the uncultured brute Pickley found it utterly brilliant, clapping with wild delight, laughing uncontrollably like a monkey that had just been teased by the clown. Only Education Commissioner Kabaha showed little interest. Crossing his arms over his chest, he sat out of place, glaring coldly and even sneering to himself. "I mocked Absaik for groveling to a cat while acting arrogant toward men; looking at it now, I laughed too soon." Never mind. He had judged poorly. Having been rebuffed, Sava wore an apologetic look, though he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Taking a scolding was far better than losing his life; at worst, he would return and write a profound self-criticism. Just then, someone asked aloud: "By the way, why didn't Gopal come?" Another voice answered immediately. "He fell ill, so he couldn't make it." "Ill? Seems to me his spirit has grown slack, grown tired and weary of our family's cause. He has no desire to watch the circus of the new era, shutting his doors instead to play beast-chess from the Rowell era. Heh." Zayed flicked the ash from his Rick 5. That closing "heh" was delivered lightly, yet it struck terror into the hearts of the gathered "family members." These were men who wouldn't bat an eye at killing, yet none could compare to this man. Everyone began weighing the gravity of those words, while the instigator chatted and laughed about other matters, as if he had merely touched on the subject in passing. Yet it was anything but passing. The moment the circus ended, impeccably dressed men swarmed onto the stage, hoisting the actor who played the clown into the air as a hero, then seized clubs, blades, and spears to charge the clawing, roaring tiger. The cultists from Silver Moon Bay had never witnessed such madness. Terrified out of their wits, they begged the crowd to spare their friend, screaming at them that it was merely an act, yet not a single person halted. The tiger, which had never tasted human flesh in its life, was beaten to death by the mob of upright apes and stripped of its pelt. The people sang of victory, cheering the Mahatma's wisdom. Later, of course, the theater paid the circus a hefty sum of compensation in silver coins and politely escorted them out of Tiandu; after all, they were not Brahma folk, but wastelanders from beyond. Yet the story did not end there. The gathered crowd did not disperse. Instead, they clamored toward Gopal's residence to demand an explanation. A burly man took the lead, shouting to the impassioned crowd: "Gopal says he's ill, but the Mahatma says he's not! Let's go see whether his illness is real or fake, shall we?!" "Yeah!" "What's there to fear if he's truly sick!" "Exactly! We're just paying him a sick call!" A vast, black sea of people surged toward Gopal's residence, their momentum swelling until the crowd numbered tens of thousands at least. Having taken a few kicks to the rear in the chaos, Sava sat shivering in terror outside the theater doors, not daring to speak. He had anticipated that his godfather might move against Gopal first, but he had never imagined it would happen so swiftly and abruptly. Grove was on his way back from the front line—did the master give no thought to what Grove might think? Wait— Suddenly, he caught sight of General Pickley, flushed red and shouting cheers in high excitement. That man was a former loyalist of Absaik. By rights, he should have been viewed with suspicion and denied any promotion. Yet looking at it from another angle, to Zayed, he was perhaps the safest pawn of all... Because he could be eliminated at any moment, regardless of how high his station rose. Recalling that Pickley had sat near Zayed during the performance, separated by only a single chair, Sava's mind buzzed with sudden clarity, and his face drained of color. "Iron General" Grove was in grave peril! Cold sweat broke out across his entire body. He had planned to use Grove as his final trump card once Gopal fell, yet he had never imagined Grove's departure from the board would come so early—so early that there was no time to put him to use. His own schemes had only just begun, yet the pieces on the board were already being swept away! Only now did he realize just how terrifying that Mahatma truly was, but it was already too late... *** Thick, dark clouds hung over Brahma Province; the rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning, seemed as though it would never cease. The Coalition soldier who had sat beneath the withered tree and hurled away the cigarette pack could likely never have imagined that someone would pick it up again—and pick it up time after time, inventing brand-new tricks no one had ever seen before. This habit, it seemed, could never be kicked. While Brahma Province was battered by storm winds, Port Golden Gallon found it difficult to remain aloof. The troops stationed outside the city kept the Fierce Tiger Army and the Black Panther Army in check, yet they could not soothe the restless emotions and fraying nerves of the settlement's inhabitants. It was as though everything had reverted to the days before Wutuo's death. The hot blood of the spirited populace gradually chilled; no longer did they envision what the future might look like. Such notions were far too insubstantial. Making money was far more real. With money, where couldn't one go? What couldn't one achieve? What couldn't one buy? The pragmatists of this port ultimately took that final step, planting both feet into the void. Yet for them, this was not necessarily a bad outcome—at least so many people no longer had to die. When they stopped daydreaming about the shape of utopia, stopped sponsoring impractical causes, and instead competed over whose pockets held more silver coins, the high-rises of Port Golden Gallon doubled in number, the narrow streets widened considerably, and the bicycles speeding through the avenues sprouted two extra wheels, racing along at ever greater speeds! Those who grew rich first climbed into automobiles, while the poor saw hundreds of buses added alongside the subway, mirroring the transformations once experienced by the survivors of Dawn City. It wasn't merely transportation. Cybernetics from across the wasteland also flowed into the port, gradually appearing in streets and alleys. There were also immigrants from the Free States. Tired of the endless street skirmishes and unable to endure the monotonous, tranquil leisure of Dawn City, they carried their accumulated fortunes across the sea to this place, seeking to find their own piece among the shattered spiritual remnants of the locals. Flashing neon suddenly bathed the pigeonhole-like streets and alleys, lending this weather-beaten ancient city an unexpected cybernetic sheen. This was likely something Rowell had never foreseen. From a biological research institute buried beneath ice and snow to a cyberpunk metropolis bristling with high-rises. The leap was truly immense... "Extra! Extra! According to an anonymous researcher, Dragon Lizard dung from Baiyue Province has aphrodisiac properties!" "Holy crap?!" "For real?" The bustling port district hummed with noise, newsstands crowded with neighborhood residents from nearby lanes. At the pier, a cargo submarine slowly pulled alongside. A green-skinned girl hopped onto the dock with wide, curious eyes, crying out in wonder: "So many people! Look!" Gazing at the bustling crowd and the buildings not far away, Han Mingyue's expression carried a hint of nostalgia. "This place has changed quite a bit." "Yeah." Ye Shi couldn't help sighing with emotion as well, his thoughts drifting back to a long, long time ago, remembering what it looked like when he first set foot on this dock... Just then, the chime of bells in the distance pulled his thoughts from the past back to the present. At that very moment, Dora craned her neck inquisitively, gazing into the distant sky. "What are those?" Hot air balloons floated in the sky, silhouetted against the evening glow like drifting dandelions. It was Ye Shi's first time seeing such a spectacle here as well, though he didn't make much of it; after all, such things were nothing unusual whether in the Alliance or the real world. "Probably sightseeing balloons, looks like they're over by the Everflowing River... We can go check them out together in a bit," he said accommodatingly, seeing Dora's expectant look. At that moment, Han Mingyue chimed in. "Before that, would you mind sparing a bit of your time? I'd like to take Ms. Dora to Camp Rowell... Though it's an imposing request, I was hoping she could use her psionics to help me examine a few things." The Alliance had been excavating those ruins, unearthing quite a few intriguing artifacts. However, because later occupants had renovated the ruins multiple times, General Rowell's personal relics were almost entirely lost. She wanted to see if psionics could uncover anything. Ye Shi cast an inquiring glance at Dora, who nodded immediately, saying earnestly: "I can help you." A bright smile appeared on Han Mingyue's face. "Wonderful! If we can find General Rowell's personal journal, we'll be able to complete the final piece of the puzzle... Thank you!" With an embarrassed smile, Dora nodded gently. "You're welcome. We are friends; it's what I should do." Her capacity for learning was truly remarkable. Things she had only learned a few days ago were already being put into practice. While the group chatted and laughed, several black sedans pulled up before the dock. As the car doors swung open, Mayor Yodu of Port Golden Gallon stepped out, walking toward them surrounded by municipal officials and bodyguards. Unlike at Port French Fries, here on the territory of the Alliance's partner, this semi-official, semi-private visiting delegation received hospitality far exceeding standard protocol. "Welcome to Port Golden Gallon!" Looking at the guests before him from the Alliance and Alpha Centauri, Yodu wore a radiant smile. "On behalf of the residents of Port Golden Gallon and the entire City Hall, I welcome your arrival!"