To Beat a Charlatan, Play an Even Bigger Charlatan

"Forward!" "We are the invincible spearhead of the Alliance!" "We are the steel torrent sweeping away all before us!" "We stand ready to offer our hearts, prepared at any moment to lay down our lives for the ideals of His Excellency the Administrator!" "Advance on the airfield!" Engines roared as the Skeleton Corps on their trucks surged forward alongside the howling yellow sands. Half of Brother Mole's torso poked out from the desert-camo steel turret. Binoculars in hand, he gazed high-spiritedly across the rolling yellow horizon, hollering his excitement at the top of his raspy, drake-like voice. Even if the turret was baked hot enough to fry an egg, and even if standing tall above everyone else gave him a mouthful of sand, the guy was so hyped up he refused to climb down. The other three crew members sat on the flatbed truck towing the tank, lethargically chatting among themselves, not giving a damn about Brother Mole's adrenaline-fueled speech. Having played together for so long, they were well used to his performance art; he would quiet down after a bit anyway. "The 155 has way too little ammo. Why didn't they go with a 120?" "No production line for 120mm barrels, obviously, so they just slapped on the 155s." "Holy crap, that works?" "Haha, look at you looking like a total newbie." "It's way too hot. Sweating like this is annoying as hell. We really should install an air conditioner in the tank." Hearing his buddies' soft remarks, Brother Mole lowered his binoculars and glared at them in dissatisfaction. "What kind of nonsense is that? Way too soft! We'd be better off packing two extra shells!" The crew: "..." Insane. The guy had completely lost his marbles. Thirty-five tanks were carried individually by thirty-five trucks. These twelve-wheeled heavy trucks were the latest product completed by the Alliance with the assistance of the Silverwing Group—the "Electric Ox." Its hauling capacity was several times that of the Electric Mule, boasting a maximum payload of eighty tons, and it was primarily used for transporting heavy equipment. As for the Skeleton Corps' valiant "armored grenadiers," most of them rode atop four-wheeled "Electric Mules." A cross-country march of over seven hundred kilometers naturally could not be done driving the tanks themselves. Back then, the T-34's four-hundred-kilometer raid had been considered a miracle in military history. Most tanks had an operating service life of around five hundred kilometers between major overhauls; exceed that figure, and the engine and suspension would need extensive repairs. Therefore, relying on road or rail transport and only deploying upon arrival at the destination was standard practice. Although the No. 2 tank incorporated futuristic materials, the Alliance's industrial technology remained relatively crude, and its mechanical reliability was nothing extraordinary. If they really tried to drive it cross-country for seven hundred kilometers, they would probably end up pushing the tanks by hand before ever reaching their objective. Entering the desert from the south, the Skeleton Corps would advance along the edge of the dust storm, relying on the rust-laced grit to mask them from potential high-altitude reconnaissance and electromagnetic sweeps. Elsewhere, standing on one of the heavy trucks, Elaina hummed a little tune while frying an egg he had scavenged right on the tank's engine cover, not minding in the least that the Spirit of the Sand Sea sprinkled a little seasoning on it from time to time. Squatting by the truck's railing, Elven King Fugui kept his eyes glued to the map, trying to determine their current position in a desert practically devoid of landmarks. "Where are we now?" Elaina asked offhandedly. Elven King Fugui shook his head. "No idea. No GPS... God knows where we've driven." Scooping the fried egg onto a metal plate, Elaina shot him a comical look. "Just don't drive straight into the Legion's backyard." Elven King Fugui folded his map and rolled his eyes. "All right, all right, shut your jinxing mouth." "Fine, fine... By the way, want a fried egg?" It really did smell appetizing. Even if the origin of the ingredient was a bit odd, Old Na's cooking skills were beyond question; the monster steaks wildly popular on Dawn City North Street had been cooked up by him and Brother Scrambled Eggs. However, Fugui did not take the bait immediately. He swallowed his saliva and regarded him warily. "...Are you sure this is just a bird egg?" With a subtle shift of his gaze, Elaina scratched his head. "I can guarantee it's an egg." Elven King Fugui: "..." *** Meanwhile, in Petra Fortress. A sign reading "Temporarily Closed" hung at the entrance to the White Bear Knights' quarters, yet the warehouse was far from empty at that moment. In fact, it was quite crowded. Leading the group was Sai'en, Castellan of Petra Fortress. Behind him stood castle guards, generals overseeing the city's defenses, nobles in lavish attire, white-robed priests, and more. Compared to the Skeleton Corps' dry and monotonous journey, the experience of the White Bear Knights players was far more thrilling. Seeing virtually all the city's dignitaries gathered here, Old Buma felt his calves turn weak and his heart ready to give out. Still, seeing the young lady who had been hauled away by the guards return safe and sound brought a slight sigh of relief to his chest. He had spent the past few days trying every possible way to inquire about her whereabouts. Yet far from uncovering what offense she had committed, he had failed to catch even the faintest whisper of where she had been taken. Regardless of anything else. It was good that she was back. Surrounded in the center of the crowd, Sesame Paste wore a fidgety, uneasy expression, completely at a loss for what to do with her hands. Standing beside her, Sisi calmly looked out over everyone in the hall and spoke slowly. "She is the divine emissary I spoke of." With that, she gently lifted the hat from atop Sesame Paste's head. When the twitching cat ears were revealed, nearly everyone wore an expression of astonishment, some even letting out gasps. The only exceptions were the rest of the White Bear Knights and Old Buma standing in the corner. Perhaps because he had seen them quite a bit, he was already used to the extraordinary ears atop that young lady's head. Yet when he heard the words "divine emissary," a look of utter bewilderment crossed his face. A... divine emissary?! What in the world was going on?! *** Old Buma could hardly be blamed for his shock. After all, he could not access the forums, and the players naturally never looped him in when coordinating their strategy. Rewind five days. In the court of the Castellan of Petra Fortress. Under the gaze of every merchant and dignitary in the city-state, Sisi had admitted on the spot that the rumors spreading throughout the city were entirely her doing. Whether it was the parts the mercenary leader had concocted himself or the wild rumors spawned through repeated retelling, she shouldered every bit of it in one breath. And she admitted it with righteous conviction. However, the only thing she denied was that they were fabricated lies, insisting steadfastly that they were prophecies bestowed upon her companion in a dream by the Goddess of the Silver Moon. The moment she uttered the words, "It is the will of the gods," an uproar erupted across the court. The white-robed high priest was so furious his nose twitched, loudly denouncing her on the spot as an enchantress who profaned the divine and demanding the guards behead her. Count Roskin, serving as the diplomatic officer, likewise declared the claim utterly preposterous, presenting well-reasoned counterarguments. "...If this truly were divine will, why would the great deity not choose a devout believer, such as our lord castellan, and choose you instead?" He paused, his voice dripping with suspicion. "...A heretic from beyond the oasis. For what possible reason would the great deity have you tell us what to do?" The high priest beside him cut in, boiling with rage. "Precisely! Even if it were the guidance of the Spirit of the Sand Sea and the Goddess of the Silver Moon, why would they seek you out instead of me!" Since dying meant nothing more than respawning, and fighting back gave her a fighting chance, Sisi threw caution to the wind and snapped back without the slightest hesitation. "Shouldn't you be asking that question of yourselves?!" Stunned by her righteous indignation, the hall fell dead silent. Before Count Roskin could recover from his shock, and before the nobles could reorganize their insults, she threw back her head and puffed out her chest, looking as though the gods themselves stood at her side. "You clearly knew those people harbored ill intent, yet you watched with your own eyes as they marched into your home bearing butcher knives! Right beneath your noses, they desecrate your faith and attempt to awaken the evil god sealed away two hundred years ago by the divine! You knew everything, yet you did nothing! Far from standing up to resist, you buried your heads in the sand like ostriches!" Surveying the well-dressed nobles, she rebuked them fiercely. "Why did the Spirit of the Sand Sea find me? Why did they not turn to their 'most devout' believers? Shouldn't you reflect on what you've done to disappoint them so profoundly?!" Her piercing words thoroughly enraged the room. They also stung countless egos. Particularly among the nobles led by Roskin. Most of them were capitulationists, convinced that by offering their loyalty to the Legion, they could not only preserve their wealth and standing, but perhaps even elevate their titles. Just like the nobles of the Falcon Kingdom, where those who surrendered first had largely received bountiful rewards. Yet no matter what sophistry they used to claim that surrendering was for the sake of the oasis's multitude of commoners, it could not disguise the fact that, in spirit, they were already on their knees. The Castellan of Petra Fortress was equally provoked by her words, but seeing Roskin and the rest of the nobles trembling with rage, his anger suddenly abated. Especially when he calmed down and thought about it. What she said... Didn't it actually make sense? If he were the Goddess of the Silver Moon or the Spirit of the Sand Sea and saw how spineless his own followers were, he probably would have figured it was better to reach out to an outsider too. The only shame was that this young woman had no evidence to back her words, offering nothing tangible beyond a silver-tongued defense. In the end, Sai'en could not bring himself to believe her on her word alone. However, ignoring the nobles and priests demanding her execution, he opted for a middle ground, placing her under soft confinement in a windowless, damp, frigid cell in the castle dungeons. That was usually a place reserved for severe felons. Yet that did not mean he intended to torture her. It was a form of protection. And simultaneously, an ordeal. A person's psychological defenses were at their weakest when completely isolated, especially in a cell where not a single sound could be heard. Unless one possessed professional counter-interrogation training, even an entirely innocent person would easily sign a confession out of sheer despair. But if she had genuinely met a deity and possessed such profound conviction in her heart, she surely would not fail such a minor test. After he decreed her transfer to the maximum-security dungeon, the nobles, though indignant, could say no more. The woman, meanwhile, accepted the verdict with utter composure, even while maintaining her plea of innocence. Her unflinching poise left Sai'en second-guessing himself, wondering if he had made a mistake. Still, he had no intention of changing his mind; he would keep her locked up for at least a month. If, after a month, she still insisted it was the will of the gods, he would believe her and apologize. Frustratingly, however, the rumors concerning the Legion and the evil god grew increasingly uncontrollable throughout the city, and the stirrings to the east became ever more unsettling. If he failed to make a decision soon, the very order of Petra Fortress would collapse under the weight of fear before the Legion even arrived. Worse still, if it ultimately turned out that the woman truly carried divine will, or if the events in the prophecy came to pass... How would he, having thrown her into a dungeon, explain himself to His Majesty the King and to the subjects of Petra Fortress? Was he truly going to join those spineless cowards in submitting to the Legion? Sai'en had not realized that the moment he ordered her into the dungeon, he had ensnared himself in a psychological tug-of-war. To believe? Or not to believe? Whichever path he chose would not necessarily yield a disastrous outcome, though each demanded its price. But continuing to waver would undeniably lead to the absolute worst result. Thus, on the morning of the fifth day following that twilight, he finally made up his mind and had the woman escorted from the dark cell to a guest room in the castle. Her continued composure brought Sai'en a measure of comfort. Perhaps she was telling the truth; perhaps his judgment had been correct... Realizing he had thrown an honest, courageous person into a dungeon stirred a flicker of guilt within him. Though he ultimately did not apologize, he quietly instructed the guards to prepare a sumptuous breakfast and fresh clothes for her. Seeing the table laden with delicious food, Sisi, seated before the spread, finally breathed a sigh of relief. Assuming this wasn't her last meal... Then she had won her gamble. "Do you still maintain that you saw the Goddess of the Silver Moon?" Sai'en asked suddenly as he watched the girl eat. "Yes." The affirmative response carried not a shred of hesitation. She had rehearsed it countless times offline, colluding thoroughly with her companions on their cover story. No matter how hard the NPC racked his brain, he could never imagine that she had used those five days to refine the lie, fleshing out the details with the help of everyone on the forum until it was airtight. The reason the Castellan of Petra Fortress hadn't simply executed her was largely because he harbored a desire to resist the Legion deep down. And that was her breakthrough. She needed to produce evidence compelling enough to prove she was telling the truth, and the castellan needed credible proof to convince himself, as well as the persuadable nobles and priests. And all the clues lay inside *Oases Beneath the Zhuobar Mountains* and *Holy Words of the Silver Moon*, which the Academy researcher had recommended. Sisi could not help feeling amazed. To think that the books she had bought out of idle curiosity would end up saving her life. "Where is your proof?" As everyone on the forum had predicted, the NPC before her spoke the exact line. Fully prepared, she answered fluently. "My companions and I are the proof. We shared the exact same dream. In particular, one of my companions witnessed the dream most clearly of all, and... she spoke face-to-face with the Goddess of the Silver Moon regarding the precise details of the prophecy." "Can you tell me which companion?" Sai'en's tone had lost its former harshness, carrying a hint of deference instead. "Of course." Having finished the lavish meal and fruit, Sisi wiped her mouth with a napkin and continued calmly, "However, she is very timid. You must guarantee her safety." Sai'en touched his forefinger to his crown, speaking with utter sincerity. "I swear it upon the Spirit of the Sand Sea and the Goddess of the Silver Moon." Sisi studied him for a moment. "Her name is Sesame Paste." Sai'en blinked, the pronunciation sounding quite strange. "Sesame... Paste?" The corners of her lips curved up, her voice taking on a light, pleasant tone. "Yes. Sounds a lot like a cat's name, doesn't it?" Sai'en nodded blankly. Though none of the cats kept in his castle bore such a name, the pronunciation certainly didn't sound like one an ordinary person would have. Pausing, Sisi continued. "She was a cat who transformed into a human during our travels. I know it sounds incredible, and we were just as astonished by the change, unable to understand what had happened. It wasn't until our knights traveled all the way to Sunset Province that we began unraveling the mystery of her origins piece by piece." Sai'en swallowed hard. "Her origins..." "According to the records in *Holy Words of the Silver Moon*, the Goddess of the Silver Moon adores cats, allowing them to freely enter her bedchamber and attend to her daily needs. The cats beneath Mount Zhuobar proudly accept the offerings of believers precisely because they serve the divine. That was a clue I discovered while researching the relevant texts..." Looking at the stunned castellan, Sisi continued in an unwavering, earnest tone. "We only learned later that her turning into a human was no coincidence, but because she carried a mission entrusted to her by the Goddess of the Silver Moon." "That is also why she met the Goddess of the Silver Moon upon this sunlit land!" *** What followed was the scene unfolding now. Castellan Sai'en had summoned the prominent nobles and temple priests of the city, accompanying her alongside the guards to the White Bear Knights' quarters. When Sisi removed Sesame Paste's hat and proclaimed her identity as a "divine emissary," the hall erupted in an uproar once more. Yet unlike last time, upon seeing the cat ears atop Sesame Paste's head and the way the city's cats naturally flocked to her... Even the most stubborn old priest felt his cloudy eyes glaze over in a daze, momentarily incapable of speaking any words of refutation. From there, things fell smoothly into place. Sisi repeated the words she had spoken to the castellan that morning to the self-proclaimed devout nobles and priests. Then she turned to Old Buma, continuing in an earnest tone. "I apologize for keeping this from you for so long. In truth, our purpose in coming here was not merely to do business, but under the guidance of the Goddess of the Silver Moon." Old Buma's Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes shaking with shock and disbelief. This explanation... He actually found it quite easy to accept. After all, kind people did not lie. After rescuing him from the marauders, they hadn't claimed his cattle and luggage for themselves, but kindly returned everything to him... That truly wasn't something ordinary people would do. Accepting compensation from those one rescued was fully permitted by the teachings of the Spirit of the Sand Sea. "Then... the coins you gave to those poor people were also...?" "It was the will of the Goddess of the Silver Moon." Without blushing, Sisi answered with complete certainty. "The followers of the Spirit of the Sand Sea suffer from hunger upon the land she protects. Rich food and fresh water abound here, yet those who possess them are blinded by greed. Therefore, she beseeched us to save the brothers and sisters you have forsaken." Old Buma's face filled with profound guilt. The Spirit of the Sand Sea had taught them to extend a helping hand to those in suffering, yet he had selectively ignored his own afflicted kin. Even when this kindhearted young lady had proposed helping the poor, he had weighed profits and losses, attempting to dissuade her by arguing that "gold lion coins will soon be worthless." Indeed. His faith was still not devout or pure enough... Standing beside Castellan Sai'en, Count Roskin, the diplomatic officer, wore a look of utter incredulity. Naturally, he did not believe a single word of this woman's nonsense, yet he couldn't formulate a counterargument on the spot. In truth, that was only natural. How could anyone find a flaw on the first hearing of a story crafted by the trolls on the forum over five full days? Even if someone wanted to pick a fight, they would have to listen to it two or three times just to find an angle to nitpick. Seeing the crowd frozen in silence, Rou Rou looked nervously at Tail beside her, lowering her voice to a whisper. "What do these people want to do?" Tail rubbed her chin, knitting her brows in an expression of deep thought. "Maybe... they're considering that thing." Seeing her solemn look, Rou Rou swallowed nervously. "That thing?" "Yeah!" Tail nodded gravely, eyeing Sesame Paste standing at the center of attention and declaring with absolute conviction, "They must be planning to sacrifice Sesame Paste to the evil god sealed in Lost Valley! To buy peace for the oasis!" "Huh?!" Rou Rou gasped softly, hurriedly asking, "H-how did you reach that conclusion?!" If that was true, wouldn't they be in grave danger? At the thought, Rou Rou felt her knees go a little weak. Other mutants were fine. She really couldn't stomach monsters that looked too Lovecraftian. "Eh? Isn't the pairing of catgirls and tentacle monsters common sense?" Tail blinked, shooting Rou Rou a bewildered look, as if baffled by her shock. "That's how all the doujins draw it, right?" "..." The tension Rou Rou had been building up vanished instantly. Speechless, she stepped aside, wearing a face that proclaimed she didn't know this person. Still, thanks to the interruption, she was no longer anxious or afraid. The white-robed priest stepped forward two paces, his gaze fixed intently on the cat ears atop Sesame Paste's head. After staring for a long while, he asked in a trembling voice: "Did you... truly see the Goddess of the Silver Moon?" Though filled with nervous tension, Sesame Paste nodded firmly so as not to waste her companions' efforts. "Yes." Whispers rippled through the crowd. Excitement flickered in the priest's eyes. He extended a trembling hand, but seeing the cat in her arms glaring at him with amber pupils, he hastily checked the rude motion and drew his hand back. Legend had it that the Goddess of the Silver Moon would possess her beloved pets. He could feel the divine watching him. Suppressing the agitation in his chest, the priest's voice took on a reverent tone. "What did you... see in the prophecy?" Facing the sea of unfamiliar stares, Sesame Paste's face was painted with unease. She shot a pleading look at Sisi beside her. *What should I do?* Standing nearby, Sisi returned an encouraging glance. *Just repeat the nonsense I coached you on in the group chat.* *O-okay...* With that brief exchange of looks, courage steadily welled in her eyes. Meeting the gazes—some skeptical, some fervent, some bewildered—Sesame Paste assumed a solemn, holy expression, lowered her eyelids, and spoke softly. "I saw a beam of light." "Light?! And then?!" the priest pressed anxiously. Before the breathless crowd and the eager priest, Sesame Paste continued in a measured cadence. "A light hotter than the scorching sun blossomed across the mortal earth, followed by endless flames consuming the desert... Rivers evaporated, oases were scorched to ash, Mount Zhuobar was turned to a blasted wasteland, and even the snowflakes were tainted with a curse. Hundreds of thousands perished in the cataclysm, while the remaining survivors wailed in the agony of starvation." Her Human Alliance language was mediocre, so she spoke slowly, but her enunciation was crystal clear. That description of the end of the world coincided uncannily with the accounts of the "Twilight of the Gods" found in the Hump Kingdom's scriptures, myths, and nursery rhymes. All of it was recorded in the pages of *Oases Beneath the Zhuobar Mountains*. Yet the priest did not make that connection. None of the nobles present thought in that direction either. While the "cataclysm that felled the God of the Sky" was no secret, not just anyone coming here would bother learning such obscure, everyday-irrelevant details. Even setting aside the identity of a "divine emissary" and the bizarre tale of "a cat turning into a human," how could a young girl visiting the oasis for the first time, who could barely speak the common tongue fluently, describe that "apocalyptic catastrophe" so vividly, matching the obscure scriptures almost word for word? If this was not a prophecy, what was it? Could it truly be a coincidence? "I don't... it's not that I don't believe her." Seeing Castellan Sai'en and the priest both turn toward him, Count Roskin, who had cut in to interrupt the emissary, braced himself and chose his words tactfully. "I believe what she says may well be true, but preventing the prophecy from coming to pass does not necessarily require war. There might be some misunderstanding here. I suggest sending an envoy to speak with the Legion, urging them to leave that cursed place." "They will consider the proposal. After all, it is for their own good as well." People had coveted Lost Valley before. Yet the lingering "curse" had afflicted all of them with terrible sickness. While certain medicines could lift the curse and even heal the damage it caused, not everyone could afford such costly remedies... certainly not enough to supply over ten thousand soldiers. He felt the matter was still open to negotiation. The priest remained silent, his fervent gaze glued entirely to Sesame Paste—or rather, to this divine emissary. He had already accepted her identity. A prophecy of doom was not frightening. If the Goddess of the Silver Moon had foreseen it all, she surely knew how to prevent that tragedy from repeating on this land. Castellan Sai'en, on the other hand, pondered for a couple of seconds, weighing Count Roskin's suggestion. After all, the count did not represent himself alone; behind him stood all the nobles in Petra Fortress who favored submitting to the Legion. "Reasonable. You have a point." Receiving the castellan's affirmation, delight broke across Count Roskin's face. Yet before he could voice his thanks, the castellan turned to the captain of his personal guard, speaking in a hearty voice. "Prepare a camel for our count, assign a squad of cavalry to accompany him, and escort him to Lost Valley to speak with the Legion." Count Roskin's jaw dropped. Staring at the castellan in disbelief and seeing no hint of a joke on his face, terror steadily crept across his features. The guard captain clasped his fists to receive the order. "Yes, my lord!" "M-my lord—" Roskin scrambled to speak, but the deceitful woman standing beside the emissary cut him off. "Let Lord Roskin ride a motorcycle instead," Sisi chimed in swiftly, blinking playfully. "It's over a hundred and fifty kilometers. A motorcycle will get him there much faster!" Castellan Sai'en blinked in surprise, then burst into a hearty laugh, waving a hand briskly. "Well said!" "Granted!"