This Is Our Victory!

Dusk gradually settled over the land. Outside Fort Horn, across the boundless wilderness, soldiers of the Lion Kingdom crouching in their trenches were chewing on dry rations when they suddenly spotted a white flag rising over a distant bunker. At first, the soldiers thought their eyes were playing tricks on them. Only when they realized the enemy positions across from them were completely deserted did more and more men catch on. An old veteran immediately shoved his half-eaten ration back into his pocket and jogged to the rear of the trench to report to his centurion. "Report! Fort Horn has raised a white flag!" "A white flag?!" The centurion was stunned. Grabbing his binoculars, he dashed straight to the front line to verify it himself and saw that it was indeed an unmistakable white flag. Unsure whether this was an enemy trap, the centurion dared not delay and immediately reported the news up the chain of command. Passed from rank to rank, the report swiftly reached the Skeleton Corps. Arriving at the front line with twenty tanks, Mole raised his binoculars and peered toward the distant fortifications. He had learned of Griffin's death from Battlefield Guy half an hour ago, so the white flag over the fortress came as no surprise at all. Far away in Falcon City, the Administrator had already reached an agreement with the governor dispatched by the Legion. The Legion would renounce its claims to Bister Town. In exchange, the Alliance would quietly permit the more than fifty thousand "virtual prisoners" inside Fort Horn to lay down their arms and make a dignified exit from the military fortress, heading to the river dike at the northernmost edge of Oasis 2 to await the ceasefire agreement's implementation. Lowering his binoculars, Mole turned to the Lion Kingdom soldier standing beside him. "...Have your 17th Chiliad stationed north of Fort Horn pull back and let these defeated dogs leave." "Yes, sir!" The messenger saluted and quickly jogged off toward the communications post. Although the Lion Kingdom's army was nominally under Prince Winter's command, Alliance Army Command was practically directing it in coordinated operations. Even their radios had been provided by the Alliance. The accompanying chiliarch glanced at Mole standing in the tank's turret and asked in bewilderment, "Why don't we seize the chance to wipe them out completely?" Mole Escaping the Canyon replied offhandedly, "Griffin is dead." The chiliarch froze. His information channels hadn't picked up a whisper of that. "...Then isn't this a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?" "War is a means, not an end," Mole squinted into the distance, casually playing the cool philosopher. "This war is already over. You'll be going home soon." Several Lion Kingdom officers exchanged glances. They had followed the Alliance's forces, chasing the Legion and the Falcon Kingdom all the way to this spot a thousand kilometers away. Yet aside from rounding up prisoners along the march, quite a few of them hadn't even had the chance to lay eyes on an enemy soldier holding a rifle. Thinking carefully back over the past month or two, almost every single offensive campaign had been completely wrapped up by the Alliance's Skeleton Corps and Storm Corps. All along the way, all the Lion Kingdom soldiers had done was carry water, serve tea, deliver supplies, dig trenches, reinforce lines, and clean up battlefields—and then, out of nowhere, the other side had just surrendered. Wasn't this war a bit too easy to fight? Being running dogs for the Alliance was astonishingly comfortable—far beyond anything these vassal-state officers had ever imagined. Mole turned to look at the other players craning their necks curiously to peer ahead, shouting in Mandarin, "Brothers, take turns logging off to eat! Anyone free later, get back online!" A newbie trailing behind the tank yawned and asked, "Is there an event tonight?" "Didn't the other side surrender already?" "That's where you're missing the point. The Legion is in such a hurry to flee, there's no way they can haul off all their supplies, right?" Mole chuckled slyly. "The agreement the Administrator negotiated only says we let them leave. It doesn't specify when we withdraw, nor does it say we can't poke around their house before pulling back." The ceasefire agreement would probably take a couple of days to hammer out, right? They probably wouldn't salvage many supplies or ammunition, and most of the pots and pans had been blown to pieces by Brother Mosquito, but surely they could cart away the weapons, mixed-caliber artillery, and antiaircraft guns left behind? And those spherical armored turrets were forged from pure armor steel. The Alliance had ships to build on the Tianshui and massive production lines to launch in Xizhou City. Countless projects needed alloy, and selling it as scrap metal alone would fetch a pretty penny. As for transporting it back, there was no need to worry. The entire Lion Kingdom army was basically being used by the Alliance as logistical labor. With tens of thousands of men helping out, moving things bit by bit like ants, they could strip the place clean! The rookies around him were dumbfounded. "Holy crap?! You can do that?" "Bro, that is utterly shameless!" "What did you expect?" Seeing the stunned newbies, Elaina teased with a laugh. "How do you think our tanks and big guns were cobbled together in the first place?" Sitting in the driver's seat, Elven King Fugui gave a sly grin. "I'll head back and drive a cargo truck over!" Armored trucks loaded with heavy machine guns and ammunition couldn't haul much cargo; scrounging for salvage certainly wasn't as efficient without dedicated transport trucks. Mole waved a broad hand. "Don't just bring trucks—bring the Lion Kingdom boys along too! Tell them not to bother carrying rifles; they can just pick them up off the Legion's positions!" Elven King Fugui grinned. "You got it!" *** Fort Horn. Less than two hours after Griffin's death, the fortress spanning several square kilometers was completely abandoned. Under the orders of the acting commander, General Alec, an army of fifty thousand laid down their arms and retreated along the corridor designated by the Alliance toward the northern river dike. Over fifty thousand clone soldiers would be left behind. Hauling men with lifespans of only a few years back home wasn't economical anyway; they were better off helping the Governor with construction, and once dead, they could serve as fertilizer—making the most of every last scrap. Several hundred Wilante officers and more than a thousand noncommissioned officers would board airships back to Triumph City once the ceasefire agreement took effect. Hearing that they could finally go home, joy washed over nearly every exhausted face. Back then, answering the call of Griffin and the Eastern Expansion faction officers, they had traveled tens of thousands of kilometers to the east seeking treasure, glory, and adventure. Only after arriving did they realize this place was nothing like the gold-paved playground they had envisioned. As for the non-Wilante officers and NCOs—such as retainers promoted to regular billets under exceptional circumstances—they were free to choose whether to stay or go. Those who chose to stay would receive severance pay ranging from one thousand to fifty thousand dinars according to rank, as was customary. However, the vast majority chose to head for Triumph City. Although Wilante society was rife with xenophobia, it was far less extreme in Triumph City itself. Take slaves, whose status was even lower than outlanders: only in Triumph City were laws prohibiting the arbitrary execution of slaves and protecting their basic health and rights strictly enforced. Violators faced massive fines, and serious offenses could even lead to criminal prosecution. Out in the distant frontier or upon the estates of aristocratic lords, the treatment of slaves was hardly better than that of cattle and sheep. Most governors and magistrates turned a blind eye to the survival of outlanders. Taking severance pay to retire and stay locally—heaven only knew what the future would hold. Moreover, after clashing with the Alliance's wolfish army, nearly every soldier and officer carried psychological scars. All they wanted was to escape this godforsaken place. However... Not everyone was in such a rush to depart. At the central bunker entrance of Fort Horn, a Wilante soldier posted in the observation post peered southward, then ducked low and slipped into the adjacent bunker. They were Griffin's personal guards. During the earlier withdrawal, General Alec had ordered them to pull out, but their captain, Karlov, had refused to obey the acting commander's order. Consequently, every one of them had remained behind. Jogging up to Karlov, the soldier reported with a tense expression, "Sir, the Alliance has arrived." Karlov nodded. Expressionless, he stepped out of the bunker and navigated the narrow concrete trench up to the observation post above. The south gate had been blasted open. A few soldiers dragged the roadblocks aside, and truck after truck rolled into Fort Horn in the distance. Before the trucks had even come to a full stop, excited Lion Kingdom soldiers leaped down. At their officers' beckoning, they rushed toward the nearby barracks and defensive sectors, eager to loot whatever spoils the Wilante hadn't had time to haul away. Karlov watched in silence as distant tents were torn down and looted goods were piled haphazardly onto trucks. Fully laden trucks drove off, and empty ones returned, his heart completely undisturbed. Those men were like hyenas picking at a dead lion... The soldier beside him took a deep breath and looked toward Karlov. "Sir, should we..." Karlov stared coldly at the scene. "Ignore them." Even if they wanted to intervene, they couldn't. There were only a few hundred of them left, critically short of ammunition. They couldn't even hold their own on an open battlefield, let alone besieged inside a bunker. The war was over. His only goal was to safeguard Griffin's remains... While Karlov watched the looting soldiers, they quickly noticed him standing in the observation post. A newbie jogged over to Mole's side to report, "Boss! There are a few Wilante up ahead!" *They didn't leave?* Mole raised an eyebrow. "Lead the way." "Right away!" Following the player forward, Mole looked at the Wilante standing inside the observation post and introduced himself concisely, "Mole, Corps Commander of the Skeleton Corps." Karlov spoke slowly, "Karlov, personal guard to General Griffin." "Why didn't you leave?" Mole glanced at the tightly shut bunker door, asking with a half-smile, "Or is there some treasure hidden inside?" Karlov remained silent for a moment before deciding to tell the truth. "General Alec took all the documents, and everything that couldn't be carried was burned... There is nothing inside except my late commander's remains. We are under orders to see him off on his final journey." "Oh." Mole lost interest. Thinking about it, it made sense. There had been plenty of time to carry away anything genuinely vital. So long as that acting commander wasn't an idiot, he never would have left important items behind in the bunker. As for Griffin's corpse... The survivors of the Sunset Province might have wanted to drag the man out and whip his dead body, but Mole wasn't a survivor of the province; he was just a player. He felt no deep personal resonance with the hardships wrought by the war, and he had even less interest in a corpse. Yet out of curiosity, he still asked offhandedly, "Oh, how did he die?" "A stroke." "Tch, fine if you don't want to say," Mole shrugged, grinning. "By the way, everything here belongs to us now. No objections, right?" Karlov gave a silent nod. "No objections." Disposing of spoils, dictating the fate of the defeated, and offering mercy or leniency were the prerogatives of the victor. They were merely exercising their rights. Mole stared at the closed iron door for a few moments, feeling a twinge of regret in his heart. During the Alliance's initial military campaign in the Sunset Province, command had deployed the *Heart of Steel* toward the City of Abundance while dispatching the Skeleton Corps toward Lost Valley. At that critical juncture, Griffin had predicted that the Alliance had acquired his intelligence and turned the tables, massing all his armored forces in advance along the eastern side of Lost Valley to lay an ambush. Even looking back now, Mole couldn't help but admire the man. The guy had been an absolute genius. His Skeleton Corps had been caught completely flat-footed back then. If not for various variables outside the battlefield, and if not for the No. 60 Railgun provided by the Enterprise, that man's plan might very well have succeeded. Going back even earlier, had Comrade Pangolin not gathered crucial intelligence while passing through Camp 530, the Lion Kingdom might not have held out long enough for the Alliance to complete its war preparations. And even when his plans repeatedly fell short of expectations, Griffin had continually made timely remedies right up until his dying breath. Even setting aside the old debts of the Bone Chewer tribe, the Alliance had come within an inch of being crushed by this boss on at least two occasions. Tearing his gaze from the iron door, Mole looked back at Karlov in the observation post. "Destruction of war aside, your commander was an impressive opponent... I'm glad he's dead, and I'm equally sorry he didn't fall by our hands." Karlov's expression stirred faintly. His throat bobbed, but he said nothing. He merely gave a silent nod of acknowledgment, then turned and walked back into the bunker. *** At the same time, in Falcon City. Sitting in a chamber of the castle, Cohen finally received a call from acting commander General Alec after a long wait. "...We've reached Far West City. Dammit, this godforsaken place is dirt poor." Alec's voice carried a hint of relief. Though he had only been commander for a few days, it had given him a taste of commanding tens of thousands of troops. When he was under Griffin, he had been nothing more than an errand boy, constantly caught between disgruntled subordinates and his superior's demands. Those days were finally over. "Did everyone pull out?" "Everyone... except Griffin's personal guard. They insisted on staying. I couldn't dissuade them, so I let them be." Cohen nodded. Griffin's diehards were none of his concern. If they insisted on courting death, let them. "You'll have to stay there for a while. Once the ceasefire takes effect, Captain Adria will bring you home." Alec chuckled. "Splendid." With that, both sides fell silent, each seemingly expecting the other to have more to say and waiting for the other to speak first. Yet the silence did not last long. Seeing that the Governor remained quiet, Alec took the initiative to ask, "Sir... did we lose?" Cohen answered succinctly, "The ceasefire negotiations do not cover that question. You will carry victory back to Triumph City." Both sides would claim victory. It was an explanation meant for their own people. Hearing the answer he wanted, Alec breathed a sigh of relief. "Understood." Just as he and the myriarchs had deduced, the Legion could never surrender to the Enterprise, let alone the Alliance. Nor was the Enterprise naive enough to believe that a single victory meant the East Coast's military might had surpassed the West Coast's. As for those reckless wastelanders, they probably just wanted to squeeze out some perks while they had the chance. Laughably naive as it was, any problem that could be settled with material payoffs was no problem at all. There was no need to quibble over petty crumbs. If those barbarians wanted them, let them take them. Within his authority, Cohen had also made whatever concessions he could—such as turning a blind eye to the Alliance plundering the vassal states, diverting the supplies originally earmarked for Griffin to them, and tacitly accepting their occupation of Bister Town... In exchange, the Alliance would return a cohort of captives, including Generals MacLaren and Soft, and permit the defenders of Fort Horn to lay down their weapons and make a dignified withdrawal from their positions. The rescued prisoners, the liberated officers, and the various factions back in Triumph City would all be grateful to him. Not only had he preserved their strength, but he had also secured for them a "victory" they had failed to achieve on the battlefield. They would thank him. This would become a massive political asset. "Right, Governor, sir," Alec added over the line, suddenly remembering something. Cohen replied casually, "Is there anything else?" Alec hesitated before reporting honestly, "We didn't secure Griffin's body... His cause of death is somewhat suspicious." Cohen dismissed it carelessly. "Let it be. Whoever wants to collect his corpse can go do it; it doesn't matter." He had already warned Joseph not to expect to save that man, but he hadn't anticipated Griffin would actually turn up dead. Still, such an ending wasn't bad. A mere three-star myriarch daring to hold all of Triumph City hostage—these officers who had clawed their way up from the bottom truly had wild ideas. Was this what they meant by the barefoot not fearing those with shoes? Had he lived, there certainly would have been no good end awaiting him upon his return. Dying out in the field, he might even be remembered as a tragic hero. Perhaps it was guidance from the Eastern Legion Commander. Cohen chuckled and shook his head, hanging up the phone as if brushing aside a tedious trifle. *** The following day. The council chamber of Falcon City's castle was packed with people. Just days ago, the place had been quiet and deserted, with each side sending only a handful of delegates and even fewer speaking up. Now, the once-spacious long conference table suddenly felt cramped. First was the Legion. Aside from the Triumph City-appointed Governor, Five-Star Myriarch Cohen, newly appointed Commander-in-Chief Joseph, Captain Adria of the *Arbiter*, and virtually every officer of myriarch rank or above who hadn't been captured attended the meeting. As for the Enterprise, besides Deputy Minister Wu of the General Management Department, a large contingent of his subordinates and dispatched employees from the Big Five corporations had arrived. These included Yi Chuan of the Silverwing Group, Yun You of the Endpoint Group, Wu Mu of the Changge Group, Li Changkong of the Ideal Group, and two bionics from the Kangmao Group. Beyond these prominent figures, Chu Guang also spotted several reporters from Ideal City. Among them was the familiar *Zhiyuan Daily*, along with other media outlets he had vague memories of, recognizing the logos on their equipment from past interviews around Dawn City. Considering the historical significance of this ceasefire negotiation and the fact that photographs and footage would be broadcast repeatedly, Chu Guang had been mindful of his expressions from the moment he entered the chamber. And just as he expected, from the moment he stepped in, virtually every lens snapped onto him. "The Administrator of Shelter 404 and the Alliance!" the reporter from *Futurism Daily* whispered in an excited tone. "I heard he's from the pre-war era." "Where did you hear that?" The reporter from the Omniscient Broadcasting Corporation shot her a startled look. "During interviews in Dawn City!" "But he looks like he's only in his twenties." "So what? Aren't vault administrators all frozen popsicles preserved from back then? For all we know, he's an old monster who's lived for over two hundred years!" The reporters from Ideal City chattered incessantly. Though not out of place in such a noisy setting, it still irritated Li Ke, who was seated at the conference table. Especially when those reporters attempted to interview him. Fortunately, there were no such nuisances in the Wandering Marsh; otherwise, the place might have been doomed long ago... Those snooping busybodies were harder to guard against than mutant crocodiles in the wetlands. And then there were several Alliance soldiers whose stares gave him a weird feeling... How could he describe it? It was like the natives of the Golden Lizard Kingdom laying eyes on gold coins. Watching Chu Guang sit down beside him, Li Ke leaned his head over and asked in a low voice, "...Why are there suddenly so many people?" "It is a historic moment, after all. Isn't it natural for people to want to squeeze in for a photo?" Chu Guang smiled, then politely added, worried his northern friend might misunderstand, "Of course, I'm referring to the reporters." Li Ke cleared his throat. "You didn't need to emphasize that—" "Quiet, please. Settle down, everyone." At that moment, Enterprise representative Wu Changnian, having finally finished signing his name, clapped his hands to signal the chattering reporters and Falcon Kingdom nobles to be quiet. Once the council chamber quieted down somewhat, he spoke in a steady, measured voice. "I thank all parties for their support and cooperation. Today's peace would not have been possible without your efforts." "A treaty that has endured for a century and a half shall continue. This dying world needs no more wars. In the face of existential crisis, we ought to join hands to confront our shared threats and explore a common future..." He spoke for about ten minutes. Only when he saw the Legion delegates yawning did Wu Changnian wrap up his remarks, handing the three signed agreements to an aide beside him, who passed them to the Wilante officer standing by the table. "So much pointless drivel." Cohen twitched the corner of his mouth, picked up a fountain pen, scribbled his signature across all three copies, and gave them a forward shove, sliding them across the table directly in front of Chu Guang. The terms of the agreement had already been verified repeatedly. The final signing was merely going through the motions. Cohen only wanted to get this tedious ceremony over with, cut through the mess left behind by the previous commander-in-chief, and retake control of the Falcon Kingdom from the Alliance. After all... Even if they hadn't nominally lost the war, the contents of the treaty were hardly flattering to the Legion. Most of the Alliance's "tangible benefits" lay outside this sheet of paper, so Chu Guang gave the document only a cursory glance. Aside from various clauses governing garrison limits and mutual troop withdrawals, only three points on this black-and-white paper truly mattered to the Alliance. First, the Legion and the Falcon Kingdom accepted an unconditional ceasefire. Second, the *Heart of Steel*, formerly belonging to the Legion, and Bister Town would belong to the Alliance under the principle of maintaining the status quo. And third, the matter regarding Shelter 0. The Legion, the Enterprise, and the Alliance would each dispatch one or two representatives to investigate, while the Academy, acting as an observer, would also assign a technical specialist to assist. After confirming the terms were accurate, Chu Guang signed his name at the bottom of the ceasefire agreement under the watchful eyes of every attendee. Custom dictated that he say a few words on such a momentous occasion. Yet he was not one for long-winded speeches. Setting down his pen, Chu Guang looked toward Lao Bai, Brother Edge, Commander Spring, and the gathered players standing nearby, nodding with a slight smile. "It is an honor to witness this moment alongside all of you." "This victory belongs to us!"