The glory of victory belongs solely to the victor.
For the defeated, even when granted their dignity, joy was hard to come by.
Compared to Ideal City and Dawn City, Falcon City at dusk felt somewhat desolate.
Though the ceasefire bore the title of the "Treaty of Falcon City," the agreement had nothing to do with the Falcon Kingdom, nor did it take the kingdom's interests into account.
Yet to the nobles here, this wasn't an entirely bad thing.
Supreme Triumph City had intervened in the end. While it hadn't dispatched vast legions to avenge their loss, it had at least spared them the humiliation of surrendering as a conquered nation.
As for Bister Town...
That godforsaken backwater hadn't been within the borders of Oasis 2 to begin with. From the start, it was something General Klaas had forced upon them. If the Alliance wanted it, they were welcome to take it; it wasn't as if the local lords were taking the loss.
Only the commoners of the capital—or more accurately, the young men discharged and sent home—felt righteous fury over such an outcome.
They had fought an unquestionable war and gained nothing except scars and disabilities. Many had lost their property in the process, and some had even lost their closest kin.
In the end, not even the masters riding atop their heads had changed.
The king was still the king, and the Wilantes still held the leash.
Worst of all, those Wilantes hadn't given them a single scrap of compensation...
***
Inside the castle's council chamber.
Having collected the agreements they each found satisfactory, the various delegates had departed. The room belonging to the royal house was finally back in its king's hands.
He was only a few guest rooms away from reclaiming the entire castle.
A group of finely dressed nobles sat around the table. The residual warmth on the chairs made them feel intensely important, as if the noon negotiations had involved them personally.
"So the Alliance ended up relinquishing Oasis 2 after all."
"Looks like it."
"Who knows what kind of impact this will have on the desert's balance of power."
"Can that Citizens' Self-Governance Committee be disbanded now? Those swine spend all day bellowing treason and mingling with those deserters!"
"The Wilantes might help us take care of that trouble."
"Ah... the Wilantes. Let's just hope they don't drag us into another unprepared war."
"The governor they sent this time seems decent enough—feels far better than that idiot Klaas."
Watching the whispering nobles in the council chamber, King Menggote's face showed neither sorrow nor joy.
To him, it was merely changing masters. Whether it was the Legion or the Alliance made little difference.
If anything, the Legion was easier to deal with. At least the Wilantes rarely touched the royal family's slice of the pie, so long as they remained obedient.
Right then, a man with a cold, stern expression strode in with brisk steps.
His hair was withered and his skin coarse. Years of military service had aged what was once a young, handsome face, etching onto it a weathered hardness far beyond his years.
"Your Majesty, the director of the William Industrial Zone has reported to me that the Alliance army stripped the entire zone bare. In particular, almost all the machinery in the Royal Foundry was carted away, and they even took the foundry's engineers and skilled workers—along with their families!"
William's voice dripped with hatred, the words practically forced through gritted teeth.
More than any noble, he understood the vital importance of industry. Those machines reeking of engine oil might not yield milk and honey, but they could help seize broader lands.
Especially after this war, he was even more convinced that industry alone could save the kingdom.
It was precisely because of this that after the Alliance released him yesterday, he hadn't even bothered with the remnants of his troops before departing Bister Town, riding hard with only a small escort of light cavalry straight for the industrial zone he had founded with his own hands.
Yet upon arriving, the sight plunged him into despair.
The Alliance had hauled off virtually everything that could be moved.
Aside from a few empty factory sheds and warehouses across the sprawling grounds, not a single hair was left behind.
Taking a deep breath, he struggled to rein in his emotions, continuing in a trembling voice:
"...I implore you to see the governor, to have him pressure the Alliance into returning the looted machinery and populace to us."
Hearing his son's plea, Menggote let out a slow, helpless sigh.
"The governor will not help us... He even surrendered Griffin's equipment to the Alliance. The war is over, child. The pie has already been carved up. Today, we only discuss what comes next."
There was one sentence he left unsaid.
Not only did they lack the standing to divide the pie, but they themselves *were* the pie.
William ground his teeth.
"Then at least... shouldn't those craftsmen be returned to us as prisoners of war? They keep preaching about abolishing slavery; surely they wouldn't reduce them to slaves?"
King Menggote remained silent for a moment.
"That Administrator did not, in fact, drive things to an absolute extreme."
A glimmer of rekindled hope sparked in William's heart. "Then—"
Menggote sighed.
"They allowed the captives to freely choose whether to stay or go."
William froze on the spot.
The nobles around the table began murmuring among themselves. Count Cronwell slammed a fist onto the table, cursing vehemently,
"Those bandits!"
***
Early the next morning.
Dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, Tote arrived early at the headquarters of the Citizens' Self-Governance Committee. Greeting the guard at the entrance, he hummed a little tune as he walked to his office.
This building had formerly housed the tax bureau. Ever since the Alliance carted off the ledgers, the snooty lords had dared not return, leaving the grand building to them.
Ever since becoming the committee chairman, Tote had felt his status elevate beyond anything before.
The respectful, fearful looks the nobles gave him made him feel like an untitled nobleman himself.
Even the king hadn't dared demand a bow from him.
To flaunt his distinctive standing, he had deliberately sought out the tailor who made clothes for His Majesty, commissioning a striking, unique hat.
Of course, unlike the nobles, he had paid for it.
Looking at the hat sitting on the desk adorned with a colorful feather, Tote admired it more the longer he looked. Grinning, he placed it on his head and preened in the mirror.
Just then, the door was shoved open. Looking up, he saw his secretary rushing in with panic written across his face.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Tote's brow.
"Didn't I tell you to knock?"
Seeing Tote's irritated expression, the secretary looked caught between laughter and tears.
"Never mind the door... We have a disaster! The Alliance people have left!"
Tote shuddered, jerking upright in his chair. Leaning his hands on the desk, his eyes went wide as saucers.
"Left?! The Alliance is leaving?"
The secretary nodded nervously, flustered.
"Yes... They returned to their airship first thing this morning. The airship hasn't departed yet, but the anchor chains have already been drawn up!"
Instantly losing all interest in the hat, Tote snatched it off and tossed it aside. Striding over to the secretary, he demanded frantically,
"Did they leave any instructions before pulling out? What are we supposed to do? What about the future? Do we answer to the Wilantes, or to the king?"
The Administrator's total indifference toward them sent a wave of terror through him. Remembering the venomous glares the nobles had cast his way at the execution ground, a chill crept down his spine.
The secretary hesitated before venturing reluctantly,
"They said... in the end, people must save themselves. They have already come; what comes next is up to us."
Tote stared blankly at his secretary.
*They have already come?*
*Up to ourselves?*
Glancing at the fine hat he had gone to such lengths to commission, and then at the rifle propped against the windowsill, he felt an overwhelming urge to weep...
Seeing his chairman's lost expression, the secretary sighed. Still, they were grasshoppers tied to the same string.
For his own life and for his family, he spoke patiently:
"Actually, things aren't nearly as bleak as they seem. The citizens stand with us. Many among them are veterans who despise the Wilantes even more than they dislike the Alliance. If we can unite them, we might just become a formidable force."
"What's the use of uniting those people?" Tote snapped in frustration.
He knew better than anyone that the masses were an undisciplined rabble. One order from the king, and they might very well haul him to the gallows themselves.
The secretary lowered his voice.
"Whether it's useful or not, we have to try... The Wilantes don't have many guns left in their hands right now, and the new governor knows nothing about this place. They need our cooperation, both militarily and economically. As long as we play both sides and use their power to balance the court, they might not mind having two kings in this realm."
Tote calmed down.
That was indeed a viable strategy.
The Citizens' Self-Governance Committee represented every trade; more than half the city's handicrafts and industrial output were tied to them, whereas the nobles could, at best, squeeze a bit of grain from their manors and lands.
Unless the new governor merely wanted to be a glorified landlord, he wouldn't casually purge them just to appease a bunch of nobles he had barely met.
Most importantly, trying offered a chance at survival; doing nothing meant certain death.
"Summon all committee members and delegates for a meeting!"
The secretary let out a breath of relief.
"Right away, sir."
***
While the Citizens' Self-Governance Committee scrambled to convene, Bister Town, far on the outer perimeter of central Oasis 2, was also a bustling scene.
Beside the main road outside the eastern gate, Widlier clung desperately to a concrete roadside barrier, tears and snot streaming down his face as two soldiers approached.
"I'm not going anywhere! This is my home! I gave my whole life to this place—I want to stay!"
A tall soldier chuckled mockingly,
"Wouldn't it be better to go back and be a baron?"
The other soldier grinned as well.
"Exactly. Don't you have an estate? Go back and be a lord."
To their surprise, Widlier reacted even more violently, his tearful blubbering taking on a note of frantic pleading.
"I don't want to! I'd rather be a commoner!"
What a joke!
How could he possibly go back?!
Surrendering to the Alliance without putting up a fight was already a capital offense, not to mention that he had immediately turned into an Alliance lapdog. Every single person heading back despised his guts.
Especially that meaningful parting glance from Prince William.
At the time, Widlier had felt as if he had been plunged into an icy lake. Terrified, he had sent men overnight to Oasis 2 to fetch his entire household.
Had he known earlier that the Alliance had no intention of occupying Oasis 2, he never would have kissed their boots so shamelessly.
But who could have foreseen this?
Judging by the momentum with which the Alliance had steamrolled through, they had looked ready to flatten the entire Falcon Kingdom...
The two Alliance soldiers exchanged a glance, deciding it was best not to let him make a public scene here, and hauled him upright.
"Get up."
"If you want to stay, stay. Nobody's stopping you, but don't block the road."
Widlier's heart leaped.
"...You really won't drive me away?"
The soldier looked at him with disdain.
"The Lord Administrator said those who want to leave can head back on their own, and those who want to stay may do as they please. His Excellency doesn't have time to bother with you lot."
Hearing that, Widlier finally broke into a smile through his tears. Chuckling, he let go of the concrete barrier, brushed the dust off his backside, and hurried back into the town, pouring out thanks with every step.
Not far from where he had blocked the road, an officer from the Alliance's Second Corps slipped through the barbed-wire fence, walked up before a crowd of captives sitting on the ground, and shouted through a megaphone,
"The war is over! You can go home!"
Officers of centurion rank and above had already been freed yesterday. Most of the rank and file knew nothing about any ceasefire negotiations.
At first, the men exchanged bewildered looks, but then individuals began standing up one after another.
A portion walked through the open western gate into the wilderness. Seeing that the Alliance soldiers didn't fire, they continued forward.
The open clearing grew sparser.
A large wave chose to leave, but quite a few turned and walked in the exact opposite direction.
Several Falcon Kingdom soldiers approached the inspection checkpoint. One of them, a youth of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, looked up at an Alliance soldier.
"I don't want to go back."
The Alliance soldier sized him up.
"Why?"
The youth hesitated, then whispered,
"I have nowhere to go."
The soldier pressed on,
"What about your family?"
The boy fell silent for a moment before answering quietly,
"My father and brother are both gone. Last month... my mother passed away, too. Please let me stay. I can work."
Before the boy's voice faded, another hand shot up behind him, someone chiming in eagerly,
"Me too! Same here... I'm strong, I can haul heavy loads!"
"I used to be a farmer! I can do field work!"
A chorus of shouts echoed from behind him. Clearly, he was not the only one who wanted to stay.
Some who had been hesitating near the gates halted in their tracks upon hearing the commotion.
Although they hadn't spent long in the prisoner-of-war camp, thinking back, the Alliance had treated them quite decently.
Those people hadn't lashed them with whips for amusement just because they had won; the only forced labor had been building their own shacks to live in.
What shocked the captives most of all was that the Alliance had actually shared some of the provisions seized from the Wilantes with them.
In the eyes of many, this was simply unheard of.
The Wilantes had never treated them as human beings, and the kingdom's nobles had been no different. Yet inside the POW camp, they had unexpectedly lived as humans for a few days.
Even knowing their former enemies surely had their own motives, the thought of how the nobles would treat them back home made them despair of returning.
As more and more people gathered around the checkpoint, the sentries on duty had to fire into the air as a warning, while a runner jogged off to seek orders from their commander.
Before long, a table was set up in the camp.
Widlier, who had been bawling just a short while ago, was seated behind the table, barking loudly into a megaphone:
"Anyone who doesn't want to leave, line up here to register! Think carefully before writing down your name!"
A long line stretched out before the table.
Some prisoners who had originally planned to leave hesitated for a moment, but ultimately chose to stay, including a fair number of junior officers holding the rank of decurion.
Thus, by midday, the repatriation of the captives around Bister Town was complete. Out of more than eighty thousand soldiers, a staggering forty percent chose to remain—over thirty thousand men in all...
***
Aboard the *Heart of Steel*.
Standing on the bridge, Chu Guang received a call from Liu Ding, commander of the Second Corps stationed in Bister Town.
Upon hearing the report, a look of genuine surprise crossed Chu Guang's face.
"Over thirty thousand actually stayed?"
He had originally expected around ten thousand at most, which would already have been remarkable. To have over thirty thousand remain was completely unexpected!
What puzzled Chu Guang was that no matter how much he pondered it, he couldn't recall treating those prisoners particularly well.
*Just how inhuman were the Falcon Kingdom's nobles to their own people?*
Factoring in the engineers and their dependents evacuated from the William Industrial Zone by the Storm Corps, Bister Town's population was likely to top forty thousand.
In the short term, this wouldn't pose an issue—the Alliance had stockpiled plenty of supplies scavenged from Fort Horn and the front lines. But in the long run, food and fresh water supplies there would inevitably become strained.
Sensing the Administrator's dilemma, Liu Ding asked in a low voice,
"Should we dispose of a portion of them?"
"That won't be necessary."
Chu Guang cleared his throat.
"If they wish to stay, let them."
Since the men had stayed of their own free will, driving them off now would make him look petty.
Moreover, a Bister Town under direct Alliance administration could serve as the Alliance's banner in Sunset Province. If developed well, it would undoubtedly bolster the Alliance's prestige.
The only problem was that the area was nothing but sand. It had neither a river dike nor valuable strategic resources; its sole virtue was its location.
If agriculture was out of the question, industry was the only path forward.
The military production lines relocated from the Falcon Kingdom could be transferred to neighboring Oasis 3, within the borders of the Honey Badger Kingdom.
As for the civilian production lines, a portion could be kept in Bister Town, where there was an ample labor pool ready to work.
At present, both the Honey Badger Kingdom and the Falcon Kingdom were in desperate need of post-war reconstruction, creating considerable demand for manufactured goods.
With young laborers and the necessary machinery, getting rich might be difficult, but sustaining themselves shouldn't be an issue.
"...Instruct the Lion Kingdom army to leave behind all surplus supplies before withdrawing, including food, fresh water, and winter clothing. Winter is approaching, and temperature swings in the desert are severe; don't let anyone freeze to death."
Pausing briefly, Chu Guang added,
"Later, I will appoint an official as local governor and dispatch a shipment of supplies from Qingquan City. For now, organize them into four construction corps and have them build their own housing... In short, don't let them sit idle."
Liu Ding snapped to attention, pressing his right fist to his chest.
"Yes, sir!"
Knowing Liu Ding was a rough soldier who knew nothing of urban planning or administrative management, Chu Guang patiently laid out several details for constructing the new settlement.
For instance, placing the settlement center east of the airfield, and reserving zones for commercial and industrial growth.
Ideal Group from the Enterprise would provide technical assistance with recycling concrete debris and laying roads, so road construction wouldn't require much Alliance effort.
Chu Guang intended to set aside a foreign exchange budget of one hundred million Cr, allowing the Alliance governor to procure equipment from Ideal City based on local needs once they arrived.
Shortly after concluding these instructions, the acting captain approached him from the passageway and saluted smartly.
"Report! As of now, all units have boarded and the anchor chains are secured. The vessel is ready for departure!"
"Very good."
Casting a final glance through the floor-to-ceiling viewport at the sun-drenched survivor settlement below, a faint smile touched the corner of Chu Guang's mouth.
It was finally time to say goodbye.
King Menggote and his nobles had likely already popped the champagne in celebration.
Yet they would soon discover that their celebration had come far too early.
And that went for the new governor as well.
Those people would soon uncover the "surprise" the Alliance had left behind for them.
As for what that surprise would ultimately grow into, only time would tell... The people living here would, in the end, have to forge their own destiny.
For him, the war in Sunset Province had drawn to a close. More pressing matters now awaited his attention.
Pulling his gaze back from the window, Chu Guang turned to the acting captain beside him.
"Set course!"
The captain delivered a crisp salute.
"Yes, sir!"
***
While the *Heart of Steel* pushed forward toward the Great Desert, far away in an outhouse in Far West City, Battlefield Atmosphere Group happened to log back in.
Up until the *Heart of Steel* departed, he hadn't received any follow-up instructions from the Lord Administrator.
"Damn it... did those bastards forget all about me?" Hitching up his trousers, Battlefield Guy grumbled under his breath, gave the flush button a perfunctory push, and stepped outside.
Ever since Griffin's death, he had retreated with the 5th Myriad all the way to Far West City, situated in the northwestern corner of Oasis 2, whiling away the hours alongside the Wilantes waiting to be rotated home.
With the ceasefire taking effect, the "Vast Yellow Sands" expansion had officially drawn to a close, and the expansion rewards had been tallied the previous night.
Thanks to the critical intelligence he had supplied earlier, he had effortlessly claimed the top individual score for the expansion!
Moreover, he led the runner-up by a massive fifty thousand points!
Yet what good was it?
He had pulled a mountain of valuable treasures from the gacha, but no matter how godly the gear, he had zero opportunity to use it.
A few of his buddies, worried it would go to waste, had offered to take it off his hands and use it for him. He had refused them flatly without a second thought!
What a joke!
He had staked his life to earn those treasures; there was no way in hell he was handing them over to those dogs!
If that bastard I'm the Darkest got his hands on them, there probably wouldn't even be scraps left by the time he got back.
Just as Battlefield Guy was pondering whose tent to hang out in, a familiar figure approached from not far away.
He looked up and realized the man walking toward him was none other than his direct superior—Myriarch Weirich.
Battlefield Guy wasn't surprised in the least, only annoyed.
Lately, this guy had been cozying up to him nonstop.
Perhaps because defeat left him with too much free time, or perhaps to show how much he valued him, where once Weirich would have sent a confidant with a message, now he dropped by Battlefield Guy's tent uninvited whenever he felt like it. It made him deeply uncomfortable and endlessly irritated.
Evidently, this time was no different; the man had likely strolled over just to ask after his well-being.
Battlefield Guy even suspected the fellow had been waiting outside the latrine for quite a while.
Just as Battlefield Guy was about to exchange pleasantries, Weirich reached him, wore a secretive expression, and pulled him aside.
"I have a plum assignment for you."
"...What kind of assignment?"
Looking at General Weirich's beaming face, Battlefield Guy's instincts immediately put him on guard.
The war was already over; surely they weren't going to send him to assassinate someone?
Yet before the thought could finish forming, Weirich's next words froze him completely.
"Under the terms of the ceasefire, we are sending two representatives to Shelter 0 to conduct a joint investigation of that legendary ruin alongside the Enterprise, the Academy, and the Alliance."
"The Governor has nominated his protégé, Millurion Vali, to go. However, Vali is a career officer. Considering the dangers that may lurk within the ruins, he requires a formidable attendant to serve as his bodyguard... When I heard the Governor's request, you were the very first person who came to mind."
With that, Weirich reached out and clapped a heavy hand on the shoulder of this fine comrade, Pangolin, flashing him an encouraging smile.
"This wasn't just my recommendation; General Alec holds your capabilities in high regard as well... Seize this opportunity."
"I have high hopes for you!"
Chapter 500