"Sberg is back!"
"And he met the Administrator!"
Boulder City Hall.
The moment that familiar face appeared at the door, members of the Workers' Association excitedly surged forward and mobbed him.
"Wait! Don't ask about the manuscript yet!" Facing the surging crowd, Sberg seemed to anticipate what they would say and immediately shouted at the top of his lungs, "I have something important to say!"
"Hurry it up! Cut the chatter!" Hooking an arm around his shoulder, Lovett urged him, "You said you were heading to the northern outskirts, and now you've been there. What about the rest of the story? How's the chapter on the Great Revolution coming along?"
"What I have to say now is far more important than that!"
Brushing off Lovett's arm, Sberg signaled for everyone to quiet down. He cleared his throat and said, "He let me try on his power armor! That thing is truly extraordinary... Even with a build like mine, putting on that power armor gave me the strength of a giant!"
An electrician couldn't help chiming in, "Incredible... He really let you wear it?"
The other workers also started bantering and jeering playfully:
"I don't believe it! Didn't your coat stink him to death?"
"Exactly!"
"You're full of it!"
Sberg took their teasing in stride, knowing that what was real couldn't be faked, and what was fake couldn't be made real.
"Believe it or not, that gentleman is actually very easygoing. He didn't mind in the slightest. Though his guard was a bit intimidating—that fellow kept glaring at me, so I didn't even dare ask to borrow the bathroom... But none of that is the point."
Lovett swallowed hard. "What is the point, then?"
Could there be anything more outrageous than a cannery worker being invited as a guest by the Alliance's Administrator and even asked to try on power armor?
Everyone stared unblinkingly at Sberg, waiting for him to continue.
A joyful smile spread across Sberg's face, as if a dream had just come true.
"An Awakened can defeat power armor! The Administrator told me so himself! He is both an Awakened and possesses power armor—nobody understands it better than him!"
A wave of gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.
That headline had troubled them for a long time.
Because of that title alone, the story of Boer had been mocked endlessly by the illiterates in the militia.
Though it was a minor matter, the debate was finally settled.
Lovett pumped his fist excitedly. "I told you that title wasn't an exaggeration! Joy, that bastard—I'm going to set him straight right now!"
Seeing Lovett eagerly spin around to head out the door, Sberg quickly reached out to stop him.
"Don't bother. It's not worth making a fuss over such a small thing."
He didn't like the militia.
Yet the Great Revolution was over, and what they needed most now was unity.
A worker standing nearby laughed and clapped Sberg on the shoulder. "Don't let Lovett fool you—he and Joy are actually on great terms."
Another worker chimed in with a grin, "That's right! Joy isn't petty. He's one of the few honest men in the militia. Don't write him too tragic of an ending either."
"Joy? Is he in the book? Whatever..." Sberg scratched his head, unable to recall any character by that name in Boer's story.
Still, he did plan to write a centurion who sided with the people.
After all, during his time in prison, he had villainized the militia a bit too harshly, but in reality there were decent men among those soldiers.
Regardless of whether they had stood with the poor folks because their pay was withheld, because there was nothing left to loot, or for other reasons, this was a victory won by all of them together.
That would never change.
Alisa stood at the edge of the crowd.
Clutching a letter in her hand, she wanted to get through but couldn't squeeze past, so she could only stand on tiptoe and wave her arm.
Sberg quickly spotted her. Parting the crowd, he made his way over to her and asked with a slight smile, "Do you need help with something?"
Nodding vigorously, Alisa showed a rare look of nervousness. "Um... is there a reply?"
Hearing this, Sberg scratched his head.
He had returned empty-handed.
The Alliance had already stated its stance and choice through actions, which meant everything to them, yet he sensed that the young girl before him was hoping for something more.
Even so, he chose to tell the truth.
"No..."
Seeing the disappointment in Alisa's eyes, Sberg pondered for a moment, sighed, and added, "Actually... I felt that gentleman seemed a bit guilty."
Alisa froze. "...Guilty?"
"Yeah," Sberg nodded, recalling the scene. "After he finished reading your letter, I noticed a clear change in his expression... It was as if your choice was completely unexpected to him."
Those big figures couldn't always foresee everything; he had been convinced of that after meeting Mr. Fang Ming.
Even someone as brilliant as that gentleman could not calculate every outcome.
And the Alliance's Administrator, from what he had seen, was merely an ordinary human being, without three heads and six arms.
It was only the reverence of his followers that invested his status with such larger-than-life meaning.
And for that very reason, he carefully weighed the consequences of every choice, feeling regret over unforeseen deviations.
"Why?" Unable to grasp such reasoning, Alisa looked at him anxiously. "Did I... do something wrong?"
Sberg scratched the back of his head.
"No, it has nothing to do with right or wrong. If anything, you did so well that it made him feel guilty. He probably never expected that a single word of his would push a hot-blooded youth to the edge of a cliff... How should I put it? I felt he wanted to praise you for doing a great job, but he held himself back."
Sberg felt that the reason he could sense this was probably because he had once felt the exact same way.
Especially when he watched Ending A in the screening room.
The workers carried his corpse forward toward the Inner City, only to be cut down in droves, blood soaking the entire street... Even knowing it was fictional, he hadn't been able to stop his tears.
Without Survivor Daily, without the subsequent Workers' Daily, and without Awakened Boer born from them, there likely wouldn't have been those hot-headed workers, and this jungle-like casino would probably still be operating.
He didn't regret boldly reading aloud the contents of the newspaper, yet looking back on it still left him with a lingering shudder—the two feelings were not contradictory.
If a single phrase could turn a timid man into a warrior unafraid of death, then a letter could easily be treated as an imperial decree by a crowd.
Even if Alisa had no such intentions, opportunists would certainly harbor them.
Barring any surprises, the next city lord would emerge from the Workers' Association or the militia, or perhaps be an ordinary citizen.
Yet if the Administrator had written that reply, the fanatical populace might have thrust a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl into a position where she didn't belong.
She had already done enough.
Solving Boulder City's immediate problems wasn't something that could be done just by calling on everyone to grow vegetables in flowerpots; many households didn't even own a potted plant.
Ideals could bring nearly impossible miracles down to earth, but sustaining them required far more practical measures.
Otherwise, it would simply be another kind of hell...
Seeing the dejected Alisa, an idea struck Sberg, and he spoke up: "It's completely normal that you don't understand. I only figured some things out after taking a stroll before the Gates of Hell myself... For instance, seeing the person you want to see and doing the things you want to do doesn't necessarily have to wait until spring."
Alisa was startled. "Doesn't necessarily have to wait until spring?"
"Exactly. In my reply to my editor, Miss Dolly, I said I'd visit the Alliance in spring, but really I ought to go right away... You have a letter you want to give to that gentleman, right?" Looking at the envelope in Alisa's hands, Sberg smiled. "Why not deliver it to him yourself? He happens to be right here in this settlement, and he'll probably stay for a few days."
"It's inconvenient for him to send you a written reply, but if you want to speak with him in person in a private setting, I'm sure he won't withhold a few words of praise!"
...
At the same time, in the northern corridor of the River Valley Province, an enormous and prosperous city-state sat on the plains adjacent to the Great Rift Valley.
This city of a million souls stood like an isolated island in the wilderness.
Its interwoven red and blue neon lights bore an uncanny resemblance to Ideal City.
Yet it was merely a resemblance.
Whether in scale, population, productivity, or in some foundational essence, this settlement known as the Free State could be considered the exact opposite of Ideal City.
Rampant cybernetic prosthetics and psychiatric drugs flooded every street and alley, while cheap virtual dreams—as fragile as dreams themselves—soothed people's trauma and fulfilled their every fantasy.
Of course, it was not merely depravity and desolation; it had its positive aspects as well.
Just as there were free refrigerators that required watching two minutes of advertisements to open, there were also flat apartments immaculate both inside and outside floor-to-ceiling windows.
Rich or poor, anyone of any value to this settlement—regardless of how little that value might be—could survive here.
A puppet backed by the Great Rift Valley had established this settlement and imposed a set of rules upon its head.
The people of the old era had placed great hopes upon it, wishing for it to become a second Production Department—an Ideal City that genuinely served the wasteland and answered to the old era. Yet those exalted planners had never asked the survivors living there what they themselves wished to become.
The only right their forebears left to their people was the right to give themselves a name.
And so, the people decided to call this place Bugra.
Bugra was both their currency and the name of the Free State.
For here, only "Bugra" could buy genuine freedom, and only those holding "Bugra" could be considered truly alive.
The president's office of the Flint Group.
Standing before the desk, Xavier said respectfully, "...Recently, a group of migrants from the south claimed they were persecuted by Boulder City's new authorities and applied to the Bugra administration for asylum."
Sitting in the office chair with his back to him, Sigma asked nonchalantly, "What is their stance?"
"As usual, they plan to dump this trouble on the Great Rift Valley for review..." Xavier looked respectfully at this true emperor and asked prudently, "What is your opinion, sir?"
"I think they handled it very well."
Sigma suddenly chuckled, saying in a mocking tone, "It's a good chance to let the old fossils in the Great Rift Valley see what kind of garbage they've nurtured."
Of course.
Given the Great Rift Valley's style, they would certainly host these "disgraces" magnanimously and order the Free State authorities to provide them regular stipends to live out the rest of their days.
Sigma had heard the rumors.
Even to this day, the longest-living old fossil still harbored resentment over the collapse of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee and how the various settlements had been left to fend for themselves.
Sigma had no objections.
Since that old man was so sentimental, let those bedbugs live.
Ugliness had its own purpose.
Letting those maggots keep living was the greatest possible humiliation to the Reconstruction Committee.
Xavier looked at Sigma, his eyes filled with admiration. "Your foresight was truly impeccable, sir. Boulder City couldn't even survive this winter."
Most executives in the Flint Group had judged that Boulder City would at least make it through the winter, and that the Tide in early spring would be the final straw that broke the camel's back.
After all, logically speaking, the Alliance needed Boulder City to share the burden of the Tide; they certainly wouldn't watch Boulder City collapse and might even help delay the crisis.
Thinking that way only proved they didn't understand the Alliance and that Administrator at all.
Indeed, no matter where one went, there were always fools who blindly applied dogmatic assumptions while ignoring objective reality.
Sigma smiled faintly and said with an air of indifference:
"...Boulder City's demise was inevitable. Massive resources were concentrated in the hands of a bunch of good-for-nothings. They used a system that created zero value to filter out the 'winners,' yet not a single penny of those winners' wealth was gained from actual production or business. It was like handing guns to the blind and crutches to the brawny. The fact that they survived until now is the real miracle."
The Flint Group was entirely different.
Only those who created value for the corporation could advance in their careers, while bloodlines were worthless here.
Even the children of senior executives had to pass through the educational screening system before they could take on specific positions and serve as hounds for the company.
He was the best example himself.
Before supplanting the previous president and taking his seat behind this desk, he had been nothing more than a thief from the slums.
"What about the Alliance?" Xavier asked curiously. "How far do you think they can go?"
"The Alliance is a different story," Sigma said mildly. "They are another kind of Legion. Perhaps they will go very far; perhaps they will quickly vanish without a trace."
Xavier furrowed his brows. "Do you think they are militaristic as well?"
Sigma curled his lip. "Is your understanding of the Legion limited to militarism? That, along with slavery, feudalism, and clone troopers, is nothing more than a means to an end. The Wilante use a racial narrative, whereas the Alliance uses a different narrative. Both have clear objectives: one unites all Wilante, and the other unites all survivors. That is the fundamental difference in their paths—nothing more, nothing less."
If the Legion won, this planet would likely see the birth of an empire ruled by New Humans.
If the Alliance won, a new Human Alliance would likely be born.
If Boulder City won...
The odds of that were so miniscule that practically no one took it seriously.
As for the Free State of Bugra...
In the future he had designed for the Free State, they first needed to shake off the control of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee's lingering poison, and then rally all the wastelanders across this land who had been cast aside by Ideal City.
In fact, the Flint Group had been pursuing both tasks simultaneously.
Whether it was the Legion's expedition or the turmoil caused by the Bone Chewers, both had injected vast amounts of fresh blood and wealth into the Free State beneath his feet. Most officers unable to return to Triumph City stayed in the Free State, and nobles driven out by Boulder City's new authorities had fled here as well.
Ultimately, they would become an Ideal City in another sense!
A heaven where all wastelanders could indulge themselves without fear of drowning in dreams!
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
Catching Sigma's glance, Xavier tactfully bowed slightly, pushed open the door, and exited the office.
A man in formal attire brushed past him, came to a halt before Sigma's desk, and said in a low voice, "There is news from Boulder City."
Sigma turned an eager gaze toward him. "Was the weapon found?"
The man hesitated, then shook his head. "No..."
Sigma fell silent for a moment. "What about Rhine?"
The man lowered his head. "...Dead."
Taking a deep breath, Sigma rose from his chair and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Looking past the neon-drenched skyscrapers toward the boundless wilderness to the south, it took a long time before he cursed under his breath:
"Damn it!"
A massive loss!
...
Junk City.
A heavy silence filled the circular council chamber.
Just moments ago, news of the upheaval in Boulder City and its incorporation as the Alliance's fifth settlement had finally reached this place.
Upon learning that a large number of Inner City residents had been exiled, a shudder ran through almost every councilor.
Though they bore the title of councilors, they knew very well what they truly were.
As one of the veteran survivor factions on the wasteland, a lighthouse that had illuminated the southern River Valley Province for a century and a half, Boulder City had largely served as a role model.
Even if their methods weren't the best, turning back the wheels of history was undeniably viable on the wasteland.
Whether it was Red River Town in the early days or Junk City beneath their feet, both carried shadows of Boulder City to varying degrees, mimicking the ruling model of the Inner City nobility.
And now, seeing the exiled Inner City residents of Boulder City, they felt as though they were looking at their own future.
Nearly every councilor grew anxious, chattering over one another around the conference table:
"I heard Boulder City was overthrown by a mob of workers and militiamen, and a bunch of scavengers joined in the fray..."
"Well, we can't just shut down all our factories and drive away every scavenger."
"Maybe we should improve their benefits."
"At least raise the soldiers' pay!"
"Let's stockpile some dinars or Cr. That way, even if our currency collapses, we can still pay our troops with foreign money..."
This proposal resonated with many.
Numerous councilors nodded involuntarily, and even the speaker seated at the head of the table uncharacteristically gave an early endorsement.
"That's a good idea."
Not only dinars and Cr, but silver coins also had to be included among their required foreign currency reserves!
Otherwise, Boulder City's today would be their tomorrow!
The motion quickly proceeded to a vote and passed by a landslide.
Junk City would utilize trade to methodically increase its holdings of silver coins until its reserves approached roughly two hundred million.
At the same time, they would purchase silver-denominated bonds issued by the Alliance Bank to hedge against inflation in the currency itself.
Though everyone knew this merely treated the symptoms rather than the disease, it was better than doing nothing.
They could simply view it as paying protection money to their powerful neighbor.
What made every councilor in Junk City shudder was that less than a year after the Alliance was founded, those toxic ideologies had already riddled that towering embankment with holes.
They couldn't help thinking about what lay ahead.
If the Alliance's philosophy spread to Junk City, what would become of them?
Rumor had it that wastelanders arriving from Dawn City had brought copies of Survivor Daily with them. Some had even followed suit by setting up newspaper printing businesses, recounting Boer's story in taverns.
They couldn't just snatch the newspapers out of everyone's hands, could they?
Yet if Junk City's survivors followed that example...
The more the councilors thought about it, the more terrified they became. Finally, someone couldn't hold back, raising a hand to propose:
"Why don't we follow the example of our neighbor, the Red River Alliance, and change our name to... the Junk Alliance?"
Before his voice could fade, another councilor sitting nearby barked back, "Are you fucking crazy?! Got a death wish?"
The man froze, repeated the phrase in his head, and only then realized what a preposterous name he had pulled out of thin air.
With an embarrassed grimace, he muttered an apology and slunk his hand back down under a barrage of murderous glares.
He admitted the name sounded awful.
Yet aside from that, he truly couldn't think of any better, viable alternative...
Similar scenes unfolded not just in Junk City, but across settlements throughout the River Valley Province.
Looking upon the collapsed Boulder Building, some saw the descent of an endless night, while others saw the dawn breaking through the dark.
They were the insignificant nobodies of the wasteland—slaves in mines, nomadic herders, scavengers wading through piles of refuse.
Most of them did not know the story of Boer.
Yet they knew that in a place called Qingquan City, a united group of survivors had vanquished the dragon that enslaved them!
Upon these scarred, battered ruins, a new light had finally dawned...
...
In the exact center of Boulder City.
Standing before the ruins of the Boulder Building, Melvin's weather-beaten face was filled with haggard exhaustion and dejection.
Old Luka glanced at him. "Do you regret it?"
"What do I... have to regret?" Tearing his gaze from the ruins, Melvin gave a soft sigh. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."
He knew very well.
What had defeated them was neither the three billion-plus debt nor the S-coins hyped to the heavens, but the greed within their own hearts.
Yet he had been helpless.
He had exhausted every trick and tactic available to him.
Luka shifted his gaze from Melvin to the aged ruins before them. "The Administrator said you are a clever man—the earliest to realize that this train needed to hit the brakes."
Melvin let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "Quite the opposite. Far from being clever, I was incurably stupid; otherwise, I wouldn't have seen things clearly only at the very end..."
In the end, his family's sins had to be cleansed by the fairy tale he had left in his youngest daughter's heart...
That was what humiliated him most of all.
Luka didn't look at him, simply stating his purpose with concise brevity.
"Lord Administrator instructed me to give you a task."
Melvin turned to look at him. "What task...?"
Luka continued, "Compile your history into a book. An objective, detailed record of what happened in this settlement over the past two hundred years. His library needs such a book, and the Alliance's library will need one as well."
Melvin smiled bitterly. "Is this some sort of collector's quirk?"
"He said it is part of his duty." Luka glanced at the old man, who was only a few years younger than himself, and continued, "If you truly wish to atone for the past, do this final task properly. Or do you think you can still handle physical labor at your age?"
Melvin froze slightly.
His Adam's apple bobbed. After a long silence, he slowly nodded.
"I will do this with utmost care."
Atonement...
Ah...
What a benevolent lord.
Melvin suddenly felt a stinging warmth behind his eyes.
He was right.
If he didn't want to carry his regrets and remorse into the grave, this was the only thing he could still do, the only thing there was still time to do—
To drive the very last nail into this rotting coffin.
Seeing the gratitude welling behind those cloudy eyes, Luka said nothing. He merely gave a brief nod, turned his back on the ruins of the Boulder Building, and walked away...
Chapter 548