Have We Met Somewhere Before?

The moment he returned to camp, the smile on Bentnor's face vanished, instantly dropping into a scowl. Casting a sidelong glare at the guard beside him, he spat out an order. "Every slave who went outside to gawk just now gets fifteen lashes." The guard nodded, turning to carry out the command, but paused as something crossed his mind. "What about Lady Sistir?" At the mention of that old crone, Bentnor's face darkened further. "Give her thirty!" *Damn it all.* *I may not be able to deal with the Alliance, but you think I can't handle a few of you?* Just thinking about how the crowd of onlookers had stared at them made Bentnor seethe with fury. He wished he could drag that ignorant centurion over and whip him too. Unfortunately, officers held high status within the Legion, and their internal factions were fiercely loyal to one another. Even if the man was merely a centurion, Bentnor couldn't easily lay a hand on him without a proper justification. Slaves, on the other hand, had no such protections. Just then, another thought occurred to Bentnor. He reached out and snagged the departing soldier back by the arm. "Wait." The guard bowed hastily. "My lord, do you have further orders?" A flicker of hesitation passed through Bentnor's eyes. "...Remember to close the door." The guard blinked, taking a long moment before nodding with a subtle, knowing look. "Understood!" ... With his orders issued, Bentnor returned to his personal tent. Perhaps the soldier had followed instructions and tied the door flaps shut tight, because once seated inside, Bentnor heard neither the crack of the whip nor the wails of the servants. Yet the indignation in his chest remained unresolved, curdling into greater frustration the more he stewed over it. He had represented Triumph City on diplomatic missions to various survivor settlements before, but never had he been subjected to such insolent treatment. Those damned barbarians, daring to look down on the Legion just because they had Enterprise and the Academy backing them! It seemed those bastards in the Eastern Expansion faction had let them off too lightly! It was worth noting that although the Legion's two eastern expeditions had failed to push the border forward even an inch—costing countless soldiers and commanders in the process—the *Triumph Gazette*'s relentless spin had nonetheless framed both campaigns as sweeping Legion victories. Bentnor didn't entirely believe the *Triumph Gazette*. His daughter worked there, after all, and having dealt with propaganda departments for years, he knew full well how adept those people were at spouting nonsense. However, he harbored no doubts regarding the paper's ultimate conclusion: no matter how stubborn the barbarians east of the Great Desert were, the Legion's triumph was beyond dispute. There was no way they had lost to a rabble of wastelander trash; it was simply that the intervention of Enterprise, the Great Rift Valley, and the Academy had made the cost slightly steeper than expected. And that was why His Excellency the Marshal hadn't held a triumph ceremony for those wasteful fools—there was hardly anything to boast about. Just then, footsteps approached outside the tent, followed by the soft chime of the bell hanging beside the door curtain. Glancing at the silhouette through the entrance, Bentnor's brow furrowed slightly. He cleared his throat and called out, "Enter." The curtain was drawn back. Seeing that it was Pangolin standing at the entrance, Bentnor's brow relaxed slightly. Leaning back in his chair, he asked, "What is it?" Abandoning his usual taciturn demeanor, Battlefield Guy put on a look of indignation and stirred the pot in a low, disgruntled voice. "My lord, why must we bow our heads to them? If they refuse to submit, we can just fight them again—beat them until they learn their place!" Bentnor sneered at the foolish outburst. "You brutes always have killing and fighting on your tongues. As if things were ever so simple! If a fight could solve everything, why didn't you people solve it last year? We are here to negotiate cooperation, not to burn bridges!" Although Bentnor spoke in a reproving tone, venting his frustration eased his mood considerably. Noticing the smug superiority lingering at the corner of Bentnor's mouth, Battlefield Guy couldn't help but secretly admire Brother Spring for giving him such a lousy-sounding yet brilliant idea. *The guy really knows his stuff.* "But... must we simply swallow this insult and let them walk all over us?" "Cooperating with the Alliance on the mutant slime mold issue is His Excellency the Marshal's directive. Compared to that... other grievances can wait," Bentnor murmured, narrowing his eyes as he spoke in a deliberate, unhurried cadence. "Of course, those people have gotten far too arrogant. I will teach them a lesson and take down their overbearing momentum—just not right now." Battlefield Guy's interest piqued, and he feigned eager delight. "What do you plan to do?" Bentnor shot him a sidelong glance. "Mind your own business. I have my own plans. And don't repeat what was just said to anyone, especially Quik." Quik was his adjutant, holding merely the rank of thousand commander, yet many in the diplomatic mission treated him with deep awe and dread—even more so than toward Ambassador Bentnor himself. Although military officers outranked civil officials within the Legion, a myriad commander was hardly expected to salute a thousand commander first. Recalling Bentnor's guarded demeanor around that adjutant, Battlefield Guy couldn't help prying out of curiosity. "Lord Bentnor, speaking of which... what's the deal with that Quik? Why does everyone seem so afraid of him?" "Afraid of him?" Bentnor's lip curled, speaking without much reservation. "Hardly. But his background is indeed unusual. He belongs to the Praetorian Guard." Having never heard the term before, Battlefield Guy blinked in confusion. "The Praetorian Guard?" He had only ever heard of the Youth Army. Vannus, the Alliance's military consultant, had supposedly come from that organization. Unsurprised by Battlefield Guy's confusion, Bentnor explained concisely. "It's natural you haven't heard of them since you've never been to Triumph City. They usually operate solely within the capital and never leave without an order from the Marshal. In short, they are the Marshal's eyes. That is all you need to know." Although the Praetorian Guard didn't seem to be a strictly taboo topic, Bentnor clearly had no intention of elaborating further. His evasive tone only stoked Battlefield Guy's curiosity. Just as the player was thinking of a roundabout way to pry more details, Bentnor gestured for him to lean close and whispered into his ear. "By the way, since you're here, there is a task I need you to handle." Recognizing a quest trigger, Battlefield Atmosphere Group straightened up instantly. "At your command, my lord!" Bentnor lowered his voice. "I heard that envoys from the Free State are also in Dawn City. Track down their whereabouts... and invite them here to talk with us." Hearing this, Battlefield Guy was overjoyed. *What luck.* He had been plotting to sneak out in the dead of night after everyone was asleep! With this mission from Myriad Commander Bentnor, he now had the perfect excuse. Committing Bentnor's instructions to memory, Battlefield Guy nodded without hesitation. "Yes, sir!" Bentnor nodded in satisfaction and waved his hand. "Go." Watching Pangolin pass through the curtain and leave the spacious tent, a faint, subtle smirk appeared on Bentnor's face. While it wasn't convenient for him to strike at the Alliance directly, he could certainly find an ally who detested the Alliance just as much to do the dirty work for him. Yet at that moment, neither Bentnor, who believed everything was under his control, nor the turncoat walking openly out of the tent noticed a pair of eyes watching them from nearby. Standing near the entrance of the camp, Quik smiled faintly, then turned and headed back to his own tent... ... After leaving the camp, Battlefield Guy didn't immediately set off to search for the Free State's delegation. Instead, he took a detour through a maze of back alleys. Once he was certain no one was tailing him, he followed the map he had reviewed on the official forum and headed straight to the nearest player save point. Such a facility existed in every settlement under the Alliance's banner, accessible exclusively to players and staff hired by the Vault. Not only did it house hibernation pods for saving game progress, but it also offered rentable storage lockers and an NPC shop selling restricted gear. Equipment locked behind contribution point thresholds was one of the perks the Vault provided to players; one could even purchase a full suit of power armor here for a million silver coins. If sold at actual market value, tacking on another zero would still have been considered a steal, so naturally, not just anyone could walk in and buy it. Watching Battlefield Atmosphere Group approach, the clerk on duty glanced at his arm and let out a weary yawn. "...Vault Dweller?" Battlefield Guy nodded. "ID: Battlefield Atmosphere Group. I don't have my VM on me. Biometric identification, please." Unfazed by the strange-sounding ID, the clerk routinely fetched a dust-covered iris scanner from the drawer. "Look into the lens." Battlefield Guy leaned forward, aligning his eyes with the aperture. The indicator light blinked twice. Staring at the string of six zeros displayed on the screen, the formerly indifferent clerk's expression shifted into absolute shock. *Holy crap!* *A Novice Knight!* Reaching the rank of Novice Knight required a staggering one hundred thousand contribution points. Every single Vault Dweller who achieved that rank was a decorated hero who had survived countless life-and-death battles for the Alliance! In an instant, the bored, routine look in the clerk's eyes was replaced by profound admiration, his drowsiness vanishing without a trace. "What can I get for you, sir?" Feeling slightly embarrassed by the burning enthusiasm in the clerk's gaze, Battlefield Guy gave an awkward chuckle. "A K-10 'Iron Wall' exoskeleton with a full protection suite. Do you have one in stock?" "Yes! Right this way, please!" Handing off the counter to a colleague on shift, the clerk enthusiastically led him toward the adjacent warehouse. Following behind the clerk, Battlefield Guy stepped into the storage room, picked out a K-10 exoskeleton of suitable size, and strapped it on. Standing before the mirror, he pulled on the helmet and made sure he was completely covered from head to toe. Only then did he pay the fee with satisfaction and leave the Player Service Area. Cutting through the bustling streets, he headed straight for the northern trading post. The moment Battlefield Atmosphere Group stepped into the hotel lobby, the players sitting near the bar fell dead silent. The first to recognize him was I'm the Darkest. The man's eyes went wide, and he sprang off his barstool with a start. "Holy crap! Pan—" Before the joyful shout could leave his lips, a gust of wind swept right up to his face, forcefully clamping down on his mouth to choke back the name. "Holy crap! Don't yell my name, you idiot! I'm on an undercover mission!" Battlefield Guy hissed in panic, his hand firmly muzzling the man's face. In Debt God sauntered over, casually clapping him on the shoulder while winking playfully. "What's the big deal? I'm the Darkest was speaking Mandarin; those NPCs can't understand a word anyway... But seriously, what are you actually thinking?" Baffled by the cryptic question, Battlefield Guy blinked, releasing the flailing I'm the Darkest. "Thinking about what?" In Debt God shot a glance toward the side. Battlefield Guy followed his gaze and saw a young girl holding a tray in both hands, standing beside the bar and gazing directly at him. She was petite, with a remarkably delicate nose, her fluffy light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked sweet, gentle, and well-mannered. She didn't look like a player. She seemed somewhat familiar, yet he couldn't recall where he had seen her before. Glancing at his grinning brothers-in-arms, Battlefield Guy instinctively switched to the Human Alliance language, asking with a touch of stiffness, "...Who are you?" Hearing that deep, slightly halting accent, Lisa's eyes widened involuntarily, tears of disbelief glistening in them. "I... I'm Lisa." *Lisa?* Battlefield Guy stared at her blankly. He didn't recall the name, but the more he looked at her, the more familiar she seemed. He asked in an uncertain tone, "Have we met somewhere before?" Lisa nodded hurriedly, her eyes locked onto his as a flush crept up her cheeks. Finally gathering her courage, she whispered, "Y-Yes... at Falling Leaves Ridge. General MacLaren gave me and the others to you as a reward. S-So... I am yours!" "*Cough!*" Hearing this explosive declaration, Battlefield Guy nearly choked to death on his own saliva. Especially when he caught sight out of the corner of his eye of Brother Spring and I'm the Darkest, both holding in laughter so hard they looked ready to rupture a lung, his toes curled so tightly they could have dug through the floorboards. Seeing Mr. Pangolin suddenly break into a coughing fit, Lisa rushed behind the bar to pour a cup of hot water, scurrying back to his side and presenting it with both hands. "Please have some water." "Thanks..." Taking the cup from the young girl's hands, a flustered Battlefield Guy lifted it to his lips, only to bash it right into the solid helmet covering his head, splashing water all over his visor. Only then did he remember that he was encased in a fully enclosed iron shell and hadn't even lifted the faceplate. "*Hahaha!*" Witnessing Battlefield Guy's mortifying blunder, I'm the Darkest could no longer hold it in, clutching his stomach as he burst into roaring laughter. Even Lao Bai, whose emotional control was usually impeccable, cracked a knowing, amused smile. Paying no heed to the bystanders and with eyes only for Pangolin, Lisa frantically reached out to help him take off the helmet, but he gently held up a hand to stop her. Facing Lisa's puzzled gaze, Battlefield Guy, unable to endure the teasing stares of those bastards any longer, set the cup down on the bar counter. "Follow me." Dropping those words, he made for the side wooden door, leading Lisa into the courtyard nestled between the main building and the annex. The courtyard was empty and dimly lit, housing only a flowerbed planted with sparse greenery and a row of washbasins for sobering up. It felt quiet and cavernous. Looking at Lisa, who was staring up at him with uneasy apprehension, Battlefield Guy glanced back toward the main building, took a deep breath, and removed his helmet. "It wasn't convenient to talk inside. Long story short, I'm on a critical mission right now. Pangolin... uh, that's just my code name. When I sneak out like this, you can just call me Battlefield. That's my real name." After hemming and hawing, he still felt too embarrassed to utter his full username or mention the ridiculous nicknames the other players had given him. Staring intently into his eyes, Lisa nodded with solemn sincerity, committing the name to memory. "Yes! I will remember it." "Thanks for understanding... By the way, you're a survivor from Fallen Leaves Camp? I knew you looked familiar the moment I saw you," Battlefield Guy said with an awkward chuckle, continuing, "Are you the only one here? What about the others?" "They are here too. Some are still in Dawn City, and others went to different places, starting new lives..." Lisa murmured softly, recounting everything that had happened. She spoke of how the soldiers of the Storm Corps had taken over the camp after he departed, how the hotel's owner, Grandpa Hook, had offered her a job as a waitress, and everything in between. Listening until the very end, a gratified smile appeared on Battlefield Guy's face. "That's good. I'm glad you've all found normal lives. That is the best possible outcome, and it means my efforts weren't in vain... What about you? Are you happy with your work here?" Lisa nodded her head vigorously, a faint blush dusting her cheeks, her bright, upturned eyes reflecting the gentle moonlight. "Yes! Everyone is so kind, and they look after me very well... And they told me that you had gone on a long journey and would only return after some time, but that if I waited here, I would definitely see you again. So, I just... I stayed here, waiting." "Uh, why wait for me... Ah, if it's because of that MacLaren guy's orders, you don't need to worry about that. You are a citizen of the Alliance now. You don't belong to anyone, and certainly not to me," Battlefield Guy explained, caught between tears and laughter as he looked at the flustered girl. To him, that had just been a side quest from a very long time ago. On the way here, he had already seen Luoye City from the airship, built atop the very land where they had once shed their blood. The people there were living normal lives, and each day was getting better. At least as far as he was concerned, that expansion pack had reached a satisfying conclusion. "It wasn't because of anyone's orders..." Lisa puffed out her cheeks, about to argue, but then seemed to recall something. Ducking her head shyly, she whispered, "I... I just wanted to say thank you to you. Thank you for giving me a new life." Battlefield Guy smiled at her words and reached out to gently pat the lowered head. "You're welcome. Stepping out of the Vault to do this sort of thing... it's our job, and it's our mission." He had never expected that side quest to have such an epilogue. It seemed that without realizing it, he had truly changed the lives of many people. Looking at the young girl before him, a faint warmth welled up in Battlefield Guy's chest—a sensation he had never experienced in any other game. Perhaps it was because this game was simply too real. That soul-stirring warmth touched him far more deeply than silver coins or contribution points ever could. And perhaps, that was the true reason he was willing to carry on this absurdly long undercover assignment without a single regret... Feeling the warmth resting atop her head, Lisa gently raised her gaze, a trace of reluctance in her eyes as she whispered, "...Can you come visit me often in the future? I'll always be here." Battlefield Atmosphere Group grinned. "No problem! But as for visiting often, that'll have to wait until my mission is over. Who knows, they might ship me off to somewhere else after a while." Hearing that promise, a radiant, satisfied smile finally bloomed across Lisa's face, and she nodded vigorously. "Yes! It's a promise! I will wait for you to come back!" At that very moment, beside the back door of the hotel lobby, several heads were huddled together, peeking intently at the two figures in the darkened courtyard. Excitedly enjoying the drama, Yaya couldn't keep her mouth shut, muttering under her breath. "No way, Old Battlefield wouldn't be such a beast, would he..." With her neck aching from being crowded, Tengteng looked up helplessly. "Why do I get the feeling you're actually hoping he turns into a beast?" Yaya chuckled sheepishly. "Hehe, I bet a hundred silver coins... But still, don't you think this ship is adorable? Sweet little Lisa waited for him for a whole year! That's definitely true love!" Watching the increasingly perverted grin spread across Yaya's face, Tengteng wore a complicated expression and shifted sideways, putting some distance between them. In Debt God clenched his fists nervously, muttering under his breath, "Damn it! Why hasn't the bastard kissed her yet! Don't tell me he chickened out!" Seeing his wagered silver coins on the verge of flying into someone else's pocket, he wished he could reach out and shove the guy's head forward himself. I'm the Darkest yawned, asking nonchalantly, "So who actually won the bet?" Commander Spring laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Haha, looks like a draw! Time to scatter, he's heading back!" The crowd gathered by the back door dispersed in an instant. Watching the players sneak back to their seats, followed shortly by two figures—one tall, one short—Lao Bai, who had been sitting at the bar the entire time, couldn't help but smile. He had a pretty good idea of what had just transpired. Seeing Battlefield Guy walk past the counter, Lao Bai called out with a chuckle, "Not staying for a drink before you head back?" "Can't. I'm on duty, and I have to report back in a bit." Pausing by the bar, Battlefield Guy watched the petite figure disappear into the kitchen before continuing in a lower voice. "The Legion's delegation is trying to make contact with the Free State. Bentnor told me to set up a meeting with their envoys at our camp... By the way, pass a message to the Administrator for me. Tell him to watch out for Bentnor's adjutant. I heard that guy belongs to the Marshal's Praetorian Guard, probably something like their version of the Guards Corps. I couldn't get any more details out of him." Lao Bai nodded earnestly and replied softly, "I'll let him know." Pulling his gaze back from the kitchen, Battlefield Guy suddenly glared speechlessly at the man lounging casually at the bar. "By the way, you held out on me for an entire year over something like this. You think that's funny?!" Lao Bai burst into laughter, shooting him a teasing look. "Don't you think Easter eggs hidden in side quests are far more interesting when you discover them yourself? Besides, even if I had told you that an NPC wanted to say thank you, you probably wouldn't have cared at all." Rolling his eyes beneath his helmet, Battlefield Guy didn't contest the point. He merely tossed a parting remark over his shoulder. "I'll buy you that drink next time." Watching the broad, armored back disappear amid the clinking glasses of the tavern, Lao Bai raised his beer-filled oak mug slightly toward the hotel entrance and smiled. "I'll hold you to that."