On the official Wasteland Online website.
Right around peak login and logout hours, an explosive thread was bumped straight to the forum's front page.
Ye Shi: "Big news! There's an event at Port French Fries the day after tomorrow! (funny)"
Ever since Qingquan City had been cleared, that trash dev hadn't pulled off any new stunts for a long time.
The moment everyone heard there was an event, regardless of where it was or how far it was from them, one by one they immediately got hyped.
Brother Edge: "What kind of event?"
Commander Spring: "Wait, aren't you still in Dawn City?"
In Debt God: "Yeah! I saw you just yesterday hanging out with that Academy NPC!"
Ye Shi: "Doesn't matter! My bro is at Port French Fries, which means I'm basically there too. (funny)"
Battlefield Atmosphere Group: "Damn it, can you cut the crap and tell us what's actually going on?"
Fang Chang: "According to clues provided by the Southern Islands Federation sea patrol, someone seems to have diverted them away from their patrol zone."
Canyon Mole: "Finally someone with actual information shows up. (side eye)"
Commander Spring: "Interesting. Clearing out people who get in the way first?"
Fang Chang: "Yeah. If the identity of the incoming target would be awkward for the Southern Islands Federation's sea patrol, there's only one possibility."
Commander Spring: "Torch?"
Fang Chang: "Eighty percent chance. That's the only way to explain why the Federation authorities would plan an exercise like this with such an obvious loophole.
"After all, if it were factions that have nothing to do with the Southern Islands Federation, like the Legion or the Xilan Empire, even if they suddenly launched an attack on Port French Fries, it wouldn't have anything to do with the Southern Islands Federation, right?
"From there, I can even deduce that the group of people or monsters about to strike Port French Fries might be the same bunch that sank the exploration vessel Golden Coast earlier, or at least used the same weapons... which is also one of the reasons they're being so sensitive."
Elven King Fugui: "What do you think it'll be? Those winged mutants we ran into back in Jinhe City? (curious)"
Fang Chang: "Why can't it be something swimming in the sea? Didn't that NPC named Huang Guangwei and the submersible he brought already hint at it? Aquatic mutants have been active along the coast of the Southern Sea."
Sisi: "Makes sense. Although aquatic mutated beasts seem quite likely too, the mobility of those big guys might be an issue."
Commander Spring: "Bah, and here I thought it was some huge event. I'm out, I'm out."
Canyon Mole: "Cards already on the table, huh. (funny)"
Level 99 Scavenger: "Holy crap, did you do some behind-the-scenes deal with Brother Guang?"
Elaina: "Confirmed, he read the script. (funny)"
Tail: "Ohh! Spread the word! Dolly got cuckolded by the trash dev! (///ω///)"
Fang Chang: "?"
The thread quickly went off the rails.
Even so, most players had no objections to Brother Fang Chang's analysis.
Up to now, Wasteland Online's expansion updates had always followed a relatively coherent logic, with none of the cheap drama where popular NPCs took turns turning evil only to be redeemed.
In other words, players could analyze in-game intel to deduce the main storyline of the next version, or even predict the pitfalls dug by the trash dev ahead of time.
Based on the existing intelligence, one could practically be certain: there was a ninety-percent chance that the event two days from now would be a mutant attack, and an attack coming from beneath the sea at that!
At this moment, Chu Guang, who was lurking on the forums from inside the shelter, read through the players' discussion from beginning to end, feeling a twinge of genuine admiration.
Though the logic of their analysis was slightly strained, from the perspective of a game, there was really nothing wrong with it.
From a player's viewpoint, the tactical layer was essentially as far as they could analyze.
As for Chu Guang himself, the Administrator and sole developer, he naturally focused more on the strategic level.
"...If the Church of the Torch really plays the mutant card, it seems they don't have many cards to play at sea."
Seeing the faint smile on Chu Guang's face, Xiao Qi, who was sitting on the pen holder at the corner of the desk, tilted her head in confusion.
"Is there a connection between the two?"
Lifting his black tea with milk and taking a sip, Chu Guang said leisurely,
"Diverting people who might get in the way because they're afraid of being seen indicates they've very likely played this card more than once. If they had any other choice, I don't think they'd take unnecessary risks and repeatedly rely on the exact same card."
If that was truly the case, it wasn't hard to understand why those unprincipled lunatics were acting so unusually cautious toward the survivor factions in the Southern Sea.
The survivors of the Southern Sea were their only key to extending their tentacles into the ocean and breaking through their strategic predicament.
They needed the research base of Coral City, and even more, they needed the broodmother from the Tianting space station.
The problem was that their strength at sea was far too weak.
Bullying a few civilian vessels was one thing, but once they went up against the warships of the Southern Islands Federation, the mutated beasts controlled by psychic interference devices were a joke.
After all, that was a survivor faction that had developed for two centuries. Even if their strength couldn't compare to a few "Fallen Empires," they still had a strong start.
At the very least, it was far stronger than the Alliance's start, which had relied entirely on "scavenging trash."
And that was precisely why the Church of the Torch had adopted a gradual infiltration approach toward the survivors in the Southern Sea, even giving away treasures like psychic interference devices as bait.
Yet just as Torch went all-in to annex the Southern Sea survivors, the Alliance's sudden intervention threw an unexpected wrench into their plans.
It seemed the players' series of moves in the Baiyue Strait had indeed rattled the bishop in charge of regional affairs.
An amused arch curved Chu Guang's brow as he laced his fingers together on the desk.
This feeling was quite intriguing.
Though he hadn't yet met his opponent face to face, he had already roughly deduced what cards they held in their hand, as well as their strategic objectives and vulnerabilities.
Now the only suspense was whether the "players' prediction of the trash dev" was accurate.
If they had truly guessed correctly—that the mastermind brewing the offensive was indeed the Church of the Torch, and the claws of the attack were the aquatic mutants bred by Torch along the Death Coast...
Then before the battle had even begun, they would have already won a third of it.
At the thought, the smile playing at the corners of Chu Guang's mouth grew even more cheerful. He lifted his teacup and took another sip.
"How delightful."
Dangling her little legs from the pen holder, Xiao Qi secretly watched Chu Guang in silence, adoration glittering in her eyes.
Though she had no idea what was happening, she felt as though her master had somehow won again without doing a thing...
***
Upon an azure sea, the flagship rose and fell with the swells like an isolated skiff.
Standing at the ship's railing in luxurious attire, a traveling merchant gazed at the frothy white spray cleaved by the bow and let out a long, wistful sigh.
Looking back on his busy life, Mogavi felt it had actually been quite thrilling.
As an insignificant nobody, he had first witnessed the continent-spanning Great Expedition launched by the Legion against the Great Rift Valley, and then personally lived through the Falcon Kingdom's war of annihilation against the desert kings.
And during this time, the vast Bone Chewer Uprising had erupted in the distant River Valley Province, united survivors had formed an unbreakable Alliance, the residents of Boulder City, unable to endure exploitation any longer, had joined together to topple the mountain pressing down on them, and the Brahma Province of a thousand clans and a thousand gods had undergone yet another dynastic transition...
Quite a lot had truly happened over these years.
Each event seemed isolated, yet all appeared to be strung together by invisible threads of cause and effect.
And perhaps his standing here at this moment was also due to some unseen karma.
He shouldn't have indulged that greedy urge to "make a killing" back then.
If only he hadn't lingered in the port of Silver Moon Bay for so many days, attracting the attention of the Xilan Empire; if only he had taken the money earned from selling pelts, found that sour-faced captain, and begged him for another passage—even if he hadn't made the fortune of his dreams, it would at least have been better than this.
Gazing at the two cargo ships drawing ever closer, Mogavi wore a miserable expression, as if about to step onto the execution grounds.
Captain Achim patted his shoulder and gave him a beaming smile.
"Open up your horizons a bit. Don't pull such a long face. Once our soldiers make landfall at the port, you can have your pick of everything there. Slaves, cargo, or coin—it won't be less than what you'd make on a single trading run."
"Yes... respected sir."
Mogavi forced a smile that looked uglier than crying, but the moment he thought of his likely miserable end, what little grin he mustered collapsed entirely.
Ultimately, he couldn't reconcile himself to having years of painstaking toil culminate in such a pathetic death.
Gritting his teeth, he finally couldn't hold back from offering a word of advice, hoping to persuade the captain to pull back from the brink.
"I harbor no doubt whatsoever that you can crush your enemies as easily as squashing a grasshopper, but have you considered one thing... how do you plan to withstand the Alliance's wrath?"
"Wrath? Who gives a damn about the wrath of a bunch of moles?" Achim dug into his ear and flicked the wax disdainfully into the sea. "The moment they rejected Duke Garava's demand, they should have realized they would pay for their insolence, arrogance, and stupidity. Besides, we are merely reclaiming what belongs to us, and collecting a bit of interest along the way."
The Empire spanned vast lands, blessed with thousands of li of fertile soil, favored by a thousand gods, and bound in fraternal alliance with the Legion.
A mere Alliance was nothing to fear.
Although the Enterprise standing behind the Alliance was a threat—troublesome enough that even the Legion found them difficult to handle—he did not believe Ideal City would have a falling out with the Empire over such a trifle.
Moreover, the Legion had their backs. A battle-hardened two-star legate had already arrived at the imperial capital to seek an audience with His Majesty the Emperor, bringing along artillery, tanks, and rifles sufficient to arm several legions.
He conceded that those blue moles had a knack for scavenging trash, but in strategy and breadth of vision, they fell short. They were far from being a match for the Empire.
No one would ever know that this operation had been launched under the direct authorization of the Empire's highest echelons.
As soon as those two cargo vessels from Port Jingalen docked at Port French Fries, over a thousand elites disguised as pirates would swarm out, swiftly making landfall to take control of the entire harbor.
They would loot the encampment on the shore clean, carry off all the slaves stolen by the Alliance, and pin the blame on pirates. If the Alliance insisted on an explanation, they would just chop off this merchant's head and deliver it to them.
This would demonstrate the Empire's generosity, prove its stance and resolve to the Legion, reclaim the face lost by those despicable Moon-kin, and deal a crushing blow to the Alliance's prestige at the Slime Mold Community conference—a move that killed four birds with one stone.
As they spoke, one of the cargo ships pulled alongside the warship.
Mogavi secretly sized up the vessel. Over its long, narrow deck stood a tightly covered shed. Without question, it was nothing more than an ordinary civilian dry-bulk carrier—specifically, the kind used to haul livestock.
Typically, merchants of Brahma Province used such cargo ships to transport two-headed oxen, which were forbidden for consumption in Brahma Province, and sell them to the port of Silver Moon Bay.
Using civilian freighters to transport troops...
Leave it to these bastards to come up with such a stunt.
A man who looked like an officer stood at the bow, rendering a military salute to Achim.
"First Milluria of the Gray Wolf Army in position! Awaiting orders, my lord!"
Beholding the officer—with his ropy muscles, fiery gaze, and an aura of chilling lethality rolling off him—Captain Achim dipped his haughty head in approval.
The Gray Wolf Army was the elite force garrisoning the eastern part of Brahma Province, comprised entirely of valiant, battle-hardened Wolf-kin. It was the Xilan Empire's ace ground force.
He hadn't expected the imperial high command to deploy them. It seemed the upper brass attached even more importance to this operation than he had anticipated.
In his mind's eye, he could already see the gray smoke billowing over Port French Fries, along with dilapidated houses and bones reduced to ash.
Putting away his approving smile, Captain Achim composed his expression and regarded the officer somberly.
"Millurion Dhiraj, your superiors should have already briefed you on your mission, so I will not belabor the details here.
"From this moment forth, your identity is no longer that of imperial soldiers, but phantoms haunting these waters, devils bringing death and destruction to the Empire's enemies.
"I know this may stain your honor, but everything is for the Empire! Your fathers, your children, and your people will all be proud of you!"
The millurion named Dhiraj had eyes blazing with fierce light. Straightening his back with his head held high, he solemnly swore,
"For the Empire! For His Majesty!"
That formidable aura stood in stark contrast to the trembling Mogavi.
Glancing at the cowardly merchant beside him, Captain Achim's lips twisted into an amused, mocking sneer.
Patting the poor wretch on the shoulder, he turned the matter over to his most loyal subordinate, Singh, and headed back into the cabin.
Watching his superior leave, the taciturn guard stepped forward, took up position behind Mogavi, and said quietly,
"Mr. Mogavi, it's time to set off."
Mogavi nodded with a bitter face. Under the watchful eye of the guard named Singh, he wobbled across the gangplank extending from the warship's deck to the cargo vessel.
Boarding right behind him, Singh waved back, signaling the warship's sailors to pull in the plank.
Once the board was retracted, the warship slowly heaved its anchor chain and sounded a farewell blast of its horn.
The two cargo ships, underway once more, sounded their horns in return one after the other before pressing onward toward the Baiyue Strait.
Watching the warship flying the crossed-sabers flag on a green field fade into the distance, Mogavi completely abandoned any lingering hope that these fools might pull back from the abyss.
Just then, the millurion named Dhiraj walked up beside him and said expressionlessly,
"Mr. Mogavi, I've already heard about your situation via telegram. All you need to do is help us make landing at the docks. We will allow you first pick of ten slaves, as well as cargo worth one hundred thousand dinars."
Paying no attention to the latter half of the sentence, Mogavi glanced at the tightly shut cargo hold, then at the officer and the few soldiers disguised as deckhands, unable to resist asking:
"Do you have a plan? Or are we just going to sail straight in?"
Dhiraj replied tersely,
"Sailing straight in is enough."
Mogavi pressed,
"And then? How do you plan to take it? Charge straight up from the docks?"
"You needn't worry about what comes after." Truth be told, Dhiraj looked down on this coward from the bottom of his heart and couldn't be bothered to waste breath on him.
To say nothing of the fact that they were imperial elites, the two cargo ships held an entire milluria—over a thousand men. A single mouthful of spit from each would be enough to drown that port; he had no idea what this man was so terrified of.
Not to mention whether a fight would even materialize. Likely the moment they stepped ashore, those people would be struck dumb and raise their hands in surrender without a peep.
Looking at these people whom reason could not reach, Mogavi wore a bitter expression.
He knew anything he said now was futile; he had no idea what words could possibly talk them down.
If these bastards truly cared about their Empire from the bottom of their hearts, they ought to have used at least an ounce of brainpower when weighing their choices.
Yet plainly, they hadn't.
These people were mad.
Utterly and completely mad...
***
After sailing for two days and a night, the two cargo vessels finally entered the western mouth of the Baiyue Strait.
They were less than five hundred kilometers from Port French Fries. If nothing went awry, they would arrive before eight o'clock tonight.
Gazing at the emerald-green jungle along the coast, Mogavi's Adam's apple bobbed as he said,
"...Do you know why there are no people here?"
Singh, standing behind him, said nothing, too indifferent to acknowledge him.
Dhiraj, who had already changed into civilian clothes, glanced at him and said offhandedly,
"Why?"
"Because no one has ever been able to conquer this land, neither the Camel Hump Kingdom nor the Southern Islands Federation that fled from here... Before the endless waves of mutated beasts, mortal resolve and courage are futile."
Seeing Dhiraj staring intently at him, Mogavi swallowed hard and continued,
"Yet some have succeeded. Not only did they gain a foothold on this land, but they also built a settlement... You might not think it's any great feat, but I am a man of the Camel Hump Kingdom. I know all too well how astonishing that is. What they possess isn't just courage and resolve, but scientific methods and things I can't even fathom."
Dhiraj said expressionlessly,
"So what?"
Mogavi sighed softly.
"Nothing... just pretend I said nothing."
Amid the rustling chorus of insects along the shoreline, the two cargo ships laden with soldiers pressed forward.
Time crawled. Under the searing glare of the sun, these few brief hours felt as long as an entire century.
Yet unlike the agonizing Mogavi, the others aboard—from the officers to the soldiers disguised as deckhands—were brimming with vigor.
He even caught several soldiers whispering among themselves with wicked grins, fantasizing about how to carve up the spoils they had yet to lay hands on before they had even sighted the docks.
"Once we hit the shore, I'm picking one with wide hips."
"Haha, we know your peculiar taste. Don't worry, nobody's fighting you for her."
"Can you have a little ambition? Aren't shelter women way hotter than those filthy Moon-kin?"
"Why not try both? We've got three days anyway. The commander said as long as we don't mess up the mission, we can play however we like."
"Damn it... if only this bucket of bolts could sail a bit faster."
"I'm heading to the head first."
"Disgraceful bastard, hurry up and beat it."
"Hahaha!"
Perhaps answering their expectations, the sun finally sank into twilight.
The sea descending into night grew dead quiet. As if scenting the prelude to a tempest, even the swells lapping against the bow seemed cautious.
Gauging that the time had nearly come, Dhiraj, inspecting the deck, patted Mogavi on the shoulder and turned into the hold.
Before long, through the drafty hatch came blood-pumping bluster, answered by fierce, roaring shouts.
The man appeared to be conducting his final battle pep talk.
Yet to Mogavi's ears, it sounded no different from last rites.
They had no inkling of what manner of monster their opponent was, still daydreaming that stepping onto the docks would seal the deal, that the moment gunfire rang out, those timid blue moles would scurry into their burrows in panic.
Clutching the silver pendant against his chest, he silently prayed to the Goddess of the Silver Moon, hoping only that when he fell into the water later, he wouldn't be devoured by mutated beasts prowling nearby.
Tucking the pendant back into his collar, Mogavi drew a deep breath and walked to the bow.
As usual, Singh followed him like a shadow, with no intention of granting him a moment alone.
Mogavi didn't mind. After all, the time wasn't ripe yet; even if he dared to leap overboard, it would have to be once they were closer to the harbor, not here.
Gazing at the increasingly familiar coastline in the distance, his heart pounded violently against his ribs.
Right then, however, his brows furrowed, and an involuntary murmur escaped his lips:
"Strange..."
The sound did not escape Singh's ears. The latter asked expressionlessly,
"What is it?"
Mogavi swallowed, glanced at him, and voiced his confusion in a low whisper:
"I don't see the patrol speedboats."
Singh frowned.
"Patrol?"
Mogavi explained,
"The Southern Islands Federation's patrol."
Smoothing his knit brow, Singh resumed his indifferent look.
"Who cares about them?"
Mogavi blinked, pulled his gaze back from the man's face, and looked back out at the distant water, muttering under his breath:
"It really isn't their concern... but this is abnormal. In the past, whenever a ship passed through here, they would board and inspect it for smuggling or whatever."
Had the Alliance forbidden them from patrolling here?
Surely not...
For reasons he couldn't name, a nagging dread gnawed at Mogavi's gut, as if he were being stalked by wild beasts.
Driven by the instinct of self-preservation, he released his grip on the railing and backed away from the bow, retreating toward the deckhouse.
Almost the instant he reached the side of the deckhouse, a violent jolt accompanied by a deafening boom erupted from beneath his feet, nearly tossing him off balance.
The freighter seemed to have struck something.
Yet Mogavi knew full well that these waters were completely safe; there were none of those treacherous reefs lurking beneath the swells to snare unwary ships.
Caught off guard by the blast, Singh behind him and the soldiers nearby were far less fortunate.
Not being professional sailors, they tumbled every which way, and a few unlucky bastards near the gunwales plummeted into the sea with shrill screams.
Their cries, swallowed by the roar of the surf, cut off almost instantly—as if something had dragged them under.
Confronted by this sudden cataclysm, Mogavi was scared out of his wits. Clasping his head with both hands, he hugged the deck, trembling violently.
Not far away, the hold hatch slammed open.
Clutching his forehead, Dhiraj burst out holding a gun, cursing loudly:
"Damn it, what happened?!"
Gazing past the officer's shins, Mogavi finally saw the so-called "phantoms haunting the Brahma Sea" inside the hold.
They were a pack of soldiers slinging Ripper rifles, with several sporting submachine guns and automatic rifles across their chests.
None of that mattered now.
Those men had also been knocked off their feet, tumbling in heaps. Though not in complete panic, they were staring about in utter bewilderment, at a loss as to how to respond to the situation.
Scrambling up from the deck, Singh cursed as well, hauling Mogavi up by the collar and barking into his face:
"You little bastard, did you tip off the Alliance?!"
Mogavi pleaded with a miserable face,
"Are you joking, my lord? When have I ever left your sight?"
Realizing that was indeed the case, Singh gritted his teeth and released his collar.
Stumbling back two steps, Mogavi caught himself against the cabin wall. He struggled to steady his ragged breathing, trying to calm his frantic panic.
He had roughly pieced together what had happened.
What struck them just now was likely a torpedo.
Through the tremors pulsing along the deck and bulkheads, he could clearly feel the rush of seawater flooding the hull; this heavily laden freighter was slowly sinking.
Yet he was in no hurry to jump ship, because he still hadn't figured out what on earth had struck them.
The Alliance?
Impossible...
Those people had principles; they would never deliberately attack civilian vessels.
The Southern Islands Federation?
Even more impossible, unless they planned to live entirely self-sufficiently from now on.
Damn it, what the hell was it?!
It wasn't as if mines could evolve from mutated beasts!
Just as he was seized by shock and terror, the others aboard finally realized the hull was flooding.
Simultaneously, the trailing cargo ship seemed to take a torpedo as well, sinking slowly amid violent shuddering and the groaning shriek of tearing steel.
There was no time to hesitate.
Seeing that any further delay would likely drown his men inside the hold, the officer named Dhiraj gritted his teeth and bellowed decisively:
"Abandon ship! Everyone assemble on the north shore!"
Upon receiving the order, the soldiers poured from the hold and jumped into the sea like dumplings into boiling water.
Fortunately, they were not far from shore—a swim of less than fifty meters would get them there in no time.
Seeing that no one was paying attention to him, Mogavi prepared to take advantage of the chaos and leap into the sea.
However, just as he reached the listing railing, a scene he would never forget in his entire life met his eyes.
Gazing upon that hellish spectacle, Mogavi's face drained of all color in an instant. His legs gave out and he collapsed onto the deck, babbling incoherently with words like "monsters" and "devils."
Millurion Dhiraj, who had just ordered his men to abandon ship, was in no better shape.
His hands gripped the freezing railing in a death grip as his wide eyes stared at the sea, his bloodshot pupils filled with profound terror and despair.
A despair so palpable one could see it with the naked eye...
Chapter 691