Capture the Governor's Mansion!

"Impact confirmed!" "Damn it, ten meters to the left!" "Adjusting coordinates—" "Loaded!" Behind the perimeter wall of the Governor's Mansion, a towering artillery barrel belched a long tongue of flame, hurling a 100mm high-explosive shell toward the streets bordering the harbor. Stepping over the spent casing ejected from the breech, the loader expertly shoved in the next round and sealed the breech block. Beside him, the gunner dialed in the firing parameters, prepping for the next salvo. Yet before the gunner could sprint back and yank the lanyard, a heavy slap cracked against the back of his head. "Are you out of your f***ing mind?! Shelling Tulip Street?!" Cold sweat beading on his forehead, an officer stormed over, seized the gunner by the collar, and unleashed a torrent of curses. That was Tulip Street! Not a single person living there was someone he could afford to cross! Stunned and bewildered, the gunner stammered, "B-But that's where they are..." "I don't give a—" Before the words could clear his throat, three sharp whistles tore through the air. Before anyone could react, a blinding eruption of flames and shrapnel shredded the officer like a sieve, blasting him and the shattered wreckage of the 100mm gun into a sand pit ten meters away. Looking down at the dust-cloaked artillery position through a drone feed, an Intelligence-type player beside the mortar battery let out an excited cheer. "Direct hit! Gun destroyed!" "Hell yeah! Good shooting!" The Strength-type brutes squatting around the mortars roared in approval, morale soaring. Using the coordinates relayed by the spotter, the gunners rapidly refined their firing solutions and continued blanketing the area to support their allies holding the outer rim of Tulip Street. Shells rained from the sky, tracing blinding flashes along the street's far end and kicking up billowing clouds of pulverized stone and dirt. Pinned under the rolling mortar bombardment, the Golden Gallon Port garrison pushing toward the Burning Corps' defense line couldn't even raise their heads. With zero artillery support and no heavy ordnance of their own, they hadn't even caught a glimpse of their enemies' faces before leaving over a hundred corpses in their wake. Tracers pierced the smoke churning from impact craters, darting and crisscrossing down the boulevard. Each flicker of sparks sent another living soul tumbling into a pool of blood. "Charge!" "Drive your bayonets into their throats!" "Wash our streets in their blood!" Soldiers collapsed one after another behind barricades and cover. To hold the crumbling frontline together, the centurion directing the defense barked at the men behind him, urging them forward to plug the gaps. Listening to the frantic chatter of automatic rifles and the ceaseless thumping of mortars, a soldier huddled behind a roadblock finally snapped under the sheer terror, shouting back at the centurion, "Sir! These marauders have too much firepower! We need heavy weapons—!" Before he could finish, a roar cut him off. "We don't have any! What the hell are the rifles in your hands for?! Damn it, stop shooting at the upper floors! I told you to shoot the men, not the buildings—" Seeing a recruit beside him pointing his muzzle toward the rooftops, the centurion lunged forward and shoved the barrel down. Right at that instant, a stray bullet whipped past with a sharp *crack*, drilling clean through the centurion's forehead. *Thud—* Pupils blown wide, the centurion collapsed heavily to the cobblestones. The shower of blood and brains terrified the recruit holding the rifle. Screaming, he cast his weapon aside and scrambled backward on all fours. With their commander dead, the remaining troops could no longer contain their dread. Abandoning their positions en masse, they bolted toward the rear. In less than ten minutes, a full hundred-man company thrown into the line had dissolved into a total rout. Seeing their comrades flee until nothing remained of them, the soldiers stranded at the tip of the frontline were swallowed by sheer panic and despair. Knowing it was death either way, several men locked bayonets onto their muzzles, bellowing at the top of their lungs to drown out their terror as they charged blindly forward. Predictably, it was nothing short of suicide. A single 10mm machine gun mounted on the third floor of a roadside villa was more than enough to lock down the entire boulevard. Bursts of heavy tracers instantly pinned the charging soldiers to the dirt. The battle had turned into a one-sided slaughter. Of the two thousand city defense guards in Golden Gallon Port, more than half had fallen in a mere fifteen minutes, and most of the survivors carried wounds. Their opponents, meanwhile—a force that had never once identified itself—hadn't yielded an inch of ground since the first shot was fired, holding several thoroughfares near the docks in an iron grip. Staring at the carnage strewn across the road and the corpses filling the craters, Chiliarch Abinan's face went white with horror. The enemy's combat prowess went far beyond anything he had anticipated. If the fight dragged on like this, all two thousand men under his command would be buried here! They couldn't go on like this! He screamed at the soldiers ahead, "Retreat! Fall back! Everyone fall back!" To the men, the shout was like rain after a long drought. Having finally received the order to withdraw, the Xilan Empire soldiers clinging to cover let out massive sighs of relief, abandoning their barricades and fleeing into the streets behind them. Watching the imperial forces pull back, the Alliance didn't press the pursuit. They held their fire, watching the retreating troops vanish in the direction of the slums. *** Meanwhile, the fighting near the Governor's Mansion was also drawing to a close. Cowering in his top-floor study, Nihak shivered uncontrollably. As the gunfire outside grew fainter, the panic gnawing at his heart only worsened. He knew perfectly well who was out there. Even if they hadn't announced themselves, they were definitely Alliance men without a shadow of a doubt! What he couldn't comprehend was how on earth they had shown up here. Could the Alliance have caught wind of the raid on Port French Fries the exact moment Dhiraj departed Golden Gallon Port, and simply stationed forces on the Brahma Sea to intercept them? Where had the leak come from? The docks? Or... Tiandu? Impossible— Nihak's mind spun into chaos, overwhelmed by fear. This dread was far worse than what he had felt a month earlier when those self-proclaimed White Bear Knights had torn through Golden Gallon Port. He could tell that this invasion wasn't the work of some civilian militia—this was a genuine, hardened regular army! The kind capable of going toe-to-toe with the Legion's Eastern Expeditionary remnants in the Sunset Province! He had never imagined the Alliance's retaliation would be so savage, nor that it would arrive with such terrifying speed that he didn't even have time to flee the mansion for a safe house. Clutching his head, he let out a miserable groan. "Damn it... this was all Duke Garawa's idea! Why come after me?! Go find him! That idiot is right in your own Dawn City!" Outside, the gunfire had fallen completely silent. Yet the terror in Nihak's chest only mounted. Trembling, he raised a finger to part the curtain ever so slightly, intending to peek at the courtyard. But before he could look, the door behind him was kicked open with a thunderous crash. "FBI!" "Vice squad!" "Don't move!" A pack of intruders burst inside, shouting words in a language he couldn't comprehend. In the blink of an eye, half a dozen cold, dark muzzles were jammed against his forehead. Nihak threw his hands into the air, staring in sheer terror at the matte-black exoskeletons cramming into the study, and screamed, "I surrender! Don't! Don't shoot!" A player in an exoskeleton stepped forward, brought up a tablet, snapped a photo of his face, and verified his match as the governor of the settlement. Stowing the tablet, Bai Gei Dai Ju looked down at him. "Governor Nihak of Golden Gallon Port, we suspect your involvement in the attack on Port French Fries the night before last. According to testimony from Chiliarch Dhiraj and other persons of interest, the thousand-man force that struck us embarked from Golden Gallon Port. Please cooperate with our investigation." Nihak's face was utterly bloodless. He couldn't even summon the breath to offer an excuse. Seeing that he had nothing to say, Bai Gei Dai Ju didn't bother wasting breath either, waving a hand dismissively. "Take him away!" Two players marched forward, hauled him off the floor by his collar, slapped handcuffs onto his wrists, and marched him out of the room. Downstairs, the skirmish had already concluded. Over a hundred players occupying the Governor's Mansion fanned out to conduct a thorough search, inspecting every corner. To be fair, the estate's opulence was staggering. From the grandiose entrance gates to the polished marble floor tiles and the intricate reliefs carved along the pillars, every inch reeked of lavish extravagance. And it went beyond mere luxury. While Golden Gallon Port as a whole was less than one percent electrified, the mansion boasted an astonishing ninety-nine percent coverage. Not only were there French-door refrigerators, artistic light fixtures, elevators linking every floor, and digital central air conditioning, but there were also dedicated screening rooms and conference halls equipped with holographic projection systems. It was almost surreal. These industrial wonders were nestled right in the middle of a settlement where the vast majority of survivors still wrestled on the edge of starvation. Still, that bewilderment didn't linger long. Four players walked into the kitchen and quickly cracked the case. "...Damn, manufactured in Daybreak City?" Looking at the brand logo tucked beneath the refrigerator door, the player with a rifle slung across his chest wore an expression of sheer disbelief. His username was Yin Chai Yang Cuo, a Strength-type brute from the infamous fallen-meta class. Following behind him were three teammates: Yi Bu Deng Tian, Ban Sui Cuo Tuo, and Mei You Jia Ren. Like him, they had secured their closed-beta slots just before the Ten Thousand Li of Yellow Sand expansion. Now around level twenty-five or twenty-six, they formed the server's solid backbone. "Wait, are we the bad guys here?" Mei You Jia Ren let out a low whistle, his tone laced with amusement. It wasn't just the fridge. The oven and microwave in the kitchen were also products of Daybreak City's industrial zone, with the manufacturer labels still intact. These high-end industrial goods, far out of reach for ordinary folk, clearly hadn't improved the lives of local survivors—if anything, paying for them had made their misery worse. After pacing around the kitchen, Ban Sui Cuo Tuo stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Probably exported to the Camel Hump Kingdom, and then resold here through Silver Moon Bay." Mei You Jia Ren suddenly blurted out, "How many slaves do you think a fridge like that costs?" Yi Bu Deng Tian: "...Ten? Twenty?" Ban Sui Cuo Tuo: "That's too high. A fridge wouldn't go for ten thousand dinars no matter what... seven or eight should do it." Back in Dawn City, a refrigerator only ran around 800 to 1,000 silver coins, roughly the price of four or five assault rifles. Most residents could pick one up with half a month's savings. Even at minimum wage, a little over a month's work was plenty. Looking at it that way, the survivors in this settlement truly had it rough—their lives were worth less than a household appliance. The four left the kitchen, headed down the corridor into the basement, and arrived before a vault that seemed to house the governor's private collection. Staring at the locked door, all four players broke into grins. "Back up, guys. Let me handle this!" Finally finding a chance to show off, Yin Chai Yang Cuo stepped forward, spat into his palm, and kicked the locked heavy door with all his might. Backed by the exoskeleton's servomotors and dozens of points in raw Strength, the kick sent the entire reinforced door flying several meters inward with a deafening crash. Times like these were when Strength builds truly shone. Just as Yin Chai Yang Cuo raised an eyebrow, ready to bask in glory, a pair of screams echoed from inside the room. The four snapped their rifles up and surged in, only to find two women huddled together, trembling in fear. Both were exceptionally attractive. Their flimsy nightgowns did little to conceal their curvy figures, exposing fair skin to the air. They had evidently fled down here in such a rush that they hadn't even had time to throw on robes. Facing the armed intruders, the woman with long, flaxen hair shrank back, her voice shaking. "W-Who are you people?" The players exchanged glances, unsure how to handle this. Yin Chai Yang Cuo relayed the situation to their centurion over the comms, then turned to her. "We haven't decided yet. We'll let you know once we figure it out... Are you the governor's wife?" "No... I, I..." For some reason, the woman began stammering, unable to string a coherent sentence together. Fearing that hesitation might provoke the gunmen, the woman huddled beside her sold her out on the spot. "She's Director Bihari's wife... the chief of the Port Guard Bureau." Ban Sui Cuo Tuo: "?" Yi Bu Deng Tian: "???" Yin Chai Yang Cuo: "...Huh?" Mei You Jia Ren blinked, but his curiosity immediately latched onto the other party. He looked at the speaking woman. "Then what about you? Are you the governor's wife?" The woman's face flushed with awkwardness, and she hesitated, keeping her mouth shut. Seeing her exposed, the guard director's wife shot her a vicious glare, gritting her teeth. "She's the wife of Guramanki, the director of the Tax Bureau!" The two women glared daggers at each other, sparks practically flying from their eyes. Had the players not been standing there, they likely would have clawed each other's hair out right then and there. The four players traded another round of baffled looks. After a long pause, Ban Sui Cuo Tuo sighed in amazement. "These guys are into some freaky stuff..." Mei You Jia Ren nodded in solemn agreement, adding critically, "Next time, count me in." Yin Chai Yang Cuo: "..." *** The discovery in the private vault was merely an interlude; the two women were escorted off to join Governor Nihak's dependents and servants. Compared to the wives of the police chief and the tax chief, the players were far more interested in the artifacts stored within Nihak's vault. As the prime suspect behind the strike on Port French Fries, all his assets were subject to confiscation to compensate for the munitions expended during that battle. Whatever was left over would, of course, be divvied up among the participating players as quest rewards. To everyone's surprise, however, the governor's stash didn't consist of heaps of gold, silver, or jewels. Instead, it was filled with bizarre relics. Some appeared to be pre-war artifacts, including the well-preserved chassis of a maglev car, an android manufactured in Year 85 of the Era of Prosperity, and even a relatively intact vending machine alongside a card-swipe public coffee maker. Beyond these larger pieces lay an array of curious trinkets, as well as stacks of pre-war holographic cartridges and gaming storage drives. That so many relics from the Era of Prosperity had accumulated here was likely a personal obsession of Governor Nihak's. Yet curiously, for a man so profoundly infatuated with that lost era, he possessed not a shred of genuine yearning for its principles. The players could only rationalize it as best they could. Perhaps the governor was merely fascinated by the dazzling, almost magical feats of advanced technology, while caring nothing for the civilization or thought that had birthed them. Otherwise, it was hard to explain why they sat mounted in display cases like trophies. Regardless, securing so many well-preserved pre-war antiquities was an unexpected windfall for the Burning Corps. The Scientific Expedition would certainly be thrilled. Whether for sociological inquiry or engineering research, Boss Yin Fang never skimped on payouts for valuable Era of Prosperity antiques. Once the search of the mansion was complete, the players assembled in the main hall. Bai Gei Dai Ju stepped up to briefly summarize the current situation and lay out the next operational phase. "Team 1 has already broken the Golden Gallon Port garrison. Those spineless bastards have fallen back into the slums to set up a defense line and wait for reinforcements. Phase One of our assault is a success. "New orders are in. Command plans to convert this estate into our temporary forward base, which will let us overlook the northern districts of Golden Gallon Port. We'll be operating in this area for the next few days. To secure our grip on the sector, we have two tasks: first, fortify our perimeter; second, evacuate the nearby local survivors. "Command's view is that we can pay the locals a relocation stipend so they clear out quickly, avoiding civilian casualties once the shooting starts again." There was no international law on the wasteland, but minimizing civilian harm remained a priority—both for the Alliance's reputation and for the smooth execution of their local operations. An Intelligence-type player raised his hand. Bai Gei Dai Ju nodded at him. "Go ahead." The player asked, "Where's the money coming from?" Bai Gei Dai Ju replied concisely, "From our enemies' pockets, of course. That's my next point: the settlement's largest bank is right on Tulip Street, and it's already under our control. The dinars and Cr have scrap and exchange value for us, but those Xilan coins are basically wastepaper. Bottom line, we have a budget of about a hundred million Xilan coins to get this done." A collective gasp rippled through the hall. "Holy crap!" "A hundred million?!" "Man, if only those were silver coins!" Bai Gei Dai Ju gave a dry cough, cutting off the excited chatter. "Keep dreaming. Back to business: we need to clear out about five hundred households. It's tedious work... Which squad wants the job?" The moment the words left his mouth, a forest of hands shot into the air. "Me! Pick me!" "Look over here, Boss! I love tedious work!" "My house got demolished for development in real life, I'm an expert at this!" "Damn, you'll flex over literally anything, won't you?!" The crowd clamored over one another. Since none of them had ever gotten to spray the big red 'Demolish' character on someone's wall in the real world, doing it in-game was too good a thrill to pass up. Seeing everyone clamoring for the assignment, Bai Gei Dai Ju scratched his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and jabbed randomly at his VM screen. "...Yin Chai Yang Cuo, take your squad and get it sorted out as fast as possible." Basking in the envious glares of the crowd, Yin Chai Yang Cuo smirked, unable to resist flaunting his luck. "Duty calls, brothers! Catch you on the flip side!" Seeing his smug, gloating grin, a nearby player rolled his eyes. "Get lost already." "Watch out for a local sniping you in the back!" "Tch." Unable to stomach their boneheaded team leader drawing so much aggro, Ban Sui Cuo Tuo braced himself and dragged him away through the crowd. *** Holding a settlement of over a million people with a mere five hundred troops was fundamentally unrealistic. The sprawling slums resembled a tangled ant nest, while the undulating terrain turned that nest into a multi-tiered labyrinth. Pushing troops into such unfamiliar ground without proper recon risked overextending their numbers and leaving them surrounded on all sides. Consequently, before the operation had even kicked off, the players of the Burning Corps had hashed out their strategy on the forums—confining the combat zone strictly to the blocks around the harbor. The harbor was the single most vital facility in all of Golden Gallon Port. So long as the docks remained in their hands, they could advance or withdraw at will, while drawing an endless stream of supplies from the sea. Furthermore, because the settlement's wealthiest district was under their control, the imperial army would hesitate before launching any heavy assaults. And compared to the flimsy mud huts in the slums that collapsed with a single kick, the sturdy brick and masonry buildings flanking the port streets provided far superior cover. *** At the very moment the docks of Golden Gallon Port changed hands, Tiandu—the imperial capital sitting on the western coast of Bolo Province—was bathed in celebration. Under the crisp morning sunlight, an envoy convoy from the Legion rolled through the northern gates of Tiandu, advancing toward the Heavenly Palace amid cheering crowds of survivors lining the avenues. That was the domain of His Imperial Majesty. It served both as his personal residence and the grand hall where he received his court. Sitting inside an armored all-terrain vehicle, MacLaren gazed out the window with mild boredom at the celebrating throng, yet still managed a perfunctory smile and waved. Only when his arm grew tired did he draw the window's blackout curtain, grumbling under his breath to the adjutant beside him, "Why the hell are there so many people here?" The dense sea of heads stretched as far as the eye could see. The adjutant replied softly, "This is the capital of the Xilan Empire, after all. A large population is only natural." MacLaren curled his lip. "I know it's their capital, but this many is ridiculous... Did these people breed like rats?" The adjutant gave a quiet cough, offering a polite reminder. "They are our partners... at least for the time being. I hope you will show them a modicum of respect and avoid a repeat of what happened in the Falcon Kingdom." Bolo Province fell squarely within the sphere of influence of Triumph City's civil administration. The Legion's diplomatic stance in the region focused on courtship and alliance, a directive handed down personally by the Grand Marshal. The Legion's civil officials had cultivated ties here for years, trading obsolete military hardware cast off by the officer corps for a steady supply of hardy servants for Triumph City and reliable auxiliary units for the western front. Even the unified Xilan Empire itself stood as one of their major political triumphs. The adjutant had no desire to see this muscle-brained officer botch everything. MacLaren snapped impatiently, "Got it." The adjutant shot him a surprised glance. This was their first assignment together. He had expected General MacLaren to be far more difficult to handle, yet the man was surprisingly compliant. It was a far cry from the rumors he had heard from colleagues. Ignoring the adjutant, MacLaren leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes to rest. Ever since spending half a year imprisoned by the Alliance, he had seemed like a changed man, shifting from arrogant and overbearing to sullen and withdrawn. Especially after receiving news of General Griffin's death. Whether spooked by the sheer ruthlessness of factional infighting or simply disillusioned, he had remained in self-imposed exile since returning to Triumph City, drifting on the periphery of power. Even when various factions extended olive branches, he had ignored them all. Over time, he became a marginal figure in Triumph City, never appointed to command a new airship. And all this despite holding the rank of Two-Star Myriarch. It wasn't until recently that the civil faction—similarly sidelined from the core military power—approached him with an offer to serve as a military advisor to the Legion's strategic ally. Perhaps seeking a change of scenery, he had agreed without much hesitation, though he had maintained a scowl throughout the entire journey. The convoy came to a halt before the Heavenly Palace. An officer descending from the front passenger seat opened the rear doors, and an imposing megastructure immediately filled the Wilantes' vision. The tower was broad and flat, shaped like a sharp-edged rectangular slab whose sheer walls gleamed like mirrors. Yet its grand profile was not the most astonishing sight; rather, it rested horizontally like a book laid flat, hovering ten meters above the ground, connected to the earth solely by a flight of hand-carved marble steps. Only one power could free such a massive edifice from the grasp of gravity. Staring at the soaring "palace" before him, MacLaren narrowed his eyes slightly. "Anti-gravity drive?" The adjutant gave a slight nod, keeping his voice low. "Yes. Its core is a cargo starship. You should be quite familiar with those." MacLaren snorted noncommittally. "Using a starship as a palace... what an absurd waste." "After all, this three-million-square-kilometer peninsula is the sole 'preservation zone.' The deserts and mountains have shielded them from far too much. Spend enough time here and you'll understand. Being born in this place is both a blessing and a curse..." The adjutant spoke softly, but before he could finish, an officer jogged up to his side, hurriedly whispering a few words into his ear. The adjutant's expression changed instantly. Catching the sudden shift, MacLaren raised an eyebrow. "What happened?" "Nothing. Just a minor incident on the eastern side of Bolo Province... nothing serious. No need to trouble yourself, we'll handle it through diplomatic channels," the adjutant replied vaguely, his tone evasive. MacLaren's brow furrowed deeper, his gaze boring into the man. "What is it? That's an order: tell me right now." Rank outweighed reason, especially with a gap of several grades. Unable to withstand the pressure, the adjutant bit the bullet and spoke. "Alliance troops landed at Golden Gallon Port—" Before the sentence was finished, MacLaren spun on his heel and strode straight back toward the convoy. Startled by the violent reaction, the adjutant lunged forward and grabbed his arm. "Wait! General MacLaren, what... what are you doing?!" Turning around to glare fiercely at him, MacLaren snarled, "What am I doing?! You told me I was coming here to train imperial soldiers, not to go to war with the Alliance!" It wasn't that he was terrified of those blue-coated moles. It was that he didn't even have a proper unit under his command. Leading a rabble of cannon fodder against the Alliance was just throwing lives away for nothing; he'd be better off surrendering on the spot. Clinging desperately to MacLaren's arm, the adjutant scrambled to explain, half-crying and half-laughing, "P-Please, calm down! They only landed a single thousand-man unit, and it's on the easternmost edge of Bolo Province! We're all the way in the west... Besides, we haven't heard any formal declaration of war from the Alliance against the Xilan Empire! There must be some misunderstanding!" MacLaren froze, eyeing him with deep suspicion. "Are you sure? Just one thousand-man unit?" The adjutant nodded vigorously. "I'm certain! Our intelligence network spans the entire peninsula, I give you my word! It's definitely not what you're thinking..." A single thousand-man unit. Taking Golden Gallon Port with that alone would be a stretch, let alone marching all the way across the province to Tiandu. Realizing he had overreacted, a faint blush crept onto MacLaren's weathered face. Shaking off the hand clutching his arm, he cleared his throat loudly. "Finish your sentences next time! Don't dole it out like squeezing toothpaste!" *You didn't even give me a chance to finish...* The adjutant forced a wry smile, grumbling inwardly, but chose to preserve the myriarch's dignity by keeping his mouth firmly shut. Right at that moment, flanked by an entourage of courtiers, a man draped in opulent robes appeared at the top of the marble staircase leading into the Heavenly Palace. A booming, hearty laugh accompanied his overjoyed welcome. "Welcome, my friends from the north!" "You're finally here!"