The eastern outskirts of the City of a Thousand Pillars.
Winding trenches were carved across the defensive line like twisted centipedes, cleanly cleaving the earth in two.
Helmeted soldiers stood tensely in the trenches, gripping their rifles with both hands, leaning forward as their narrowed eyes fixed upon the wilderness ahead.
Though it was a rare clear day in the rainy season, an invisible dark cloud hung heavy over everyone’s head. Both the soldiers in the trenches and the fish in the Yongliu River felt utterly suffocated beneath it.
Inside the frontline observation post.
General Alaiyang stared at the distant earthen slope with a deeply furrowed brow.
Deep wrinkles were etched at the corners of his eyes, his dark bags were slightly puffy, and his murky pupils mirrored the waters of the Yongliu River, with flecks of silver hair hidden at his temples. His haggard countenance looked as if he had aged more than a decade overnight, bearing no resemblance to his high-spirited self of just a week ago.
Staff Officer Gopal, standing beside him, looked just as sleep-deprived. Usually the one full of ideas, he was now completely subdued and tight-lipped.
An entire ten-thousand-man legion captured down to the last unit...
Such a thing had never occurred since the very first dynasty was founded in Brahma Province!
This was not merely a humiliation for a few officers. It was a disgrace to the entire Gray Wolf Army—and to every single member of the Wolf Clan!
Even more agonizing was the fate of those ten thousand-odd captured Wolf Clan warriors.
Their captors were the most vicious thugs of Golden Gallon Port—a mob of slaves twisted in both body and mind from prolonged torment.
Heaven only knew what terrible indignities those proud Wolf Clan fighters would suffer in their hands.
Yet, anxious as they were over what awaited those young men, they lacked the leisure to worry about those poor souls for the moment.
The instant news of the frontline defeat reached the royal capital, an urgent telegraph arrived from His Majesty far away in Tiandu. It ordered them to withdraw a hundred kilometers to set up defenses around the City of a Thousand Pillars and cease all offensive operations against the Alliance.
The City of a Thousand Pillars was the holy city of the Xilan Empire and a sacred sanctuary in the hearts of all survivors across Brahma Province. The iron chains coiled around each totem pillar symbolized blessings upon the land, drawing vast crowds of pilgrims every year to pray for inner peace and tranquility.
If the Alliance took this place, not only would the imperial family of the Xilan Empire lose all its prestige, but the stability of the entire province would be thrown into chaos.
Thugs looting and killing in the name of the apocalypse would sweep through the entirety of Brahma Province.
Whatever happened, this settlement could never fall into the hands of the Alliance!
General Alaiyang had already prepared to fight to the death.
Just then, his adjutant jogged in from the rear trench, saluting as he panted heavily.
"Report! The structures in the combat zone have been cleared. There’s not a single bunker or farm plot left along the entire frontline! I assure you, sir, aside from our own men, you won’t spot a survivor, let alone a rat!"
Alaiyang nodded. He did not ask where those troublesome survivors had been sent, merely raising his binoculars again to peer eastward.
All was silent over there. Beyond a few abandoned, dilapidated houses, there was not a trace of human presence.
Staff Officer Gopal, standing beside him, finally broke the silence.
"The Alliance honored the ceasefire agreement... It seems they don't want to blow things out of proportion after all."
A trace of relief tinged his voice.
Yet almost as soon as the words left his mouth, a faint silhouette of dust emerged across the distant wilderness.
The officers in the observation post froze the moment they spotted the plume. Alaiyang was the first to react, roaring at the top of his lungs.
"Prepare for battle!"
The instant his roar faded, piercing sirens wailed across the ten-odd-kilometer stretch of trenches.
Machine gunners crouched in bunkers scrambled to chamber ammo belts. Artillerymen cranked their winches in a frenzy, the clanking nearly throwing off sparks from friction.
Soldiers clutching rifles filed out of the blast shelters, chests pressed firmly against the trench walls, their panicked gazes pointing outward alongside their rifles.
Glittering bayonets flashed blindingly under the blazing sun.
Everyone stared nervously at the fast-approaching cloud of dust, waiting for the order to fire while silently praying that the order would never come.
Most of them had lived through the frantic rout along the banks of the Yongliu River, where over ten thousand men had been chased down by a mere two hundred, driving some to leap straight into the water.
Memories of terror were etched deep into the soul of every Wolf Clan soldier.
No one wanted to experience the nightmare of that day ever again...
Alaiyang’s face was dark as stagnant water. He spoke not a word, seemingly lost in thought. Gopal, beside him, was drenched in sweat, his hands trembling as he gripped his binoculars.
This was the absolute frontline—
Swallowing hard, he said nervously, "General, if the Alliance brazenly violates the ceasefire, this is the very front. We should at least fall back a bit—"
In truth, they already had.
Before the official ceasefire was signed, Alliance soldiers were forbidden from stepping a single pace out of Golden Gallon Port. The only thing left to determine was whether the approaching figure belonged to the Alliance, or to the puppet army of rebels and thugs.
"Wait a moment longer,"
Alaiyang interrupted him, his gaze glued to the distance.
The silhouette of dust was finally close.
A desert-camouflaged armored off-road vehicle came into the officers' view, coming to a halt roughly a kilometer from the trenches.
A few sharp-eyed soldiers stationed near the front could even spot it with the naked eye, their palms growing slick with sweat against their rifles.
While everyone held their breath, the vehicle door swung open, and a soldier wearing an exoskeleton leaped down.
Resting on his shoulder was a flagpole that, once unfurled, stood three people tall. The blue-backed flag featured a golden-yellow bundle of distinct, separate strands, with the Alliance crest positioned in the upper left corner.
The officers watched in bewilderment, having no idea what he intended to do. The soldiers in the trenches felt their hearts drop into bottomless despair.
There was no doubt about it—
That exoskeleton belonged to the Alliance!
They had not even bothered to change into civilian clothes...
The wind blowing from the Yongliu River snapped the banner briskly. Ling Chong unfastened his helmet visor and goggles to catch his breath, only to nearly choke on the stench.
Flashing an awkward grin toward the silent, solemn trenches in the distance, he snapped his visor back shut and drove the massive flagpole violently into the earth beneath his feet.
Driven by the exoskeleton’s power, the flagpole plunged into the soil to the depth of a full-grown man. It was planted not merely beside the Yongliu River, but deep into the hearts of every Wolf Clan soldier watching.
The soldiers and officers in the distant trenches watched with wide eyes, yet not a single soul fired, silently swallowing the humiliation.
An imperial soldier gritted his teeth and raised his rifle to aim, but a decurion beside him caught the barrel, shaking his head in warning.
In the observation post, Gopal swallowed again, forcing an awkward smile as he feigned composure.
"They... behaved rather with restraint..."
Alaiyang said nothing, nor did the adjutant behind him. Feeling foolish, Gopal gave two dry chuckles and returned his attention to his binoculars.
Having planted the flag, the soldier climbed back into the vehicle. A chain was then lowered from the rear, dragging behind it an implement resembling a harrow.
The off-road vehicle started back up, swung around on the spot, and sped off parallel to the trenches, moving away from the Yongliu River.
Its massive tires threw up billowing plumes of dust, and the taut chain clattered noisily, gouging a shallow furrow into the earth.
At that moment, the officers in the observation post finally understood the message, and rage crept onto every face.
Where the flagpole stood was the exact position of the ceasefire line!
Facing an imperial army of three hundred thousand, they had sent nothing more than a single flagpole!
It was a naked provocation!
A blatant insult to the Gray Wolf Army and the entire empire!
"Those bastards!" The adjutant behind Alaiyang cursed, itching to charge out and put a bullet through the back of that vehicle. He turned to General Alaiyang with earnest pleading. "General! Give the order! They were the first to break the agreement!"
Alaiyang remained silent. Staff Officer Gopal, however, jumped in fright and hastily intervened.
"The ceasefire hasn't been signed yet! Confining those bandits to the settlement was merely His Majesty's unilateral demand... They are technically under no obligation to honor an unratified agreement. Calling it a breach of treaty isn't accurate."
"Are we just going to stand here and watch those bastards take a victory lap under our very noses?!" The adjutant clenched his fists in fury. "Setting aside what the troops will think, how do we answer to His Majesty?!"
"This is precisely what His Majesty wants..." Gopal cleared his throat gently, lowering his voice in a hurried whisper. "Do you remember that ceasefire decree from earlier? Everything that mattered was written in the title; the body of the text was secondary..."
Alaiyang nodded silently, still uttering no word. He merely lowered his binoculars, brushed past the bewildered adjutant, and left the frontline observation post.
Gopal was entirely correct.
A loyal subject's greatest duty was to accommodate His Majesty's hidden intentions; competence, in contrast, was hardly the most vital trait.
If he had stubbornly ordered them to open fire—even if all three hundred thousand men swarmed out and crushed Golden Gallon Port to dust, winning a glorious victory—no good end would await him. Weeds would be growing yards high over his grave in three to five years.
Conversely, if he heeded His Majesty's every word, even after fighting the most cowardly, bungled campaign, he would at worst receive a reprimand and endure the jeers of the citizens in Tiandu. In the end, the punishment would be raised high only to land like a feather, never amounting to actual retribution.
Was taking the blame for the royal family not the duty of a courtier in the first place?
Watching the lonely figure walk back into the trenches, Gopal felt a twinge of sorrow, though a sigh of relief escaped his chest.
Sighing softly, he patted the wide-eyed adjutant's shoulder, walked past him, and followed the general back toward frontline headquarters.
All was peaceful by the Yongliu River today; all was quiet on the eastern front.
Later that evening, an imperial edict was issued. It declared that a gentle breeze caressed the outskirts of the City of a Thousand Pillars when Alliance armor brazenly intruded, attempting a sneak attack across the ceasefire line. Yet, seeing that General Alaiyang’s defenses were impregnable and offered no vulnerability, the enemy abandoned their military banner and fled in sheer terror.
The propaganda posters bore a photograph of that panicked retreat.
The billowing dust kicked up by the tires certainly looked like a hasty flight. In a sense, it rehabilitated General Alaiyang’s ruined reputation, salvaging a shred of his former prestige.
***
Late at night, the off-road vehicle that had "fled in terror" finally arrived back in Golden Gallon Port, driving along the coastline.
Looking at the shimmering lights in the distance, Erliang Yueguang in the driver’s seat let out a long yawn, stretching his stiff arms with a grumble.
"Damn it! Why is it always us getting stuck with these high-effort, low-pay bullshit quests?"
Shanhe Rumeng, idling in the passenger seat, said nothing. He merely glanced instinctively in the rearview mirror, hoping a certain "true scumbag" would do some soul-searching.
Yet, perhaps because Banben Chusheng was sitting right beside him, Ling Chong clearly failed to realize that the "true scumbag" in question was himself.
Completely misinterpreting the squad leader’s look, he sat up straight in his seat and beamed excitedly.
"We've been mapping the area all day. How about we find someone for a massage once we get back?"
Shanhe coughed.
"Don't go barging into a local's home again."
Ling Chong winked with a grin.
"Who the hell barges into locals' homes? I heard someone opened a foot-washing joint on the north side of town."
Banben Chusheng, who had just woken up, froze upon catching the tail end of the sentence and blurted out instinctively,
"Holy crap, which genius pulled that off?"
Ling Chong chuckled.
"Who cares which genius it was? Probably one of the lifestyle players... Don't worry, blue gophers don't scam blue gophers. It’s definitely legit! The ones run by locals are the shady ones!"
Ever since the battle report was posted on the forums, quite a few curious players had flocked to Golden Gallon Port, mostly those operating around Silver Moon Bay. They brought not only money and goods, but also transplanted some of the businesses from that region.
Right now, Golden Gallon Port was waiting to be rebuilt from the ground up, and opportunities were everywhere.
If one could just get the residents of Dawn City to buy one more coat for their wardrobes or one more pair of shoes for their racks, that alone would translate into enough real-world cash to buy an apartment.
Consequently, lifestyle players from all walks were pulling out all the stops, racking their brains to squeeze money out of locals and garrison troops alike.
Naturally, the businesses run by players were fairly respectable. The closed-beta community was too small; the slightest scandal would get dragged onto the forums, and catching the eye of the trash dev was never a good idea.
"Count me out then."
Banben Chusheng yawned listlessly, shifted into a more comfortable posture, and closed his eyes again like an exhausted invalid. "I’d rather go back and stick to the shady stuff."
Erliang Yueguang: "??"
Ling Chong: "???"
Shanhe Rumeng: "..."
Damn it!
How on earth had he ended up pulling this bunch of oddballs in his squad?!
***
Although an official ceasefire agreement had yet to be signed, the restraint shown by both combatants had allowed a de facto truce to take effect through tacit understanding.
Using survey data from drones, the players stationed in Golden Gallon Port designated an area of roughly ten thousand square kilometers, using the port as its anchor.
Compared to the buffer zone proposed by the Xilan Empire, the public notice drafted by the players was far more direct.
First, they proclaimed the establishment of the Golden Gallon Port Regional Administration. Then, in Golden Gallon Port's name, they asserted actual control over the entire territory.
Currently, Bureau Chief Bihari served as the Golden Gallon Port Chief of Police, while Mandal, the former duty bureau chief, took over as police chief for the port district and Tulip Street.
Aside from the chief justice of the local court, who was dismissed for refusing to serve the new authorities and replaced by a citizen who had once worked as a court clerk in the port district, all other administrative positions—including customs, taxation, education, transportation, and fire services—remained temporarily unchanged.
In addition, Golden Gallon Port established a special Civil Defense Office.
The former First Corps of the Avengers Alliance was officially reorganized into the militia, operating under the command of the Civil Defense Office, though wartime operational command remained in the hands of the Alliance forces stationed at the port.
Former Corps Commander Laxi was promoted to Director of the Civil Defense Office, overseeing strategic coordination and logistics, effectively relieved of direct frontline combat and command duties.
Though Laxi was a talented individual whose charisma and drive far exceeded those of the other liberated slaves, his rashness was a glaring liability.
After deliberating on the forums, the players decided to pull him away from the front and assign him to a desk in the rear.
This would cultivate his military knowledge for potential future use while preventing him from causing mischief, such as arbitrarily opening fire on the frontlines.
With this series of personnel appointments settled, the framework of a provisional regional government was roughly pieced together.
The resourceful players even designed a new currency for the fledgling regional regime: the Gallon, temporarily pegged to the silver coin at a 10:1 exchange rate.
In other words, 1 silver coin equaled 10 Gallons.
The primary reason for doing this was that the Xilan Empire had closed its markets to Golden Gallon Port, causing the purchasing power of Xilan coins to plummet. Furthermore, unlike Port French Fries, Golden Gallon Port was not official Alliance territory, making it impractical for the players to directly integrate it into the Alliance's domestic market.
If they did, it would amount to forcibly dragging a settlement of a million people into a customs union, leaving it ambiguous as to who was subsidizing whom.
Creating an intermediary currency was a far better alternative.
This allowed Golden Gallon Port to adjust its monetary policy between loose and tight depending on its economic needs. Inflation caused by currency overissuance would not ripple into the Alliance's domestic market, while shielding the settlement's treasury from the depreciation of the Xilan coin.
As for the original Xilan coins, they could still circulate freely within the settlement, or survivors could use whatever means they had to smuggle goods needed by the port from other parts of Brahma Province.
However, imported goods shipped from the Alliance and priced in silver coins—including food and production tools—had to be purchased using Gallon coins issued by the Golden Gallon Port authorities.
Simultaneously, all internal expenditures of Golden Gallon Port—whether staff salaries or procurement—would gradually shift from foreign currency (Xilan coins) to the newly issued Gallon.
Local taxes, while keeping tax rates unchanged, would also transition to the new legal tender alongside the settlement currency switch.
The authority to issue currency naturally resided with the Golden Gallon Port administration, while the issuing institution was the Port District Bank.
Aside from the vacant position of city lord, the entire settlement’s defense and public security had returned to orderly operation.
For now, the settlement temporarily applied Alliance laws.
Once the timing was right, the "shareholders of Baiyue Company" planned to convene representatives from various local industries and social strata to form a representative assembly similar to Dawn City's. Using the Alliance’s fundamental charter as a benchmark, they would draft a body of ordinary law suited to local conditions.
Truth be told, even though order in Golden Gallon Port had returned to a normal track, the operating efficiency of this colossal apparatus was still dreadfully slow.
Former Governor Nihak had been a master bargainer, but when it came to regional governance, he was an absolute amateur.
This was plainly evident from the slums sprawling right up to the Governor’s Mansion; a settlement of over a million people lacked any semblance of city planning.
The man would rather endure the stench at his doorstep than spare a penny from the treasury to dig a drainage ditch through the slums.
Not only that, but outside the customs and taxation departments, which possessed marginally acceptable organizational structures, the other departments were practically decorative. Most did not even know how many personnel they had under them, or if anyone was left at all...
***
Port District, the former Governor's Office.
Looking at the cowering fire chief standing before the desk, Fang Chang tapped his knuckles on the ledger and asked,
"Where's the money? I want to know where the money went."
The man jumped in terror, frightened that Fang Chang would draw a gun and press it against his skull. He stammered cautiously,
"M-My lord... isn’t the money in your hands?"
He had heard long ago.
The first thing the iron men did upon landing was seize the police bureau, followed by the grand bank on Tulip Street.
The five hundred million dinars His Majesty kept there had all fallen into their pockets, along with over a hundred billion Xilan coins taken as war reparations.
Fang Chang rolled his eyes, holding back his temper as he continued,
"I’m asking about before that! The ledger clearly states that the Governor's Mansion allocated thirty million Xilan coins annually to your department for Golden Gallon Port's fire services. You spent that entire budget every year, yet when I damn well ask you how many fire stations or firefighters there are in the entire settlement, you have no clue!"
"My lord, Governor Nihak was the one managing that money! I swear I never saw a single cent of it!" The man was on the verge of tears, frantically wiping sweat from his forehead. "As for firefighting... survivor associations in each district handle it themselves! We don't have any money; we can't just conjure a fire brigade out of thin air!"
Of course, he had pocketed a cut himself, but it was nowhere near Governor Nihak’s share—the two weren't even in the same league.
Fang Chang’s eyes widened. Though he had expected as much, he couldn't help asking,
"What the hell do you mean, 'handle it themselves'?!"
Not daring to meet his gaze, the man’s eyes darted aside as he stammered in a hushed voice,
"Each neighborhood has its own setup... In the outlying suburbs, clan elders usually pick a few young lads for disaster prevention. In mixed neighborhoods with multiple clans, several burly men usually team up to collect a fire-watch fee and head out whenever a blaze breaks out."
Fang Chang stared at him blankly.
"...And Tulip Street?"
The man grimaced. "The owners of those mansions have their own servants, and the estates are watched around the clock. How could a fire ever start there?"
Good grief!
This place’s level of self-governance was through the roof!
Fang Chang was thoroughly dumbfounded.
Normally, a neighborhood’s property management fees corresponded to its services. Under Governor Nihak, however, it had worked entirely in reverse.
The ledger listed no shortage of tax categories, and fire expenditures were detailed meticulously. Yet the department responsible couldn't operate due to a lack of funds, leaving it to push authority and responsibility down to the grassroots. As a result, local survivors had to organize their own civic groups to maintain basic public services, effectively paying twice for the exact same thing.
In a sense, Governor Nihak was a genius for successfully collecting those taxes, and the settlement's survivors were just as extraordinary for enduring it. The wasteland’s matchmaking mechanism had paired them together in absolute perfection.
If Lord Xide had been placed in charge of these people, he could have minted currencies from A all the way to F, and even if the Administrator stuffed Bank President Melvin’s drawers full of IOUs, Boulder City probably still wouldn't have gone bankrupt. They might have even traded blows back and forth with the Alliance of that era.
It was not impossible. The locals, placing all their hopes in the afterlife, were as docile as lambs—no wonder the Wilante treated them as friends.
Not fleecing these people mercilessly made Fang Chang feel that his moral standards had risen somewhat, likely influenced by Miss Dolly.
In the past, he would have exploited the game's rules to bleed them dry, caring nothing for what became of them afterward.
Noticing the flicker in the lord's eyes, the man felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach. He swallowed nervously and ventured cautiously,
"Actually... the slums rarely catch fire. You don't need to worry too much about those people."
Pausing, he tested the waters further.
"I've lived here for so many years and barely seen any major fires, nor heard of anyone dying in one. Besides, they don't usually need fire to eat, nor do they use much hot water. As for the citizens, they've lived comfortably enough without us. Keeping things as they are isn't so bad either—"
"Then why should I keep you around? If things stay as they are, it makes no damn difference whether your department exists or not!" Cutting him off ruthlessly, Fang Chang hurled the ledger against the man's chest in utter exasperation.
Watching the man scramble to catch the book, Fang Chang rose from his chair, seized him by the collar, and glared into his evasive eyes, enunciating every syllable.
"Within three days, I want a complete roster on my desk!"
"It must list the actual individuals in charge of fire safety for every single street. I want you to account for every street, including the areas they've already demolished. Find them and bring them to me! And remember, don't think you can grab a few random people to make up the numbers. We have our own informants at the grassroots. We aren't blind!"
The man broke into a cold sweat, looking ready to burst into tears.
"B-But, my lord... I don't have the personnel! The money was all in Governor Nihak's hands. There are only ten people in our entire department!"
He had even counted his underage son; otherwise, the department wouldn't have even numbered ten.
"Then recruit more! Hire another twenty! And remember: not a single one of those twenty can belong to your clan! Not one!"
"Y-Yes, sir—!"
Watching the man scramble and stumble out of the office, Fang Chang exhaled a heavy breath, picked up the cup from his desk, and took a sip of tea.
These people...
If the alternatives weren't even worse—with no tall figure to pick from a crowd of dwarfs, forcing him to retain experienced staff for now—he would have sacked the lot of them on the spot!
Picking up the roster from the desk, Fang Chang drew a deep breath and bellowed toward the corridor outside.
"Next! The one in charge of the sewers... Prasad! Are you trying to save the shit in the cesspools to generate electricity?! If you don't clean it up, I'll toss you in to swim! Get in here!"
That raspy roar sounded like a summons from the underworld judge.
The people lined up in the hallway outside shuddered in unison, terrified that their own names would be called next.
Yet what was bound to come would come.
"Y-Yes, sir! My lord! I-I'll swim!"
The man whose name had been called turned pale as a sheet. Under the gaze of two militiamen carrying rifles, he stepped out of line trembling and walked through the office door as if heading to the execution grounds.
Raspy roars soon echoed out once more. The officials standing outside hunched their necks and shut their eyes, as if the flying spittle were pricking their own skin.
Because the problems were practically identical across the board—
They could already foresee what would happen next.
The two militiamen slinging LD-47s in the hallway stifled yawns, their gazes wandering aimlessly across the crowd.
The officer hadn't given them specific orders, only telling them to grab their gear and come over. So they had come, with no further instructions, watching the former governor's officials shudder and cower in fear.
It was almost time for dinner.
Word had it that tonight's meal wouldn't be beans or dirt, but something called corn, shipped over on large cargo vessels from Silver Moon Bay.
That was an imported luxury Xilan coins couldn't buy, something only the noble lords could afford. Their stomachs had been rumbling for a while now, and they couldn't help grumbling silently to themselves.
When on earth were they finally going to start target practice...?
Chapter 710