The Fall of West Sail

With both the captain and vice-captain of the security guard killed in action, Hunter never imagined that an old fellow like himself, on the verge of retirement, would be thrust into taking command of the guard in the midst of a crisis. There was no choice. He had to step up. Over ten thousand people lived in the port district, thirty percent of whom were Wilante. Whatever happened, these people could not come to harm! Even if he had to die, he had to hold back the mob of rioters outside! Looking at the shaken guards, Hunter gritted his teeth and roared, "Drag some crates over! Empty ones are fine too! Stuff them with sand, rocks, rotten apples—anything! Block off the main intersections! Move! Get moving!" Then he looked toward the youngest lad in the guard and barked at him, "Newman! Get back and send a telegram! Call for reinforcements from Evernight Port! Tell them a disaster's broken out here, and they need to send at least a thousand-man cohort... no, a ten-thousand-man legion over!" He wasn't sure if Evernight Port had that many troops stationed there, but the current situation was far beyond what his handful of men could handle. Rumor had it that the munitions stockpiled in the warehouses could arm an entire ten-thousand-man legion. Once those rioters got organized, this chaos might very well spread across the entire Lion State! The lad named Newman nodded hastily and dashed off toward the guard headquarters. Under Hunter's orders, the remaining guards sprang into action, rapidly forming squads of ten to construct a defensive line. It had to be said that at critical moments, the Wilante were remarkably united. Seeing that the guards were short-handed, several able-bodied young men stepped in, helping them haul barricades to the entrances and exits of the streets. The roads leading into the port district from other parts of the city were quickly sealed off. Any civilians attempting to squeeze into the port district for refuge were driven away by the Wilante guards firing warning shots. As for those who tried to force their way past the checkpoints, Hunter didn't hesitate for a moment, decisively ordering them gunned down. At this point, there was no telling civilian from rioter; anyone might have a grenade or a pistol tucked into their coat. He didn't even have a full century of men under his command. He couldn't afford to take any risks. "Fire!" he roared, raising his rifle and pulling the trigger first. Amidst the cracking gunshots, several unfortunate wretches collapsed. In the blink of an eye, five more corpses lay in the street. Seeing that the Wilante had blood in their eyes, the civilians who had fled their homes didn't dare head toward the port anymore, turning around to flee out of the city instead. Yet not everyone was so lucky. Most hadn't run more than a few paces before they were cut off. These men had strips of cloth wrapped around their arms and wore fierce, menacing expressions, clearly no good sorts. Govinda instinctively wanted to turn around and flee in a different direction, but it was already too late. One of them fixed him with a stare, strode up to him, and shoved a bayoneted rifle into his hands without a word of explanation. "The Wilante slaughtered our kin, sucked our marrow, and humiliated us! They must pay in blood!" Looking at the bloodstained rifle in his hands, Govinda was frightened out of his wits, stammering, "B-But I don't know how..." The man didn't listen to him at all, grinning broadly as he said, "Doesn't matter if you don't know how. This thing's dead simple. The Gray Wolf Army veterans said: chamber a round, flick off the safety, line up the front and rear sights, and pull the trigger on those big-nosed bastards!" The guards were shooting with terrifying accuracy; their bullets seemed to have eyes. Though the rioters managed to take down a few, it usually cost them several times, even ten times as many lives. At a time like this, cannon fodder was critical. Even if these guys couldn't hit anything, they could still soak up some of the port district's ammunition. Once they figured out a way to drag the 100mm gun over, all their problems would be solved. Govinda was close to tears from anxiety, but seeing the man's ferocious expression, he choked down his pleas for mercy. Seeing him behave so obediently, the fellow with the cloth arm-wrap sneered and shoved his shoulder. "Go on, get moving! Teach those Wilante a lesson! Show them a cornered rat will bite!" "N-Now?" Govinda asked in a panic. "What else? Did I give you that rifle to use as a cane? Shut up and get moving!" With that, the man shoved him impatiently, pushing him toward the front. Dragging legs that felt like lead, Govinda trudged despairingly toward the port. The crackling gunfire in the distance sounded in his ears like a death knell. Not far off, another fellow who had fled from the port area—seemingly a Lion Clan citizen—was intercepted. The lunatics tried to shove a gun into his hands too, but instead of refusing quietly, he cursed them with head held high, only to be struck down with a rifle butt. Govinda didn't dare look back. He only heard the sharp crack of a gunshot behind him, followed by dead silence from the man. He squeezed his eyes shut in anguish. Rat God above. He rarely prayed in ordinary times, but now he couldn't help muttering prayers. Please protect your children... ... While fierce skirmishes raged across the streets bordering the port district, the normally bustling docks were descending into utter chaos. People screamed and shoved, trying to force their way through the human wall ahead to reach the narrow pier. The only two ships present were already packed to bursting and had no choice but to pull away from the dock. Even so, some refused to give up, tossing aside their luggage and swimming out after them. To escape this chaotic port, people had gone completely mad, desperate to board any vessel that could carry them out to sea. Even small fishing boats temporarily moored beside the docks were bought up by frantic Wilante and Lion Clan nobles, who forced the fishermen to set sail. Unfortunately, these small fishing boats had no capacity to cross the open ocean. One boat, less than eight meters long, was crammed with over forty people. It hadn't gotten far from shore before a rolling swell flipped it clean over! Cries of horror erupted from the shore as people watched them plunged into the water. A few brave youths dived into the sea to rescue them, but in the end, less than half were brought back alive. Witnessing the horrific fate of those who fell into the water, the fleeing crowd finally calmed down a little, but the despair pressing upon their hearts didn't lighten in the least; if anything, it grew even heavier. The entire port had lost its mind. And yet, up to this moment, most people still had no idea what had actually happened. All they knew was that an explosion had sounded from the warehouse district, followed by billows of black smoke. Everyone had rushed in a frenzy to put out the fire, but the blaze only flared higher. A potbellied Wilante merchant stood on the quay, cursing in panic and rage toward the port district: "Damn it... A bunch of good-for-nothing incompetents! Can't even keep a handful of people in check! When Governor Huye returns, I'm writing him a letter to have every last one of these useless bastards fired!" His curses were quickly swallowed up by the roar of the crowd, as insignificant as a grain of rice in a granary. Watching the surging sea of people on the docks, Margery clutched her daughter's hand, her face slightly pale. There were no more ships. Though she had anticipated that trouble might brew in the port these days, she never expected it to strike so quickly, or so violently! To be honest, she had thought more than once that the local native nobles were pushing their exploitation of their own kin too far. The Southern Legion controlled many colonies and frequently hired locals for labor, yet she had never heard of anyone surviving on a mere one or two hundred dinars a month. How could anyone live like that! Sure enough, boundless greed had finally brought about a backlash. A single fire was all it took for that simmering resentment to boil over into an outright rebellion. The darker-skinned maid standing behind the mother and daughter had eyes filled with worry. "Madam... I don't think the streets are safe. We should head home first." Hearing the advice, Margery gave a bitter smile. Was home safe either? Although the guards were still fighting, frankly, she had little faith in them. First, they weren't regular army; second, their numbers were far too small; and their equipment was severely lacking. If they couldn't bring the situation under control quickly, they would soon face ten or even dozens of times their number in rioters. Looking at her mother's anxious face, Ruby tugged gently at her hand. "Mama... weren't we going to find little Sister Ansuya?" Though anxious inside, Margery forced a gentle smile onto her face so as not to worry her daughter, reaching down to stroke her soft, fluffy hair. "Mama planned to take you tomorrow... but an accident happened." Ruby tilted her head, curiosity plain on her face. "An accident?" Margery nodded gently and spoke softly, "Mm, but don't worry... give Mama a little time. We'll find a way." Ruby nodded understandingly and quietly kept her mouth shut. The darker-skinned maid looked at Margery and ventured a suggestion. "What if... we ask Count Sharma to send people to pick us up? Given Master's relationship with him, it should be worth taking the risk." Margery said worriedly, "That would take until past midnight at the earliest... I'm afraid the people here won't hold out that long." The maid said anxiously, "But leaving by boat is impossible now. I think you should still try to get help from the locals." "Makes sense..." Margery took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Let's go home first and send a telegram to Count Sharma to arrange a meeting point. If the West Sail Port district hasn't fallen, we'll meet at the nearby exit of Nightingale Street. If... if it has fallen..." "We can go to the Silver Moon Church," the maid said immediately. "Pastor Melgior is a very kind man. I occasionally go there to pray; he'll definitely help us." Margery hesitated, concern lingering in her eyes, but in the end she could only nod. The Wilante didn't have a good reputation in Silver Moon Bay; after all, the Eastern Legion had once brought the flames of war right up to Petra Fortress in the Camel Hump Kingdom. Still... Right now, turning to them was their only choice. West Sail Port had a telephone system internally, but communication with settlements outside the city could only be conducted via telegraph. Not wanting to waste any time, the party rushed back home, hurrying straight to the telegraph machine. As Margery expected, upon learning of their plight, Count Sharma immediately dispatched his servants to West Sail Port, estimating they would arrive around midnight. As the port district was no longer freely accessible, the two parties agreed on a recognition signal via telegram: waving a white flag left and right. After that, Margery would ask an acquaintance in the security guard to have the sentries guarding the Nightingale Street entrance let her escort inside... Reading the reply on the telegraph machine, Margery let out a slight breath of relief and slumped limply into her chair. Without realizing it, her back had become soaked with sweat. Standing nearby, the maid handed her a towel and sighed with heartfelt relief. "We're finally saved..." Margery gave a bitter smile. "...Let's hope so." It was far too early to talk about being saved... ... Night had only just fallen over the port. On the streets bordering the port district and adjacent urban zones, the combat had escalated from initial skirmishes to a white-hot pitch. Currently, the mob besieging the port district numbered over ten thousand strong. Among them were dock laborers, workers from the steel mills and cement plants, and hands from cotton mills and sugar refineries. In addition, there were slaves swept into the fray, disabled Gray Wolf Army veterans, and even Lion Clan citizens forced to join against their will. Some had no choice, having guns pointed at them by other rioters; if they didn't offer a pledge of blood, didn't fight the Wilante, and didn't join the "uprising," they were branded accomplices of the Wilante and lackeys of the nobles, making them legitimate targets for looting, plunder, and violence. Others were opportunists—the very thugs pointing guns at the former. They had hastily raised a banner, gathered a following of men as vicious as themselves, intimidated the wavering, and clamored to establish a Lion Kingdom or some such entity in the Lion State, just like Laxi had done. Unlike him, however, they had given no thought whatsoever to any guiding doctrine, let alone what to do after succeeding; they merely wanted to ride this tailwind to rise to power first. As for the vast majority of the rest, they joined this aimless "uprising" entirely of their own free will. Some did so because their wages had been docked, some because they were sick of Wilante humiliation, and others out of sheer envy of Wilante authority and wealth. It didn't matter who had set the fire; a raging blaze had long been burning in their hearts. The explosion in the port district was merely the fuse, but wasn't Naji's whip just as much of one? By word of mouth, they wrapped strips of cotton looted from the port district around their arms as identifiers, agreeing among themselves that whoever's brothers took the governor's mansion and tore down the flag hanging over it would become the Great King of the Lion Kingdom! As for the rest, they would be the Great King's myriad-commanders! After sacrificing nearly a hundred pieces of cannon fodder, the "insurgents" gradually realized how undermanned the guards were and began launching more aggressive assaults. Meanwhile, the 100mm artillery piece that had shown its might during the earlier warehouse skirmish was rolled out onto the street. Hunter, however, gave the rioters no chance. Seizing an opening, he issued a decisive command, sending a police armored vehicle concealed in an alley charging straight out. Before the artillery could finish deploying, the 10mm heavy machine gun mounted on the vehicle's roof chambered a round with a clack and unleashed a ferocious burst of fire into the rioters. A storm of lead tore through the street, carving rows of fist-sized craters and battering down a dirt wall! The rioters huddled behind the artillery piece were wiped out instantly, leaving behind a gory mess of shredded flesh. The gruesome sight struck fear into many. In particular, those clutching assault rifles who had been preparing to charge shrank back behind cover, terrified by the shocking carnage. "Hook the tow cable to the gun and drag it back! Fast!" Hunter roared into his walkie-talkie from his command post in the distance. A guard leaped from the vehicle, hastily securing the tow hook to the rear of the artillery piece, while his comrade grabbed the crate of shells and ducked back inside. As the doors slammed shut, the armored vehicle revved its engine once more, hauling the 100mm gun as it sped frantically back toward the port district. A Panzerfaust rocket came streaking in from afar; fortunately, it missed, bringing down a civilian house nearby instead. The armored vehicle pulled to a halt inside their lines. The guards stepping out were visibly shaken. One of them didn't even realize until he dismounted that he'd taken a bullet to the calf, blood flowing freely. Hunter ordered a nurse drafted from the port district to bandage their wounds, and then he saw the secretary from the governor's office hurrying over. "How's the fighting going?" Looking at the secretary's anxious face, Hunter said in a heavy voice, "It's bad. How long we can hold out depends entirely on when they get organized." The secretary's breath caught, his voice trembling as he asked, "Then... how many men do we have left...?" Hunter curled his lip. "Counting the local guards mustered from other sectors, we can scrape together maybe two hundred, at best." "How can it be so few?!" "We're lucky to even have that many. A moment ago we couldn't even muster fifty..." At that point, Hunter couldn't help cursing out loud. "We're too short-staffed here! I don't get it—why can Evernight Port, with barely a hundred-odd thousand people, have a ten-thousand-man legion garrisoned there, while West Sail Port, with over a million people, only gets a century! And an auxiliary security guard at that!" Did bringing this up now accomplish anything? A bitter smile crossed the secretary's face, but he explained anyway. "We have our difficulties too... Triumph City doesn't have many directly subordinate forces to begin with—only His Excellency the Marshal's Imperial Guard and the city garrison. We're different from the Southern Legion, after all." Simply put, the civil administration had no armed forces of its own; when trouble arose, they could only rely on outsiders to wipe their asses. Fortunately, they maintained good relations with the Southern Legion, and there were even veterans of the Southern Legion among the security guard. Hunter cursed under his breath. "You'd better figure something out... There are over three thousand Wilante here, including plenty of prominent figures from Triumph City. If so much as one of their fingers is scratched, get ready to face the wrath of Triumph City!" "I'm trying..." The governor's secretary wiped the hot sweat from his brow, then suddenly asked, "By the way, where is Naji? Get that fellow to persuade—" "Forget that idiot! Half of these people—no, at least two-thirds—are here for that idiot!" Hunter swore vehemently. "If I catch him, I'll skin him alive!" Reneging on agreed wages in less than a month—he never expected such an outrageous move. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why anyone would obsess over scraping two dinars from the hands of short-lived wretches. Even the feudal lords of the Eastern Legion wouldn't do something so utterly foolish as driving people to desperation. Weren't the profits shared with those people enough already? Why couldn't they ever learn their lesson! Just then, a clerk from the guard bureau came running up in a panic, skidding to a stop in front of Hunter and gasping for breath. "Evernight Port replied! Their troops have set out—they told us to hold on!" Hunter immediately demanded, "How long until they arrive?!" The clerk swallowed hard. "They're in the southern hemisphere... At the fastest, it'll probably take three days." Three days... Hearing that number, Hunter's heart plummeted into a chasm of despair. People's lives here were measured in hours. They couldn't possibly hold out that long! Right at that moment, an ear-splitting blast detonated down the street. A scorching shockwave flattened several houses, sweeping like a hurricane over a hundred meters away. The three instinctively ducked, hot gravel whizzing within inches of their scalps. "Damn it! What was that?!" Scrambling up in disarray, the secretary looked toward the source of the blast with terror written across his face, only to see a field of mangled corpses. The rioters had somehow procured a cargo truck, packed its bed with explosives and artillery shells, slammed the accelerator to the floor, and rammed it straight into their barricade. The police armored vehicle had been flipped on its side. Even the 100mm artillery piece they had just captured lay overturned beside the road. Nearly all the dozen-odd guards holding the intersection barricade were wiped out! Those still alive were twitching on the ground... The civilians who had helped haul supplies were also dead or wounded. Staring at the instantly collapsed defensive line, complete despair settled over Hunter's face. "Damn it..." Those lunatics! The armed rioters seemed to have underestimated the blast's power as well, left dazed and reeling by the shockwave. Still, they held the numerical advantage; even if some of their own were caught in the blast, it hardly mattered to the overall battle. And once they saw that a breach had finally been blown in the port district's defenses, their flagging morale surged anew. Even the cannon fodder egged on and shoved to the front lines began shouting in excitement. A man cradling a Blade assault rifle stepped to the front of the mob, unleashing a wild burst of fire before shouting back at his comrades at the top of his lungs: "Brothers! Charge! The Wilante keep all their treasures in the port!" "Before, they thought even a glance from us made them dirty! Now it's our turn to slap their faces hard!" "Whatever you take is yours!" The roar drew shouts of agreement from countless throats, wave upon wave of voices filling the street. Pairs of bloodshot eyes burned with a vicious red light, like hungry wolves catching sight of fresh meat. "Charge, brothers!" "Take the coin! Take the people!" "Ooooh!!" The surging throng rushed like a flood toward the breach. The remaining hundred-odd guards were as tiny as ants trying to shake a giant tree. Even though they still had one police armored vehicle left, it was utterly futile. The rioters had already dug out Panzerfaust rocket launchers from the warehouses. Against shaped-charge anti-tank warheads, the armored vehicle's thin sheet metal was like paper. Bursts of explosive fire flared one after another amidst the shrieks of the crowd. Despair filled the eyes of those crowded along the docks. Covering the governor's secretary's retreat, Hunter shot down three rioters before a bullet finally tore through his throat. His eyes wide, he collapsed to the ground. Just like his captain and vice-captain before him... Although the Wilante were a race born for battle, they were not outright monsters like mutants. At most, their physical faculties were slightly superior to ordinary humans, they matured a bit earlier, and their will to fight was somewhat stronger. And they received no "pensions," consuming none of the Reconstruction Committee's resources. Apart from that, just like the players, if they were shot in a vital spot, they would die all the same. "I surrender!" Facing the tidal wave of rioters surging forward, the governor's secretary decisively chose to surrender. This was not merely for himself, but also for the three thousand-odd Wilante residents in the port district, and the more than ten thousand people living there. Looking at the men thrusting gun muzzles almost into his nostrils, he cleared his throat and said in a grave tone, "You have won. This port belongs to you now. But before you celebrate your victory, let me meet your representative. I want to negotiate with him." He lowered his posture, though he held nothing but contempt for the fellows before him. They were merely a mob without a guiding program or coherent demands, scarcely better than the marauders across the wasteland. Once reinforcements arrived from Evernight Port, they would grind these savages into the dirt within minutes. Of that, he had no doubt. After a brief wait, a man carrying a Legion banner walked out from the crowd. He had a scar on his jaw, evidently a gunshot wound; surviving it had been pure luck. Though his gaze appeared flippant, it concealed a subtle ferocity, like a wolf lying in wait beneath the snow. Clearly, he had seen combat. Perhaps he had even been trained under MacLaren... "What do you want to talk to me about?" Staring at the man before him, the governor's secretary swallowed hard. "...All the wealth here is yours. Let us go." The man chuckled, glanced left and right, and turned his gaze back to him. "And then wipe the slate clean of everything that happened today?" The governor's secretary fell silent for a moment before speaking evasively. "...That can be negotiated." Negotiate, my ass! If I don't send this bastard to the gallows, I'll write my name backward! The civil administration might not have troops under its direct command, but that hardly meant they were pushovers. They had money. They could hire mercenaries from the colonies to fight for them. Not only that, they could even call upon their friends in the Southern Legion to help. The man curled his lip, clearly not believing a word, and said nonchalantly, "We've negotiated with you people again and again. And what did we get each time? Perfunctory brush-offs or mockery... Was that fun? The little trick of eight dinars turning into six?" The governor's secretary swallowed, cursing that idiot named Naji once more in his heart. "We only just learned of this ourselves... It's hardly fair to pin it on us." The man sneered. "Doesn't matter. You're all in league. Even if you knew, what would you have done? Would you have stood up for us?" The governor's secretary stared into his eyes. "So... you set the fire?" "I wish I had, but someone beat me to it," the man said with a slight shake of his head, putting on an expression of regret. "That wasn't set by any one person. It was the fury of West Sail Port's residents—the wrath of everyone here except you." "...Then are you prepared to face the Legion's wrath?" The secretary's voice carried a hint of threat, trying to force a concession. Yet the man remained completely unfazed. Taking a torch from a companion nearby, he set fire to the banner propped on his shoulder. It had been ripped down from the governor's mansion. He had already used the banner to prove his status as the "Lion King"; keeping it was useless now. Though he was a man of the Wolf Clan, there was no reason a wolf couldn't lead a pride of lions. Watching the military banner burning in the flames, the secretary's face twisted with rage. The man tossed the burning flag aside, grinned, and jammed a pistol against the secretary's forehead. "In the past, you threw me into fights against the Alliance, against Laxi, and finally tossed me here to rot. Trust me, I've heard ten times more lies than anyone here, so I know your kind better than they do... Not a single word out of your mouths can be trusted." There was definitely no way out through negotiation, especially not now. His only path to survival was to drag the entire Lion State into the fire, spreading the blaze ignited in the warehouse district far and wide. Toward Tiandu, for instance. Only by taking Tiandu and making himself master of Brahma Province would he gain real bargaining chips to negotiate with the Legion. And if all else failed, he could defect to the Alliance. Looking at this lunatic, sweat beaded on the secretary's forehead as he kept glancing at the gun pressed against his brow. "So you have no intention of negotiating..." The man smiled. "My name is Yanush. Like most people here, before tonight I was a nobody... But I swear, from this moment on, my name will shake the entire continent." He didn't fire, hadn't even switched off the safety. He merely waved to his companions beside him. "Bury this big-nose in the red dirt." Pausing, he added: "Remember, bury him alive." "Let him be reincarnated here in his next life, so he can taste the suffering we've endured." Dragged off by two rioters gripping his arms, the governor's secretary glared with wide eyes, roaring in fury: "You bastard... Do you know what you're doing? You're digging your own grave!" Yanush paid the doomed man no mind at all. Instead, he looked at the comrades behind him, then turned his gaze toward the brightly lit docks packed with people. A ferocious grin curved on his lips, and he bellowed at the top of his lungs: "Enjoy the victory! Do whatever you want—this is your well-earned reward!" "And those who have humiliated us all this time? It's time they paid interest on their stupidity!" "They have it coming! Settle the score with these bastards!" "Ooooh!!" Wild cheers erupted all around, pairs of eyes gleaming green with excitement. Thanks to General Alaiyang's scorched-earth campaign, he had tasted plenty of despair on the border of Mammoth State. His only regret was that he had never tasted a Wilante's despair. A race born for battle would surely be as difficult to tame as a wild stallion. He hoped they wouldn't disappoint him.