At the same time the reinforcements led by Ross approached the port, the Heavenly Army soldiers stationed at West Sail Port were also waiting eagerly, ready to teach these big-noses a lesson.
Chiliarch Imran was in command of the first defensive line.
At that very moment, holding a pair of binoculars provided through Wilante military aid, he was "secretly observing" the four warships steaming toward them in the distance.
Three appeared to be transports, while a dark, pitch-black craft looked to be a warship, though they were too far off to make out the details clearly.
Seeing only one warship, Imran felt somewhat relieved.
It seemed that just as His Majesty Janusz had said, the Legion couldn't send many men.
In fact, until four days ago, he had still been a centurion in the city defense force, living a carefree life of slacking off half the week and bullying civilians the other half. Yet because his superior had deserted in the face of the enemy, they had switched sides to join the rebels without firing almost a single shot.
Truth be told, one could hardly blame them for not putting up a fight.
Due to Xilan's peculiar "ecosystem," Tiandu had to keep a tight rein on local factions, while the regional nobility had no interest in maintaining troops they couldn't command.
Consequently, in the Xilan Empire, the unloved, neglected city defense forces ranked dead last in combat capability. Though "city defense" was in the name, their daily routines had nothing to do with defending any city; they merely bullied the mud-legged dirt farmers, street peddlers, or fellow local ruffians.
Janusz, hailing from the Gray Wolf Army, looked down on them. Yet whether guided by the thought that more numbers were always better, or simply out of the helpless realization that he had nobody else to use, he ended up taking them all in.
Not only that, this benevolent Heavenly King had not only retained the former city defense officers, but also generously promoted them and placed them in important posts, even bestowing the affluent West Sail Port upon them!
Imran could tell their Heavenly King had grand ambitions!
This noble Heavenly King truly intended to overthrow that decaying, incompetent empire!
They weren't without a chance, either.
At present, the Empire's ace forces were far away in Mammoth State, utterly unable to pull back in time—and frankly impossible to redeploy in time anyway.
Meanwhile, their Heavenly King, relying on the legend of the Heavenly Wolf devouring the sun and his proclamation liberating all slaves, had assembled a massive army of two hundred thousand in just a few days!
Even if this army was a ragtag mix with severe equipment and supply shortages, nothing could discount its sheer scale! And their morale was soaring!
They were like a snowball rolling down a mountain, growing ever larger and more formidable, bound to turn into an all-engulfing avalanche!
And if this guy actually pulled it off, Imran would be among those who helped found a dynasty! With any luck, he might even be made a count...
Just as Imran was daydreaming, a boom of artillery in the distance violently jerked him back to reality.
He shuddered all over and, purely by instinct, gathered every ounce of strength he had to grab the walkie-talkie and bellow into it:
"It's the Legion! The Wilante! The big-noses are here! Everyone, prepare for battle—!"
His booming voice blasted through the clipping loudspeakers, spreading across the entire battlefield in an instant.
Spurred on by his raspy shout, roars erupted in waves along the defensive line.
"Ooooh!!"
"Fucking Wilante bastards!"
"Fuck 'em up! Let's teach these big-noses a lesson!!"
The cacophony was like the frantic squeaking of rats; even now, they were clamoring for war, completely oblivious to the doom that had arrived upon them.
The first to strike was the 380mm naval gun aboard the monitor.
A thick plume of flame soared into the sky from the grim, pitch-black steel deck, like a blade piercing the heavens, like lightning shattering a clear sky!
As the deafening roar plowed through layers of waves, the little rats guarding the port finally began to realize in a daze what kind of enemy they were facing.
No one had ever dared to provoke these beings bred for war the way they had.
"BOOM—!!!"
Scalding fury detonated violently across the cobblestone street!
Paving bricks tore straight into the air like pulled leeks, and the shockwave ploughed through like a furrowing rake, wiping out the entire street in a single instant!
The two 100mm guns stationed at the intersection never even had time to fire—before they could even clearly spot their target, the scorching shockwave crushed them into twisted heaps of scrap iron.
The gunners and loaders crouched beside them didn't even have time to scream before they were pulverized into gore alongside the shattered storefront windows lining both sides of the street.
Those unlucky souls crouching on the fringes of the blast zone were tossed into the rubble like ragged dishcloths.
Being half-dead was the worst fate.
The wounded twitched and trembled, writhing in the debris...
"Ah..."
"My... my leg..."
"Aaah!"
"Help... no... I don't want to die..."
A deathly hush fell over the entire port, save for the snapping crackle of broken roofbeams and the agonizing wails shrouded in thick smoke.
Some wept uncontrollably clutching severed legs; some curled up like boiled shrimp; others fruitlessly attempted to shove spilled intestines back into their abdomens...
The Heavenly Army soldiers clutching their rifles were frozen where they stood.
Facing the street that had been reduced to rubble in an instant, they lost the power of speech.
What was... that?
In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the defensive line they spent two days and two nights fortifying had been crumpled like paper and tossed into the sky.
Half a centuria had been wiped out in a flash, and they hadn't even seen where the Wilante were...
*Patter—*
A "black rain" began to fall from the sky.
The dirt and pebbles blasted skyward by the artillery fire rained down with a whistling hiss, clattering against the barricades in front of the soldiers, pinging off their helmets, even slipping inside their collars...
Waking countless men from their stupor!
Standing at the front line, Chiliarch Imran stood with his mouth agape, oblivious to the fact that he had pissed his pants.
He finally understood why Janusz had left this place in such a frantic hurry.
His thoughts right now were identical to that man's, and identical to those of his former commander!
In the end, his old superior was the truly clever one—that unassuming fellow had been clearer-headed than anyone.
That man knew from the beginning that the moment the rebels took over the harbor district, West Sail Port was finished. Whether they resisted or not, they were dead meat!
If so, why resist at all?
Run for your life!
Imran opened his mouth, trying to suppress the terror on his face, and hollered with empty bluster:
"...D-Don't panic, none of you! We have more men! They only have three... no, four ships! Let's see if they have the guts to come ashore! Once they land... I'll show them what's what!"
Even if only to buy himself time to escape, he had to keep those little rats holding the line.
While barking bluster, he edged backward, eventually switching off the walkie-talkie connected to the loudspeakers and dumping the burden of command onto his equally trembling adjutant.
As for Imran himself, babbling a mess of flimsy excuses, he fled the frontline command post in panic under the despairing gazes of the motley crew.
And just as he prayed, the Wilante truly had no intention of landing yet.
At least not for now.
The previous shell was merely a sighting shot.
Once the point of impact was confirmed, that thick, long barrel spat fire again—and again, and again!
Roaring artillery fire saturated the entire port, blasting the defenders huddled inside buildings into scuttling chaos and frantic shrieks.
West Sail Port was no military harbor; it had virtually no fortified bunkers or solid shelters.
As for the marble buildings the Wilante had brought here, they couldn't offer the rats hiding inside even a shred of protection; before the 380mm heavy cannon, they crumbled at the slightest touch—like tofu smashed under a cleaver!
By the time the third shell came down, the morale of the Heavenly Army chiliad stationed at the port had completely shattered.
In the end, most of the people here had no idea what they were actually fighting for or what winning would bring; they had merely felt as if victory was somehow possible.
Only when the artillery thunder cracked did they realize how completely muddled their minds had been—real war was nothing like what they had imagined!
Yet it was too late for regrets...
The bombardment didn't halt for their terror or their wails; instead, it rolled directly over their heads, churning straight into the neighboring urban districts.
Not only were the defenders slaughtered in droves, but the civilians in the city suffered the same fate. Having just been ravaged by the rebels days earlier, they now endured a savage pummeling from the Wilante.
The artillery barrage pounded on for a full ten-plus minutes, reducing the once-thriving port to billows of rolling black smoke.
"Enough!"
MacLaren reached out and clamped a hand onto Ross's shoulder, turning the man's face toward him.
Ross's eyes were bloodshot, like an evil ghost crawled out of hell, his lips twitching uncontrollably.
"Enough... Enough? It's not nearly enough! You saw it too! Look at what they did! These beasts... I'm going to butcher every last one of them! They must pay in blood!"
He bellowed hysterically, every muscle in his face trembling.
When all was said and done, he had no obligation to obey MacLaren's orders, and in this moment he had completely forgotten the deference a subordinate owed a superior.
MacLaren didn't reprimand him for his insolence; after all, his own feelings were the same.
"I agree with your sentiment, but don't forget—that is our port."
MacLaren stared unblinkingly at him, his gaze icy, his grip on Ross's shoulder tightening slightly.
"Besides, don't you think executing them by artillery is letting these beasts off too easily?"
Ross froze for a moment. Though his breathing remained heavy, the madness from moments before ebbed away.
MacLaren continued at an unhurried pace.
"Don't you have 'Gray Skin' mercenaries... I have quite a good idea. Since they're so brave, let's see just how brave they really are."
As he spoke, the corners of his taut mouth slowly curled into a cruel smirk.
Seeing that savage grin, Ross felt a sudden chill run down his spine.
He understood what this man wanted to do.
Barbarians of the Eastern Legion truly lived up to their reputation—their methods of torture were in a league of their own.
Still...
It sounded like quite a good idea.
The corners of Ross's mouth also slowly curved into a cruel sneer, reaching an unspoken consensus with the devil before him from the Eastern Legion.
Indeed...
Artillery execution was far too generous for them.
How about pitting them bare-handed against mutants?
With what he knew of the "Gray Skins," those beasts would tear them apart limb by limb—and do so piece by piece to keep the meat as fresh as possible...
He no longer considered the people on shore human; he only wanted to slaughter them using the most brutal methods imaginable!
Drawing back his cruel smirk, MacLaren patted his shoulder, then turned his gaze toward the coastline.
"...Even if there is only a single surviving Wilante left, we must rescue them."
"Venting our fury has gone on long enough. Now it's time for our boys to move in."
...
As the artillery fell silent, two transport ships laden with troops surged toward the port in tandem.
The soldiers standing on the decks had long been simmering with boiling rage. Gripping their rifles tightly, they wanted nothing more than to skin and eat those beasts on shore alive!
The "Clearing" teams stood in the front ranks. Hulking brutes clad in heavy body armor clutched flamethrowers and rotary machine guns. These giants were Wilante who had failed to awaken properly; unstable fragments buried in their DNA granted them toughness and strength far beyond ordinary mortals, but robbed them of their intellect.
Yet even those dull, witless faces were filled with bloodthirsty fury.
"Roar—!"
A giant roared, resting the rotary barrel half an inch above his knee, unleashing a tempestuous storm of lead amid the whirring of the barrels!
Pinned down under the torrential firepower, the Heavenly Army soldiers crouching behind their barricades had no way to retaliate. All they could do was stick their rifles over the cover and spray blindly.
That trick might work in close-quarters urban combat, but across a gap of over a hundred meters, the bullets either flew into the sky or slammed harmlessly into the dirt.
Aside from wasting ammunition, it accomplished absolutely nothing!
The beachhead firing positions by the docks were swiftly established. The first centuria to land divided immediately into ten squads, advancing in three echelons toward the bombed-out architectural ruins.
Before long, bursts of gunfire and the groans of dying men echoed from the rubble.
One Wilante soldier first shot clean through a wall, shattering a Heavenly Army soldier's leg, and then, ignoring the man's desperate pleas, smashed the butt of his rifle directly into the man's forehead.
"Scum! What kind of tough guy attacks civilians?! If you've got the balls, come at me! Get up!!!"
The man roared, pistoning his rifle stock like a pestle into the bloody, mashed face until his teammate pulled him back behind cover.
"Enough, the animal's already dead!"
Deftly reloading and chambering a round, hatred etched across the other man's face as well, he gritted his teeth and spat:
"...There are plenty more alive."
"Kill them all!!!"
These Wilante soldiers had gone berserk, killing virtually anyone in sight!
Spraying with gunfire, roasting with fire, bashing with rifle butts, skewering with bayonets!
Trampling across shattered storefronts and ruined streets, charging straight into the faces of the Heavenly Army soldiers, they employed every method of slaughter imaginable!
Faced with these maddened Wilante, the Heavenly Army soldiers were scared out of their wits one after another, losing every trace of the bluster with which they had clamored for a decisive battle. At first, they tried to make a desperate stand, but upon finding they couldn't hold out at all, they recklessly ripped the bandages from their arms, threw down their weapons, and ran for their lives.
Just as hastily as they had tied those bandages on in the first place, they now tossed aside this casually adopted faith like an old shoe.
When it came down to it, this fight had never been an evenly matched battle from the start.
Most of the defenders stationed here had been civilians just a few days ago, having only barely figured out how to aim and pull a trigger. Had they possessed fearless courage or a faith they were willing to defend to the death, such deficiencies might not have proved entirely fatal—if they truly threw away their lives, they could have taken some down with them. But evidently, they had neither. At least the vast majority dying here didn't.
Their opponents, by contrast, were "gene warriors" engineered with technology from the Era of Prosperity! Even setting aside that Wilante strength, constitution, and reflexes were inherently about 20% higher than an ordinary human's—equivalent to an extra "attribute point" in strength, endurance, and agility—the men standing here weren't just ordinary Wilante, but rigorously trained soldiers!
Though the proportion of Awakened within the Legion wasn't as exaggerated as in the Alliance's dozens of corps, they had still clawed their way through the crucible of iron and fire.
Thugs who only dared wield blades against the weak were naturally no match for these fiends!
Watching the Heavenly Army soldiers flee with their tails between their legs, the blood-crazed Wilante soldiers roared as they gave chase, spraying bullets while bellowing:
"Fuckers... weren't you acting tough? What are you running for?! Come on! Pick up your guns!"
With bullets zipping after them, the Heavenly Army soldiers who had torn off their armbands didn't dare stop. They scrambled frantically through the ruins, scurrying like rabid rats.
Two shattered decuriae were driven into a Western-style two-story house whose upper floor had collapsed. Terrified out of their wits, they reflexively pointed their weapons at one another, nearly coming to blows among themselves.
Right at that moment, the Wilante arrived outside the door. Panicking, the soldiers hauled a cabinet fallen amidst shattered glass to barricade the door and front windows, then found a piece of white cloth, tied it to a broken chair leg, and poked it out the window.
"We surrender!"
"M-My lords... we won't dare do it again!! Spare us!!"
"We're... we're with the city defense force! We're not with them! That Janusz bastard forced us to fight you!"
The two soldiers standing outside the door exchanged a glance and bared cruel grins. One pulled a grenade, but the other pushed his hand back down and patted the white phosphorus grenade hanging from his belt.
"Use mine."
Pulling the pin, the soldier clinging to the wall beside the door wedged open a crack in the barricaded window and expertly tossed the device inside, then yanked the barricade tight again.
A chorus of frantic, unintelligible shrieking erupted from the room, like rats in a flooded burrow.
A brilliant yet deadly flare of fire bloomed like fireworks, trailing acrid, toxic plumes of white smoke that whipped about, igniting everything combustible inside the room.
Agonized screams rang out as the burning "heavenly soldiers" tried to shove aside the cabinet blocking the entrance, only to be kicked straight back into the sea of flames by the men waiting outside.
Screams echoed one after another across the field.
This could no longer be called a battle; it was an utterly one-sided slaughter...
As more Wilante landed, the butchery continued from dawn until noon before finally winding down.
When MacLaren, Ross, and their retinue stepped ashore, nearly the entire port had been stained red with blood.
In the end, the Wilante suffered nearly a hundred casualties, while of the twenty thousand Heavenly Army soldiers garrisoned at the port, nearly five thousand were killed. Most of the rest fled into the settlement's various urban districts to hide.
West Sail Port was a settlement of a million people; even after the havoc wrought by the Heavenly Army, seven to eight hundred thousand remained.
Ross first reported the local situation to Evernight Port, requesting reinforcements and supplies. He then dispatched three centuriae to seal off the primary exits leading out of the settlement, issuing a strict order: "Shoot on sight anyone who dares approach the checkpoints."
Blood must be repaid with blood.
Their vengeance had only just begun...
...
Like the other high-ranking Heavenly Army officers stationed in the settlement, Chiliarch Imran never made it out of the city, nor did he manage to hide. He was dragged right back to the place where he had fought.
To be precise, the residents of West Sail Port had handed him over of their own accord.
The blood-crazed Wilante had terrified everyone; no one dared shelter him.
Kneeling on the cobblestones of the port, Imran trembled as he looked up at the two Wilante officers standing before him, attempting to plead for mercy.
"M-My lords..."
"I-I was forced too... That night really had nothing to do with me! It was all that Janusz fellow... they were the ones who pillaged the port! I-I can help you—"
MacLaren didn't spare this stray dog a single glance. He merely took the cigar from his mouth and exhaled a smoke ring.
Then, suddenly reaching out, he grabbed the man's head and thrust the glowing cigar tip viciously into his left eye, grinding it around with force.
*Sizzle—*
"AAAAAAAHHHH!!!"
A pig-slaughter scream echoed through the room, instantly drowning out the sizzling of the Maillard reaction.
Not until the oozing blood extinguished the cigar did MacLaren toss the bloodstained stub into the sea. Grabbing the man by the hair, he hauled his head up.
"Did I ask you to speak?"
His face bathed in blood, Imran trembled violently, twitching as if electrocuted, gasping greedily for air like a dead fish tossed onto the bank.
"You still have one eye left," MacLaren said, enunciating every syllable as he glared into his remaining eye. "I ask, you answer. Understood?"
"Y-Yes... Yes! No, understood! I understand, My Lord!" Imran nodded his limp head with every ounce of strength remaining.
MacLaren tossed him onto the ground in disgust. Watching the man squirm like a maggot, he coldly asked every question he wanted answered.
Who had taken part that night, the ringleaders involved, how many had died, how they had died, how many had survived, and so on.
Whatever he knew, Imran spilled it all in one breath.
Having extracted the intelligence he needed, MacLaren nodded, then cleanly drew his sidearm and put a *bang* into that bewildered face.
He had never promised to spare the man's life; confessing honestly simply spared him further suffering.
"Bury him according to local customs."
"Sir!"
The soldier standing nearby snapped to attention, saluted, and dragged away the corpse like a dead dog.
"Even at ten thousand a day, it'll take two months... Tsk." Ross clicked his tongue, his rage unresolved as he clenched his fists tight. "Dammit... maybe we should just request a strategic nuclear warhead."
At this rate of killing, he could forget about going home in time to reunite with his family before the Nativity.
"Give me a break. Then we'd have to find another spot to rebuild the port." Removing his gloves, MacLaren casually tossed them into the sea, then took out a fresh cigar and lit it.
Though this colony was a political achievement of the civil administration faction, it remained Wilante property in the end.
Exhaling a ring of smoke, he paused and continued coldly:
"Just drain out the dirty blood."
"We still need the land."
...
On the wasteland, the speed of information dissemination, much like the distribution of wealth, was extremely uneven.
This was not merely a matter of technical capability, but largely constrained by infrastructure development, orbital debris, electromagnetic interference from radiation belts, and a host of other issues.
For precisely such reasons, some places on the wasteland had reconstructed the "Internet of Things" of the Era of Prosperity, where one could surf the net intensively twenty-four hours a day anywhere, anytime—even surf through a refrigerator. Yet other places still relied on telegraphs or even more primitive methods to exchange information, epitomizing the "all-natural."
And because of this, the massacre unfolding at West Sail Port was known only to the executioners who fired the guns and the wretches who took the bullets.
On the first morning of Wasteland Year 214, most settlements in the Alliance were still steeped in festive celebration.
The previous night, Dawn City had set off fireworks for two full hours to celebrate the new year. And those survivor settlements on good terms with the Alliance not only jumped on the trend of celebrating New Year's Day and New Year's Eve, but also broadcast the grand firework spectacle on their televisions and other media displays!
The festive atmosphere lingered well into the following morning.
Just hours before the Wilante launched their assault on West Sail Port, the streets of Dawn City bustled with lively jubilation.
Both local residents and visiting wastelanders had risen early, gathering at Dawn City's central plaza. Though snow had fallen all through the night, it did not dampen their enthusiasm in the slightest.
Pairs of eyes brimming with excitement and joy gazed unblinkingly toward the center of the plaza.
And where those gazes converged, a suit of azure power armor stood tall.
His resolute, handsome face bore a smile as refreshing as a spring breeze as he gave a gentle wave to the crowd watching him, like greeting old friends not seen in years.
At that moment, the crowd's fervor ignited completely. Palm-sized flags fluttered like waves, and thunderous cheers erupted across the entire plaza:
"Long live the Administrator!!"
"Long live the Alliance!!!"
Of course, amid the uniform chorus, there were also eccentric voices.
Mostly coming from the players.
"Brother Guang is awesome!!"
"Look at me, Brother Guang! Brother Guang!"
"Remember the junk pile by Ling Lake? I scavenged scrap for you!"
"Dear daddy, look at me!"
"Get lost, stop trying to claim relation!"
"Man... this game's NPC models are handsome as hell, almost half as good-looking as me."
"Blegh!!!"
Though a few NPCs in the Alliance had learned Mandarin—Boss Xia, for instance—the players' comments were far too unhinged for even Xiao Yu, the earliest to learn Mandarin, to understand.
Standing in the crowd, Pai stood on tiptoe, curiously craning her neck toward the shelter residents.
"What's that guy over there yelling at the top of his lungs?"
Xiao Yu, who hadn't been paying much mind, closed her eyes and listened intently for a moment before answering seriously:
"Sounds like he's shouting that he wants to bear Brother Chu's children."
Pai froze and turned her head back.
"Huh? But that guy is a dude!"
Xiao Yu's eyebrows shot up at once.
"Well, that definitely won't do!"
Alisa, standing beside them, couldn't help laughing.
"Never mind whether it'll do... that's physically impossible in the first place, isn't it?"
Heya, arms crossed, pursed her lips in a smile and nudged her holographic glasses up the bridge of her nose.
"From a technical standpoint..."
Before she could finish, Boss Xia clamped a hand over her mouth.
"All right, all right, no 'technical' talk. I don't want to hear it, thanks!"
Standing here were not just Alliance citizens, but many wastelanders who had traveled great distances, as well as residents from other survivor factions.
The legends of the Alliance's Administrator were no longer confined to the Alliance or River Valley Province. The coalition soldiers returning home and all who yearned for order had long since carried tales of him and the residents of Shelter 404 to every corner of the wasteland. Those stories were like dandelion seeds, taking root and sprouting across unfamiliar lands.
And those who looked up to him had arrived here with the devotion of pilgrims. Countless people had traveled specifically from faraway Ideal City, and even from Triumph City, just to catch a glimpse of him with their own eyes—to see what the man who had led the coalition to victory actually looked like.
"...Is that the Administrator of the Alliance?"
"He actually looks quite young."
"I thought he'd be an old man... didn't expect him to look barely in his twenties."
"Could it be that he's actually lived a long time and just doesn't show his age?"
"You mean like those old geezers in the Academy?"
"Hard to say. Who knows with things like that?"
A few Wilante stood with folded arms at the edge of the crowd, gazing at the figure standing in the center.
Not far from them, several survivors from Ideal City were chattering animatedly with mercenaries from the Free State.
"I heard that in Weifu Wasteland, he smashed a Pioneer in bio-power armor to pieces with a single hammer blow!"
"He went to the front lines in person?!"
"Haha, there are countless legends about him. If you have time, just pick any tavern in Dawn City to ask; the drunks can brag to you all day long."
"Incredible..."
"Sounds like an exaggeration."
"Ahem! I won't vouch for other things, but this one is gospel truth. Truth be told, I served in the 100th Mountain Division before; I saw it with my own eyes!"
Amid the roaring clamor, the eight o'clock chimes sounded punctually across the plaza. It was the moment of the day when the morning sun shone brightest.
Standing in the very center of the plaza, Chu Guang looked out across the expectant faces. With a voice solemn yet approachable, he delivered his congratulations for the first day of the new year to the waiting crowd:
"Today marks the beginning of Wasteland Year 214. More than two centuries have slipped away since we lost everything and fell from paradise into the abyss."
"Yet in this moment, what I wish to commemorate is not those two centuries of descent, but the year that has just passed—Wasteland Year 213—"
"Every chapter of that year was written by our own hands!"
"...In that past year, not only did we conquer the broodmother that plagued this land for over two centuries, but we also sowed the seeds of civilization into the far south, driving away the plague, chaos, and barbarism that hungrily eyed our prosperity."
"This path was not easy; indeed, it was fraught with hardship, turmoil, and death. More than once, we stood at the crossroads of destiny, teetering on the brink of division and discord."
"Yet fortunately, we did not give up. Instead, united as one, we set aside our differences, stood shoulder to shoulder for our common destiny, and forged the defensive line that guarded the baseline and dignity of human civilization, fighting on until this very moment, until our ultimate victory!"
"This great and glorious victory belongs not only to the Alliance, but to all who fought beside us, and to everyone who harbors dreams and hope of ending the Wasteland Era!"
"Now we face new challenges: resolving unresolved disputes, extending the illuminated path ever further, scattering the seeds of civilization to more distant lands and nurturing them into full growth."
"I believe we have ample strength and determination to fulfill all our aspirations for tomorrow. Our forebears have left us sufficient lessons, blueprints, and revelations; it is now time to take the torch from their hands and carry this flame forward ourselves!"
"The Wasteland Era will surely end by our hands, and this victory, delayed for two centuries, will ultimately belong to us!"
"To all survivors who have united as one!"
The moment Chu Guang's voice fell, applause swept the plaza like a torrential rainstorm, accompanied by thunderous cheers and applause.
Looking at those vibrant faces, Chu Guang smiled and waved, then handed control of the ceremony to the master of ceremonies waiting behind him, announcing the official start of the festivities.
As always, Chu Guang did not intend to take up much of people's time. After distributing honorary medals to the players, he left the plaza that belonged to all survivors amid clusters of flowers and applause.
He had always believed that on a day worth celebrating, people should spend more time with their families rather than focusing their energy on him.
Besides, he also needed some private time to handle day-to-day matters and interpersonal trivialities, and to take a stroll around the settlement.
Particularly the latter.
He wanted to spend time seeing how everyone had been doing during his absence, and what new antics his lovely little players had dreamed up.
Yet just as Chu Guang was pondering where to grab a bite to eat first, Lyu Bei, following behind him, seemed to receive a message, his expression instantly turning solemn.
Quickening his pace to Chu Guang's side, he lowered his voice to a whisper:
"Sir... something terrible has happened!"
Chapter 824