The pit was nearly finished. Govinda had been certain he was done for this time, yet at the eleventh hour, fate took an unexpected turn.
The Wilante ordered them to the harbor, announcing something about holding a fair trial. In an instant, a flush of color returned to his ashen face.
Rat God above!
And the Silver Moon Goddess, the Spirit of the Sand Sea, and the Great Horned Deer God!
His righteous savior had finally arrived!
"I've never killed a Wilante!" he boasted smugly to the man beside him, looking as though he had just placed another winning bet at the gambling table of destiny.
In stark contrast to his "benevolent" self, several men digging the pit remained deathly pale. Acting as if the news of pardon had nothing to do with them, they continued shoveling the red dirt in halfhearted thrusts.
Strips of cloth had once been tied around their arms; they had clearly incurred plenty of blood debts on that fateful night.
Govinda gloated inwardly, scorning the rioters for having no brains at all—unlike him, clever and sly.
He returned his shovel to the wheelbarrow and hurried away from that cursed place, following the surging crowd. As for the deaf ones who failed to hear the call, a few sharp blows from rifle butts quickly brought them into line.
He strutted with his head held high all the way to the square, cowering slightly only when passing Wilante soldiers to avoid standing out or looking offensive.
The Wilante, however, didn't spare him a second glance, merely keeping their rifles at the ready as they watched the crowd.
When they finally reached the square, Govinda caught sight of the man puffing on a cigar, his heart leaping with excitement.
MacLaren wasted no words, simply gesturing for a subordinate beside him to announce the new "rules of the game."
Although an overview had been previewed before they came, hearing all the rules and details formally declared still provoked a stir of commotion among the assembly.
The faces of the more perceptive onlookers clouded with worry, yet plenty were gripped by frantic excitement or weeping tears of joy.
Like Govinda.
His "devotion" to the Wilante was written plainly across his face. Hearing these "fair and just" rules, he wanted nothing more than to kowtow right then and there to the straight-backed officer.
Standing beside General MacLaren, Ross frowned slightly. "Isn't ten thousand a bit few?"
MacLaren's expression remained unchanged. Tilting his head, he replied at an unhurried pace, "That's merely bait to whet their bloodlust, so they don't all point at a single person to skirt by. I'd even bet you that in the end, far more than ten thousand will die."
With that, he drew his sidearm and fired a loud crack into the sky, then addressed the terrified crowd in a resounding voice.
"What are you still waiting for? Waiting for me to pick who gets to die? This is your final chance! Hand over the rioters from that night. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—we only execute those who deserve to die."
The air hung silent for a moment. Still, not a soul spoke.
People exchanged wary glances, viewing the person next to them as both an ally and an enemy, wanting to speak yet terrified someone else would speak first.
MacLaren wasted no breath, waving his hand dismissively. "If there are none, go back and keep digging."
Those words were like a lit match tossed into a barrel of oil, instantly igniting their will to survive.
The first to speak up was a gaunt, dark-skinned man whose sunburnt skin marked him as a dockhand.
"I'll speak! I'll speak!"
The moment the shout left his mouth, his index finger whipped straight at the eager Govinda beside him, his voice rising to a frantic screech.
"This bastard's from the Heavenly Army!"
Govinda's eyes bulged like a goldfish tossed onto dry land, his eyeballs nearly popping from their sockets. His chest heaved violently as cold and hot sweat broke out all at once.
"You—you're spouting slander! I swear to the Rat God! I've never killed a single Wilante! Those bastards with the armbands shoved a rifle into my hands, but I never killed a soul!"
That wasn't a lie.
His conscience was genuinely clear on that front.
He had certainly done bad things—like sleeping with a widow—but he had never actually killed a Wilante.
After all, just looking at their big noses frightened him; how could he possibly have aimed a barrel at them?
It was true that he had been in the vanguard that dusk, pushed forward against his will, but with his terrified, spray-and-pray shooting, he was lucky not to have hit his own men, let alone the guards defending the port.
If memory served, those guards had been blown away by an exploding truck.
Calling him a rioter was an absolute miscarriage of justice against an innocent man!
Yet the Wilante had no intention of intervening in the trial, merely watching them turn on each other with mocking amusement.
Even Ross, who had earlier thought the punishment too lenient, couldn't help letting a faint, cold smirk touch the corners of his mouth.
What a filthy bunch.
Was everyone in Bolo Province made of such pathetic stuff?
If not for that ancient treaty forbidding the Legion from expanding east of the Great Desert and confining the Southern Legion's colonies to Evernight Port, this succulent prize would never have fallen to the civilian bureaucrats and their amateur meddling.
The shouting crowd cared nothing for Govinda's frantic defenses. They deliberately distanced themselves, leaving a clear ring around him to stay far away from this scoundrel.
They didn't know the man.
Not knowing him made it even better.
Condemning a stranger with whom they had no ties minimized their guilt.
Yet not everyone was a stranger to Govinda; one or two of his subordinates were mixed in among the crowd.
Suddenly, someone cried out, "He's not just a soldier of the Heavenly King—he's a decurion!"
When that resounding shout rang out, an uproar rippled through the gathering. Even a few Wilante soldiers stationed at the edge of the crowd took a second look at Govinda.
Govinda, who had just been vigorously arguing against everyone, felt his heart violently stall the instant he heard that voice. His face turned ashen, and his deceitful tongue knotted in his mouth.
Right...
He was a decurion.
He had nearly forgotten, yet someone had kindly reminded him.
Looking down at the harbor, which now resembled a noisy fish market, MacLaren shouted with impatience.
"What is this disgraceful racket? Vote by a show of hands!"
Hands shot up in unison. Some had hesitated, but seeing those around them raising theirs, they could only whisper a silent prayer for forgiveness and put their own hands up.
Failing to raise a hand right now meant risking someone's eye, marking them as the next target to be struck down.
Regardless of whether the accusation was entirely true or half-true, throwing away one's life for a piece of trash wasn't worth it.
Staying alive was the only thing that mattered.
Almost everyone with a raised hand harbored that exact thought.
This time, Govinda sank into utter despair.
He didn't resist or struggle, simply standing at the center of the stage vacated by the scurrying vermin. He allowed the Wilante soldiers to march up, haul him away like a plucked chicken, and cast him aside.
"Behave yourself!" The Wilante glared fiercely, warning him not to run.
A warning was completely unnecessary.
Govinda didn't have the slightest intention of running; he simply stood there as if his soul had been sucked out.
He couldn't fathom why these people had turned on him.
He was no saint, but he had at least fought for the freedom of the survivors in West Sail Port.
It was truly bizarre. Why did they obediently listen to the Wilante—first digging pits in the outskirts, then turning on their own people here, quietly swallowing unending humiliation?
Why couldn't they unite, unite once more, and drive out those slave masters?
Yet it was too late for such thoughts.
Everything was over...
No!
Wait! It wasn't over yet!
In a sudden surge of desperate clarity, Govinda remembered that he was a decurion—and someone else had just reminded him of it!
How could he have forgotten something so crucial?!
Clinging to a final shred of hope as if grabbing a lifeline, he looked toward the Wilante soldier guarding them, forcing a rigid smile onto his despair-stricken face.
"W-Wait, sir! I—I want to identify people too!"
"They said I'm a decurion. That's true, I am a decurion! But I swear to you, from beginning to end, I never laid a finger on a single Wilante! I—I have an alibi for that night!"
"... But I can't say the same for my twelve men! I was a conscript forced into the ranks like a duck driven onto a perch—I had no control over those real thugs! I'm an honest, law-abiding man, but who knows what they got up to!"
Pete, who had been watching him, froze for a moment. Hearing this spiel, the cigarette butt dangling from his mouth nearly fell out.
Unsure how to handle it, Pete keyed his radio to request instructions from above, then produced a notepad and a marker, offering them to the man.
"Names. Write them down."
Believing he had secured a chance for leniency, Govinda took the items in sheer delight, only to remember a moment later that he was illiterate. Trembling, he stammered, "S-Sir, I don't know how to write... B-But they all live nearby, I know where their homes are!"
Pete, still biting his cigarette, looked at him with utter disgust. Spared the patience for nonsense, he snatched back the paper and marker.
"Say them. I'll write."
"Y-Yes, of course! Thank you for your trouble, sir." Not daring to hesitate, Govinda bowed and scraped, offering an ingratiating smile. The curled edges of his mouth betrayed his inner jubilation, as though a rifle had returned to his hands.
He recited every name he could think of—not just the twelve in his squad, but anyone from other squads whose names he could recall, scraping together twenty people in total.
Those twenty were thoroughly wicked and treacherous; surely offering them up would be enough to buy an honest man like him his freedom.
Such was Govinda's private thought.
The soldier carried the list to the harbor front and presented it to General MacLaren.
MacLaren didn't even look at it, casually telling the soldier to proceed according to the process and read out the names on the list.
Whenever a named individual was among the crowd, those who recognized him naturally drew a line to distance themselves, shoving the person out from the ranks.
Then followed the same public trial procedure, with everyone present determining whether they were guilty.
The outcome was glaringly obvious: every single one of them was plucked from the crowd by the Wilante without exception.
Watching those panic-stricken faces being led out, Govinda wore a satisfied, gloating grin.
Soon, however, the smile vanished.
The Wilante showed no intention of releasing him. He waited for what felt like ages, yet no pardon came.
Could it be...
Did they intend to sneak him out right before the executions?
The more Govinda pondered it, the more panicked and terrified he became, though he continued to reassure himself.
They would definitely let him go, but the timing and method had to be handled carefully. After all, they had to give an account to the crowd who had pointed him out.
Releasing him in front of everyone would make their grand rules a laughingstock, wouldn't it?
Yet right as he was nursing such illusions, a woman brought out from the crowd threw him into instant disarray.
It was his "alibi"—the widow who lived directly across from him!
A woman who had always been meek, whose voice was invariably soft and fragile, who never dared offend a soul, was now sobbing her heart out, wailing in despair.
It was impossible to tell whether that heartbreaking agony was because she faced impending death, or because the humiliations hurled at her back had stripped away her last shred of dignity.
"That slut! I know her! Her man hasn't even been dead a few months and she already took a new lover!"
"Pah! Shameless wench! Taking up with those bandits who wore cloth on their arms!"
"I saw the Heavenly Army going to her house with my own eyes!"
"It was that Govinda, wasn't it? I saw it too! I saw him give her a handful of dinars as a tip!"
"You were there too?"
"How could I be! I—I saw it through the window! If you don't believe me, search her place! You'll definitely find it!"
"Might even be dirty money looted from the harbor!"
"Kill her! Avenge the dead Wilante!"
Avenge the Wilante...
In that single instant, Govinda felt the world spin, forgetting even to draw breath.
Though he still stood on this harbor, he suddenly felt as though he had been buried deep in the dirt long, long ago...
***
Watching the three thousand people finally singled out, Farsighted Eagle was momentarily struck speechless.
Good grief...
Out of ten thousand people, nearly three-tenths had been wiped out just like that!
While he was desperately trying to haggle terms on their behalf, these people were desperately slaughtering their own.
Among the remaining seven thousand, there were likely few slips through the net.
Expecting to bypass such a farcical trial by banding together or finding loopholes was pure wishful thinking.
At this stage, whether someone belonged to the Heavenly King or not, anyone who dared draw attention to themselves had been singled out without exception. The only survivors were those who had taken lying low to the absolute extreme from start to finish.
Namely: raising their hand without hesitation when it was time to raise it, shutting their mouth without hesitation when it was time to keep quiet, silently telling themselves they were already corpses, blending completely into the mob around them, and drawing no one's attention. Only by placing themselves in the realm of death could they find life.
As for the three thousand-odd individuals plucked out, just as he had anticipated, many had clearly been falsely condemned.
And quite a few of them, at that.
For instance, several boys barely twelve years old, or a certain widow in her twenties...
Seeing MacLaren cast a meaningful glance his way, Farsighted Eagle ignored the provocation, merely murmuring a silent prayer of Amitabha in his heart.
Three thousand was still fewer than ten thousand.
Besides, this was fundamentally an affair between the Legion and the Empire; if anyone should be frantic, it ought to be the Empire.
From the standpoint of an outsider, he had already done everything within his power.
At the very least, turning in the quest would pose no problem...
***
News of the Legion's landing at West Sail Port quickly swept through Lion State, and word of thirty thousand people killed in three days soon reached the ears of the Heavenly Army's various divisions.
This intelligence poured a bucket of cold water over the heads of the Heavenly Army soldiers who had just breached the city.
The Legion had entered the fray!
Though most of the Heavenly soldiers merely registered brief surprise without taking it to heart, the more clearheaded among them began to panic.
Udono was one of them.
He belonged to the Lion Clan, but was no noble. Born into poverty, he had been sold into a nobleman's estate as a child, losing his freedom from an early age.
Though his noble surname spared him from picking cotton in the plantations, and his aristocratic master had taught him literacy and noble etiquette, those early experiences left him harboring deep-seated hatred for the Xilan Empire's unequal hierarchy.
Later, he was recommended to the military academy established by the Legion to aid the Empire, studying military strategy under General MacLaren. That experience further nurtured his ambition to overthrow the Empire.
It was precisely because of this that when Janusz raised the banner of abolishing slavery and redistributing land, Udono answered the call almost without hesitation, becoming one of the first local garrison officers to defect and dealing Grand Duke Sanjay a ruthless stab in the back.
Although Janusz harbored an innate distrust toward those who joined him midway through his campaign, Udono seemed an exception, likely owing to their shared military lineage.
After joining the Heavenly Army, he was not only appointed a myriarch, but Janusz also kept him at his side in the capacity of a military strategist.
Yet just as his ambitions were running high, grim news arrived from the west.
Having been trained by the Wilante, he understood all too well how terrifying the Legion's combat power truly was.
That power manifested not only on the battlefield, but well beyond it.
It was no exaggeration to say the Wilante were a race born for war, and their entire system was designed around it.
Against an opponent like that, the Heavenly Army—which lacked even a stable supply line—stood no chance whatsoever.
Reflecting on what the Heavenly Army had done in West Sail Port, Udono grew increasingly terrified, finally unable to resist seeking out Janusz to discuss countermeasures.
Yet upon hearing his concerns, Janusz merely laughed out loud, even offering a few reassuring words in return.
"Don't be so naive. Between nations, interest is the only currency; morality is a private matter. The people in West Sail Port are already dead—can they be brought back to life?"
Pausing, he continued in a measured tone.
"Besides, I left West Sail Port behind for them to vent their fury. Even at an exchange rate of a hundred to one, six or seven hundred thousand people are more than enough to appease the Legion's wrath."
"At least for those big shots, it provides an adequate account to give their supporters."
There had been no surveillance that night; pinning the blame on dead men was hardly difficult.
Once everyone was dead, who would remember what he had done?
Those who wanted to keep Wilante hostages were the true cowards and fools!
Did killing a thousand people differ from killing three thousand?
In Janusz's eyes, there was no difference at all.
Those marked for death would die even if they didn't dare swat a fly, while those who wished to survive had to prove their worth!
So long as they could supplant the Empire and seize Tiandu, they would have value for the Legion to court!
Keep hostages?
What a colossal joke!
Was he running a kidnapping ring?
Objectively speaking, his ranks were indeed packed with muddle-headed fools lacking clear doctrine or defined political demands, but as the Heavenly King, he possessed both!
What he pursued was rebellion!
Overthrow!
Usurpation!
He had to bind everyone to his war chariot with the foulest of crimes, leaving them with no choice but to gamble on his ultimate victory—for otherwise, not a single one would survive!
As for the judgment of history and the settling of scores, that would come only after his new empire fell.
Right now, even Xilan was barely clinging to life; who had the right to call him to account?!
This was his era, the hour for him to settle scores with Xilan, including the Empire's persecution of the Moon Clan!
So long as they won in the end, the uprising at West Sail Port would be remembered as a glorious revolution!
Hearing Janusz's words, a drop of cold sweat traced down Udono's forehead.
He had largely turned a blind eye to Janusz's ruthless methods; after all, what revolution was free of bloodshed?
Yet hearing the man speak like this made his heart shudder violently.
This bastard...
From the very start, he had planned to bury those six to seven hundred thousand people alongside three thousand Wilante settlers!
In this man's eyes, what were human beings?!
Livestock?
How could the phrase "liberate the slaves of Bolo Province" ever have come from his mouth?
And everyone, including himself, had actually believed it!
Udono finally remembered the horrors he had selectively erased from his mind.
The mounds of bleached bones piled outside the city gates, the noblewomen Janusz had claimed for his tent or distributed to his subordinates for their amusement...
Snapping awake to reality, his back was soaked in sweat, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
"B-But what if... what if the Wilante's interest is that we all die?"
Janusz curled his lip in contempt.
"That possibility exists, but the Alliance, Enterprise, and Academy won't sit idly by and watch the Legion expand eastward under any pretext. That was the bottom line hammered out in the last war; even the Legion must carefully weigh the gains and risks of crossing that red line."
"Besides, why don't you guess why the landed Wilante haven't pushed further inland? Do you think they haven't guessed what sort of riffraff we left behind for them? Even if they hadn't, do those spineless city defense guards lack tongues?"
"I'd even bet that the officers coming ashore this time aren't just field commanders like centurions or tribunes—real heavyweights have definitely come along."
"That fellow knows full well what's going on; he might already be putting on a show with the chips we left him!"
He could even guess that word of this might not have reached Triumph City yet, having been intercepted along the chain of command.
Someone was waiting for his outcome.
Though he didn't know which great lord it was, he was certain that taking Tiandu was his only path to survival!
Deciding that a day's rest was enough, Janusz slapped his right hand against his knee, rose from his chair in the city lord's manor, and stared at the subordinate standing by the doorway to give his orders.
"Pass my command: have the Lion King, Horse King, Leopard King, Tiger King, and Ox King assemble at the border of Ox State!"
"At the same time, order all divisions under my banner to set out at once! We march on Tiandu!"
"Sir!" The officer saluted briskly and dashed off with fiery urgency.
Walking over to the drenched military advisor, Janusz wore a jovial smile and clapped him gently on the shoulder.
"... I leave Lion City in your hands. This is our grand rear base. Until you receive good news from us, hold it tight for me!"
Was this his pledge of allegiance?
The Heavenly Army was no ordinary force; it was an avalanche triggered by an earthquake.
How could an army like this have a rear base? Its morale and supplies depended entirely on plundering along the way!
As for Lion City...
Calling it a grand rear base was merely flattering language; plainly put, it was a stumbling block left at the Legion's feet.
Just like the garrison at West Sail Port, they were being left behind to cover the rear!
Now fully awake, Udono understood everything.
He should have guessed long ago: a man as cunning as a wolf wouldn't trust him so easily. He finally understood why Janusz had promoted him to myriarch.
This man had him cornered, knowing he had no way out.
With that mound of severed heads at the city gate, he had no chance of surrendering.
Swallowing with difficulty, Udono had no choice but to nod his stiff neck and accept this scorching hot potato, despite ten thousand protests screaming in his chest.
"Understood..."
***
At the very moment the Heavenly Army swung eastward, the royal house of the Xilan Empire, having hastily mobilized the conscripts of Lion State, immediately followed up by issuing an imperial decree for a "northern royal hunt."
The edict was scribbled with careless haste, almost to the point of perfunctory negligence.
In simple terms, His Majesty had not visited the northern states in quite some time, and directed the grand dukes across the northern states to prepare imperial residences for His Majesty's stay, along with provisions for his family and servants.
Yet despite the formal wording of the decree, at such a chaotic, war-torn juncture, everyone in Tiandu could see the true intention behind His Majesty's order.
The northern states of Dog, Sheep, and Bird were thrown into disarray by the decree. Having never anticipated the Emperor's arrival, they actually began earnest preparations.
As for Tiger State and Leopard State to the east, both were wealthy and influential powers that maintained their own informants within Tiandu.
The moment they heard the decree, the local warlords promptly dispatched obsequious telegrams to the court, which boiled down to: "Your Majesty, come to me!" and "Your Majesty, hurry over to my territory!"
Even Mammoth State, locked in combat against the Gray Wolf Army, joined the frenzy, sending a telegram to Tiandu: "Your Majesty, look at me—I have war elephants here."
As for Snake State in the far south, ranked dead last in the Empire's treasury revenues, they knew His Majesty would never come, and so remained completely silent.
Elephant State in the central region was reasonably prosperous, but bordering Ox State meant that once Ox State fell, it would be next. Consequently, the local nobility made no sound either.
Meanwhile, the parts of Rowell State administered by the warlords of Tiger and Leopard States still had Golden Gallon Port as their nominal capital and lacked even a governor. Thus, they too kept quiet, continuing their work at the sewing machines.
Wutuo was not about to be duped by the warlords to the east, but neither did he intend to truly flee north. Instead, he played a cunning trick, executing a feint: declaring north while striking east.
First, he dispatched an escort carrying the Crown Prince and imperial concubines out through the north gate with great pomp and circumstance.
Meanwhile, he secretly slipped out through the east gate alongside the Empress, his favored consort, the princes without succession rights, and an entourage of servants and trusted confidants, boarding a royal merchant ship waiting along the banks of the Everflowing River.
One shouldn't keep all one's eggs in a single basket. Though Wutuo exhaled a massive sigh of relief upon clearing the palace, he had grimly prepared for the worst.
If he met with misfortune, or was detained while passing through warlord territory, the throne would pass to the Crown Prince who had truly gone on the "northern royal hunt."
Fortunately, the Xilan Empire still clung to a breath of life and had not yet perished.
Even though imperial authority had fallen into the gutter, not a soul dared obstruct this royal merchant ship, bearing its green double-bladed banner and the imperial crest, as it sailed toward Golden Gallon Port.
Even in warlord-controlled waters, this held true.
Perhaps those warlords had never imagined that their Emperor would actually flee toward their doorstep.
And so, after two days and two nights of navigation, Wutuo, his heart suspended in anxious suspense, finally slipped safely onto that humiliated land in the guise of an undocumented traveler.
At this very moment, most residents of Golden Gallon Port remained entirely unaware that their "respected" Emperor had arrived by boat to pay them a visit...
Chapter 827