Downstream along the Everflowing River, at the river dock of Golden Gallon Port, several uniformed young men stood beside a newsstand.
They were local water police, primarily responsible for inspecting contraband, maintaining order along the docks and shipping routes, and fishing out drowned border-crossers.
Compared to the warlords in Tiger State and Leopard State who gunned down refugees trying to cross the border, the authorities in Golden Gallon Port were relatively lenient toward illegal immigrants.
Out of moral duty, the authorities wouldn't deport them, but neither could they let refugees simply flood into the city.
Normally, they would send the refugees to resettlement centers on the outskirts to stay temporarily. They could find work at the docks, or the authorities would help arrange jobs for them while teaching them basic life skills and essential laws they needed to know.
Upon leaving the resettlement center, these refugees received a work permit card stamped with a tax ID, which served as their identification.
If they later received a permanent ID card, their tax ID would directly become their citizen ID number.
In fact, eager to obtain legal status as early as possible, most border-crossers proactively sought out the police as soon as they made landfall.
For that very reason, their jobs were relatively easy; when they weren't busy, they would wander over to hang around the newsstand.
At this moment, the paper clutched in their hands was the latest edition of the Survivor Daily, its front-page headline covering the West Sail Port Massacre from a week ago.
The paper detailed the origins, sequence, and full aftermath of the catastrophe.
It had all begun when a laborer named Orissa died of exhaustion on the docks, sparking a strike and protest among the other local freeman laborers.
The authorities' labor agency had feigned agreement with the protesters' demands, only to renege the moment the shipping rush passed. They then brought in massive numbers of slaves from elsewhere to replace the uncooperative freemen, entirely igniting the freemen's fury.
It just so happened that the port's warehouses were stocked with munitions the Legion intended to ship to the front lines.
And so an uprising, triggered by a warehouse fire, broke out—and obviously spun completely out of control.
Due to the delay in news, only now did they learn that such an appalling atrocity had occurred on the opposite coast of this very continent...
"They fucking had it coming..." a young water policeman couldn't help but curse, indignantly turning the page.
The next page covered Janusz—the fellow who had proclaimed himself Heavenly King.
Still, the journalists at the Port French Fries bureau of the Survivor Daily were hardly all-seeing; they didn't know much about the man, only that he had once served under Alaiyang and had taken part in the butterfly stroke competition on the outskirts of Golden Gallon Port—making him something of a veteran.
Thirteen armies had set out from West Sail Port, driving the flames of war deep into the Empire's heartland, though where they had reached remained unknown...
Unlike the hot-blooded young officer, an older man beside him merely shrugged.
"Still, the civilians were innocent."
"Innocent?"
The young man stared at his colleague with wide eyes, as if hearing something utterly unbelievable.
"Are your kin Wilante? Did the uprising just erupt out of thin air? The first one to die was named Orissa, and more than three thousand Brahma were slaughtered there! How could you pity slave owners and imperialists?"
Many might not have read carefully, selectively ignoring Orissa's "lowly" name, but he remembered clearly that this name had been the spark behind it all.
He no longer cared what sub-race the man belonged to; in his eyes, he was his brother, a Brahma!
As for Janusz and his Heavenly Army, those were merely flames that flared up afterward.
The Wilante were the true arsonists!
The Empire's lackeys played with fire, skewering his people like meat over the flames!
Now that they'd burned their own fingers, it was nothing more than reaping what they sowed.
He only resented that this fire couldn't burn all the way to Triumph City, consuming the soil of Brahma Province instead, forcing the exploited to pay the price of exploitation and leaving his people to suffer the agony of war.
He believed he wasn't the only one in Golden Gallon Port thinking this way; he had seen in more than one newspaper just what a hellhole West Sail Port had been.
Watching the agitated young officer, the older policeman sighed and said, "That's exactly what I mean by innocent. The survivors of West Sail Port were innocent... and yes, that includes the dead Wilante civilians. They left their homes and came into our land to expand territory for the Legion, only to end up as sacrifices for politicians. As for how much they truly benefited from the colony, I seriously doubt it was much."
Everything was a matter of comparison—macro to macro, micro to micro.
The Alliance didn't practice colonialism; they pursued mutual benefit, and Alliance residents lived quite well. He had never been to Dawn City, but he had witnessed the transformation of Golden Gallon Port with his own eyes. They weren't running a charity, so there was no way their developments abroad were better than their homeland.
"...They are all victims. What truly deserves condemnation is the system of exploitation and bottomless greed."
Still, that was all hindsight.
By the time they received this newspaper, everything was already over.
The Wilante were probably venting their wrath at West Sail Port right now, but the survivors of Brahma Province were steadily waking up.
Just like the young man beside him, whose gut reaction was no longer about which tribe Orissa belonged to, but rather: How dare those big-noses slaughter our people!
If the Legion thought massacring a whole city would subjugate them, they were hopelessly naive.
In the history of the Human Alliance, imperialism had never achieved a true victory. It was always a march from one quagmire into another, until it was swallowed by the torrent of the times.
This war had only just begun.
What if they had airships?
What if they inherited pre-war legacies?
Two hundred years ago, hadn't everyone crawled out of the Great Desert?
So long as history kept marching forward, they would eventually drown in an endless sea of people...
While the two argued and bickered, Kapil idly flipped through a collection of Mr. Rat's writings.
He had no interest in war.
Ever since an artillery shell took his right arm and landed him in a POW camp, those deafening blasts could no longer shake him.
Yet words that stirred the soul still could.
He was a devoted reader of "Mr. Rat," and had been since his days in the prison camp.
It was precisely after reading that essay, Red Soil, that he had decided to stay.
The Golden Gallon Port authorities had reached an agreement with the Empire regarding prisoner repatriation, but right around that time, the Ten Peaks Mountain incident occurred, prompting the citizens of Golden Gallon Port to take to the streets in protest. Consequently, the authorities did not force the POWs to return, making repatriation voluntary instead.
At the time, Kapil had spent a sum from his saved wages to bribe the imperial thousand-man commander who came to receive the prisoners, having himself classified as severely disabled so he would be allowed to remain in Golden Gallon Port for "humanitarian treatment."
In reality, after being fitted with a prosthetic manufactured in Boulder City, aside from needing a charge every few days, it barely affected his daily life and work. Bribing the officer had simply been a way to preserve the honor of his family and clan.
Afterward, the POW camp was repurposed into a refugee resettlement center, and he was reassigned here as a water policeman.
As Kapil turned the pages of the anthology, a bell clanged from the distant dock.
A cargo ship flying a green twin-blade flag and the royal coat of arms slowly glided into the river port.
"Big ship coming in." Placing the paper back on the stand, the older policeman put on his cap. "Strange. Did the port authority schedule any large vessels today?"
Beside him, another water cop squinted, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"A merchant ship of the Xilan royal family. Those folks never bother registering... Still think this place is their own backyard, heh."
Telegraphing ahead to apply for a slot and berth before a large vessel departed wasn't an ironclad rule; it was just meant to save both sides hassle.
After all, berths at the river port were tight and shipping capacity was limited, so berths weren't always available on demand.
Earlier, during a peak shipping period, a massive backup had clogged the river channel, prompting the regulation in the first place.
Yet the Emperor of Brahma Province never abided by it, and his merchant ships routinely forgot to apply, arriving a day early or a day late.
The water police grumbled among themselves.
"Tch, I hate rule-breakers the most."
"Inspect 'em!"
"...There are no emperors in Golden Gallon Port. Everyone's equal here. Let's go check it out."
"Coming! Wait for me."
Kapil set the volume back on the newsstand, placed a bill in the vendor's hand, and asked him to hold the unfinished book so he could pick it up later.
The group walked toward the dock, just in time to see the merchant ship's master shouting at the port authority staff on the pier.
"We arrived a day early! Hurry up and find us a berth!"
The port official rolled his eyes.
"Where do you expect me to find a berth for you? Go wait in line on the river!"
With the noble guests pressing him hard from behind, the shipmaster grew frantic, but he couldn't openly reveal who was on board, leaving him to bluster with threats: "Aren't you afraid we'll block the river channel?"
The port worker retorted mockingly, "Trying to scare me? Go ahead, block it and see what happens."
The shipmaster ground his teeth in rage, completely powerless.
Fortunately, Wutuo and his entourage of ministers had no time to mind him. Every single one of them was staring dumbfounded at the riverbank, their jaws dropped in astonishment.
Prince Dilip in particular was astonished. He had accompanied Alaiyang here once, holing up in a modest little house in the suburban Klaba Market.
As for this place, it had originally been a muddy reed marsh; he even remembered the narrow path running along the riverbank.
Now, that dirt path was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a wide, long concrete road.
Detached cottages stood in neat, picturesque arrangements along the river harbor. In front of little courtyards bursting with flowers and greenery, bicycles were parked by gates beside green-painted mailboxes.
While not every cottage was so refined, those that were easily rivaled the residences of Tiandu's well-to-do citizens.
A few uniquely styled mansions even drew open admiration and envy from a prince of refined taste like him, sparking an urge to purchase a couple.
Come to think of it...
Nihak's governor's mansion hadn't been this grand, had it?
Dilip assumed they had sailed into Golden Gallon Port's wealthy district, completely unaware that this was merely the suburbs—and the outer fringes at that, far from the seaport.
Those living nearby were river dockers, textile mill workers, or merchants and dignitaries who traveled frequently between Tiger State and Leopard State.
Because land in the outer suburbs was cheap and free of many urban regulations, wealthy folks from Tiger and Leopard States loved establishing second homes here, buying up parcels and hiring designers from Golden Gallon Port to build mansions in Alliance or Legion architectural styles.
Beyond the elegantly decorated villas, one could glimpse rows of blocky apartment buildings towering like city walls in the distance.
Usually situated close to factories and train stations, these buildings featured orderly rows of windows running down their façades like kernels on an ear of corn, housing newly relocated residents.
"Is this... my Golden Gallon Port?"
Wutuo was thoroughly bewildered, only managing to squeeze out the words after a long daze.
Dilip had at least visited the previous year; Wutuo's memories dated back much further. He only recalled a barren strip of red soil along the Everflowing River, plantations on the other side, and beyond that, an endless sea of squalid shanties and the high walls of Camp Rowell.
Serving as governor here had been nothing short of miserable exile; step outside the port and you entered slums, and during the scorching dry season, the entire street reeked of unbearable filth.
Yet everything before his eyes now shattered those old impressions.
He couldn't fathom that such a settlement could exist on the soil of Brahma Province.
The ministers behind him exchanged glances in stunned silence, clearly just as shocked.
Right then, a patrol boat flying a police ensign sped over.
A water policeman standing on the boat shouted toward the deck: "Police! Boarding for inspection!"
The shipmaster, still bickering with the port worker, hurriedly turned to the patrol boat, explaining with an obsequious smile, "We are a royal merchant vessel!"
The policeman on the speedboat replied impatiently, "Royal merchant ships are inspected too. Drop the boarding ladder, make it quick."
Caught in a bind, the shipmaster cast a pleading look back at His Majesty and Prince Dilip.
Wutuo's face darkened, but after conferring in whispers with his ministers, he gave a reluctant nod.
An eunuch stepped forward.
"Grant them permission to board."
Breathing a sigh of relief, the shipmaster bowed in gratitude.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The police officers climbed aboard, their eyes widening at the nobles gathered on deck.
While these men didn't wear badges of rank, their robes and the ornaments hanging from their belts were unmistakably exquisite, likely worth tens or hundreds of thousands of gallons.
Even more baffling was that these high-born dignitaries had entered the harbor aboard a cargo hauler.
Even if it was an imperial merchant vessel, it was still a freighter meant for hauling goods...
Kapil found the lead man's face strangely familiar, though he couldn't recall where he had seen it.
As a matter of routine, he addressed them: "Do you have customs clearance papers or identification? If not, you must register at customs..."
Before he could finish, the distinguished man glared at him with sudden fury.
"Outrageous! What papers do I need to return to my own home?!"
Kapil froze. The other policemen also froze, wondering what kind of madness had seized this man.
But right then, Kapil abruptly recognized the familiar face, and an expression of utter disbelief surfaced in his eyes.
How is this possible?!
In Golden Gallon Port?
His jaw hung loose, and the word slipped from his mouth before he could stop it:
"...Your Majesty?!"
...
Wutuo had appeared in Golden Gallon Port.
And he had emerged from the outer reed marshes alongside illegal border-crossers.
The moment the news hit the press, it ignited a massive sensation throughout Golden Gallon Port.
A dense sea of onlookers crammed the river port, a place rarely visited by idle spectators.
Some had even traveled all the way from the seaport district just to catch a glimpse of what an emperor actually looked like.
Because the crowd disrupted shipping traffic, port authorities had to deploy extra personnel to keep order while mooring the imperial vessel—packed with the Xilan Empire's civil and military court—along the riverbank just outside the harbor, obliging Wutuo to drift on the water a little longer.
In truth, the authorities didn't even need to ask.
At the sight of the surging ocean of people onshore, Wutuo was thoroughly terrified. Far from demanding to disembark, he hid in his cabin all day and dared not open a single window, terrified that catching the light might reveal which room was his.
The Empire was not the Alliance, after all; he had none of the Administrator's courage to stand among the masses.
What if assassins were lurking in the crowd?
That was typical of those with a guilty conscience—everyone looked like an assassin out to get them.
That night.
Sitting by his bed in foul spirits, Wutuo sipped tea and played chess with Prince Dilip.
Just then, his most loyal eunuch entered from outside, kneeling and prostrating on the floor.
"...Your Majesty, a reporter from the Golden Gallon Port bureau of the Survivor Daily wishes to interview you."
Wutuo knitted his brows.
"A reporter? What sort of creature is that?"
The eunuch explained tremulously, "It's... someone who gathers material for the newspapers."
"Newspapers?"
Wutuo frowned. He vaguely recalled hearing of them—certainly nothing good.
Waving his hand dismissively, he snapped, "I won't see him. Tell him to get lost."
The eunuch nodded subserviently and was about to withdraw from this temporary "palace" when Prince Dilip, sitting opposite Wutuo, had a sudden thought. Dilip raised a hand to halt the eunuch, then turned to Wutuo.
"Wait... Your Majesty, I believe granting an interview might not be a bad idea. The residents of Golden Gallon Port are gathering along the shore solely to behold your majesty and holy aura—"
Wutuo cut across his chatter impatiently.
"Can mere servants behold my majesty?"
Prince Dilip cleared his throat. "Be that as it may... looked at from another angle, dredging is better than damming. If Your Majesty satisfies the curiosity of those ill-mannered folk, perhaps they will disperse from the riverbank. We could then go ashore rather than drift on this river indefinitely."
Who knew how long the western rabble would run amok, and the Praetorian Guards had sent no word.
If the locals kept thronging the shore, they might never be able to disembark.
The Everflowing River was damp and humid, and the deck rocked constantly; he couldn't stand being cooped up on this boat any longer.
Wutuo was evidently swayed by the thought. Clasping a chess piece, he pondered for a moment before nodding slowly.
"Fine."
The piece clicked onto the board.
Glancing at the eunuch kneeling at the entrance with his head to the floor, Wutuo said impassively, "Then I shall grant an audience to this reporter."
...
Night deepened, and the Everflowing River fell into serene quiet, the only sound the steady croaking of frogs from the reed beds.
Although the crowds along the riverbank had dispersed, the passengers aboard the ship still dared not come down.
Yet despite being trapped on board, Wutuo slept soundly. Shortly past ten o'clock, thunderous snores echoed from his "bedchamber," sleeping even more peacefully than when passing through warlord territories.
While he slumbered comfortably, certain individuals in Golden Gallon Port couldn't sleep a wink.
Such as Yodu, secretary of the governor's office.
As acting governor of Golden Gallon Port, he oversaw virtually all affairs in the port.
He had never received any diplomatic note from the Empire, let alone word that the Emperor would visit Golden Gallon Port. So when he heard that Wutuo had surfaced at the port on the Everflowing River, he was entirely dumbfounded.
"...The Emperor is truly here?"
Opposite Yodu, Chief Bihari offered a wry smile, dabbing sweat from his brow with a tissue.
"Without a shadow of a doubt... I didn't believe it at first either, so I made a personal trip onto the ship to verify."
Bihari had been chief of the port district security bureau during Nihak's tenure and was later promoted to police chief for his outstanding conduct during the occupation.
Though he rarely mentioned his aristocratic title anymore, he had indeed once been an imperial noble.
Where others might not recognize Wutuo, he remembered the Emperor's face vividly—along with several grand dukes and princes on deck.
Pacing back and forth before his desk, Yodu stopped and couldn't resist asking, "Could he be an impostor?"
Bihari didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "How could he be? Besides, Prince Dilip is there too. We have his biometric data on file from his stay in our prison; one scan would confirm it immediately. If you doubt it, should I take him in for a test?"
"No need for that..." Yodu hurriedly demurred. "They're not criminal suspects; don't go arresting people arbitrarily."
Chief Bihari chuckled bitterly. "Then what should we do? Just leave them floating on the river?"
"This is tricky..."
Yodu fell into deep thought.
His political instincts told him this was far from simple.
For Wutuo to choose this place, he must have judged that he had nowhere else to run.
Even the Emperor himself believed he could no longer control the situation...
Faintly catching a trace of the stench of death carried on the breeze from the Everflowing River, a thought struck Yodu like a thunderbolt.
The Empire might truly be finished!
It was like a corpse concealed in secret mourning—no matter how tightly sealed the coffin lid, it couldn't hide the foul stench seeping through the cracks.
A bead of warm sweat broke out on Yodu's forehead.
At this moment, what preoccupied his mind wasn't the Empire's future fate, but the shockwaves and fallout that the collapse of such a behemoth would inflict on Golden Gallon Port.
As one of the candidates for future mayor, his primary duty was to the residents of Golden Gallon Port.
Especially to their savings deposits.
"...Let's consult the Alliance on this first and see what they say. We'd better not meddle blindly."
Hearing Yodu's assessment, Bihari nodded in hasty agreement. "My thoughts exactly. You should contact the Alliance immediately."
"I sent a telegram to the Alliance right away, but it's the middle of the night in Dawn City. We probably won't get a response until tomorrow..." Pausing, Yodu walked to his desk, picked up the receiver, and dialed his secretary.
"Have the president of the Bank of Golden Gallon come to my office. And the director of foreign trade administration... Yes, right now. I don't care whether they're asleep in bed or soaking in the tub, tell them to get dressed and get over here immediately!
"I have critical matters to discuss with them in person."
...
The following morning, bright sunlight bathed Golden Gallon Port's harbor district, which bustled as lively as ever.
Just two days after news of the West Sail Port massacre spread like wildfire, the Emperor of Xilan had fled straight to Golden Gallon Port.
People were buzzing with speculation over whether Tiandu had already fallen to the Heavenly Army.
Unfortunately, neither Lion City nor Tiandu hosted a bureau of the Survivor Daily, so they could only guess.
Still, it would be wonderful if that were true.
The Heavenly Army had at least raised the slogans of abolishing slavery and dividing the land, and word had it they had genuinely redistributed land, which was at least a step forward.
And setting progress aside, people had long grown sick of the Empire and its emperor!
Inside a beef noodle breakfast diner, patrons slurped their noodles while discussing the fresh-off-the-press paper.
"Good riddance! May every last lord and minister at court be slaughtered and their bones ground to dust!"
An old man shook his head, sighing as he offered his critique. "I'm afraid it won't be that simple. The Legion won't sit idly by and watch the Empire collapse, especially after so many Legionnaires were killed. The thirteen armies may look formidable, but they're just peasants and farmers with terrible logistics. When real battle comes, it's anyone's guess who wins."
A scholarly-looking man also shook his head, remarking regretfully, "My fear is that their blood will be spilled in vain."
Not far from them, a dockworker ground his teeth in rage, slamming a hand on the table. "Those motherfucking big-noses! They enslave our kin, and now they want to meddle in our internal affairs! Do they think we're push-overs?!"
His words drew chorus after chorus of agreement, and the diner patrons quickly grew impassioned.
"They've pushed us too far!"
"I'm heading straight to donate to the Union! I'll give a month's wages!"
"What's the point of giving to the Union? They back Laxi, and that guy is still locked in a stalemate with Alaiyang up in Mammoth State!"
"Laxi's business is getting bigger and bigger, but he can't hold a candle to Janusz."
"Heh, I don't put my faith in Laxi... I wouldn't mind if he became emperor; what I fear is him just wanting to take his company public in Dawn City and live off dividends like a retired gentleman."
"Hahaha! Compared to that, Janusz is much more straightforward—picks up a gun and goes to war!"
"A pity it's hard to ship supplies from here over there. If only they had risen up on the east coast, it would've been much easier."
"Pointless anyway. No matter how many guns you donate, can they stop the Legion? The Legion is stepping into the fray... Sigh! Who knows into whose hands these four million square kilometers will fall..."
Amid the lively chatter, an unusual group entered the noodle shop.
Walking over to a corner table, Axin ordered a bowl of scallion oil noodles and a steamer of soup dumplings as usual. He then opened a newspaper in his hands, sipping tea while reading at an unhurried pace.
He had been learning to read for quite some time now, and reading and writing were no longer an issue.
Even without someone reading aloud to him, he could understand it on his own.
Standing behind him, Kunal listened to the patrons' impassioned chatter and couldn't resist clenching his fists, muttering, "That dog of an emperor actually dared show his face in Golden Gallon Port... Boss, should we take him out?"
It was merely a river cargo ship; all it would take was sending someone to punch a hole in the hull to give them a taste of the Everflowing River's water.
"Are you out of your mind?" Axin froze, glanced back at his simple-minded subordinate, shook his head in exasperation, and turned back.
Assassinate an emperor? Was the problem of Xilan something that killing an emperor could solve? Petty crooks like them had better stay out of the affairs of big shots, or they wouldn't even know how they died.
Of course, if some big shot with sufficient clout asked him to do it, he would gladly accept.
Taking a life was easy enough. Especially on his turf.
Still, the whole affair was utterly bizarre. Why would Wutuo, who had just announced a "Northern Imperial Hunt," suddenly pop up here?
Staring at the paper for a moment, Axin's eyes flashed with a sharp gleam.
"This emperor... is probably here taking refuge."
Kunal was taken aback, asking in a low voice, "You mean the Heavenly Army has reached Tiandu?"
Axin remarked offhandedly, "It took him two days to get here; for all we know, the battle is raging right now."
Kunal was visibly shaken, mentally picturing the map of Brahma Province.
Good grief!
Didn't that mean two states fell in just one week?!
Even across plains where the Legion had helped construct infrastructure, such an advance was shockingly fast.
"Does that mean this Heavenly King is even more formidable than Laxi..."
Hearing that, Axin chuckled and shook his head. "You can't just look at the surface. How formidable someone is depends on who they're fighting. Janusz is fighting peasant levies, but Laxi is going toe-to-toe with Alaiyang. Don't underestimate that wolfman. He did suffer at the hands of the Alliance, but he didn't lose entirely on the battlefield."
Hardly anyone in Golden Gallon Port wanted the Empire to win; it would be a miracle if the Gray Wolf Army prevailed.
In fact, Axin himself had taken the lesson of the Empire's failure to heart. When expanding his business, he was exceptionally cautious and balanced, never driving anyone to desperation, always leaving a way out. Not only that, while other gang leaders tried to look as ruthless and menacing as possible, he was polite to everyone, even sitting down to eat noodles with the neighbors and handing out red envelopes to children during New Year.
That was precisely why the Assassin Gang grew larger and stronger with each passing day.
Kunal scratched the back of his head and grinned. "That's true, hehe... Speaking of which, I remember you took out one with your own hands too."
Axin gave him a sideways glance. "That's nothing to brag about... Don't bring it up."
"Right, Boss." Kunal nodded, pausing for a moment before asking again, "Then what about this emperor..."
Axin gave the back of his head a swat in exasperation. "Why can't you learn? Why are you always obsessing over that guy? That's none of our business. Just take good care of our own patch of dirt!"
Kunal rubbed the back of his head. "But you said you wanted to pull that emperor down from his throne... I was just trying to share your burden."
Axin paused, then remembered that he had indeed said those words—back when he was seeing Laxi off.
Looking at the pathetic figure of the emperor depicted in the paper, he couldn't help bursting out laughing.
It really brought back memories.
In the blink of an eye, the things he had only dreamed of were actually coming true.
"Yes, that's right... Kunal, my friend, I did say that."
"And I can tell you, my wish is about to come true, haha!"
Chapter 828