Battlefield Guy trailed behind General MacLaren, walking all the way into the deepest part of the military encampment.
Along the path, he carefully observed the layout and dispositions of the base, and the more he looked, the more alarmed he grew.
Rows of one-hundred-millimeter field guns sat concealed beneath camouflage nets. Even three-hundred-and-eighty-millimeter cannons, monsters normally mounted on battleships, had been fitted with caterpillar tracks and hauled ashore.
Beyond those were all sorts of bizarre steel contraptions—some looked like supply-transport vehicles, while others seemed configured for anti-air and combat support.
It was nothing like Sunset Province.
Back then, stretched logistics lines had left the Eastern Expansion faction's ten legions critically short of ammunition.
Here, the situation was completely different.
Not only did they have ample ammunition on hand, but they had pre-staged enough supplies to sustain an entire war.
Honestly, an arsenal of this scale didn't look like something assembled on short notice...
While Battlefield Guy looked around, General MacLaren came to a halt before a gray-camouflaged command tent. He gave a slight nod to the guards at the entrance, pushed aside the tied-back curtain, and stepped inside.
Battlefield Guy hurried after him, ducking into the spacious tent.
MacLaren lifted the kettle, poured tea for both of them, then sat behind the desk and made an inviting gesture.
"Have a seat."
Battlefield Guy nodded and sat upright across from him, turning over in his mind what MacLaren could possibly want to say.
To his surprise, MacLaren didn't make a grand declaration. He merely took a sip of tea and opened with a question.
"What do you think of this place?"
Battlefield Guy paused, puzzled. "In what regard, General?"
"In general," MacLaren replied casually. "Just give me your impressions of the deployment here."
*So he just wants offhand thoughts?*
"Whatever" or "casual" was Battlefield Guy's least favorite kind of prompt, but he steeled himself and ventured, "There's a tremendous amount of gear stockpiled here... I doubt they're preparing for just one or two battles."
Pausing a beat, a sudden spark hit him, and he added, "It looks almost identical to our front lines back in Sunset Province!"
A faint smile curled MacLaren's lips, and he gave an approving nod. "Not bad. Your powers of observation haven't rusted."
*What kind of observation does this take... isn't it blatantly obvious?*
Battlefield Guy chuckled internally, holding back the urge to make a sarcastic remark. Frowning slightly, he asked, "What is the Southern Legion trying to pull?"
MacLaren gave a wry smile. "What they want is plain as day. You've walked through here—haven't you figured it out yet?"
True enough.
Their intentions were written all over the faces of the soldiers at the docks.
Nothing short of slaughtering every last motherfucking Silanese!
They didn't even need war mobilization.
As an outsider, it was difficult for Battlefield Guy to empathize with their fury, but that detachment was precisely what allowed him to think coolly.
"I don't quite get it, though... Why would the civil bureaucracy cooperate with them on this? Even if the Legion claims a vast new swath of territory, Triumph City's civilian officials will be thoroughly disgraced, stripped of their only sphere of influence. Does this truly serve their interests?"
MacLaren smiled faintly. "It's good that you consider the differing interests and agendas of the Legion's factions. Most outsiders—and even plenty of Wilante themselves—mistake this massive political entity for a single-minded hive organism. But understanding their differing agendas isn't enough; you must also analyze what they do to achieve them."
Seeing that MacLaren clearly had an explanation lined up, Battlefield Guy gladly yielded the floor and followed along deferentially. "Please enlighten me, General!"
MacLaren didn't beat around the bush. Cutting straight to the heart of the matter, he began at the root cause.
"...As you're likely aware, the civil bureaucracy has long harbored intense dissatisfaction with the empire's spineless handling of affairs.
"Duke Garava's antics at the Mutual Aid Community meetings put us allies in an extremely awkward spot. Legate Bannote voiced his irritation more than once. When an incompetent fool like that can be placed in such a critical role, you can imagine the sheer depth of Wutuo's ineptitude. The man might know a trick or two about balancing court factions, but that petty balancing act of 'adding water when there's too much flour and flour when there's too much water' only works within a feudal dynasty."
Battlefield Guy nodded. "Indeed... at the Mutual Aid Community, Duke Garava managed to offend practically everyone who could be offended."
"Diplomacy was only part of it; economics and industry were far worse. The modest wealth we bent over backward helping them accumulate ultimately lined the pockets of the Alliance's cronies. The steel and cement we helped them produce were carted straight into the hands of rebels... We saw all of it clearly, but fretting alone solved nothing. That Wutuo acted like a deaf-mute, clinging to the fantasy that some piece of high technology or a single battleship could magically save the empire."
MacLaren chuckled and went on, "And so, a thought took root among the civil bureaucracy: wouldn't it be better if the empire had a different emperor?
"A tougher emperor—one who could inject a healthy dose of militarism into that decaying feudal husk, so the empire might finally serve some purpose. The new empire wouldn't need to be strong; it just needed to act like a rabid wolf, baring its fangs whenever we needed it to.
"Achieving that was straightforward. The Wolf Clan, who shed blood and laid down their lives for the empire, harbored boundless resentment. Their sons were bleeding out on the front lines, yet the empire couldn't care less whether they lived or died. They were treated like an old rag—made to wipe away all the filth, then tossed away at West Sail Port to have their last drop of value squeezed out.
"I served as an instructor for many Wolf Clan officers. I felt the turmoil inside them. They yearned for upheaval far more than the quill-pushers churning out tracts like *Red Earth*, and they possessed the actual power those writers lacked.
"All they lacked was the seed capital for their venture. That was simple enough to arrange—borrow it from the Eastern Legion. The bureaucrats excel at spending other people's money to advance their own schemes, just as they borrowed me to serve as an instructor here."
"...So you're saying this was a conspiracy by the civil—" Battlefield Guy nearly used the word "conspiracy," but caught himself just in time. He remembered this wasn't a game forum and the man sitting across from him was a legionary commander, so he promptly swallowed his words.
MacLaren saw right through him and gave a soft chuckle.
"During my time as a captive of the Alliance, I learned a phrase—or rather, a saying: 'The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.'"
Battlefield Guy had a sudden flash of insight, though his voice dropped involuntarily. "You mean... the Southern Legion hijacked the civil bureaucracy's playbook?"
"Smart."
MacLaren gave an approving nod and continued in a steady, measured drawl.
"If my guess is right, the civil faction's original plan was to have retired Gray Wolf Army officers and enlisted men stage a coup. With the active Gray Wolf Army tied down at the front, they could quickly seize Tiandu and erect a militaristic regime.
"In doing so, the four legions would become five. A fifth legion, composed of local Bolonese and remote-controlled by the civil bureaucracy, would not be bound by the Ancient Covenants. Operating as a native wasteland power, it could advance or retreat at will.
"They thought they were being clever. And Enterprise, masters of appeasement and self-delusion, would certainly never intervene. The only wildcard was the Alliance, but realistically there was little the Alliance could do. After all, the Legion possessed no military presence in the eastern theater; this was merely an unusually large vassal.
"Everything stayed within the rules. We didn't cross the red line—merely brushed against its edge."
Battlefield Guy stared wide-eyed, astonishment written across his face.
Before coming here, Bannote had mentioned that they'd been played by their own ally, but hadn't gone into such detail.
At the time, he'd assumed "ally" referred to the empire. Turns out it was the Southern Legion all along.
Looking at the stunned Pangolin, MacLaren smiled faintly and continued, "Yet not everyone was content to simply brush the boundary without stepping across. Certain ambitious opportunists not only co-opted the civil faction's groundwork, but threw their own heavy chips onto an already precarious scale.
"Those who needed to be evacuated were withdrawn, and the uprising unfolded as planned. But the one who took power was a puppet named Janusz—a glaring scapegoat.
"Then the fire roared toward the heavens, fiercer than anyone had anticipated. The purge of the empire morphed into a purge of both the empire and the Wilante people, consuming over three thousand Wilante civilians in the blaze. Now, not even the civil faction dares boast that this was their handiwork. They can only play deaf and dumb while frantically trying to put out the fire."
Battlefield Guy couldn't help asking, "...What does the Southern Legion gain from this?"
MacLaren glanced toward the tent flap and said with a faint smile, "The gain is precisely what you saw outside: they will soon be free to resume their expansion.
"And once war erupts, the flames won't be confined to Bolo Province. Our vassals in Sunset Province will be dragged in as well. Given the Falcon Kingdom's current state, it would be shattered in an instant by the neighboring Honey Badgers, so long as the Alliance lends a hand."
Battlefield Guy lowered his voice. "Do you want this war to start?"
MacLaren didn't answer directly. He poured himself another cup of tea and countered casually, "What do you think?"
Battlefield Guy gave an honest assessment. "I think the fact that you're telling me all this means you don't want this fire spreading any further."
"You really are sharp."
Approval surfaced on MacLaren's face once more. Taking a sip of hot tea to moisten his throat, he went on, "I don't mind telling you that this initial fire did carry some benefits for me personally. But if it keeps burning, that changes. That holds true for me, and it holds true for the Eastern Legion."
Battlefield Guy cut straight to the chase. "Then what do I need to do to put this fire out?"
MacLaren beckoned, gesturing for him to lean in close, then whispered, "Certain elements within the Heavenly King Army betrayed their original benefactors. Or to put it more precisely, the Southern Legion offered them better terms and greater promises... Those individuals will be extremely jumpy around envoys from the civil bureaucracy. I trust Bannote warned you which figures to watch out for once you reach Tiandu."
Battlefield Guy nodded solemnly. "The man's name is Absaik. He was supposedly granted the title of Grand Duke of Lion State by the Heavenly King—"
"Hush." MacLaren raised a finger to his lips, keeping his voice to a bare whisper. "I don't care what that man or those people are called, nor do I have any interest. Just remember it yourself. When you arrive, your first step must be to project a willingness to negotiate with Janusz, making it clear that you come on behalf of Triumph City.
"I'd wager that no matter how tough Janusz acts on the surface, he'll be ecstatic inside. He isn't stupid. He knows he can't defeat the Legion on his own; whether he surrenders to the Legion or defects to the Alliance, he needs an exit route. As for those who were slaughtered, that's easily managed—he'll simply pin all the blame onto the ones who have already been purged. Eighty thousand lives traded for three thousand is more than enough by any reckoning... Provided, of course, the Legion accepts the 'accounting' he offers.
"You need to make him believe the Legion is inclined to accept it, but that eighty thousand lives aren't enough—Lion State must be ceded as restitution."
Battlefield Guy stared at MacLaren in sudden realization. "That's Absaik's fiefdom! You want to ignite internal conflict among them..."
MacLaren shook his head, then gave a slight nod. "Whose fiefdom it is matters little. What matters is that your demand wakes up the fools collaborating with the Southern Legion. The civil faction at most wanted a change of ally, but the Southern Legion wants the very land under their feet. Those legionnaires will never honor their promises, and they won't hesitate to abandon their stooges to deal directly with Janusz.
"Fear and paranoia will take hold of them. After all, they slaughtered so many Wilante. If the Southern Legion reneges, they'll be dumped into unmarked graves like clowns... And once terror grips them, they'll demand firmer guarantees and collateral from the Southern Legion, perhaps even growing reckless enough to make a move. That's when our opening arrives."
A sharp gleam flared in Battlefield Guy's eyes. "You want me to uncover proof of the Southern Legion's involvement?"
MacLaren nodded. "Correct. But evidence alone isn't enough. Shrugging off blame is trivial—they only need a sacrificial 'Griffin' to take the fall. You must leverage external pressure—specifically, leak it to the Alliance. The Alliance has warships, and they have connections with Enterprise and the Academy. Only their intervention can force these fire-starting lunatics to keep a cool head... or at least weigh the consequences of stepping into the fray themselves."
Battlefield Guy looked at MacLaren in utter astonishment, never expecting such words to come from his mouth.
Using the Alliance to check the Southern Legion?
Was that something a man in his position ought to say?!
"Uh, this..."
Seeing the wide-eyed Pangolin, General MacLaren assumed he was shocked by this apparent "treason."
Yet he offered no excuses, merely leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over his knee.
"I do not view this as betrayal. It is preventing a band of reckless zealots from dragging us all into a bottomless abyss.
"Granted, I may hardly have the moral standing to say such things... but if you trust me, do as I've told you."
***
Night fell silently over West Sail Port. The Southern Legion was busily laying the groundwork for a full-scale invasion of Bolo Province, and the fuse laid into an even larger powder keg seemed already to be smoldering.
The following morning.
Another passenger liner berthed at the docks of West Sail Port.
The blood and corpses had been cleared from the piers, but the deep scars carved by shellfire remained plain to see.
Several passengers dropped to their knees on the deck, while others wept aloud in grief.
They were all relatives of the victims...
Looking out over the devastated harbor, Penny stood on deck and pressed a hand over her mouth, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
"...This is too cruel."
Word was that only a handful of children had survived, having found sanctuary under the roof of the Silver Moon Church.
Those who hadn't survived had suffered unspeakable torment, dying in helpless humiliation and despair...
Just then, Penny suddenly recalled her father's desperate insistence that she return home, or at least head to Evernight Port first to seek out her uncle Ross.
And shortly afterward, the governor-general's mansion in West Sail Port had let slip word that vast quantities of surplus munitions were sitting on the Death Coast, waiting to be bought up by the pound... first come, first served.
Her eyes went wide, grief in her gaze giving way to disbelief.
A chilling possibility surged into her mind.
It was the sharp instinct of a reporter.
Could Father have...
***
While the Wilante aboard the ship stared out at the harbor, the people on the piers stared back at the vessel.
Shouldering his pack, Battle-Hardened Wolf stood silent for a long time before suddenly speaking up.
"You know, I'm starting to think the Legion isn't really that great."
They were about to set off for Tiandu, having just returned to Yarman's boat to gather their gear.
Shit-Stirring Stick threw him a strange look, then grinned and slung an arm over his shoulder.
"Brother, let me conduct an interview: what on earth ever gave you the illusion that they were great in the first place?"
Old Wolf shot him a sidelong glance, then turned his gaze back to the liner and the figures on its deck.
"I don't know. Gut feeling, maybe... I thought they treated their own people pretty well."
Old Stick's grin broadened as he quipped, "And where exactly does this 'pretty well' show up? Is it the beefcake Wilante hunks with B-cups plastered on the *Triumph Daily*, or the way they avenge their fallen brethren with ever bigger and thicker calibers? Look, real talk: no matter how loud the cannons roar, does it bring back the dead? If you ask me, burning paper money would be more useful—at least it might give them some spending cash down below."
The Wilante officers who stayed with the Alliance had indeed burned joss paper for the fallen expeditionary soldiers.
Nobody knew who taught them that trick.
Old Wolf pushed back stubbornly, "At least they took revenge."
As though he had just spotted a hilarious joke, Old Stick chuckled mockingly. "Oh really? Here I thought their enemies were in Tiandu, turns out they're still hanging out right here in West Sail Port.
"Besides, if you want my honest opinion, where does all this hatred come from anyway? The dead lying in the craters outside the Great Rift Valley weren't just clones; those poor bastards had parents and kids too. Yet not a single person came to collect their bones—just scavengers picking through their pockets. That's what you call treating your own like human beings? Way more people died over there than here!"
Old Wolf was left speechless.
He wanted to argue that those were soldiers while these were civilians, but deep down he couldn't explain the fundamental difference.
It felt like both groups were mere bargaining chips.
They might be playing different games, but all of them were gambling on a near-impossible victory.
If they won, their sacrifice would supposedly have meaning—yet what that so-called meaning actually was, he couldn't put into words.
Did the Legion not already hold enough land?
And yet they remained endlessly far from their utopia.
As for the Great Expedition, they had technically claimed victory.
In the *Triumph Daily*, the Alliance and the desert kingdoms—who hadn't yielded an inch of ground—had supposedly suffered a bitter defeat, barely clinging to survival thanks to the mediation of Enterprise and the Academy.
Meanwhile, the Great Rift Valley had cowered behind its Aegis shield without daring to twitch, not even participating in negotiations...
"Militarism stacked on top of racism—they've maxed out their debuffs and you're still calling them 'great'? A wife cake might not have a wife, but at least you get a cake! These guys know nothing except shouting 'Forward!' and 'Keep fighting!' When it comes to being ruthless, they're harsher on their own people than anyone else," Old Stick drove the point home, laughing at the silenced Old Wolf.
Not wanting the two to break into another spat, Eagle cleared his throat to intervene.
"All right, quit babbling nonsense. Save your cosplay for somewhere else... As for whether the Legion is decent, just go ask Vannus when you get back. He's a military noble, after all."
Old Wolf nodded earnestly. "...I'll pay him a visit when we're back in Dawn City."
Eagle sighed, squinting toward the harbor and the nearby urban ruins.
"We can worry about future matters later. For now, figure out how we're going to finish this goddamned mission."
Catheter Dog rolled his eyes. "Can you stop with the 'goddamned' every other sentence? I swear I speak the least around here."
Old Stick grinned cheekily. "Yeah, but everything you say is hot air!"
Catheter Dog: "@#%@!"
Watching the two start bickering again, Eagle rubbed his temples. Just as he was about to speak, a familiar, comforting greeting drifted in from the side.
"Yo, what a coincidence! You guys here on a mission too?"
The four spun around in unison, only to see a player standing there without a VM.
"Holy crap!"
"Big boss!"
"Pangolin!"
Seeing the legendary player standing before them, excitement flooded the four rookies' faces.
Eagle, in particular, was thrilled.
Pangolin, the Alliance's double agent!
With this heavyweight on their side, the mission was in the bag!
He was already done overthinking; he was ready to lie back and let himself be carried.
Looking at the spirited bunch of newcomers, Battlefield Guy offered a helpless smile.
Thanks to the practical joke those bastards had played that day, this nickname was now far more famous than his actual game ID.
"You'd better not look too chummy with me... consider it a personal favor."
Eagle's expression snapped into stern sobriety. He put on a face of bitter hatred and hissed through gritted teeth, "Understood, brother... We're mortal enemies. By the way, I didn't see anything on the forums about you coming here?"
Battlefield Guy didn't bother with an overdramatic act, settling into his usual poker face and shrugging lightly. "The forums are huge; threads get buried all the time. I sent you a PM earlier, but none of you replied, so I hopped over in-game."
Old Stick suggested, "...This isn't a great place to chat. Should we log off and coordinate?"
"No need," Battlefield Guy whispered. "Just come with me to Tiandu... Uh, I'm an envoy from the Legion, and you guys can play the part of Alliance representatives. Once we reach Tiandu, there's someone we need to track down."
Catheter Dog blurted out excitedly, "I get it! We're looking for that undercover mole, right?"
*A mole?*
*What mole?*
*That Absaik guy?*
Battlefield Guy blinked, then nodded. "Right, sort of an undercover agent... Damn, you guys already accepted the quest? That makes things much simpler. Let's head out directly."
Old Wolf asked with some concern, "If we travel together, won't the Heavenly King Army suspect we've cut a deal?"
Battlefield Guy chuckled. "That doesn't matter. Let them jump to conclusions—it actually works in our favor for what we need to pull off."
***
While the five sorted out their upcoming itinerary, news of Tiandu's fall swept across every corner of Bolo Province.
Heavenly King Janusz proclaimed his accession to the throne, founding the Janusz Dynasty and appointing thirteen Wolf Clan kings in a single stroke!
Not only that, but a flurry of rumors poured out of Tiandu, detailing brutal atrocities committed by the Heavenly King Army inside the city.
The empire erupted in uproar.
Word reached Emperor Wutuo as he was hosting a grand banquet aboard his vessel. When told that his imperial harem had been seized, his vision went black. A gasp caught in his throat, and he collapsed stiffly into the arms of his senior ministers.
"His Majesty has fainted!"
"Quick! Summon the imperial physician!"
"Forget the physician!! You useless fools are going to drive me into an early grave—steer to shore and get him to a hospital!"
Chaos erupted across the deck of the royal merchant cruiser.
Seeing that the banquet had fallen apart mid-meal, the old-guard nobles paid no heed to their emperor. Instead, they scrambled to pull out plastic bags, stuffing leftover platters and cups inside.
Silverware, vessels, and all.
The scene devolved into utter madness, with no one paying attention to their petty thievery.
Yet their frantic scrambling lent a tragicomic flavor to the desperate efforts of those rushing to revive the sovereign...
The turmoil, however, extended far beyond one vessel on the Yongliu River.
It rippled through neighboring Lowell State, reached Tiger State and Panther State not far away, and even spread toward Horse State bordering Mammoth State.
The warlords of the Tiger Army were the first to dispatch a telegram, fiercely denouncing the barbaric acts of the Heavenly King Army and declaring that they would never accept a filthy hyena riding roughshod over the Tiger Clan.
The Black Panther Army, busy quietly lining their pockets, reacted a beat slower. Even so, they promptly sent a telegram to Tiandu condemning the treasonous uprising and pledging steadfast loyalty to the Emperor and the Silan Dynasty. They followed up with a message to Golden Gallon Port, indicating that should the Emperor find himself with nowhere to turn, he would be warmly welcomed to take up residence in Panther State.
In addition, the Black Panther Army broadcasted a pact to the Tiger Army, proposing a mutual defense alliance.
Should either party come under attack from the Heavenly King Army or the Legion, the other would mobilize in common resistance.
Evidently, there were sharp minds among both warlord factions; they had already factored in the possibility of the Legion taking the field.
Yet while the Black Panther Army and Tiger Army showed backbone, the other states proved far less resolute.
The three northern states, for instance, had little fight in them.
Elephant State in the central region, Snake State in the south, and Lion State, Ox State, and Wolf State in the west were already showing signs of yielding.
In truth, resistance was impossible.
Given the combat strength of their city garrisons, they could barely buy enough time to flee.
As for Horse State, perched on the border of Mammoth State, it remained dead silent—clearly resigned to its fate, pinning all its hopes on Alaiyang's counter-insurgency campaign.
Ironically, the two states that had routinely defied the Emperor, alongside the general he trusted least, Alaiyang, turned out to be the empire's final loyalists.
Even as the world abandoned Silan, they refused to forsake their sovereign, still attempting a desperate rescue.
How much difference it could make was anyone's guess.
The turning wheels of the era were beyond the power of mortals to halt. The decaying twilight finally sank beneath the waves, and an impenetrable darkness settled over the land...
The Wasteland Era remained the Wasteland Era—unchanged.
For now, at least, the blaze had not yet spilled beyond the borders of Bolo Province.
Yet for the survivors within, an era of unprecedented bloodshed and chaos had begun...
Chapter 833