A Poor Imitation

The news of Tiandu's fall did not merely send shockwaves rippling through Bolo Province; inside the Slime Mold Community building in Dawn City, it stunned the entire assembly just as deeply. What made it most intriguing was that this scandal had not been dragged into the open by the Alliance, but rather by the Bugra Free State—a party the Empire had assumed was on good terms with them. The underlying ties were somewhat convoluted, but they could still be parsed out. Because the Free State had always maintained good relations with the Legion, and the Empire was considered an "ally" of the Legion, Duke Garawa had continually treated the Free State's representative like one of his own. And the Free State's merchants happened to be notoriously fond of keeping their heads down and making fortunes in silence. In business, they never picked and chose clients, looking only at profitability. Naturally, they had no intention of exposing the Empire's dirty laundry; instead, they had lurked quietly behind the Legion and Alliance, developing markets across Bolo Province under the radar. Had a few senior sales reps from the Flint Group not been caught by the rioters in Tiandu, creating unbearable public pressure back home, the Free State representative wouldn't have bothered chiming in at all. As for Duke Garawa, he had been kept in the dark from start to finish. Only recently had he learned that Wutuo was no longer in Tiandu, having fled to Golden Gallon Port. And when he learned that the imperial capital, Tiandu, had actually fallen into the hands of a mob of rioters, he sat at the conference table with eyes bugged wide. He looked for all the world like a beached goldfish. "Utter nonsense! Tiandu... in rebel hands? Why haven't I heard anything! What are your sinister motives for bringing this up now?!" He surged to his feet in fury, managing only an irrelevant, flustered rebuttal. Whispers rippled through the hall, shock plain across every face. These were representatives of various minor survivor factions, like Garbage City and Dam City. They neither understood nor cared much about events inside the Empire, only finding the spectacle astonishing. Yet the expression on Duke Garawa's face was especially telling. This was his own country's business—why did he look like he was just finding out for the first time? Looking at Duke Garawa's outraged glare, as though the duke were bristling with righteous indignation at a personal betrayal, the Free State representative merely shrugged. "Fine, think of it as nonsense if you like... Though I never expected much help from you anyway. Judging by how slow on the uptake you are, I doubt you even know what's going on under your own roof." The respectful "you" seamlessly slipped into contempt. Pausing, the representative added, "We'll just deploy our own mercenaries to pull our people out." At those words, murmurs broke out across the chamber. Slapped in the face before the whole room, Duke Garawa was beside himself with rage. His shoulders trembled uncontrollably as he jabbed a finger at the insolent fellow. "Do—do you have any idea what you're saying?! Sending troops into imperial territory is an infringement on imperial sovereignty! It is an act of war! If you dare let those mercenaries set one foot onto the Empire's soil, don't expect them to return alive!" "Tsk... The only one who doesn't know what he's talking about is you, Mr. Garawa." Looking at the fuming duke, the Free State representative's tone carried an edge of sarcasm. Or rather, outright derision. "Even if it were an infringement of sovereignty, what we're infringing upon is the sovereignty of the illegal regime known as the 'Janusz Empire.' What does that have to do with Xilan? To us, employees are valuable corporate assets. Since we bought insurance for them, we intend to ensure that insurance pays off." Pausing, he turned his gaze to the others in the room, particularly Cheng Yan at the Alliance desk and Myriarch Bannote at the Legion desk. These were the ones who truly called the shots. "Is no one going to escort this 'unrelated person' out? The Xilan Empire is already a historical relic. What purpose does he serve sitting here other than shouting?" Seated in the Legion's section, Bannote remained expressionless. His sunken eyes looked as though he hadn't slept for nights, and he showed complete indifference to the Free State representative's proposal. He had his hands full with a mountain of his own troubles; he had no time to look after a pet dog. Cheng Yan glanced at Bannote, then shifted his eyes between the Free State representative and the ashen-faced Duke Garawa. After a brief silence, he cleared his throat with a measured cough. "The seats of the Slime Mold Community are granted to the inhabitants of Bolo Province, not to any individual, organization, or royal family... However, I do not agree with revoking the Xilan Empire's seat simply due to political turmoil. That violates both the spirit of the Community and the rules we established." A spark of hope flared in Duke Garawa's eyes. Though he had no love for the Alliance and detested this "manager's lackey" even more, hearing the man speak on his behalf made him smugly curl his lip. He cast a defiant glare at the sneering Free State representative. And yet— His smugness did not even last two seconds before Cheng Yan's next words plunged him straight into an abyss... "However, given the Empire's current condition, it is indeed unsuited to continue attending Community sessions. Even if they cast votes here, they lack the capacity to fulfill any obligations... Therefore, I propose we temporarily freeze their seat until the survivors of Bolo Province select an organization or individual truly capable of representing their interests, at which point we may unfreeze it as appropriate." This followed a completely normal and reasonable procedure. After all, the Slime Mold Community was a research body dedicated to slime mold and collective affairs of the wasteland. At present, the Empire could not even clean up its own mess, and posed the risk of dragging the entire wasteland into its internal feud. Allowing such a loose cannon to cause chaos at the table offered no benefit to anyone—least of all to themselves. Before fulfilling their duty to end the wasteland, the survivors of Bolo Province needed to settle their own house in order. Unwilling to look at Duke Garawa's pleading face, Cheng Yan looked straight ahead and said, "Let us vote." Green lights flickered on across almost the entire hall, with only the Academy abstaining. Presumably, aside from the Alliance, only the Enterprise had voted in favor out of genuine goodwill; the remaining aye votes were all tinged with ill will to varying degrees. After all, Duke Garawa had long strutted around with his nose in the air, offending no small number of people on the Empire's behalf. The outcome looked disastrous for the Empire. Although Garawa harbored endless grievances against the Community, leaving on one's own terms and being tossed out were completely different things. Damaging his prestige was harder to stomach than taking his life... Sweat pouring down his brow, Duke Garawa turned a desperate, pleading look toward Myriarch Bannote—like a drowning man grasping for the final straw floating on the surface. If only the Legion exercised its veto... the entire tide would turn! Yet to his utter despair, his dearest ally never even spared him a glance, sitting there cold and detached. The red light indicating an objection... never came on. The Legion had abstained... The Empire's closest, dearest ally had actually abstained! Duke Garawa's world spun, his vision went black, and he slumped limp into his chair. *He won't help me.* *It's over.* *It's all over...* ... The meeting adjourned. As the Free State representative wished, Duke Garawa left the hall—carried out on a stretcher. The man's heart was already frail, yet he had preferred squandering fortunes on wine and women to paying for surgery. Murmurs circulated among the delegations about whether he would survive this shock. Not that it mattered if he didn't. The Empire's seat had been frozen; it would no longer take part in future agendas. The most gleeful, naturally, was the recently admitted representative of the South Sea Alliance. The tens of billions of Xilan coins they had borrowed had long been cashed out into silver coins at a discount. If the Empire went bankrupt, those debts wouldn't need to be repaid at all... After the assembly dispersed. Bannote lingered by a window along the corridor, staring out at Dawn City. Hearing footsteps approaching, he didn't turn around, merely asking casually, "Got a smoke?" "Yeah." Cheng Yan fished out a pack of cigarettes and slipped one into his hand. Taking out a lighter, Bannote sparked the tip. He held it between his lips without puffing, narrowing his eyes at the view outside, his expression half weighed down by grief and half lost in bewilderment. After quite some time, he finally spoke. "...There's something I can't figure out." Standing beside him, Cheng Yan pondered for a moment before replying, "I can probably guess." Bannote glanced at him, letting out a dry chuckle as smoke drifted from his nostrils. "To tell you the truth, I took a page from your playbook..." "You mean the rebels?" Cheng Yan was slightly taken aback, then gave an exasperated chuckle. "What kind of... page was that supposed to be? We never did anything like that." "Whether you did or not, you know full well in your heart. It's not as if I can put it on the record." Bannote scoffed, gazing out the window as a glimmer of resentment flashed in his pupils. "But why?" His fist clenched white, as if eager to shatter the windowsill, his pent-up fury hissing through gritted teeth. "I gave them so many benefits, so much aid... Money! Weapons! Experience and technical know-how in struggle! And yet they turned around and stabbed us in the back!" "Can you understand that feeling? It's like if Laxi, when marching out of the city, hadn't rushed to punish the Empire, but had set fire to Golden Gallon Port first! If that happened, what would you think?!" He and Huye had indeed coordinated on a few matters. That included liaising with prominent figures in Triumph City, particularly civil officials who outranked him. The entire plan had been straightforward: retired Wolf Clan veterans and officers would leverage popular grievances in West Sail Port to stage an uprising, executing a handful of imperial nobles to consecrate their banners, seizing all the weapons stockpiled in Lion State, and advancing along the road and rail network they had built to capture Tiandu directly. Under favorable circumstances, the Empire wouldn't even have time to react, and this "transfusion surgery" could be completed with minimal bloodshed. After all, the Empire kept no guard up against the Legion, their dependence and reliance on the Legion bordering on fantasy. As for West Sail Port, that posed even less of an obstacle. The Lion Clan nobles there were worthless through and through; one didn't even need to pick carefully to find a host of incompetents, none of whom were any match for the Gray Wolf Army veterans. To create an opening for them, Governor Huye had deliberately departed with his personal guard. Furthermore, the opportunists embedded among the wolves had promised that once armed, they would only purge imperial nobles, leaving imperial Wilante civilians untouched—framing this "restraint" as a token of mutual goodwill once it was all over... Yet in the end, those ungrateful wolves had betrayed him without a second thought. Instead of trusting him—someone who kept his word—they chose to partner with even less trustworthy scoundrels to place a massive wager: first building a leaky boat to draw maximum hostility, then betting they could leap onto a new ship before it sank. Right now, there was only one thing he could be grateful for: his daughter Penny wasn't there. Though she hadn't boarded Governor Huye's ship, he had exhausted every argument to persuade her to go to Evernight Port before disaster struck. Cheng Yan looked at him. Though Bannote hadn't laid it all out explicitly, the general gist was clear. This man had wanted to replicate another "Laxi" in West Sail Port. Yet he had clearly misunderstood something fundamental. While the emergence of Mammoth State ultimately aligned with the Alliance's interests, the Alliance had never actively exported anything there. Whether it was the Survivor Daily in Golden Gallon Port or the serialized "Red Soil" anthology, which of them wasn't the authentic voice of the local survivors themselves? "Do you think Laxi hates us? Do the residents of Golden Gallon Port hate us? Or... does Laxi hate the residents of Golden Gallon Port?" "..." Bannote was silent for a long time, unable to answer. Cheng Yan continued, "What if I told you that we never supported Mammoth State or the Moon Clan Resistance—that we even urged them not to rush, that everything had to be taken step by step... would you believe me?" The Administrator was a man who disdained conspiracies. Most of that gentleman's strategies were open ploys conducted in plain sight; Cheng Yan knew this better than anyone. Rumors in the streets claimed Laxi had received guidance from some high-ranking figure or had secured backing before resigning and heading north, but the truth was quite the opposite. That man had done something that caught everyone off guard—wagering his life and the lives of those beside him on an almost impossible victory. Yet it was precisely that event that jolted many within the Alliance awake. Not everything would proceed at a leisurely pace according to their neat plans. They could no longer act with reckless abandon as they once had; they had to weigh every choice with the utmost care. Bannote still wore an unconvinced look, though no longer with his prior certainty. "...Laxi wasn't acting on your orders?" Cheng Yan met his eyes steadily. "I swear on the Administrator." "..." Bannote said nothing, staring out the window and quietly smoking. *It really wasn't them...* *No wonder he couldn't replicate it.* Birds of a feather flocked together; gamblers were doomed to keep company only with gamblers, only to be targeted by someone playing for even higher stakes, losing every hard-won chip they possessed. Though things had not yet reached a total dead end, Bannote suddenly felt an overwhelming exhaustion. The thought of an early retirement crossed his mind, stripping away his former aggression and vigor. His desolate gaze looked as though he had aged more than a decade in an instant... ... While Bannote bummed one cigarette after another, Duke Garawa, who had been rushed to the hospital, finally drifted awake under the care of Alliance doctors. "...Lucky you arrived five minutes earlier. Any later, and no one could have saved you." Hearing someone speaking through the haze, he forced his eyes open and saw the doctor's face. Though his stubborn pride never bowed to anyone, facing the doctor who had saved his life, his tone softened involuntarily, and his gaze dropped. "Thank you..." "You're welcome. Saving lives is my job and my duty." The doctor in the white coat glanced at him, then at the monitor beside the bed, unable to resist adding, "If you have the means, I strongly suggest you get a bionic heart replacement... Going on like this, you're bound to collapse sooner or later." Garawa's eyes wavered with inner conflict. Fine beads of sweat dotted his pale forehead, betraying his hesitation. *A heart replacement...* *Wouldn't that mean cutting open his chest?!* Of course. He wasn't afraid of pain. It was just... what if that Administrator wanted his life and arranged for someone to discreetly slip a blade into his chest during surgery? Seeing him scaring himself again, the doctor quickly added, "We use anesthesia. You won't feel any pain throughout the procedure..." "No need, Doctor," Duke Garawa interrupted with a feeble smile. "I'm doing fine... Thank you for saving my life." "..." The doctor stared blankly at the stubborn old man, ultimately shaking his head before turning and walking out. Seeing the doctor emerge, Niyang, waiting outside the door, stepped forward and asked, "How is the Duke?" The doctor replied succinctly, "His condition is generally stable... If you truly care about his well-being, you should persuade him to get the surgery as soon as possible." "I'll talk to him." Niyang nodded, bid the doctor farewell, and walked into Duke Garawa's room. When he entered, Duke Garawa was lying flat on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. Hearing footsteps at the door, he turned his face slightly, then drifted his vacant gaze back to the ceiling, murmuring dejectedly, "I don't think I'm sick... I was never like this before. I used to be quite healthy, but ever since coming to the Alliance... everything seems to have changed." Seeing the duke looking so frail and sickly, Niyang sighed with pity. Yet he still placed the prepared resignation letter on the nightstand, poured a cup of warm water for the duke, and spoke in the soothing tone one might use with a child. "Indeed, the Alliance is utterly wicked." "They shouldn't have brought an end to the Wasteland Era, and they certainly shouldn't have given the people of the wasteland hope for a new century." "Everyone dies in the end. Drowning in reality is no different from drowning in a dream... It's just a matter of choice. We all want to leave something behind in this world." Duke Garawa looked at him blankly, suddenly finding this servant unfamiliar. Was this... his Niyang? "For the sake of our acquaintance, I urge you to get a replacement heart. Even if you constantly believe the Administrator wants you dead... the Empire is finished, and you won't be a diplomat for much longer. Surely no one has any reason to harm you anymore." *You no longer have any value worth harming...* Niyang looked at him with pity, ultimately leaving that cruelest truth unsaid. "Shut up...! You rat, what do you know!" Propped up on the bed, Garawa glared furiously at this servant who felt both familiar and alien. His peripheral vision caught the piece of paper on the nightstand. "What is that... a newspaper?" Niyang answered truthfully, "It's a resignation letter." Garawa's eyes filled with broken blood vessels, rims reddening as he glared at him. "A... a resignation?!" "Yes," Niyang nodded. "I am very grateful for your past care, but one thing does not change another. Once a person develops the ability to tell right from wrong, they are no longer content being a slave. I choose to follow my heart." Furious, Garawa sat straight up in bed, seized the resignation letter, ripped it to shreds, and hurled the scraps onto Niyang's legs. "A slave resigning—unheard of! I'm telling you, Niyang, I am your master! What I grant you is yours, and without my nod, don't you dare think of leaving!" His hysterical voice sounded both like a roar and a plea. Niyang had thought he might deliver some biting words in the end, paying back the humiliations he had suffered. Yet looking at this old man who had lost everything, the biting words wouldn't come. In truth, the man was pitiful. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had spent his entire life listening to flattery, yet not a single person had ever respected him from the bottom of their heart. People either blindly followed his foolishness or feigned ignorance to deceive him. Niyang bowed his head slightly in a final gesture of respect. "You misunderstand, Mr. Garawa. I am not resigning from being a slave, but resigning from all my duties within the Empire..." Pausing, he drew an ID card from his pocket. "There are no slaves in the Alliance. I was never a slave to begin with, so there was never anything to resign from." An Alliance ID card... His withered Adam's apple bobbed up and down as Duke Garawa sank into complete despair. It was as if he had lost all cause for anger. For once, he did not throw a tantrum, only staring dejectedly at the retreating figure preparing to leave. "Where are you going..." Niyang paused in his steps, but did not turn back. "To Bolo Province." "To where I am needed." ... [Yesterday, our editorial office received a telegram from the direction of Tiandu. The telegram claims that remnants of the old empire have been entirely wiped out by the Heavenly King Army. The new empire will be led by Heavenly King Janusz, adopting a constitutional monarchy, abolishing royal privileges and slavery, promoting the ideal of equality for all, and leading the inhabitants of Bolo Province toward a brighter future. At present, the sender's identity cannot be verified, but based on the content, it is likely affiliated with the Heavenly King Army or was at least authorized by its leadership. As this paper has no branch in Tiandu, specific local conditions remain unconfirmed. However, according to refugees interviewed by our correspondent in Elephant State, the situation on the ground appears far from optimistic. The Heavenly King Army is conducting a 'systematic' purge of old imperial remnants, which is not guided by formal laws, but largely left to the 'intuition' and arbitrary judgment of mid- to high-ranking officers in charge of local sectors. Janusz himself seems to show no inclination to stop it. Our reporter attempted to reach the Golden Gallon Port governor's office, but they possessed no further details. Yet from the limited clues available, Janusz's proclaimed 'abolition of slavery' and 'equality for all' seem to exclude the Sun Clan and the old imperial aristocracy... Wasteland Era Year 214, January 15th, reported by the Golden Gallon Port Branch of the Survivor Daily.] Golden Gallon Port. Inside a noodle shop in the harbor district, a crowd of diners were catching up on the news over their meals. An illiterate dockworker listened as a literate clerk finished reading the paper aloud, then frowned, slapped his thigh, and muttered a curse. "This Janusz isn't any good either... Doing things this way is too extreme!" The onlookers crowded around nodded in agreement. "Yeah." "A bit too extreme..." "I don't think this Janusz is anything good either... Good thing I haven't donated any money yet." Watching this bunch sway with the wind, the clerk holding the newspaper rolled his eyes. "Weren't you supporting the Heavenly King just a few days ago?" The short-haired dockworker gave an awkward grin and looked away evasively. A fellow worker beside him coughed and spoke up in his defense. "I supported him fighting the Empire, not massacring cities... and I sure didn't support him slaughtering Wilantes." This drew another chorus of nods. "True enough..." "One thing at a time. Praise what's done right, criticize what's done wrong!" "Exactly!" The clerk shook his head and folded the paper away. "I'm not against that, but there has to be some standard of right and wrong, hasn't there? Praising one minute and damning the next makes no sense." An onlooker piped up with a laugh, "You lot are impossible to please. Someone finally shares your basic goal, and you expect him to think exactly like you in every way. Why don't you go do it yourself? Taking matters into your own hands beats backseat driving from the sidelines." Just as an argument was about to erupt, a shout came from the entrance. "There's something in the sky!" At the cry, the diners dropped their conversation and chopsticks, ignoring the waiter's protests as they surged out the front door in a swarm. "What is it?" "Let me see!" "Holy crap!" Everyone looked upward in unison, catching sight of rows of faint blue arcs streaking across the sky. Those in the know recognized them instantly—the exhaust plumes of plasma engines! "Planes! It's the Alliance's planes!" an expert shouted in delight, pointing up. Hearing the shout, almost everyone on the street stopped in their tracks and gazed at the sky, their faces breaking into identical expressions of overjoyed relief. The Alliance had come! They were back! ... Blood-pumping background music filled the cabin, vying against the roar of the plasma engines. Sitting in the cargo bay, picking his ear with his pinky finger, Yin Chai Yang Cuo couldn't help complaining, "Damn... I don't remember the Enterprise's Orcas being this loud." Mei You Jia Ren smirked, "You're right, but the Overlord transport is a large aircraft independently developed and manufactured by the Alliance—" Ban Sui Cuo Tuo clapped a hand over his mouth. "All right, we get it, you play Wasteland Online." Yi Bu Deng Tian: "?" While the four were bickering, Lao Bai, clad in power armor, shouted over the comm channel, "Brothers, we've reached the east coast of Bolo Province, directly over Golden Gallon Port!" "The Legion wants to play dirty with us, so we'll teach them a lesson to keep them from forgetting the pain once their scars heal. They might have forgotten, but I sure haven't—how they ran through the desert with their tails between their legs!" "Hahaha!" Laughter rang through the cabin. Lao Bai grinned as well, then straightened his expression once the noise died down, continuing, "Remember, we represent the Alliance's strongest corps! Keep the Player's Handbook and corps discipline firmly in mind: don't take so much as a single needle or thread from the people! I don't care what crackpot ideas you have, since you chose to sit here, you will memorize the rules!" As his resounding words landed, a spirited roar echoed through the comm channel. "Sir, yes sir!" The Burning Corps offered the best benefits on the entire server—not only covering equipment and leveling, but even paying a salary. Once you joined, you practically never had to worry about your in-game career or your real life outside the game. In return, however, the Burning Corps had the highest entry standards on the server. Level alone was not enough; you had to follow orders and maintain discipline. Though the rules were strict, even demanding, very few complained. After all, if you enjoyed the perks, you had to shoulder the obligations. It was only fair. Those looking for pure fun could always form their own corps. For instance, Brother Mosquito had once belonged to the Burning Corps, but finding it too rigid, he left to found the more laid-back Goblin Corps. Everyone remained good buddies and frequently cooperated without letting differing approaches to the game affect their friendship. Likewise, the White Bear Knights had branched off from the Storm Corps and were now growing steadily on their own. The Alliance's initial corps were like starter villages; many formidable solo players had emerged from their ranks. Seeing that the boss had finally finished his lecture, Mei You Jia Ren grinned and yelled, "Boss, can we parachute down? I just want to show off, that wouldn't break the rules, would it?!" He saw people waving at him down below; missing a flashy entrance would be a crying shame. Lao Bai chuckled and shouted back, "Jump yourself if you want, I'll open the hatch." Mei You Jia Ren quickly protested, "Wait! Bro, at least pull up higher first! Going down from here will turn me into paste!" Yin Chai Yang Cuo: "Hahahaha!" A chorus of banter and curses filled the cabin, adding a vibrant layer to the stirring music. A slight smile tugged at Fang Chang's lips as he looked through the viewport at the thriving settlement below. It had been a long time since they last visited. The place had changed so much that even he, its designer, almost failed to recognize it... The authorities of Golden Gallon Port had built a new military base for them on the outskirts. As for Camp Rowell near the harbor district, it had been converted into a museum, even importing two service androids from the Enterprise to serve as tour guides. "Speaking of which, do you remember what this place looked like a year ago?" Hearing Fang Chang's voice, Lao Bai grinned. "Nope. You know me, I'm a forward-looking guy. Compared to a year ago, I'm far more curious about a year from now." Fang Chang smiled faintly. "Oh? And what do you think this settlement will look like a year from now?" "Haha, that depends on what the local survivors want for themselves. All we can do is lend a hand; we can't carry them on our backs." Narrowing his eyes at the view outside the viewport, Lao Bai added, "...Either way, no matter what it turns into, as long as it doesn't slide backward, that's enough."