The repercussions of the Heavenly King's death continued to ferment, and the Survivor Daily in Golden Gallon Port was running follow-up reports on the incident.
On one hand, the survivors in Golden Gallon Port were astounded by the wretchedness of Janusz's end; on the other, they could not help but worry whether this would bring uncontrollable volatility to the situation in Brahma Province.
To be fair, Janusz had indeed gone too far. His bloodlust was heavier even than that of Laxi, and he indulged unrestrainedly in wine and women.
Leaving aside public virtue, his private morality was truly bankrupt. Although the Alliance had people of questionable private morals, at least they never forced trades on anyone and always operated by mutual consent.
Objectively speaking, however, it was indeed Janusz who had kicked down the dilapidated shack that was the empire.
Just as Laxi had copied the Alliance's homework, Janusz had mastered the ruthlessness of his former master, the Legion, performing so exceptionally that he had nearly pulverized the very foundation.
Yet now, he had died in such a slapdash manner, leaving behind only a shambolic mess and broken rubble for others to clean up.
For those who had not yet erected a new house, this was definitely not good news.
No matter how thousands of things were wrong with the Xilan Empire, that rickety shack was still enough for people to make do and take shelter from the rain.
But that was a story for later...
Near the port district, a noodle shop was bustling in the early morning, and a crowd of diners was bullshitting once again.
"I knew he wouldn't meet a good end!" A dockworker slapped his thigh, wearing a look of deep lamentation, his thick eyebrows raised in an expression of vindication. "The man had too much killing intent—he ended up harming others and himself!"
A vendor doing business nearby nodded, lamenting along with the newspaper headline. "Governing a great country is like cooking small fish, not flipping a flatbread. How could he just flip it this way and that as he pleased?"
"It comes down to fate. His face lacked that imperial dominance. He couldn't hold down the throne and was cursed to death by it."
"What kind of bastard thing is 'imperial dominance'?"
"...True enough. To my eyes, he looked fine as a general, but unfortunately, he touched what he shouldn't have touched, so he had to pay with his life."
Because dead bodies were fished out from the shoals of the Everflowing River every few days, superstitious beliefs were gradually trending upward among the lower-middle classes of Golden Gallon Port.
It was hard to say whether the players hadn't helped fan the flames behind the scenes. After all, the locals were best at monkey-see-monkey-do, having not yet reached the stage of separating the wheat from the chaff.
Still, as chatter over tea and meals, it was nothing more than trivial gossip.
If believers of the Great Horned Deer God could study physics, the more adaptable inhabitants of Brahma Province certainly didn't mind adding a "Ghost God" and a "God of Science" to their pantheon of a thousand deities.
As the crowd babbled noisily, a schoolteacher who couldn't stand listening rolled his eyes, intending to reason with the roughnecks.
Before the man could chime in, however, his colleague sitting across reached out and stopped him.
"Enough, enough, so you know better again. Hurry up and eat your noodles; class starts soon!"
This topic would drag on endlessly, and nobody could ever argue it out to a clear conclusion anyway.
The teacher knew this well in his heart, so he could only roll his eyes again, burying his head and eating in silence.
He only hoped his students wouldn't turn out like this, chalking up scientific principles to destiny and fate.
A man sitting in a corner of the noodle shop was equally quiet, reading the newspaper in silence as he waited for his food.
Only when the noodles were served did he slide the paper aside on the table. Pulling a pair of chopsticks from the canister, he sighed softly to Kunal sitting across from him.
"When charcoal burns red, it easily turns to ash... Kunal, we must take this as a warning."
Kunal froze. Hearing his boss utter words he couldn't understand yet again, he racked his brain before asking, "Are you... feeling sorry for Janusz?"
He remembered the boss saying that it would be wonderful if someone kicked down the empire's rotten shack.
Yet, while planting flowers intentionally yielded nothing, a willow planted unintentionally had grown into shade. Before Laxi's side showed any real momentum, the powder keg at West Sail Port had blown first, ultimately scorching half of Brahma Province.
Axin shook his head. "No. His death is a good thing, good for everyone. If he hadn't died, that would be the real trouble."
Looking at it this way, though, the real cause of his death was likely far from simple. It might very well have been orchestrated behind the scenes by the power of the Legion or the Alliance.
As for what machinations lay beneath, that was beyond what a small-timer like him could know.
Axin was crystal clear on this.
Although he controlled the cotton business across two states, and even a certain myriarch in the Black Panther Army respectfully called him 'Master,' earning him a second glance from warlord chieftains, before the truly powerful figures, he was still just a nobody.
Yet small figures had their own way of surviving.
Namely, riding the momentum.
Pausing, he added, "Now that the State of Brahma has been established, Absaik serves as commander, advocating for a constitution and the rule of law. Externally, the Alliance is mediating a ceasefire among the warlords, setting aside disputes to aim their guns together at the Legion plotting an invasion... If the various states of Brahma Province can truly unite, even if it's somewhat watered down, it will be a good thing for us."
Hearing this, Kunal asked respectfully, "Boss, what are your orders?"
Axin said unhurriedly, "I want you to make some preparations. Pick a few sharp brothers and head to places like West Sail Port and Tiandu to recruit some members for our Assassin Gang... Remember, before expanding our business beyond Leopard State and Tiger State, we have to plant our eyes there first, lest we become someone else's cannon fodder."
"Understood."
Kunal nodded earnestly, firmly memorizing every word his boss said.
Though he did not understand all the twists and turns, according to his past experience, doing as the boss instructed was never wrong.
Axin nodded as well.
Just then, the corner of his eye happened to fall upon the newspaper he had laid on the table.
Or rather, upon a line he hadn't had time to read earlier.
Mr. Rat had gone to Mammoth State.
Furthermore, he was planning to establish a newspaper and a university.
This news had gone quietly unnoticed in Golden Gallon Port, its thunder completely stolen by Janusz's death.
Yet upon reading this, a smile tugged at the corner of Axin's mouth.
He knew very well that he was just a rat in the sewers. Even if he had learned some letters, all he could do was dig holes and claw dirt in the corner of a wall.
Though he possessed little culture, he understood full well how important knowledge was.
Now, the light of ideals was finally shining in.
Compared to the death of an overlord, the arrival of that person made him genuinely feel that this land might truly have hope after all...
***
"Hahahaha! Good riddance!!"
Over the surging waters of the Everflowing River, the north wind rippled a hearty cheer.
Looking at the bloodstained throne printed on the newspaper clipping, Wutuo laughed heartily, his appetite—previously lost to worry—returning in an instant.
"A creature worthy of a thousand knife thrusts! Is this Emperor's throne something vermin like you could sit on? Let me see who dares take it next! Whoever sits on it will drop dead upon it!"
The eunuch standing beside him wore a fawning smile and gave a thumbs-up. "Your Majesty's brilliance is unmatched! The power of the Heavenly Pillars connects to the earth's veins, and the veins link to the court of Tiandu. Such mighty power can only be borne by an exalted sovereign such as Your Majesty!"
Wutuo smiled, deeply pleased by the flattery, but then remembered something, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in wistful dismay.
"...I only pity the people of Tiandu. Unable to tell good from bad, they fell in with the rebels and suffered all those hardships for nothing."
If only their backbones had been stiffer and they had shown some loyalty, fighting alongside his Imperial Guard against those bandits, they would never have fallen to such a state and become traitorous rabble.
He had already sought aid from the Legion.
His allies had agreed to his plea, reinforcing West Sail Port to personally cut down those rioters.
The Legion would not spare them.
Those Wilante killed with terrifying ferocity! Severing heads was like slaughtering chickens to them!
Even if the rebels changed their name, it was useless. Who didn't know they were the remnants of the "Heavenly Bandits"?
Once the Legion completed its deployment in West Sail Port, all those traitors would die!
At this thought, Wutuo finally felt his anger ease, though a twinge of heartache lingered—after all, in the end, it was his own people who were dying.
Yet he soon shook his head, banishing that faint displeasure from his mind.
As an emperor, he must never indulge in womanish sentimentality or fret over the gain or loss of a single city or life.
The corrupt pus and bad blood had already seeped into the empire's blood vessels.
Only when rivers of blood flowed, draining the foul pus completely dry, could Xilan be saved!
***
While Wutuo fantasized about the so-called "State of Brahma" collapsing under the Legion's artillery, Myriarch Olette, upon receiving a telegram from the "State of Brahma," was utterly dumbfounded.
[Notice to the Legion: We are a union established by reformist figures from the remnants of the Gray Wolf Army. Despising the tyrannical deeds of Janusz and his clique, we took up arms in crusade against them!
Now Janusz and his accomplices have been executed by firing squad, and Tiandu is under our control. In the capacity of the "State of Brahma," we are willing to resume diplomacy with your esteemed side to discuss various matters, including West Sail Port...]
The telegram had arrived at the Governor's Mansion in the morning and reached the military base by noon. It was very long, spanning three full pages of paper.
Yet Olette had barely read the first two lines before bursting out laughing.
"Fascinating... Hahahaha! Truly fucking fascinating!" Even as he spoke, he grinned broadly, freeing his right hand to scratch the back of his head.
As a myriarch stationed at Evernight Port and a core member of the Southern Legion, he had heard whispers of the Southern Legion's eastward expansion plans.
Though not directly involved in the conspiracy at West Sail Port, with his sharp instincts, it wasn't hard to deduce what was transpiring, and he understood it tacitly.
The Southern Legion's territory had not expanded in over a century, an inconceivable state of affairs for an organization devoted to militarism.
In particular, the development of the Southern Legion's homeland and the colonies along the Great Desert had hit bottlenecks. With the prime meat of Brahma Province dangling right at their mouths, it was hard not to salivate.
If the civilian bureaucracy could eat, why couldn't the military!
Rather, letting that group of spineless, incompetent bureaucrats chew on this prime meat was a total waste of heaven's gifts!
If this eastward expansion plan succeeded, it would not only provide the Legion with a vast horde of hardy beasts of burden, but also push the Legion's borders to the western side of Silver Moon Bay.
For him personally, this was likewise a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to earn merit!
Constantly brawling with mutants and natives would never make one a two-star myriarch or above. But expanding the Legion's frontiers—even if not an inch of land was gained in the end—would still earn promotion through wartime honors!
Yet the progression of the situation had defied his expectations.
A fire meant to engulf the entire Brahma Province had been brought to a sudden halt by a single gunshot.
And not only had the fire stopped.
Their ties with Absaik and other remnants of the Gray Wolf Army were severed as well.
Though the lines of the telegram were penned respectfully, every word between them carried an unyielding tone of equality, as if speaking between two distinct parties.
It was glaringly obvious.
These ungrateful wolves had found a new backer!
And in all probability, it was the Alliance!
Otherwise, with the meager hardware in their hands, how would they dare put on airs before the Legion?
Olette could guess with his toes that this matter was far more than just a single gunshot.
Eighty percent chance the Alliance was pulling strings behind it!
No—at least ninety-nine percent!
"...Whether this State of Brahma counts, or whether it's established—since when was it up to a bunch of slaves to make such claims? We haven't recognized it yet."
Saying so, Myriarch Olette tossed the unfinished telegram onto the desk with a chuckle.
Standing beside him, his staff officer murmured, "I hear the Alliance delegation is in Tiandu. This might be the Alliance's doing."
"Does that even need guessing?"
Olette curled his lip, raised his wine glass, and took a gentle sip of red wine. After a moment, he sneered and said unhurriedly, "Furthermore, I suspect it wasn't just the Alliance; our own delegation might have played a part as well."
The staff officer frowned slightly. "You mean... the Pangolin sent by Myriarch Bannote?"
Olette nodded faintly, his expression calm. "I've pondered it for a long while. If it were merely the Alliance delegation, it wouldn't be enough to make Absaik turn traitor so abruptly and stage a preemptive coup against Janusz.
"Even if he was swayed by the Alliance's terms, he should have waited until the seven armies in the field reached an outcome. He should have made his move when they marched back to court to distribute rewards, rather than abruptly stopping a fire that had only burned halfway."
The staff officer nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed... This play was supposed to be performed with tacit understanding, yet they suddenly grew vigilant. It is truly abnormal."
The equipment held by the Heavenly King's Army wasn't limited to that single warehouse at the port; they had taken plenty of "investments" from the Southern Legion.
Reasonably speaking, both sides should still be in their honeymoon phase. Even if they harbored second thoughts, they ought to keep an eye on the meat they hadn't yet swallowed.
Once the Janusz Dynasty thoroughly replaced the Xilan Dynasty and engaged in skirmishes with Mammoth State and the warlord forces near Golden Gallon Port, the Southern Legion could gradually tighten its covert support for the Janusz Dynasty, neatly carving away their flesh.
Yet now they had suddenly turned traitor, preferring to forfeit the remaining investments rather than continue acting in the play.
That left only one possibility.
A voice from within the Legion had exposed the Southern Legion's true intentions to them!
The only ones capable of doing such a thing were those bureaucrats in Triumph City.
Those soft-boned cowards were the ones least willing to fight a war.
"Those backstabbing bastards..." The staff officer cursed under his breath, his fists clenching involuntarily.
That was an opportunity bought with three thousand lives!
Didn't these useless wretches, caring only for their selfish interests, spare a thought for the fallen Wilante!
"Heh, let them tug at our trouser legs."
Olette narrowed his eyes, the subtle smile on his face growing colder. "...These people are still too naive. No matter how they sever ties or draw boundaries, whether to recognize them or not is our call.
"Never mind that the Heavenly King's Army still has seven forces in the field, meaning the targets of our reckoning are still out there. Furthermore, our deployment is not solely to avenge our compatriots in West Sail Port, but also to reinforce our allies and help them put down a rebellion.
"If we leave them be, wouldn't we appear untrustworthy?"
As for what came after quelling the rebellion, that was a matter for later.
Pausing, he rose from his seat, his gaze turning fierce as he looked at the orderly standing nearby.
"Forward a copy of the telegram to the Legion Commander... send the original.
"Also, notify all combat units across the army to be ready to march to the front line at a moment's notice!
"For the honor, dignity, and lands of the Wilante!
"The hour of vengeance has arrived!"
The Wilante, pressing forward with fixed bayonets, once again faced an existential threat.
And this time, the "threat" came from Brahma Province east of the Great Desert—the most "docile and detached" honest folk living on the red soil.
The telegram from Brahma Province flew past Evernight Port toward the War Ministry in the Southern Legion's homeland. Meanwhile, Evernight Port had already begun intense war mobilizations.
And all of this was under the surveillance of a nuclear-powered submarine.
A resident from Shelter 70 munched on potato chips while tapping a finger on a holographic screen, cropping photos taken by drones and slotting them into a freshly edited file.
***
Meanwhile, far away in Tiandu, the Alliance delegation finally received the draft reform proposal provided by Absaik's administration.
In the council hall of the Tiandu palace, Eagle sat at the conference table, meticulously leafing through the document in his hands.
To be fair, the draft reform was decently written—likely copied wholesale from past political affairs sections of Golden Gallon Port's Survivor Daily.
Things like public education.
Joint-stock banking reforms.
Encouraging women to participate in productive labor, and so forth.
Then, upon seeing the abolition of agricultural tax, Farsighted Eagle couldn't hold back anymore.
If you abolish the agricultural tax, what are the hundreds of thousands of troops inside and outside the city going to eat?
Eat people?
"You people are just too... too fond of extremes!" Farsighted Eagle shook his head, sighing. "We do hope you make some changes worthy of our recognition, but we didn't expect you to grow fat off a single bite. Could you be a bit more realistic—say, breaking this plan down into three or five years?"
The Alliance at least had a bunch of blue coats holding core technologies to help out, and even so, they had lived through hard days of "stuffing banknotes into burlap sacks to wear as clothes."
Brahma Province's population was hundreds of times that of the Alliance. Once the death rate was suppressed and average life expectancy raised, even without any change in birth rates, their population would launch upward like an uncoiled spring.
Refusing to yield a single hair like Janusz—or going completely against the grain—was certainly bad. But messing around like this had no future whatsoever.
Forget the Alliance being unable to help;
even if they gifted Ideal City to them to average things out, it would still be stripped bare.
Sitting across from Eagle, Absaik displayed no awareness of having done something foolish. Instead, he laughed heartily, waving it off nonchalantly.
"How can this be considered extreme? For certain matters, starting at any time is never too late! We are willing to start right now, delivering true equality into the hands of the State of Brahma's survivors!"
At this point, he looked eagerly at Eagle, smiling bashfully. "However... you can also see our difficulties. The foundation left by the Xilan Empire is only this much. We still hope you can help us out a bit."
Eagle stared blankly at the man, suddenly feeling that his posture while begging for money looked awfully familiar.
Good grief.
I genuinely want to pull you up, and all you bastards think about every day is knocking gold coins out of me!
Is that appropriate?!
"...It's not that we won't help you, but that you've painted a bottomless black hole for us."
Composing himself, Eagle sighed and tossed the draft onto the table.
"If you truly want to do this right, take it step by step... I will offer moderate assistance, but don't pin all your hopes on us."
He was a diluted diplomat, not a real foreign service officer. Naturally, the Administrator hadn't given him any budget; all he could offer were methods and experience.
In truth, even if a real diplomat had come, that was likely all they could offer.
The Alliance had never showered a single cent on its junior partners in the form of fiscal grants.
Low-interest loans were the upper limit of their support, and even low-interest loans weren't easy to obtain. After all, that money was tied to social insurance, pensions, and the like for Alliance residents; safety came first, and returns were secondary.
For instance, the Mammoth State administration had never been able to secure one.
No matter how eloquent Laxi's sales reps were, at most they could borrow money from banks in Silver Moon Bay or Golden Gallon Port, or rely on financiers like Lister bringing their own provisions to invest.
Absaik was unaware of this, still counting on this newbie in front of him to shell out cash, so he listened attentively. "Please advise, sir!"
Eagle said patiently, "Abolishing slavery, encouraging women to participate in production... these policies are fine. You don't have unemployment benefits anyway, so it won't cost you much money—at most some cohesion... ahem, I mean, some extra saliva for propaganda and such."
Dammit!
Slipped into gamer jargon without realizing it.
Yet Absaik noticed nothing amiss, remaining entirely earnest. "No matter, please speak your mind, sir. I understand!"
You'd better understand!
Eagle stared at this "fake spectator" for a few moments, and seeing that he wasn't brushing him off, he slowly continued.
"There's no rush on the agricultural tax. You know better than anyone whose hands hold most of Brahma Province's farmland."
Absaik nodded in realization, then asked, "Then what about a graduated tax? Three mu per person—no tax under three mu; a bracket between three and five mu; and another bracket under ten mu."
Eagle looked at him in surprise, not expecting him to extrapolate like that.
This guy actually had some brains?
Though a bit of a dimwit, he wasn't completely brainless.
"A graduated tax is a decent idea, but you must consider your actual circumstances—for example, the issue of holding land through proxies. If I lend you money to buy my land, how will Your Excellency respond?"
Absaik froze, choking out a reply after a long pause: "There's such a good deal?!"
Eagle rolled his eyes and couldn't help griping, "Don't think of it as a good deal. If you take that land to farm, I bet the money you make selling your produce won't even cover the interest on the loan! Your people are all farmers with nothing else to do but farm. Any knife you plunge into the land will ultimately cut them, because they have no choice."
One was the symptom, the other the essence.
If the reality that people could not leave the land remained unchanged, then no matter what tricks were used to collect the money, the end result would be identical.
At most, it was the difference between a long agony and a short one.
Looking at the stunned Absaik, Eagle patiently imparted relatively mature experience to him.
"...The correct approach is to levy taxes in the circulation phase. For example, first raise tariffs on grain exports, then levy a domestic consumption tax on grains—or rather, beans—collected directly from grain merchants. Although some of the cost will still be passed down to producers, the added cost won't concentrate on squeezing a specific group, but will be shared across all consumers in society."
Absaik nodded half-comprehendingly, seeming to get it yet not quite.
Regardless of whether he understood, he remembered what needed to be done.
"Fine, we'll do as you say!"
Eagle nodded. "Right. For this stage, that's all you can do. Once you industrialize, you can adjust... As for this money, it should amount to substantial revenue. At least the tariff portion should suffice for developing some light industry. Pinching pennies is only an expedient; opening broad sources of wealth is the long-term path."
In truth, the main reason Eagle dared propose this was that the two coastal states, Tiger State and Leopard State, were promoting cash crops on a massive scale, "converting beans to cotton" over broad areas.
Consequently, the grain needed by Tiger State and Leopard State could only be imported through the ports along the Everflowing River from inland regions where grain prices were cheaper.
After the Alliance-led production system was established, Golden Gallon Port took on the industrial equipment phased out by the Alliance, while Tiger State and Leopard State took on what Golden Gallon Port gradually phased out.
Such as spinning machines or sugar-refining equipment.
Once the State of Brahma was on track, it could naturally absorb some industrial equipment retired from Tiger State and Leopard State, at least buying up those used sewing machines and tractors.
That way, a virtuous cycle could form, rather than relying on unilateral transfusions from the Alliance or Golden Gallon Port.
Provided, of course, that the accumulated funds were used in the right places.
Eagle wasn't worried about warlords like Absaik embezzling money. These bastards were almost guaranteed to take concubines; there was no doubt about that. But if they merely lived a bit luxuriously, they couldn't actually pocket much.
Just like skimming money into an offshore account in Tropico, the money pocketed by the president was on an entirely different scale compared to the island's overall profits—or losses.
On the wasteland, this was even more true. Given Brahma Province's level of development, even if these people wanted to be extravagant, there was nothing to be extravagant on. At most, they could splurge a bit in Golden Gallon Port before returning.
As long as these fellows didn't do something absurd—like building wonders along the Everflowing River or putting saddles on donkeys—the money would definitely be enough.
As for public education, they could start with evening literacy classes.
Once the first batch of literate workers reaped benefits and were assigned good jobs, the public's initiative would naturally be stirred up, and in the end, it might not cost as much as imagined.
If the local survivors continued to farm for a living without any need to improve their education, even erecting an educational monument on the spot and shoving textbooks into their faces would be useless.
Eagle spoke until his mouth was dry, chugging two large pots of tea in the process, circling and correcting every unreliable point in the draft.
He felt that as a diluted diplomat, he was doing more than his fair share—not only accompanying them through the full performance, but also providing after-sales service.
Along the way, whenever he couldn't make up his mind on a few points, he made excuses to visit the restroom several times, consulting the veterans on the forum and returning to shoot the breeze only after they finished bullshitting.
Absaik, a man who killed without blinking, sat before him as well-behaved as a schoolboy, listening intently while having someone take notes.
Though he was illiterate, he could always have someone read them to him.
Seeing that this fellow had so many ideas, Absaik privately resolved to study some culture and knowledge seriously once he had free time.
When they finally ran out of things to discuss, Eagle suddenly remembered someone and spoke up again.
"By the way, that Anwo... how long do you intend to keep him locked up? Janusz has already been purged by you, so shouldn't his case be overturned?"
Absaik froze, then slapped his forehead in sudden realization, smiling sheepishly. "Look at my memory... With so many things going on lately, I didn't pay attention and let it slip my mind."
Eagle: "..."
How the hell could you forget that?!
Absaik seemed to realize the excuse was flimsy, coughing as he continued, "Actually, keeping him locked up was also to protect him. Currently, we reformists hold the upper hand, but the Union isn't entirely made of our supporters. I was worried Janusz's partisans might seek revenge."
Pausing, he straightened his expression. "Rest assured! I will have him released immediately!"
Eagle nodded. "Alright. We'd like to chat with him as well. If convenient, I'll go along with your men."
"No problem!" Absaik smiled on the outside, though doubts stirred within.
Why were the Alliance people so interested in a nobody like Anwo?
Still, he felt no panic.
After all, they were in the same boat; Anwo could betray anyone, but never him.
With over two hundred lives on his hands, that fellow had no way out whatsoever.
He would promote the man later.
After submitting so many certificates of loyalty, it was time he enjoyed some good fortune alongside him...
Chapter 839