On the west coast of the Central Continent, far from the Great Desert in a land of plenty, lay a settlement named Avent.
Over a million freemen lived in this settlement, and if one counted the non-freemen as well, the total reached nearly two to three million.
Although a million was unremarkable in Brahma Province with its Thousand Clans and Thousand Gods, it was exceedingly rare across other regions of the wasteland, even in the relatively stable heartland of the Legion.
As the "capital" of the Southern Legion—or rather, the "capital of the garrison district"—it was not only the most densely populated settlement in the Southern Legion's homeland, but also the logistics hub and strategic command center for all its combat units.
Legend had it that the settlement was named after a heroic Wilante centurion.
Over a century ago, when the Legion truly faced an existential threat, it was this Mr. Avent who had led his brave, loyal men into a heroic battle, wiping out nearly a hundred automated defense robots with nothing more than rudimentary weapons to wrest this land from the hands of the "Human Alliance remnants."
For this reason, the word "Avent" also came to signify "marching southward," becoming synonymous with courage and glory throughout the Legion.
As for the settlement's original name, no one remembered anymore; in any case, it likely had not sounded any catchier than Boulder City.
And the people who once lived here had gradually vanished without a trace, as though they had never existed in this world.
However, Avent, who had rendered illustrious service to the Legion, had clearly not fought every battle for his descendants.
Those who could endure hardship were doomed to endure it continually, and those who could fight had to keep fighting—just as those who enjoyed good fortune would keep enjoying it.
"Path dependence" did not exist solely in Brahma Province; it was a primal trait shared by almost all animals, not even limited to primates. It was like seagulls that, having tasted French fries, lingered around docks without ever leaving, or whales scraping barnacles against the hulls of ships.
Herein lay the greatness of civilization: mankind, having nurtured civilization, subdued a portion of its own "animal nature" and weakened the negative impacts of path dependence "to a certain degree," thereby successfully stepping out of the primordial jungle.
Yet the Wilante and the survivors of Brahma Province had clearly not emerged from that forest entirely.
The Wilante once again faced an "existential" threat, as did the survivors of Brahma Province targeted by them.
Inside the military base of Avent, in the conference room of the Southern Legion Garrison District Supreme Command, a closed-door meeting regarding total war and general mobilization was currently underway.
Officers sat bolt upright along the long conference table.
To attend this meeting, an officer needed at least three stars on their epaulets.
And that was merely the threshold to enter the room.
Most of those seated here were four-star and five-star Myriarchs, and at the head of the table sat the Southern Legion's sole Six-Star Myriarch—Legion Commander Tyr!
Gaze after gaze focused on Tyr. Every officer present waited for this grim-faced boss to speak.
Yet Tyr did not utter a word, merely glancing at his Chief of General Staff beside him.
Understanding instantly, the Chief of General Staff nodded and tapped his forefinger on the table, breaking the silence.
"Our friends in Triumph City have fired a shot across our bow. Just as we prepared to wipe their asses for their stupidity and avenge our fallen compatriots in West Sail Port, they took it upon themselves—from Triumph City's stance—to recognize the legitimacy of the State of Brahma, as well as the outcome of the Brahma authorities' handling of the Heavenly King Army."
Beneath his tapping forefinger lay a copy of the Golden Gallon Port edition of the Survivor Daily.
The photograph on the front page showed two men shaking hands: on the left was Absaik, Leader of the State of Brahma, and on the right was a dog kept by Triumph City's civil administration faction.
A murmur of commotion rippled across the table.
The officers exchanged furious glances, shock and outrage plain in their eyes.
Those bureaucrats had dragged their feet and tripped them up yet again!
And right when their plan to "use the dogs to devour the pigs" was on the brink of success!
"Quiet!"
The Chief of General Staff rapped his knuckles hard against the table, waiting until the room fell silent before speaking slowly.
"Our covert assets in Brahma Province have now been severed. Annexing Brahma Province through piecemeal encroachment is no longer feasible, yet an outright declaration of war risks drawing the Enterprise into the fray.
"What we must do now is secure the greatest strategic outcome at the lowest possible cost. I want to hear what ideas you gentlemen have."
As his words fell, quiet murmurs swept through the room again. Soon, a Three-Star Myriarch stood up.
His name was Gulion. About thirty years old, his posture was ramrod-straight, matching his high-bridged nose.
His resolute gaze held a touch of ruthless ferocity, yet a barely perceptible shrewdness was concealed between his brows, carrying much of the presence of Griffin, the renowned general of the Eastern Legion.
"I have an idea."
The Chief of General Staff nodded. "Please speak."
Gulion did not hesitate and immediately spoke up.
"The Xilan Empire has not fully collapsed. Even if Triumph City has unilaterally signed an appeasement agreement with the State of Brahma, we can still march into Brahma under the banner of allies of the Xilan Empire."
At his words, the officers around him whispered amongst themselves for a moment, and soon another stood up.
"...A fine idea, but there is a problem: currently, Emperor Wutuo of Xilan appears to be in Golden Gallon Port. That is the Alliance's sphere of influence. If the Alliance uses his authority to demand our withdrawal, how will you respond?"
Although the Alliance had not done so yet, one could not rule out the possibility of them playing that card later.
To be frank, the Legion did not fear the Alliance stepping in, nor did it worry about the Enterprise entering the field; they merely worried about creating too many enemies in the early stages of the war.
Mobilization had to be carried out in phases and stages. The later their opponents intervened, and the later they began mobilization preparations, the more advantageous it would be for the Legion.
This was precisely the point of so-called "justification for war."
The more justified the casus belli, the higher the Legion's own mobilization efficiency, while simultaneously dampening the mobilization speed and stoking anti-war friction within potential belligerents.
And once the Legion firmly controlled Brahma Province and crushed all voices of opposition, even condemnation from the Enterprise would be entirely useless; lip service was mere harmless chatter.
Having listened to the officer's argument, Gulion replied, fully prepared:
"That problem is easily solved. Didn't he leave behind a crown prince in the Three Northern States? We only need to crown the prince as the new emperor and find a way to eliminate Wutuo. Even in the worst-case scenario, Brahma Province will have two 'Xilans.'"
"A sound method!" A look of approval appeared on the Chief of General Staff's face.
Even Tyr, who had remained silent the entire time, looked at Gulion a couple more times.
The officer who had raised the objection pondered for a moment and, unable to come up with a better alternative, sat back down.
Seeing that no one had any further objections, the Chief of General Staff glanced at Tyr. Upon receiving a nod from his superior, he turned back to Gulion.
"Since no one else objects, this matter is entrusted to you."
Pausing, his expression turned stern. Facing the long conference table, he announced in a grave, solemn voice:
"Effective immediately, this command appoints Myriarch Gulion as Supreme Commander of the Brahma Province Theater of Operations! Assigned thirty ten-thousand-man units, he shall be responsible for formulating all operational strategies in said theater!"
Receiving his orders, Gulion faced the Legion Commander and Chief of General Staff, drew himself up ramrod-straight, gave a crisp salute, and accepted loudly:
"Gulion acknowledges the order! I will not fail my mission, and shall return triumphant with victory!"
Watching this glowing, high-spirited general, Tyr nodded slightly from the head of the table. He slowly rose and returned a steady, solemn military salute.
Then, he spoke the only sentence he had uttered since the meeting began:
"May the descendants of the Wilante live upon sun-drenched soil.
"May you achieve swift victory, General Gulion."
...
On the streets of Golden Gallon Port, newsboys darted through alleyways and avenues, hawking their papers with loud cries.
"Extra! Extra! Envoys from Triumph City arrive in Tiandu!"
"Meeting between Triumph City envoys and Absaik concludes successfully!"
"Legion reaches agreement with the State of Brahma, recognizing the legitimate status of the Brahma government!"
Hearing the shouts, pedestrians all around came to a halt.
Particularly inside a small noodle shop tucked into a corner of the harbor district, gossiping patrons erupted into a fluster of astonished chatter.
"Legion envoys went to Tiandu?"
"They actually intend to negotiate?!"
"Unbelievable!"
The standoff between the two sides had escalated to the point where their gun barrels were practically shoved up each other's noses.
Yet Triumph City's envoy had suddenly popped up at this juncture to recognize the State of Brahma's legitimacy, leaving the patrons utterly bewildered and squawking that they couldn't make heads or tails of it.
Such a reaction was only natural.
What was visible in the newspapers was merely the maneuvering above the surface; the struggle beneath remained unseen.
Even so, for Golden Gallon Port where tensions were steadily boiling over, this piece of good news was like rain after a long drought, bringing a breath of cool relief to the stifling atmosphere.
Perhaps...
Perhaps this war wouldn't be fought after all?
More than one person harbored such a thought.
Yet a handful of people remained clearheaded.
"...I'm afraid the Southern Legion is about to make its move," Axin said suddenly, furrowing his brow as he looked over the extra edition he had just purchased.
Standing beside him, Kunal hesitated, asking in confusion:
"I don't understand, Boss. Aren't they planning to negotiate?"
Gently flicking the paper in his hands, Axin said in a measured tone:
"The ones who want to negotiate are Triumph City—or more precisely, the bureaucrats within the Legion. But the Southern Legion is the Southern Legion... I believe I told you before: when you're dealing with a group of people, never fixate on what a single individual is doing and assume he represents the whole lot."
Analyzing things that way led to ridiculous blunders, like simplifying complex issues into 'the Alliance will definitely do this' or 'the Legion will definitely do that.'
Not every survivor faction was like Xilan, fond of applying abstract notions to concrete problems.
One thing was certain, however: this time, the civil administration faction and the Southern Legion had definitely fallen out. The latter had likely acted unilaterally without consulting the former, prompting the former to cut the latter out of the loop in turn.
As for how the Southern Legion would respond, he had no way of knowing.
Yet one thing was beyond doubt: those jackals would never let the matter rest.
In the eyes of those jackals, Brahma Province was meat already between their teeth; unless they swallowed it whole or cracked a tooth trying, they would never let go.
Seeing that Kunal was still perplexed, Axin did not elaborate further, simply asking:
"Kunal, how goes the task I gave you earlier?"
Hearing his boss ask, Kunal promptly set aside the questions he couldn't figure out and answered respectfully:
"It's already underway! We hit the timing just right. The docks at West Sail Port happen to be hiring in droves. The old labor-dispatch agency is gone, so now they have to recruit workers themselves. Licenses for labor agencies and dock contracting have all been deregulated.
"Just to be safe, the brother we sent over was shrewd enough to bring on a Wilante partner to hold the license. Right now, we've got about a dozen berths in our hands, three thousand laborers working for us, and we've recruited two to three hundred gang members."
"Very good," Axin nodded in approval.
Doing business with the Legion didn't actually bring in much money. Relying on the guns in their hands, those big-noses were notoriously stingy when it came to paying up, and they loved reneging on debts by foisting off weapons instead.
Still, money was a secondary matter; people were the foundation of everything.
Especially in chaotic times like this, the more people who relied on him for their livelihood, the safer he would be, and the easier it would be to conduct any business he wanted.
This was the lesson he had distilled from his own rise to fortune, and it had proven infallible whether in Golden Gallon Port or Banana Bay.
Seeing his boss nod with approval, Kunal gave an honest grin.
At that moment, however, a thought suddenly crossed his mind, and he quickly added:
"Oh, right, Boss, there's one more thing... The brothers in the west told me that a gang called the Family Association recently entered West Sail Port as well."
"Family Association?"
Axin was taken aback, completely baffled.
Why on earth would a gang take such an odd name?
"...Is this Family Association a gang from Golden Gallon Port as well?"
Kunal shook his head.
"No, but I hear they've got serious backing. They seem to have come from Dawn City, and word has it they even secured investment from the Boulder City Workers' Association..."
Investment from the Workers' Association?
Really?!
Axin's eyes went wide.
Watching his boss stare in speechless amazement, Kunal lowered his voice and continued:
"And the way they expand their business is pretty interesting too. They divide members into six tiers: the lowest is White Family, then Green, Yellow, Blue, Purple, and the top is something called... Golden Family?
"One of our boys infiltrated them. Word is, if you recruit ten people to join, you become a White Family member. Then you keep bringing in more, or your downline's downline recruits more, and once you hit a hundred or whatever, you get promoted to Green..."
Having never heard of such a business model, Axin stared at him dumbfounded and couldn't resist asking:
"What does this color do?"
Kunal mumbled:
"I don't know the specifics either; our brother only managed to become an Ordinary Family member. I hear their dues are dirt cheap. We take a ten percent cut from the weekly wages, but they claim they don't take a single cent, and they even offer free classes to their members..."
To say they took nothing wasn't entirely accurate either; at least to Kunal, it seemed more like wordplay.
Since the massacre in West Sail Port, the old-school labor brokers had all been slaughtered, and dockworkers' wages had jumped quite a bit.
The base wage had risen from one dinar an hour to two, and exceeding quotas could bring it up to three.
Whether two or three dinars, it was chump change to merchants and port authorities.
The higher the port's throughput, the greater its revenue.
What the big bosses cared about was efficiency and stability; that modest sum of handling fees was a mere drop in the bucket.
Consequently, organized workers could command slightly higher wages than unorganized day laborers.
For instance, a base wage of two dinars could be pushed to 2.5 through a gang, and the overtime bonus could go from one to 1.5.
The labor brokers of West Sail Port essentially made their profit by taking a cut of this premium.
For example, a worker who originally could only get two dinars could make 2.5 thanks to the Assassin Gang; deducting a ten percent gang cut, he still walked away with 2.25.
And he didn't have to worry about docked or delayed pay.
Smaller gangs with less bargaining power than the Assassin Gang generally kept hourly wages above two dinars as well, but usually offered various perks, like promising compensation if someone broke a leg or conceding a larger share of the bonuses.
The Family Association, however, was a different story altogether. In terms of raw numbers, they had already surpassed the well-funded Assassin Gang, yet their bargaining power seemed entirely unutilized.
They paid their "family members" by the standards of small gangs—namely the lowest tier: a two-dinar base wage and a one-dinar base bonus.
Even though they claimed not to take a single coin from the pockets of their "family," Kunal figured that given their scale, they were raking in at least twenty percent!
Still, rumors were that tiered color-members received special allowances, and Ordinary Family members widely praised the association's benevolent gesture of "not taking a cent."
As a result, the Family Association expanded at breakneck speed, swelling to three or four thousand members in a mere two weeks, and continued to multiply rapidly.
According to the brother embedded within the Family Association, their ambitions were not limited to the docks, reaching into steel mills, cement plants, and other sectors.
However, because profit margins in those sectors were low, even gangs had no bargaining power there.
Taking on business that didn't even make money left Kunal thoroughly bewildered; he simply couldn't fathom what they were trying to accomplish.
"These guys are weird... I don't feel like they're a proper gang, but to say they're running a charity makes even less sense. Either way, I don't buy that they aren't making a dime. For all we know, they're raking in more than proper gangs like us!
"Some gangs feel these guys are wrecking the market and want to team up to take them down; they even approached us. To be honest, I'm not envious of whatever cash they're making, and wiping them out would be easy enough. I'm just worried about what kind of background they might have, afraid of stepping on the wrong toes."
Not only was Kunal undecided; after listening and pondering for a long time, Axin was also at a loss.
He knew about the Workers' Association.
Though merely a non-governmental organization, it carried considerable clout in the Alliance, serving as a counterbalancing force against the Merchant Guild.
Earlier, many business owners from the Alliance had moved their operations to Golden Gallon Port to compress production costs, and people from the Workers' Association had followed their supply chains all the way down.
In the words of the Workers' Association members themselves: helping the workers in Golden Gallon Port fight for their lawful rights was, in itself, safeguarding their own rights.
After all, if workers in Golden Gallon Port were too cheap and the cotton flowing into the Alliance was soaked in too much sweat and blood, dragging down the price of labor, their own interests would ultimately suffer.
No matter how cheap clothes and trousers were, people still needed money to buy them; one couldn't survive indefinitely on unemployment benefits.
However, because Golden Gallon Port had a myriad of local grassroots organizations—legal, illegal, and everything in between—an outside force like the Workers' Association had struggled to expand its presence, at least compared to the localized success of the Survivor Daily.
Axin didn't care much about such matters.
In Golden Gallon Port, he was a legitimate businessman; his less-than-reputable operations were all tucked away in Tiger State and Leopard State, so he had no conflict of interest with the Alliance's Workers' Association.
It was just that the timing of this Family Association entering West Sail Port was too coincidental, and they even had the backing of an Alliance NGO, making him suspect whether the Alliance was quietly propping them up behind the scenes.
After mulling it over for a long while, Axin said in a deep voice:
"Hard to say... If you don't even know what they're up to, how could I? Better to watch and wait for a while."
Pausing, he added:
"In any case, whether they have Alliance ties or not, let's not provoke them for now... Someone else will go after them anyway."
With such a massive grassroots organization, the Legion would keep an eye on them sooner or later.
When the time came, they could simply see how the Legion dealt with it.
If those fellows truly belonged to the Alliance, lending them a hand at that point might even earn him a favor...
Thinking along these lines, Axin gave a few more simple instructions. Once he finished, another thought struck him, and he asked offhandedly:
"By the way, who is the head of that Family Association? Did you find out?"
Kunal replied immediately:
"I heard his name is Zayed. Seems to be a snake kin. Just a nobody, really—never heard of him doing anything noteworthy."
Zayed?
Axin frowned slightly. The name sounded familiar, yet for the life of him he couldn't recall where he had heard it.
Just then, however, his gaze happened to drift toward the noodle shop by the street, and an unremarkable face instantly popped into his mind.
It was him!
That waiter who was never content with honest work and had brazenly claimed he was going to Dawn City to search for something.
A strange quirk curved at the corner of Axin's mouth.
He remembered what had happened back then.
He had happened to be in a good mood that day, found the man's words amusing and daring, and casually bestowed a ferry ticket upon him.
In any case, a ticket cost him practically nothing, a mere drop in the ocean compared to the money he had poured into Laxi.
Still, it was a small world. He had all but forgotten the name, yet heard it again out of nowhere.
He wondered whether that fellow had found the "thing" he was looking for...
...
Just as Axin was marveling at how small the world was, a large military transport aircraft touched down smoothly at an airfield on the outskirts of Golden Gallon Port.
Flanked by a dozen bodyguards, Alliance Foreign Minister Cheng Yan descended the passenger stairs from the aircraft.
Right by the runway, a reception party had long been waiting.
Among them were Yodu, Secretary-General of the Golden Gallon Port Governor's Office, senior officials from City Hall, high-ranking commissioners of the Regional Representative Council, the commander of the militia corps, and others.
All the influential figures of Golden Gallon Port stood assembled, gazing eagerly at the Alliance foreign minister stepping down from the plane.
They knew full well where the true savior of Brahma Province lay!
"Welcome, Mr. Cheng!"
Quickening his pace to greet him, Yodu warmly grasped Cheng Yan's hand, his face radiant with excitement.
"The survivors of Golden Gallon Port have longed for you day and night—and at long last, you have arrived!"
Chapter 841