Flames of Ambition

At the checkpoint on the north side of West Sail Port, a dense crowd of people stood gathered. On one side were Wilante soldiers; on the other stood soldiers of the State of Brahma. The two sides occupied opposite ends of the border line, with roughly two hundred Wilante civilians caught in the middle. Those civilians were none other than the survivors of the West Sail Port massacre, as well as the parents of the children taking refuge in the Silver Moon Church. Now that the Heavenly King Army had fallen apart and its remnants had scattered, the bandages tied around people’s arms were finally gone. The Abhishek administration had severed its ties with the high command of the Southern Legion, meaning these civilians' lives no longer affected the grand scheme of things. Only then did these poor souls finally dare to step out of Count Sharma’s estate. The soldiers of the State of Brahma had escorted them all the way here. Ironically, these gray-uniformed soldiers were the very same men who, not long ago, had worn bandages on their arms and scoured every corner for Wilante people and "Wilante lackeys." Yet the past was already a closed chapter. The Wilante had once again become "Lord Wilante," and the expressions of these bandage-wearing soldiers were far meeker than before, as though they had truly drawn a line between themselves and their recent past. As for when they would bare their teeth again at the Wilante or anyone else on the wasteland, that depended entirely on what their masters declared next. Abhishek still harbored a sliver of illusion regarding a ceasefire—especially since the fighting had not officially begun. Looking at the people who had seemingly returned from the dead, almost every Wilante soldier present widened his eyes in unison, their pupils filled with sheer, incredulous shock. Everyone had thought they were dead. No one expected them to still be alive! As for the relatives of these survivors, their emotions boiled over, tears bursting from their eyes. Some clamped their hands over their mouths, desperately holding back their sobs. Others ignored everything, darting past the checkpoint to rush forward in pure excitement. "Margot!!" Seeing that heartbreakingly haggard face, the usually steadfast Arman felt his eyes turn crimson in an instant. He bolted across the checkpoint and threw himself to his wife's side, pulling her frail frame into his embrace. He clutched her tight and refused to let go, stammering incoherent nonsense. "By the Silver Moon Goddess... you're alive! Thank heavens! I... Ruby and I thought we'd never see you again!" Margot’s eyes were equally red. Sniffling continuously, she forced a strained smile onto her tear-streaked face and actually began comforting him instead. "...I'm fine, I'm really fine now... Since when did you start believing in the Silver Moon Goddess?" Arman spoke at a frantic pace. "Ever since I heard you were alive! I swore to her that if you were safe and sound, I'd build ten churches for her... I swore I’d dedicate the rest of my life to doing it!" Looking at her solemn, earnest husband, Margot’s face broke into a tearful smile. Perhaps... Perhaps the Silver Moon Goddess really had performed a miracle. According to Mr. Melchior, a divine miracle of the Silver Moon Goddess had descended upon that church—a young maiden with cat ears. His decision to run a newspaper had come precisely at the behest of that deity. "...Then you better not go back on your word. I'll keep watch over you on her behalf." Releasing his hold on her shoulders, Arman cupped her tear-streaked cheeks and gazed into those jewel-bright eyes. "I promise you!" He refused to look away for even a single second. It felt as though everything before him was merely an impossible dream, and the moment he woke, reality would snap back to square one. Margot did not let him hold her all to himself for long, however, because her daughter came ducking out from under the checkpoint barrier. "Mama!!" A nearby soldier reached out to grab her, but his superior, Pete, caught his wrist and shook his head. "Let her go... With everyone watching right here, what could possibly happen?" The soldier nodded hesitantly, shifting his gaze toward the bouncing hair. "Yes, sir..." A distance of less than twenty meters was nothing more than a dozen strides for Arman, but for Ruby, it felt like an eternity of running. She was barely halfway across before tears overflowed her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Margot opened her arms and hurried forward, scooping her daughter up into her embrace. Running her fingers through her hair, she pulled the tiny body tight against her chest. "Ruby! I'm sorry... Mama made you worry!" Her voice carried a trace of repentance. Regardless of her bitter reasons, she had ultimately lied to her that night, departing under the pretense of death without a proper farewell. Yet her sweet daughter was not angry with her at all. Instead, she squeezed out a brave little smile through her teary face. "Ruby... didn't cry!" Even though she claimed as much, treacherous tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Breathing far too rapidly, she even let out an involuntary hiccup. Feeling the hot tears trickling down her neck, Margot’s heart ached fiercely. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Mm! My Ruby... is the best little girl in the whole wide world..." Watching the mother and daughter reunite, Arman wore a look of profound satisfaction. To him, they were his angels, his sunlight, his everything... As for power, wealth, or a place in the sun, they were nothing more than mayflies in a pond, utterly insignificant compared to the safety of his family. Clad in a gray uniform, Ishel walked up beside him. He glanced at the Wilante soldiers standing ready in the distance, then looked at the father and grinned. "Congratulations, sir—Mr. Arman... You and your family are finally reunited." "Also, someone asked me to pass along a message. A fellow named Farsighted Eagle. He hopes your cooperation is still on... It's just that official duties have him tied up right now, so he won't be able to come for a few days. He hopes you can push forward with your plan ahead of schedule." "Please tell him that I haven't forgotten our partnership. In fact, the plan has already been set in motion," Arman said, looking sincerely at the soldier of the State of Brahma. "Also... thank you for bringing my wife back." Ishel gave a modest chuckle. "No need to thank me... I don't have that kind of ability. Just staying alive myself was hard enough." Though he said that, pride swelled within his chest. He might not have saved the entire city, but saving two hundred people was nothing to scoff at. He was no Awakened. Much less Pol. "...Also, consider this a piece of advice. No matter how much money your business makes, if you can leave, leave here as soon as possible." Glancing at the soldiers across the border line, Ishel smiled faintly. "There won't be many friendly days like this ahead." Though he didn't state it outright, Arman understood the deeper meaning behind his words. Over this period, he had seen all of the Southern Legion's deployments in West Sail Port with his own eyes. Especially after hearing the old nun's words earlier, he already had an inkling of what was about to unfold... A tragedy far more agonizing than the previous massacre was likely about to strike this land. "I am a Wilante. I won't run from my responsibilities. I will do everything in my power to prevent the worst from happening..." Pausing, Arman continued in an earnest tone. "Even if I fail... I will do everything I can to help more people escape this hell." "Very well. Then please skip the pointless struggling and put all your effort into that very last thing." Ishel bluntly cut off his grand declaration. Looking at the stunned man, he continued: "...No one can stop a train barreling down a mountain, just as no one can stop a balloon whose string has snapped. We can only let it crash into the valley floor and shatter against the hard rock, or let it drift above the clouds, exiling itself into the cosmos." Arman blinked in bewilderment. "That is...?" Ishel answered without hesitation. "A quote from *Awakened Pol*." "Is that line really in the book?" Arman asked, an odd expression crossing his face. While waiting for his wife to return, he had read that book repeatedly, scouring it several times over. What he had never expected was that a modest place like Boulder City could give birth to such a soul-stirring story. In truth, there had been quite a few survivor settlements similar to Boulder City in the western regions of the Central Continent. Most had been built during the early Wasteland Era with support from the Reconstruction Committee. Over the past century or more, however, as the Reconstruction Committee collapsed, most of those settlements had been wiped off the map by the Legion in the name of vengeance. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder: if those settlements were still around, still providing them with experience, knowledge, and further assistance, perhaps they wouldn't have descended into such absolute madness as they had today... Seeing Arman fall silent, Ishel laughed heartily and rubbed the stubble on his chin with a rough hand. "It's not in there? Then consider it a marginal note left for the book by some nameless nobody." If nothing unexpected occurred... What came next would belong to Master Stephen... or rather, to the era of Master Stephen's ancestors. That too ought to be a glorious age, when they would forge their own walls upon a barren wilderness. *Awakened Pol* took place after that; right now, it was time for *Ishel of the Rat Clan*. Ishel had only realized it recently. He was actually a person living in the prequel to *Awakened Pol*. In fact, he might very well be an ancestor of "Master Stephen"—the man who lived on in Master Stephen's ancestral precepts. What a pity. He would likely never meet his idol in this lifetime. That was a ghost lingering over his descendants' heads, not his own. Yet he was not as pessimistic as the other rats. He still believed that the light of truth would one day illuminate this land. It simply took time for the sun to rise. Fortunately, the twilight before nightfall this time was not nearly as freezing as it had been in the past. That day probably wasn't too far off. Arman looked at the officer twice more in surprise, his gaze gradually tinged with profound respect. Brahma Province certainly did not lack capable individuals. They were not inferior in the slightest to the survivors of River Valley Province, nor were they inferior to other Wilante. Yet even as respect welled within him, he couldn't help feeling baffled as to why a group of smart people would walk themselves down an ever-narrowing path. It was never supposed to be like this... ... While the two hundred-plus survivors embraced and reunited with their families, Millurion Ross, who was in charge of local defenses, walked over, flanked by a squad of soldiers. As a fellow millurion, Ishel stared at him, feeling his scalp tingle from the overwhelming murderous aura radiating off the man. Unlike an amateur like himself, this guy was a genuine officer forged through blood and fire! Even so, Ishel squeezed a friendly smile onto his face and offered a polite nod. To his surprise, the man actually nodded back, returning the gesture of goodwill. Ross walked straight up to Count Sharma and his old steward, Sahadu. Looking at the trembling pair, Ross suddenly bowed deeply. "On behalf of myself and my subordinates, I thank you for saving these people in their time of peril." Count Sharma stared at him in utter bewilderment. He had never imagined that a Wilante would bow to him. It wasn't until his old steward tugged at his sleeve that he snapped out of his daze and stammered in a fluster: "General, what are you doing?! I merely did what any normal human being would do. I am unworthy of such a grand gesture... Please, raise your head." Ross did not heed his words. He remained bent over for a full minute before finally straightening up, continuing with a solemn expression: "...If war breaks out between our nations, I swear to you that our soldiers will not enter your estate, even if cowards choose to hide inside." Standing to the side, Ishel narrowed his eyes slightly, a chill flickering through the slit of his gaze, though he said nothing. Even if both sides were only a single gunshot away from total war, he had to keep playing the part of the polite gentleman. Just then, Ross turned his gaze toward the man and woman standing behind Count Sharma. One was his niece, Penny, who currently wore a gratified smile as she watched the reunited survivors. Standing beside her had to be Pangolin. The eastern native who had been promoted by the Eastern Legion, only to be borrowed by the civil service faction. Ross narrowed his eyes, staring at the man for a few moments, before shifting his attention to his niece and speaking in a stern tone. "Penny, come over here." Hearing her uncle's call, Penny moved to step forward, but seeing the expression on his face, she paused hesitantly. "Uncle... Ross?" "Get over here! Now!" Ross offered no explanation, merely beckoning her over. Yet that urgent look rooted Penny to the spot, leaving her no choice but to glance back at Pangolin for help. Having already guessed what was coming from the look on the millurion's face, Battlefield Atmosphere Group stepped up beside Penny and said softly: "Listen to your uncle. Go on over... Remember, this entire affair has nothing to do with you. You're just a war correspondent." "Your duty isn't to fight alongside me, but to take what you've seen back—back to Triumph City... That is your war." Penny's eyes widened as she stared at him blankly. Her trembling lips seemed to ask why... Why, after doing the most righteous thing and saving over two hundred survivors, was he being treated like a criminal? Battlefield Atmosphere Group knew what she wanted to ask, but had no idea how to answer. Not everything in this world could be neatly defined as good or bad; indeed, not everything had a standard answer. Right and wrong were merely balances held in people's hearts, and that scale never belonged to an abstract collective. Especially when the matter involved multiple collectives. In truth, the moment he received Bannote's orders, he had already prepared himself mentally, even anticipating the exact charges that might be leveled against him. Collecting two payouts for the same mission... A deal like that was simply too good to be true. Seeming to understand his gaze, Penny wrestled with her feelings for a long moment before finally lowering her head and walking over to her uncle's side. Signaling his guards to escort her back to the settlement to rest, Ross turned his gaze back to the man called Pangolin. The latter looked right back at him, neither humble nor overbearing, his warm smile even carrying a hint of leisurely ease. A flicker of admiration suddenly surfaced in Ross's eyes. "You are brave." Battlefield Atmosphere Group offered a modest chuckle. "Naturally... Not to brag, but the things I've done and the sights I've seen would probably scare you to death if I told you." Ross gave a humorless twitch of his lips, the smile on his face cooling at a visible rate. "Mr. Pangolin, you have betrayed the Grand Marshal." Battlefield Atmosphere Group smiled faintly, his expression chilling as well. "On the contrary. The ones who betrayed the Grand Marshal are you stubborn fools. While we rack our brains trying to end the Wasteland Era, you're dragging us down from behind—even gambling the lives of innocent compatriots just to launch a war for your own selfish desires!" Ross sneered at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about. From where I stand, the ones who killed those compatriots are people like you! It was your arrogance, naivety, and stupidity that placed those innocent people in harm's way." "We don't deny that mistakes were made in our past; that is precisely why I came here," Battlefield Atmosphere Group said, looking directly at him. "What about you? Do you dare admit the role you played and the crimes you committed in this chaos?" Ross frowned slightly, though his brow soon smoothed out. "It seems you have a lot to say. Save those words for the court-martial and explain them to the judges trying you." Battlefield Atmosphere Group gave a faint smile. "Doesn't matter to me. I'll appeal all the way to Triumph City." "You're welcome to try. And I hope you understand that arresting you wasn't my decision, but an order from General Gulion... The Supreme Command of the Southern Legion has granted him full operational authority in the Brahma Province theater." Ross waved to the armed soldiers standing at the ready beside him, then pointed at Pangolin. "Take him away." Watching the soldiers advance toward him with loaded rifles, Battlefield Atmosphere Group offered no resistance, allowing them to slap handcuffs on his wrists. He did, however, shrug off the hands clamping down on his shoulders. "I have legs. I don't need your help walking." He had fought his way through Sunset Province and Haiya Province, after all; that thick, blood-soaked murderous aura sent a sudden shiver down the spines of the soldiers trying to escort him. It felt as though the figure standing before them was not a man, but a ferocious, bloodthirsty mutant. Seeing his subordinates look back at him, Ross didn't make things difficult for the unyielding Pangolin, merely waving a hand. "Let him walk on his own." He despised the bureaucratic pencil-pushers who dragged their feet; those people were an utter disgrace to the Wilante. Yet he had a decent impression of this young man, even if the fellow was an outsider. There were likely hidden complexities here that he didn't fully understand, though his instincts allowed him to guess at least a fraction of the truth. Still, he didn't care. He would always obey his superiors. His commanding officer's stance was his stance. Even if it was a dead-end road, he would march down it with his head held high... The soldiers who had arrived at the checkpoint with Ross soon fell back, leaving behind only the dozen or so sentries on duty. It was the same on the State of Brahma's side. The millurion named Ishel led everyone away, terrified of lingering too long and sparking an accidental skirmish with the Legion. Watching the direction in which Mr. Pangolin was escorted away, Margot gripped her husband's hand tightly and whispered into his ear: "That man, and that girl... They saved all of us. I can't just leave him to his fate." Staring in the direction the man had gone, Arman squeezed her hand gently and comforted her: "Darling, trust me, I won't just stand by either..." Once he returned, he would rally the citizens of West Sail Port to petition the Governor's Mansion and send a joint telegram straight to Triumph City! He refused to believe that nobody would take charge of something this massive! "...Setting aside those bastards' filthy schemes, West Sail Port isn't even a colony of the Southern Legion! A Southern Legion tribunal has no legal jurisdiction here!" "If he's to be tried, it has to be in a court in Triumph City!" ... While the rescued Wilante survivors were seething with righteous indignation over Pangolin's treatment, righteous indignation was also brewing within the slums of West Sail Port. Yet their fury was not on behalf of any Pangolin, but over the port authorities' ruthless suppression of the Family Association. It was an outright crackdown, without a shadow of a doubt! Toward the gang members who came looking for trouble—those thugs with rat tattoos on their arms who were clearly up to no good—the patrolling soldiers merely raised their batons high and let them fall gently, not even bothering to give the scoundrels a proper thrashing. Yet toward the impoverished workers who banded together for self-protection, those same soldiers cast vicious glares and barked harsh warnings, as if protecting their own rights was some heinous crime against heaven. Sure enough, Mr. Zayed possessed piercing insight that cut straight to the bone: those gang members and the Wilante were all in cahoots! The gangs despised them because the Family Association charged no protection fees and taught people to read for free, disrupting the market! Meanwhile, the Wilante feared their solidarity, so they joined hands with the gangs to sabotage them, slandering them as Alliance spies before cracking down on them mercilessly. In truth, if one examined it calmly, this seemingly self-consistent narrative was riddled with glaring holes. The simplest way to see through it was to compare the dinars landing in their pockets. The wages each gang secured from the docks varied, as did their management standards, cuts, and benefits, making direct comparisons difficult. In broad strokes, however, it still adhered to the rule that "headcount is directly proportional to bargaining premium." The larger the labor brokerage, the greater its leverage when negotiating with employers. There was no such thing as a gang that, despite having more members and being more unified, ended up receiving an even smaller premium. It wasn't as if there were no clever people who noticed the discrepancies, but most of them tacitly became Green Family members, or even higher-tier members—namely, the ones responsible for giving lectures. The Family Association was still in its startup phase, with a wealth of vacant positions waiting to be filled. Anyone who used just a bit of brainpower could rise to become a "district agent," earning perks far greater than hauling sacks at the docks. While the majority remained fixated on meager wages, these shrewd opportunists were already playing on a completely different level. Far from exposing the clumsy tricks, they actually helped Zayed refine and polish his theories. For instance: The thoroughly wicked Wilante had no baseline and had colluded with other gangs to suppress the Family Association. With that, tedious questions like "Why do we get fewer dinars than others for the exact same work?" were neatly resolved and justified. That was precisely where Zayed's brilliance lay. Though he was no grand expert and had endured plenty of disdain from capable men, he had thoroughly figured out the survivors of Brahma Province. The clever people here loved nothing more than treating everyone else like fools while playing dumb themselves. Little did they realize that by deceiving others over and over, they would eventually start believing the lie themselves. By the time they woke up, it would already be far too late... Sitting inside a shack, Eugene finished bandaging an injured laborer's wound and happened to notice Zayed standing by the doorway. The look in his eyes suggested he had business to discuss. Eugene put the bandages back into his medical kit, stepped outside with Zayed, and stood in the moonlit alleyway. After walking alongside Zayed for a short distance, Eugene came to a halt, breaking the silence between them. "Sometimes, I don't understand what you're trying to do, or why you do these things." Zayed let out a soft sigh. "I really haven't thought that far ahead. I just want to give these poor people a home." Eugene gave a dry chuckle. "You have a lot of family members, but you're the one I understand the least." "Oh?" "I don't know how to describe it," Eugene said, sitting down on a nearby flight of steps with a sigh. "I just feel... maybe you'd be better off taking a different approach. We aren't in any rush for you to produce immediate results. Even if you partnered with someone like Lister, I think that would be perfectly fine." Zayed went silent for a moment, then walked over to sit down beside him, speaking in a very quiet voice: "Mr. Lister looks down on us. Deep in his bones, he is an arrogant man, unlike you, who are willing to stoop down to help and guide us. Once he determined that our risks far outweighed any returns we could offer him, he couldn't even be bothered to hear me out before shutting his door in my face." Pausing, he added: "Only you people... your door is always open to me, even when I am as lowly as dust. You didn't give up on me, but gave me chance after chance to introduce myself." Eugene curled his lips in self-deprecation. "Slamming the door in someone's face does sound like Lister. But you don't need to flatter me... His accomplishments are plain for the entire Alliance to see. I don't deserve to be compared to a figure like that." "You belittle yourself too much," Zayed said, shaking his head. "Once we succeed, I will erect a statue in your honor. Hundreds of millions of people will thank you for extending a helping hand to us." Eugene blinked, caught between tears and laughter. "There's really no need for that..." Hardly had his words left his mouth when a flash of light flickered in the darkness not far away. When he focused his gaze, he saw flames billowing into the sky, wrapped in thick clouds of smoke. Faint shouts echoed from the distance. "Fire!!" "Quick! Put out the fire!" Watching the sudden chaos unfold, Eugene froze entirely. Then his face morphed drastically as he leaped to his feet. That was the Family Association's registration center! The very place where he had just been tending to the wounded laborers! "Goddammit!" Cursing under his breath, he sprinted back in the direction they had come without a second word. Watching the leaping flames and Eugene rushing off to fight the fire, Zayed was momentarily startled as well. In the end, however, he merely gave a soft chuckle, shook his head, and muttered to himself: "Those rats really don't let a grudge sit overnight. Couldn't even wait until morning... Heh." The Black Rat Gang had suffered a setback, and they certainly wouldn't swallow that humiliation quietly; they were bound to seek payback. The reason those thugs could never achieve anything of substance was precisely because their limbs always governed their brains, and their emotions dictated their thoughts. If the earlier beating had garnered them sympathy from a few streets' worth of neighbors at best, then this fire ought to be enough to turn them into the "stars" of West Sail Port. The Legion would definitely step in. And they would certainly use iron-fisted methods to crush all troublemakers before the great war swept across the entirety of Brahma Province! Those men were no judges weighing legal cases; their style had always been to kill one to warn a hundred. Far from sparing a thought for the Family Association, all the gangs in West Sail Port were mere ants in their eyes. Rumor had it that this Gulion was exceptionally brutal, stopping at nothing to achieve his objectives—which played right into Zayed's hands. Armed with this freshly written pledge of allegiance, he would move on to a far grander stage. Zayed dusted off his trousers, rose from the stone steps, and turned in the exact opposite direction of Eugene. "Vassa, time to set out!" Though he felt a twinge of guilt toward the survivors of West Sail Port, it was all for the future of Brahma Province...