"Get in. This will be your new home from now on."
The prison of West Sail Port.
This granite fortress was likely one of the few structures in the West Sail Port district that had escaped the baptism of artillery fire.
And the level he was on was situated in the deepest subterranean depths of the prison—a place reserved for maximum-security felons.
Listening to the sneering mockery of the jailer behind him, Battlefield Atmosphere Group could not even be bothered to entertain such small fry. He walked in with calm composure.
Glancing left and right, his eyes even held a hint of novelty.
The cell was certainly crude, and crudely realistic at that. There was only a toilet and a cot, with the toilet sitting right beside the head of the bed. When eating, one might even have to set their bowl on the toilet lid.
All four walls were pitch-black, without so much as a ventilation window. The few air vents that existed were set into the ceiling out in the hallway beyond the bars.
*They are trying to damn well stink me to death...*
Battlefield Guy could not help grumbling internally.
Fortunately, however, the room was a private cell, sparing him from squeezing in with other inmates. Presumably, whoever ordered him locked up was not keen on letting him get too close to anyone else.
Just as Battlefield Atmosphere Group was inspecting his future new home, the barred door slammed shut behind him with a heavy clang, followed by the clatter of the floor's iron gate locking tight.
"Damn, doing time in a video game is something else... Is the prison experience really this authentic?"
*That Dog Guang must have done some on-site field research.*
Battlefield Guy sighed with emotion and sat down on the cot.
As an exemplary model citizen, he had never spent a single day in a detention center in real life, yet unexpectedly had the chance to try it inside a game.
Truth be told, the experience was quite novel.
It was just a bit boring.
Just as he was pondering whether to go AFK, log off, and play a couple rounds of games, the sound of footsteps suddenly echoed outside the lonely cell.
The main gate of the cellblock, which had not been closed for long, creaked open once more with a groan.
Hearing the commotion, Battlefield Guy perked up instantly. He rose, walked over to the barred gate, and looked out.
A Wilante soldier with a slung rifle was marching a dense throng of prisoners inside.
With a rough count, there were at least forty or fifty people being brought in.
Battlefield Guy was utterly baffled, completely thrown off by what the Wilante soldier was doing.
*What the hell are they trying to pull?*
Shoving the last person into the corridor with his rifle butt, the Wilante soldier spoke in a cold tone.
"The cells upstairs are full. You lot will stay down here."
Tossing out that remark, the Wilante slammed the door shut, seemingly not the least bit worried that the prisoners standing out in the hallway might stir up trouble.
Or rather...
Were they practically begging this mob to start a riot?
Battlefield Guy grew secretly vigilant.
Observing the bewildered prisoners milling aimlessly in the corridor, his eyes swept through the crowd until he finally picked out the most honest-looking young lad.
Catching the young man's attention with a glance, Battlefield Guy waved him over to the barred door and asked curiously, "Who are you guys?"
The simple, honest lad replied immediately, "Family."
Battlefield Guy blinked. "Family? What the hell is that?"
Seeing the prisoner before him looked confused, the young lad patiently explained, "We are from the Family Association, an organization formed by the family for the family... Those guys over there are with the Black Rat Gang."
As he spoke, he pointed toward the dozen or so men gathered in the corner of the corridor.
Battlefield Guy looked where his finger pointed and saw several thugs with Mickey Mouse tattoos on their arms standing in the corner of the crowd. With their menacing glares, they clearly looked up to no good.
"Then how did... you guys end up in here?"
At the mention of their arrest, the youth glared furiously at the burly men in the corner and lowered his voice. "The Black Rat Gang started it! They torched our house with Molotov cocktails! We grabbed our weapons and fought our way out... and in the end, the Wilante rounded us all up together."
Battlefield Guy was slightly dazed. "Then... why did they torch your place?"
The young man answered without hesitation, "Because they fear our solidarity!"
Battlefield Guy: "..."
Though the dialogue made little sense on the surface, he still pieced together the gist of what had happened.
Turns out it was just a gang turf war.
Those big-noses could not care less about the details. As soon as the fire started, they probably threw a cordon around the whole street and rounded up every last soul they could find.
Although the young man was still indignantly rambling on about how the other side had attacked first, Battlefield Guy lost interest in the minutiae. Instead, his curiosity turned toward this Family Association.
They did not seem like an ordinary gang. Normal gangs did not organize classes for their members. Not only did they hold classes, but they had also "deconstructed" the relations of production and labor in society—things that had never been seen anywhere else in Brahma Province.
For example, according to the lad, the family's jobs were provided by the Family Association, and the family members were nurtured by the Family Association; therefore, they owed nothing to anyone, whereas the docks and the Wilante were the ones who plundered their sweat and blood.
Furthermore, production was an honor, while nurture was a grace, and so forth.
The division of labor and cooperation, originally the cornerstone of human society, had been repackaged in a religious manner into something entirely different. They had even coined specialized terms for it, though without providing any concrete units of measurement or calculation methods.
For instance, how exactly grace and honor were calculated, how much honor warranted how much grace, and how unquantifiable things could be weighed on a scale—all such specific questions were hand-waved away with abstract concepts.
Of course, it was also possible that Zayed had answered these questions in some lecture, but this young fellow had simply forgotten due to poor mastery.
However, none of that was the crux of the matter. A pipe rifle was still a rifle, and they at least possessed theoretical weaponry now. Moreover, they did not just compile scripture; they had also designed more practical tools for themselves.
For instance, six color-coded ranks, promotion ladders, and so forth... These things bore striking similarities to the players' contribution tiers.
Except the more Battlefield Guy listened, the more off it sounded.
*Green common trash, purple epic gear, gold legendary... Why does this sound so much like it was ripped straight out of some real-world RPG?*
Some jerk had probably brought in real-world knowledge from outside the game, keeping the dross while throwing out the essence, and spoon-fed it to the NPCs.
The lad rambled on incessantly, growing more energetic by the second.
"...Zayed also told us that once everyone on the wasteland becomes family, the Wasteland Era will naturally come to an end. It was supposed to be simple, but the people outside Brahma Province are just too greedy."
Battlefield Guy listened with a growing headache, pressing his forefinger between his brows in an attempt to untangle the convoluted logic.
"I will grant that some of what you say makes sense. We also think the wastelander outsiders are too greedy, always wanting more... Cough, I mean, the people other than the Wilante. So, are you guys already prepared to go save the wasteland?"
*Close call!*
*Almost blew my cover as an undercover agent!*
Fortunately, the lad noticed nothing amiss—or perhaps it never occurred to him that the man before him was an Honorary Wilante—and simply continued proudly, "It is only a matter of time. In the end, we will save everyone across the wasteland."
Battlefield Guy: "..."
If his grasp of the game's current patch was correct, this version was supposed to be about players who had already ended their own wasteland stepping up to save survivors in other regions.
Brahma Province was the most populous and sprawling expanse of wasteland on the Mid-Continent. He really felt like advising this guy to save himself first—not causing trouble for others would already be doing the world a favor.
"So... care to learn more about the Family Association?"
Battlefield Guy gave a wry smile. "I will pass... My brain is not the sharpest. I would probably just drag you guys down."
A look of pity crossed the young man's face, almost as if he felt sorry for him.
However, while Battlefield Guy tuned out the sales pitch entirely, the members of the Black Rat Gang actually took it to heart.
Not only that, they were drawn over one by one by the young man's impassioned speech, their eyes shining brighter and brighter the more they listened.
"Holy crap!"
"That is brilliant!"
"Damn right! I have been thinking for ages that the Black Rat Gang has no future. Those bastards claimed they cared about us, but all they ever wanted was to bleed us dry... To hell with them, I am joining you guys!"
"Count me in too!"
Most gangs in West Sail Port had sprouted up after that massacre barely a month ago, so the majority of gang members had virtually zero loyalty to speak of.
Besides, tonight's incident had spiraled so out of hand; the blaze had practically torched half the slums, and who knew how many had died.
When dawn broke tomorrow, the Wilante would surely settle scores. Jumping ship now was also a way to dodge punishment...
At least, that was what the bottom-feeders were thinking.
In their eyes, their own Black Rat Gang was thoroughly finished!
The youth from the Family Association welcomed all comers, completely letting go of their previous grudge as he laughed heartily. "No problem! From now on, we are all family! Once we get out, I will take you to get registered!"
Pairs of eyes lit up with fervor, like candle flames in the dark kindling sparks of hope.
Battlefield Guy was on the verge of sneering, *Brilliant my ass, it is just a damn pyramid scheme! On any other map even kids would know it is a scam,* when he caught sight of the burning zeal in those gangsters' eyes.
They were genuinely moved.
Watching the group gather around to listen to the sermon, Battlefield Guy sat squatting in his cell and fell silent.
All right.
He had judged too hastily...
...
Later, listening in from the side, Battlefield Guy learned that the lecturing youth was named Amin, just a colorless, ordinary family member.
In other words, "common white gear."
Still, according to their rules, after surviving tonight, earning the title of a green family member shouldn't be a problem at all.
Assuming he made it out alive, that was...
Listening to the lad's endless sermonizing, Battlefield Guy could not help dozing off. Unable to stay up any longer, he prepared to log off.
A few young fellows stared straight at him—or rather, at the toilet beside his cot.
The fixture was quite a novelty to them, considering none of the other cells had one.
"Brother, what got you locked in here?"
"How come you get a private room?"
"Yeah, why do you get your own cell while we are all stuck out in the hallway?"
Battlefield Guy lifted his eyelids, looked at the youngsters gathered before the bars, and chuckled. "Me? My crimes are way bigger than yours."
The young men looked at each other in dismay, all regarding him with pity. "What a shame."
Seeing them worrying about him, Battlefield Guy shook his head with a laugh. "You had better worry about yourselves and figure out how to survive tomorrow."
With that, he closed his eyes, tuned out the chatter outside the bars, and slumped against the corner, drifting off to "sleep."
The night passed without incident.
Battlefield Guy logged off, played a bit of League, indulged in some glorious toxicity, and logged back in only to find that the prisoners in the corridor had already been dragged away, leaving behind a mess of turmeric-yellow filth and feces.
The Wilante had not provided them with cells or buckets, so they had simply relieved themselves where they stood.
The soaring stench made him wrinkle his nose in disgust, instantly making him realize the sinister intention of these big-noses.
*Holy hell!*
*Could not beat me fair and square, so they resort to underhanded filth just to sicken me?*
Pinching his nose with a sour grimace, Battlefield Guy found his negative stereotypes about the Wilante reinforced even further.
Just then, the rattling of chains and footsteps came from outside the prison door.
As the iron door swung open, Penny, carrying a lunchbox, squeezed through the opening.
Seeing Penny, Battlefield Guy froze in surprise. He had not expected this girl would actually come visit him.
And he was not the only one stunned. Upon seeing the revolting mess in the cellblock, Penny's face turned stark pale in an instant, whether from anger or the suffocating fumes.
"They... actually locked you in a place like this!"
Where was the honor of the Wilante?!
Shameless bastards, all of them!
Battlefield Guy made a helpless face, taking it in stride.
"It was not like this at first. But last night they suddenly hauled in a whole crowd of people. I figured right then and there that nothing good would come of it, and sure enough, my hunch was right... Good thing I was asleep when they dropped their trousers, or my eyes would have burned out."
Given the diet of those paupers, emptying their bowels so thoroughly would normally have been quite difficult.
The Wilante had probably fed them a meal, quite possibly spiked with something.
Still, he had no proof, so he could only endure it for now.
Watching Penny gingerly step around the filth as she approached, Battlefield Guy paused before asking, "...By the way, what brought you here?"
Penny said softly, "I came to bring you food... afraid you would go hungry."
*Bringing me meals, huh...*
It was probably noon outside by now, and Battlefield Guy did feel his stomach rumbling.
Smelling that overpowering stench, however, killed his appetite completely.
Evidently noticing his strained expression, Penny fell silent for a moment, then bit her lip and said, "...I will go find my uncle and have him move you to a different cell!"
Battlefield Guy sighed. "Do not put your uncle in a tough spot. This is not under his authority. The one who had me arrested was that Gulion guy."
"Then I will go confront Gulion!" Penny ground her teeth.
"Are you out of your mind?" Glancing at the stubborn girl, Battlefield Guy could not help scolding, "His rank is higher than your father's! What good would confronting him do? If you ask me, you should not even be staying in this port. Take my advice: find a ship and go home. Once you are back in Triumph City, maybe something can be done."
"I am not going anywhere until I know you are safe!" Penny stared straight at him, unflinching.
A moment later, her tone softened again, and she continued gently, "Do not worry about me. I know you mean well, but staying behind is not just my own stubbornness—it is what my father wants too."
Battlefield Guy was taken aback. "Your father? Mr. Bannote?"
Looking into Pangolin's astonished eyes, Penny nodded earnestly. "That is right. The civil official faction will not abandon you. His friends in Triumph City have already begun working behind the scenes. They will do everything in their power to have you extradited to Triumph City."
Hearing this, the look on Battlefield Guy's face shifted from surprise to utter disbelief.
Bannote was actually protecting him?
Mind blown!
This made no sense!
"...Besides, there are no ships leaving the port to head back. The Southern Legion has put the entire harbor on lockdown." Saying this, Penny's cheeks blushed faintly with embarrassment. "So stop urging me to go back. Just let me bring you meals for a while."
"Wait, the port is locked down?" Battlefield Guy froze, asking hurriedly, "What the heck happened out there?"
Penny shook her head. "I do not know the full details either. I heard someone committed arson last night, apparently a brawl between gangs? Anyway, there is a strict crackdown happening outside right now, and I heard quite a few people were executed by firing squad."
Fire.
Fire again.
Battlefield Guy could not help wondering whether West Sail Port had cursed feng shui, lacking the fire element or something.
Unlike the previous disaster, however, this fire had not escalated into total catastrophe. No one had organized the rioters, nor had it spawned another Heavenly King.
Since even the Legion classified this as a mere gang brawl, the blaze might well have been a simple accident.
Remembering the wide-eyed youngsters from earlier with light shining in their eyes, Battlefield Guy clicked his tongue and silently offered a prayer of pity.
He hoped those lads would be okay.
Though they were not the sharpest tools in the shed, they were not bad people at heart.
Yet it was precisely people like that who were easiest to sway by rumors and most susceptible to manipulation.
"...I just have a bad feeling that West Sail Port will not stay peaceful. If you can leave, you really should get out as soon as possible."
Looking at Pangolin, who was still worrying about her safety, Penny's cheeks turned even redder.
It had been the same before.
He was clearly the one engaging in the most dangerous work, yet he never seemed to care about his own safety, fretting instead over an outsider like her.
"Do not worry, I can take care of myself... Come on, eat while it is hot. Do not let it get cold."
Saying that, she tried to pass the lunchbox through, but it got wedged right between the bars of the cell door.
Penny's expression grew awkward. She wanted to tilt the box sideways, but worried the contents would spill, and after wriggling it back and forth for quite a while, she still could not squeeze it through.
The two stared at each other for several moments before Penny finally flushed crimson and whispered, "How about... I feed you?"
Watching her suddenly shy face, Battlefield Guy's Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.
He suddenly felt that the surrounding air was not quite so foul anymore.
"Uh... thanks."
"Y-you are welcome..."
Blushing furiously, Penny hurried to open the container. The spoon nearly slipped to the ground, but fortunately Battlefield Guy's quick reflexes saved it.
When he handed the spoon back to her, Penny suddenly realized that he could have simply eaten with the spoon through the bars by himself.
However, both maintained a tacit silence.
The meal took a full hour to finish.
Looking at the scraped-clean bowl and the pretty face blushing so red it looked ready to drip blood, Battlefield Atmosphere Group felt completely full—in every sense of the word...
...
Whether out of deference to the *Triumph Gazette* or out of fear of Penny's father, on the day following that meal, Battlefield Guy was surprised to find that the Wilante soldiers actually caved. They sent a Rat Clan cleaner down to scrub the hallway clean of every drop of filthy sewage.
Though a heavy odor still lingered in the cellblock, it was vastly better than before.
And so, without realizing it, another week slipped by.
During those days, Penny brought him meals every day and delivered updates from the outside world from time to time.
For one, the crackdown in West Sail Port continued unabated.
Yet whether due to behind-the-scenes scheming or something else, the "AOE" crackdown targeting all gangs had morphed into a one-sided dogpile specifically targeting the Family Association.
This was rather suspicious.
Logically, the Family Association was the victim no matter how one looked at it. Flogging both sides fifty strokes made sense, but taking every single blow was baffling.
Even if slaveholders could not be bothered to reason with slaves, this seemed downright perverse, didn't it?
Determined to get to the bottom of it, he organized his thoughts and posted his questions on the forum. Only after the veteran forum bros analyzed the situation did the mystery unravel.
According to the commentary of one knowledgeable-sounding poster, this crackdown probably was not personally orchestrated by General Gulion. Much like dumping sewage outside his cell, it was likely decided on by the underlings themselves.
And when underlings made the call, the methods of handling matters became vastly more flexible.
Perhaps the other gangs had bribed their way up the chain, whereas the Family Association, which did not collect gang dues, had no money for bribes and was made an example of.
Perhaps the other gangs were easier to manage, while the Family Association was sprawling and unruly, making it a liability that had to be slaughtered like a prize pig.
It was even very likely that members of the Alliance were involved in the Family Association; after all, the gang's name was hilarious, sounding precisely like something cooked up by a player trolling around.
All these reasons were plausible, and in all likelihood, it was not just a single cause, but a combination of many.
And the ultimate outcome of this farce was that the Family Association, already ostracized by the rival gangs, felt the butcher's blade of the Legion immediately after.
The only pity was for those innocent people who had committed no wrong, yet had to suffer the worst of fates...
On the other side of things, the crackdown in West Sail Port did not affect the Wilante living in the port.
Although the Legion's upper echelon had never placed much stock in the lives of their fellow countrymen, there remained a fundamental difference compared to the Xilan Empire, which treated its own people like cattle.
Honorable Wilante were protected by law and enjoyed supreme civil rights under that law—and the same applied even to Honorary Wilante like Pangolin.
That was why others could be shot on a whim, while he could sit comfortably in his cell awaiting his day in court.
According to Penny, the local Wilante, led by a merchant named Yarman, had formed the West Sail Port Citizens' Self-Governance Association. In the name of this association, they pressured the Southern Legion, demanding they exercise restraint, refrain from initiating war, and release him unconditionally.
Behind this, of course, was the backing—and perhaps even instigation—of the Triumph City civil official faction.
Yet the sincere resolve of the citizens to never abandon or give up on him was undeniably genuine.
When Battlefield Guy heard Penny recount this, he did not voice much gratitude, but he was deeply touched inside.
Those survivors knew how to repay a kindness.
They had not forgotten the man who had saved them, even if what he did was modest compared to others, even if he had rescued only two hundred or so...
And thanks to that united force, the Southern Legion had stopped giving him a hard time lately. At the very least, they did not pull any more brain-dead stunts like herding a mob in to relieve themselves all over his doorstep.
The days passed one by one, and in the blink of an eye, March arrived.
Brahma Province officially entered the rainy season. It rained multiple times a day in West Sail Port, and a typhoon even swept through, blowing down the ramshackle shacks on the streets.
Outside, the crackdown seemed to have finally drawn to a close.
Having finished cracking the whip, the Southern Legion pulled candies from their pockets. They began paying to mobilize grassroots organizations, including the gangs controlling the docks, to repair damaged houses and clear streets buried in debris.
This was not out of any benevolence, but because war was imminent.
They needed to ensure smooth transit, keep factories, docks, and infrastructure running, and make certain the grassroots forces maintaining that infrastructure could be harnessed for their war effort.
To that end, they did not mind spending a few extra dinars—they would soon reap much more anyway.
Though storms brewed outside, it had zero effect on Battlefield Guy, hunkered down in his dungeon cell.
In this godforsaken place, leave alone wind, he could not even hear a drop of rain. At most, the humidity from the backed-up drains made things slightly miserable.
Still, those were minor inconveniences that had no bearing on his routine.
Under Penny's meticulous, round-the-clock feedings, Battlefield Guy felt like he had actually put on weight, though it was not particularly noticeable.
Now, every day when he logged in, on top of waiting for meal delivery, he had taken up doing push-ups to work out.
One day in early March.
As usual, Battlefield Guy was exercising on his cot when Penny, carrying a lunchbox, suddenly opened the cellblock door and walked in from outside.
She had arrived earlier than usual today, and her expression was fraught with tension, as if something momentous had happened.
Battlefield Guy hopped off the cot immediately, looked at her, and asked, "What happened outside?"
Penny spoke at breakneck speed, "Gulion has arrived in West Sail Port! And people from the Southern Legion's military tribunal came with him!"
Hearing that, Battlefield Guy finally understood the reason behind her anxious look.
Turns out she was worried about him.
Yet compared to Penny's trepidation, he did not feel panicked in the slightest. In fact, he felt a flicker of relief.
Locked in a cell for a full month, his bones were practically growing mold!
The day of the trial had finally arrived!
Chapter 844