A Vast Force Is Taking Shape!

The Harbor District Court of West Sail Port. The Scales of Justice were carved into the marble walls, and beneath the towering dome stood tiers of concentric seating. Five judges sat upon the bench. All appeared to be in their fifties or sixties, their heavily wrinkled faces solemn, radiating an air of venerable dignity. The expansive jury box and spectator gallery were likewise packed to capacity. A small portion consisted of Southern Legion officers, while the vast majority were local Wilante citizens of West Sail Port or Wilante traveling merchants who happened to be passing through. The public harbored immense enthusiasm for this trial. Some had even traveled all the way from Evernight Port or other colonies—not for the business opportunities brought by the "imminent arrival of the three-hundred-thousand-strong army," but purely to witness the spectacle in court with their own eyes. People were so intrigued not merely because of the defendant's identity, but also because the charges leveled in this trial involved three counts of treason: betraying the Wilante, betraying the Legion, and betraying the Marshal. To heap so many enormous crimes upon a single person was exceedingly rare in the Legion's entire history. Especially considering that this fellow was an "Honorary Wilante" promoted through military merit. Those seated in the gallery grew even more curious! It was said that the court had raked in a small fortune just selling tickets to the spectator gallery! Watching the man being led into the courtroom, Penny, seated in the gallery, could not help but clench her fists, her palms slick with sweat. Meanwhile, in a corner on the other side of the gallery, a man wearing an officer's cap sat among the observers. He appeared young, with a prominent ridge on the bridge of his nose and a resolute, callous gaze. He watched Pangolin being led to the defendant's dock with keen interest, like an eagle glaring down at its prey. This was Gulion, supreme commander of the Brahma Province combat theater and a three-star myriadman of the Southern Legion! Prior to arriving at West Sail Port, he had heard many heroic tales about this man named Pangolin. Such as stalling the Alliance's advancing forces for an entire month single-handedly while inflicting thousands of casualties on them. Such as hunting and decapitating the Mother Deathclaw all on his own in River Valley Province. Or his combat exploits in Haiya Province, among other feats. Now, this fellow had surfaced in Brahma Province and pulled off yet another earth-shaking stunt before Gulion even arrived. Gulion could not help feeling a bit curious. Just how did this mantis attempting to stop a chariot intend to wriggle out of this trap? Just as he was staring with fascination at the man named Pangolin, someone approached him from the side. The newcomer pulled out a chair, sat down beside him, and casually tossed his officer's cap onto the table. Gulion glanced sideways. Recognizing that rather famous face, a playful smile curled at the corners of his mouth. "General MacLaren? What a rare guest. What wind blew the 'Chief Instructor' of Brahma Province here?" Due to the Xilan Empire's laughable performance across military, economic, and diplomatic fronts, MacLaren's reputation in the military had also taken a hit for having served as an instructor in Brahma Province. After all, those Brahma soldiers performing the butterfly stroke in the mouth of the Everflowing River were nominally MacLaren's students. Even though their swimming skills had little to do with MacLaren and were largely taught by the civil officials of Triumph City, he still could not shed the stamp of their connection. Unfazed by General Gulion's ribbing, MacLaren merely offered a faint smile. "You resemble a... friend of mine. Just like him, you are brilliant, dashing, capable, and charismatic. I see much of his shadow in you. I used to argue with him constantly, yet I never won a single time." Slightly embarrassed by the praise, Gulion chuckled and replied with a veneer of modesty, "Thank you for the compliment." Crossing one leg over his knee, MacLaren smiled warmly. "Don't mention it... But aren't you curious who he is?" Gulion said mildly, "Then allow me to ask for your friend's name. Please introduce me the next time we return to Triumph City." MacLaren's tone remained equally gentle. "His name was Griffin. Just like you, he was also a three-star myriadman." Upon hearing Griffin's name, Gulion's expression chilled at a visible speed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "What do you mean by that? Comparing me to a dead man?" "A dead man?" MacLaren glanced sideways, looking at him with mild astonishment. "General Griffin was a hero honored with a state funeral. Are you expressing contempt for him?" Gulion's expression instantly froze. A thousand retorts choked in his throat, and in the end, he could only squeeze out a chilly scoff. "...Heh, so the Eastern Legion fights with their mouths. Forgive my ignorance." He knew about Griffin's story. It was said that just when the Eastern Legion's expeditionary force held the absolute upper hand, he had suddenly died of a stroke. Having lost its commander, the expeditionary force had been forced to accept the ceasefire agreement proposed by the Alliance and the Enterprise, regrettably halting the fighting just before the war could expand further. The *Triumph Gazette* had proclaimed victory for the Eastern Legion's expeditionary force, and Griffin had ultimately received a glorious state funeral as a general. Regardless of what he thought of Griffin personally, that honor was not something he could mock. If word got out, he would only humiliate himself. Seeing Gulion at a loss for words, MacLaren smiled faintly and remarked, "...Please don't misunderstand, General Gulion. I have no intention of quarreling with you." Gulion chuckled dryly and shifted his gaze toward the distant dock. "I heard you personally promoted that Pangolin?" MacLaren nodded slightly. "Indeed. During the Sunset War, his direct superior was Korwei. Both of them can be considered my subordinates." Hearing this, Gulion immediately seized upon the opportunity, clicking his tongue lightly. "Tsk, tsk, what a pity... Though I'm not surprised in the least. One can only say a subordinate takes after his superior. It seems the civil faction didn't train him well." The derision in his words was unmistakable. Yet, rather than taking offense, MacLaren laughed heartily and said open-mindedly, "I feel the same way. Those bureaucrats had nothing to teach him; keeping him around them was a waste of talent. But be that as it may, I'm quite proud of having nurtured such an exceptional subordinate. He hasn't disappointed my expectations." *Exceptional?* Gulion raised an eyebrow in slight surprise, shot MacLaren a sideways glance, and asked with keen interest, "You think he still has a chance to turn the tables?" "Turn the tables?" MacLaren looked back at him with a smile. "General Gulion, at least wait until you've won before saying such things." Gulion curled his lip dismissively and looked away from this stubborn fellow. *Wait until I've won?* *What a joke!* The entire courtroom was packed with his people. How could a fellow who wasn't even a Wilante hope to win! Seeing that Gulion said nothing more, MacLaren also fell silent, merely smiling as he watched the court nearby. Gaze after gaze converged on the center of the courtroom, waiting for the solemn proceedings to officially begin. The brief opening formalities concluded. With the rap of a wooden gavel, the prosecution representative standing at the plaintiff's table gathered the documents before him and declared in an impassioned tone: "Millurion Pangolin! On behalf of the Southern Legion and all Wilante people, I bring this indictment against you! "The tragedy of West Sail Port is still fresh in our minds! The very flagstones beneath my feet were stained with Wilante blood! Three thousand people! Over three thousand people were slaughtered by scoundrels! Yet those murderers still run free! Some have even crowned themselves like dressed-up monkeys, seizing the throne that rightfully belonged to our allies! "And you! You, upon whom we bestowed the honor of the Wilante—what did you do?" The prosecutor glanced at the judge, at the crowded jury and gallery behind him, and then fixed his righteous, accusatory glare on Pangolin in the dock. "While we were fighting for the destiny of the Wilante, you took it upon yourself to represent the Wilante of Triumph City and recognize the legitimacy of an illegal regime—one that is brutal, filthy, and guilty of slaughtering Wilante people! "This is not merely a betrayal of Triumph City; it is a betrayal of the Legion, a betrayal of all Wilante, and a betrayal of the Marshal himself! "This is an unforgivable crime! Be grateful for the mercy of our laws, for we have spared you the death penalty! In return, however, we shall strip you of your honors, your honorary status, and your military rank, and sentence you to indefinite imprisonment. "You will repent in a windowless cell, watching the bitter fruits of your appeasement burn to ash in the flames of justice, and spend the remainder of your days lamenting in the dark! That shall be your most fitting punishment!" Having finished his speech, the prosecutor raised an eyebrow provocatively at the "Honorary Wilante." Battlefield Atmosphere Group, however, did not even look at him. He merely watched the presiding judge on the bench, waiting for his turn. The judge did not look at him, nor did he look at the prosecutor. He simply tapped his wooden gavel lightly. "Order! Determining criminal penalties is the court's duty. The prosecution need only state the facts of the defendant's alleged crimes." Seeming to realize his overstep, the prosecutor smiled and explained, "My apologies, I was overly emotional. Please understand my fury as a Wilante toward a traitor." "Then please also respect the solemnity of this court." Though the verdict was already set in stone, the presiding judge still voiced the reprimand before turning to the man named Pangolin, proceeding through the routine. "...Now, in light of the prosecution's statement, do you have anything to say?" Originally, Battlefield Atmosphere Group had not intended to bother with a defense. For one, he knew it was pointless. The judge and the prosecution were both General Gulion's men. They could hand down whatever sentence they pleased; it was merely a matter of moving their lips. Second, he wasn't particularly good at debating, nor did he understand Legion law. Talking too much would only increase his chances of making a mistake. Pleading not guilty and shutting up was the best course of action. Unless he reached the courts of Triumph City, speaking here was just a waste of breath that would only invite further mockery. Case in point: the court hadn't even bothered to assign him a defense attorney. Yet, just as he was about to brush through the dialogue and skip the cutscene, he caught sight of an anxious face in the gallery... *Forget it.* A three-day respawn cooldown was a pain to wait out, and letting others dictate his life and death wasn't his style anyway. Battlefield Atmosphere Group stayed silent for a moment before deciding to give it an honest shot. After composing his thoughts, he looked up at the judge and said calmly, "Your Honor, I have nothing to say." The presiding judge froze. The other four judges on the bench were equally stunned, exchanging bewildered glances. Whispers rippled through the distant gallery; no one had expected him to forgo even an attempt at a defense. Penny's eyes widened in shock, wishing she could vault over the railing, rush up, and shake him awake. Millurion Ross narrowed his eyes slightly, suddenly finding the man inscrutable. General Gulion shot MacLaren a triumphant glance, his eyes shouting victory. MacLaren, however, remained impassive, watching the composed fellow with a slight smile. To have ventured alone deep into hostile territory and persuaded Abhishek to switch sides—this man was no ordinary individual. The real show was only just beginning. This fellow had worn the very same expression when he returned carrying the severed head of the Mother Deathclaw. Like General Gulion, the prosecutor already wore a look of triumphant satisfaction. "It appears the defendant has nothing left to say. I believe the court may proceed to issue its verdict." The presiding judge gathered his wits, fixed his gaze on Battlefield Atmosphere Group, and asked, "Do you intend this as an admission of guilt?" Neither humble nor arrogant, the Battlefield Guy answered, "I mean no such thing." Pausing, he added, "It's simply that I don't believe I have any obligation to explain myself to a bunch of cowards who treat the lives of their compatriots as bargaining chips for their own selfish desires. "The ones who should be standing here aren't me—it's them!" He did not name names, but his implication was crystal clear—he meant the people sitting in the gallery waiting for his explanation. Or at least a portion of them! The moment his words fell, an uproar erupted in the gallery. The Southern Legion officers bristled as if their tails had been stepped on, leaping to their feet one after another. Most were decurions or centurions, along with a few non-commissioned officers and enlisted men. They were young and hot-blooded. Faced with such blatant provocation, they hurled curses right back on the spot—a time-honored Wilante tradition in its own right. "What the hell are you talking about?!" "Who treated their compatriots' lives as bargaining chips for selfish desires?!" "Aren't you civil officials the ones who abandoned our people?!" "You civil-faction lapdog! Spit on you!" "Cowardly, incompetent piece of trash!" "Sentence him to death!" "Order! Order!" The presiding judge struck his gavel forcefully, motioning for the gallery to be silent. Battlefield Guy stood in the dock as if none of this concerned him, basking in the prosecutor's stunned stare while remaining deaf to the raging fury behind him. Once the courtroom finally quieted down, the presiding judge glared angrily at Pangolin. "Millurion Pangolin, mind your words! This court takes the opinion of the gallery into account when rendering judgment. Any irrelevant accusations you raise here will only worsen your guilt!" "Irrelevant accusations?!" Fixing his gaze on the presiding judge, Battlefield Guy repeated the words, then turned to face the gallery, his previously calm expression now twisted with startling fury. "When I was venturing alone deep into the heart of the Heavenly King Army searching for the truth, what were all of you standing up doing? Trading fire with unarmed civilians?" His voice reverberated through the vast hall, instantly drowning out the commotion. A dead silence fell over the crowd, every eye glaring at him. "Two hundred people!" Battlefield Atmosphere Group held up two fingers: his index and middle finger. At that moment, as though he were a true Wilante, he lifted his head and the bridge of his nose with absolute pride. "Two hundred civilians... trembling in fear on rebel territory, terrified of making a sound, right under your very noses! And what did you do? Avenge the three thousand dead? You knew damn well where the real killers were, yet you sat on your hands!" Unable to listen any longer, the prosecutor coughed, trying to interject. "I must point out... it wasn't that the Southern Legion did nothing. The survivors of that catastrophe concealed part of the truth, so we had no idea anyone was still alive—" "Shut your damn mouth!" Battlefield Guy roared suddenly. That ferocious glare startled the prosecutor so badly that his feet seemed rooted to the floor, his calves trembling faintly. Those eyes resembled a savage beast's; the bloodthirsty aura choked the words right out of him. The prosecutor swallowed involuntarily, a flicker of panic creeping into his shaken gaze. Unlike him, who merely wielded words in a courtroom... This man was a genuine soldier, a vengeful ghost crawled up from mountains of corpses and seas of bones! "...I didn't give you permission to speak, and the judge didn't allow you to interrupt, so keep your mouth shut. It's my turn to talk," Battlefield Guy said, his voice suddenly softening. With the oppressive weight lifting from his shoulders, the prosecutor nodded nervously—only to immediately realize he was being led by the nose, scowling back in indignation. Battlefield Guy did not spare him another glance, turning once more toward the packed gallery. This time, however, he looked past the standing officers and soldiers. He looked at Arman, at his wife Margot, and at many other people just like them, along with their children. "Do you see that? Just like this prosecutor beside me—a civilian who has never set foot on a battlefield—all it takes is a single glare from me to make his legs shake like pendulums, ready to fall to his knees before me. "Let me tell you, that is power! A power easily wielded even by someone as insignificant as myself. And I am merely a millurion, at most an Awakened. "In the face of this unchecked power, even the most radiant truth can only be silenced. Yet I do not believe forced submission is a crime... It is more like a disgrace! "And it is *your* disgrace!" Battlefield Atmosphere Group pointed at the standing officers. A few had already slunk back into their seats, but many remained on their feet. "You claim eternal loyalty to the Marshal, eternal loyalty to the Legion, and eternal loyalty to the Wilante! Yet you make your own compatriots fear you, then make even more people fear your compatriots, using their terror to line your own pockets... Am I wrong? That is who you truly are! "Two fires were lit in West Sail Port. One was started by unorganized rioters, and the other by organized rioters... Why was it the first fire that flushed out the Heavenly King Army? "Where on earth did the Heavenly King Army's weapons come from? Why did so much gear end up in their hands? Who was the one funneling them supplies?! "And why! Why were those two hundred people right under your noses, yet you would rather slaughter local civilians than take a single step forward?! "Yes, you didn't know they were at Count Sharma's estate, just as the prosecutor said. But what are your legs, your eyes, and your hands for? Ornaments?! "Why could I find them, but you couldn't? Aside from shipping more gunpowder into West Sail Port, did you ever actually lift a finger to search?! "What did you come here to do?! Answer me! Look me in the eye and answer!" His furious roar rolled outward like a tsunami, crashing fearlessly against the officers glaring back at him. Though the standing officers kept their expressions stony, the looks of the people sitting beside them shifted dramatically. Margot covered her mouth, tears of emotion brimming in her eyes as she pressed her forehead against her husband's shoulder. At last, someone had voiced the terror that had gripped her heart that night. At last, someone had spoken aloud the fear her children had endured. Before confirming that they no longer mattered to the powers that be, they hadn't even dared step out of that estate to tell their children they were still alive. All because of fear. She hadn't wanted to die for some nebulous reason, taking the whole truth to the grave. Even if all she had seen was a blurry shadow, hardly qualifying as evidence... Arman rested his hand on her shoulder, holding his wife tight while offering an unyielding look of encouragement to the man in the dock, urging him to continue. Individual gazes converged into streams, and the streams swelled into a mighty river. A vast force was taking shape! It was the very power that had once supported the Wilante, enabling them to shatter their chains! Tears of excitement shone in Penny's eyes; she almost cheered aloud for him. The Wilante had their own backbone. They were not spineless cowards devoid of convictions. The sword of truth was blazing with brilliant light! She could feel the surging emotion in the hall, forcing the maggots lurking in the gutters to duck their heads in shame and avert their eyes. Those filthy creatures dared not answer these questions. They didn't even dare acknowledge the problems existed, preferring to make pathetic excuses or change the subject once the storm passed. At the plaintiff's table, the prosecutor broke out in a cold sweat, trying to distract himself by shuffling through his papers. What could he say? The evidence this fellow held might well be far more explosive than the few sheets of paper in his hands! He no longer dared look toward the sea of spectators, nor did he dare look up at his allies on the bench—the judges who already had their verdict prepared. More and more eyes turned toward the Southern Legion officers, making those still standing find it harder and harder to maintain their composure. One by one, they succumbed and sat back down. What cut them deepest was that it wasn't just the citizens—even their own subordinates were looking at them with hesitation... *Why didn't we attack the Heavenly King Army instead of venting our fury on defenseless civilians?!* Pete, chewing on a toothpick, wanted to know as well. He stared intently at his centurion. Once the centurion sat down, Pete turned his gaze to Ross, his superior's superior—the millurion who had been rendered speechless at the northern checkpoint. *Why?* He clenched his fists so tightly he wanted to smash the desk. *Say something, damn it!* *Say something!* Watching the courtroom's atmosphere completely flip, MacLaren smiled and clapped softly. "Heh, splendid." As expected of the subordinate he had personally elevated. The fellow had truly grown. MacLaren could tell that the man had considered giving up for a brief moment, but had ultimately changed his mind. It was the right choice. If he gave up on himself, no amount of effort from those trying to protect him would matter. At least in this moment, he had demonstrated his worth to stay alive—and had earned it with his own hands. Unlike the smiling, applauding MacLaren, Gulion—who had looked so smug just moments earlier—was now panicking. He didn't know the exact machinations of the Southern Legion's top brass, but he could easily deduce that the "Heavenly King Rebellion" was no mere accident. Or rather, an invisible hand had been fanning the flames behind that accident. It might be his superior, his superior's superior, or perhaps the Legion Commander himself, who had granted him "supreme command over the Brahma Province theater"! Yet here and now, this fool was tossing such classified secrets out into an open trial! *Is he insane?!* *As if the civil faction hadn't been pulling strings behind the scenes as well?!* Watching this runaway truck careen toward him, a drop of cold sweat slid down Gulion's temple. His original intent had been to use this trial to humiliate the hindering civil faction, never imagining he would be outmaneuvered, dropping a boulder on his own foot. With trembling fingers, he took off his cap and tossed it unceremoniously onto the table. This was the prearranged signal to the judge. He had to shut this trial down! He had to stop that idiot from saying another word! Battlefield Guy had no intention of continuing anyway, simply watching the roaring courtroom. It hardly resembled a dignified court; the clamor was more like a vegetable market. Still, his goal had been accomplished. The court could not completely disregard the gallery's sentiment. A verdict that should have been uncontested was now fraught with controversy. He lacked concrete evidence for much of it; the Southern Legion wouldn't leave too many loose ends. But serving as a catalyst to highlight the suspicions was more than enough. As long as doubts lingered, what he had done had meaning. Next, just as he had said, he would appeal step by step all the way to Triumph City, carrying the hopes resting upon his shoulders to the very end! "Well said!" Arman was the first to leap to his feet. Disregarding court rules just like the officers before him, he roared at the prosecutor, "Answer his questions!" A chorus of voices rose in deafening echoes! "That's right! Answer him!" "What did you come here for?! Did you come to save us, or were you preparing to invade?!" "Where were you when we needed you?!" "Why didn't you go save my mother! And another thing, why were so many weapons stored at the harbor?!" Clutching the railing with both hands, little Ruby's heart had also been ignited. Her bright eyes wide, she shouted at the top of her lungs. Though her delicate voice made hardly a ripple, swallowed up instantly by the roaring wave of sound, she still raised her own voice. She would never forget the terror of that day. Otherwise, all courage would lose its meaning. The standing officers had all sat down. On one hand, their superiors' warning glares held them back; on the other, they genuinely lacked the nerve to remain standing against such scrutiny. Total disillusionment showed in Pete's eyes. Spitting out his toothpick, he cursed under his breath, "Fucking cowards," enduring the humiliation with clenched fists. He wasn't afraid of facing the Alliance in a fair fight. Yet this shame made it impossible to hold his head high. "Order! Order!" Looking at the chaotic scene, the sweating presiding judge raised his gavel, about to bring it down, but paused. He had noticed the cap before General Gulion and caught the urgent glare. Yet precisely because of that, his gavel hung suspended in midair, refusing to fall. He understood General Gulion's signal well. At the same time, he knew what complying would mean. This would not merely be a controversial ruling; it would fly completely in the face of public sentiment, leaving him unable to conjure even a pretense of justification. Could he really tell the people, "Though doubts remain, this court finds him guilty anyway"? Shooting at a hero did not dim his halo; it immortalized him, while the one pulling the trigger would be nailed to a pillar of shame, becoming an eternal clown. The real clown was afraid to shoot, so he handed the trigger to the judge, wanting him to play the villain. *Coward...* *You're a three-star myriadman, for crying out loud!* Gritting his teeth, the presiding judge wrestled with his conscience for a long moment before finally bringing the gavel down hard. Yet his ruling did not align with General Gulion's wishes, drawing an unmistakable look of disappointment from the general. "This court decrees: due to insufficient evidence submitted by the prosecution, it is impossible to declare the defendant guilty... "Since the prosecution claims Millurion Pangolin betrayed the Marshal, the Legion, and all Wilante... let the Marshal, the courts of Triumph City, and all Wilante judge him together." Pausing, he added, "The court of West Sail Port is too small to handle a case of this magnitude. "Court is adjourned!" The moment his words fell, thunderous applause erupted from the gallery! Arman's eyes shone with excitement, his hands clapping until they were bright red. He was not alone. Beside him stood Margot, all the other survivors, and people who had traveled from distant colonies... Aside from the Southern Legion officers, nearly everyone present rose to applaud! Including General MacLaren. This was not merely a victory for Pangolin; it was a victory for all of them—even if they were still far from final triumph! At least in this moment, they had not chosen silence, nor had they let unchecked power run rampant. They had stood up bravely to defend their rights! The right to know the truth! "Oooooh!" Just like the adults around her, little Ruby cheered excitedly, hanging her entire body over the railing, her little legs swinging in midair. She didn't understand the complicated principles; she only thought Big Brother Pangolin was incredibly cool, leaving all those men speechless. Though— Compared to her mom and dad, he still had a long way to go, of course! Basking in the roaring applause, the presiding judge bowed his head slightly, accepting the cheers with a tinge of shame, before departing the bench alongside the other four judges. General Gulion clenched his fists silently, his teeth grinding audibly. Just then, an irritating voice came from beside him. "I think it's better if you keep the big picture in mind. Leave the troubles of big figures to the big figures... Wouldn't you say? Getting tangled up too deeply makes it easy to end up like that friend of mine—suddenly suffering a stroke." Having stopped clapping, General MacLaren looked at him with a victorious smile. Gulion shot him a glare, rose coldly from his seat, picked up his cap from the table, and put it on. "I won't lower myself to the level of a millurion." "Mm, you didn't strike me as someone so petty... Aside from that, well played." MacLaren picked up his own cap, put it on, and extended his right hand with a smile. General Gulion did not take his hand. Without so much as a glance, he turned on his heel and strode away. Meanwhile, amidst the cheers, Battlefield Atmosphere Group finally lowered his clenched fists, his heart settling back down from his throat. He had never pulled off anything this awesome in his entire life. This was way harder than taking down the Mother Deathclaw! His chest heaved gently. Looking at the survivors applauding for him, a warm smile melted across his taut face. Truth be told, the experience was genuinely fun. If this game didn't sell for ten grand a pop, the devs were seriously ripping themselves off!