"General Absaik, I am Akbar, Emperor of Xilan. I send this telegram today for no other reason than the safety of the millions of common people of Xilan.
"I acknowledge that the late King handled the Gray Wolf Army improperly. The orphans and widows were left unattended, and the wounded were not properly cared for. Yet even so, this is no justification for your treason and disloyalty.
"However, I am no tyrant. For the sake of our past bond as sovereign and subject, I grant you the chance to surrender now and spare your life. You shall be enfeoffed as Grand Duke of Lion State, your wealth and glory preserved.
"If you obstinately persist on this course, General, bringing ruin upon the people of the Xilan Empire and earning eternal infamy, do not blame me for not offering you the shore to turn back to..."
Inside a simply furnished office in the courthouse of West Sail Port.
Akbar Xilan bent over the desk, having penned a two-thousand-word proclamation urging surrender. He rose and respectfully handed it to the Wilante officer standing behind him.
"How did I do?"
The young emperor arched his brow, a proud smile on his face that also carried a touch of servility.
The Wilante didn't even look at it, merely replying coldly, "That depends on how the recipient replies."
Akbar's smile froze, but he managed a hollow laugh. "You make a good point... Let's hope that Absaik knows what's good for him and surrenders soon."
The Wilante officer grinned, patted him on the shoulder, and then abruptly stroked his cheek, like patting an obedient dog.
What a good dog.
His smile held an overt sneer and mockery—a contempt stemming from the very bottom of his heart.
Akbar's head buzzed. He stared at the man in disbelief, not understanding what that face-stroking gesture meant, and actually misinterpreted it as something illicit between men and women.
Could this guy...
be into that sort of thing?
Goosebumps broke out across his entire body, and he stepped back in horror.
The officer offered no explanation, striding out the door with the letter in hand.
Another person remained standing in the office: a silent old Lionfolk man.
He had once been merely an ordinary citizen of West Sail Port, a janitor sweeping floors at the courthouse. One day, a peerage was inexplicably thrust upon him, and the Wilante ordered him to serve as Akbar's attendant, while also keeping an eye on His Majesty on behalf of the Southern Legion.
As for His Majesty's former servants, every last one had been driven away and replaced with people from West Sail Port.
That included the so-called Imperial Cabinet, and even the partners sharing His Majesty's bed.
These weren't allies at all—they were a gang of kidnappers.
The old man let out a soft sigh, offering a few comforting words to the fuming young emperor. "Calm yourself, Your Majesty... There is no need to lower yourself to their level."
Akbar regained his composure and shook his head. "The Wilante are passionate, direct people. Sometimes they're rough around the edges... I understand."
The old man froze, staring blankly at the young emperor for several seconds, as though seeing the deceased former king.
Alike.
They were far too alike...
***
The 30th Myriad had breached Lion City!
News of the victory reached West Sail Port, and it also traveled to another frontline of the Southern Legion's Bolo Province theater—Sulak County on the northern front.
Looking at the startling battle report in his hands, Myriad Commander Otley couldn't help but curl his lip into a grim smile.
"That lunatic."
Bombarding a population center of a million people with incendiary bombs—that madman actually went through with it.
Wasn't he worried the fire might rage out of control and burn all million head of cattle to ashes?
Fortunately, it was the rainy season; the dense smoke churning from the inferno coaxed the rain down from the sky.
Otherwise, the entire city would have gone up in smoke!
The staff officer beside him nodded, murmuring softly, "Still, one has to admit it was extremely efficient."
The enemy's six myriads completely collapsed, routed into a shambles by a few cohorts.
And the over one million survivors in the city were beaten into nothing but weeping and wailing.
Though the ammunition expenditure was somewhat heavy, relative to the gains, the cost was well within acceptable bounds.
If Myriad Commander Ryan chose to press the advantage and advance east, the capital Tiandu would likely plunge into total chaos, with allied factions turning on each other and brawling over whether to resist or not.
Especially that Absaik.
According to their profile of him, that "petty bourgeois" was almost guaranteed to flee.
Otley nodded in approval, agreeing with his staff officer's assessment. "...Once the reinforcing airships arrive, we might as well follow his example."
Meanwhile, at a garrison in central Sulak County, several patrolling soldiers were talking about the matter as well.
"At least ten thousand must've burned to death."
"Ten thousand?! I'd say a hundred thousand at the very least!"
"Damn right, feels so fucking good!"
A few Wilante soldiers huddled together, excitedly discussing the victory report from Lion City.
All of them were subordinates of Cohort Commander Ross, and witnesses to the West Sail Port tragedy.
Due to the Alliance envoy's lip service and General MacLaren's cowardice and incompetence, they hadn't gotten their fill of killing in West Sail Port.
Now, someone ruthless had finally avenged those three thousand-plus dead Wilante residents. The foul stench suffocating their chests was finally vented.
Sure enough, the true orthodoxy of Triumph City still belonged to the Southern Legion.
Those civil officials corrupted by gold and those Eastern Legion landlords had gone soft long ago!
Standing beside them, Decurion Pete puffed on cigarette after cigarette. Unable to stomach it any longer, he couldn't resist chiming in: "What's the point of this? Even without the bombing, those natives with fire-sticks couldn't have stopped them anyway."
He thought of the serfs who had died in the woods with red soil stuffed in their pockets.
His superiors had told him to hold his tongue, but he still couldn't hold back: what kind of hero slaughters a bunch of unarmed civilians?
Never before had he despised his own identity and honor so deeply. Being around these people filled him with nothing but disgust.
The soldiers paused, looking at each other in silence, until one veteran spoke up: "There's still a point to it, if only to break the Bolo people's will to fight—"
"And what if it isn't broken?" Pete retorted. "The same trick doesn't work every time, and this time our enemy outnumbers us several times over."
"We're showing them that numbers are meaningless!" The veteran's temper flared, his neck reddening as he argued heatedly. "They lost at least a hundred thousand in a single day! We're using our actions to show them that even one or two hundred million isn't enough to last them a single year!"
How could it be that simple?
Even if they exterminated ten billion rats a day, they could never wipe out every rat in the world.
When he thought about it carefully, they had never truly conquered the lands in their hands.
From the day Avent City was founded, their wars had never ended.
Perhaps they were the ones furthest from the New Era.
Not wanting to quarrel with his comrades, Pete shook his head, pinched out the cigarette butt between his lips, and tossed it aside.
Serfs watching from a distance caught his eye and scurried away in terror.
Pete felt a strange sense of incongruity, though he couldn't put his finger on what felt off.
Only after the serfs disappeared did it hit him: nobody had scrambled to snatch his cigarette butt...
***
In the southern district of Lion City, what had once been tightly packed houses had turned to rubble.
The fire hadn't stopped at the southern district; it had scorched nearly half the city.
Ryan, who had entered the city, didn't bother to deliberately slaughter the locals—there was simply no need.
Enough had already died.
Far from resisting, the survivors didn't even dare breathe loudly before their noses.
He wasn't so insane as to kill just for the sake of killing. Instead, he ordered his cohort commanders to hire a batch of locals to form an auxiliary security force to maintain order in the city.
Remnants of the Bolo Army still lingered in the city, many having blended into the civilian population.
They were a hidden danger.
The fact that they chose to hide rather than flee meant they hadn't given up fighting.
Still, they wouldn't stay hidden for long.
Soon, he would replicate General Gullion's playbook from West Sail Port: carve out a small slice of the colonial pie for a segment of the colonized, granting them money, power, and dignity... turning them into a new nobility.
That way, nobody would miss Absaik. They would even praise the Southern Legion colonizers for arriving in time to deliver them from misery.
This was the carrot and the stick.
Once the local survivors derived a sense of bliss from being slaves, even the wheat harvested from the fields would cease to be the labor of peasants and become the Wilante's benevolent gift.
When that time came, a fertile colony would be born.
There might be some resistance, just like the minor rebellions across the Legion's territories, but it would never swell into a grand host of two hundred thousand again.
The command vehicle of the 30th Myriad drove inconspicuously along the muddy road. Myriad Commander Ryan opened the observation slit, gazing upon his "magnificent achievement."
In the pouring rain, desperate people sifted through the ruins for the bodies of their loved ones. Others stared blankly at their incinerated homes, or collapsed in the mud, wailing their lungs out.
Those hollow, soul-emptied figures elicited no pity from him; instead, they stirred an unspeakable exhilaration in his chest.
This is the fate of anyone who defies the Legion!
Still, watching the same misery over and over grew dull. Once satisfied, Myriad Commander Ryan closed the slit, turned to his adjutant seated across from him, and asked, "Did they find that guy named Yudono?"
The adjutant shook his head. "No... Word is he perished in the fire."
Ryan sneered. "Hah, a brave warrior after all."
He had heard that man was a veteran of the Heavenly King Army.
If he had survived, Ryan wouldn't have killed him. He would have kept him by his side so he could witness with his own eyes what would become of the land he fought for, his homeland, and the entire Bolo Province.
That was true vengeance.
Pausing, the adjutant's expression grew solemn as he continued, "...Also, word just came from the rear. Our 902mm heavy cannon was intercepted by the Alliance's Skeleton Corps. The 34th Myriad suffered over fifty percent casualties. They were shattered by an Alliance armored division, and are currently retreating toward West Sail Port alongside the transport and logistics units."
The casualties suffered by the 34th Myriad could only be described as devastating.
Yet it couldn't be helped; they had run headlong into the Alliance's armor, and were subsequently hit from behind by the Alliance air force.
Ryan frowned in displeasure, but said nothing more, merely nodding calmly. "I am already aware."
The adjutant hesitated, asking, "Should we leave it alone?"
That railway line was quite important, as were the armored train and the 902mm heavy cannon aboard it.
Yet Ryan wasn't worried, speaking evenly, "There are still twenty-two myriads in West Sail Port. They will handle what comes next. General Gullion already anticipated that the Alliance would go all out against our logistics; naturally, he has trump cards of his own. That is not for us to worry about."
The adjutant still harbored doubts, but dared not press further, changing the subject: "Then... what is our next move?"
"Tiandu."
Ryan uttered the word, the corners of his taut mouth curling upward.
"Why wait until Otley takes Dog State? We can punch straight through the whole Bolo Republic while they're still dragging their feet."
The adjutant's spirits rose, the doubts in his eyes replaced by burning fighting spirit.
Tiandu!
The capital of the Bolo Republic!
Once that fell, the outcome of the war would be settled.
Seeing the fighting spirit in his adjutant's eyes, Ryan chuckled softly. "...I heard there's an absurdly large starship there. I'm rather curious to see what it looks like."
The adjutant across from him smiled as well. "Leaving a relic like that in a backwater dump is a criminal waste. Those useless civil officials were completely indifferent, but we might be able to build an airship even bigger than the Clarion out of it."
Ryan offered a knowing smile. "That depends on whether the boys in the air force make it worth our while. We can't let them have such a bargain for nothing."
***
The torrential rain poured endlessly, stretching all the way from Lion City to Tiandu.
A sentry in a raincoat was patrolling along the mud-drenched road when he suddenly saw a horse galloping toward him from the distance.
A man sat upon its back.
The Supreme Commander had long requisitioned all horses in the area and sent them to the front lines; one could hardly spot a single horse in the entire Bull State.
Spotting this unusual figure, the sentry instantly grew alert.
He raised his rifle, aimed at the rider thundering through the curtain of rain, and bellowed, "Halt!"
The rider didn't answer, continuing to charge straight toward them.
The sentry swallowed hard, hesitating alongside his partner over whether to pull the trigger, when the horse suddenly seemed to run out of strength. With a long, exhausted wheeze, it crashed to the ground.
The man was flung through the air, sending muddy water splashing high. The horse thrashed weakly in the mud before foaming at the mouth and dying.
The sentry exchanged a glance with his partner and jogged over, only to discover the fallen man was actually a cohort commander. Shocked, they rushed to help him up.
"S-Sir..."
Isher stared at him numbly, then looked in the direction of Tiandu. Without a word, he pushed away the hand supporting him and began limping toward the city gates, ignoring the dying horse on the ground.
His hair clung to his face like soaked straw; his lifeless face looked as if his soul had been ripped out.
The sentry watched blankly as the limping figure trudged silently away. Gritting his teeth, he slung his rifle over his back and hurried after him.
"Sir, we have bicycles at the outpost... I'll carry you! It's faster!"
With that, he draped his raincoat over the man's shoulders.
This time, Isher finally reacted, mumbling a thank-you before letting the young man hoist him onto his back.
The two silhouettes merged, cutting through the rain and hurrying into the nearby outpost.
Soon, a bicycle was wheeled out. The sentry mounted it and pedaled with all his might, churning the chain as if trying to strike sparks.
Isher sat behind him, his eyes staring blankly at the roaring rain.
He tightly gripped the parcel in his hands. Inside was a camera entrusted to him by a journalist, containing photographs taken at the front lines.
Never in his life would he forget those faces.
Nor the fire that swallowed everything...
***
Tens of thousands of kilometers away, in the sunlit Cloud Province, stood the Ideal City, favored above all others.
Inside the highest building of this thriving utopia, the final hearing was being held regarding the matter that had sparked recent controversies.
The Council members gathered here were to make a final decision on how much budget the Enterprise would commit to stopping the Legion's continued eastward expansion.
The supporters had their reasons: whether to secure arms orders or out of moral obligation, they had to take action.
An unfulfilled treaty was meaningless; blind appeasement would only embolden the Legion.
The opponents had their own stance as well: after all, these budgets would ultimately be paid for by the residents of Ideal City, who had already spent enough Cr on strangers over the past two years.
An unfulfilled treaty was indeed meaningless, but the Legion was like an unkillable cockroach that never learned its lesson; they couldn't keep playing "war games" with those big noses over and over.
A shareholder of the Endpoint Group spoke up at the meeting, suggesting they seek a once-and-for-all solution—such as completely dismembering those militarist madmen, rather than sending help piecemeal like this.
Of course, as to how exactly they would dismember the Legion, he had no viable plan in mind.
Still, that was something that could be discussed in another meeting.
Given these diametrically opposed views, it was practically guaranteed that the debate at this hearing would be extraordinarily fierce.
Yet events took an entirely unexpected turn. The council members who had been arguing tooth and nail until yesterday were now eerily silent.
In the center of the spacious hall, upon a cubic holographic projection, a city of a million people was burning in a sea of flames.
That settlement was not much smaller than Ideal City, perhaps even slightly larger, though it lacked bizarre high technology and soaring skyscrapers.
Before the cube stood a holographic projection of a man.
It was Li Ke from the Academy's Department of Research.
Until this hearing, the most illustrious moment of his life had been the stumble he took at the gates of Falcon City.
And now, his scientific research vessel had flown all the way to Cloud Province.
"...The above is what the Legion is currently doing in Bolo Province. Theoretically, this could happen anywhere in this world, just as it has happened countless times before.
"You council members may continue your debate. I hope the visual materials we provided have not ruined your mood."
No further words were necessary.
The silent footage had spoken for him.
Li Ke gave a slight nod, and his pale blue phantom vanished from the spacious hall.
Silence reigned among those seated.
Shock, fury, disbelief, and sheer horror were etched across every face.
At that moment, Shuyu, ambassador from the Alliance, rose to his feet. He surveyed the seated council members and spoke:
"...We were not part of the negotiations for that ancient treaty, but we know full well that a mere sheet of paper cannot restrain anyone.
"Beyond ending the war itself, we must put war criminals on trial and settle past wrongs... Only then can we ensure similar tragedies never happen again, just as we did in Haiya Province."
Looking at the murmuring council members, he declared in a solemn voice:
"What you are unwilling to do, you can leave to us. We do not mind burning ourselves for the sake of those suffering survivors.
"In return, however, we need your support—support to the fullest extent of your capabilities!"
Having spoken, he sat back down, leaving the floor to the assembly.
The hall fell quiet once more. This time, even the murmurs died away; only glances were exchanged.
It seemed people had run out of reasons to argue.
Faced with higher interests, the petty calculations they fretted over were simply too insignificant.
Seeing that no one else wished to speak, the meeting's chairman raised his hand. "Let us vote."
As the words left his mouth, he pressed his hand to the voting console and cast his ballot.
In less than a minute, the voting concluded. The result was an astonishing 1000 to 0 to 0.
Never in the past two centuries had such a thing occurred; not a single person had even abstained.
History seemed to repeat itself.
Just as their forefathers had chosen to remain on this land, they once again made a unanimous choice.
Surprise dawned on face after face, followed by pleasant shock; even the chairman muttered that it was unbelievable.
As his gavel came down, an aid package with an unlimited budget was approved by the Council.
They would provide the Alliance with everything Ideal City could offer, backing their ally to haul the instigators of this war before a solemn tribunal!
***
At the exact same time this unlimited-budget aid package passed, a special news bulletin shook the entirety of Port Golden Gallon.
"The Lion City Tragedy! Southern Legion Burns City to the Ground!"
The headline was printed in staggering, enormous letters, the red ink resembling human blood.
And the banner image was a photograph taken of the airship Clarion dropping incendiary bombs!
The photo had been taken by a reporter from Survivor Daily, reportedly brought back from the front lines by a cohort commander named Isher.
Staring at the undeniable proof of these atrocities, fury ignited in the eyes of every survivor.
"...Wilante dogs!"
"Damn it! I'm enlisting too!"
"Didn't you say you were heading to Camp 101 to learn a trade?"
"Screw that! If I go, it'll be after we slaughter every last one of those big noses!"
"Motherfuckers... worse than beasts!"
Myriad Commander Ryan had miscalculated the situation after all.
The survivors of Lion City were still engulfed in grief over losing their kin. Though many had indeed lowered their heads, those lowered heads by no means signaled surrender.
And not just the survivors of Lion City.
The survivors of Port Golden Gallon, Mammoth City, Tiandu City, and countless millions of others felt the same.
He knew full well that rebellions throughout the Legion's territories had never ceased, yet he had still delusionally believed that an even greater inferno could suppress the fury burning in the hearts of this land's survivors.
Not only had Ryan misjudged the outcome, but Myriad Commander Otley and even General Gullion, commander-in-chief of the Bolo Province theater, were equally wrong on this matter.
Upon learning of the catastrophe in Lion City, Absaik didn't tuck his tail between his legs and run like a coward. Instead, shedding his past indecisiveness, he took direct command of the Bull State War Zone as Supreme Commander, and even issued a fiercely defiant telegram broadcast across all of Bolo Province, calling upon every Bolo citizen to unite and vowing to fight the Legion to the death!
Whether it was political theater or not, no one knew; but for now, he had not fled.
Morale in Tiandu reached unprecedented heights. This time, even the rank-and-file officers harboring grievances against Absaik stopped cursing him as a "hypocrite."
While he wasn't as decisive as Janusz, he at least had the courage to fight to the death, and that alone was worthy of praise.
Meanwhile, external reinforcements were arriving one after another.
The Bolo Province expeditionary force had once contributed to the annihilation of the Church of the Torch, and the survivors of the eastern provinces naturally wouldn't leave them out in the cold.
Over a dozen transport ships arrived at the harbor of Port Golden Gallon.
A formation of soldiers wearing gas masks and shouldering rifles stepped silently onto the docks of Port Golden Gallon, marching toward the military base amid showers of flowers and cheers from the locals.
They were the Death Corps.
In the Battle of Luoxia and the Bone Chewer Turmoil, they had rendered illustrious service. Their fearless, suicidal combat doctrine had struck terror into the hearts of countless marauder tribes and the Eastern Legion's expeditionary force alike!
Five thousand men had landed this time, with another five thousand expected to arrive soon.
Watching the girls tossing flowers from the roadside, In Debt God couldn't help but complain, "Why do we have to wear gas masks? Are our faces that unpresentable?"
Marching in the ranks, Brother Edge rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, "Given our casualty rate, do you really think showing our faces all day is a good idea?"
In Debt God: "...Damn, why do you make so much sense!"
Walking among their ranks in gas masks weren't just players, but also many of Yu's sub-entities.
After In Debt God's repeated training and discipline, these sub-entities—previously as dumb as bricks—had finally evolved from Redcoats standing in line to get shot into World War I infantry, capable of charging with fixed bayonets like the Legion's clone cannon fodder.
These sub-entities were all genetically templated from the cheapest gnawers, costing far less than clones.
A player with level 10 intelligence could command roughly ten sub-entities, but his upper limit was two hundred!
As for potential contamination from mutant slime mold, there was no need to worry—the red soil mycelium would dispose of their corpses.
Once the group reached the base and updated their save points, they boarded vehicles to the port and transferred to river steamers bound for Tiandu.
The inland river port was a hive of activity.
Apart from a lone Royal Merchant vessel floating on the river, practically every cargo ship had been requisitioned by the Bolo Republic and Port Golden Gallon authorities to transport war materiel and personnel.
Watching the brothers board the ships, Brother Edge shouted to them, "The Wilante have taken Lion City, but we can't let them take Tiandu! The boys from the Academy are already helping us deploy anti-airship weapons in Tiandu. Our mission is to hold the line at all costs!"
A thunderous, morale-charged roar answered him:
"Owooooo!!!"
Chapter 862