Snake State, Theater Command Headquarters.
Upon hearing the report of victory from Tiandu, Shahrukh’s mouth dropped open in shock, his face filled with sheer disbelief.
After a long silence, he paced over to the window, pulled out a tissue to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and muttered under his breath.
“Son of a bitch… That bastard Absaik actually managed to hold it.”
In his original projections, Tiandu was doomed to fall. The turning point of the war was only supposed to come after the Southern Legion’s airships dispersed, which was why he had rushed south so frantically to prepare for war.
He had never expected the Southern Legion to be a paper tiger. Five airships wiped out in one fell swoop by the Alliance, and an army of nearly a hundred thousand driven back a hundred kilometers, retreating all the way to the bend in the great river.
After turning it over in his mind for a long while, he tossed the tissue into the wastebasket and made up his mind with a grit of his teeth.
“Son of a bitch… We have to march north!”
North from Snake State into Wolf State, and then into Lion State from the northwest corner of Wolf State.
That way, he could be considered to have opened a third front. It would save him from having everyone see that he, the “Horse King,” had slacked off through the entire war once the fighting wrapped up, only to be branded with the shameful reputation of passive combat.
A plan suddenly struck him. Shahrukh immediately grabbed the telephone off his desk and barked an order.
“Bring Zayed in here.”
Over a month ago, that fellow named Zayed had arrived in Snake State from Horse State leading the Gray Wolf Army, carrying the lofty title of Commander-in-Chief of the Snake State Theater.
How could one state tolerate two commanders-in-chief?
Shahrukh had seen through it at a glance: Absaik was displeased by his desertion and had found some cannon fodder to prod him.
The reason he considered the man cannon fodder was that he had never seen him before. The fellow clearly was not one of Absaik’s confidants; even if he died, it would not pain Absaik in the slightest.
Yet precisely for that reason, even if Shahrukh killed the man, Absaik would not have an excuse to turn hostile.
It had been a move meant to test the waters.
Interestingly enough, Absaik’s eye for talent always seemed rather poor.
First, Anwo had engaged in underhanded schemes behind his back. Now, this piece of cannon fodder was equally unwilling to serve as a sacrificial pawn. The moment he reached Snake State, he had grabbed Shahrukh’s hand, poured out his deep admiration, and then voluntarily surrendered his title of Commander-in-Chief.
The whole sequence of antics had amused Shahrukh to no end. Better yet, after reciting a long list of Absaik’s incompetence and folly, Zayed had even pledged to help Shahrukh become the Grand Commander.
While Shahrukh hardly believed the man had such capability, he genuinely appreciated his knack for convincing the Gray Wolf Army to surrender.
The fellow was glib. He might not have what it took to be a general, but he was more than qualified to serve as a courtier.
Moreover, simply to spite Absaik, Shahrukh had promptly bestowed upon Zayed the title of advisor—you sent someone to put me in my place, and now he’s my subordinate; how does that taste?
Zayed had been exceedingly sensible, happily accepting the title of advisor.
Later on, Shahrukh kept the man by his side to keep an eye on him, while banishing Gopal and the rest of the Gray Wolves to the north of Snake State, effectively placing them under house arrest.
That was where matters had rested.
Yet the sudden news of victory from Tiandu brought Zayed, the former “Commander-in-Chief of the Snake State Theater,” back to the forefront of his mind.
Before long, a soft knock came from the door, and Zayed walked in.
“General, did you summon me?”
Looking at Zayed standing in the doorway, Shahrukh cleared his throat and assumed a grave tone.
“The situation on the front line is urgent. The entire Brahma Province is fighting back against the Legion, and staying idle like this won’t do. Circumstances didn’t permit action before, but they do now. I intend to establish a field army to march into Lion State and engage the enemy.”
“With your talent, keeping you as an advisor is a waste. You ought to show your prowess on the battlefield. Here is what we’ll do: take Gopal and the Gray Wolves, and I’ll give you another fifty thousand men. You must plant our flag atop the walls of Lion City!”
Using someone else’s troops to accomplish his own goals—the more Shahrukh thought about it, the more he felt he was an absolute genius!
Winning or losing did not matter.
As long as these Gray Wolves clashed hard enough with the Legion and suffered enough casualties, no one could accuse him of not pulling his weight.
Little did Shahrukh know, every shred of his scheming was transparent as glass.
Zayed could tell what he was up to the moment he twitched, but showed no haste, merely offering a faint smile.
“General, please be patient. I understand your burning patriotism has nowhere to vent, but the time for you to march north has not yet arrived.”
Seeing that the man was not taking the bait, Shahrukh raised an eyebrow and replied with a half-smile.
“It’s not that I’m impatient, but the situation at the front changes at a moment’s notice. I’m afraid waiting any longer will make us too late. Surely you aren’t afraid, Mr. Zayed? In my army, cowardice in the face of battle earns a bullet.”
Hearing the taunt and underlying threat, Zayed smiled, entirely unfazed.
“The General jokes. Back at West Sail Port, I faced the Legion all on my own without ever flinching. Why would I be afraid now that we hold the upper hand?”
Shahrukh let out a cold chuckle, his expression unchanged, though his gaze chilled.
*All on your own, what a joke.*
*Were the one or two thousand men who died for nothing that day not people?*
*And how come I heard you ran so hard you lost your shoes?*
However, he did not call him out.
An elephant had no need to reason with an ant; crushing this man would be child's play.
Seeming to sense Shahrukh’s murderous intent, Zayed picked up his pace slightly and continued.
“General, do you know how long the Eastern Legion’s Eastward Expansion faction fought the Great Rift Valley?”
Puzzled as to why the topic had suddenly jumped to the Eastern Legion, Shahrukh frowned.
“I have no idea… I know about the Eastern Legion, but what the hell is this Eastward Expansion faction?”
Zayed explained calmly.
“…The Eastward Expansion faction is an obscure political wing within the Eastern Legion, one with negligible influence. They are dedicated to expanding into the eastern regions of the Great Desert where the Eastern Legion holds no sway. To make an imperfect comparison: if the Eastern Legion were the State of Brahma, the Eastward Expansion faction would be the Family Association and the Gray Wolves.”
Shahrukh blinked in surprise, then burst into loud laughter.
“That’s an interesting analogy.”
Seeing that playing humble had yielded results, Zayed smiled faintly and continued.
“Without the backing of the Eastern Legion, the Eastward Expansion faction gathered an army of a million men, mounted an expedition spanning tens of thousands of kilometers, and fought the Great Rift Valley for a full year before reaching an outcome—and the ripples of that war still haven't settled to this day.”
“Look at the Southern Legion by comparison. While factions exist within their ranks as well, there is no apparent division regarding their war against us, unlike the Eastern Legion.”
“Just imagine: a hound kept by a branch of the Legion could fight the remnants of the Reconstruction Committee to a standstill… Now that a Legion branch is taking the field in person, is there any chance this war will end so quickly?”
Shahrukh’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You mean… this war is going to drag on?”
What he feared most was the war ending too quickly, leaving him looking irrelevant.
Yet if Zayed’s analysis was accurate and the conflict had a long way to go, wading into these muddy waters right now was ill-advised.
His troops ought to serve as the decisive hammer, not fuel to be fed into the fire piecemeal.
“Without a doubt,” Zayed continued patiently, watching Shahrukh’s shifting gaze. “The Alliance will not be satisfied with victory in a single local campaign, nor will the Southern Legion concede defeat over one local setback.”
“The latter will continue their mobilization—in fact, their mobilization has only just begun. Meanwhile, the former will continue mobilizing their allies, especially those along the east coast.”
“The scope of this war will not remain confined to Brahma Province; it will stretch all the way to the western edge of the Great Desert, to the Southern Legion’s colonies, and even their homeland… Nor will the war conclude solely with the fate of Brahma Province's survivors; it will ultimately impact the vast majority of survivors across the wasteland.”
“The Alliance and Enterprise must have reached some agreement. They intend to eliminate all threats once and for all, and this is destined to be a protracted war.”
“Precisely because of this, it is far too early to carve up the spoils. Deploying your troops at this moment is indeed a bit hasty.”
After Zayed finished, Shahrukh sank into deep thought, eventually sitting back down in his chair.
Seeing those relaxed shoulders, Zayed knew he had successfully persuaded him, and a relaxed smile appeared on his own face.
These warlords might know how to scheme, but their tricks were limited, always revolving around the same few moves: either borrowing someone else’s blade to kill, or watching the fire from the opposite bank.
Whether it was Absaik or Shahrukh, both were far too weak in his eyes.
While Zayed thought this, Shahrukh was weighing his own considerations.
He asked himself honestly: his intellect was second to none, but when it came to a “global perspective,” he genuinely could not compete with those who had seen the outside world.
Take this moment, for instance.
He had not even known the Eastern Legion had an Eastward Expansion faction, let alone that it had fought the Great Rift Valley for an entire year.
Letting Zayed and the Gray Wolf Army roam loose was ill-advised; keeping them close was much safer.
“Still… won’t staying completely idle look bad on our part?”
Zayed chuckled.
“Who says one must stand in Tiandu as cannon fodder to count as participating? You are the Commander-in-Chief of the Snake State Theater, General. Is Snake State not a theater of war?”
Noticing Shahrukh’s strange look, Zayed offered a mysterious smile and continued deliberately.
“I have rescued the Alliance emissary detained by the Legion.”
Shahrukh stared blankly.
*Damn…*
*What a talent!*
***
While Shahrukh was reeling in shock at Zayed’s resourcefulness, two Family members disguised as peasants carried a stretcher into the military camp at the Gray Wolf Army’s encampment in northwestern Snake State.
The leading Family member seemed to recognize the sentry at the entrance. After a few words of gibberish, they were waved through, and together they carried the stretcher inside.
Having ridden in a “sedan chair” the entire way, Old Dog felt rather sheepish lying on the stretcher.
In fact, halfway through the journey, his wounds had mostly healed, yet these people had insisted on carrying him.
Watching the two set him down, he was about to say “thank you for your hard work,” but the other man spoke first.
“Brother, you’ve had it rough.”
“Not at all, not at all…” Old Dog gave an embarrassed smile, then glanced around before asking, “Excuse me, where are we?”
After spending so much time with these people, he had picked up a fair amount of everyday conversation, and his Human Alliance language was no longer as halting as before.
The Family member gave a hearty laugh.
“This is Snake State! Our own territory!”
*Snake State!*
Hearing that name, Old Dog recalled something.
When traveling by boat with Old Eagle and the others, they seemed to have passed by here. He remembered it was the southernmost tip of Brahma Province.
Yet he quickly caught on.
*Wait, that’s not right.*
These people had promised to take him to his Alliance brothers. How had they wound their way down to the southernmost edge of Brahma Province?
This place was an endless distance from the front lines; one more turn and they’d practically reach Golden Gallon Port on the east coast.
At the thought, Old Dog wore a wry smile.
“…Wait, brother, didn’t you say you were taking me to find my compatriots? Why did you bring me all the way to Snake State?”
“It’s all the same, makes no difference, we’re all family,” the Family member laughed heartily, acting as if he didn't mind taking a slight loss. Then he continued, “By the way, brother, the folks back in Sulak County said you’re an emissary from the Alliance. Are you really an Alliance emissary?”
Seeing the man staring at him with burning eyes, Old Dog felt a bit awkward and coughed to explain.
“…Strictly speaking, I should be considered a volunteer. We all brought our own rations to help out.”
Yet the Family member acted as if he had not heard a word, continuing to smile and chat to himself.
“Brother, no need to be so nervous. There are no Wilante here; we’re all family.”
Old Dog was caught between tears and laughter.
“But I really am not one!”
The two talked past each other for quite a while, to the point where Old Dog began doubting whether he had learned the Human Alliance language backwards, mixing up black for white, thick for thin, and yes for no.
He was never particularly confident to begin with—in the real world, he was rather introverted and insecure—so his instinct was to assume the fault lay with himself.
Finally, when the sun dipped below the horizon, the rambler from the Family quieted down, allowing Old Dog to breathe a sigh of relief.
After lying on the stretcher for a bit, he felt the urge to relieve himself, so he slipped out of the tent in search of a latrine.
Just as he turned a few corners and finally found a suitable spot, he happened to overhear the two Family members murmuring in low voices.
“That guy doesn’t seem to be an Alliance emissary…”
“Whether he is or isn’t, let’s just treat him as one. We’ve already rescued him, and he’s an Alliance citizen regardless. This is a massive merit, so neither of us can afford to bungle it.”
“True enough… What about the interview tomorrow?”
“We won’t let him speak… We’ll just say he’s unwell and take the interview on his behalf.”
“Brilliant move!”
“Keep it low-key, low-key. We’re all doing this for the Family… hehe.”
Although Old Dog’s hearing was muffled, he caught the gist of it.
Because of that, he was completely stunned.
*Holy crap.*
*These NPCs weren't failing to understand human speech; they were playing dumb all along!*
*To have this level of cunning, the AI is seriously impressive…*
Old Dog vaguely sensed that he might have boarded a pirate ship. But since he lacked god's-eye omniscience and information about the Family Association on the forums was scarce, he decided to observe further before jumping to conclusions…
***
While Old Dog was quietly watching, the news of the Southern Legion’s crushing defeat on the eastern front was carried back to West Sail Port along with the wounded returning to the rear to recuperate.
However, a physical defeat and a spiritual defeat were two entirely different things.
Although Myriarch Ryan and his subordinates had suffered a devastating loss on the eastern front, the battle lines did not lie: Triumph City remained in Wilante hands, at the very least.
Even if Triumph City had grievances regarding Yavente City, that was the Wilante’s own business.
Later the following evening, the local newspapers in West Sail Port applied delicate euphemisms to the “strategic withdrawal” on the front line, placing great emphasis on the collapse of the Heavenly Palace and the furious rants of the “Incompetent King” Absaik against the Alliance and the Academy.
Though they had never interviewed the parties involved, that did not hinder their reporting.
Yet while these newspapers catered to the sensibilities of the Wilante, they callously forgot all about their dear “old friend.”
Without stating it outright, the major publications heavily hinted that the Heavenly Palace’s collapse was the doing of the five ironclad airships, as well as a warning from the Southern Legion to the rebels.
In a sense, the news did achieve a certain “positive” effect.
Upon hearing of the Heavenly Palace’s collapse, nearly every Brahma person felt somewhat despondent and dejected.
Their ancestors had indeed left behind very little that could bring them pride; both the Red Soil and the City of a Thousand Pillars were greeted mostly with ridicule.
The Heavenly Palace was the sole exception.
When speaking of the wonders of the Heavenly Palace, even a beggar in rags could proudly puff out his chest.
Commissioner Kabaha did not truly understand his own compatriots.
In his eyes, the Heavenly Palace was a shackle, a cage; yet in the eyes of others, it was the fortress guarding the very last shred of their self-esteem.
Once the news of the Heavenly Palace’s collapse hit the papers, an air of gloom—or rather, sheer nihilism—pervaded the entirety of West Sail Port.
People comforted one another: it was just a palace, it had fallen, but the sky hadn't fallen; life still had to go on.
Yet no one noticed the metaphor woven into the words of comfort that spilled from their mouths.
Surviving seemed to have become the sole purpose of their survival.
While it had been that way for a very long time, that passive nihilism had never been quite so absolute…
Of course, the victory flaunted in the Southern Legion’s newspapers did not bring only despondency to the locals.
Emperor Akbar, for instance, was consumed by boundless fury.
“…That dog-fucker Absaik!”
Staring at the *Southern Legion Victory News* in his hands, Akbar’s face cycled between livid green and pale white until he could no longer hold back, slamming the newspaper onto the table.
He trembled with rage, his clenched teeth wishing they could grind that name to dust.
“That dog-fucker Absaik dared… dared to destroy Our palace! Once We catch him, We will skin him alive and feed him to the dogs!”
Watching the enraged Emperor, an elderly Lion-man beside him knocked his head against the floor in trembling terror, not daring to look up.
Yet terrified as he was, confusion filled his heart.
The newspaper clearly stated that the airships had bombed the Heavenly Palace into oblivion; why was His Majesty cursing Absaik?
Then he suddenly recalled a detail: shortly after this “triumphant news” arrived, the 30th Myriad led by Myriarch Ryan had relocated to Akale County—the strategic pass contested countless times between the Southern Legion and the rebels.
If he remembered correctly, Akale County lay well to the rear of the front lines. How was it that the more victories they won, the less territory they held?
The old man pondered privately.
There had to be more to this beneath the surface…
Right then, footsteps echoed outside the door, breaking the old Lion-man’s train of thought.
Without a knock, the door was shoved open, and an officer strode in.
Catching sight of his nose, Akbar immediately broke into a flattered, fawning smile.
“General Gulion?! What wind brings you here?”
Gulion looked grim, his slightly prominent cheekbones accentuating an exhausted appearance.
The Chief of the General Staff was deeply dissatisfied with his performance and had thoroughly chewed him out over the phone.
In short, owing to the frontline forces’ defeat, the Southern Legion’s initial vision of “sweeping Brahma Province within two months” had crumbled.
To win this war, they would have to mobilize the colonies and even their homeland!
This was by no means a good thing.
Ever since their banner had been planted at the southernmost edge of the Great Desert, nothing like this had occurred for a very, very long time…
Seeing the obsequious look on Akbar’s face, Gulion’s brow relaxed slightly, and the bridge of his nose straightened once more.
“There is something I need you to do.”
Akbar took no offense at the haughty tone; instead, he nodded in sheer delight.
“Please instruct me, General! As long as it is within my power, I will do my utmost!”
Dispensing with pleasantries, Gulion gestured to his orderly, who brought forward a document and placed it before Akbar.
Before the latter could ask, he spoke up.
“I need you to write an imperial edict. Just copy it following this document.”
*An edict?*
Akbar paused, unfurling the document to take a look. At first glance, it resembled a denunciation manifesto against rebels, but a closer look revealed it was far more than that.
It was a mobilization decree.
The Southern Legion wished to conscript one million men from Lion State and Dog State to support frontline operations.
“Mobilizing this many people… wouldn’t that be a bit too much?”
A troubled look crossed Akbar’s face. Watching General Gulion’s brow furrow, he quickly added, “One million men… even if they cover their own food and clothing, we don’t have enough rifles for them.”
Hearing that the man was merely worried about rifles, General Gulion’s furrowed brow smoothed out.
“You needn't worry about that. Not just rifles—food, clothing, equipment, all supplies will be borne by us.”
Hearing this, Akbar dropped all objections, speaking with boundless joy.
“That’s wonderful! Rest assured, General, the one thing the State of Brahma does not lack is people! Never mind one million—even two million, three million! We can definitely scrape them together!”
If the young men all died, send the old; if the old died, there were still the children.
Akbar did not care in the slightest about their lives.
The collapse of the Heavenly Palace had brought him clarity.
If he could not be the Emperor of Xilan, what was the point of those lowly weeds staying alive? The more of them died, the more secure his throne would be.
General Gulion looked at him and smiled, the gloom on his face dispersing slightly.
Perhaps this was the purpose of keeping a companion animal.
He suddenly felt like getting a dog.
Looking down at Akbar’s fawning smile, he instructed in a lukewarm tone.
“Now that you understand, go write it. I expect to see this edict on my desk tomorrow.”
Oblivious to how the man before him viewed him, Akbar was privately thrilled that he was finally proving useful.
General Gulion had not forgotten his old friend.
The Legion still needed him!
“No need to wait for tomorrow! I guarantee someone will deliver it to your residence before dusk!”
Chapter 880