Protracted War

Although Tiandu City of the State of Brahma was held, the collapse of the Heavenly Palace brought Absaik plenty of troubles. This was not merely because of the rumors spreading among the common folk or the various factions seizing on the incident to cause trouble; to a large extent, a significant part of it stemmed from himself. Like most Brahma people, superstition was ingrained in his very bones. It was just that after ascending to the position of Grand President, he refused to admit it anymore, even jumping on the bandwagon to chant the mantras of materialism and atheism like the Alliance. At first, it was somewhat effective. Any phrase repeated often enough created the illusion that it really was so. Especially during the education reforms, Absaik had once considered himself a true materialist warrior, even mistakenly regarding that clueless Kabaha—a guy completely unable to read the room—as a comrade-in-arms, forgetting that the reformist officers were his real comrades. However, treating the symptoms with self-consolation was never a permanent cure. Even though he deliberately avoided sitting on the emperor’s throne and had gone so far as to build a dedicated Presidential Mansion to emphasize to everyone that his legitimacy had nothing whatsoever to do with that Heavenly Palace, its eventual collapse still shattered his composure completely. Actually, he couldn't be entirely blamed for having a fragile mindset; part of the fault lay with the Academy. In his mind, no survivor organization on the entire wasteland understood science better than the Academy. Yet right after the Academy had assured him that the Heavenly Palace could stay afloat in the sky for another ten or twenty years, it plummeted straight to the ground. It was hard for him not to harbor doubts about the Academy and science itself, and in turn, begin doubting himself. Could there really be some unseen entity manipulating everything with an invisible hand? Just like that, his paranoia flared up again. Almost every night he had nightmares, and in them, Janusz's demonic, sneering face never failed to appear. It was clearly Anwo who had pulled the trigger, yet that evil specter seemed to know exactly who had truly killed him. The bastard didn't even come forward to take revenge, just lingering outside the window, torturing him with faint, intermittent scratching noises. Sometimes Absaik was tormented so badly he couldn't sleep all night, heading to the Presidential Mansion the next day with bloodshot eyes to review documents; other times, when he could hold out no longer into the late hours of the night, he would collapse into thunderous snores and sleep straight until noon. He didn't dare complain about this to anyone. After all, if rumors started spreading that the Grand President was being haunted by a ghost, the opposition within the Federation would surely exploit it. The only person he could confide in was the envoy from the Alliance. For one, the other party had no interest in meddling in Brahma's internal affairs; for another, he could sense that they genuinely believed what they preached, being true materialists. Yet upon hearing his troubles, Old Eagle wore an utterly helpless expression. "...Pardon my bluntness, but this is just paranoia." "I know that too. I've tried thinking that way, but it hasn't helped at all. It feels as if someone is living inside my head..." Absaik sighed. Then, a thought struck him, and he asked nervously, "Do you think... could it be some sort of psychic interference?" Looking at the jumpy Absaik, Old Eagle shook his head and explained patiently: "That kind of device has a negligible effect on humans with fully sound minds... While not entirely ineffective, it can only transmit a sentence or two of information at most. Making you dream of a specific person is impossible." Moreover, that thing wasn't directional; it usually blanketed an entire area. If this truly were the effect of a psychic interference device, he couldn't possibly be the only one affected. In other words, this was an inner demon unique to him; overcoming it depended entirely on himself. Musing for a moment, Old Eagle asked tentatively: "How about... you go see a psychiatrist?" There were quite a few mental health professionals in the Alliance. The profession had a barrier to entry, but not an exceedingly high one, and market demand was by no means small. Not only wastelanders returning to civilized society, but also survivors rescued by players from marauder dungeons frequently consulted psychiatrists. It was nothing to be ashamed of; medical insurance even covered it. Hearing this, Absaik gave a wry smile and shook his head in refusal without even thinking. "Forget it... If I go see a doctor for that, who knows what kind of gossip would start flying around." Old Eagle sighed. "I'm sorry, then. I'm afraid I can't help you with this." Seeing Old Eagle's regretful look, Absaik laughed and quipped: "Don't say that. After talking with you, my chest feels much lighter. Maybe I'll actually get a sound night's sleep tonight." He hadn't really expected anyone to solve his problem anyway; he just wanted an outsider to confide in. Perceiving the distress weighing on his heart, Old Eagle suddenly recalled that priests from the Silver Moon Sect had recently come to Tiandu to aid refugees and proselytize. An idea struck him, and he spoke up: "...If you don't want to see a psychiatrist, you might as well have a chat with a priest from the Silver Moon Sect." Absaik paused in surprise. "A priest?" Old Eagle nodded. "Although we are atheists, we never deny the value of faith as an emotional anchor. If you're interested, you could look into it... Of course, that's just a suggestion." Persuading someone to quit smoking by telling them it was bad for their health never worked. By the same token, trying to convince a superstitious person that 'there are no ghosts in this world' was nothing more than the wishful thinking of preachy dogmatists. Rather than having him wrestle painfully against his inner torment, it was better to let him believe in something relatively harmless. That, too, was a way of coming to terms with his inner self. Old Eagle suddenly felt he was a genius. Not only did he have the chops to be a diplomat, but he could also moonlight as a psychologist. Absaik seemed swayed. After thinking it over for a moment, he gave a solemn nod. "...I'll consider it." The meeting drew to a close. After seeing the Alliance envoy off, Absaik paced back and forth across his office for several turns. Finally, he picked up the phone and issued an order, using discussions on refugee relief as a pretext to invite the priest from Silver Moon Bay into the Presidential Mansion. The two met in the reception room. After exchanging pleasantries, Absaik cut straight to the chase and asked with a smile: "Does this Silver Moon Sect of yours have something like a Pope?" That was his primary concern. Though he wanted to find an emotional crutch, he had no desire to have someone riding roughshod over his head. Unaware of the president's reservations, the priest merely smiled warmly and replied: "Unlike our brethren who revere the Spirit of the Sand Sea, we do not serve living men. Thus, we have no Pope." The Silver Moon Sect itself had originated when the merchants of Silver Moon Bay devised a new interpretation of the Spirit of the Sand Sea doctrines—both to slack off from daily worship and to legally sail out to sea. Consequently, its rituals and organizational hierarchy were relatively relaxed. Although the Camel Hump Kingdom had a Pope, he was not the pontiff of the Silver Moon Sect or Silver Moon Bay, but merely the religious head of the Spirit of the Sand Sea faith and Camel City. "No Pope, huh? None is good... That's pretty nice." Absaik nodded approvingly. Then, turning the conversation, he asked further: "What about your doctrines? Do you force people to convert, brainwash them, or amass wealth and persecute dissidents in the name of faith?" Absaik blurted out all his concerns in one breath, but immediately feeling his questions were overly blunt, he softened his tone and said with a laugh: "Don't misunderstand, Father. I'm not accusing you of these things; I'm just asking as a precaution... After all, the people of Brahma are simple and kind-hearted, and I'm merely worried about them being duped by some evil cult." "Understandable," the priest chuckled mildly. Pausing a moment, he drew a Holy Scripture from his robes and placed it into Absaik's hands. "While I can answer your questions, I cannot dispel your misgivings. Since you harbor so many concerns about us, why not seek the answer yourself?" Taking the scripture, Absaik weighed it in his hands. "Just through this book?" The priest continued in a gentle voice: "To truly understand a person, one must not only listen to their words, but also observe their deeds. If you genuinely wish to know everything about us, the contents of a single book are naturally insufficient, but it can at least serve as the beginning of our mutual understanding." Absaik raised an eyebrow slightly, then smiled and tucked the book into his tunic. "Looks like I'll have to get a cat." Hearing his playful tone, the priest smiled gently and continued: "Though cats are sacred to us, we do not require every believer to keep one. Quite the contrary, rather than keeping them captive and worshiping them, our doctrine encourages believers to treat those little spirits as friends. That is, offering them assistance only when they need it." Absaik stroked his chin with keen interest. "Is there some deeper mystery behind that?" The priest smiled and explained: "Hardly a mystery. It is simply that in our doctrine, the cat is the pet of the Goddess of the Silver Moon, as well as her eyes and her earthly avatar. We believe that wandering throughout the four seasons, she yearns for freedom. Therefore, unless those little spirits choose of their own accord to stay by our side, we do not actively keep them." Hearing this, Absaik was overjoyed. An earthly avatar! Wouldn't that ward off evil spirits?! At the thought that there was finally a way to dispel the specter torturing him day and night, he sprang to his feet in excitement. "That's wonderful! I love cats too! Sir, could you advise me on how many would be best to keep?" The priest stared blankly at him, baffled by what had brought on this sudden burst of jubilation, but pulled himself together and said: "Well... there is no recommended number. But if you are fond of cats, Grand President, I could present you with one... one that is quite affectionate." Absaik looked eager. "Affectionate or not doesn't matter, as long as it wards off evil spirits!" The priest: "...?" ... Ever since Absaik met with the priest of the Silver Moon Sect, several cats suddenly appeared around the Presidential Mansion. Publicly, Absaik claimed they were gifts from the Silver Moon Sect. However, some whispered that only one had been a gift, and most had been purchased by him from Silver Moon Bay merchants. Though puzzled, people didn't say much about it; after all, who didn't have their quirks? Duvata loved women, Shahrukh loved gold and silver, and Nigri indulged in collecting artwork from the Alliance. At least Lord Absaik's hobby was relatively thrifty. Cats ate far less than humans, and those cats didn't look like any prized breeds anyway. At least, not for now. Moreover, ever since taking up cat-keeping, Absaik, who had been lethargic and listless, suddenly became energetic and full of vitality again, as if revitalized with a second youth. This left even Duvata, who had secretly mocked him for being impotent, second-guessing himself. As the saying went, what those above favor, those below will emulate. Because the Grand President himself liked keeping cats, some officials followed suit, turning cat-keeping into the latest fashion among Tiandu's high society, and temporarily sparing cats from the local menus. Only Commissioner Kabaha shook his head and sighed, continuing to openly condemn Absaik for squandering resources. So many people in the State of Brahma still couldn't get enough to eat. As the Grand President, even if he didn't lead by example, he should at least show some restraint. Absaik didn't get angry upon hearing this. Instead, he just laughed and had his internal affairs staff send an affectionate little cutie for Kabaha to raise, strictly ordering him under threat of punishment to ensure it stayed alive and to submit weekly reports on its condition. Kabaha gnashed his teeth in fury, but since a pen could not be wielded like a rifle, he had no choice but to swallow his anger. A week went by after that. Looking at the report handed over by Internal Affairs Commissioner Vadiya, Absaik couldn't help but grin. The report contained just two words: "Still alive." Clearly, Commissioner Kabaha was still mad at him. Absaik didn't mind in the slightest, remarking to Vadiya with a chuckle: "These cats are wonderful creatures... Ever since I got them, my temper has improved considerably." Vadiya let out a wry smile. "As the Grand President says." Absaik smiled and continued: "I've been thinking lately whether we should send some over to the soldiers on the front lines." Vadiya froze, hesitating. "That... wouldn't be very appropriate, would it?" Absaik smiled. "Nothing inappropriate about it. Our soldiers are human beings, not machines. Merely keeping them alive isn't enough; we have to pay attention to their mental health as well." Vadiya: "But... I worry this might affect their combat effectiveness." Absaik's expression suddenly turned solemn, and he looked at his internal affairs commissioner: "Mr. Vadiya, have you ever hunkered down in a trench?" Vadiya shook his head hurriedly, replying honestly: "No..." "I have," Absaik said, turning his gaze out the window, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That place is pure hell. The slightest noise can make your nerves snap. After spending two months in there, I guarantee that even if you stood right in front of your own mother, she might not recognize you." Sending a batch of cats to the front lines wasn't an idea Absaik had pulled out of thin air. He had previously consulted people from the Alliance and heard there was precedent elsewhere. Soldiers in trenches lived in a state of perpetual tension; without an emotional outlet, it was easy for them to develop psychological issues over time. In fact, Alliance officers had brought this issue to their attention long ago, advising them to assign at least one political instructor to every company, and ideally down to the squad level if conditions permitted. He was indeed working on this, but training political instructors took time, and systemic reform could not be completed in a day. In comparison, shipping a bunch of cats to the front was a solid stopgap measure. Besides, having cats to catch rats was a plus. Those trenches strewn with corpses were infested with rats. His first two pairs of leather boots had been chewed to pieces by rodents, leaving his feet soaked in water whenever it rained. If Alaiyang had treated them as human beings back then, they wouldn't have risen in rebellion. Even if viewed simply as winning people's hearts, spending this bit of money was well worth it. "...Cats reproduce quickly and aren't expensive. Just carry it out as I said." Seeing that the Grand President's mind was made up, Vadiya offered no further objections, nodding with bemusement. "Yes, sir!" ... With the curtain falling on the Battle of Tiandu, the war between the puppet Xilan Empire and the various states of Brahma Province entered a new stage. Both warring parties, as well as the chess masters behind the scenes, had completely abandoned any illusion of a quick victory and prepared themselves for a protracted war. First, Emperor Akbar issued a mobilization edict and a manifesto against the rebels, detailing twelve crimes of disloyalty, unfilial conduct, inhumanity, and injustice committed by the Brahma rebels, fiercely rebuking Absaik for provoking both divine fury and popular resentment, bringing about heavenly retribution, and vowing to mobilize a million-strong army from Lion State and Dog State to slaughter the enemy. Following closely behind, the State of Brahma refused to be outdone: first drawing up thirteen charges against the puppet emperor, then abrogating the agreement between the old empire and the Legion regarding West Sail Port, and mobilizing another six hundred thousand reservists, vowing to fight the Legion to the bitter end. The reason they mobilized only six hundred thousand was not that Brahma's manpower pool was exhausted, but that Absaik had other designs. Thanks to Brahma's series of reform measures and their victories on the front line, industrialists who had previously harbored reservations about investing in Brahma's industries had begun to change their minds. The priests dispatched by the Silver Moon Sect were a clear signal. Although the priests sponsored by Silver Moon Bay merchants were genuinely there to spread the gospel of the Goddess of the Silver Moon, they were not merely doing charity and proselytizing; they were also scoping out the local customs and business climate. After all, the charitable funds they received hadn't come for free. If their financial backers wanted to build a church, they naturally had to pay attention to whether the local soil was suitable for "allowing the seed to sprout." It was akin to casting a stone to test the waters. After all, religion itself was a business model, and one of the most sophisticated business models at that. In addition to the merchants of Silver Moon Bay, Alliance industrialists who had reaped handsome returns from their investments in the Mammoth State were also immensely interested in this blessed land free of mutant threats. The region had abundant human resources, and the red soil guaranteed a baseline for the locals' cost of living; there was no better place to build factories. Especially labor-intensive factories. Beyond that, there were merchants from Port Golden Gallon, Port French Fries, and Port Fried Dough Stick. Particularly the traveling merchants of the Moon Clan. Although Wutuo had deeply wounded their feelings, they still held sentimental attachment to their homeland. Moreover, Janusz's earlier rehabilitation of the Moon Clan's reputation had earned the Heavenly King Army substantial goodwill among their people. Even though the reformist officers led by Absaik had severed ties with the Heavenly King Army, it did not diminish their inheritance of this goodwill. On the contrary, having whitewashed all black marks, the reformist officers appeared even better in the eyes of the Moon Clan. With so many cards in hand, even a pig wouldn't play them too poorly. Absaik was obviously not stupid enough to be worse than a pig; he saw the opportunity at a single glance. Thus, rather than mobilizing every young man to the front, he was naturally more inclined to channel them into factories to work. And so, taking the Alliance's advice into consideration, Absaik designated White Elephant City in the central region of Brahma Province as the Central Industrial Zone, dedicating a full third of the fiscal budget to constructing railways and power grids there while focusing on heavy industries such as steelmaking, chemicals, and heavy machinery manufacturing, hoping to complement the industrial regions of Tiger State, Leopard State, and Rowell State in the future. Relative to Brahma's fragile agrarian economy, this was undeniably a grandiose project. Yet if this plan could be realized, the local survivors might truly have a chance to ignite the spark of industry and escape the embarrassing predicament of having to import even bicycles from Port Golden Gallon. And this was beneficial to the Alliance as well. In the worldview of certain feudal lords, the pie was an unchanging, finite thing: the more people cutting into it, the less each received. Yet in this world, there existed another perspective—one where the pie was not inherent from the start, but something that could be baked bigger and bigger. As long as people didn't hack away blindly and recklessly, there was always a way to ensure everyone got a slice, or at least that the shares didn't keep shrinking. Just as this ancient empire was slowly stirring awake, the officers on the Southern Legion's front lines were also thoroughly jolted awake by reality. They gradually came to realize just how terrifying the Alliance was. It was not merely because of the high fighting spirit of those volunteers, but because that ferocious morale spread like a contagion, transforming even the locals into beasts that demanded their utmost effort to confront. With the airships destroyed by an unknown weapon, General Gulion established a secret intelligence agency composed of locals in the name of Akbar to investigate the five downed airships. At the same time, Myriarch Ryan, who served as commander of the eastern front, completely abandoned his earlier offensive strategy of rash, aggressive mobility, shifting his strategic approach to steady, methodical defense and consolidation. The most noticeable aspect was that he voluntarily abandoned the hills northeast of Akale County, retreating from the bend of the great river to the border between Lion State and Ox State to dig trenches and erect watchtowers and bunkers. Doing so was equivalent to yielding the floodplains previously under the Southern Legion's control. For the Southern Legion, this meant their "blitzkrieg" and arrogant boasts of "wiping out the rebels in two months" had completely gone bankrupt. Yet conversely, by fortifying their positions, they could make their rear supply lines more secure, preventing repeated infiltration and harassment from the guerrillas of Brahma and the Mammoth State. For the disadvantaged State of Brahma, this was obviously not good news. On the one hand, it showed that the Southern Legion was starting to take things seriously; snatching easy advantages would no longer be so simple. On the other hand, the Southern Legion had begun consciously digesting the territory it had already seized, attempting to turn the occupied zones into permanent territory. Yet in contrast, Brahma's army grew increasingly seasoned through these continuous battles, producing quite a few prominent commanders along the way. Such as Myriarch Isher of the 3rd Myriad. And Myriarch Yokale of the 11th Myriad, among others. Isher, in particular, had the great honor of being bestowed the moniker "Jungle Rat" by the Wilante, along with a one-million-dinar bounty on his head. Cunning as a rat, he had mastered guerrilla warfare and psychological operations to an uncanny degree. Wilante officers who had clashed with him went so far as to claim that if you gave him one cannon, he could achieve the impact of two; give him a squad of ten, and he could employ them like a company of a hundred—especially in jungles and rolling hills, he was impossible to guard against! Another figure granted a "title" by the Wilante was Myriarch Pikli of the 70th Myriad. However, he hadn't gained fame through brilliant battle records, but rather because of a photograph published in the Survivor Daily. Wilante soldiers privately dubbed him the "Butcher." Compared to Isher, his moniker was clearly far more domineering, and he had even appeared in the Southern Legion Victory. When it came to admiring strength, the Wilante actually shared many similarities with the people of Brahma. Compared to the "Jungle Rat" who specialized in underhanded tricks, the Legion's rank-and-file soldiers and junior officers clearly held higher regard for that myriarch who charged with a bayonet in hand. Even if the severed head clutched in his hand belonged to their own compatriot, it did not hinder their admiration for a formidable warrior. After all, within the jungle ethos where "the strong reign supreme," there was another hidden implication: Namely, weak kindred did not deserve to be called compatriots. They would feel righteous indignation over the massacre at West Sail Port because it was an insult and humiliation directed at the abstract concept of "the Wilante." Yet when reduced to the suffering of a specific individual or a specific group, it invited only their derision. This had nothing to do with numbers—after all, forty thousand was far greater than three thousand by any calculation. That night, every Wilante soldier who died or surrendered as a loser earned nothing of honor—only shame and ridicule... As both sides brought their true capabilities to bear, the entire war bogged down into a stalemate. A great deal happened every day on the front lines, yet to those far from the battlefield, it felt as though nothing was happening at all. Time soon slipped into August. The sweltering rainy season was drawing toward its close, and the dry season would arrive in two months. And right around this time, a fleet from the Death Coast approached Evernight Port, situated at the southernmost edge of the Great Desert. And the changes here were so staggering that Arman almost thought he had come to the wrong place.