After a bumpy ride, the vehicle came to a stop beside a tall perimeter wall. Taking in the heavily guarded surroundings, Talan Raider knew he had come to the right place.
What he did not know, however, was that this prison, known as Katnode, was notorious among the locals; word had it that anyone thrown inside would be stripped of a layer of skin even if they survived.
For instance, the young man with the hyena tattoo who had been hauled in alongside him had legs so limp when stepping out of the car that he was just a hair shy of wetting himself.
Escorted by several guards, Talan passed through the towering gate, endured layer after layer of security checks, finished every intake procedure, and was finally shoved into a windowless little cell no larger than a single bed.
After waiting in the cell for about ten minutes, a grim-faced Wilante soon walked up and led him to an interrogation room next door.
The moment he stepped through the door, a beam of harsh glare struck his face, followed by a stern, self-righteous voice booming from ahead.
"Confess! What are you here for?!"
Thinking the interrogation was surprisingly lifelike, Talan blurted out, "Sightseeing."
His calm, unruffled demeanor caught the two interrogators off balance for a moment, causing their aggressive momentum to falter.
The older guard cleared his throat and assumed the good cop routine in a leisurely tone. "I advise you to come clean. Your accomplices have already confessed. Denying it won't do you any good—it will only lengthen your sentence."
Talan scoffed internally.
They had already gotten their stories straight on the forum; hearing this brand of bull made it hard to stifle his laughter.
Sensing his disdain, the faces of both Wilante guards darkened.
"I warn you, take this seriously!"
Talan fired right back without hesitation. "And I warn you, I'm a citizen of the Alliance, and I entered with documents issued by Triumph City. Has the Southern Legion stopped giving a damn about its own Marshal?"
Silence fell over the interrogation room, so thick that even the drop of a feather could have been heard clearly.
The older guard coughed and raised his cup, pretending to drink. Beside him, the younger guard narrowed his eyes, clenching the hands resting on the table into fists.
"Say that again, motherfucker."
He didn't care whether the man before him was from the Alliance or outer space—anyone who dared question his loyalty was getting their face smashed in.
Talan figured he had provoked them enough and that it was time to get down to business. He leaned back in his chair.
"Truth be told, there are plenty of Wilante at the ports along the Death Coast. We heard from them that at the southernmost tip of the Great Desert, there's a place called Evernight Port. So we decided to return the courtesy and drop by for a visit. Who knew you'd be so hospitable as to welcome me with a pair of handcuffs right off the bat?"
Pausing briefly, he continued, "Of course, aside from sightseeing, I do have a few personal motives, though those have nothing to do with the other travelers, nor with you."
A sharp gleam flashed in the older guard's eyes. He set his cup down at once.
"Oh? What personal motives?"
Talan said, "I'm looking for an organization called the Enlightenment Society."
The younger guard frowned. "...What is that?"
Talan chuckled with a look of blatant condescension. "An organization made up of vault dwellers, active around the Great Desert... but then, you aren't vault dwellers. Even if I told you, you wouldn't understand."
That patronizing sneer matched the Wilante stereotype of 'blue moles' to a tee, so much so that the younger guard's fists tightened again.
Yet Talan didn't spare him a second glance.
As the saying went, barking dogs seldom bite.
Besides, he was a Level 30 Awakened. Even in handcuffs, it wasn't certain who would win if they actually traded blows.
The older guard, however, frowned and pondered for a good while before speaking slowly.
"Why are you looking for the Enlightenment Society?"
Talan answered bluntly, "I want to join them."
The old guard: "Your reason?"
Talan: "Disappointment."
The old guard gave him a surprised look. "Disappointment?"
Talan nodded. "That's right. I've had enough of the Alliance's hypocrisy. Why must we drag along all that bottom-feeding rabble into the new era? We inherited everything from the Era of Prosperity; we are the Human Alliance; we are the new era... Yet our Administrator expects us to bleed for a bunch of strangers we've never even met.
"Frankly speaking, I've lost faith in the Alliance, so I wanted to find somewhere else to go... I heard the Enlightenment Society operates around the Great Desert, and their tenets suit my taste, so here I am."
He delivered the speech flawlessly, his face fully expressive with anger and discontent.
Surprise flickered across both guards' faces. Then, one gave way to excitement, while the other turned contemplative.
"And here I thought everyone in the Alliance shared a single brain with pigs. Who knew there were still people who see clearly? Friend, congratulations on stepping out of the dark and into the light." The younger guard chuckled, the resentment in his eyes replaced by appreciation.
Talan smiled without saying a word.
Leaving aside that his whole spiel was complete bullshit, the 'we' in that bullshit referred to blue coats. Why the hell was a Wilante empathizing with that?
You guys and the wastelanders belong in the exact same bucket of 'bottom-feeding rabble.' Since when were you ever worthy of inheriting the Human Alliance?
Talk about flattering yourself!
The old guard deliberated for a long while, then a sudden smile crept onto his face as he closed the interrogation notebook spread on the table.
"Congratulations on finding your people."
Holy crap!
The Southern Legion really was collaborating with the Enlightenment Society!
Talan was thrilled inside, though he maintained a poker face. He whistled and said, "Does that mean I've passed your test?"
The younger guard shot a strange look at his colleague, who gave him a meaningful glance in return before turning back to the man sitting across the table.
"A matter like this isn't my call, but I can help put you in touch with someone who can make it."
"Then you'd better hurry, before I change my mind." Eager to brag on the forum, Talan dropped those words with cool detachment.
The older guard nodded, gesturing for the guard standing beside Talan to escort him out.
Quiet returned to the interrogation room.
Only after hearing the distant slam of a door did the younger guard turn to his senior, asking hurriedly, "What the hell is this Enlightenment Society?"
Tidying the documents on the desk, the older guard replied flatly, "How should I know?"
The younger guard frowned. "Then what did you mean by what you said?"
A cunning, worldly expression crossed the old guard's face as his eyes narrowed like a fox's.
"Precisely because we don't know, we have to use this guy to figure out what the hell this Enlightenment Society is... In any case, we keep him pacified first."
Hearing this, the young guard saw the light and gave him an admiring thumbs-up.
What a brilliant counter-stratagem!
Masterful!
Absolutely brilliant!
Meanwhile, back in his cell, Talan didn't even wait for the door to shut. He sat on the bed and flopped over, falling fast asleep.
The guard closing the door looked at him with surprise, calling out twice. Seeing no response, he curled his lip in contempt.
Are Alliance folks all pigs?
How could anyone fall asleep at a time like this?
At the same time, on the official Wasteland Online forum in another world, while everyone was discussing the frontline situation of the 'Southern Barbarian Invasion' expansion, a post shot to the front page like a fleeting meteor.
Talan Raider: "Brothers! Our Desert Corps has infiltrated the Enlightenment Society!!!"
Tail: "Ohhh! So amazing!"
Sisi: "The Enlightenment Society... That's such a distant name. Feels like the last time I heard about it was two years ago."
Fang Chang: "Looks like you triggered a hidden quest. Keep it up. (smirking face)"
Desert Eagle: "Holy shit?"
Junichiro Xiaochuan: "For real?!"
...
Just as Talan's post was sinking beneath the sea of threads, an investigation report regarding Alliance spies was delivered to the desk of Evernight Port's Governor, Yahui.
After reading the report from beginning to end, Yahui frowned slightly and looked up at Chief Commander of the Garrison Willoughby, who stood before his desk.
"This Enlightenment Society... what on earth is it?"
He had served in Evernight Port for fifteen years and had never heard the name before.
Willoughby shook his head with an equally grave expression.
"I pulled intelligence from Yavent City and Triumph City, but there is very little information on this organization... Supposedly, it is connected to Shelter 0 and a document named the Torch Project."
Yahui frowned. "Shelter 0? The Torch Project?"
Willoughby nodded slowly, continuing in a solemn tone.
"Behind these two things lies a weapon capable of resetting the world. It is said that its power extends beyond deciding the outcome of a battle or two—it could rewrite an entire era."
This information primarily came from the archives of Triumph City, filed under the entry for the Enlightenment Society.
Tellingly, however, clues concerning Shelter 0 and the Torch Project were exceedingly scarce.
There were two possibilities.
Either the people of Triumph City truly lacked intelligence regarding those two matters,
or a certain great presence did not wish for them to know.
Yahui's pupils contracted slightly. Countless possibilities flashed through his mind, all intersecting at a single coordinate.
"This weapon is hidden in the Great Desert..."
Willoughby looked unblinkingly at the governor, continuing in earnest, "A reasonable deduction. At the very least, the Enlightenment Society likely knows its whereabouts."
Rising from his seat, Yahui walked over to the office window and gazed out at the thriving port outside.
A weapon capable of rewriting an entire era...
It was hard to imagine what kind of weapon could destroy this bustling settlement in an instant.
Still, he would not let such a thing happen.
If anyone intended to do so, he would never let them get away with it.
This port was like his own child; he would never permit anyone to destroy it!
"...What do you think?"
Looking at the governor's back, Willoughby said respectfully, "Although there is no direct evidence, I am almost certain that the fellow we just apprehended is an Alliance spy, and the thirty-odd people we intercepted outside the inn are most likely his accomplices!
"After being exposed, he tried shifting strategies, circling around our interrogators. It's clear he has had some counter-surveillance training. The man has a few tricks up his sleeve, but not many.
"The assessment from our colleagues in the intelligence office is... our adversaries may be trying to strike a deal with the Enlightenment Society to obtain this weapon capable of turning the tide of the entire war."
Yahui pondered for a long time before suddenly speaking.
"That doesn't make sense. If this weapon is so important that it could rewrite the entire course of the war, why would he leak clues about the Enlightenment Society to us?"
Willoughby smiled faintly and laid out his reasoning.
"It's actually quite simple. The Alliance isn't completely ignorant about the Great Desert, but their intelligence on Evernight Port is a blank slate. Perhaps some intel they gathered in Pioneer City pointed them to the southern Great Desert—the southern industrial zone of the Human Alliance era—yet they weren't certain whether we had already partnered with the Enlightenment Society.
"To borrow an Alliance phrase, it's called 'tossing a stone to test the waters.' They deliberately released a smokescreen to gauge our reaction, planning to make their next move based on how we responded."
Yahui's eyes widened slightly, his expression growing solemn.
"So what is your plan?"
"Play along with their game." Willoughby looked at him with bright, confident eyes. "My subordinate was sharp. He fed a false signal to the Alliance's bait, leading them to believe we have already begun official cooperation with the Enlightenment Society.
"I'll bet that spy locked in our prison is sweating like an ant on a hot pan right now, desperate to get the word out.
"Once panic sets in, mistakes follow. When that happens, we can trace the vine to the melon, find the clues to the Enlightenment Society, and then figure out a way to get our hands on that 'Weapon Zero' they hold!"
Facing those glowing eyes, Yahui fell into deep thought.
It was a decent plan. Only a single lingering doubt gave him pause.
They had no direct evidence proving that the man was truly an Alliance spy.
It was all based on their deductions.
Nevertheless, taking the approach that it was better to believe it than risk dismissing it, he gave a nod.
Regardless of whether that legendary tide-turning weapon truly existed, there was no harm in testing the waters...
"Do you have a concrete plan?"
"Of course." With a faint, smug smile tugging at his lips, Willoughby retrieved another file from his coat and placed it gently on the desk. "The operation is codenamed 'Hornet.' I have arranged for several agents from the intelligence office to purchase a building near Blackwater Lane and disguise it as an Enlightenment Society safehouse.
"We can fabricate an Enlightenment Society and pretend we're actively cooperating, forcing them to show their tails on their own!"
...
The commotion in Blackwater Lane did not disturb the tranquil surface of Evernight Port.
To the Wilante colonists living here, that place was a foul-smelling rubbish bin. A firefight breaking out was hardly news; it would have been stranger if a day passed without the reek of gunpowder drifting from its alleys.
Talan's three confidants stayed in hiding within the city until dusk, only hurrying out once the heat died down.
As for Desert Eagle and Laughing Master, they tailed the trail to the vicinity of Katnode Prison, using identities bought on the black market to check into a hotel room.
In this frontier stronghold teeming with soldiers, a smokeless war appeared to have raised its curtain.
And so far, it seemed that the only party still entirely in the dark was the Enlightenment Society itself—the very organization standing at the dead center of the battlefield...
The night deepened.
After reuniting with his family, Arman arrived at the tavern in the harbor district as promised.
Given how long they had been apart, his wife had held onto him for so long that his calves were still feeling a bit weak.
The moment he pushed open the door, a wave of sweltering heat and noisy clamor washed over him.
"...Hahaha! Carver, you bastard, you finally showed up! I thought you really bought out a farm and went off to plow dirt!"
"Fuck off. I was never built to drive a tractor; the steering of a tank suits me a hell of a lot better!"
"Which unit did you get assigned to? Still the Youth Army?"
"The 60th Armored Myriad. We're in the second wave, departing at the end of the month."
"The Sixtieth? Damn it, just how many people did they mobilize this time?"
"At least a million. Haven't you read the Triumph Gazette? Looks like this time they're going all out!"
"Exciting. Hope we push all the way into the Alliance's homeland."
"I just hope we get to the frontline soon—don't want to get there only to find we don't even get a chance to shoot."
The tavern was packed with soldiers.
They were either men returning from the front or troops preparing to deploy. The former mostly drank in sullen solitude, while the latter boisterously threw back drinks in groups of three to five.
Although alcohol and other luxuries were supplied at the frontline, it was naturally never as satisfying as drinking without limits in the rear.
In truth, the Southern Legion could not suppress the news coming from the front. No one could muzzle a Wilante's mouth, not even other Wilante.
Yet if the Alliance expected word-of-mouth despair to crush their fighting will, that would be sheer wishful thinking.
For from the moment they began to complain, those losers had already been cast out of the ranks of the Wilante.
On a runaway roller coaster, anyone attempting to hit the brakes was a traitor, and who cared what a traitor had to say? It only made the rest believe they were even more in the right.
In a sense, the dilemma facing the Wilante was similar to that of the Brahma people.
Like two sides of a mirror.
It was only that the former's war had lasted for a century and a half, while the latter's war was just beginning.
Neither side knew how much longer the fighting would drag on, or how many generations it would take to put an end to the obsession and hatred burning in their hearts.
It was for this very reason that Arman held immense admiration for the man named Pangolin.
He had heard that the man was merely a peasant from a remote hollow in the River Valley Province, yet his deafening roar had shaken Triumph City.
He hoped the man could bring hope back from Triumph City.
And he hoped that day would not come too late...
By the bar counter, Arman found Kuluan, who had just gotten off work from customs.
The man in his early thirties was already well into his drinks. Stripped of the medal-pinned uniform, he looked no different from the surrounding drunks—perhaps even sloppier.
"Come sit here." Spotting Arman in the crowd at once, Kuluan warmly pulled out a chair for him, then grinned at the bartender. "This is a new friend of mine. Bring another bottle of beer."
"Thanks."
Arman nodded politely and sat down beside the veteran. Glancing around, he clicked his tongue in surprise.
"This tavern has never been so lively."
"Times have changed. Guess we're making a bit of war fortune ourselves." The bartender set a cold bottle of beer on the counter, then looked toward Kuluan. "Don't take it the wrong way. Just casual talk—no offense intended."
Kuluan waved a hand with a laugh. "I'm not that petty. I'd even wish you booming business."
Watching this easygoing cripple, Arman found him intriguing. Smiling, he casually asked, "You've heard my story—how about telling me yours? I've always been curious about what the front is really like."
Although he had visited Brahma Province often enough, he mostly stayed around several major ports and had never ventured deep inland.
Kuluan curled his lips, his smile turning enigmatic.
"A total mess. My story is as worthless as the dispatches from the front. If you insist on hearing it, just treat it as entertainment. Don't take a word of it to heart—always stick to the stories in the Southern Legion Victory Gazette."
"I'm very interested in the stories the papers don't mention. The Brahma people occasionally tell me things that never make it into the Survivor Daily either." Arman clinked glasses with him, encouraging him to go on.
Kuluan smiled faintly, his gaze drifting into memory. After pondering for a moment, he continued:
"...Back then, we ran into the Skeleton Corps in Ridepur County. Those bastards' tanks were like bottle openers; our tanks were popped open one after another, just like this beer cap."
As he spoke, he flicked the cap with his thumb, sending it flying in a clean arc straight into the trash can.
"And then?"
"And then? Then of course we won—though the cost might be hard for you to stomach. Three thousand of our brothers are still listed as neither missing nor found." Kuluan chuckled, paused for a beat, and added, "As for Gibson, he's still serving as his Myriarch, while I was dumped in this godforsaken customs post."
Arman fell silent.
He actually knew where those three thousand-plus men were: in the prisoner-of-war camp on the outskirts of Golden Gallon Port.
The Alliance treated them rather decently. Word had it that after the POW camp was built, they were even paid wages for their labor, and they were protected under Alliance law, working only eight hours a day.
Kuluan went quiet as well. He took a heavy swig of beer and tapped the empty bottle onto the moldy wooden table.
"Maybe I'm just too pessimistic, but I feel winning on the frontline is practically impossible now... unless there's some kind of weapon capable of turning the tide completely, wiping our opponents off this planet for good."
Arman gave a bitter laugh. "If such a weapon truly existed, its very existence would be terrifying enough."
Kuluan grinned.
"Who says it doesn't? I heard General Gurion placed a heavy bet, wagering part of his chips on something called 'Death Agent.'"
Sensing an ominous undertone in the name, Arman frowned slightly.
"Death Agent?"
Kuluan lowered his voice, speaking in a conspiratorial tone.
"That's right. A virus that only infects specific populations, designed to systematically wipe out our enemies... like the Rat Clan, the Snake Clan, and so on. As for others, at most they'd become carriers, but they won't be affected by the virus."
A look of shock washed over Arman's face.
"Can something like that really be done? I mean... will it really not have the same effect on the Wilante?"
Kuluan laughed.
"Who knows? Some things are like dispatches from the front—half truth, half lies."
He paused, then chuckled again.
"...Come to think of it, I also heard through the grapevine that this 'fine work' was actually cooked up by a blue mole."
Chapter 885