Has the Snake Really Left Its Hole?

Concocted by a blue mole... Disbelief was written plainly across Arman's face. Perhaps because the shelter dwellers he knew had always seemed decent and kind, he found it truly hard to fathom that such an extremist demon could lurk among those charitable folks. Of course, his astonishment lasted only a brief moment before fading into acceptance. After all, sitting in this tavern, was he not completely out of place here himself? "...I heard a rumor once that the earliest Brahma people were actually a branch of survivors from the central world, and that their genes aren't much different from the rest of the wasteland's survivors." The vast majority of Brahma people could identify a compatriot at a glance from their bearing and temperament, and could deduce which clan they belonged to with decent accuracy based on their surname. Outsiders, however, could not tell the difference at all unless they dealt with Brahma people regularly. This phenomenon was especially common along the Death Coast. Setting aside the gulf in culture and faith, residents from Sunset Province and Brahma Province looked virtually identical. Kuluan grinned. "I've heard that too, but so what? We're not remnants from the central world; we're their conquerors. That virus won't affect us no matter what. Clearing out some trash isn't necessarily a bad thing..." There were far too many natives in the colony. The technology of the Era of Prosperity had allowed people who otherwise wouldn't have survived to stay alive. Take Blackwater Lane, for example. It was practically a breeding ground for plague and corruption. Yet it was undeniable that the prosperity of Evernight Port owed much to the people living there. If they hadn't endured exploitation without complaint, how could the Wilantes ever have moved into grand estates? A good life never dropped from the sky for free. Kuluan fell silent for a moment, took a gulp of beer, and admitted with some ambivalence, "Actually, it's not right either. I've never agreed with winning that way. Honorable combat is our tradition, and dying before growing old is also a form of glory... But those are games played by the big shots. Even if you and I feel it's wrong, we can't change a thing." Arman sank into silence. He felt this truth more acutely than anyone. Even though he had moved his home right next door to the Governor, it didn't change the fact that he was merely an insignificant pawn. When disaster struck, he could do nothing but pray to the gods. Reluctant to linger on the topic of the "Death Agent," Kuluan quickly steered the conversation elsewhere. Sitting before the bar counter, the two drank bottle after bottle, chatting for a long time without noticing the hours slipping by. Kuluan went on to recount many stories from the front lines, ranging from the meat grinder in Ridepur County to three bloody engagements at the riverbend. Those tales seemed to come from an entirely different world compared to the reports printed in the Southern Legion Victory Gazette. What filled Arman with particular emotion was that the young Rat Clan fellow who had once had his head wrapped in bandages had actually transformed into the formidable "Jungle Rat," a thorn in the side of the frontline forces. True gold really would shine wherever it was. Arman was not the only one impressed. Upon hearing that Arman had actually crossed paths with Isher, Kuluan wore a look of awe. "Damn... You actually know that guy? I heard he gave Myriadman Olette one hell of a hard time up in the three northern states of Brahma Province!" Myriadman Olette and his men had previously been stationed in Evernight Port and were local celebrities. His fearsome reputation had struck terror into the mutant tribes of the Great Desert. Arman was certainly no stranger to the name, making it all the more astonishing that Isher could now be mentioned in the same breath as such a commander. Meeting Kuluan's astonished gaze, Arman gave a soft cough and said modestly, "Just a nodding acquaintance... My wife is better acquainted with him. It was thanks to his timely help back then that my family stayed safe." A thought struck Kuluan. Lowering his voice, he leaned in with an air of mystery. "Speaking of which, you must know quite a few Brahma people, right?" Arman was taken aback. Spotting an unusual fervor in Kuluan's eyes, he couldn't help putting his guard up. "What of it?" Kuluan gave a secretive smile, pulled a thumb-sized bottle from his coat, and gently set it on the counter. Inside the bottle rested several clusters of translucent, dark-green crystals, looking like shavings scraped from the surface of raw quartz. Seeing the tiny vial, Arman frowned. "...What is this?" "Purified crystals of snake grass... As for snake grass itself, that's a specialty of Brahma Province, or more specifically, Snake State." Kuluan lowered his tone to an absolute whisper. "To put it simply, it helps you temporarily cast aside worldly troubles... like tobacco or booze. Want to give it a try?" The voice sounded like a devil's murmur. Staring at the lethal poison, Arman's Adam's apple bobbed. He pushed the bottle away with his index finger. "I'm afraid this isn't as simple as tobacco or booze." Kuluan smiled faintly and continued, "True. Compared to cigarettes and alcohol, it's far more hallucinogenic. If you aren't careful, you'll easily become addicted, but aside from that, there are no other side effects. The warlords in Brahma Province grow it to fund their armies, while Logistics mixes it with other drugs to produce sedatives to treat soldiers' psychological trauma—like panic reactions whenever they hear explosions... and skim off the military budget along the way." Arman was stunned. "How could the warlords in Brahma Province do business with Logistics?!" Kuluan murmured, "They wouldn't do it directly, of course, but local syndicates are more than happy to act as middlemen—outfits like the Mad Rats, Blood Lions, and those Family messes. Just a tiny fraction of the grease leaking through their fingers is enough to keep them fat and happy." At that point, Kuluan paused, glancing left and right. Seeing that no one was paying attention, he continued in hushed tones. "The front line manufactures wounded soldiers, and Logistics turns a profit off them... Even though the wounded don't have to pay out of their own pockets, the Wilante taxpayers ultimately foot the bill. Soon enough, people spotted a business opportunity: buying those miraculous little pills off the wounded, refining the active ingredients into something far more potent, and selling it to whoever needs it." Arman stared at him with wide eyes. "Are you out of your mind? This stuff—" "Heh, don't get the wrong idea. I don't have that kind of expertise; at most, I'm just a buyer," Kuluan said, raising his hands with a chuckle. "Still, after all I've said, haven't you spotted the business angle?" Before Arman could speak, Kuluan lowered his voice further. "Snake grass only grows in Snake State; the Great Desert doesn't have the conditions for it. If you can open up a channel with the warlords in Brahma Province, we can bypass Logistics and the West Sail Port gangs altogether, securing raw snake grass in bulk instead of refining crystals from those tiny pills—" "I've never heard of such a thing, and I have no interest in that kind of business." Before Kuluan could finish, Arman abruptly stood up from his stool, cutting him off mid-sentence. "My apologies... This may be a highly lucrative trade, but the risks are far too high." Kuluan stared at him in disbelief, baffled by what nerve he had struck. "Risks? My friend, I have connections in customs and at the docks, and you transport the wounded for Logistics... If we join hands, what risk could there possibly be?" Arman couldn't help asking, "Do you still remember that you were once a centurion?" "A centurion..." Kuluan laughed bitterly. "So I'm still a centurion. I didn't think anyone remembered." "I remember. And I believe many others do as well. You bled for the Wilante people, so please don't give up on yourself." Arman placed a hand on Kuluan's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze, then left money for the drinks on the counter. "I originally intended to discuss another venture with you. While it wouldn't make as much money as what you're proposing, at least it wouldn't harm our own people... Again, I'm sorry, but I cannot take part in your business. Let's pretend we never met tonight." His throat tightened, and he added, "However, if you ever change your mind, you are always welcome to join me." Leaving those words behind, he pulled his hand away from Kuluan, turned, and walked out of the tavern. Kuluan watched Arman's retreating figure intently. A flicker of inner turmoil flashed through his eyes, but it vanished in an instant. He had sacrificed enough for the Legion, nearly dying on the front lines. Because he had been a centurion, he could coast along with a desk job in customs, whereas his comrades could only return home bearing disgrace and scars. If it had all been for loyalty, so be it; he had never fought for money in the first place. Yet upon returning to West Sail Port, he had to constantly endure the mockery of his own kin and watch reality torn apart by lies. He had not received the honor he yearned for. Together with the 34th Myriad, he had become a disgrace to the Wilante people, mocked as a cautionary tale by fools who understood nothing. One had to choose between faith and bread. If the former no longer existed, he had to at least rake in enough of the latter to fill the hollow ache in his heart. Downing a mouthful of cold beer, Kuluan shoved his gloomy thoughts aside. Just then, a man in a formal suit sat down beside him and offered him a pack of cigarettes. "How did the talk go?" Glancing at the man beside him, Kuluan answered in a raspy voice, "He refused." "Did he?" Tony sighed, giving a helpless shrug. "Expected, but still a pity... If we had access to those big transport vessels, our operation could have been much bigger." Kuluan shot him a glance. "You don't seem surprised at all." Lighting a cigarette, Tony said casually, "I looked into his background. The guy is a believer of the Silver Moon Sect. People of faith are usually harder to deal with." Kuluan raised an eyebrow slightly, his expression turning cold. "Are you questioning my faith?" Tony paused, puzzled by why this fellow was suddenly so touchy, but he chuckled and shrugged it off. "Does anyone need to question it? Forget the nonsense, my friend; let's stick to business. Listen, I found a new partner on my end." Kuluan reined in his temper and asked, "Is he reliable?" "One hundred percent reliable. The warlords in Snake State of Brahma Province are their own people," Tony said enthusiastically, waving toward the doorway to summon a young man standing in the corridor. "I already brought him along. Let me introduce you." Kuluan followed his gaze and looked the young fellow up and down. The lad was a Brahma, but his features were not quite typical. Most Brahma people would reflexively lower their eyes toward his boots whenever their gazes met, but this youth looked him straight in the eye, neither servile nor overbearing. "Mehta, a Blue Family Member," Tony said, patting the lad on the shoulder and grinning at Kuluan. "They run a massive plot of farmland in northwestern Snake State, along with a fishing harbor." The young man named Mehta gave a reserved nod, speaking politely to Kuluan. "Greetings, Mr. Kuluan. I have heard of your great reputation." Kuluan smirked, finding it rather amusing to hear such words coming from a Brahma's mouth. Setting aside what kind of reputation he had, even if it truly existed, it had been paved with piles of Brahma heads. "What the hell is a 'Blue Family Member'?" Kuluan asked Tony bluntly. "Is this outfit reliable?" Tony gave him a knowing wink and a radiant smile. "Don't mind that, it's just their ranking system—white, green, yellow, blue, purple, gold. A Blue Family Member is already quite high up. You can think of them as a peculiar sort of religion." As he spoke, Tony clapped Mehta on the shoulder again. "Don't take offense either. Wilantes are all like this—they speak their minds." Mehta wore an indifferent expression, but Kuluan curled his lips with amused curiosity. "I thought people of faith were harder to deal with." Just as Tony was about to smooth things over, Mehta, who had remained quiet, suddenly spoke with righteous conviction. "The Family Association needs funds to overcome financial hardship. Mr. Zayed said this serves a higher cause: a necessary evil of temporary compromise, a bitter medicine for the stubborn ailments of the old era, and a dialectical distinction between primary and secondary contradictions. Cultivating it is completely justified." *Not to mention it's for you bastards to smoke, anyway,* Mehta sneered inwardly, though he kept both the thought and the sneer carefully hidden. His superior had told him not to lower himself to arguing with Wilantes—just focus on taking their money, using their funds to buy their guns, and then using those guns to shoot their soldiers. He had prepared himself mentally before arriving, but he still couldn't suppress his visceral disgust for the Wilantes. After all, before becoming a Family Member, he was first and foremost a Brahma. Kuluan let out a dry laugh, completely indifferent to the young man's rhetoric. Turning toward the helpless Tony, he asked, "How will the deliveries work?" Seeing that the prickly Wilante was finally done picking nits, Tony let out a sigh of relief and hurried to explain. "Very simple: we use the speedboats transporting weapons! We've bribed some crewmen. On their return voyage, they'll detour slightly along the southwestern coast of Brahma Province, passing by the fishing villages in Snake State. We stash the cargo aboard, and you clear it through customs on this end. As for distribution, my Iron Hand Gang will handle it." Kuluan nodded. It was a solid plan. They never inspected empty vessels very strictly anyway, let alone ships supplying the front lines. Having outlined the transport route, Tony looked at Mehta, who picked up where he left off. "We have as much of the stock you need as you want, but we only accept dinars, and we need to purchase certain supplies to ship back to Snake State." Kuluan chuckled. "What are you shipping there for?" Mehta narrowed his eyes slightly. "Do you really want to know?" Sensing tension flaring between them again, Tony quickly stepped in to play peacemaker. "All right, all right, don't ask so many questions. They're buying supplies to fight an internal conflict... It has nothing to do with you." With that, he shot Mehta a meaningful look. Though reluctant, Mehta stiffened his neck and nodded, going along with the explanation. Kuluan gave a cold smirk, not bothering to expose the lie. "I'll take your word for it, then." Even if Wilante weapons ended up on the front lines, it wouldn't be a big deal. Half of the State of Brahma's army was still using standard-issue Legion gear anyway, forcing the Alliance to set up an extra ammunition production line just to manufacture rounds for Legion-standard weapons. No one would ever trace it back to him. Besides, his role was merely to turn a blind eye; the actual transactions would never pass through his hands. That dirty work belonged to Blackwater Lane. Pausing, Kuluan raised three fingers. "I want a thirty percent cut of your business. Thirty percent of gross sales." A pained expression flashed across Tony's face, but in the end, he nodded. "Deal..." There was no cutting the Wilantes out of this operation. Even if only to distribute the goods to more places in the future, he had to rope this man in. Kuluan nodded, waved over the bartender who had quietly retreated to the far side of the counter, and patted Tony's shoulder. "He's paying." Later, he would arrange for a few of his veteran buddies to keep an eye on things. As the war dragged on, the Southern Legion's pension funds would inevitably be affected. Besides, that meager sum was nowhere near enough for them to live out the rest of their lives in comfort. As their former commander, he had to look out for them. Leaving behind those parting words, Kuluan scooped up the drink money Arman had left on the counter, shoved it into his pocket, and limped out of the tavern. *** While the boss of the Iron Hand Gang was drinking merrily with the Blue Family Member, hurried and unfamiliar footsteps echoed down a corner of Blackwater Lane. A man with a scarf wrapped around his neck hurried deep into the alley. His name was Andrew, a pureblood Wilante who worked as a guard at Katnode Prison. Apart from that, he held another identity: he was an initiate of the Enlightenment Society. Notably, although the Enlightenment Society nominally recruited only shelter dwellers, being a shelter dweller was not a high bar to clear. One could simply register at any shelter whose rules were less stringent. For that very reason, while preaching its apocalyptic faith, the Enlightenment Society would always add a caveat—as long as one became an initiate, they could board the ark of salvation on the day the world was rebooted. And that was the so-called "Handle" of the "Torch." However, Andrew hadn't joined the Enlightenment Society because of some apocalyptic prophecy, but purely because the society had lavished him with substantial benefits. For instance, they had granted him a fair-skinned, beautiful, and tender pureblood Wilante wife. Although Katnode Prison looked imposing from the outside, working inside as a guard was hardly a coveted post, especially since the inmates were all penniless paupers. In the Southern Legion, only failures who couldn't make it anywhere else were assigned here. For a Wilante like him—stuck at the bottom of the social ladder, old, ugly, and poor—trading his noble bloodline to marry an inferior native in a marriage of mutual convenience had been practically his only option. After all, he couldn't very well throw himself onto the battlefield like those young lads to win a medal. At his age, that ship had long sailed. Moreover, he was a coward by nature. What little courage he possessed was spent fantasizing about the supremacy and omnipotence of Wilante blood. He hadn't dared to set foot on a battlefield back then, let alone now. Strip away his material circumstances, and his inner self was utterly unremarkable, devoid of anything remotely interesting. Because of this, he had wept tears of gratitude for the Enlightenment Society's gift: the marriage and family they bestowed were things he could never have attained in his entire life had he stayed on his normal path. Never mind that they had frankly told him his wife was a clone, possessing nothing beyond basic life skills—a soulless, empty shell. Andrew didn't care about that anyway; if anything, it was even better. A clone's mark couldn't be inherited, and an obedient plaything spared him the petty squabbles of married life while allowing him to indulge in the "authority" of an undisputed patriarch. The Enlightenment Society's doctrine and his own worldview converged along a twisted dimension, separated by only a minor distinction. The Enlightenment Society sought to forge an elite world composed entirely of shelter dwellers, whereas his ideal elite world consisted entirely of Wilantes. Sharing such similar ideals, it was hardly surprising that they had found common ground. In truth, quite a few Wilantes in Evernight Port shared backgrounds similar to Andrew's. They were scattered across various trades, particularly the menial professions that mainstream society looked down upon yet could not do without. Though clones produced from assembly lines possessed social attributes far inferior to a naturally developed population and were incapable of handling complex tasks, they could infiltrate Southern Legion society like parasites. This infiltration program ran in tandem with their other ongoing plans. They had been consciously infiltrating the Southern Legion's society since long ago. Like horsehair worms silently taking over a praying mantis. And it was all unfolding without a sound... Coming to a halt before a secluded house, Andrew stole a glance to his side, confirmed no one was following him, and lightly tapped his knuckles against the door. After about half a minute, a faint rustle sounded from behind the door, though it did not open. Andrew pressed his face against the crack, lowering his raspy voice. "Thirty-one prisoners were recently brought into Katnode Prison... They're shelter dwellers, and they belong to the Alliance." Pausing, he continued, "Our warden claims they're Alliance spies, but I don't think any spies could be that stupid. Or rather... their drunkard's heart isn't set on the wine; they're hiding another motive entirely." "I risked listening in on some interrogation details. At the very end, one of them mentioned us and said he wanted to join us..." A distinct stir came from behind the door, followed by a hoarse voice that hissed like a viper through the gap. "Who did he say that to?" "To his interrogator. And that fool of an interrogator actually agreed to it." Speaking to this point, Andrew's voice held a trace of annoyance and confusion. "...That's where the problem lies. The guard brought over from the garrison isn't one of ours at all! I tried exchanging signals with him several times, and he didn't pay the slightest attention to me!" Silence lingered behind the door for a long while. "...Things are a bit tangled. I need to sort this out. Come back to see me tomorrow at this time." By all accounts, the Southern Legion shouldn't have been aware of their existence yet. These abnormal signs baffled him to the point where he couldn't even tell whether this bizarre spectacle was tied to them or not... even if, on paper, they appeared to be standing at center stage. In any case, alerting the Southern Legion at this juncture was a terrible idea; they needed muddy waters to catch fish. Before making any further moves, he needed to consult his superiors. Hearing the voice inside, Andrew nodded hastily. Blackwater Lane was no pleasant place, and he wouldn't spend an extra second here if he could help it. "Understood... I'll take my leave then." Leaving those words behind, he turned and hurried back toward the street, making a beeline for the nearest marketplace. Yet he failed to notice that a pair of eyes had been fixed upon his back the entire time. From the moment he stepped into Blackwater Lane. "The Enlightenment Society... So that thing really exists." Flipping a dagger in his hand, Morse murmured thoughtfully from the shadows, a manic smirk suddenly twitching across his face. Having lived in Blackwater Lane for so many years, this was the first time his own doorstep felt so alien to him. Who would have thought a nobody like him would have the honor of stepping into a game played by big shots... even if it was just watching from afar? Morse felt every cell in his body surge with uncontrollable excitement. His name, along with his Hyena Gang, might just become a legend throughout Blackwater Lane! When that time came, Tony would be nothing, and even the boss backing him would have to lick Morse's boots! Meanwhile, York—the burly man with the scar across his chest standing beside him—grew tense. First the Alliance, then the Legion. He had a bad feeling that this was going to turn into one massive, catastrophic mess...