Eight o'clock in the evening.
Evernight Port had completely blended into the night, leaving only the motley reflections of lights floating upon and beneath the water.
Standing by the window, Yarman felt a wisp of sorrow rise between his brows, and he sighed softly.
"It's getting more and more unsettled here lately."
Gang shootouts, addictive drugs, power-for-money deals... Good people were either driven into villains or perished in despair, whether they were Wilantes or of other races.
He had been here less than a week, yet practically every day he witnessed terrible things or heard dreadful news.
And yet, whenever he opened the newspaper, all he could see were the proud Wilantes striding proudly from one triumph to the next, while not a single word was said about the problems the Wilantes were facing.
News and reality were like two non-intersecting parallel lines; the more one read, the more one felt the disconnect between them.
Sometimes he could not help but wonder how good it would be if the Lord Marshal ordered someone to take charge of this wretched settlement. Yet the reality was that His Honorable Lord Marshal might not even know a place called "Evernight Port" existed beneath his feet.
And where would they even begin to manage it?
That was probably a question with no answer.
Sensing her husband's distress, Margot, wearing her nightgown, walked up to him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, and offered soft words of comfort.
"The whole world is like this, so how could it be any different here? Don't worry so much about us. We can take care of ourselves... and you must take care of yourself out there as well."
Gazing into her eyes, Yarman fell silent for a moment before speaking the thought in his heart.
"...I want to take you all away from here."
Margot also gazed back without blinking, asking in a very soft voice, "And where would we go?"
Yarman took a deep breath.
"In the past, I thought about Golden Gallon Port, but later I realized Port French Fries is quite good too, and Settlement No. 1... There are actually plenty of places we could go."
Pausing, he added, "The business I'm running now doesn't really depend on the Legion's colonies anymore... The market here is huge, but the risks aren't small either. Compared to this, there are better choices. Besides, I want to be closer to you and Ruby, so if anything unexpected happens again, I won't be unable to make it back in time."
Listening to her husband's concerns, Margot nodded, but a faint trace of worry still surfaced between her brows.
"But... we're at war with the Alliance. Will it really be all right going there?"
Placing his hands on his wife's shoulders, Yarman gave her an affirming look.
"Plenty of Wilantes live there too, and... based on my experience dealing with those vault dwellers, they'll treat us as equals."
He remembered what a vault dweller who had once taken his ship told him: when jackals come, there are shotguns; when friends come, there is fine wine.
Their enemies were not people whose noses were higher than others', but those who wanted to ride on others' necks and shit on their heads.
Even if that bastard shared the exact same nose, they wouldn't stand for it.
Margot still felt some hesitation in her heart. Though she trusted her husband, she was not just thinking of herself.
This wasn't their first time moving, but in the past, they had always gone to colonies directly or indirectly controlled by the Legion.
Completely leaving the territory controlled by the Wilantes was something she had never even dared imagine before.
"Then... what about Ruby? She only just made new friends not long ago."
Yarman lapsed into silence.
What his wife brought up was precisely his biggest worry.
Ruby was still young.
He couldn't make her drift all over like a sailor, just like him.
Keenly catching the hesitation in her husband's eyes, Margot straightened his collar.
"You want me to talk to her, but I think... she'd probably prefer her father to speak with her about this himself. She isn't a child who understands nothing anymore; she's a member of this family... If you're willing to talk to her, I think she'll be very happy."
"You're right. I should talk to her myself, about my concerns, my thoughts... and hers."
Hearing his wife's words, Yarman felt a great deal of his anxiety melt away, and a smile broke through his furrowed brow.
"And... thank you."
Seeing her husband's bashful look, Margot broke into a tender smile.
"Since when have you been so polite with me?"
"I said it a long time ago: wherever you go, I will be with you."
Brushing a light, fleeting goodnight kiss across his lips, she turned and left the study, gently closing the door behind her.
Watching her graceful retreating figure, Yarman suddenly felt that heart of his—ticking away like an old clock—reignite with warmth.
Chuckling, he shook his head. He wanted to take a bottle of red wine from the liquor cabinet, but then remembered he had to talk to his daughter in a moment, so he took out a sachet of black tea instead.
Evernight Port had become chaotic, but at least tonight, the moonlight was as tranquil as water.
He dropped a sugar cube into the steaming teacup, then pressed the button on the radio.
This was not a decision to be made lightly.
He needed to calm his mind and think it through thoroughly...
Yet right at that moment, the voice coming from the radio left him stunned where he stood.
"Good evening, residents of Evernight Port."
"I am Agent Kant of the Garrison Intelligence Section, former serviceman of the 30th Myriad, an obscure nobody just like you."
"However, I am not entirely the same."
Yarman instinctively froze his index finger where it rested beside the teacup. The bewilderment on his face gradually turned into contemplation, which was then replaced by an intrigued expression.
An unusual speck of light seemed to have appeared across the dark, sea-covered horizon.
A spark of hope flickered into view.
He decided to wait and see.
Or rather, listen—listen to what this friend named Kant intended to say.
It was not just him who halted in his tracks. People in the harbor district taverns set down their glasses as well, cutting short their murmured conversations.
Tonight's Evernight Port broadcast seemed unusual.
Yet precisely because of this, everyone cast curious glances toward the radio sitting on the bar counter, wanting to hear just how this fellow named Kant was different from them.
That included Kuluan, the limping customs officer sitting by the bar.
Unlike everyone else seated there, a faint murkiness lingered in the pupils reflected in his glass.
"...The difference between us is that, between faith and bread, I chose faith."
***
Inside the broadcast studio.
Slumped in a chair, Myriad Commander Willoughby slowly woke from his unconscious stupor.
He had had a very, very long dream.
And not just long.
That fantastical scene had been so wonderful that he wished he could sleep on forever, never to wake.
"You're awake?"
Hearing that eerie voice drift over, Willoughby shuddered violently, snapping awake as though a bucket of icy water had been dumped over his head.
He instinctively glanced around, only to find the room empty save for a single beam of light shining straight from ahead.
Beneath that light source sat a chair, and a person was seated upon it.
It looked like an interrogation room.
Yet not entirely.
Squinting to shield his eyes from the blinding white glare, he tried to move his limbs, only to find his arms and ankles bound tightly to the chair, completely immobilized.
Swallowing hard, Willoughby finally accepted reality, abandoned his struggles, and whispered in resignation, "...Where is this?"
The man sitting straight ahead did not hide it either, answering frankly, "Somewhere in Evernight Port."
Hearing that he was still in Evernight Port, Myriad Commander Willoughby secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
As long as he was still in Evernight Port, that was fine.
After all, a myriad commander going missing was a major event. Soon enough, someone would notice his disappearance, and then everyone in the Garrison would go frantic... including the governor who had turned him away at the door earlier today.
That idiot was probably kicking himself with regret right now for not granting him an audience then.
Willoughby felt a vindictive satisfaction in his heart.
Yet very quickly, he remembered his own predicament, and his mood plunged once more.
"...You're Kant?"
Kant nodded calmly. "Yes."
Having received confirmation, Willoughby mustered a shred of courage, and the weakness in his gaze sharpened.
"Kant... have you lost your fucking mind? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
"I know," Kant nodded, stating the obvious as if for the record. "I kidnapped Myriad Commander Willoughby, head of the Garrison."
Willoughby frowned slightly.
For some reason, the way this fellow spoke and his tone made him feel a faint, creeping unease.
However, at this critical juncture, he was obviously far more concerned with his safety than the posturing of some mere nobody.
"...What the hell do you want? Money? Or something else?"
Right now, he desperately hoped to hear the word 'money' come from the mouth across from him.
Because that was the easiest problem for him to solve, and the thing he lacked least.
Yet unfortunately, Kant, sitting before him, did not grant his wish. Instead, he uttered a word that took him entirely by surprise.
"The truth."
"...The truth?"
"That's right, that's all I want." Looking at the stunned Myriad Commander Willoughby, Kant asked in an uncompromising tone, "Why was Project Wasp cancelled? Give me the reason."
"Why... what do you mean, why?" Cold sweat poured down Willoughby's forehead as he glared furiously at this reckless fool. "Keep your nose out of business that doesn't concern you! Knowing too much won't do you any good!"
Kant listened quietly to his roaring without interrupting once. Only when the other man stopped, gasping for breath, did he pull an alarm clock from his chest and quietly place it on the floor.
Seeing the countdown on the LCD screen, Willoughby's pupils constricted sharply.
"...What is that?"
"A bomb." Looking at that face draining of color, Kant offered a faint smile and continued in a soft voice, "Whether it does me any good, I'll judge for myself. You only need to answer my questions while you still have time. Understand?"
Willoughby's eyes widened like brass bells, staring in disbelief at this subordinate who dared threaten him with a bomb.
This man was a lunatic!
Staring at that unmoved expression, he swallowed with difficulty and spoke in a trembling voice, "Because... pressure from above! I have my own difficulties too! Listen, don't look at me like I'm a myriad commander—the Garrison isn't the field army! I command fewer men than that bastard Ya Hui!"
Kant furrowed his brows. "Whose pressure? Governor Ya Hui?"
Willoughby shook his head. "I can't say! If I dare say it... I'm finished!"
Kant gave a slight shrug, dimmed the light behind him a little, and revealed his indifferent expression.
"...It doesn't matter. You still have nine minutes. Wasting a little time thinking is fine, as long as you answer the subsequent questions faster."
He had already staked everything on this trial; he cared about nothing now other than the truth.
Looking at that uncaring face, Willoughby's expression twisted into agony, then spiraled into frantic desperation amidst his struggle.
Eight minutes!
The ticking seconds dropped away like the last remaining beats of his heart!
Finally unable to bear the crushing terror of death, he caved, opening his mouth and letting out a hysterical roar.
"It's the General Affairs Department! The Brahma Province Theater General Affairs Department! Are you satisfied now?!"
Kant answered in a soft voice, "Still not enough. That answer is too broad. I need you to name a specific person."
This madman!
The ropes dug deep into his clothing, and Myriad Commander Willoughby's eyes were bloodshot.
To save his own life, he threw caution to the winds entirely.
"Director Dickens... It was his secretary who contacted me! He stood right in my office and demanded we stop the investigation!"
Kant lit a cigarette for himself, glanced down at the timer on the floor, and asked leisurely, "There had to be a reason, right?"
Having already crossed the line of no return, Willoughby relaxed somewhat and let out a cold chuckle.
"A reason? Do you think they'd say that sort of thing out loud?... But surely you can guess it yourself."
Kant said, "Snake oil?"
Willoughby curled his lip, looking at him as if he were an idiot.
"What else could it be? 'Sharon,' used to treat post-war trauma symptoms, is the raw material for making 'snake oil,' and the active ingredients of both come from snake grass. We can hardly tell those veterans that the sedatives we hand them are spiked with hallucinogens, or that the sweet dreams they have every night aren't because of the Southern Legion Victory Gazette, but because of the drugs prescribed by the Logistics Section."
Kant clenched his fists, then suddenly unclenched them, staring at him with a face full of sorrow.
"Why?"
"Why again? Where do you get all these 'whys'?!... Even if you know, what difference does it make?"
Glancing at the countdown, Willoughby asked impatiently.
Yet Kant, seated before him, acted as if he hadn't heard, continuing on his own.
"Our soldiers fight for the honor and living space of the Wilantes, yet you lot... you would rather prescribe them a bunch of useless drugs that can't cure a single ailment, numbing their agony with chemically manufactured bliss, letting them rot in corners where we can't see, rather than face the problems they're actually dealing with!"
As he spoke, Kant rose from his chair. Glaring furiously at Myriad Commander Willoughby tied to the chair, he reached out and grabbed him by the collar.
"You bunch of parasites! Scum! Did you ever see them... see us as your own kin?!"
Willoughby glared back fiercely, devoid of even a sliver of fear in his eyes.
"What kind of bullshit are you spouting? If I'm not a Wilante, am I an alien? This was the General Affairs Department's decision! And it's the most economical approach! At least we hand out the medicine to them for free; if they don't want to take it, they can turn around and sell it!"
"And then the scoundrels of Blackwater Lane buy it back to brew even more potent junk, poisoning more people... right?"
Kant sneered.
Looking at Myriad Commander Willoughby, who was glaring with eyes bugged out like a goldfish, he enunciated every word, "And you lot can reap a fortune from the taxes paid by every single Wilante."
Nothing in this world was ever free; at most, the hand footing the bill was kept out of sight.
The taxes contributed by the Wilantes should have gone toward giving Wilantes a better life, not squandered on nonsensical pursuits for someone's personal ambition.
Like launching a foolish and senseless war, and then covering up the riddled sinkholes with countless lies.
Snake oil was merely the pus floating on the surface, beneath which lay even more obstinate venom.
As long as these vermin remained, the Wilantes would never achieve that distant dream.
Myriad Commander Willoughby chuckled, looking at Kant like an idiot.
"Heh, I don't deny it, but that's just your speculation. You have no proof, and neither do I. Even if you did, it wouldn't change a thing. Why? Because the Legion is just that kind of beast! Can you expect a chicken to lay duck eggs?"
"...If you've got more questions, ask them quickly! Kidnapping your own superior just to ask shit you already know the answer to—what a fucking waste of time."
Seeing only three minutes left on the LCD countdown, his panicked look returned.
He wasn't truly fearless in the face of death.
Saying so much was all just to keep himself alive.
With a trace of disappointment in his eyes, Kant let go of his collar, took two steps back, and returned to his chair.
"One final question. Answer it, and I'll let you go."
Pausing, he added softly, "...In that dream just now, what did you dream of?"
Hearing this unexpected question, Willoughby froze, thinking the fellow was pulling his leg.
Yet with time running out, he couldn't care whether Kant was joking or not. He could only force himself to confess that shameful dream.
"...I dreamed I became the Legion Commander."
"And then?"
"And then?" Willoughby blinked, utterly bewildered. "That Lord appointed me governor over a thousand worlds, and then there was nothing more... What's wrong with that?"
If possible, he would have loved for that dream to last longer, to see what followed.
That was truly a glorious era.
After paying the price of hundreds of millions of sacrifices, the Legion's borders had finally expanded to the edge of the galaxy.
Kant gave him one last pitying glance.
"Nothing... I've asked what I needed to ask. Untie him."
Talan, who had been standing behind Willoughby, drew a dagger and severed the cords binding him to the chair.
Willoughby jumped in fright.
He hadn't even noticed until now that a third person was standing in the room.
Of course, there were plenty of other things he didn't know—for instance, that a live broadcast had been running in the studio the entire time.
His "impassioned" speech had stripped the pants right off the Southern Legion.
Now, more than half the settlement's Wilantes knew what Sharon was really made of, and what kind of filth snake oil truly was.
Not only that, but also the dirty dealings of the General Affairs Department behind it, and the involvement of Director Dickens.
As for what Project Wasp was, or the Enlightenment Society that hadn't even been mentioned during the interrogation... at this moment, those trivial details no longer mattered.
Cluttered information would only distract people from the core issue and blur the real conflict.
From beginning to end, Kant had only one objective:
To try and wake up those of his kin who were still pretending to sleep.
The problems of the Wilantes ultimately had to be faced and solved by the Wilantes themselves.
This had nothing to do with the Alliance or the Enlightenment Society, nor with the enemies they were currently fighting—those Brahma people.
However, he was merely an intelligence agent; this was all he could do.
"Just letting him go like this?" Holding Willoughby by the collar, Talan looked at Kant and asked.
He had suddenly developed a bit of admiration for this guy.
He had played this game for two years and learned the Human Alliance language, but he had never had such a deep connection with an NPC before, let alone become friends.
Even though they had only known each other for a few short days.
"...Let him go. He's just a pathetic creature who stayed silent before the truth, not some irredeemable villain. Besides, the survivors of Evernight Port have already seen through these bastards' true faces. As for what choices they make, that's a matter for after sunrise. What we can do, we've already done tonight."
A trace of weariness crept into Kant's voice, though tinged with a sense of relief.
Right then, he remembered something else and turned to Talan.
"Oh, right. Don't just throw him straight out. Hold him in front of you as a shield, make the guards outside give you a truck full of fuel, and drive straight north into the desert... You can dump him outside the settlement, and do whatever you like after that."
Regardless of whether this guy was truly an Alliance regimental commander or just an obtuse fool, he had done plenty of good things for the Wilantes.
There was no need for him to die here together.
Talan frowned. "And what about you?"
Kant cracked a joke. "My mission is over. A planet named after me is still waiting for me to take office."
Talan stared blankly for a second, then burst into hearty laughter.
"You're quite an interesting fellow."
Kant smiled. "Heh, is that your assessment of me? By the way, speaking of which, you took a hit of that stuff too, didn't you?... To be honest, what did you actually see? A golden age belonging to those of noble blood? Save that crap for someone else; you vault dwellers don't give a damn about bloodlines."
Talan remained silent for a moment before answering truthfully, "An equal world. A place where true equality between people has been realized, where there are no bastards constantly scheming to shit on other people's heads, and no endless petty squabbles. My comrades and I live abundantly. Though we're still far from utopia, I'm pretty satisfied with it."
A faint glimmer of envy surfaced in Kant's eyes, and he sighed softly.
"Is that so... How wonderful."
"Have you two finished chatting yet?!" While the two were talking, Willoughby's eyes remained glued to the countdown timer, and he struggled desperately against Talan's grip.
Watching Myriad Commander Willoughby squirming like an earthworm, Talan laughed aloud and tossed him right out the door.
"Get lost!"
Losing his balance, Willoughby stumbled and fell, but he scrambled to his feet on all fours and sprinted frantically toward the stairs, not daring to linger a second longer.
Kant stared at Talan in shock, asking with a bizarre look, "...You just let him run off like that?"
"What else? What's the point of keeping him?" Talan shrugged and grinned broadly. "Besides, running away isn't my style. A five-star citizen like me prefers shooting his way out."
Kant didn't understand what a five-star citizen meant, and Talan had no intention of explaining it to him.
Meanwhile, Willoughby, fleeing in utter panic, had already scrambled downstairs. Just then, a timer landed with a clatter right in front of him, startling him into diving flat onto the ground with a screech.
"A bomb! Hit the deck!"
Everyone around was startled out of their wits by the shout.
Yet right at that moment, the untimely alarm bell suddenly began to ring.
*Brrrring—!*
The piercing sound froze everyone on the spot, including Willoughby, who was hastily sprawled on the ground.
His face gradually turned the color of pig liver. Burning with shame and rage, he scrambled up, brushing the dirt off his clothes and trousers.
That lunatic had played him!
Remembering his humiliating reaction, Myriad Commander Willoughby blew his top. Grabbing the collar of a nearby young soldier, he barked at him, "What are you all waiting for?! Watching a show?! Charge in there right now and shoot those two bandits dead!"
The young man's face tightened, eyeing the spitting Myriad Commander Willoughby with an odd look.
He wasn't the only one; everyone around was looking at him the same way... except for Governor Ya Hui, who was fuming with rage.
Looking at the yelling Willoughby, Ya Hui stormed up and slapped him across the back of the head.
"You stupid pig! Do you have any idea what the fuck you just said?!"
Willoughby was struck completely dumb.
"Wh... what did I say..."
Ya Hui grabbed him hard by the collar. "Take a good fucking look at where you are! This is the broadcast station! Not just the people here—the entire settlement just smelled the fart you let rip!"
Willoughby's face instantly went as white as freshly plastered drywall.
His lips trembled like a mute's.
The studio's soundproofing had been too good; he hadn't heard the broadcasts outside at all, let alone the radio transmissions sent out by the station.
He had thought Kant at most had a hidden recorder on him, never expecting the bastard had put him on a live broadcast...
Looking at this pathetic trash, Ya Hui shoved his collar away in disgust and barked at several Garrison captains on the scene, "Are you here to watch a circus?! Storm in there and shoot the people inside!"
The captains exchanged glances, every single one of them hesitating.
Seeing that no one moved, Ya Hui's nose twisted with rage, and he raised a trembling index finger.
Right at that moment, five Greyhound scout cars rumbled over, flanking a Beast infantry fighting vehicle.
Seeing those thick, long gun barrels and the heavily armed soldiers, Ya Hui felt a surge of joy.
Reinforcements had arrived!
Leading the team was a centurion wearing a Rhino exoskeleton, with a belt-fed light machine gun propped on his shoulder.
Walking up to Governor Ya Hui, he gave a crisp military salute and said coldly, "I heard someone is attempting rebellion."
Ya Hui nodded hurriedly, then pointed straight at the broadcast station ahead.
"Right in there! A traitor and a spy have occupied our broadcast station!"
*Just two people?*
The centurion raised an eyebrow, sweeping his gaze across the submachine-gun-toting guards around them, a flicker of disdain flashing in his eyes.
Even if these rear-echelon slackers didn't have to go to the front lines, failing to take a building held by just two people was genuinely pathetic.
Without a word, he waved his hand and led over a dozen soldiers in body armor to press forward.
Meanwhile, on the other side, inside the barricaded building, an excited glint shone in Talan's eyes.
"Holy crap... they even rolled out an IFV!"
Now he had finally racked up all five stars!
Chapter 893