Letting the Wilante build their own homeland was a pragmatic compromise. After all, the authorities of Settlement No. 1 could hardly conjure up a new district capable of housing five thousand people out of thin air.
Particularly since Settlement No. 1 was already taking in wastelanders from the eastern provinces, the settlement's rate of expansion and population growth had just managed to strike a fragile balance, and no one wanted to disrupt it.
Furthermore, these immigrants brought with them substantial capital and manpower.
Labor needed jobs, and capital needed suitable avenues of investment. With just a little resource allocation, both needs could be satisfied at once.
Henke had seized precisely this opportunity, satisfying the demands of all parties involved.
The Settlement No. 1 administration only had to provide an urban blueprint to get a high-growth new district for free. The construction sites would not only stimulate the local economy, but also resolve the broader challenges of integrating more Wilante in the future.
And with dinars as collateral, Alliance banks would be more than happy to issue loans.
After all, using hard foreign exchange in actual gold and silver as collateral was vastly more reliable than IOUs or stock shares.
Although some Polos nitpicked the word "homeland," blowing it out of proportion to claim it was a Wilante plot for "soft colonization," very few people bought into it.
After all, purely in terms of numbers, far more Polos had fled to the Alliance than Wilante.
First it was the Moon Clan, then the residents of Golden Gallon Port; these people had been fleeing ever since the days of the Xilan Empire.
In a sense, they too were beneficiaries of the Alliance Constitution.
Crossing the river only to tear down the bridge behind you—people like that were disliked no matter where you went.
In fact, once some Polos cooled down, they realized for themselves that their reasons for protesting couldn't hold water.
They tried using racial narratives to win sympathy, but the survivors from the eastern provinces weren't buying it.
The Alliance hadn't supported the war in Brahma Province because of bloodlines or hatred toward the Wilante, but because of shared class alignment—they were all suffering survivors on the wasteland.
Back then, they themselves had suffered endless humiliation over race and fled to the Alliance seeking asylum. Now, turning around to attack their class brothers on racist grounds was indefensible by any measure of reason or conscience.
Not to mention doing so in such an aggressive manner...
By noon, most of the crowd gathered outside City Hall to protest had dispersed, though about a hundred stubborn holdouts remained at their posts.
Settlement guards had set up cordons around them.
Although there had been a few shoving matches, things had not escalated into violence.
Compared to the wastelanders of the eastern provinces, survivors from Brahma Province were actually far less aggressive, their temperaments relatively meek.
As for obstinacy, that was another matter entirely.
Most Polos were eager to appeal to reason only when reason favored them, while treating the dual nature of logic like an enemy—even when such spiteful behavior, harming others without helping themselves, had caused them endless misery over the past two centuries.
Standing outside the cordon, watching an overly agitated old man brandishing the flag of the Mammoth State, a young guard couldn't help but curl his lip.
"If they love that Laxi so much, why don't they go back? Right now is when Laxi needs them most."
The older colleague standing beside him grinned and bantered, "Haha, I bet you a silver coin that if he actually set foot on Laxi's turf, he'd be better behaved than if he were in our prison."
The young guard couldn't hold back a laugh, earning a furious glare from the old man carrying the Mammoth State flag.
"What are you laughing at! I pay taxes!"
The young guard replied with a grin, "Yes, yes, Your Majesty. If you notice anyone around here who hasn't paid their taxes, be sure to let me know."
The old man turned pale with rage.
The colleague quickly pulled the young guard back, shooting him a warning look telling him not to stir up trouble.
The younger man made a helpless face, turned around, and walked back to the car.
Right about then, the mayor, who had remained hidden from view, finally seemed unable to withstand the pressure and sent out his secretary.
Perhaps seeing the dawn of victory, the hundred or so protesting Polos shouted louder, their emotions growing even more frantic.
Tossed out to take the hit, the mayor's secretary had a pounding headache. Taking a megaphone from the City Hall staff, he shouted toward the hundred chanting Polos:
"Ahem... Friends from Brahma Province, please calm down! Whatever your demands are, this is merely an administrative body. It is not a legislature or a court, and it certainly isn't some duke's private estate. We, just like you, must obey our common laws. If you believe sheltering these Wilante violates Alliance law, or that there's an issue with our laws, you should take it to the Representative Council or the courts—"
Before he could finish, he was cut off by an outcry from all sides.
To be honest, having never been to the front lines, it was the first time he had ever seen such brave Polos. The old man hoisting the Mammoth flag bellowed at him, red-faced and thick-necked:
"Is this a question of the law?!"
"Then what do you say the problem is—"
His words were cut off again as a young man directly behind the elder yelled at him:
"That's right! The law is merely the baseline! It doesn't mean it's right!"
"Exactly! The law itself is unreasonable! Why should Wilante get to share the fruits of our labor?!"
"And Wilante from the Southern Legion, no less! Who knows if there are Decurions or Centurions mixed in among them?!"
Voices surged back and forth before City Hall. The protesting Polos seemed determined to turn the concrete underfoot into a muddy quagmire, waiting for someone to stir it up.
The mayor's secretary was stunned.
Still, he was a worldly man, and his mind adapted quickly.
"You're right, the law is merely the baseline, and in our daily lives we should hold ourselves to higher moral standards... But if someone has no baseline at all, can you truly believe they possess moral standards higher than that baseline?"
Perhaps because the players were generally reasonable, he instinctively tried to rely on logic and reason to persuade these agitated Polos.
Yet he failed to realize that trying to reason with Polos was a fundamental mistake.
Not a single Polo had ever become emperor by winning people over through reason; without exception, they all achieved their ends by deception, theft, violence, and trickery.
"I want to see the Administrator!"
"We can't get anywhere talking to you!"
"That's right! Let us see the Administrator!"
Unreasonable roars rang out, turning every coherent explanation into a joke. The secretary, who had still been trying to reason with them, finally understood why his superior had refused to come out and face these people, and why the shrewd operators of the Representative Council had pretended not to see a thing.
Order was not what they wanted; they wanted something else entirely.
He finally gave up, shouting in despairing exasperation:
"Fine! Go on then! If you don't go, I'll think less of you! Go buy your train tickets, go to Dawn City, and see your esteemed Administrator! Go tell him with your own mouths: 'Respected Administrator, you're wasting your effort'... No one's stopping you!"
Behind the cordon, the guards watching the spectacle exchanged glances.
"I'm suddenly starting to feel a little sorry for the mayor..."
"You're not the only one."
It was worth noting that the Guard Bureau was not subordinate to City Hall; in this regard, Settlement No. 1 followed the same tradition as Dawn City.
As long as things did not turn violent, they would not intervene. If they took orders from City Hall or some influential "big shot" to disperse a crowd that hadn't escalated, they might instead draw punishment from the Guards Corps.
The protesting Polos clearly understood this as well, which was why they neither blocked the doors nor occupied the road, but merely clamored directly beneath the mayor's office window.
At noon, Gu Ning arrived near City Hall by car from the harbor district. Not far from the entrance, he happened across another regional representative from the Representative Council.
His name was Suka. Going solely by his ID and appearance, not even fellow Polos could tell he was of the Moon Clan.
Yet Gu Ning, who served with him on the Regional Representative Council, knew his background. He also knew Suka sent a quarter of his salary every month to the Union in Golden Gallon Port (not the one belonging to Absaik).
Perhaps because of their past suffering, the Moon Clan was far more unified than the "snakes, rats, insects, and birds" of Brahma Province.
Gu Ning adjusted his collar, paused beside him, and said with a faint smile, "Aren't you going to speak up for them?"
Suka stayed silent for a moment before sighing: "Mr. Gu, can you understand that feeling of loving and hating something at the same time?"
Gu Ning read the complexity and dilemma in his eyes, but said nothing more, merely clapping him on the shoulder with a smile.
"Leave it to me."
Silently watching Gu Ning walk forward, Suka shook his head. Ultimately unable to bear watching any longer, he turned and left.
They sat together in the same council meetings; how could he not know what lay behind that smile?
He was certain that whatever Gu Ning intended to do might be good for the Alliance, but it was unlikely to be good for his own compatriots.
Yet he had neither the power to stop it, nor any certainty about whether he even should.
After all, he was now a man of the Alliance...
It was worth noting that within the Alliance, there had always been two currents—radical and conservative—corresponding to left and right. Although both factions were objectively young and rarely clashed in open dispute, that did not mean they did not exist.
Mr. Gu, for instance, was a quintessential conservative.
They had no quarrel with the radicals over accepting suffering survivors from the wasteland; that, after all, was one of the earliest clauses written into the constitution.
Yet on specific questions—such as what kind of survivors were worthy of acceptance, who could be rallied to the cause, and whether uniting with those who shouldn't be united with would undermine the Alliance's foundation—they and the people they represented held vastly different views.
Another point worth noting was that within the Alliance, those who hated the Wilante were not as numerous as the Polos or the Wilante themselves imagined.
After all, Wilante represented by Vannus had fought side by side with the survivors of River Valley Province long ago against the Legion and the running dogs it backed.
And everyone had seen their efforts with their own eyes.
Vault dwellers didn't go in for racial narratives. In their eyes, tracing back two centuries, all survivors on this planet were remnants of the Human Alliance—even the Wilante created by the Technical Department were built on human DNA templates and represented the biotechnological pinnacle of human civilization.
Furthermore, while the Legion's hands were far from clean, the Empire was hardly any more noble.
Leaving aside everything Wutuo had done, even the states of Brahma Province that had severed ties with him had pulled off shocking stunts: overt assassinations in diplomatic settings, ruthless exploitation of overseas laborers, smuggling contraband, and so on.
Many pitied them, but just as many thought they had it coming.
For that very reason, trying to gain the Alliance public's favor through sob stories was difficult, and attempting to use that favor to challenge the Alliance Constitution was outright dangerous.
Suka, in fact, saw this quite clearly.
Compared to the "Southern Wilante" keeping their heads down, and those Wilante distancing themselves from the Southern Legion, the crowd outside City Hall was playing with fire.
The more they emphasized their bloodline and the tragic fate attached to it, attempting to strong-arm progressive voices into compromising their principles, the more they would trigger a backlash from the conservative voices within the Alliance:
[We've helped you more than enough. Know when to stop.]
The conservatives would seize on the issue.
And it was already too late for him to stop it...
Seeing someone from the Representative Council arrive, the mayor's secretary, who had been downstairs trying to placate the Polos, finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"You're finally here."
Arriving on the scene, Gu Ning wasted no words. He counted heads, then pulled the secretary aside.
"Order a hundred and twenty boxed meals and bottled water for them. I'll pay... Don't get anything too expensive. A budget of two hundred silver coins. Just enough to fill their stomachs."
Thinking Gu Ning was here to break up the dispute, the secretary gave him an odd look.
"Feed them? If I were in their shoes, I'd make a scene here until nightfall!"
Gu Ning said succinctly, "People don't listen to a word when their stomachs are empty. Having them fool around until evening is better than having them come back tomorrow... Don't forget to order one for me, too. I haven't eaten a bite since morning."
The mayor's secretary stared at him with an odd expression for a moment, but said nothing in the end, turning back toward City Hall.
Before long, one hundred and twenty-one boxed meals were indeed delivered—one meat and two vegetables, not extravagant, but decent enough.
The Polos happened to be hungry, their throats hoarse from shouting, so they did not refuse the food and water provided by the representative.
Gu Ning handed them out personally to the protesters and sat down to eat with them.
Perhaps moved by his down-to-earth gesture, the Polos began treating him like family, opening up without reservation.
To their praise, Gu Ning merely smiled modestly, quietly ate until he was about seventy percent full, and waited for everyone else to finish.
This wasn't just a show.
Or to put it more precisely, at least treating them to a meal wasn't.
At most, it was courtesy before force.
Lunch break finally arrived, and local residents working nearby began trickling into the street. Most were survivors from the eastern provinces, along with some Wilante from the Eastern Legion; almost all of them wandered over out of curiosity to watch the commotion.
Seeing the crowd grow, the well-fed Polos wiped their hands, picked up their signs from the ground, and prepared to strike while the iron was hot.
Right then, Gu Ning spoke in a mild tone: "Friends, I haven't asked yet what your demands are. Tell me now. Only by knowing your demands can I help resolve your problems."
"We don't like Wilante."
"Make them get the hell out of the Alliance!"
"Speaking of which, aren't they basically a manufactured problem to begin with? Why can't we just erase these big-noses from the face of the earth?"
Looking at the agitated crowd, Gu Ning smiled warmly and took the megaphone from the mayor's secretary.
"Dislike... That's a fine reason. Just like you, there are plenty of things I dislike—overly sweet things, overly salty things. But far more than either of those, what I truly despise are people who think the entire world revolves around them.
"Those people are like infants with heads too large to fit in a baby carriage. One day they want this person dead, the next day that person dead. To satisfy their appetite, you'd have to tear down everything and start over. It'd be far simpler to sew their filthy mouths shut... What I want to say is, since all these problems are stirred up by that sort, why can't it be them who drop dead?"
The crowd went dead silent.
Even the mayor's secretary, who had just handed him the megaphone, stood there in dumbfounded shock, mouth agape.
Yet not everyone wore an expression of astonishment.
The young guard who had retreated to the police cruiser earlier, for instance, couldn't help clapping twice in excitement—well out of everyone's sight.
The Polos finally came to their senses, realizing who he was really lambasting, and burst into furious curses.
"What the fuck do you mean by that?!"
"This is outrageous! The ones who deserve to die are those big-noses! Are you saying it's our fault?!"
"You traitor to the Alliance!!"
Their curses grew nastier by the second, but whether because they were full or because accepting a meal softened their bite, their shouting lacked real conviction.
Faced with the barrage of curses, Gu Ning acted as though deaf to it all. Instead, he raised his voice even louder, addressing the larger crowd gathered behind them:
"I will forever be loyal to the Alliance. No one loves the Alliance more than I do, and cowards who fled with their tails between their legs have no right to judge me.
"Furthermore, I'm not singling anyone out. I am simply talking about the kind of people I despise. If given the chance, I truly wish we could build a massive colony ship and send those lunatics off to a planet of their own.
"They could stay all by themselves, using the exact same old tricks they do best, slaughtering each other to their hearts' content on that planet, rutting with whatever they want, licking whichever toes they want to lick—just like the beasts spend their days doing and dreaming of—so long as they stay out of our sight!"
Never having seen a representative so blunt and down-to-earth, the spectators on the street cheered and whistled.
A player fitted with cybernetic prosthetics even chimed in with a laugh to stoke the flames: "I back you! I bet you're talking about the Legion!"
Gu Ning pointed at him, picking up right where he left off: "You're absolutely right! The Legion has no shortage of bastards who want to shit on everyone else's heads all day! Especially those Myriarchs—they wage wars on lies, dragging people in or diving in willingly, splashing the blood of their own compatriots to satisfy their ugly, filthy desires, and then using their Marshal and high-minded talk of loyalty as a shield! Such hypocritical filth aren't fit to utter the word 'loyalty,' let alone call themselves loyal and brave Wilante! Am I right?!"
Applause broke out in the crowd.
And several young men clapping were Wilante themselves.
Their faces flushed with excitement; this man had said aloud what they longed to say but could never bring themselves to voice.
Today's Legion was no longer the one that fought for the destiny of the Wilante; it was a monster that drank human blood and ate human flesh.
Perhaps other Wilante felt differently.
But at least those standing here had come precisely because they were sick to death of those lies.
"You're damn right!"
"Fuck the Southern Legion! Fuck Tyr!"
"Those bloodsucking bastards are the real traitors to the Wilante!"
Behind the cordon, the Polos were rendered speechless.
It wasn't that they had nothing to say; they had simply been disarmed on the spot, caught completely off balance by the sudden shift.
Glancing coolly at the now-deflated protesters, Gu Ning turned back toward the growing thunder of applause in the street, raising his megaphone once more:
"Very good, and congratulations! You have truly joined our cause. You genuinely want to bring an end to the Wasteland Era, and you are willing to dedicate your lives to liberating suffering survivors... It is an honor for us to aid those who carry such ideals.
"As for those cursing me, I won't ask what you're here for. But before coming here, did you not read the Alliance Constitution? If you refuse to abide by our rules, why come here at all? Why not crawl back to your empire, or find somewhere cooler to rot out in the wasteland?
"Is it because the Empire and the wasteland won't coddle you? Or because the people of River Valley seem easygoing, and the people of Jinchuan seem gentle and accommodating? We strive to seek common ground while shelving differences, embracing how you are different—yet have you, for even a single second, considered integrating into us?
"Our esteemed Administrator has given you more than enough chances. If you believe any law was broken, sue the scoundrel responsible. If you think the problem lies with the law itself, bring your petition before the Representative Council. If you think law enforcement is at fault, go to the Guards Corps!
"Instead, you choose the most extreme and obnoxious way possible, demanding that we shake our very foundations just to cater to your feelings... Do you truly hate the Legion, or do you just hate that you never had the power to be the Legion yourselves?!
"Remember: I am speaking to those cursing me, those who wish they could wipe me out. I am not targeting any ordinary, reasonable Polo.
"The Alliance belongs to all survivors; it is not your personal wishing well. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention: the second thing I hate most in this life is line-cutters who refuse to follow the rules!"
Applause and whistles echoed outside City Hall. Even a few of the younger guards maintaining order near the cordon couldn't help but clap along.
The protesters in front of City Hall felt increasingly mortified. In the end, glaring furiously at Gu Ning, they began slinking away in groups.
As the old man carrying the Mammoth flag passed by him, he spat out a venomous threat: "I hate you... My children and I will die before we ever vote for you."
Gu Ning handed the megaphone back to the mayor's secretary, looking at the old man as he replied, "Then save it for someone you love. I'm not a silver coin—I'm just myself. How could I possibly please everyone?"
Pausing here, he flashed a mischievous grin.
"Though I must warn you, old man: if you ever meet someone who agrees with everything you want, watch your wallet. Only a swindler promises to satisfy everyone's demands—especially when those demands contradict each other."
The old man didn't wait for him to finish. Seeing that his threats had no effect whatsoever, he stormed off in a huff.
Gu Ning smiled as he watched the last protester depart, his expression returning once more to its courteous demeanor.
In fact, he had been courteous the entire time, even if his megaphone volume had been turned up a little high.
Sitting inside a sedan in the distance, Suka sighed, his forefinger rubbing the ID card in his grasp before he finally slipped it back into his jacket.
"Where did things go wrong?"
Baffled and anguished, he rested his forehead against his clasped hands.
The premonition in his heart grew stronger.
His people were winning one war.
Yet slowly losing another...
Meanwhile, a train rumbled past the station platform in Mafu Town, carrying countless people brimming with hope for a new life out toward the boundless wasteland.
Riding the train, Chu Guang gazed out at the rolling mountain ranges in the distance.
That was Ten Peaks Mountain.
The place where the Mutual Aid Community coalition had joined forces in Jinchuan Province.
It marked the first cooperation among the Legion, the Academy, and the Enterprise in a century and a half, as well as the turning point in the war between the survivor factions and the "world-ending powers."
A reminiscent smile drifted across Chu Guang's face.
"Weifu City is just ahead."
Chapter 905