At the port of Settlement No. 1, the Wilante, who had drifted at sea for two weeks, finally came ashore.
Except for a handful of ultra-conservative Brahma who were still protesting the Wilante Street project, the vast majority of local survivors welcomed these poor souls who had traveled from afar.
Even those who had once been entirely indifferent to them showed their support.
In a sense, this was also thanks to those hysterical Brahma.
Their unreasonable tantrums and absolute refusal to listen to logic had produced the exact opposite effect in the court of public opinion.
While their antics had certainly made them more united—swept up in their own self-righteous martyrdom—banding tightly together only made everyone else loathe them even more.
Any demand, reasonable or not, could be brought before the Alliance. But if you tacked on "If you don't do as I say, I'll throw a fit" or "If you don't listen to me, you're doomed," well, nobody in the Alliance had been born yesterday.
To spite this bunch of overgrown babies, some conservatives even deliberately crafted banners designed to annoy those spoiled brats, going out of their way to welcome the Wilante people they had previously cared nothing about.
Don't like it?
Then get the hell back to your Brahma Province!
We've had our fill of you anyway!
If Brahma methods work so well, folks back in Brahma Province must have bellies full of food, right?
Of course, it had to be said that the royalist manbabies did not represent all Brahma.
There were still plenty who had integrated into the Alliance.
Perhaps to mend ties with the rest of society, or perhaps out of genuine remorse, a group of Brahma braved the cold glares of their kin and stood at the docks to welcome the Wilante fleeing the Legion's oppression.
Most were of the Moon Clan, including Suka, one of the prominent figures of the radical faction.
Ever since the controversy flared up, he had been trying to cool the situation down and salvage the Brahma people's reputation.
Even after introducing the highly controversial "Immigration Bureau Bill"—and being denounced by fellow Brahma as a "traitor to his ancestors" because of it—he still gave everything he had to the effort, even if it meant alienating both sides.
It was hard to say whether his efforts were having any effect.
Yet in one respect, he actually bore a slight resemblance to Jerami, the man who had led the crowd in blocking the train.
Namely, both had moved themselves to tears with their own devotion.
The only difference was that Jerami had zero self-awareness and marched forward unswervingly,
whereas Suka knew full well he was fighting a losing battle, yet pressed on anyway.
On the harbor dock, Suka grasped Yarman's right hand, a heartfelt smile touched with haggard weariness.
"Congratulations. From here on, we walk the same path as comrades."
"Thank you for taking us in. And I'm sorry... for all the trouble we've caused you during this time," Yarman said sincerely, a trace of apology in his voice as he looked at Suka's conflicted expression.
Over the past two weeks, the Henk Group had procured three thousand prefabricated modular houses from Port French Fries to serve as temporary homes for the nearly five thousand immigrants aboard the ships.
Now, these refugees from Evernight Port finally didn't have to work on shore by day only to return to sleep on the cramped ships by night; they had a sheltered place to stay right on land.
These modular units had originally been Alliance relief supplies shipped to the Port French Fries resettlement centers to shelter refugees from the South Sea Alliance.
With the end of the civil war in the Southern Sea, the islanders of the South Sea Alliance had either gradually returned home or established permanent residences in Port French Fries, leaving these modular houses sitting idle.
With the assistance of Representative Gu Ning, the Henk Group had purchased these second-hand building materials from the Port French Fries City Hall at an eighty percent discount—practically a giveaway.
In exchange, once Wilante Street was fully built, the Henk Group would donate the modular houses free of charge to the local authorities of Settlement No. 1 to shelter more survivors arriving from the Western World or the Eastern Provinces.
"It was hardly trouble. Compared to the headaches other immigrants have given us, what you brought was minimal," Suka said with a self-deprecating chuckle and a soft sigh. "To tell the truth, I feel deeply ashamed. I know very well that our hardships don't stem from you, but from something within ourselves... yet acknowledging that isn't easy."
"It's not just you. Aren't we the same? We've wallowed in our own errors for two centuries," Yarman chuckled, giving him an encouraging look. "Still, I believe things will get better. For us, and for you."
"Let's hope so," Suka said with a smile, putting an end to a conversation that could yield no easy resolution.
He didn't know whether he should view the future with pessimism or optimism.
Perhaps it would have been better if General Rowell hadn't achieved that legendary feat back then.
Perhaps everything would have ended differently.
...
After parting ways with Suka, Yarman went back aboard the ship to fetch his wife and child.
He could have stayed ashore himself, but his wife believed it was better to share hardships with their compatriots on the ship during this difficult period.
They couldn't just abandon their people; they had to let them know they stood together.
This time, Little Ruby had sided with her mother as well.
After thinking it over for a long time, Yarman had agreed with them.
To him, this ship felt just like home anyway, so whether he lived on land or on the water made little difference.
Once he had settled his wife and daughter, Yarman met his business partner, Zhang Ze, near the passenger terminal.
The man was leaning against the railing, looking as though he had been waiting for quite a while.
Seeing Yarman walking toward him, Zhang Ze blew out a long breath of relief and stepped forward with open arms.
"First, congratulations... and second, thank God our passengers are finally off the ship."
The core operations of the Guabi Labor Agency depended entirely on Yarman's fleet.
Along the entire Death Coast, his vessels were probably the only ones that could sail freely in and out of West Sail Port and purchase serfs from local farm owners at rock-bottom prices.
Yarman smiled, embracing Zhang Ze and clapping him on the shoulder.
"Thank you."
Zhang Ze rolled his eyes and playfully shoved Yarman back by the shoulder.
"What are you thanking me for? It's your ship. Was I going to nag you to kick your own people out into the cold? That said, can we get moving on the next run soon? I've got a bad feeling this line of work is nearing its end. We'd better hurry."
Yarman gave him a quizzical look.
"Did you catch wind of something?"
Zhang Ze forced a wry smile.
"Catch wind of something? My friend, don't you read the papers? The tide of public opinion has swung completely the other way. If this goes on, I'm worried the Alliance will ban us from shipping Brahma directly to the Death Coast."
Doing that would be remarkably simple.
All the Representative Council had to do was pass legislation barring Alliance-registered enterprises from providing financial services to survivors who had never set foot in the Alliance.
If they couldn't help those serfs take out loans to buy their own freedom, or if contracts for redeeming debt were no longer recognized, the entire enterprise would instantly cease to be profitable.
Continuing after that would be pure charity.
After all, Brahma laborers couldn't possibly save up enough fare to cross the sea to the Death Coast just by hauling crates around West Sail Port.
When that time came, they would either have to cater exclusively to wealthy clients or scale back their operations to Mammoth City and Golden Gallon Port.
Yarman's expression grew troubled.
"That is indeed a problem..."
Zhang Ze shrugged.
"Speaking of which, don't you know people in the Representative Council? You'd better talk to that guy named Gu... see if you can work out a compromise where both sides give a little."
"I'll speak with him, but if his mind is already made up, I doubt my opinion will carry much weight."
The man was an Alliance representative after all, and his past conduct made it clear he would always prioritize the interests of Alliance citizens.
At present, conservative voices held overwhelming sway within the Alliance.
The only silver lining was that the Alliance conservatives probably didn't have the time or energy to bicker over such minor details; their full attention was currently consumed by drafting the charter for the proposed Immigration Bureau.
That was their core agenda, and the touchiest nerve for the radical faction.
Yarman promised his partner Zhang Ze that he would try to reach out to the Alliance representative and get the next voyage underway as soon as possible.
After bidding Zhang Ze farewell, Yarman was just about to leave the port when a Wilante man suddenly stepped out to block his path.
"Hello. Excuse me, are you Mr. Yarman?"
Hearing his name called, Yarman stopped and looked at the stranger.
The man was dressed in plain casual clothes, yet his polite, composed demeanor showed he was no ordinary person—likely well-educated and of considerable means.
Certain he didn't know him, Yarman asked hesitantly,
"Excuse me, and you are...?"
The man offered a faint smile and introduced himself politely.
"I should be the one apologizing for intruding on you so abruptly. Please permit me a brief introduction: my name is Greg. I'm a merchant doing business around Dawn City, as well as the president of the Wilante Overseas Compatriots Mutual Aid Association."
Yarman's brows furrowed slightly.
"The Wilante Overseas Compatriots Mutual Aid Association?"
It was the first time he had ever heard of such an organization.
Greg nodded with a smile and explained,
"To put it simply, it's a non-governmental organization where Wilante stranded outside Legion territory support one another. We strive to provide fellow Wilante with information resources and whatever assistance local laws and regulations permit... Would you happen to have a moment to spare? There are a few things I'd like to discuss with you."
Hearing Greg's explanation, Yarman relaxed his guard slightly.
Yet right then, he caught a faint trace of a "southern" accent in the man's speech.
This guy was from Avent City!
He couldn't be mistaken!
Having traveled far and wide across the wasteland, Yarman instantly grew suspicious, his instincts snapping back to high alert.
"...Wait. You said you're a non-governmental organization, Wilante helping Wilante?"
Greg smiled and nodded.
"Precisely. If you ever run into trouble, you can also reach out to us—"
"I don't need your help. What I want to know is, where were you people earlier?" Yarman stared straight into Greg's eyes, trying to spot any crack in his facade. "Where were you two weeks ago? Where were you when your fellow Wilante needed you most?"
Faced with such an accusatory tone, Greg's expression turned awkward. He cleared his throat and said,
"Well... my sincere apologies. I only learned about your situation very recently, and the moment I heard you were in need, I rushed straight over... though it seems I arrived a bit late."
Yarman kept his face impassive, but sneered inwardly.
The matter had been fermenting for at least half a month; traveling here from Dawn City took nowhere near that long.
Still, curious why this association had targeted him, he asked,
"What do you want with me?"
Seeing the blatant distrust in Yarman's eyes, Greg gave a helpless chuckle.
"Please, there's no need to be so defensive. We simply noticed that you command significant influence among our people, and we'd like to recruit you into our organization..."
As he spoke, he fished a business card from his pocket and offered it to Yarman.
"This is my card, please take it... Furthermore, considering the Wilante now make up a sizable proportion of Settlement No. 1's population, we intend to establish a local branch here. After learning of your deeds, we unanimously agreed that you, someone who always looks out for the interests of our people, would be the ideal branch president."
"I'm afraid I can't help you," Yarman said, taking the card and casually slipping it into his pocket. "I'll be putting out to sea before long and won't be staying here for any extended period. You'd best choose someone else."
"Understood. Most members of our association have their own businesses to run as well," Greg nodded, smiling. "Even so, feel free to consider our proposal. We never mistreat our own people—so long as you're willing to become one of 'us.'"
"My phone number is on the card. If you change your mind, please don't hesitate to contact me."
Leaving behind that loaded remark, Greg dipped his head slightly, turned, and hurried away.
Their conversation had lasted less than a minute. The man hadn't even shown enough sincerity to invite him for a meal; he had arrived in a rush and vanished just as swiftly.
Yarman shook his head with a chuckle and tossed the matter to the back of his mind.
His gut told him some trouble was almost certainly brewing behind the scenes, but he had zero desire to get involved.
Yet before he could take more than two steps, he found his way blocked by another unfamiliar face.
This man looked ordinary enough, but possessed a burly frame that stretched his navy-blue shirt taut.
Unlike Greg from moments earlier, this fellow looked like someone who earned his living through hard physical labor.
Not that Yarman looked down on laborers, but he had met quite enough strangers for one day.
Seeing that the man was clearly heading straight for him, Yarman sighed wryly.
"All right, who are you, and what do you want? Let's just get straight to the point..."
The man truly wasted no words.
Reaching into his jacket, he produced a palm-sized booklet bearing the Alliance insignia alongside another emblem Yarman didn't recognize.
And the man's next words froze Yarman right where he stood.
"Guards Corps."
"We have an ongoing case. Please come along and cooperate."
...
Before anyone realized, September was already in its final days.
Having stayed in Weifu City for nearly two weeks, Chu Guang set out on the road once more.
This time, however, he chose not to travel by train, switching his ride to a Viper transport plane manufactured by Boulder Military Industries.
In addition, he adjusted his itinerary. He moved Settlement No. 1 to the final leg of the tour, selecting Settlement No. 10, situated in the northeastern corner of Haiya Province, as the first stop of this journey instead.
As for the reason, on one hand, he had no wish to get dragged into the media frenzy surrounding Settlement No. 1; on the other hand, there were other factors at play.
Just two days prior, the Guards Corps had received intelligence that the Southern Legion was plotting an assassination attempt against him personally.
This was hardly surprising. Gamblers the world over were mostly the same: the more desperate and crazed by losses they became, the more likely they were to gamble everything on some bizarre, high-risk gambit.
While the Southern Legion was far from backed into a dead end, victory was visibly slipping further and further beyond their reach.
At this stage, they had precious few options left, and assassinating senior leadership offered the highest return on investment.
Pulling it off wouldn't be particularly difficult either.
Although the Alliance had united many, it had also earned plenty of enemies.
In particular, ever since the rollout of "shock therapy" across the Eastern Provinces, marauder factions itching to wipe the Alliance from existence were a dime a dozen.
While the Southern Legion's presence within the Alliance's borders was weak, it wasn't nonexistent.
They didn't even need to get their own hands dirty; they only needed to funnel funds to certain marauder groups, and someone burning with hatred toward the Alliance would inevitably step forward to do the job.
According to intelligence gathered by the Guards Corps, an outfit calling itself the "Wilante Overseas Compatriots Mutual Aid Association" had gradually entered their crosshairs.
The group's founder was named Greg, a merchant who had entered the Alliance via the Great Desert trade route. He had later established a construction materials business in the Dawn City area and recruited a number of merchants from the Eastern Legion as members of the association.
The Alliance had always maintained a supportive stance toward civic organizations, but it had never loosened regulatory oversight within the bounds of the law.
And during their scrutiny of this Wilante group, the Guards Corps had turned up something rather unusual.
Namely, that fellow named Greg.
An overland merchant hailing from the Eastern Legion, yet over ninety percent of the profits generated by his company in Dawn City came from maritime commerce.
Furthermore, when looking into specific orders, the foreign trade department discovered that a massive number of invoices were outright forgeries.
A merchant from the Eastern Legion raking in a fortune from an unfamiliar industry with no clear paper trail—it practically screamed "spy" in broad daylight.
In terms of espionage, survivor factions composed of a single ethnic group did enjoy certain advantages; even now, the Alliance had only managed to drive a single wedge into the Legion's inner ranks—"Pangolin."
However, the Alliance's Guards Corps was hardly a pushover.
After reporting the findings to Chu Guang, the Guards Corps had refrained from startling the quarry.
All indications suggested this so-called mutual aid association was merely a front. Behind Greg's overt trail lurked a far bigger fish—one that very likely tied into an intelligence network the Southern Legion had planted deep within the Alliance.
At that point, Chu Guang came up with a plan and reassigned a detachment from the Storm Corps to the Death Coast on standby.
Rather than spending every day guarding against thieves, it was far better to bait them out and scoop them up in one fell swoop, sparing everyone the endless anxiety.
For that very reason, he had selected Settlement No. 10—the one with the smallest population and the thinnest garrison—as his next stop.
Considering the recent "Train D97 Emergency Braking Incident," making such an itinerary change wouldn't seem strange in the slightest, nor would it alert those watchful eyes lurking in the shadows.
The evening before departing Weifu City, Chu Guang had hosted dinner for Li Jinrong, commander of the Southern Construction Corps, along with other senior officers. During the meal, he had jokingly remarked that thanks to their efforts, the place had become so livable that anyone who visited wouldn't want to leave.
What Chu Guang hadn't anticipated was that by the very next day, his exact words were being displayed across the exterior wall of the landmark building in downtown Weifu City.
"That rascal."
Watching the scrolling text, Chu Guang laughed, shook his head, and leaned back against the headrest, preparing to close his eyes and rest for a spell.
Just then, a pale blue holographic window popped up before him, accompanied by Xiao Qi's melodious voice.
"Master, there is an incoming call from the Legion Embassy. Would you like me to patch it through now?"
Chu Guang had originally thought of forwarding the call to Cheng Yan, but then remembered that Bannote had previously contacted him exclusively through formal diplomatic channels. Bypassing protocol to dial his personal line directly like this had only happened recently, meaning something urgent was almost certainly at hand.
With that in mind, he dropped his original plan and said to Xiao Qi,
"Connect it."
"Right away!"
Replying with cheerful vigor, Xiao Qi vanished from the pale blue holographic window. Once the loading bar completed, Myriarch Bannote's face materialized on the screen.
Looking at Chu Guang across the feed, Bannote let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness. Getting an audience with you is no easy feat, but I've finally managed to reach you."
Amused by his theatrics, Chu Guang smiled and said,
"Speaking to me is no different from speaking to Cheng Yan. I've placed the Alliance's foreign affairs largely in his hands. Bringing certain matters to me won't change the outcome anyway."
Bannote gave a dismissive chuckle.
"That might not be so."
Chu Guang smiled.
"Stop speaking in riddles. My reception isn't great up here, so if there's business, just lay it out."
Bannote cut straight to the point.
"You aren't in Dawn City right now, are you? You'd best watch out for your personal safety."
"My personal safety?" Chu Guang paused briefly, then laughed. "I never imagined my safety would require a heads-up from a Legion envoy. Did you pick up on something over there?"
Seeing Chu Guang still treating it as a joke, Bannote's tone took on a sharp edge of seriousness.
"I'm not joking with you. I know you travel with a formidable escort, but the people gunning for you are no amateurs either. Let's put it this way: they're from the Southern Legion's Army Intelligence Bureau... I'm not sure whether they plan to strike personally or hire cutthroats to do the dirty work, but they're already moving forward with it."
A glimmer of genuine curiosity surfaced between Chu Guang's brows.
"Is this intel straight from Triumph City?"
Bannote replied cryptically,
"You could say that. Think of it as the civilian faction returning a favor, or simply understand that your death doesn't align with our interests."
Chu Guang could sense that the man was genuinely concerned for him.
Even though just a year ago, the old officer would have loved nothing more than to see him drop dead on the spot.
It was clear Triumph City's grip over the Southern Legion had weakened to an extreme degree—to the point where they needed their rival's help to maintain their own internal balance of power.
"Death is still a bit premature for me," Chu Guang said with a faint smile, meeting Bannote's grave gaze. "Still, thank you for the warning. I'll keep an eye out."
While the intelligence from the civilian faction was nothing new to him, the underlying reality it exposed was immensely valuable.
The Legion was teetering on the brink of falling apart, waiting only for the final spark to detonate the powder keg.
Once the call ended, Chu Guang turned to Lyu Bei, who sat opposite him in full combat gear, and spoke in a relaxed tone.
"Looks like this trip won't be boring for you after all. Even Triumph City is warning us that danger is closing in."
Lyu Bei hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"...Honored Administrator, I would still advise you to exercise greater caution. It would be far better to wait in a safe place until we neutralize the threat before continuing your tour."
In truth, he wanted nothing more than to urge Chu Guang to retreat to a vault, or at least take shelter in the nearest vault in the area.
Yet he also knew that even if he voiced the plea, the honored Administrator would never heed it.
Sure enough, Chu Guang simply threw his head back and laughed upon hearing the advice.
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Now that I'm already out here, if I don't stretch my limbs a bit, my bones are going to rust."
Not long ago, his level had breached Level 70, pushing his genetic sequence into stage eight.
He would show those restless vermin just what an utterly foolish mistake it was to set their sights on him.
Chapter 915