We Will Fight Side by Side

"...As things stand, only Triumph City can decide the fate of the Wilante." Dawn City, Embassy Street, inside the study of the Legion's embassy to the Alliance. Looking out the window at the bustling crowd of demonstrators, Myriarch Bannote let out a soft sigh, speaking aloud—by pure coincidence—the exact thoughts of someone thousands of kilometers away. An hour ago, he had learned from Alliance Foreign Minister Cheng Yan that the Alliance had declared war on the Southern Legion. Shortly thereafter, the Alliance Administrator's declaration of war was featured in an extra edition of *Survivor Daily* and broadcast across every television station in the Alliance. The Alliance had set its war machine in motion with terrifying efficiency and cohesion. Just as it had when declaring war on the Church of the Torch back then. In stark contrast, the Southern Legion, from top to bottom, had clung to the hope until the very end that the General Staff's "brilliant gambit" would turn the tables. Yet the moment their opponent saw right through their scheme, that fellow had ended up completely helpless, stunned like a gambler who had lost every last chip. Now, not only the Alliance, but even Enterprise on the East Coast had lost all patience and turned its gun barrels toward them, utterly casting aside weakness and any illusion that "peace falls from the sky on its own." The sole lingering suspense was Triumph City's stance. If Triumph City chose to "stand by them through thick and thin," then the Southern Legion still had a sliver of hope. The price, however, would be mobilizing every Wilante across the entire planet to wage total war against the survivors living in the eastern part of the Central Continent. If that happened, the gamblers of the Southern Legion would count as having won their bet. As long as all Wilante united, even if their ultimate end was not an overwhelming victory, they could at least walk away whole with the chips they had piled onto the gambling table. But if Triumph City chose to "strike down this rebellious child," then the Legion's disintegration would be a certainty. This was not hard to understand. If it could not step forward when "its own children were threatened"—even merely as a symbolic banner—then Triumph City would lose its sole value. In truth, the seeds of separatism had sprouted within the Legion long ago. The only reason it had not erupted until now was that the Marshal's prestige alone held everything together. At this very moment, Bannote had no idea what choice Triumph City would make; he could only shut his doors and wait patiently. On minor matters, he could make decisions he deemed right on behalf of the civilian faction or Triumph City. Yet on a matter of this magnitude, he was nothing more than a mouthpiece. Of course, compared to what decision the distant Triumph City and His Excellency the Marshal would make, he currently faced a far more immediate problem. Namely, the rights and safety of the Wilante living within the Alliance. Just like now, the survivors of Dawn City had practically encircled the Triumph City embassy. People often said Boulder City was the old revolutionary base of the Alliance, but in Bannote's eyes, this place clearly was. These people were like fanatical cultists. If the Dawn City guards had not held them back, they probably would have already hurled rotten eggs inside. Though his heart was filled with helplessness, Bannote understood the young people's fury at this moment. After all, the Southern Legion had launched an undeclared attack first and had even detonated a nuclear bomb on land nominally under the Alliance's jurisdiction and effectively under its control. That was a nuclear bomb... "We have to find a way to protect the Wilante living in the Alliance." Domini, the secretary sitting across from Bannote, also wore a troubled expression. Back then, the plan to arm the Legion's "old friend," the Xilan Empire, with the Eastern Legion's munitions had been his idea. Who could have guessed that just when their plan was on the brink of success, the Southern Legion had meddled, wiping out the entire West Sail Port and the empire along with it in one fell swoop? As for the ensuing chain reaction, it had long spun out of his control—and beyond the anticipation and grip of the entire civilian faction and everyone else. Janusz was dead, Absaik had suddenly defected, the State of Brahma was established, the Southern Legion entered the war under the banner of a puppet emperor... And now, those fools had gone mad enough to try flipping the entire table. Thanks to those idiots who staked the nation's destiny on a gamble at the drop of a hat, every effort they had made to improve the Wilante's image had gone up in smoke! Hearing Domini's suggestion, Bannote pinched the bridge of his nose, his face lined with exhaustion. "Protect them... How? In Dawn City alone, there are at least ten thousand Wilante. Are we supposed to cram them all into the embassy?" There were not enough rooms here; housing the embassy staff alone was already cramped. Domini was momentarily at a loss for words. After a pause, he managed with difficulty, "What if we temporarily move them to the Falcon Kingdom? That's our only foothold in the eastern world..." Hearing this naive idea, Bannote could not help but cut him off before he even finished. "And after we move them there? How long will they stay? This is a migration of over a hundred thousand people. Even the Alliance might not be able to bear such a sudden influx, let alone the Falcon Kingdom, whose total population isn't even a million... That shrinking oasis can't support so many people." Domini rubbed his nose awkwardly. Thinking it over carefully, it truly was a terrible idea. People were not livestock, after all; they could not be moved from one place to another with a mere flap of his lips. Right then, the television in the room abruptly broke in with a live news report. On the screen, the street was packed with an enraged crowd, righteous indignation written on every face. Facing a reporter's interview, an agitated demonstrator yelled at the top of his lungs: "I said it from the start! None of those big-noses can be trusted!" Before his voice had even faded, another head squeezed into view, grabbing the camera in front of him. "A nuke! How did they get a nuke! I don't believe they didn't have inside help!" "Every Wilante is a potential spy!" "Send them all to Port Mantou! That's where they belong!" The crowd on screen grew increasingly agitated. The on-site reporter had no choice but to cut the live feed to a drone camera. Judging from the aerial footage, the location appeared to be Settlement No. 1 of the Alliance, and the crowd gathered on the street numbered at least two to three thousand! This was the settlement with the largest Brahma population on the entire Death Coast, and simultaneously one of the largest Wilante settlements. With both sides currently at war, it was easy to imagine how sharp the tensions between them would be. Bannote's heart sank. It seemed what he feared most was happening after all. Just then, however, a limping man appeared in the corner of the frame. His high nasal bridge immediately gave away his identity: he was a Wilante. At a time when all Wilante deliberately kept out of sight, he had walked right up to the front of the crowd on his own initiative. The reporter quickly swung the camera toward him. At the same time, many of the protesters turned their gazes his way. Facing pair after pair of eyes, he took a deep breath and spoke in a booming voice: "My name is Kuluan! I was once a soldier of the Southern Legion!" The crowd erupted into an uproar. Practically every Brahma present grew furious. The guards surrounding the crowd tensed up, trying to drag away this fool who was "provoking" the demonstrators. Yet Kuluan climbed onto an elevated spot, squared his shoulders, and met those furious stares without flinching, continuing in a resonant roar: "There's nothing to hide! Rather than pretending none of this has anything to do with us, I'd rather face you with honesty!" A demonstrator shoved his way forward in fury, pressing almost against the guards' shields as he roared at him: "You think that's something to be proud of, scum?! Look at what you've done to my home!" Kuluan looked at him, shouting back in a tone and volume that matched the man's: "Of course not! I never said it was something to be proud of—it's a disgrace!" His voice stunned part of the crowd. Perhaps none of them had expected to hear such words from a Wilante's mouth. The guards maintaining order looked at him in equal astonishment. An older police chief suddenly felt an impulse and handed him his loudspeaker. Rather than trying to persuade the crowd to leave, it was better to let them have it out. To let everything bottled up inside be spoken aloud. Kuluan took the loudspeaker from the chief's hands and raised his voice even louder: "This is a Wilante disgrace!" "We left our homeland and came here precisely because we had our fill of those shameless scoundrels' lies!" "...I believe our Marshal never united us and led us to fight those who enslaved us just so we could oppress the survivors of the wasteland!" "I believe he led us in revolt so we could sever our own chains, stop the runaway Reconstruction Committee before it spiraled out of control, and liberate every suffering survivor across this wasteland!" "The spirit of resistance, the courage not to bow to fate, and the resolve to win... I say that's what our damn medals and honor ought to be! That's what we ought to leave behind on this land!" "The Wilante's problems should be solved by the Wilante themselves! We won't dump all our burdens on you, sitting here waiting for you to fix every mess for us!" "I swear here and now: I, Kuluan, declare war on the Southern Legion! And so do all of us who refuse to bow to brute force!" "We will return to Evernight Port and liberate our oppressed, deceived kin! And every other oppressed ethnic group... even if it costs us our lives!" "We will fight side by side with you!" That impassioned voice was not a whit inferior to the Administrator's speech on television. The once-indignant crowd split. Some kept shouting, while others cheered for him, even applauding from the bottom of their hearts. At this moment, the Wilante Expeditionary Force was born. An alien had once saved them; now it was their turn, united as one, to return to their homeland and save all who were oppressed. More than that. They would settle the scores of past wrongs! Watching the fiery impromptu speech on the television, Bannote felt a stir deep within his chest. He had never expected that among the Legion's rank and file, there was still such an exceptional young man. Yet alongside his gratification came a wave of discouragement. Why had such an outstanding young man remained silent on Legion soil, only to shine so brilliantly once he arrived in the Alliance? Setting aside the interests of the civilian faction, that fellow had spoken a line that struck straight to his heart. Perhaps that was what His Excellency the Marshal had thought back then... In the end, it was they who had let him down. "Drawing a clear line... That seems to be the only way," Bannote sighed softly to himself. Though brother fighting brother was a heartbreaking outcome, from that fellow's standpoint, there was indeed no better alternative. Domini did not speak, but a look of shame appeared on his face, his thoughts unknown. At that moment, a representative stepped forward before the crowd and shouted to the arguing people: "If you're done making a scene, listen to me! If you truly hate the Legion to the bone, sign up for the army! If you just want an excuse wrapped in righteous words to slaughter your neighbors, go back to your homes, shut the doors, and have your fun!" "Furthermore, I will submit a new proposal to the Representative Council! Anyone who enlists to defend the Alliance and fight for our ideals will receive priority for an Alliance ID card!" "That is the fairest way!" The live broadcast of the demonstrators continued, but the subsequent portion seemed to have little left to do with the Wilante. Bannote picked up the remote and changed the channel. Just then, his adjutant Quake walked in through the door. Seeing that expressionless face, Bannote instinctively sat up straighter, a wary look crossing his features. That man belonged to the Praetorian Guards, and he was the only person in the entire embassy whom Bannote truly feared. In Triumph City, the Praetorian Guards typically served as the Marshal's mouthpieces. Outside Triumph City, holding special communication channels, they were the Marshal's very incarnations. Most of the time, they did not interfere with the decisions of their subordinates. When they did step forward, it was usually at a moment they deemed critical. Domini tactfully rose from his seat, drew the curtains for the two of them, and left the study. Looking at Quake sitting across from him, Bannote asked impatiently before the other could speak, "Does our Marshal have instructions?" Quake shook his head. "None." A trace of disappointment surfaced on Bannote's face, and he leaned back against the sofa. "Then what are you here for?" Quake looked at Bannote calmly, then spoke words that completely caught the latter off guard: "Some things have happened in Triumph City recently." Bannote froze slightly. "What things?" Things happened in Triumph City every day; it was impossible for him to know every detail. Especially recently, the matters of the Slime Mold Consortium and the Southern Legion were enough to leave him utterly swamped; he had no time to worry about what was happening in the rear. Quake glanced at the wall clock and continued in a routine tone: "Some time ago... right about when this war began, the Southern Legion sent a traitor they had identified to Triumph City." "Pangolin, right? I know the lad..." Bannote nodded, the confusion in his eyes deepening. "But I remember that matter was supposed to be over?" Instructing Pangolin to secretly meet Absaik, urging him to eliminate Janusz and break clean from the Heavenly King Army and the Southern Legion had been Bannote's own idea. It had also been a response to the Southern Legion's plot to seize West Sail Port. That plan had led directly to the birth of the State of Brahma. As for the Southern Legion flying into a rage, propping up a puppet, and brazenly invading, that was another matter. Bannote still remembered that Gulion had thrown Pangolin into prison back then and summoned a court from Evernight Port to label him a traitor and execute him. To bail Pangolin out, Bannote had pulled quite a few strings within the civilian faction. In the end, though, the fellow had held his own, moving everyone in the courtroom with a speech from the dock. Later, the presiding judge naturally announced that the case would be transferred to Triumph City for trial. Once in Triumph City, the so-called trial was essentially going through the motions. That was the civilian faction's territory; the Southern Legion's reach did not extend that far. For a small figure, escaping that disaster was already considered reaching safe harbor. Looking at the puzzled Bannote, Quake nodded and said at an unhurried pace: "That case is indeed over. The trial judge acquitted him in court and granted him Triumph City citizenship as compensation for his wrongful imprisonment." Bannote grew even more bewildered. "Then why bring him up?" Quake continued: "Because many things happened after that. He didn't settle down quietly. Instead, he has been campaigning for the West Sail Port survivors who supported him, investigating the truth behind the West Sail Port tragedy." Bannote's expression changed visibly. The West Sail Port tragedy was a lingering shadow over his heart. Though he had not been the one to orchestrate it, the deaths of those more than three thousand Wilante were undeniably linked to him. It was precisely the civilian faction's erroneous decisions that had given the Southern Legion an opportunity to exploit the situation, dragging over three thousand innocent compatriots into a political struggle and making them casualties of it. He had considered investigating the truth, but more than half a year had passed since the incident. What the truth was hardly mattered anymore, and even uncovering it would change nothing... at least in his view. Yet what he had never expected was that Pangolin had been investigating it all this time. Seeing Myriarch Bannote's moved expression, Quake let out a rare smile. "Surprising, isn't it? The Wilante once again need an outsider to save them." "No... that's not what surprises me," Bannote said with a bitter smile after recovering his senses. "What I don't understand is why a clever, capable person like him would do something so pointless." Quake asked, "Pointless?" Bannote nodded silently. "Let's be realistic. Uncovering the truth isn't hard, but even if we lay it bare, it changes nothing. You and I are both Legion men. You know what I mean. Deceiving ourselves achieves nothing." "True. But some people don't think that way." Quake lit a cigarette, took a drag, and tapped the ash into the tray. "He gave fifty-one speeches in total. Sometimes on the streets, sometimes at the courthouse, sometimes in taverns, and at our landmarks..." "At first, not many listened to him—only those who sympathized with him, and the Wilante who followed him from West Sail Port to Triumph City... But as he grew more practiced, his words resonated deeper, and more and more people came to listen. Not only fishermen hauling catches in the Arctic Circle, but also Wilante from the New Continent." The Legion's military officers were not good at public speaking. Neither were the civilian officials. Across the Legion's system, communication was not a skill higher-ups needed to master, because information was almost always passed down in the form of orders. Precisely because of this, when he spoke on behalf of the Wilante and voiced what was in their hearts, not a single person could stand before him as a worthy opponent. And trying to silence him or hold him down was no easy task either. In terms of combat prowess, that fellow's exploits were legendary; rumors even claimed he had defeated a Mother Deathclaw in single combat... or so MacLaren had claimed. Beyond that, more and more Wilante viewed him as an idol and rallied around him. Had this been in the Legion's colonies, the local guards might have opened fire to suppress them. Yet in a place like Triumph City, throwing a stone at random could hit several myriarchs or a myriarch's father. No one dared point a rifle at them. What was more, the rights exercised by those gathered were recognized by the laws of Triumph City. On that point, the Praetorian Guards, who adhered strictly to the ancient tenets, were their allies as well. As long as he remained in Triumph City, no one could stop him. Bannote pinched his brow and said tiredly, "What does he want? To lead the people of Triumph City in rebellion?" Quake shook his head gently. "If that were the case, he couldn't have persuaded the survivors of Triumph City to stand with him. You should know that." Bannote sighed. "Then what did he say?" Quake said: "He wants to see the Marshal." Bannote froze, staring at him blankly. It took a long time for his mind to process the words. "See... the Marshal?" Could the Marshal be seen just because someone wanted to? That lord had not shown his face in a very long time. Raising such a massive stir just for a reason like that... Wait! A rumor suddenly crossed Bannote's mind. It was said that long, long ago, when Marshal Julius appeared in public for the last time, he had said these words: "...I hope this is the last time I appear before you. You do not need to ask my opinion on everything. If you do, our war will never end, and the day will come when I grow old." "When the sun sets, I intend to rest for a while. Do not disturb me unless it is an absolute necessity... such as when the entire city calls out my name." After that, Marshal Julius never made another public appearance, stepping away from the glamorous stage into the shadows. He had left the opportunities to the young. In order not to fail his expectations, and even more so not to disappoint him, his loyal subordinates had built Triumph City beneath his feet into a massive settlement, and conquered vast territories beyond its walls. By today, the Wilante possessed untold wealth. Although Triumph City could not match the prosperity of Ideal City, what they held went far beyond a single settlement. If the entire Legion's scale were tallied, the wealth of ten Ideal Cities could not rival the total sum possessed by the Wilante. Every single Wilante was immensely proud of the miracles they had forged. Today's Wilante should no longer call out his name like children in need of care... Bannote's Adam's apple bobbed. His breath hitched violently. Would they truly not? Thinking of the survivors of West Sail Port, his confidence evaporated in an instant. For a fleeting second, even his own heart felt an answering resonance. Sitting across from him, Quake gave voice to his inner thoughts in a quiet murmur: "...The entire city is calling out his name." "That is the momentous event taking place in Triumph City right now."