"Brother, this fish soup is amazing."
Blackwater Lane.
In a shack near the northern district, a scrawny young man huddled by an earthen-yellow pot, watching his older brother ladle a scoop of milky-white fish soup into a bowl, his mouth watering with greed.
The older man grinned at his younger brother and raised an eyebrow cockily.
"Smells great, doesn't it? I learned how from a bloke who came from Silver Moon Bay."
As for who that Silver Moon Bay fellow had learned it from, he had no idea, though he'd heard it was how they cooked over in River Valley Province.
The man was named Saiyi, and his younger brother was Saide. Both hailed from Snake State, their family home situated in the northwestern part of the region, not far from the garrison of the Gray Wolf Army.
A few months ago, traveling merchants peddling goods through their village had mentioned that the Southern Legion was engaged in fierce fighting with Supreme Commander Absaik up north. Ammunition and artillery shells were running desperately short at the front lines, and working for the Wilante in Evernight Port offered a chance to earn hefty gold coins. So, he had brought his younger brother along to make a living here.
He felt little guilt about working for the Wilante; his only worry had been that his Bolo heritage might be exposed, resulting in a beating once he arrived.
Yet after arriving, he realized his fears were entirely baseless. Quite a few Bolo people were unloading shells for the Wilante in Evernight Port, and some even traded with them.
Those big-nosed folk didn't care in the slightest whether they were Bolo or other tribes from the Great Desert; they discriminated equally against anyone who wasn't one of their own.
Except, of course, for the "Blue Gophers" they couldn't beat for the time being.
Naturally, at such a critical juncture, hardly anyone from the Alliance would come here anyway.
He handed the bowl to his brother, who could hardly wait to take a sip of the milky broth. Saide's entire face flushed with rapture, and in the next breath, he drained it clean.
"This taste is out of this world!"
Seeing his brother's exaggerated expression, Saiyi chuckled and chided him for his lack of worldly experience, then took a sip himself. Immediately, his own eyes went wide.
The moment the soup slid down his throat, a warm current surged from his lower abdomen straight to the crown of his head. His entire body felt as though it had been immersed in warm, plush cotton—an indescribably cozy, blissful sensation!
"Out of this world" was not an exaggeration at all!
Didn't a person go through life just for a mouthful like this?
He savored it slowly, turning the flavor over in his mind.
Still unsatisfied, Saide ladled another bowl from the pot, gulping it down while asking between mouthfuls, "Brother, where did you get this fish? I've never seen you bring any back before."
Saiyi smiled. "Remember that brother from the Family Association who lives diagonally across from us? He led a group of us down to the shore to pick them up."
Saide froze mid-swallow, his eyes bulging. "P-picked up? Brother, can you eat dead fish?"
Even as fear colored his voice, his mouth didn't stop, and in the blink of an eye, half the bowl had vanished down his throat.
Hearing him spout such unlucky nonsense, Saiyi smacked the back of his head.
"What rubbish are you babbling? What dead fish! They were lively as could be when I picked them up! And it wasn't just me—plenty of people went down there to grab them!"
Suddenly struck, the younger brother wore an aggrieved expression and clutched his forehead, retreating toward the edge of the shack. "B-but... why would perfectly good fish wash ashore for no good reason?"
Saiyi rolled his eyes at him. "Who knows? Free fish soup can't even plug your maw, and you have to pry into everything!"
Besides, the Family Association folks had eaten them too. Would the Family Association screw over their own family?
They were sworn brothers!
The two brothers wasted no more breath. Ladle after ladle, they emptied the pot of its delicacy—one drinking with unease, the other completely content.
After finishing, they cleaned the bowls and sat idly beneath the lean-to to rest.
The battle had raged furiously throughout the day. The Alliance forces had sent the Legion running with their tails between their legs, driving them back into that concrete sprawl in the northern district.
Seeing the big-noses suffer a setback, the prisoners in Katenod Prison had all fled back to their homes, and the entire port was visibly descending into chaos.
Saiyi didn't care who won; it made no difference to him either way. He only wanted work to resume quickly so he could earn money again.
Dreaming of the splendid life that awaited him once he returned home rich and glorious, Saiyi couldn't help but grin broadly. It felt as though he were truly living in a mansion spanning thousands of square meters, gazing upon his beautiful first and second wives.
The villagers looked at him with eyes brimming with envy. The village chief praised his great accomplishments, and Father Zayed warmly grasped his hand, inviting him to serve as a high-ranking official, humbly seeking his advice on how to grow wealthy.
Saiyi smiled bashfully, but faced with all those worshipful gazes, he felt embarrassed to hide his talents any longer. He reached into his coat.
As if infused with celestial magic, the gold coins given by the Wilante hit the ground with a crisp slap, and instantly, a towering building capable of housing tens of thousands rose straight out of the flat earth.
At that moment, the eyes fixed upon him looked as if they were beholding a living deity, bringing an indescribable delight and fulfillment to his chest.
What did a man live for, if not fame and fortune alike?
As the old saying went, learn martial arts and letters to sell them to the emperor's house. To have Father Zayed gaze upon him with such thirst for talent made his journey into this world entirely worthwhile!
He didn't really care whether his fellow villagers lived well or not, but that look of "thirst for talent" struck right at his heart.
Swelling with gratification, Saiyi scattered several more handfuls of "gold flakes." Tens of thousands of grand manors and broad avenues sprang up on the ground.
Beaming smiles blossomed across the villagers' faces, and a smile broke out on Zayed's face as well. The harmonious, joyous scene was truly the best of both worlds.
Though the gold soon ran out, Saiyi felt not the slightest panic. He merely cupped his fists toward Father Zayed.
"Do not fret, sir. Those big-noses' gold coins come easy. Your humble servant has plenty of strength, and I will go procure more for you right away."
With that, he slapped his knees and stood up, swaying as he took to the street. In the blink of an eye, he seemed to have returned to distant Evernight Port.
He remembered the Wilante seemed to be in the north, so he began walking northward.
Yet at this very moment, he failed to notice that there were many others just like him.
Staggering figures emerged from their doors right on time as if by prior arrangement, walking like marionettes pulled by strings, all heading in the exact same direction.
Night had fallen over the streets, but the fighting in the settlement had not yet ceased.
Stanford, commander of the city defense garrison, was still loudly bellowing about fighting to the bitter end against the Alliance and Enterprise, vowing to live or die alongside the Legion.
The Alliance, naturally, had no intention of sparing him.
The Jungle Corps and the 1st Division of the Wilante Expeditionary Army were assaulting the front of the northern urban district, while Enterprise's 100th Mountain Division severed the link between the northern district and Blackwater Lane, preventing the remnants of the Southern Legion from fleeing.
Crackling gunfire sounded like continuous firecrackers, yet Saiyi, walking step by step toward the noise, acted as though he heard nothing.
Not until he crossed the combat zone and stood in the middle of the street where Enterprise and the Legion were locked in a firefight did both sides finally notice these uninvited guests.
Seeing civilians suddenly appear on the street, Tang Feng, crouched behind cover, felt his heart leap into his throat. He hurriedly shouted at the swaying silhouettes, "Hey! Get back! This is the front line! Are you out of your goddamned minds?!"
Yet the man seemed not to hear. He merely turned his head stiffly toward the sound and asked, "Wilante?"
Tang Feng froze, not grasping what he meant, but still bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Yes! Wilante! They're right across from us! Those wolf cubs haven't given up yet!"
"Across the street..."
A spark of light gradually ignited in Saiyi's dazed eyes.
As if he had found his objective, Saiyi abruptly quickened his pace, breaking into a clumsy jog toward the street opposite, where gunfire rattled nonstop.
As he ran, he called out in a crazed voice, "Hey! Do you need men? I have strength! I can help you carry ammunition!"
He wasn't the only one running. Everyone who had wandered here from Blackwater Lane broke into a sprint, charging forward heedless of their lives, terrified that if they were too slow, they would miss their turn.
The teeming crowd numbered over a thousand. Within a few breaths, they packed the desolate street shoulder to shoulder.
Not only were Tang Feng and his squad dumbfounded, but even the Wilante soldiers crouched behind cover on the opposite side were utterly stunned.
"Get lost! Dammit! Do these beasts not understand human speech?!"
Cold sweat dripped from the forehead of the young Wilante holding the machine gun. His index finger rubbed against the trigger as he screamed at the dense swarm of people, attempting to frighten the reckless fools away.
Had it been just one or two short-lived nuisances, he would not have hesitated in the slightest. But with over a thousand before his eyes, his finger hesitated.
However, while he still harbored a shred of conscience, his officer had none.
The red-eyed centurion drew his sidearm, pressed it against the young soldier's temple, and roared, "Fire!!"
"B-but—"
"I said fire!!"
No one could guarantee this wasn't some trick orchestrated by the Alliance.
What if Alliance troops were hiding among them?
He dared not take that risk!
With that, the centurion raised his muzzle toward the zombie-like horde surging forward and cracked off a shot.
One unlucky soul was hit and collapsed to the ground without a sound.
"Aaaargh!!"
Seeing blood spilled on the battlefield, the young Wilante behind the machine gun let out a bloodshot howl, finally using the roar to banish the cowardice in his chest, and mashed down the steel trigger.
With a ferocious staccato of gunfire, the crowd on the street fell in swathes like scythed wheat. The ground was instantly turned into a slurry of flesh and blood.
Eyes reddened on both sides.
Discarding all thought of discipline, Tang Feng led his squad out from cover, charging toward the enemy positions under the protection of man-portable drones.
Although Enterprise's soldiers enjoyed a decisive advantage in equipment, the Wilante across from them were no pushovers either.
After all, they were byproducts of the gestalt lifeform project; the war genes coursing through their veins had been certified by the technology of the Era of Prosperity.
Just like that, both sides exchanged fire across the crowd.
Constrained by concern for civilian casualties, Tang Feng's squad temporarily found themselves at a disadvantage, and two teammates took hits and were dragged back.
The Wilante fared no better, cursing Enterprise and the Alliance for their lack of martial honor, accusing them of driving civilians to the front lines as cannon fodder.
The clash dragged on for half an hour until hardly a living soul remained on the street, save for those lying half-dead in the dirt, gasping for breath.
Like Saiyi.
Lying on the ground, his dream had completely shattered. Looking at the viscous pools of blood around him, he felt cold all over.
Where is this?
He wanted to wail, but no sound came out; it felt as though his mouth had been stuffed with cotton.
Only then did he realize that a gaping hole had been torn into his chest, and his intestines had spilled out through the wound.
The roar of artillery sounded as if muffled behind a wall. In the distance, the faint scream of jet fighters tearing through the sky seemed to echo, but the sounds were slipping away.
With the last dregs of his consciousness, he saw that Enterprise seemed to have won in the end. Those big-noses had raised white flags and cast aside their weapons.
A loudspeaker on the street seemed to be announcing that Stanford, commander of the city defense garrison, along with his personal guard, had been captured by the Alliance's Jungle Corps.
Evidently, not all Wilante were willing to perish alongside the Southern Legion.
Tyr?
Who was that?
From beginning to end, they had been loyal only to Marshal Julius alone...
Slowly, Saiyi could hear nothing more.
Just then, an armored vehicle drove up from the harbor, and two high-ranking officers stepped out.
One was a division commander, the other a staff officer.
Beholding the field of corpses on Glory Street, the stern-faced division commander couldn't help but look shaken. The staff officer beside him also murmured, "This is too grim..."
The entire street was stained red with blood, flesh, and entrails; there was hardly anywhere clean enough to set foot.
With a blank expression, the division commander walked up to Tang Feng. Glaring at the grime-covered young man, he demanded in a cold voice, "What happened here?! Didn't high command tell you to hold your positions?! Who authorized you to attack?!"
"I..."
Confronted with the blistering rebuke, Tang Feng was tongue-tied. He stammered for several moments, unable to muster an explanation.
Reviewing what had occurred, the whole affair was simply too bizarre.
He didn't even know where to begin recounting the sequence of events.
A crowd of people had suddenly charged forward, the Wilante had opened fire, and they had been forced to push in to help.
Yet just as they were about to crack open the enemy position, their allies had already successfully decapitated the enemy command post, and the remaining Wilante surrendered on their own.
As for those unfortunate souls who had died...
Having rushed in on an impulse to save them, they hadn't managed to save a single one.
"...I'll be waiting for your report." Glancing at the prisoners nearby and the wounded lying on stretchers, the division commander glared at him with a dark expression, dropped those words, and turned back to his vehicle.
With the roar of an engine, the armored car rolled away down the street, leaving behind only a few soldiers from the Wilante Expeditionary Army.
They had rushed over upon hearing about the incident.
Shouldering an LD-47 rifle, Kuluan stepped forward, crouched before the pile of bodies with a furrowed brow, dipped his index finger in a smear of blood, and brought it beneath his nose to sniff.
An Enterprise soldier nearby gave him a sideways glance. "Smell anything?"
Kuluan stood up and shook his head. "Nothing."
His nose wasn't a microscope; it would be a miracle if he could smell anything.
Even so, from that mound of corpses, he truly caught the scent of conspiracy.
All at once, an idea sprang into his mind.
Could it be...
Snake oil?!
Seeing the fellow put on such an elaborate show only to come up empty, the Enterprise soldier curled his lip and looked away.
What a waste of such a big nose.
Not far away, two soldiers guarding the prisoners smoked cigarettes, chatting idly.
"Bloody bad luck. We couldn't hold them back, and it got our squad leader chewed out."
"Why would these bastards be so unafraid of death? If they're that eager, why didn't they go carry rifles for that Absaik fellow?"
"Hell if I know. Why don't you wake one up and ask?"
"Screw off."
The soldier who had laughed and cursed cast his gaze back toward the corpses carpeting the ground, and fell silent once more.
He truly couldn't fathom why they had done it.
Plenty of people had died once again.
Yet it seemed they had died for absolutely nothing...
***
Norton City.
Within the solemn, forbidding castle, the candles set before the statue of Marshal Julius had burned out, leaving behind only golden candlesticks.
According to Wilante tradition, when the last candle at a funeral extinguished, it signified that the departed soul had traveled on to the other world.
Yet people's longing for the departed and the agony of their loss would not simply disperse with the deceased's departure.
Just as at this moment, Salen, seated before the statue of Marshal Julius, wore a face dark as still water.
With the funeral concluded, his suit of gold-forged armor had been replaced with everyday silk attire. His shoulders no longer ached, and his muscles no longer needed to stay taut, yet the weight pressing down on his chest had not lessened in the slightest; if anything, it had grown heavier.
Now he was the Emperor and Prime Minister of the Eastern Empire, embodying the devotion of countless thousands and supreme authority in a single person. He had achieved everything he could have wished for...
Yet for reasons he could not grasp, in the span of just one day, the joy and excitement in his heart had vanished completely after reaching its peak, leaving behind only emptiness and a flat, tasteless void.
What he had desired had actually been within his grasp long ago. The only difference was that the title of legion commander had been swapped for emperor, and there was no longer a half-dead god pressing down above his head. Beyond that, nothing had changed.
By contrast, the concerns demanding his attention had more than doubled.
People would not simply transfer their loyalty from that great man to him just because Marshal Julius had passed away.
Even he himself was no exception.
He could no longer attribute everything to loyalty; he had to think for himself about what path to take from here on.
Every step ahead was an unmapped trail, and there would be no second chances.
Only now did he begin to truly comprehend what the venerable Marshal Julius had shouldered on their behalf.
"...I had thought I would remain joyful a little longer. I never imagined this pleasure would last merely a single day. I have begun to doubt whether those cheers were genuine, whether those who pledge loyalty to me are truly loyal."
"Perhaps my aides were right. An empire and an emperor are indeed not the best choice. Choosing yesterday means leaving today's problems for tomorrow... Am I right, venerable Marshal Julius?"
Burying the bridge of his nose between his palms, he drew a deep breath and murmured to himself like a prayer.
"When we harbor grand ambitions to forge history, we remain blissfully unaware that we have already been swallowed by its murky currents, becoming an inevitability before the inevitable... You alone could understand my tribulations."
Alas, he could speak these innermost thoughts only to Marshal Julius.
A mournful sigh echoed through the great hall, ringing like the tolling of an evening bell.
He had never truly harbored grand ambitions or noble ideals; he had only ever wished to be a monarch who preserved what was handed down.
And this was also the shared desire of nearly all the military nobility of the Eastern Legion.
The colossal, solemn statue of Julius retained its piercing gaze, but its courage and wisdom would never again be shared with anyone, never again guide his people through the mists of the future.
That was already history.
Just as Salen was lost in his memories, footsteps approached from the hall entrance.
A myriarch walked up and halted before him, offering a respectful military salute.
"Your Majesty, Evernight Port has fallen."
Salen, seated before the statue, rose to his feet and cast an inquiring look at the officer.
"When did this happen?"
"Just around noon today," the officer replied gravely in a low voice. "I heard the Alliance landed this morning. It took them barely two hours to drive the twenty thousand garrison troops into the northern district."
Salen nodded, then asked, "What about their fleet?"
The officer's expression grew even more solemn as he continued, "According to the Alliance's newspapers... it seems to have been completely wiped out near Seric Island by the South Sea Alliance's fleet."
Salen had no idea where Seric Island was.
Even so, hearing that the Southern Legion's fleet had been utterly annihilated left him stunned for several seconds.
Seeing His Majesty sink into contemplation, the officer couldn't help asking anxiously, "Are we... just going to watch them lose?"
He was no Eastern Expansionist, nor did he believe direct conflict with the Alliance was a sound idea, but Evernight Port was territory won by Wilante blood, after all.
Yet he did not know that the initial proposals raised by the Eastern Expansionists had never been so radical as seizing the Great Rift Valley; they had merely demanded expanding the Legion's territory a bit further east.
In the end, they had coalesced into an unstoppable force—until they dashed themselves to pieces upon the beach.
Salen gave him a meaningful look, then shifted his gaze away.
"They brought it upon themselves. You'd best not waste too much sympathy on them... Still, watching them squander their heritage is truly painful. Perhaps we ought to do something."
The officer paused. "You mean..."
Salen spoke deliberately. "If I recall correctly, at the end of the Zhuobar Mountains, in the southwesternmost corner of Sunset Province, there is a port situated due south of the Falcon Kingdom."
The officer nodded, hesitating. "There is indeed a port there... but it has no resources, and the Falcon Kingdom never developed it much."
It was purely a transit hub for goods.
Later, because they had pledged to the Alliance that they would no longer supply military materiel to West Sail Port to interfere in the affairs of Brahma Province, that port had fallen into disuse.
Subsequent to that, someone had orchestrated the West Sail Port tragedy—there was no need to say who—and in any case, the port had become entirely useless.
Looking at his bewildered subordinate, Salen smiled faintly and continued in a measured tone, "People are resources. People are wealth... Hasn't a certain someone already demonstrated this to us?"
Whether it was Pioneer City or Bist Town, the Alliance had intentionally placed those two chess pieces right at their doorstep precisely to 'corrupt' them, gradually reshaping their understanding of labor and creativity, hadn't they?
He wasn't blind; he had watched every transformation in those two settlements.
All told, the fall of Evernight Port was not entirely a bad thing for the newborn Eastern Empire.
That included even the 2.7 million square kilometers of colonies controlled by the Southern Legion.
If the Alliance truly liberated those lands, the Wilante living there would need a new home.
And those immigrants would bring not only their wealth, but also their knowledge, technology, methods, and ideas.
State capitalism was clearly obsolete for the Alliance, but for the Eastern Empire—whose economy remained entirely in the grasp of plantation owners and military nobility—it was just the right fit.
He was quite intrigued by those 'southerners'' methods of managing indentured laborers, and this presented the perfect opportunity to learn.
Pausing briefly, Salen added, "With the loss of the logistical hub of Evernight Port, the collapse of the Brahma Province theater is only a matter of time."
"I recall MacLaren happens to be in West Sail Port. Have him prepare. When the upheaval occurs, he is to bring back our compatriots along with their property."
"From now on, that coastal land west of the Zhuobar Mountains will be our special administrative zone, as well as our maritime outlet into the eastern world."
"Let's call it... New West Sail Port."
***
Within a single day, the news of Evernight Port's fall spread across the wasteland.
The Eastern Empire was far from the only party deeply shaken; north of the Alliance, the Bugra Free State was equally rocked.
Flint Group Headquarters.
Looking at the report handed over by his subordinate, Sigma sat behind his desk with a face as dark as winter lake water.
At first, he hadn't viewed the Alliance as a threat; like the other shareholders, he had regarded it merely as a new source of profit growth. Yet by the time he came to his senses, he realized that the infant once babbling in its cradle had grown into a giant that struck terror into his heart.
What they possessed was not merely formidable military might, but an ideology that seeped through every crack.
Just as they had sought to corrupt the Alliance's bastions through crime, they themselves were suffering the corrosive effects of the Alliance's egalitarian ideals.
And once the Alliance resisted their corruption and completely plugged the loopholes in its legal system through contests against them—leaving the Free State's dishonest merchants with no angles to play, forced to do business strictly by the book—the equality preached by the Alliance became an unstoppable curse.
More and more residents of the Free State were realizing where the real problem lay.
The Great Rift Valley did occasionally produce absurd notions, but what directly oppressed them had never been the Great Rift Valley; it was the unchecked, monopolistic power over everything.
That was the root of all evil!
Conversely, equality was like a poison, infiltrating every cell of the Free State. If those working cattle truly bought into the Alliance's nonsense, the Free State would truly be finished.
If only he hadn't sought to profit from the collapse of Boulder City back then, and had instead joined forces with the old nobility to strangle those bastards in their crib...
Above all, he had failed to secure that weapon in the end!
Sigma had regretted his whimsical greed more than once, but it seemed too late for such thoughts now.
Even if his Flint Group wished to lend the Southern Legion a hand, their current power could change nothing; they could hardly even influence the political situation in the State of Brahma...
Just then, a knock sounded at the office door.
Shutting down the holographic display, Sigma turned his desk chair slightly and called toward the door, "Enter."
The door opened from the outside, and a smartly dressed man with a stiff, restrained demeanor walked in.
It was none other than Audo, Mayor of the Free State.
Looking at Sigma behind the desk, he drew a deep breath and said nervously, "The Alliance has formally submitted a diplomatic request, demanding in strong terms that we hand over Condra. They claim he is connected to the nuclear blast in Haiya Province—"
Sigma couldn't be bothered to hear the rest, saying dismissively, "Then hand him over."
Audo hesitated. "B-but... he knows the secret of our cooperation with the Bone Chewer tribe and the Church of the Torch. I worry he'll spill those details as well."
"Are you a pig? How could you ask such a stupid question? Would I let him leave alive?" Sigma snapped impatiently.
Hearing that, Audo's lips twitched, but in his heart, he breathed a sigh of relief, the tension on his face softening slightly.
Although that was a mess left by his predecessor, at the end of the day, the dirt still stained their own backsides.
"Right... the Great Rift Valley has invited me to attend a meeting next month... What are your thoughts?"
Sigma said indifferently, "Arrange it yourself. If I have other requirements, I'll contact you."
Audo bowed his head slightly, as deferential as a servant. "Understood."
Chapter 931