Dawn of the Wilante

Though Ye Shi was usually anything but serious and constantly spewed terrible ideas, the plan he had come up with this time worked wonders. Cooperating with the Wilante Alliance's southern border defense forces, they swiftly completed screenings for the first wave of forty-three thousand Wilante entering Wilante Province, confirming one hundred and fifty-two carriers of the Death Agent virus. Appallingly, two-thirds of those infected were the elderly and children. Their immune systems were already comparatively weak, and before coming ashore they had suffered the grueling ordeal of cold wind and freezing seawater. Many had not even made it through the Death Agent's incubation period before coming down with severe colds first. The 3rd Myriad, tasked with establishing the quarantine zone, transferred the patients to a dedicated camp of separate tents and informed them of their test results once the transfer was complete. Upon learning that he was carrying the Death Agent virus, Old Bazel's face instantly went slack with shock. "The—the Death Agent?! H-how is that possible... I feel completely fine! Those people sneezing weren't sick, so why me?!" As he spoke, his stunned expression gradually turned to panic. He was not worried solely for his own safety; he was thinking of his wife, who had set out in the very same wave. A soldier in an orange hazmat suit sat across from him and nodded solemnly. "According to research data provided by the Alliance, the onset of symptoms for the Death Agent usually takes two weeks. You aren't showing any symptoms yet, which means you were likely infected quite recently. We hope you can tell us the route you traveled, the unit designation of the troops escorting—or rather, guarding—you, and any other clues you consider valuable." At this point, he paused for a moment and added earnestly, "We will do everything in our power to save you. Because of that, please tell us every lead you can remember. It is extremely important!" Sensing the gravity in his voice, Old Bazel reined in his turbulent emotions. After calming down and pondering for a long while, he spoke slowly. "My home is in Avent City... Veterans Road. It's more or less in the central district." "Veterans Road?" Surprise crossed the soldier's face. His hand kept scribbling across his notebook without pause. Bazel glanced at him with equal surprise. "You know the place?" The recording soldier nodded. "Of course... or rather, there's no need to ask. Only military dependents live on Veterans Road." With a complex expression, Bazel added, "Families of fallen soldiers, to be precise." This was one of the traditions the major legions had inherited from Triumph City, a social welfare policy dating back to the era of Marshal Julius. Military families living on Veterans Road received a monthly pension, were scheduled for regular medical checkups, and never had to pay for medical care. After all, only by relieving soldiers of worries about their families could they be expected to charge forward without hesitation. Until just a week ago, he had enjoyed privileges no worse than those of an active centurion. The soldier pressed further. "Do you remember which unit escorted you out?" Bazel nodded and continued, "The ones who mobilized us to leave were Legion Commander Tyr's personal guard. As for which myriad, I don't know. They were quite polite... Barring any surprises, we should have been among the very first waves to reach the docks. Though maybe not the very first—by the time we got there, the ferries were already gone, leaving only a dozen or so small boats." Jotting this down hurriedly, the soldier followed up, "Were they wearing hazmat suits?" Bazel's eyes turned vacant as he searched his memory thoroughly, eventually shaking his head. "I don't... think so. But I did see gas masks. It was around that time that I heard talk of a plague, but nobody took it to heart, and I didn't think much of it either." The recording soldier exchanged glances with the soldier standing by the doorway. The latter wore an ambivalent look and murmured under his breath, "I heard from the Alliance folks... the infection rate among Awakened doesn't seem very high." "I see..." The recording soldier murmured with a complicated expression, jotting the speculation down in the margins as a note. Whether or not the virus had been released by Commander Tyr's personal guard, they were undeniably tied to it. Once this farce was over, they would track down every lead and uncover the truth. Closing his notebook after finishing his notes, the soldier looked at the old man with a serious expression. "Thank you for your cooperation. If any more details come to mind, please contact us at any time. Furthermore, because you are carrying the Death Agent virus, we ask that you remain inside the quarantine zone as much as possible and avoid contact with others. "We will cover all the costs of your daily necessities during the quarantine period, and if you have any needs, we will do our best to accommodate them. Our only request is that you please do not leave this area under any circumstances." Bazel smiled sheepishly. "Bah, don't talk about trouble... If anything, I'm the one troubling you folks, forcing you to look after me." He was a traditional Wilante—obedient to the collective, loyal to the collective, and loath to burden the collective. He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but the young men from Triumph City before him felt somewhat different from the ones he remembered. They were equally devoted to the collective, yet they seemed to hold a different understanding of what that collective was. He couldn't put his finger on the exact difference, but they were definitely not the same. Hearing the old man's words, the young man smiled. "You're being too polite, sir. We're compatriots; how could we ever leave you to fend for yourselves? If you need anything, be sure to let us know. Don't feel embarrassed or worry about troubling us." With that, he rose to take his leave. Just then, however, the old man across from him seemed to recall something and reached out, grabbing his arm. Meeting the soldier's surprised look, Bazel said solemnly, "Right, I heard... this Death Agent is some kind of genetic weapon from the Great Desert?" The soldier hesitated, caught by the sleeve, before speaking in an uncertain tone. "The attacker's identity hasn't been confirmed yet... but current intelligence confirms that the Death Agent is indeed artificially engineered." This was information released by the Praetorian Guards. He wasn't certain if sharing it with a patient was appropriate, but his superiors hadn't forbidden it. Bazel nodded, released his grip, and after a moment of silence, spoke abruptly. "I just remembered... Two days before we set out, I had a checkup at the hospital on Glory Road. They drew blood for tests again. A procedure that normally takes half an hour somehow dragged on for three hours. I thought it was strange at the time, but I didn't think much of it." "The hospital on Glory Road? Which hospital? Do you remember?" The soldier froze, then hastily reopened his closed notebook to add this lead. "There's only one hospital there. Everyone on our whole street gets treated there." Watching the soldier write frantically, the old man continued in a very soft voice, "Listen. If push comes to shove, don't go soft on me... I'm willing to take this virus into the grave." The soldier's hand froze over his notes, and he looked up at the old man in disbelief. Bazel grinned, offering the young man a breezy, encouraging look. "I've managed to live to seventy-nine in the wasteland; I'm already satisfied... Trying to turn me into a bullet aimed at my fellow Wilante? I'll show that bastard that it's not happening!" He understood it all now. The culprit was Tyr—there was no second suspect, no other killer. This entire affair was that man's conspiracy from start to finish. *He wouldn't go so far as to do something so stupid? A man that stupid couldn't have become a legion commander?* Hah, only wet-behind-the-ears kids would think that way. He knew better than anyone that Tyr was a man capable of ruthless ambition. It was just that Bazel had never expected that the man hadn't removed people like them just to clear obstacles for some move in Avent City. From the moment he shipped them off, he had already been playing a grander game of chess. But he would not let the man have his way. Even if he was just an old man, he would resist in his own way. The soldier stared blankly at him, his expression filling with profound respect. "...I understand how you feel, sir, but we will never do that." Bazel chuckled. "Never do that? But Tyr won't pull his punches. The way you're handling things makes me worry. Can you really win? Don't let things blow up in your faces." The soldier smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. Our Archon said that having a bottom line isn't weakness—it's our shield." Bazel blinked. "Archon?" "That's right. Mr. Pangolin, who stepped into the Court of Honor carrying all our hopes." At these words, a note of genuine pride crept into the soldier's voice. "Our Archon also said that we won't defeat beasts by using the methods of beasts, rolling in the mud with them and dirtying everyone. We will use civilized weapons and civilized methods. Not only will we tell them to abandon all hope of succeeding, but we will completely destroy their spirit. We'll prove to our compatriots who kneel and flatter authority that stray dogs will always be stray dogs, and they will never triumph over men who stand on two legs!" Bazel stared blankly at the young man, a familiar shadow flickering before his eyes in a daze. It was his grandfather... Or rather, the warriors who had once rallied around Marshal Julius. They had been powerful, brave, loyal, and invincible... Statues of them lined Triumph City; their presence was everywhere. That was an era long gone, like the Wilante's Era of Prosperity. He had once envied that era immensely and lamented more than once that he had been born in the wrong time. Never had he imagined that at the very end of his life, that glorious shadow would appear once again. "...It seems your Archon truly is an extraordinary man." Seeing the old man's heartfelt sentiment, the young man chuckled heartily. "Naturally... If I started telling you about his feats, two days and two nights wouldn't be enough." Hearing this, Bazel burst into full-bellied laughter. "Haha! Then I can't just miss out on that... Once this is all over, I'll buy you a drink, and we can talk it over slowly." He had suddenly grown curious. Curious about the legends of that Archon... *** The shadow of the Death Agent loomed over Wilante Province, yet fear failed to crush the people living upon this land. All the refugees remained quietly in the quarantine zones. Under the management of the Wilante Alliance's border defense forces, they received rationed supplies in orderly fashion and underwent health screenings. With the assistance of researchers from both the Alliance and the Academy, the fledgling Wilante Alliance successfully withstood wave after wave of refugees thrust forward by the Southern Legion. Under this relentless onslaught, they constructed and consolidated twenty quarantine zones. The entire process was far from easy. After all, washed ashore by the waves were not just living refugees, but dead bodies as well. Moreover, the survivors residing in the quarantine zones had to endure not only material shortages, but also other epidemics beyond the Death Agent, as well as diseases spawned by inadequate sanitary conditions. Beyond that, the Wilante Alliance had to contend with operatives sent by the Southern Legion. Not only did they spread panic and incite survivors to storm the checkpoints, but they also attempted to breach the quarantine cordons through physical force. Fortunately, this was the wasteland. Vast swathes of wilderness separated the quarantine zones from Triumph City, and the flow of people between the small settlements scattered across the wasteland was relatively sparse. Though several close calls occurred along the way, timely containment measures allowed the Wilante Alliance's border defense forces to keep the virus successfully in check, preventing the Death Agent from spreading into Triumph City. The Wilante inside the quarantine zones were exceptionally cooperative as well. The solidarity they displayed in the face of adversity even moved the other races who had fled from Batoya Province. In this manner, all of them joined together to forge a miracle that had seemed nearly impossible— With almost no prior preparation, relying solely on an iron will and the conviction never to abandon anyone, they withstood a cross-sea assault launched by the Southern Legion that threw fifty thousand human bodies at them every single day. At this moment, the Southern Legion was like a rabid beast driven into its final, hysterical frenzy. Meanwhile, as Triumph City stood its ground against the first onslaught of the Death Agent, the tide of the crisis began to turn in the Wilante Alliance's favor. Through the mediation of Battlefield Atmosphere Group himself, alongside the civilian faction and the Praetorians, the Federation across the new continent, as well as the Eastern Empire and the Northern Empire, gradually recognized the gravity of the situation. Warships of the New Federation were advancing toward the Whirlpool Sea. On the other front, the Eastern Empire and the Northern Empire sent desperately needed food, medicine, clothing, and tents to the Wilante Alliance along the railways crisscrossing north and south. Though the fractured legion had dissolved, the Wilante had not forgotten their ancestral homeland. They remained as united as ever—perhaps even more united than before. Just like that, half a month passed, and in the blink of an eye, early October arrived. Over the past half-month, the Southern Legion had launched nearly eight hundred thousand elderly, weak, women, and children northward. Among them, twelve thousand seven hundred and seven cases of the Death Agent were confirmed, and not a single one had successfully breached the border! A cure for the Death Agent was still under development. While a reliable vaccine had not yet been found, an inhibitor capable of alleviating symptoms had been successfully produced. According to the Alliance Institute of Biological Research, whoever tied the knot had to untie it: the best way to develop a vaccine quickly was to obtain the viral research data in the Southern Legion's hands. A military operation targeting Avent City was already being discussed within the Alliance Army General Staff. At this moment, however, Ye Shi, who was still in the quarantine zone, had no idea about the developments outside—and even if he had known, he probably wouldn't have cared. Thanks to his earlier "little scheme" and Jiang Xuezhou's loose tongue exaggerating his contributions everywhere, the Wilante Alliance border defense forces now treated him like a giant of virology. A crowd of big-nosed officers trailed after him all day long, asking for his guidance on epidemic prevention work. Thoroughly relishing the feeling of being treated like a big shot, Ye Shi held his nose high in the air, indulging himself in being the center of attention. Staring at a notebook packed with dense notes of "invaluable experience," the logistics official's face looked like a bitter gourd as he moaned in distress. "By the standards you've set... our expenditures will probably reach an astronomical figure." Hearing this, Ye Shi threw his hands up and chuckled. "I only come up with the ideas. If you need money, go ask your Archon." There was no way he was paying out of pocket, and having him ask the Alliance for money was out of the question—they should be glad he wasn't charging them. Then again, the habitually stingy Administrator was actually quite generous when human lives were on the line. The test kits Jiang Xuezhou had helped transport had been produced at great expense by the Institute of Biological Research, yet they hadn't charged Triumph City a single coin, nor had they even brought up the subject of money. Having brushed off the logistics official, Ye Shi had not walked far from the tent when he ran into Xuezhou, who had just returned from Dawn City. Earlier, when the test kits ran out, she had flown her research vessel back to Dawn City to airlift another batch over. It had to be said, that antigravity aircraft was truly a marvelous piece of equipment. It was rumored that if not for the dense orbital debris outside, it could step on the gas and fly straight to the moon. Leaving such a treasure in the hands of the Academy was truly a waste. Just as Ye Shi was entertaining these irreverent thoughts, Jiang Xuezhou spotted him and called out from a distance. "Hey." Seeing that she had come looking for trouble, Ye Shi yawned and said with exasperation, "What is it this time?" "Wh-what do you mean 'this time'?! Am I that high-maintenance?!" Deeply dissatisfied with his impatient tone, Jiang Xuezhou's eyebrows shot up instantly. Yet it lasted only a split second before those delicate brows softened again. Fidgeting for a moment, she cleared her throat in an attempt at dignity, then switched to an offhand tone in a clumsy attempt at concealment, blurting out a completely random question. "Um... why didn't you explain?" Ye Shi froze, entirely bewildered by the non sequitur. "Explain what? What is there to explain?" "Back last month... when we first arrived," Jiang Xuezhou mumbled, looking away self-consciously, "why didn't you explain to Yutong that we... weren't flirting?" ...Huh? Ye Shi went completely blank, staring like a prairie dog stunned in the grasslands. Only after a long while did he manage to squeeze out a sentence from his open mouth. "Are you a child? What is there to explain about that?" Besides, that had happened half a month ago! Jiang Xuezhou seemed to realize that bringing this up out of the blue sounded completely bizarre. Blushing furiously, she buried her head. "R-right... What is there to explain? There's absolutely no need to explain, haha." So awkward... Her face was burning hot. Looking at the flabbergasted Ye Shi, she felt as if her toes were about to dig a hole right through the soles of her shoes... *** Triumph City. The council chamber of the Court of Honor. Having concluded the mobilization conference, Battlefield Atmosphere Group dismissed the officials seated around the table and turned to look at Legion Commander Raizer, who sat off to the side. "You once said that I had to show the beast my courage. Does my courage satisfy you?" The old man clad in golden armor smiled faintly and gave an objective nod. "Fair enough. Still a bit green compared to Marshal Julius, but you've barely passed in my book." Battlefield Guy made a helpless face, though a proud smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. To earn even a "barely passed" from an old monster who had lived for one hundred and seventy-two years meant he at least possessed above-average talent. Looking at the Archon, Raizer pondered for a moment before continuing. "Actually, more than your courage, what pleased me even more was that you used the word 'compatriots' when convincing me." Battlefield Atmosphere Group blinked, unable to keep a wry smile from his face. *Just over that?* "Many of my friends are Wilante. Even if I'm not a Wilante myself, it's hard not to take their interests into account." "Even if it meant betraying the Alliance?" Commander Raizer asked teasingly, looking at him with keen interest. Battlefield Atmosphere Group slowly shook his head, speaking in an ordinary, matter-of-fact tone. "I have never considered myself a traitor to the Alliance. In fact, it is precisely because I am fulfilling my oath that I sit here today." Raizer fixed his gaze on him. "Your oath?" Battlefield Atmosphere Group nodded, his eyes drifting into memory as he recalled long ago. "When we left the vault, we all swore an oath beneath the flag of the Human Alliance. We swore to rebuild our home... and that is what we have been doing all along. When we go to a place, we don't go to destroy the local order, but to search alongside them for possibilities regarding the future." "Haha!" Raizer let out a booming laugh, gently patting the armrest of the chair he had previously crushed, and said playfully, "That makes you sound like a disaster relief agency." Battlefield Atmosphere Group smiled faintly and replied humbly, "We were always a disaster relief agency to begin with. Isn't that what blue moles are supposed to do?" "Hahahaha!" The old man's laughter grew even heartier, the warmth in his smile deepening considerably. He was genuinely gratified that he had finally lived to see this day. Battlefield Atmosphere Group could not read all of his emotions, yet he found himself surprisingly able to empathize with the man. If one day he lived to see a new era and looked back upon all the hardships he had weathered along the way, he would surely burst into laughter just like this old man. Casting a glance of approval toward the young Archon, Raizer offered a heartfelt compliment. "In any case, knowing that you regard the Wilante as compatriots rather than mere tools to fulfill a mission..." "I can rest easy."