As the passenger liner *Albatross* docked at the pier of Mantou Port, the three thousand survivors who had drifted at sea for over half a month finally set foot in their new home.
With the arrival of this batch of new immigrants, the population of Mantou Port officially crossed the milestone of thirty thousand.
This was merely the beginning.
For a long time to come, passenger ships departing from the Vortex Sea would pass through this strait one after another, ferrying survivors from Batoya Province here—or to Haiya Province to the northeast of the Baiyue Strait—bringing millions of immigrants in their wake.
Among them were not only the elderly, the weak, women, and children, but also highly skilled engineers, scientists, and artists.
If the New Continent, whose core population was Wilante, was their first choice for refuge, then the burgeoning Alliance was their next best alternative.
Though they enjoyed no privileges as the dominant ethnic group there, having suffered through extreme hardship, they had come to appreciate the benefits of equality to some extent.
And so, after the holding capacity of the quarantine camps in Wilante Province reached its peak, the floodwaters began to be diverted to other regions of the wasteland with the assistance of the former Legion forces and members of the Slime Mold Consortium.
No matter how many refugees poured into the south of Wilante Province—even if the number doubled—Triumph City could handle it with ease, and could even turn around to take the initiative in helping Tyr move the population.
Tyr, shrewd as he considered himself, had clearly overlooked this point, and the blind spot born of his petty cleverness became the opening move of his total defeat.
He had wanted to exploit Marshal Julius's funeral, using Triumph City as a fulcrum to pry the entire world apart and rally all the Wilante to charge alongside him. Yet he forgot that his enemy was far from just the Triumph City he was currently trying to shaft—it was the very world he planned to bend over next.
Nobody was an idiot who would just stand there waiting in line for him to screw them over one by one.
Thus, following the move that had "delivered the first batch of immigrants to Mantou Port," Tyr's "ingenious plan" had now brought the families of these prisoners of war right to the Alliance's doorstep.
Pali was not the only one embracing his parents; countless others were overwhelmed with joyous disbelief.
Cries of joy, gasps of astonishment, and weeping filled the plaza before the harbor. People held one another tight, eagerly pouring out everything that had happened to them over this time.
The lively commotion drew many neighboring residents: islanders from the South Sea Alliance, survivors from Haiya Province, and those who had come from Brahma Province.
Watching the deeply touching scene, knowing smiles broke out across almost every face.
Even the Brahma people who harbored hatred toward the Wilante could not help softening their prejudices slightly in their hearts.
They were human beings too.
The evil fiends who turned men into beasts were the true common enemy of all suffering survivors!
Ding Ning had clearly not expected that the surprise he brought Pali would be so immense.
He had merely thought there might be folks from the young man's hometown on board who could give Pali some news about the recent situation in Yavent City, which was why he had urged him to come over.
Yet he never imagined the young fellow's parents would actually be on the ship.
It was nothing short of a miracle!
In truth, however, this was not entirely a coincidence; there was deliberate intention behind it.
Or to put it more precisely, it was the humanitarian touch passed down by the residents of Shelter 404.
Far away in Dawn City, Yaya had suddenly realized that among those refugees there might be relatives of the soldiers who had previously landed at Mantou Port, so she mentioned it on the forum.
Then Ye Shi, with nothing better to do on the front lines of Wilante Province, ran over to the quarantine zone's archives to check. Sure enough, he discovered that quite a few among the registered refugees were relatives of the Southern Legion's 100th Myriad.
When the 100th Myriad was founded, the Legion had not yet broken apart, and the personnel files of registered soldiers were shared across the board.
Upon learning of the situation, the honorable governor, Mr. Pangolin, waved his hand and consulted the immigrants themselves, prioritizing them for placement aboard ships bound for the Baiyue Strait.
It was precisely this little interlude that allowed countless families to reunite in a foreign land.
At the edge of the plaza, Lao Bai stood with his arms crossed, looking sideways at Fang Chang with a teasing grin.
"At this rate, our Wilante Expeditionary Force could mobilize another few divisions."
The Burning Corps' deployment area had shifted from the Brahma Province theater to the Evernight Port frontline. However, with a few days left before the assembly time, the two of them had fed some kills on the front lines, taken a detour through Port French Fries, and then come here.
Looking at the prisoners of war across the plaza, Fang Chang smiled faintly.
"We have enough troops already; there's no need to keep mobilizing. Besides, compared to being sent to the battlefield to fill trenches, there are far better places for them to put their talents to use."
The war would soon be over.
Devastated places needed rebuilding, and displaced survivors needed new homes.
A single Mantou Port was far from enough.
Haiya Province had ten settlements, so the Baiyue Strait could easily support at least twenty!
Fang Chang remembered drawing an enormous pie in the sky for the shareholders of the Baiyue Company a long time ago—promising to paint a mouth-watering menu across the Alliance's map.
From the look of things, the odds of turning that pie into reality were quite decent!
At the very least, compared to the pies the trash dev drew, his was practically conservative!
***
While the prisoners of the 100th Myriad reunited with their kin, thousands of kilometers away in northwestern Brahma Province, artillery fire continued without pause, the sounds of explosions and gunfights echoing incessantly across the horizon.
Facing waves upon waves of Brahma troops charging through the jungle with automatic rifles, even the elites of the Purge Squads could not help displaying terrified expressions as they crumbled under the relentless onslaught.
The Southern Legion's cannon fodder had to be grown in cloning pods, yet the soldiers of Brahma Province seemed to sprout right out of the soil. Wave after wave was cut down, but they simply never ran out.
And what was worse was yet to come—
These bastards fought younger and fiercer with every passing day!
With the fall of Evernight Port, the Southern Legion's supply lines in the Brahma Province theater had been completely severed. By contrast, the State of Brahma and the State of Mammoth had completed a thorough re-equipment with the Alliance's aid, and having caught their breath, they had officially sounded the clarion call for a counteroffensive.
This protracted campaign had entered its third phase—shifting from strategic stalemate back to the contest over key strategic pivots.
Only this time, the ones struggling desperately to hold on were no longer the State of Mammoth and the State of Brahma, but the Southern Legion, now at the end of its rope.
Incidentally, even the slickest of them all, Shahrukh, was no longer holding back, while General Grove, who had recently been sidelined under the guise of empty praise, was once again placed in a position of heavy trust by Gopal, backed by the full support of the Family Committee.
A mighty army of five hundred thousand poured out like tigers and wolves, striking at the Southern Legion's weakest defenses. They thoroughly battered Gibson, who commanded fewer than a hundred thousand men—mostly auxiliary forces at that—and recaptured half of Wolf Province!
This time, General Grove had finally held his head high, waging a battle of lavish abundance.
Neither Zayed nor Gopal placed restrictions on him any longer, leaving him free to display his military talents.
Their sole condition was simple—
Do not touch West Sail Port for the time being.
According to intelligence gathered by their informants abroad, the Eastern Empire was preparing to take over the legacy of West Sail Port.
That harbor represented the concentrated cream accumulated jointly by Triumph City's civil bureaucracy and the Southern Legion.
The leadership of the Family Committee understood perfectly well what could be touched and what could not, or rather, what they simply lacked the strength to touch for now.
Still, it was something that could be negotiated.
For instance, if the Eastern Empire ate the meat, they could tag along to drink some soup; at any rate, they could not let Absaik and Rasi reap all the benefits.
Although the internal factions of the State of Brahma each harbored their own petty schemes, the overall momentum of a full-scale counteroffensive had firmly taken shape.
The hardest part of the foundation had been laid, and the superstructure was already built; all that remained was putting the roof on the building.
With a wolf and a moon leading the Brahma counteroffensive, they could not lose even if they dragged Wutuo back from the grave.
At this very moment, Brahma Province was indeed bristling with fierce generals like clouds and elite soldiers like rain.
And most importantly of all, they had forged their own backbone in the crucible of fire!
***
In the three northern provinces, central Sheep Province, along the forward line controlled by the State of Brahma's Northern Field Army.
Standing in a trench, Brother Edge raised his binoculars, peering toward the west. His gaze swept northward along the undulating ridges and the unbroken sea of green pines.
If one disregarded the anti-aircraft machine guns concealed within the forest canopy, the hollowed-out bunkers, and the tunnels, this place truly deserved to be called a picturesque land.
With mountains, waters, and endless plains, and without the harassment of mutants... did this place really need red soil?
Such a doubt could not help rising in Brother Edge's heart.
Then again, he had never witnessed just how terrifying the bitter winter of a century and a half ago had been, so he had no right to judge General Rowell's merits and faults on behalf of the local survivors.
As for what Brahma Province would have looked like without General Rowell, that was something left entirely to the imagination.
Judging objectively from a third-party perspective, however, he could not agree with the complaints of some Brahma people—that the Human Alliance had abandoned them, abandoning over a hundred million survivors who had fled here from the heart of the old world.
To Brother Edge, having traveled to many places, Brahma Province compared to River Valley Province and elsewhere was practically the last paradise on earth; it was itself a four-million-square-kilometer shelter!
As a pre-war ecological reserve, it possessed flourishing biodiversity—even ice-age mammoths roamed here, and they had not been eaten to extinction to this day.
Only five oases remained in Sunset Province, whereas the Brahma people possessed an oasis spanning four million square kilometers.
If they could be counted as abandoned survivors, what did that make the other survivors living outside the shelters during that same era?
Perhaps because he would soon be departing, Brother Edge drifted in his thoughts for quite some time, snapping back only when a soft cough came from behind him.
"...The Wilante have linked that ridge ahead with bunkers and subterranean passages. A direct assault will cost countless lives."
Saying so, Brother Edge lowered his binoculars and handed them to Ishel, who stood behind him. Pausing a moment, he added, "They've spent at least half a year preparing on the opposite side. I'd advise you to take things slow and steady."
Ishel replied with a serious look, "I will consider it carefully."
Brother Edge nodded approvingly, knowing the man had taken the advice to heart.
Ishel was now the supreme commander of the Northern Field Army, commanding not just the 3rd and 11th Myriads, but ten whole field infantry and artillery divisions!
As the saying went, the enemy's curse was the finest medal; one could easily tell how much trouble he had caused the Southern Legion by the moniker they had bestowed upon him: "Jungle Rat."
To be frank, Brother Edge felt he had nothing left to teach him. If anything, he had to consult him on certain matters.
After all, the command philosophy of player corps differed from that of NPC forces, and on questions regarding the latter, NPC officers held far more authority than players whose pockets were packed with resurrection coins.
Thinking of this, Brother Edge cracked a teasing smile. "You'd better be cautious. I hear your bounty has jumped from five million dinars to twenty million."
"Tch, I haven't seen that much money in my whole damn life," Ishel grinned, scratching the back of his head and joking back. "Think I can negotiate with those big-noses to sell myself in?"
Brother Edge laughed and cursed, "Hahaha, you don't even have kids! Are you planning to hoard that cash to spend in the afterlife?"
Ishel chuckled sheepishly. "You've got a point there, I totally forgot about that. Settled then! Once this war is over, I'm finding myself a wife."
Brother Edge quipped, "Then you'd better keep your eyes wide open. You're not like before, dirt poor with nothing to your name, where nobody'd take you even if you were given away for free. The Wilante put twenty million on your head, and I bet folks back in Tiandu are offering even more."
Ishel grinned. "There's a deal like that? Then I've got to find an educated one, so my sons and daughters don't end up useless like me."
"Cut the crap. If you count as useless, who the hell counts as successful?" Brother Edge laughed, then paused and added, "Culture isn't some sacred, lofty thing. Anyone who wants to learn can pick it up. You can learn too once the fighting's done. If you're picking a partner, character is what matters most; that's what stays for a lifetime. Don't go freezing in your tracks the second you see schoolgirls."
These Brahma fellows were truly bizarre—every single one of them was obsessed with schoolgirls.
Did they have a uniform fetish or something?
Then again, that made sense.
In all of the State of Brahma, outside of the military, schools seemed to be the only place where uniforms existed.
Another strange prejudice added to the mental registry...
With the banter out of the way, Brother Edge wiped the smile from his face, adopting a serious tone.
"We're leaving tomorrow. From here on, you'll have to walk your own path... Take care of yourselves."
Even though he had known the Alliance's arrangements in advance, a bitter smile surfaced on Ishel's face.
"Even you guys are transferring out?"
The Skeleton Corps had already been reassigned to Evernight Port earlier, along with the Goblin Corps and the Burning Corps stationed in Tiandu.
Once the Death Corps pulled out, the Brahma Province theater would be left entirely to the Brahma people themselves.
Though he had foreseen this day long ago, his heart remained heavy with reluctance.
"Yeah. We can't stay here forever. Northwest of Evernight Port, there are 2.7 million square kilometers of colonies waiting for us to liberate... including Batoya Province's 910,000 square kilometers. There are suffering survivors there too."
Seeing the reluctant look on Ishel's face, Brother Edge suddenly smiled to lighten the mood, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder.
"Don't make this look like a fucking tragic parting. We're just heading off to our next victory. You guys have done wonderfully; you'll do great even without us. No need to cling to us like this."
"Hard to say," Ishel shook his head. "The Coalition has never truly been unified. Mountaintop factions fly their own banners in every direction. Today they can join hands to fight the Southern Legion; tomorrow they'll bash each other's skulls in over who owns the three northern provinces."
Absaik had already laid the groundwork in telegrams sent to him, telling him to keep an eye on the movements of Rasi's forces, to yield positions only when strictly necessary, and to keep captured equipment and personnel if possible—or send them south if not.
He could guess what Absaik was thinking with his toes, yet he could not say the supreme leader's foresight was wrong.
After all, Absaik was hardly the only one preparing for civil war; Rasi was doing the exact same thing.
Once it became clear that the Southern Legion was an autumn grasshopper nearing its end, several divisions of the State of Mammoth stationed on the front lines began acting strangely, and their intelligence sharing was no longer as unreserved as before.
That was three whole provinces of territory, plus Lion Province, which the Southern Legion had meticulously developed.
It would be a miracle if Rasi wasn't interested!
Brother Edge could see the worry in his eyes, but had no better solution to offer.
He was only a corps commander.
Besides, he felt that even if the Manager himself stood here, he would find it difficult to intervene in another people's internal affairs.
Unless they turned this place into their own colony just like the Southern Legion had, using new hatred to paper over the old.
But if they did that, they would no longer be the Alliance.
And the survivors who supported them against the Legion would not necessarily continue to back them as before.
"We hope you can resolve your differences peacefully, or at least avoid triggering a larger crisis."
At this point, an idea suddenly formed in Brother Edge's mind, and he extended an olive branch to his comrade-in-arms. "Have you considered coming to the Alliance?"
This man was a genuine talent.
It was out of sincere appreciation for his capability that he made the offer.
Faced with the olive branch, Ishel fell silent for a moment before sighing softly.
"It'd be a lie to say I don't want to, but a lie to say I do... I wouldn't call myself a hero, but I'm quite the catch right now. The schoolgirls in Tiandu are probably lining up at the city gates waiting for me. If I don't go back, would I still be a man? There are decades of good living waiting for me, at least."
Pausing, he added with a chuckle, "Besides, chaos isn't a given. What if this Jungle Rat can hold down the fort? Whether I can hold it down is one thing, but if I run away without even trying, the girls back in Tiandu will queue up to curse my name."
His tone sounded lighthearted, yet carried a hint of resolute gravity.
Brother Edge was momentarily at a loss whether to laugh at his vulgarity or admire his courage.
Ishel, however, was quite at peace with himself.
He had thought through this problem long ago: he was destined never to become "Awakened Paul."
The Brahma people had never experienced an era where they were exploited to the absolute limit by money and power; how could they awaken from a nightmare they had never lived through?
A page was missing from their history, and he was the page they lacked.
He would become the opening chapter of Boulder City, raising the torch that dispersed the darkness as a pioneer.
And his children, or his children's children, would become Master Stephen—the villain of *Awakened Paul*.
Perhaps he should accept the olive branch offered by the shelter resident before him. To brush off one's sleeves and vanish into obscurity after the deed was done was the truly wise choice.
Yet every person had their limitations, himself included.
It was the conviction of becoming Paul that had carried him through thorns and thickets to this very day; how could he simply abandon it?
Perhaps things would turn out differently.
After all, in *Survivor Daily*'s interview with Sberg, the latter had mentioned that the epic of Boulder City was a miracle wrought by its people; survivors of other settlements would have miracles of their own, and miracles could not be simply replicated.
He would try to learn the lessons of Boulder City and add two more rules to his family's ancestral code.
Perhaps under his influence, his children might walk a completely different path.
For instance, becoming Elisa, the "Gravedigger of the Inner City."
An idealist who had eaten her fill and smashed her own family's rice bowl was equally indispensable to a glorious transformation. Had such a great figure emerged from the tragedy of West Sail Port, rulers like Janusz and Absaik would never have had their turn to play king.
Of course, this was merely Ishel's personal view; different people interpreted the transformation of Boulder City in different ways.
Even so, he believed he possessed the strength to alter the future of his compatriots.
Seeing that Ishel's mind was made up, Brother Edge did not bring up the matter again. He merely patted his shoulder.
"The Southern Legion's defeat is set in stone, but don't get careless. Lion Province has factories, railways, and endless manpower. They might not be able to produce precision-guided missiles, but churning out guns and bullets won't be an issue; they never relied heavily on high technology to begin with. Moreover, those who remain are all unhinged zealots. Meeting them head-on is the worst possible move; only winning their hearts and minds is the superior strategy."
Ishel nodded earnestly. "I'll remember that... Take care of yourselves too."
Brother Edge nodded, pulled back his hand from Ishel's shoulder, and clasped his hands in salute before his chest.
"Until we meet again!"
Ishel mirrored the gesture, cupping his hands and laughing heartily.
"Until we meet again! Next time you visit Tiandu, drinks are on me!"
Brother Edge chuckled. "I'm holding you to that!"
Leaving behind his surplus gear in the trenches alongside that farewell, he called together the last remaining players of the Death Corps and walked toward the landing pad.
The Viper transport craft that had come to pick them up was already waiting there.
They would take the VTOL Viper to Tiandu, then transfer to an Overlord transport bound for the southern Great Desert—the former southern industrial zone of the Human Alliance era.
The Southern Legion held 2.7 million square kilometers of colonies there. They would link up with their brethren from the other corps on the Evernight Port frontline, then push straight north, thrusting through the ruins of the former western industrial zone and plunging directly into southern Batoya Province—the heartland of the Southern Legion itself!
Brother Edge felt the blood through his entire body boiling like burning gasoline.
Listening to the roar of the plasma plumes outside the cabin, he clenched his fists with excitement until his knuckles cracked.
"...Finally, a chance to raise some real hell!"
Chapter 942