Redemption!

The viper dormant in its cave had finally survived the bitter winter, just like the crimson sprout slumbering in Rowell's chest. Perhaps the Moon King had never intended to bring disaster upon his descendants, and had even envisioned a day when history would reckon with him... just like the nameless nobody who had suddenly awakened amid the snow and ice all those years ago, aiming his gun at Rowell. Yet when confronted with that weighty epic, every single one of them had softened their hearts without exception. Whether emperors and generals, nameless nobodies, or obscure scholars, who wouldn't want to leave behind a fairy tale of truth, goodness, and beauty for the story's end? And win a good name for themselves in the process. Yet once the heart softened— It was already too late. *Bang!* The sudden crack of gunfire cast a pall of grief and chill over Mammoth City's festive holiday atmosphere. Young men, their hot blood unquenched, once more charged resolutely to the front. Just as their teachers had instructed them in the classroom, they kept their spines straight whether facing Wutuo or Laxi. People surrounded City Hall, demanding an explanation. Their demands were beyond reproach; they had not even pushed for anything further, such as hauling Laxi into a court of law. Yet mild though their demands were, to Mammoth State, they were still fatal. There was no helping it; responsibility was far too concentrated. Countless people rose and fell together, tied like grasshoppers on a single string. This doomed Mammoth State to yield not a single inch before this surging tide; taking even the slightest step back meant falling off a cliff. If the same thing had happened in the South Sea Alliance, at most they would have just sacked Li Minghui. But this was Mammoth State. Once Laxi fell from power, the Assault Team would be the first to face liquidation, followed by his entire faction... It would not merely be a matter of a few people declaring themselves kings or emperors; the scattered grains of sand would be crushed into even finer dust, and rolling severed heads would have to build another insurmountable dam across the Tasang River! The troops stationed in the city did not even need orders from Laxi before striking first. Under no circumstances could they allow the crowd to storm City Hall—no matter the cost. Those youngsters were too young; they had yet to learn how to voice their demands with tact, while the Mammoth State authorities had not had enough time to acquire the skills needed to manage public opinion crises. Soldiers fired warning shots into the sky, but not a single person backed down. Soon, someone fell, and after that, no amount of justification could clear things up. Seeing the youth slumped on the ground, fathers who had returned from working overseas were enraged as well. In the end, the conflict escalated into an even greater tempest, nearly spilling over to the parish's Church of the Silver Moon Goddess. Throughout the entire incident, there was no right or wrong. There were only costs. And by the time everyone finally realized it, even those who didn't eat the red soil suddenly noticed that their heels were already submerged in that red soil—in that blinding, blood-soaked history. Just as countless Kents had hoped, Boulder City's miracle did not take place in Mammoth City. Looking at the telegram and newspaper sent from the rear at the same time, Laxi—who was locked in a bloody struggle with the remnants of the Southern Legion at the front—was far beyond merely furious; his entire body trembled with rage. "Utter nonsense! I... Fuck! Dammit!" He suddenly discovered that even if he had reason on his side, he couldn't explain himself. It was true that he had blown up the dam, but he never expected the ensuing flood to wash away every village downstream, and he had done everything in his power to compensate those people afterward. Had he admitted to it back then, it might not have mattered. Back then, everyone treated human lives like grass, and even Alaiyang, the "God of War of the Empire," was on a killing spree. What could a bunch of half-awake people have done? They might have even thought him forthright, an honest villain. And later, as long as he turned over a new leaf and built a new dam in return... just as he had already done, everyone would have praised him as a brave man who owned up to his actions. But now, it was too late for anything. His enemies had leaked the truth for him, and they had done so with vicious embellishments, employing the most shameless method—working backward from consequence to cause. Even his later idea of "working overseas" was spun into part of some grand scheme behind the deliberate flooding. At this moment, he was like an enraged lion with sharp fangs and claws, yet with no idea where to sink his teeth. This was unavoidable. What he was good at, Absaik was not; and what Absaik was skilled at, he naturally could not do. Looking at the marshal and commander, who was beside himself with fury, a staff officer inside the military tent advised, "The war is not yet over; we cannot let these people run wild. In any case, let's declare martial law first! And hold off on overseas workers returning home." Pausing, he added, "Furthermore, since they published in the papers, we should publish a clarification too!" This was a stopgap measure. Still, having taken a bullet, one had to bandage the wound before doing anything else. Unfortunately, this staff officer was ultimately too young; once they did that, they would fall into a vicious spiral of rumors and refutations... to say nothing of the fact that their own hands were far from clean. Even though blowing up the dam was a secret of the Assault Team known only to high-ranking figures like Shawa, seeing Laxi's reaction was enough for the officers to figure it out. Even if the truth in the newspaper had been watered down, out of ten lies, at least one undeniable truth remained. In truth, the most effective method was to let things cool down: muzzle those petty troublemakers first, then put out an even more sensational piece of news to divert attention. Once everyone forgot what the original conflict was about, they could gradually reshape the correct memories. For instance, claiming that Laxi's original intention was to protect the dam from stray shells, only for a low-ranking soldier to botch the orders. Or that the soldier hadn't botched anything at all because no order was ever given; the dam had simply been dilapidated and was shaken to pieces by Bamte's 100-millimeter artillery... After all, the Xilan Empire's engineering quality was just like the empire itself—something to be admired from afar, but never poked closely. But some things, if you didn't understand them, you simply didn't. Those buried in the red soil could only serve as nourishment for successors, allowing them to absorb the dregs of that red earth. Gritting his teeth, Laxi nodded and finally issued the order: "Martial law!" In truth, even up to this moment, no one in the military tent considered this a major disaster; their only regret was for the future pillars of the nation who had died in the clash. They had spent a handsome sum to nurture those youngsters. Even Laxi himself merely viewed the troublemaking fools as something akin to the elders of the Moon Clan Resistance; after all, those who had opposed him all along were clownish figures like that. Yet he had forgotten: those clowns had never dared to truly resist. The ones resisting him this time were willing to bleed. Looking at Laxi silently staring at the front-line map, the officers around the command table exchanged glances and whispered among themselves: "Could this be Absaik's doing?" "Isn't Shawa in the Great Rift Valley? Just have him ask." "Heh... You think they'd tell you the truth?" "If they really instigated this, they might be planning to attack! We can't let our guard down!" *** Meanwhile, in central Sheep Province, on the front line where the State of Brahma's Northern Field Army confronted the Southern Legion, Isher held up binoculars and looked out over the enemy positions, his mind awash with thoughts. He still vividly remembered when he had been hauling crates on the Southern Legion's docks, and now he had become their gravedigger. Life was truly fickle. Just then, an officer walked up behind him and reported, "Laxi's forces are massing toward our rear." Shaking off his wandering thoughts, Isher lowered his binoculars and sighed. "Have they made any further moves?" The officer shook his head. "None." After pondering for a long time, Isher commanded, "Have Yokale take his Eleventh Myriarchy... and relieve my position. Bear in mind: no reckless advances! Focus on defense." Pausing, he added, "Also, notify the brothers of the 3rd Myriarchy to come with me. Let's see what game Laxi is trying to play!" Originally, he had planned to let Yokale keep an eye on Laxi, but remembering Yokale's fiery temper and impulsiveness, he abandoned the thought. He didn't want a situation where the other side hadn't intended to fight, only for his own side to spark a shootout. Moreover, if a fight truly broke out, a brute like Yokale would be no match for Laxi. Not that he was boasting: in all of the State of Brahma, perhaps only his own bounty could rival Laxi's. That was recognition from the enemy. At the same time, on the very front line of the standoff, Ross—who had risen from millurion to myriarch—stood at an observation post, meticulously watching the enemy positions across from him. After several clashes, he was virtually certain that the man facing him was the "Jungle Rat," whose bounty approached ten million dinars, the State of Brahma's foremost strategist! Thinking of this, Ross couldn't help a self-deprecating smirk. When he had first stepped foot in West Sail Port and saw those Brahma people who would rather dig a pit and bury themselves alive than resist, yet were fiercely cruel toward their own compatriots, his heart had held only disdain and anger. Back then, he never would have imagined that such a disgraceful pack of little rats would actually grow stronger the more they fought, even giving rise to talents that seasoned academy-trained officers like himself found troublesome... When he thought about it carefully, he had actually seen that Isher before, separated by barely a dozen paces. He couldn't help half-jokingly thinking that if he had pulled the trigger back then, he might have altered history... But that was merely a passing jest. Even without the "Jungle Rat," there would have been a "Jungle Snake" or a "Jungle Bird," or even more formidable "Jungle Cats" and "Jungle Tigers." By now, he could think of no way to salvage victory for the Southern Legion; he only wanted to fight one satisfying battle and offer his final loyalty to Marshal Julius. Yet for some reason, the enemy—whose offensive had been blazing like fire—suddenly seemed to wither. What on earth were they waiting for? Ross frowned, his thoughts as tangled as a knotted hemp rope. Just then, his adjutant entered the observation post and somberly handed him a classified telegram. Ross took it and skimmed it quickly, his expression freezing in astonishment. [To the Seventeenth Myriarchy: Brahma's 3rd Myriarchy will rotate positions with the 11th Myriarchy at 12:00 today. At that time, a bearer of the 11th Myriarchy's banner will ascend the mountain. The entire force is forbidden from opening fire and must immediately surrender to this person! The Emperor of the Eastern Empire has promised to guarantee everyone's safe return home.] [— Northern Front Commander, Myriarch Olette] His lips trembled. Taking a deep breath, his eyes turned bloodshot, wishing he could tear the telegram to shreds and scatter it to the wind. Traitor! Craven, survival-seeking running dog! They had hidden in caves eating bugs, expanding the Legion's territory! And this was what they got in return! His hand clenched the paper tightly, and right then, he noticed that the adjutant standing before him also had bloodshot eyes. Seeing the hand resting on the holster of the service pistol, Ross understood everything in an instant. Not everyone wanted to bleed their last drop of blood for the Legion... They had charged with him time and again; this time, they simply could not charge anymore. The Legion was finished. "...Do you want to go home?" The adjutant said nothing, only looking at him with reddened eyes before nodding. "The soldiers all want to go home... Their families are in Evernight Port. Your wife is there as well, isn't she?" Ross drew a deep breath and sat down in a chair, setting the telegram gently aside. He had indeed thought of Demi, thought of his children... and that was something he had always avoided dwelling on, because once he did, he would remember that he was a human being, not a beast. Once the chest of memories cracked open, countless things flooded back all at once. Including the promise he had made to his wife and children before departing— He had set foot in Brahma Province to protect the Wilante, and he would return home covered in glory. Though the vast majority of those promises could never be fulfilled now, there was at least one thing left that he could deliver... "I understand... I'll take you home." Looking at his nodding commander, the adjutant snapped to attention with reddened eyes and gave a military salute. "Thank you..." Ross offered a weary smile, gazing out toward the emerald-green mountains beyond the observation post. It was over... "Don't thank me. I owe you this." *** At the exact moment he let go of all his obsessions, the State of Brahma's Northern Field Army was executing an intense rotation of positions. To guard against a backstab from Laxi, Isher handed the front line over to Yokale and personally led troops toward the west bank of the Tasang River to watch for unusual military redeployments from Mammoth State. Due to the tension hanging between the two sides, ferries along the Tasang River basin were forced to close, and the narrow dirt roads were jammed with migrating horse carriages and ox carts. Mingled among them were several automobiles. As luck would have it, Niyang, who was rushing toward the front line, was stuck in one of those very cars... On the other side, Yokale, having taken over the defense sector and itching for a massive showdown, suddenly had cold water dumped over his head. It was a classified telegram from the Family Association— [The Southern Legion's northern front in the Brahma theater has surrendered. Once the 3rd Myriarchy redeploys, your unit will take the battle banner up the mountain to accept the surrender of the Southern Legion's remnants. Keep strictly in mind: no misfires, and under no circumstances harm the prisoners of war!] [— Gray Wolf Army Supreme Commander, Gopal] "We fucking won just like that?" Clutching the telegram tightly, Yokale's eyes turned red. Those motherfucking Wilante had come to their land to kill to their hearts' content! He had scraped together dozens of field guns with great difficulty, and before he even had his fill of blood, these bastards just quit on a dime! What kind of outrageous bullshit was this?! After throwing a fit, he swallowed his anger in the end; he was, after all, someone who understood the bigger picture. The officer who brought the telegram also breathed a sigh of relief. He actually carried a second "secret order"—a verbal message passed down from Sava, the second-in-command of the Family Association. If Yokale refused to consider the big picture, for the safety of the countless people of the State of Brahma, the officer was authorized to fire the first shot! *** At the same time, outside a cave in Snake Province, Zayed, wearing leather shoes, lit a Rick 5 cigarette he had long saved, gazing up at the clouds with high spirits. Today's sunlight was exceptionally brilliant, and the clouds were as white as snow. For just moments ago, he had played his final move, checkmating two kings with a single stroke. "This Laxi compares himself to the Great Moon King, but to me, he looks like a mad donkey, hehe." He suddenly thought of an old acquaintance—that naive little girl who seemed to have grown up soaked in honey. That girl had won so easily that she thought victory was the natural order of things. Standing beside him, Gopal chuckled heartily. "Indeed, who could compare to you?" Vengeance was fulfilled! Gopal felt an immense thrill in his chest, so much so that he suddenly found those squeaking little mice not quite so loathsome anymore. Those Brahma people had once heartlessly abandoned them, drowned them in the Everflowing River, and stomped them brutally into heaps of trash, but in the end, they had obediently returned to their side. Their bodies knew how to behave, after all. For the sake of his role as the "Wolf King," he would spare their lives for now! As if reading Gopal's thoughts, Zayed chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Ah, you mustn't be softhearted. Don't drop the ball at the final moment. When they ought to be killed, kill them; when they should be slain, slay them all. Better to over-kill than let any slip away... Keep the codename of this operation in your heart: let's call it 'All Slain'!" Discarding that fleeting shred of softhearted mercy, Gopal grinned spiritedly. "Understood!" In the past, he could never understand that heavy epic, but now he finally grasped why the thirteen great kings were no match for the Great Moon King, why despite having strong troops and sturdy steeds they were routed so utterly, and why that Great Moon King ultimately lost to an unremarkable Xilan. No matter. They would plug the loopholes that the previous Rowell hadn't foreseen, on behalf of that short-lived Wutuo... In the cave behind them, the young Sava stood on a platform with a sorrowful expression, facing rows of indignant faces as he mourned the family members who had died beneath Laxi's guns. "...We deeply mourn the family members lost in the fight against evil forces! We will never give up fighting to the end for the arrival of the new era!" "They will never have died in vain!" Memories of the second West Sail Port tragedy resurfaced before everyone's eyes, only this time, the butcher slaughtering them was no longer the Wilante, but an arrogant, self-proclaimed "Moon King." With life and death hanging in the balance, they had no choice but to fight. It wasn't just the Brahma people who recalled agonizing memories, but also the Wilante in West Sail Port. The State of Brahma's 800,000 Curry Troops had already marched north. "Iron General" Grove, whose fame was soaring like a tiger, battered Gibson—who had swaggered for months—into scurrying away with his head in his hands, fleeing in utter disgrace. Gibson had already suffered defeat at the hands of the Alliance, and now he had lost to the Brahma people as well, completely stripping away whatever dignity the Wilante had left. Yet his loss was hardly unjust. When he saw those Conqueror tanks thundering across the open plains, he was so enraged he nearly bled from every orifice, wishing he could drag out everyone in the entire logistics department and shoot them one by one! Regardless, a defeat was a defeat. Setting aside how panicked the "False Emperor" Akbar and his lackeys were, their terror was already of no consequence; the Chief of the Great Rift Valley hadn't even bothered to send him an invitation. Though nominally the king of tens of millions, in the eyes of the Great Rift Valley, he wasn't even on par with the clown of Dam City. Watching the incoming reports of disaster pouring in from the front line—reports that could no longer be suppressed—the Wilante in West Sail Port completely lost their heads, wishing they could leap into the ocean and swim away from this "Port of Death"! No one could guarantee that Absaik wouldn't do what his former master Janusz had done, giving this 800,000-strong army free rein to slaughter the entire city down to the last person. Just when their panic peaked, the Eastern Empire suddenly extended an olive branch. Rather than staying in West Sail Port to await death, why not board the Eastern Empire's ships and head for New West Sail Port... The Eastern Empire had no fleet, but the New Federation of the New World did, and quite a substantial one at that. For the sake of kinship among compatriots and a hefty sum of money, the Federal Fleet—fresh from putting out fires in the Maelstrom Sea—made a detour to the Brahma Sea, carrying the eagerly waiting people off to the new homeland the Eastern Empire had prepared for them... *** Meanwhile, at the southwestern corner of the Zorbal Mountains, a young yet hope-filled seaport sat upon the barren land. People carrying bags and bundles stood on the streets, receiving their tents with the help of Eastern Empire soldiers. This was the "Wilante Province experience." The series of resettlement measures the Archon had rolled out to handle the Death Agent back then had evidently been copied by the Eastern Empire. Were Marshal Julius still alive, he would probably be gratified by this sight, and might even have altered his opinion of Rowell. The Wilante, who had not sought change for a century, had regained the ability to learn—and all because of the survivors of Brahma Province. If one viewed this as a grand game of chess, Rowell must have calculated that the Post-War Reconstruction Committee would create the Wilante, and intentionally created the red soil just to save the yet-unborn Wilante! His image instantly became even more radiant. Standing on the bare dock, Myriarch Olette held his luggage with an exhausted, haggard face. When he sent that secret telegram to the front, he was already at the northwest corner of the war zone and had boarded an Eastern Empire ship, arriving with the northern front's confidential files at the seaport the Eastern Empire had prepared for receiving spoils. When he thought about it, this was likely the real reason Salen had consistently refused to send troops to aid them. That man had coveted their wealth all along. Just as they had coveted the civil service bloc's treasures... Looking at General MacLaren standing by the harbor, Myriarch Olette, having pieced everything together, gave a bitter smile. "...Our Tyr exhausted every calculation, only to pave the way for you." Looking at this man who had once swaggered before him, MacLaren puffed on his cigar and chuckled. "Heh, you look down on weaker opponents, yet when you run into someone stronger, you can't stomach the loss?" *Didn't you bring it upon yourselves by begging to clash with top dogs?* Yet MacLaren did not mock him further. Truth be told, from the perspective of a commander, he had only felt sixty percent confident in his own assessment. It wasn't that the Southern Legion had no chance of winning, nor was it certain that the Alliance would triumph. If Gurion had been replaced by Griffin, who had experienced the Alliance's tactics firsthand, the Southern Legion's chances of victory would have been at least sixty percent. But how could dead men crawl out of their coffins? The deaths of General Klass and General Griffin had completely opened his eyes: the Legion was doomed to never learn from failure, and it could never advance from one defeat to the next victory. Either they surged forward triumphantly all the way to ultimate victory, or they collapsed in ruinous routs through defeat after defeat. From that perspective, the Legion's collapse was indeed predestined. They could win many times, but losing once meant they could never rise again... Watching MacLaren's faint, half-smile, Olette shook his head. "I didn't mean that... I just occasionally wonder: if we had united, could we have beaten the Alliance?" General MacLaren said indifferently, "If one sun turned into two, would it save the wasteland? Why dwell on impossible what-ifs?" Myriarch Olette froze for a moment, then smiled bitterly. "Fair enough..." After a long pause, he couldn't help asking, "Right, about my situation..." MacLaren knew what he was asking and answered concisely, "Rest easy. His Majesty Salen is a man of his word. If he said he'd spare your life, he'll spare your life. That's also one of the reasons he became a victor." Catching the irony in his tone, Olette gave a bitter smile. "I see... Looking at it that way, our loss was indeed well-deserved." After a moment of silence, he suddenly grew concerned about his old superior and asked, "...What about Gurion?" "You're already standing here, and you're still asking such a stupid question?" MacLaren took a drag of his cigar and smiled meaningfully at him. "You didn't actually think everyone gets to make it ashore, did you?" "Right..." Olette's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. MacLaren patted the officer on the shoulder. "We gave him the chance to choose. He can sit in his office and ponder it at his leisure, rather than ending up like a certain someone who could only suffer a stroke in a bunker... Be content with that." *** In the Great Rift Valley, the door to a certain conference room was tightly closed. Praetorians of Triumph City and Royal Guards of Dawn City stood flanking both sides. The power armors they wore were completely different in model and paint, but their sheer aura of solemn majesty was much the same. As for the identities of the two heavyweights sitting inside the conference room at this moment, no explanation was necessary. Almost everyone passing in front of the conference room could catch the scent of tension seeping through the door crack. In the nearby covered corridor, two leaders of survivor settlements from Cloud Province drifted their gazes toward the door, intentionally or not. In Cloud Province, both were considered regional warlords, yet here among this gathering of titans, they were like ants. The world was simply too vast. There was not only Ideal City, the dragon opening its eyes, but also the Alliance, the dragon rider. Thinking of it this way was perhaps a bit disrespectful, but the reality was just that exaggerated. Three years ago, the wastelanders of Cloud Province relied entirely on the single bowl fed to them by Ideal City. Now, thanks to the Alliance's emergence, their business reach had expanded across the entire wasteland. The radiance of the prairie fire was gradually overshadowing the lighthouse; the descendants of the Zhiyuan colony ship and Vault 6 had truly lived up to that grand ideal from long ago. Of course, such a grand narrative was far too remote for the two men standing here. They merely wanted to see what whispers might leak from that door so they could analyze which stocks would rise on the Ideal City Stock Exchange and the Dawn City Stock Exchange. A shallow thought, wasn't it? Yet utterly pragmatic. The living standards of Ideal City residents were intimately tied to the share prices of the enterprise conglomerates, and the survivors of Cloud Province had over half of their net worth staked on those conglomerates' stocks. Unfortunately, the Great Rift Valley's privacy protections for attendees were absolute; no "known" technological means could penetrate that door to glean information inside. Coupled with Aegis guaranteeing security, it was practically the safest place on the entire wasteland. Even safer than a vault. The taller man grew somewhat impatient, glancing at the bespectacled man beside him. This person was both his business partner and his strategic ally in regional affairs. "What do you think they're talking about?" The bespectacled man stared intently at the door, refusing to be distracted for a second. "No idea, but we'll know soon." The tall man paused. "Soon?" *Are they going to hold a press conference once they're done talking?* Glancing at the unworldly fellow, the bespectacled man chuckled softly. "Facial expressions, movements, gait, demeanor, even the order in which they step out... all of it is data. Humans are human after all; they can't be completely flawless like androids." He had already activated the behavioral analysis system on his AR glasses. Incidentally, both the hardware and software had been purchased from Ideal City. The tall man gave a thumbs-up in awe, marveling in self-deprecation, "That's way too professional!" The shut conference room door held everyone's breath; this was vastly more worthy of attention than the stale old trivialities in Dam City. Whether the two fists of the east and west clashed or shook hands would virtually determine the fate of the entire Central Continent. Right at that moment, the tightly shut door clicked and swung open. Seeing the two big figures walking out from behind the door, chatting and laughing, nearly everyone watching let out a collective sigh of relief. Some also sighed in disappointment. None of that mattered anymore, though. The Archon of the Wilante and the Manager of the Alliance were conversing pleasantly; Triumph City and Dawn City had reached an accord on bringing an end to the Wasteland Era! This was a monumental, auspicious omen. The bespectacled man clenched his fist in excitement, already envisioning tomorrow's possible newspaper headlines! Yet just then, gazing at the two sets of power armor—one blue, one gold—he froze. According to the gait analysis software, the calculation for their relationship had popped up with the label: "Father and Son." "What the hell..." Annoyed, he took off the glasses and poked the restart button, but they wouldn't power on again, as though hit by an electromagnetic pulse. Regardless, the outcome was good. This planet, with barely a single breath left, could not withstand a second great war... *** On the other side, immediately following Shawa, the Captain of the Mammoth State Assault Team, Mayor Audo of the Free State also concluded his meeting with the Great Rift Valley's Chief, walking out of the room with a complex expression. It was hard to tell whether his look was one of depression or vexation, or perhaps tinged with relief. The Chief had said he had been watching him all along, even before the Flint Group came into being, observing all their joys and woes, knowing them inside out. That sounded a bit terrifying. Yet thinking it over, the Flint Group monitored them anyway, and their privacy had long been riddled with holes like a sieve. Suddenly, Audo felt it wasn't so scary after all. At least the Great Rift Valley had never harmed them. It was true in the past, and it was true now. The old man had even broken precedent by not counting his sheep, and had laid bare his thoughts: "...All of you have a bright future, whether residents of southern River Valley Province or northern River Valley Province." "The Wilante and the Brahma people are two sides of a coin. They are each other's archenemies, but also each other's redemption. Now, that coin is about to hit the ground. Once the dust settles, everything will come to an end, whether the final conclusion satisfies everyone or not." "And you are far luckier than they are, because the young man gripping the coin did not toss you into the air. Instead, he gave you enough time to slowly wake from a nightmare that has lasted two hundred years, and gradually realize that the essence of that nightmare is neither a bad old man like me, nor money, nor even the power standing behind money, but yourselves—your own hearts." "So do not come asking me what to do. Ask yourself: did the Sigma you fear fall from the sky? That boy inherited nothing from anyone's hands; he even came from the slums you suited gentlemen look down on the most. Do you think that without him, everyone will live happily ever after? That all will be well? If you truly think so, no one can save you." "This is not a riddle." "Be glad, though: you are unlikely to meet a worse fate than Boulder City's. How good it can be, however, still depends on your own efforts." Returning to his room, Audo tossed and turned all night, thinking of the previous mayor's fate, and of Kondra sitting in the interrogation room, threatening to plant a seed of fear in his heart. Eventually, he fell asleep without realizing it, only to be jolted awake by a nightmare. Looking at the rising morning sun outside his window, a flicker of clarity dawned in his heart, and he firmly made up his mind. "...The nightmare has always lived in the heart of every Bugran. The only way to wake from this nightmare is to lock it in a cage—no one may claim it for themselves." In that case, as Mayor of Bugra, there was only one thing left for him to do... Just like Boulder City. He would stand together with all the Bugran people who were sick and tired of the foul corruption! Thinking of that old man with his faint smile, a wave of gratitude welled up in his heart. They were free— and always had been! The honorable Chief had placed the opportunity to change their fate into their own hands! In two hours, the moment that would decide the fate of the Wasteland Era would arrive! Soon, the inaugural "Human Congress" would commence before the eyes of the world! Fortunately, he had come to understand all this not a moment too late. Even if it was just two hours before the curtain fell... *** At the same time, on the Great Rift Valley's landing pad, a steel airship slowly lowered its gondola. People standing around the landing pad braced their nerves, gazing at the man stepping out of the gondola. He was clad in a suit of armor forged from pure gold. Unlike the Archon of Triumph City's suit, this thing didn't have a single powered component from head to toe. In other words, the Emperor of the Eastern Empire relied purely on sheer muscle power to bear this nearly one-ton armor! To walk down the landing pad as though strolling on flat ground—this fellow truly was a ruthless beast! Looking at Chu Guang in his blue power armor, Salen wore a radiant smile and dramatically spread his arms wide. "Haha! It's been a while, dear Manager of the Alliance!" "We finally meet in reality!"