Adjournment

Ross truly had no need to despair. In all likelihood, he would never set foot in West Sail Port again in this lifetime, nor would the Brahmas welcome an invader like him back. Whatever became of this place would have nothing to do with him. As for Evernight Port... The Alliance corps that had landed there possessed far higher scruples than the Eastern Empire soldiers currently rummaging through every trunk and chest in West Sail Port. His family and furniture were completely safe and sound, without a single thing missing. Though he had to report to New West Sail Port first and wouldn't be able to reunite with his family before Natal Day, they would be reunited in the end... At the square beside the docks, the soldiers guarding him had been switched from Brahmas to Eastern Empire troops. Looking at the burly young soldier, Ross thought for a moment before fishing a golden medal out of his pocket. "Could you lend me two dinars? I'd like to buy a newspaper." The young man pushed the medal back into his hand and gave a hearty laugh. "Keep your medal to yourself, sir. I'll take care of a little thing like this for you!" A defeated myriarch was still a myriarch—not to mention one bearing a gold combat medal. With that, the young man jogged briskly over to the newsstand off to the side and grabbed a whole stack of papers off the rack. The vendor watched but didn't dare stop him, while nearby Gray Wolf Army soldiers looked right past the scene, pretending not to notice. Seeing the thick stack of newspapers the young man brought back, Ross let out a wry chuckle as he took them. "You... at least ought to pay him." Besides, with this many pages, he probably wouldn't finish reading them before reaching New West Sail Port. The soldier laughed cheerfully and replied, "No worries, it's already paid for." Ross paused, taken aback. "...Paid for?" The soldier nodded. "Enough gear to arm a million men, twelve hundred tanks, a thousand airplanes, plus all the pilots of the aviation corps staying behind to teach them until they get it down." Ross was struck utterly speechless. After a long moment, he murmured in marvel, "You people are truly rich." The soldier smiled sheepishly. "Not all of it is ours. Most was actually what you folks left behind... His Majesty said that the junk of the Wasteland Era won't be needed anymore, and the engineers in Norton City are going to design better and more expensive gear benchmarked against our new rivals." Ross said nothing. This time he truly didn't know what to say. He could only flip open a newspaper hoping to find some useful information, only to see that the date was frozen in the final days of December, Year 214 of the Wasteland Era. Time itself seemed to have stopped. He turned several pages, but every single one was an old issue. He shook his head with a bitter smile. It seemed the vendor had no real intention of doing business either. After all, no one was an idiot. Knowing that the Wilantes would take whatever they wanted for free while holding guns to their heads just to keep the shop open, the vendor naturally just went through the motions to get by. Why not order new newspapers? Go ask the printers! And the printers would surely pass the blame onto the writers and reporters scrounging for news. There wouldn't be any news here anymore. Nor was there any need for it. Right at that moment, a family of five came sprinting over from the direction of the city center. The husband and wife appeared to be in their thirties or forties. Of their three children, the smallest barely reached the height of a carriage wheel, while the eldest was only ten or so. They moved in a desperate hurry, panic etched across their faces. Dressed in fine clothes, they clearly came from a respectable background, carrying only a few pieces of personal baggage. The Gray Wolf Army soldier smoking a cigarette stared blankly for a second, seemingly shocked that this family had managed to run all the way here. By reflex, he unslung the rifle from his back and chambered a round with a sharp clack. As if hearing the bolt snap forward, the father lunged into a frantic slide and dropped to his knees before Ross with a heavy thud, dragging his family down with him. "My lord! Please, have mercy, take us with you!" The mother did the same, weeping so bitterly her tears flowed like rain, scraping her forehead against the ground until it bled. "Master! I kowtow to you! I beg of you!" Aside from the two adults, the other two older children imitated their parents, knocking their heads against the ground like pestles grinding garlic. As for the little girl who barely came up to a cartwheel, she seemed frightened out of her wits, standing there dazed and letting the adults pull her along. The sudden wailing caught Ross completely off guard, leaving him frozen in shock. "You have the wrong person... I am merely a prisoner..." What right did a defeated soldier like him have to receive such grand deference? Setting aside protecting others, he himself was like duckweed tossed into a muddy ditch by the wind. Ross suddenly recalled that it had been on this very square before the harbor that Myriarch Olette had telegraphed him, ordering him to drag the heavenly bandits who had killed Wilante civilians out from the population and execute them. Who would have thought that times would change so fast? He, the bloodthirsty butcher, had become a captive, while the victors who had defeated his side were now kneeling before him, begging for their lives. Perhaps driven by the raw instinct to survive, a desperate idea struck the father. Scrambling forward on his knees, he grabbed Ross by the knees and pleaded piteously. "My lord... You—you are a Wilante. You can take your slaves with you! Our whole family will become your slaves! I beg of you, give us a chance to live! We'll work like cattle and horses for you..." "Is—is there such a rule?" Ross was completely stunned. He glanced toward the soldier beside him, not even having time to marvel at the kneeling man's quick-witted flexibility. He, too, was a father. During the days he had spent lying in the cave eating bugs, his family had been the only moonlight he could perceive even without eyes. The greatest difference between humans and beasts was that humans could put themselves in the shoes of their fellow men. He no longer looked down on the Brahma kneeling on the ground as he once had. Instead, he saw him as a father just like himself—one who would cast away all his dignity just so his children could survive! Ross made up his mind, just as he had when facing his bloodshot-eyed subordinates. They weren't pawns. They were human beings. The war was already over. No one else should have to die for this foolish war. He would save them! If only to atone for his sins... The Eastern Empire soldier was visibly taken aback as well. After listening to an inquiry from a nearby officer, he scratched the back of his head. "Well... nothing says you can't. I think I saw an officer bring people aboard earlier." Ross glanced at the Gray Wolf Army soldier not far away and saw the flicked safety on his rifle. Then he looked back at the man and woman kneeling on the ground. His Adam's apple bobbed. Turning to the soldier beside him, he said in a cold, resolute voice, "...I am a myriarch. I need someone to attend to my daily needs. From now on, these people are my servants. Let them board the ship with me... As for your superior, I will explain it to him myself." While the soldier was still hesitating, the man on the ground hastily pulled out several crumpled banknotes and shoved them into the soldier's hands. "Sir... please have mercy." At the sight of several hundred-silver-coin notes, the soldier instantly stopped waffling. Grinning cheekily, he waved his hand. "Head on up." Evidently, he hadn't been conflicted in the slightest. He was merely following the example of his seniors, shearing a bit of wool from these fat sheep along the way. Seeing the groveling father pull out another handful of banknotes to offer him, Ross shook his head. "Stay close to me... It is our ship, after all." Seeing that his benefactor refused the money, the father froze for a second before quickly nodding in gratitude. Pulling his family along, he followed behind their savior toward the dock, putting distance between them and the hungry wolf glaring at their backs. The group boarded the steamer. Ross, leading several Brahmas with him, had felt somewhat tense, but stepping onto the deck, he realized his anxiety had been entirely unwarranted. Only half of the men and women gathered on the deck were Wilantes; the rest were all Brahmas. Looking at their smiles of relief after surviving a catastrophe, it didn't look like they were fleeing for their lives at all. Rather, it looked like they were throwing a victory party. Good grief. It seemed he wouldn't even need to offer an explanation... Ross suddenly realized his own perspective had been too narrow. He had forgotten that people were wealth too—in fact, the greatest wealth of all. How could the Emperor of the Eastern Empire take only machines while leaving behind the talent trained by the Southern Legion? Whatever was left behind on shore—including this family he had picked up—was merely the trash His Majesty deemed not worth taking... The youngest girl blinked, hiding behind her father and secretly observing their benefactor's face. Unable to read any emotion from that stiff expression, she whispered timidly, "...We won't cause you any trouble. Papa brought some dry rations. We'll find a corner to hide ourselves in..." Suddenly remembering that her father had told her not to mention the food, she hastily clamped her hands over her mouth. That cautious, fearful look tugged at the heart. Ross forced a gentle smile onto his stiff face—one he hadn't worn in a very long time—and reached out to ruffle the child's messy hair. "It's no trouble. Just stay with me, and I'll see you safely ashore..." "Come to think of it, I have a child too. He's about your age, maybe a little shorter than you... but in a few more years it might be different. He'll grow to be at least as tall as me." The girl's eyes lit up, momentarily forgetting her father's usual admonitions—that under no circumstances was she to offend a Wilante. "Really? Can you tell me about him?" she asked in a crisp, sweet voice that sounded as pleasant as an innocent lark. "Of course," Ross smiled, nodding as he crouched down to her level. "If you two meet, I'm certain you'll become great friends." ... Meanwhile, on the wilderness of Wolf State. Taking advantage of the dim predawn light, Gopal, Supreme Commander of the Gray Wolf Army, sat in an open-top off-road vehicle with a cigar clamped between his teeth. Leading a single-file steel torrent, he drove along the highway built by the Southern Legion, cutting through his homeland of Wolf State and advancing toward Tiandu. The world knew only of General Grove, the "Iron General," but had no idea that the "Iron General" was merely a dog under his command. Zayed's assessment of Grove had been spot-on: the man was nothing more than an overambitious, self-important fool. During Operation North Wind, he had used his Alliance ties to build his own prestige, advancing recklessly without following orders and thinking no one could see through his petty tricks, when in truth, people simply refrained from calling him out. That had been one of their few vulnerabilities. Fortunately, the Southern Legion had already been battered into submission, sparing the broader strategy from ruin. Still, dealing with Grove could wait. This "Carnal Saint" had to be held high before being smashed ruthlessly to the ground. For that very reason, Gopal had dispatched Grove to take over West Sail Port, the Southern Legion's equipment, and the Eastern Empire's aid, while he himself led the true elites eastward to strike directly at the heart of the State of Brahma! A cold smirk curled at the corner of Gopal's mouth, his reverence for the esteemed Mahatma deepening by the moment. The fire in West Sail Port had served as the pledge of loyalty securing their first entry into Tiandu, and now, the fire in Mammoth City had driven Laxi and Absaik into mutual ruin. Even if the two didn't come to blows and merely stationed their elite troops along their respective borders, it no longer mattered. The informants they had planted in Mammoth City had already established contact with the Moon Clan Resistance. Launching a mutiny while Laxi was tied down would be as easy as flipping a hand. Even if the mutiny failed, it wouldn't matter. Once the State of Brahma was dealt with, it wouldn't be too late to finish off a severely weakened and alienated Laxi. Their revered Patriarch had chosen to use the Moon Clan Resistance as a pawn precisely because he recognized just how useless that rabble was. Whether they won or lost, this move would checkmate Laxi on the board! As for Tiandu, it was already a prize in their grasp. With the Southern Legion's steady retreat, the Alliance forces had shifted to the Great Desert, preparing to take over the coastal legacy of the Great Desert and Batoya Province. Never mind that Absaik wasn't in Tiandu, leaving the Tiandu Council headless; even if he were there, it wouldn't matter at all. That man's sweeping reforms, spanning education to the economy, had already stirred intense resentment within the military. The earlier "Grand Exam" had already revealed the initial signs. Every time Gopal thought about it, he wanted to laugh. Not arranging a couple of female students for "Butcher" Pickli, who had rendered illustrious meritorious service in the defense of Tiandu, was bad enough. But making his precious son compete for rankings in the Grand Exam against the children of mud-legged peasants?! That fellow truly dared to dream! Wasn't he afraid of taking seven bullets in the back inside his own bathroom in the middle of the night? Granted, that blunder had come from the hand of Lord Kabaha rather than being personally deployed by the Grand Marshal, but wasn't the appointment of the Education Commissioner made by the Grand Marshal himself? The other commissioners were hardly worth mentioning. Lord Kabaha had merely made the mistake of trying to treat everyone fairly, while others were secretly pouring water into their own cups. However, the actual harm of the latter—and their "favor" to the Family Association—was far less than that of the former, even if future propaganda would have to spin it the other way around. In short, Tiandu had lost the will to fight. Shahrukh, still dreaming of becoming Grand Marshal, had already turned Nigeli and Duwata for them, fantasizing that everything right now was just like when Absaik had summoned them overnight to deal with Janusz. He believed he could replicate Absaik's success, putting a bullet through Janusz at the pinnacle of his life and replacing him. Little did he know that the real "Absaik II" was someone else entirely, with a pistol hidden beneath the table already cocked and loaded. As Gopal gazed toward Tiandu in high spirits, an adjutant beside him suddenly received a message from a subordinate cell of the Family Association. Leaning in close, he whispered into Gopal's ear: "According to our informants, the 3rd Myriarchy led by Isher has pulled out of the Sheep State front and is force-marching toward the nearest railway station... They might have realized something." Gopal raised an eyebrow. Oh? Quite the capable fellow. Pity the game was already in its final moves. If this little pawn were truly smart, he should have repeated what he had done once before at West Sail Port. As for trying to charge backward... Heh. The man had lost his mind, truly believing he was the "General" sitting in the palace. Never mind a single jungle rat; even if the entire Northern Field Army bore down, they would still be crushed into red mud before his armored torrent. Not to mention that the current Northern Field Army was already riddled with holes from the Family Association's infiltration. Whether in influence or raw strength, they were no longer the gray wolf barely clinging to life in a corner of Horse State. "Blow up the northern railway. Then have Grove..." Gopal rubbed his chin as an idea took shape, chuckling. "Forget it, let Yokale take his 11th Myriarchy instead." General Grove, the "Iron General," still needed to stay alive for a while longer. After all, he was Gopal's direct subordinate; even if he was destined for a purge, now wasn't the time. As for Yokale... Though a Family member who had lent them some help, he was still one who worked for Absaik. Let that dirty rag wipe a bit more dust off the wall for them! "Yes!" The officer seated beside him accepted the order with reverence, looking at Gopal as though beholding a god. Devising strategies that decided victory from a thousand li away! What "Jungle Rat"? Utterly pathetic! This was the true "Alaiyang II"—the State of Brahma's undisputed supreme god of war! ... While storm clouds gathered over Brahma Province, the Humanity Conference in the Great Rift Valley was a swirling clash of prominent figures. Truth be told, all the "heroes" gathered here combined might not match the schemes and cunning of the warlords galloping across Brahma Province. That land seemed cursed by Tzeentch of the Chaos Gods; every single one of them was too smart for their own good. By contrast, the people seated in this hall looked more like human beings, each carrying their own demeanor—and their own brands of absurdity. Less than half an hour after the Humanity Conference began, Salen, sitting in the grand auditorium, was already beginning to regret coming. His expressions were valuable; a single glance from him could clear out an entire shipment of electric scooters and refrigerators from West Sail Port. Why waste time here instead of doing something meaningful? Perhaps he shouldn't have harbored any expectations for these youngsters to voice their opinions in the first place. These people hadn't come to discuss problems. They had come to make wishes. After a scholarly-looking fellow finished delivering his "acceptance speech and future outlook"—thanking the Enterprise, the Academy, the Alliance, the Eastern Empire, and every other big brother in turn—a spirited young man finally took the stage. Unlike the others, there was light in his eyes. Salen was curious for about two seconds, right up until the young man opened his mouth. "...Quiet down, everyone, quiet down! Please allow me to say a few words!" He clenched his fist over the podium, continuing in an impassioned voice: "All of us can see that over these past years, the achievements of the Alliance are obvious to all!" "Under the leadership of Mr. Chu Guang, not only have we crushed the marauders, crushed the mutant slime mold, and crushed the Legion, but we have also..." "...Since that's the case, why don't we unite, have everyone join the Alliance, soar into space, and go crush Gaia too?! Wouldn't that be magnificent?!" His speech droned on, but Emperor Salen of the Eastern Empire had no desire to listen to any more of this rubbish. Tipping his head slightly, Salen gave the former Western Legion high-ranking officer—now the Supreme Foreign Minister of the New United States—a look that everyone understood. "Where exactly is Dam City on the map? Can you guys send them a big one on my behalf?" The New United States Foreign Minister cast him an annoyed side-glance. That look said it all— If you want to do something that pointless, go do it yourself. Having received a cold roll of the eyes, Salen inwardly sighed with regret. His gaze then drifted toward a certain blue tin can, and a mischievous smirk crept onto his face. At this moment, a certain someone's situation was hardly enviable. Watching the fanboy on stage blow hot air about him for nearly ten minutes straight, Chu Guang's toes curled so hard they nearly dug straight through the granite floor. He wished he could invoke his administrator privileges on the spot and kick the bastard offline to cool his head. Unfortunately, the fellow was not one of his players. That "Lord Manager" probably hadn't been spoken in jest either, but out of heartfelt reverence. By comparison, the little players who constantly made memes about him were far more normal. For instance, right now, the only player present on the scene was behaving with extreme propriety. Sitting in the seat belonging to Triumph City with an intimidating aura, he acted more like a final boss than Chu Guang himself. Still, Pangolin was a bit lacking in tact. If his dear boy Fang Chang were sitting in that same seat, he definitely would have taken off his leather shoe and hurled it at the podium before Chu Guang died of sheer secondhand embarrassment. The delegates of the other factions wouldn't do such a thing. Even the Enterprise, the Alliance's staunch ally, was watching Chu Guang with keen interest, eager to see how he would resolve the awkwardness. Perhaps unable to listen any longer, someone in the assembly let out a faint, cold sneer. "Hah... Everyone joining the Alliance? The young pup makes it sound so easy." Seeing someone heckling him just as he reached his crescendo, Zhou Xianlin flared with anger, his eyes shooting like swords toward the direction of the voice. A heavily wrinkled old man sat there, draped in a chaotic mess of gold ornaments, looking frail enough to lie down in a coffin alongside his funeral offerings at any moment. "Who are you?" Clearly paying no mind to the blustering upstart, the old man flatly stated his name: "Charlie Lion." Zhou Xianlin paused, then recalled who the old man was—the fellow with a sprawling harem of wives and concubines. At that thought, contempt instantly welled in his eyes. "And here I wondered who it was... A feudal relic reeking of rot, a usurper with one foot in the grave! How dare you brazenly lecture a progressive youth like me—" Before he could finish, an overwhelming wave of murderous intent surged forward, choking the rest of the sentence right back down his throat. The old man did nothing, merely staring at him with two hollow, dark pupils. Yet the light radiating from those skeletal eye sockets felt as though it would pin him to the podium and drag him straight into the coffin along with him. A drop of sweat rolled down Zhou Xianlin's forehead. Shrouded by that lethal intent, he unconsciously licked his lips. Yet there was not the slightest fear in his gaze; instead, it carried a flicker of excitement. People had always whispered that the ones he killed weren't real marauders. Now, a real marauder had jumped out on his own... A mere kingdom—such a foul, putrid thing wouldn't stand a chance against the iron fist of his Alliance! Fortunately, someone stepped in to break the tension. The Chief, seated below the stage, coughed twice. "...Young man, if you're finished speaking, step down. Leave some time for the people behind you." Without a word, Zhou Xianlin walked down from the podium, his eyes fixed on the old king like a hyena circling its prey. As for the old king, his expression was completely relaxed. Having helped a certain someone out of an awkward spot, he slipped back into his leisurely, unbothered posture. "I've never been able to figure it out... What does the Bone Chewing Tribe have to do with Dam City?" Watching the clown get chased off the stage, the leader of the Red River Alliance dug his pinky into his ear and glanced toward the Garbage City speaker sitting beside him. "Do you have any clue?" The speaker from Garbage City shook his head with a bitter smile. "I've never even heard of the place. Then again, the Great Rift Valley really invited just about everyone..." Speaking of which, that grandson really wasn't afraid of death, daring to say anything the moment he grabbed a microphone. The Humanity Conference would end in a few days; the Great Rift Valley couldn't protect his ass for a lifetime. Did the guy never plan to crawl out of his turtle shell? On the other side, watching the embarrassed Chu Guang, the Chief seated beside him smiled and murmured in a joking tone: "Time really flies... The last time I saw Lion Charlie, he was still a boy. In the blink of an eye, the little lion has turned into an old lion, and he's even brought a pride of lionesses to my doorstep." Chu Guang glanced at the old man. "People call him Charlie Lion. Still, this is the first time I've seen this side of him." The Chief gave an understanding smile. "Docile as a cat in front of you, right? I even thought he wanted to share one of his she-cats with you. But that's just the way it goes. No matter how well you swung a blade in your youth, the day comes when you grow old and useless... Besides, who could outlive you?" Chu Guang rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't I be the one saying that to you? Who could possibly outlive you?" The Chief gave a soft chuckle, then nodded thoughtfully. "True enough... Let's just agree to disagree, then." Chu Guang: "..." Intuition told him this old fossil was probably formulating his next riddle. Having no interest in listening to riddles, Chu Guang looked back toward the stage. The person walking up this time was an acquaintance: Si Wen, Secretary-General of the South Sea Alliance Representative Council. This man wasted no words, offering a bright, sunny smile the moment he took the stand. "Thanks to everyone's trust and support, the New Era Space Elevator has found its home with us!" "We have islands, sandy beaches, crabs, coconuts, and beer, as well as large vessels and gantry cranes for loading and unloading cargo!" "I won't say much else. In short, our home is quite large, haha! All our friends are welcome to come visit!" This was probably the most useful statement made since the Humanity Conference opened. "Well said!" Not only did the old Chief applaud, but even Salen clapped with an encouraging smile. He was genuinely interested in the large ships and gantry cranes. The Southern Legion's dry bulk terminal took far too much labor; ten slaves busting their guts for an entire morning couldn't match a single lift and shift from one of those giant steel frames. The Alliance's ports were much more to his liking. Perhaps once the meeting adjourned, he could order a couple to take back. They would come in handy for New West Sail Port... ... The conference ran from day into night, with a one-hour break in the middle during which the organizers distributed box lunches to the attendees. On the whole, some important matters were discussed during this otherwise superfluous gathering. For example, the survivor factions of Yunjian Province—presumably underlings of the Enterprise—proposed that the old Legion factions abandon the technology for "producing clones with eightfold growth acceleration" and ensure that those mindless clones could spend the rest of their days in peace or be euthanized humanely. Though the Archon of the Wilante Alliance expressed agreement, the conservative factions gathered around him clearly felt otherwise. Salen argued that those clones merely looked human and could not be considered human beings in any true sense. As for the New United States Foreign Minister, he stated that this was an internal matter for the New United States and had nothing to do with anyone else. The Northern Emperor took a slightly milder stance. The bear-like man proposed that abandoning clone cannon fodder was acceptable, but the Wilantes' right to survive had to be guaranteed. Specifically, they needed to establish an advanced missile defense system capable of replacing clone cannon fodder, and they demanded that the Enterprise and the Academy provide the critical technology required. The proposal itself was beyond reproach. They needed to integrate with the civilized world, but they also needed self-defense. In fact, every Wilante leader, including Salen, knew that with the lifting of the sky blockade, the obsolescence of clone cannon fodder was only a matter of time. Under precise satellite positioning and precision artillery strikes, cannon fodder that didn't even know how to take cover served as nothing more than meat for their enemies. The tide of the era was irreversible. Transforming these clone cannon fodder into productive labor was equally impossible; let alone the ability to learn, they lacked even the basic intellect of a normal person. The Alliance had already attempted it and clearly failed, or they would have publicized it with great fanfare long ago. After failing to secure advanced technology, Salen settled for second best, demanding economic aid from the Enterprise in exchange for their compromises on the clone and slavery issues. After careful consideration, the Enterprise Board of Directors agreed. The changes in Triumph City and Wilante Province had given the Enterprise renewed hope of drawing the Wilantes into the civilized camp, as well as confidence that the shattered fragments of the Reconstruction Committee could be reunited. The Wilantes had already proven through their actions that they possessed internal progressive forces. In that case, why not give them a little more time? After chieftains came kings; the story didn't simply end there. Preventing a king from being followed by another king, and stopping their allies from becoming a new empire... That was what Ideal City needed to do next. To that end, the existence of the Eastern Empire was necessary, at least from their standpoint. This was an open card played by the Enterprise Board. Not only Chu Guang could see it, but everyone sitting in the front rows of the hall could see it too... even His Majesty Salen, who was yawning, and the bear-like Northern Emperor. All postures visible to the naked eye were facades; true fools never had the chance to sit here. Even Tyr, who wasn't present. That man had actually been very clever; he had simply played too big a game, leaving himself no room for retreat... The conference finally drew to a close. The Chief of the Great Rift Valley took the stage to give a brief summary, declaring the grand conference adjourned, and announced the agenda for the next session. Meetings like this could be held more often. Although communication couldn't solve every problem, it at least allowed each side to understand the other's bottom line. Furthermore, the next Humanity Conference would be held in Dawn City, with the date to be determined. As the gathering dispersed, everyone left the hall with lingering interest on their faces. They would head to the banquet hall for dinner, talk over unresolved topics with those they had found common ground with, or arrange their schedules for tomorrow. Absaik was just about to go chat with Chu Guang when he saw Sava, captain of the Mammoth Country Stormtroopers, striding furiously toward him. Seeing that expression, Absaik's heart sank, realizing something terrible must have happened. Just as he anticipated, the moment Sava reached him, he barked sharply: "Absaik! Leader of the State of Brahma! We need an explanation!"