Brother Against Brother

Niyang was not the only one worrying himself sick over the students; Meng Jie, the president of Mammoth University, was equally distressed. Lately, Mammoth City had been plunged into turmoil, and Mammoth University, founded single-handedly by Niyang, had been thrust to the very center of the storm. In particular, the *Survivor Daily*’s “passive stance” during the recent clashes had provoked the fury of students and progressives alike. Now, they were not only demanding an explanation from Laxi regarding the dam incident, but also holding him accountable for the deaths of three students and two members of the Family Association. Now, they were all family. That included the veterans of the Moon Clan Resistance who had been sidelined by Laxi’s administration. Back then, Laxi had relied heavily on support from Moon Clan factions both at home and abroad to seize Mammoth City. He himself was of the Moon Clan, after all. For that very reason, he could never conduct a thorough purge of those founding veterans. At most, he could only push them to the fringes, far from the center of power—unless he was willing to make an enemy of every Moon Clan faction inside and outside the region, along with the radical sympathizers within the Alliance itself. That price was simply too steep... Conversely, the veterans frozen out of the inner circle had no reservations whatsoever. After all, they had nothing left to lose. Perhaps they might even avert a civil war. They had no interest in vying with Absaik for the three northern states or Tiandu; holding on to their own one-acre patch in Mammoth State was more than enough. If they could earn the reputation of peacemakers in the process, the Alliance would surely be delighted. After all, the Alliance's manager had maintained a consistent attitude all along: "Calm down, you Brahmas, and stop killing your own people." Thus, the moment they saw an opportunity to seize power back from Laxi, they leaped out like a pack of hungry wolves, turning against their "Great Moon King." The tumultuous tide swept across the entire city so swiftly that not even a single quiet desk could be spared. To keep the campus from turning into a battlefield, Meng Jie had no choice but to temporarily close Mammoth University. For him personally, this decision naturally pleased neither side. The Mammoth authorities expressed disappointment at his refusal to help stabilize the situation, viewing his inaction as tantamount to complicity. The students, meanwhile, condemned him for bowing to the regime's authority, branding him a cowardly lapdog and a spineless fence-sitter. Yet none of that truly mattered. Mammoth University had been founded and funded entirely by Niyang himself; it had never relied on the Mammoth authorities for finances, having received only modest assistance from Laxi during its early days. As for the kids, let them vent. If he didn't even fear death, why would he care about a bit of spit? No matter how harshly they cursed him, they wouldn't raise a hand against their own teacher. The Family Association’s influence over Mammoth City had not yet reached the point of driving people entirely mad. Still, when those "family members" first emerged, Meng Jie had indeed been taken aback. Without his realizing it, those people had already spread everywhere... And at this precarious juncture, a piece of news suddenly shook all of Mammoth City. Niyang was dead. Mr. Rat, the man who had penned *Red Earth* and kindled the first lantern of enlightenment for the survivors of Brahma Province, had worked himself to death... *** In his private residence's study. Reading the newspaper, Meng Jie first shed silent tears, then clamped a hand over the bridge of his nose as his shoulders heaved. The family maid noticed, silently coming over to pour him a pot of hot tea. Seeing a few tea leaves floating in the cup, his emotions broke down completely, and he wept in silence. "Why did it have to be you... Why of all people had it to be you, you fool..." "Heaven truly must be blind, utterly blind to the suffering of these common folk!" The maid stood at a complete loss, wondering if she had done something wrong, unsure whether she should offer comforting words or keep silent. Yet Meng Jie did not dwell in his grief for long. Looking at the tea leaves given to him by his dear friend, he thought of the unfinished work, of his pregnant wife, of so many things... "...Once a man dies, everything comes to an end." He looked up toward the ceiling with a long, drawn-out sigh. Finally making up his mind, he pulled out a sheet of letter paper and wrote down the resignation letter he had spent five minutes composing. Then he carefully folded it and slipped it into an envelope. "Deliver this to the administrative office for me. Then go to the docks and buy two tickets for the ferry to Silver Moon Bay—the one leaving tonight... If you want to come with our family, buy a ticket for yourself as well. We won't mistreat you." "Yes, sir." The maid nodded hurriedly, then rushed out of the study holding the envelope. Lately, the atmosphere in Mammoth City had been unstable. Every time she went to the market to buy groceries, she could feel something horribly wrong in the air. Perhaps catastrophe truly was looming... Her parents had died early and she had no kin anyway; she was better off sticking with someone capable of making decisions. Meng Jie walked out of the study and saw his wife coming down the stairs, supporting her swollen belly. Seeing her, he quickly stepped forward to help her down. "Why are you up so early today?" "I couldn't sleep no matter how hard I tried, so I thought I'd come see you." His wife looked into his eyes, as though reading something in them, and asked with concern, "Are you going on another business trip?" Meng Jie fell silent for a moment and sighed. "It's not a business trip. We're moving. All of us are leaving." His wife was taken aback. "Moving? We only just finished furnishing the house. Where are we moving to?" They hadn't moved during the war, so why on earth were they moving now...? She didn't understand, but her husband's expression showed he wasn't joking. Meng Jie took a deep breath, speaking to his wife in a gentle, patient tone. "Something terrible is about to happen here. We'll go to Silver Moon Bay first; it will be safe there. Once we arrive, I need to pay a visit to my mentor to see if we can use Alliance connections to get some people out... If it doesn't work out, so be it. We can't keep putting our friends in difficult positions." His mentor was Ms. Han Mingyue of the Alliance Academy of Social Sciences. Though the Alliance Academy of Social Sciences wasn't as renowned as the Institute of Biology or the Scientific Expedition, its reports could still land right in the drawers of the Alliance manager's desk. His wife frowned faintly. "How long will we be away this time?" Meng Jie shook his head. "Hard to say. Maybe we'll be able to come back, maybe we never will." His wife nodded. "I'll go with you, but can you tell me what on earth is happening? Is Laxi trying to force you to do something again, or are the students pressuring you to take a stand—" "Neither," Meng Jie said, shaking his head. "This time, 'Rowell' is probably Zayed, Sava... maybe others we don't know about. But whoever it is doesn't matter anymore. We have already lost." It was an invisible war. A contest between the Brahmas and "feudalism" itself. To borrow a phrase from the survivors of Boulder City, Boer was a specter haunting Master Stephen's head, and vice versa—Master Stephen was Boer's specter. As for feudalism, it was the Brahmas' own specter. A specter like that could not be killed with guns, and their society had not yet given birth to a force capable of contending with it. Instead, through repeated bloodbaths, the feudalism that had been slain time and again had drawn strength from civilization, evolving into a monster none of them had ever witnessed before. That monster not only spoke human speech and wore a human face, but could also blend into the crowds disguised as a progressive force, claiming it wanted to "fight shoulder to shoulder" with the young people to tear down the thousand pillars of the City of a Thousand Pillars—all while using the slogan of shattering chains to break the spine of the Brahmas. If killing a single emperor could eradicate feudalism, they should have declared victory the day Wutuo died. Yet the end result was the emergence of Janusz, who possessed an "international perspective" and shouted, "I can believe in the Alliance too!" And now, less than a year after Janusz's death, someone even more advanced had appeared: Zayed, a master of thick-and-black craft, colder and more ruthless still. Meng Jie didn't even dare to imagine what terrifying form the next monster would take if Zayed died. "...To say something my students wouldn't like to hear, if Laxi were to proclaim himself emperor, I would raise both hands in opposition in public, yet support him in my heart. He carries too heavy an aura of bloodshed, but which emperor who carved out a dynasty didn't? He promotes education, develops industry, maneuvers deftly in foreign affairs, and exercises restraint at home whenever possible; at least cursing him won't get your entire family executed. If judged by history, he would surely be considered an enlightened monarch. Only someone like him can contend with the hypocrites." "As for feudalism... when the productive forces and relations of production advance together, when people's minds truly become enlightened, when a genuinely progressive force capable of counterbalancing feudalism takes root in the soil of Brahma Province instead of being a grand piece of performance art—only then will it naturally be extinguished." "That day may lie in the distant future. But when it arrives, whichever system of governance we choose, history will march forward." *** Central Sheep State. Upon hearing that Tiandu was in dire straits, Isher felt burning anxiety, yet he managed to keep his composure and issue orders. The railway had been dismantled by local villagers, and the supplies on the train had been cleaned out by bandits who had dispersed into small bands. His men had captured a few locals for questioning, but they only said the orders to tear it up had come from above—without being able to say who "above" was. Without the railway, a forced march to Tiandu was out of the question; it would be too late. Wolf State, north of Snake State, had the highway network left behind by the Southern Legion. And not just the highway network... those gray wolves might have already taken over the Southern Legion's equipment! Including the trucks and the artillery that could be rapidly deployed using them... At the thought of potentially encountering Conqueror 10s on the plains, a drop of cold sweat slipped down Isher's brow. Even the Alliance wouldn't send a mountain division to charge an armored division. When all was said and done, he was merely a commander; he couldn't conjure troops out of thin air or order his men to poke tanks with fire pokers. He was left with two choices: either head north and defect to Laxi, or continue south and bash his head against a brick wall. One was a mediocre choice, the other outright suicidal. As for the best course of action... He could think of it, but he would never, ever choose it. While Isher hesitated, an officer rushed into the tent, snapped to attention, and saluted. "Report! The 11th Myriarchy has entered our field of vision! They appear to have arrived by train from the direction of Lion State!" Hearing this, Isher was not surprised in the slightest; instead, the stone weighing on his heart finally dropped. That made sense. The entire Northern Field Army had been infiltrated by the Family Association, to the point where even high-ranking commanders like Yokale had been turned into "family." Was it because of those fifty-two "Fire Crossbow" self-propelled howitzers? When Absaik formed the Northern Field Army, he had Yokale leave the precious guns seized from the Legion to the green recruits of the 50th, 51st, and 53rd Myriarchies. Yokale had harbored a grudge ever since. Every time he suffered a defeat, he would think of those fifty-two guns and curse himself for not keeping the treasure—never bothering to consider whether the damn things could climb mountains. A matter like that, neither big nor small, had perhaps planted seeds of hatred in his heart. Or perhaps there had been some other catalyst. In any case, none of that mattered anymore. At this moment, Isher couldn't help thinking that if those fifty-two guns could travel through time and space back to him now, he wouldn't have to be a lone bear bashing his head against a wall. "Get me the 11th Myriarchy's command post." "Yes, sir!" The officer saluted and left the tent. Isher rose to his feet and headed toward the communications tent where the radio was kept. The two forces were already so close that they could establish a direct radio link; it was just a bit risky. Still, the risk was worth taking. Isher noticed that the young soldier standing beside the field telephone was somewhat nervous, so he smiled and offered some reassurance. "Don't be afraid. Yokale used to be my subordinate. Even if he wants to turn on me, he'll hear me out first. He won't blast me with an artillery shell halfway through the conversation... If he did, I wouldn't let him off even as a ghost." The young man nodded, though his face remained tense, eyes glued to him. Isher patted the young man's trembling shoulder, sat down in front of the telephone, took a deep breath, grabbed the receiver, and barked into it: "Yokale, what the hell are you playing at!" The old commander's prestige still carried weight. Startled by the roar for a couple of seconds, Yokale, gripping his receiver, nearly snapped to attention and saluted. Only after coming to his senses did he curse back: "What am I playing at? What the fuck are you playing at!" Isher snapped, "Make yourself clear first! Who authorized you to abandon your post without orders! What the hell are you doing here!" "Abandoning my post? I took the damn position you couldn't take in a whole month..." Halfway through the sentence, Yokale noticed the officers around the telegraph machine glancing his way. His weathered face flushed red, and he glared at them before hastily changing the subject. "Orders from the supreme commander of the Snake State Theater... Never mind who gave the order! In any case, their rank is higher than yours! I didn't come here for anything else, just to stop you from doing something stupid! I'm telling you, abandoning your theater without orders... that's treason!" Hearing this, Isher smiled faintly. The man was the same as ever—clumsy with words, unable to explain himself clearly even when he had reason on his side. Someone had already scripted his talking points for him, yet he still stumbled through them so disjointedly. Thinking that even this simple brute, who knew only how to fight, was being forced to play politics, Isher felt a mixture of bitterness and desolation. "Yokale... I won't ask who put you up to this. I'll just ask you one thing: are you coming with me or not?" Without waiting for an answer, Isher continued: "Come with me, and once we win this war, my promise still stands—I'll teach you how to court female students." Hearing such frivolous banter in such a tense situation, the high-strung Yokale nearly spat blood. "I... Are you out of your fucking mind? When the hell did I ever say I needed you to teach me? I'm a myriarch, for crying out loud! Do I need you to teach me how to pick up girls? I'll return those words to you: come with me today, and I'll give you ten female students! No, twenty! You can take your pick!" Isher chuckled softly. "Then I definitely can't go with you. If I do, everything I fought for will have been in vain." Yokale's eyes widened, his hand gripping the receiver shaking violently as he roared: "You're fucking insane! Do you have any idea how many men they have?! Eight hundred thousand! Eight hundred thousand of them! Every single one fed fat and strong, built like brick walls! Standing next to them, I look like a beggar! What do you have to fight them with! Those fourteen- and fifteen-year-old child soldiers of yours?! Their armored columns could stretch all the way from the south of West Sail Port to the north! The artillery it took me a whole year of fighting to scrape together—any random myriarchy they pull out has that much! They could drown us in artillery shells!" "You claim you're good at fighting, but what the fuck can one person do! Do you really think you're a god?! Duwata, Nigeli... which one of them doesn't have a bigger stick than you? Even they've backed down! Only you have to act so noble! Only you're so extraordinary! Go ahead, drag your imaginary Alliance into a total war with them! Better yet, fight until there isn't a single soul left alive here!" Holding the receiver, Isher smiled and asked just one question: "Are you envious?" Yokale's eyes turned red. "I... I'm not fucking envious! I'm no coward! I don't even respect a timid rat like you, let alone those fat pigs! But I can't just watch you throw your life away! If you're going to die, you should die in the north! Die at the hands of the Wilante! You cannot, and should not, die in Tiandu! You're a hero—it's best if you die fighting the Wilante! That way we might still be saved!" "Well, I'm not really as great as you think. You might have forgotten..." Isher was about to say something, but Yokale roughly cut him off. The blunt, straightforward man had never begged anyone in his life, yet now it sounded as if he were on his knees, his tone pleading: "Just surrender... I've contacted everyone I could. Shahrukh even turned 'The Butcher'! Absaik has already lost!" "Hahahaha! The Butcher... you mean Pikli? That coward who talks about his son all day, whom Duwata has by the balls? The pig who just tagged along behind the Alliance picking up scraps? You're one of Yudono's old men who survived Lion State—didn't you look down on that piece of trash the most? How come you're counting on him now?" Isher suddenly threw his head back and burst into laughter, laughing until tears nearly squeezed from his eyes. Still, if even that wooden blockhead had turned on Absaik, this was truly a dead end. For some reason, Isher suddenly recalled the Imperial Guard commander who had fallen in front of the gates of the Heavenly Palace. Even Wutuo had fled, yet that man had stubbornly guarded the palace gates, facing certain death, glaring with cold defiance at the petty rat who called himself Heavenly King. Back then, he hadn't understood, thinking the man lacked flexibility and wasn't as clever as himself. Yet standing in an eerily similar position today, he suddenly understood. What he was defending was not Absaik, nor even the newly founded State of Brahma, nor entirely the people living on this land... What he was defending was merely his wish, his ideal—the things he believed to be right and was willing to die for. Even if that wish wasn't something all Brahmas genuinely longed for in their hearts... None of them had been deceived by anyone. Janusz was the Heavenly King they genuinely feared and dreaded, yet secretly craved! Only someone like him could awaken the deepest desire within them: to beat their own compatriots to the ground! When people want to kill, whether the curry is spicy or sweet serves as a pretext—why worry about finding an excuse? The reason the Confederation had managed to hold together wasn't because of the Alliance. It was simply because the Wilante hadn't left yet... Having finally laughed his fill, Isher took a deep breath, and his expression gradually turned cold. "Yokale, I'll fulfill your wish! The Northern Field Army has no cowards like the 11th Myriarchy! And I, Isher, the Jungle Rat, have no subordinate like you! Pah—! The 3rd Myriarchy opens fire on you!" Yokale froze. Not because of Isher's curses or his verbal artillery fire, but because it was the first time this man had ever picked up the moniker printed on his wanted poster—"Jungle Rat"—without a hint of self-deprecation. Ever since the "meat grinder" at the river bend, the two of them had never gotten along, yet now he was granting him his wish... Tears instantly welled in the eyes of this six-foot-tall brute, his rims red and swollen like blood, as he roared frantically into the telephone: "Damn it! Don't you fucking do anything stupid! Come back to Tiandu with me! I'll guarantee your life! At least think about your female students... And damn it, you're a bachelor, but think about the brothers in the 3rd Myriarchy! They have families!" "Hahaha! Coward! Can't even hold your blade right after the battle's barely finished? We'll settle this on the battlefield." Isher decisively hung up the phone. Sitting in the chair, he adjusted his collar, then turned his gaze toward the trembling young soldier—the 3rd Myriarchy's radioman. This time, he spoke in a very soft voice: "My female student is yours. Do it." His heart laid completely bare, the young soldier fell to his knees with a thud and wept: "Commander! Please, just surrender! Outside... the entire communications team is on their side! We've all lost! I beg you! Please don't die!" "Get up! Look at you, pathetic! You were kneeling before the Wilante even got here, and you're still kneeling now that they've left! The 3rd Myriarchy doesn't have spineless soldiers like you!" Isher glared and barked at him. He didn't care to ask what they had been bribed with; in fact, there was no need to think about it. The Wilante had families, and these young men had their own soft spots too—all it took was a little pressure. Those conspirators didn't need to pay extra either; they only had to do what Janusz had done: divide the plunder. Niyang's assessment had been right; they were all the same, through and through. The young man scrambled up from the floor, his eyes bloodshot as he stared at his commander, tears and snot dripping down to his chin. He had never imagined that the communications squad leader he regarded like family would say something as merciless as "kill who must be killed," nor that such a cruel task would be handed to a raw recruit like himself. Why force him to do something so monstrous! This was his commander! A hero of the northern front! The Wilante's nightmare! Try as he might, his hand simply could not touch the sidearm at his waist. He would rather aim it at his own head! "I beg you! Run! I'll escort you out! I'll tell them... you're already dead!" Isher let out a hearty laugh, looking at the weeping young soldier, and spoke in a gentle tone: "You're too young. If I run, what will happen to you all? I said I'd bring you home, and I will make sure you stay alive." "Do it." He wouldn't run anymore. He couldn't run anymore, either. He had run all the way from the chapel in West Sail Port to this place—where else was there left to run? When all was said and done, he was merely a little rat who had by sheer luck ended up as the supreme commander of the Northern Field Army. This place was his home after all. If it was the Brahmas who wanted his head, let them have it. His only regret was disappointing Mr. Melchior, who had taught him to read and decipher newspapers, and the old nun at the chapel. He had no parents of his own; they had been like parents to him. It was a pity he wouldn't get another chance to pray there. Still, returning to the Silver Moon Goddess to make his confession didn't seem so bad; he hadn't had time to pay his respects to her in a whole year. Oh, and Madame Margrethe was probably about to give birth to her second child with her husband. Little Ruby would soon have a playmate... though his promise to see them again would go unfulfilled. And Anwo. That fool who had one foot in the grave and was tossed around like a pawn was doing pretty well as a diplomat in Port Golden Gallon now; at least he didn't have to wade through the muddy waters of Tiandu... It was quite ironic when you thought about it. He wondered if anyone still remembered that all of this had started over a simple, honest fellow who met an untimely end. A bunch of dock workers, thinking of their own fate, had finally felt a wave of grief and decided to demand justice for Olisa's family. After all, eight hundred dinars for a life was far too outrageous no matter how you looked at it... at least round it up to four digits. Perhaps even Absaik himself had never imagined that after being swept into the vortex, they would travel such a long, wandering road, only to look back and find themselves right beside that same dry well. Still, the people he knew were all good folk. Having pondered it all, he found he had no real regrets. *** The Arctic Circle. The biting cold wind howled. This seemed to be the only place that still preserved the scenery of the early Wasteland Era. The map of *Wasteland Online* was far larger than imagined; no matter how far one traveled from home, boredom was never an issue. In the middle of a cluster of igloos, two girls in thick thermal suits and a fluffy female bear stood around a two-meter-tall snowman, encircled by a ring of children whose eyes were filled with curiosity. Just a short while ago, the White Bear Knights had completed a thrilling adventure. In a corner of the wasteland beyond the gaze of the esteemed Manager, they had defeated a mad scientist plotting to conquer the world with mind-control and cloning technology to command an army of clone bears, and had liberated the people of Arctic Village who had been enslaved under his wicked faith! Well, as to whether that fellow ever stood a chance of conquering the world, Sisi harbored serious doubts. At least in River Valley Province, the Manager wouldn't even need to lift a finger—Neko alone could have feasted on them all. In any case, the incident was over. They had obtained DNA samples of many pre-war endangered species, which might make it possible to revive rare animals that had been eaten into extinction in Brahma Province. By the way, Arctic Village actually had its own name, but because it was too long and Tail's tongue kept slipping—she always garbled the syllables into nonsense—the locals had reluctantly accepted the outsiders calling them "Arctic Villagers." Additionally, this place was nominally Northern Empire territory, but those Wilante had merely built an outpost to extract natural gas and something akin to combustible ice, rarely interfering in local affairs. None of those trivial details mattered now, however. What mattered was leaving behind something before departing for their next adventure to prove they had been here! Sisi had no ideas, Rourou wasn't particularly bright, and Sesame Paste was fine with whatever, so it was Tail's turn to step up. With a flash of inspiration, that girl had indeed come up with an awful idea—to build a snowman in honor of the heroic Rourou! And so, the group busied themselves building a snowman amidst the howling winds between the igloos. Although Sisi had serious doubts about how long this snowman would last, looking into the expectant eyes of those children, she suddenly dismissed her pragmatic thoughts. In truth, there was no need for it to last long. If they taught the children how to build snowmen, the next time they built one, they would naturally recall that a band of brave vault dwellers had once crossed mountains and valleys to come here and rescue them from an evil mad scientist. Watching the harmonious scene from afar, even Sisi's composed face couldn't help breaking into a rosy smile. Being written into a fairy tale didn't sound too bad after all... Happy endings all around. Just then, however, a brief wail sounded, and the snowman—which had already reached over three meters tall—collapsed with a crash. "Save the snowman!" "Cough, cough! Giao! Save Tail first, you guys!" "Tail, stop flailing! It can still be saved!" "Ah, bring me back a scarf..." "AWSL!" Seeing the bear they were about to finish disappear, the children cried out in alarm, scrambling forward to save the snowman, but it was already too late. Fortunately, the adults nearby rushed over, stopping Rourou from continuing her attempts to pile the snow back up, and fished Tail out of the snowdrift. "Are you alright?" A villager built like a bear patted the snow off her shoulders, asking with concern. "Ah, I'm fine, I'm fine... Tail has suffered way worse injuries than this, a little bump like this is nothing!" Tail waved her hands dismissively, spun around, and scurried back to the snowdrift to join Sesame Paste, Rourou, and the group of children in their frantic rescue efforts. A few villagers exchanged glances, scratched the backs of their heads, and looked upon her with even deeper reverence. Tail couldn't care less about what they thought; right now, she only wanted to save this snowman. Regrettably, in the end, all they managed to salvage was a chubby, round torso. "It collapsed..." "Don't be sad, it couldn't be helped..." "It's all your fault! I told you earlier that heavy paws couldn't just hang in the air! It would've been fine if they rested on the ground!" "...Guh! If—if only we'd made it smaller." Sisi, having walked over from the distance, crouched down to inspect the damage, shook her head, and sighed. "...It's a goner. Let's just build another one." "Uuu..." Sesame Paste sat in a corner with her knees pulled to her chest, looking despondent as she drew circles in the snow. Though she always said anything was fine and she'd go anywhere, she was always the one who put in the most effort and took things the hardest. Tail warmly hugged her from behind, stroking the cat ears tucked beneath her beanie. "Aww... my condolences, my condolences! Tail will keep you company!" Rourou also ambled over, resting her thick bear paw beneath Sesame Paste's bulky mitten, and rumbled: "Let's build another one. This time I'll definitely keep an eye on Tail!" Hearing that, Tail immediately protested: "Giao! Why does Tail always get the blame whenever something happens? Why don't you blame Ah Guang! He's clearly the mastermind behind everything!" Watching the pair of goofballs bicker, Sesame Paste burst into laughter, and Sisi clutched her stomach laughing as well. Far away in the Great Rift Valley, a certain someone sneezed, rubbed his nose, and muttered: "Who's badmouthing me now..."