Chapter 827: Punishment and Mediation (2/4)

Chapter 827 Punishment and Mediation (2/4)

"Alliance?"

"Yes."

The decurion's expression turned cold.

"What are you doing here?"

Dog of the Conduit was about to say, "We're here to mediate," when Wolf Brother beside him swiftly clamped a hand over his mouth.

Far-Sighted Eagle quickly stepped forward to take over, explaining in reasonably fluent Human Federation language.

"We're his partners... uh, and also sort of friends. Can we stay with him? We're worried something might happen to him."

The centurion sized him up, his look a clear warning to mind his own business.

"Don't stir up trouble... if you don't want any."

He knew this man was from the Alliance, and he knew Triumph City and the Alliance had many collaborations on Sticky Commonwealth issues, but that didn't mean he was afraid of him.

Far-Sighted Eagle said thanks and hurried after Yarman.

Stirring Stick caught up with him, puzzled.

"Aren't we going to mediate?"

Far-Sighted Eagle rolled his eyes.

"Mediate my ass. How many of us are there? The manager told us to act according to circumstances, not to get ourselves killed, and certainly not to screw things up... Our priority now is to gather intel, figure out what's going on here first."

They knew nothing about the local situation; the urgent task was to understand what had happened.

Since there were survivors, maybe they should check on those people first...

Watching the four leave, the decurion took the walkie-talkie from his shoulder, pressed a button, and said.

"...Four of the people who just got off the ship are from the Alliance."

A reply came quickly from the other end of the channel.

"Oh."

Hearing that casual response, the decurion hesitated slightly.

"Just leave them alone?"

The other end answered without a second thought.

"Aren't they heading my way? Leave the rest to me."

Since the commander had said so, the decurion didn't hesitate.

"Yes!"

...

The Silver Moon Sect's church.

The floor was littered with trash and dust, just like the dilapidated port.

General MacLenn, sitting on a bench, set the communicator aside, picked up the newspaper spread on his lap, and continued flipping through it with interest.

This was a treasure he'd found in the ruins, called the Silver Gospel News.

From the title, it was clear the paper's creators had been careful, avoiding taboos only Vallants could break to spare the locals' fragile pride.

Perhaps it was because of that caution.

Though he'd visited West Sail Port many times before, he'd never noticed this church with the moon hanging on it, let alone that it published such an interesting newspaper.

The paper had little news or Silver Moon doctrine; instead, it devoted most of its space to a novel called The Awakener Paul.

He'd heard of this novel before—supposedly written by the people of Megalith City after the ceasefire between the Legion and the Alliance.

Now, with the rise of cross-regional trade, this romantic tale had been brought by a pastor named Melchior to a "primitive jungle" called West Sail Port.

Since he had nothing better to do, MacLenn had someone collect the papers.

It was too advanced for slaves, but perfect for him with time on his hands.

He was also curious about the Alliance that had beaten him with a pile of scrap metal.

That question had plagued him for too long; he'd been thinking about it for ages.

Maybe this paper would give him some insight...

Just then, the church door opened, and a panicked man followed a soldier inside.

"My family..."

MacLenn didn't speak or turn, only nodded to the old nun standing nearby, then continued reading his old newspaper.

A complex expression crossed her face as she approached the man.

"What is your child's name?"

Yarman froze, then answered in a trembling voice.

"Ruby..."

"Please wait." The old nun nodded slightly and went back into the side hall.

After a moment, she emerged with a little girl.

Yarman's eyes reddened instantly, his clasped hands covering his nose.

Her once smooth, deep brown hair was now a tangled mess on her shoulders, like a pilled sweater, and what tore at his heart even more was her pale, lifeless face and hollow eyes.

Standing in the ruined church, she looked like a piece of porcelain buried under rubble—pitiful yet a relief.

She was alive!

Praise the Silver Moon Goddess!

He'd never believed in any deity, only the great Marshal, but now he offered his most sincere prayer and rushed forward without hesitation.

"Ruby!!"

Yarman grabbed Ruby, unable to hold back the tears streaming down his face.

In an instant, the tall man dissolved into a sobbing mess.

Hearing that familiar voice, Ruby finally reacted; a faint light flickered in her hollow eyes, and she reached out to gently touch the head pressed against her shoulder.

"Daddy..."

"...I'm sorry... Daddy came back late... I'm sorry..."

Feeling the hot tears, Ruby's eyes slowly reddened.

But as if remembering what her mother had said, she didn't cry out loud. Instead, she placed her small hand on her own tangled hair.

"It's okay, Daddy... Ruby's fine, don't cry... Mommy says Vallants don't cry..."

"Yes! My Ruby, you're right... Sorry you had to see Daddy like this..."

"It's okay... It's okay now."

Ruby forced a reluctant smile onto her face, as if trying to comfort him.

Yet that display of understanding only made Alman’s heart ache more.

Still, to keep his daughter from worrying, he wiped the tears from his own face, pulled Ruby tightly into his arms, and rose from the ground.

At that moment, all he wanted was to take the child and leave this godforsaken place as quickly as possible.

But before that, there was one thing he needed to ask…

Looking at the old nun standing before him, Alman spoke in a trembling voice.

“…The child’s mother, her name is Margret. Please, where is she?”

In truth, even before he uttered those words, he already knew the answer in his heart.

It was plain to see.

If Margret were still here, she would never have allowed Ruby’s hair to be so tangled and messy, nor would she have left her alone in the church…

The old nun looked at him with pity, then glanced at the child in his arms—so strong, yet so heartbreaking—and finally spoke, her voice hoarse.

“I remember the name Margret. Your wife was a very brave mother…”

……

At the church entrance.

Brother Wolf, who had been silent all along, suddenly spoke.

“I don’t understand.”

The others turned to look at him.

Noticing his friends’ gazes, he paused and continued.

“…How do they manage it? To make one feel both sympathy and disgust.”

He didn’t like the Legion—he could even sum up his feelings for them with the word disgust.

This wasn’t just because of the Alliance’s stance or his position as a civilized man, but because most of the NPCs he knew were survivors from the River Valley Province.

Those people who had helped him during his newbie days—every single one of them remembered what the Legion had done.

Those bastards would stop at nothing to achieve their goals, not only supplying raiders with weapons but also sending officers to those raider tribes as military advisors, teaching them how to drive the Legion’s war machines and more efficiently slaughter the River Valley Province.

Though they eventually pinned all the blame on the Eastward Expansion faction, wasn’t it they themselves who had allowed those people to expand eastward?

Now they were pulling the same tricks again, and sure enough, they had shot themselves in the foot.

He felt no sympathy for the slave owners’ plight, but the strange thing was that he couldn’t muster any fondness for the slaves here either.

He both sympathized with the suffering these people endured and acknowledged their innocence, yet he also felt it was what they deserved.

He even thought it would be fine to just do nothing and watch them tear each other apart.

“I don’t care…” Catheter Dog shrugged. “They’re just a bunch of NPCs. Why dig so deep? The wasteland’s huge—there’s all sorts of weirdos.”

Stirring Stick let out a whistle.