Chapter 828: On the Verge of Death

Chapter 828: On the Brink of Death

The pit was nearly dug, and Govinda had thought he was done for, but unexpectedly, at the last moment, things took a turn.

Those Verlanders called them to the port, saying they wanted to hold a fair trial, and so his ashen face suddenly glowed with a ruddy radiance.

By the Rat God above!

And the Silver Moon Goddess, the Spirit of the Sand Sea, and the Great Antlered Deer God!

He had finally found his righteous savior!

"I haven't killed any Verlanders!"

He glanced smugly at the man beside him, boasting, as if he had once again bet correctly at the table of fate.

Unlike him, who was "kind-hearted," some of the men digging pits remained ashen-faced, as if the news of amnesty had nothing to do with them, still listlessly shoveling red earth with their spades.

Those men had all worn cloth bands on their arms, and it seemed they had incurred no small amount of blood debt that night.

Govinda rejoiced inwardly, then sneered at these thugs for being so brainless, unlike himself, who was cunning and clever.

He returned his shovel to the cart and hurriedly followed the jostling crowd, leaving this place of trouble behind. As for those deaf ones who hadn't heard, after a lesson from rifle butts, they too joined the procession.

On the way to the square, he strutted along, only cowering slightly when passing by Verlander soldiers, so as not to stand out too conspicuously.

But those Verlanders barely spared him a glance, merely holding their rifles and watching the crowd.

Finally reaching the square, Govinda saw the man smoking a cigar, and his heart surged with excitement.

Maclen wasted no words, simply having his subordinate announce the new "rules of the game."

Though it had been hinted at before coming here, the formal announcement of all the rules and details still stirred a commotion among the crowd.

Worry had already appeared on the faces of some who understood, but there were also those who were exhilarated and others weeping with joy.

Like Govinda.

His "devotion" to the Verlanders was written all over his face. Hearing these "fair and just" rules, he almost wanted to kowtow to this straight-backed officer.

Standing beside General Maclen, Ross frowned slightly.

"Wouldn't ten thousand be too few?"

Maclen's expression remained unchanged; he just turned his head slightly and spoke unhurriedly.

"That's just bait to stir up their bloodlust, so they don't all point at one person to fool us. I can even bet with you that in the end, more than ten thousand will die."

With that, he drew his sidearm and fired a shot into the air with a "crack," then addressed the startled crowd in a loud voice.

"What are you waiting for? For me to choose who should die for you? This is your last chance! Hand over the rioters from that night. We'll settle scores, eye for an eye, and only kill those who deserve it."

The air in the square fell silent for a moment, but still no one spoke.

Everyone looked at each other, seeing both comrades and enemies in those around them, wanting to say something but afraid someone else would speak first.

Maclen didn't waste words; he simply waved his hand.

"If not, go back and keep digging."

That voice was like a match thrown into an oil barrel, instantly igniting people's will to survive.

The first to speak was a dark, skinny man, his sunburned red skin clearly marking him as a dockworker.

"I'll talk! I'll talk!"

The moment he shouted, his finger immediately pointed at Govinda, who was "eagerly waiting" nearby, and he raised his voice, yelling.

"This guy is from the Heavenly King's Army!"

Govinda's eyes bulged like a goldfish washed ashore, his eyeballs nearly popping out of their sockets, his chest heaving violently, cold sweat and hot sweat pouring out all at once.

"You! You're slandering me! I swear by the Rat God! I haven't killed a single Verlander! Those men with bandages forced guns into my hands, but I never killed anyone!"

This wasn't a lie.

He said it with a clear conscience.

He had done bad things, like sleeping with a widow, but he truly hadn't killed any Verlanders.

After all, he was terrified of those big noses; how could he have aimed a gun at them?

It was true that he had led the charge that dusk, but he had been forced into it. And with his panicked, haphazard shooting, it was good he hadn't hit his own men, let alone the guards at the port.

If he remembered correctly, those people had been blown away by an exploding truck.

Calling him a rioter was definitely wronging a good man!

But the Verlanders had no intention of intervening in the trial; they just watched with mocking eyes as the dogs bit each other.

Even Ross, who had earlier thought the punishment too lenient, couldn't help but curl his lips into a faint, cold smile.

What a bunch of filthy creatures.

Was all of Bharata Province like this?

If not for the ancient covenant forbidding the Legion from expanding east of the Great Desert, and the Southern Legion's colonies stopping at Eternal Night Port, this delicious cake would never have fallen to the amateurs of the civilian government.

The shouting crowd paid no heed to Govinda's protests, already distancing themselves from him, leaving a circle empty around him, staying far away from this scoundrel.

They didn't know this guy.

But not knowing was fine.

Killing a stranger with no ties brought the least guilt.

Yet not everyone was unfamiliar with Govinda; there were still one or two of his subordinates mixed in the crowd.

Suddenly, someone called out.

"He's not just a soldier of the Heavenly King; he's a decurion!"

As this loud voice rang out, the crowd erupted in uproar, and even a few Verlander soldiers on the edge of the crowd gave Govinda a second look.

And Govinda, who had been arguing with everyone, felt his heart stop at the sound, his face turning deathly pale, his tongue tying as he tried to defend himself.

Right...

He was a decurion.

He had almost forgotten, but someone had reminded him.

Watching the port turn into a chaotic market, Maclen shouted impatiently.

"What's all this racket? A show of hands!"

Hands shot up in unison. Some hadn't wanted to raise theirs, but seeing everyone around them do so, they silently muttered a prayer and followed suit.

If they didn't raise their hands now, they might be singled out by those nearby and become the next target.

Whether what he said was true or half-true, it wasn't worth risking one's life for a rotten man.

Staying alive was the top priority.

Almost everyone who raised their hand thought the same.

This time, Govinda was utterly despairing.

He didn't even resist or struggle, just stood there in the center of the stage cleared by the rat pack, letting the Verlander soldiers walk over, grab him like a chick, and toss him aside.

"Behave yourself!" the Valantian glared at him fiercely, warning him not to flee.

There was really no need for the warning.

Govinda had no thought of escape; he just stood there, as if his soul had been drained away.

He couldn't understand why people were pointing fingers at him.

He was no saint, true, but he had fought for the freedom of the survivors of Westport.

Strange, really—why did they meekly obey those Valantians, first digging pits in the outskirts, then here denouncing one another, enduring humiliation after humiliation?

Why couldn't they unite, unite once more, and drive out those slave masters?

But it was too late to say that now.

Everything was over...

No!

Wait! It wasn't over yet!

A sudden flash of clarity struck Govinda—he remembered he was a decurion, and someone had reminded him of it!

How could he have forgotten something so important?!

Clutching at that last shred of hope like a drowning man grasping a straw, he turned to the Valantian soldier watching over them, forcing a stiff smile onto his despair-ridden face.

"W-wait, sir! I, I want to make a denunciation too!"

"They say I'm a decurion, yes, I am a decurion! But I swear to you, I never laid a hand on a single Valantian! I, I have an alibi for that night!"

"...But my twelve subordinates—I can't vouch for them. I was just a conscript shoved into the ranks, I couldn't control those real scoundrels. I'm an honest, law-abiding man, but who knows what they might have done!"

Pete stared at him, taken aback. After hearing this spiel, the cigarette dangling from his lips nearly fell off.

Unsure how to handle it, Pete picked up his walkie-talkie, first consulted his superior, then pulled out a sticky note and a marker, handing them to the man.

"Name. Write it down."

Believing he'd been granted a chance at leniency, Govinda took the items with delight, but soon remembered he couldn't write, and stammered nervously.

"S-sir, I can't write... but they all live nearby, I know where their homes are!"

Pete, cigarette clamped between his teeth, shot him a look of disgust, too lazy to argue, and snatched back the paper and pen.

"Say it. I'll write."

"R-right away! Thank you kindly." Without daring to hesitate, Govinda bowed and scraped with a fawning smile, but the upturned corners of his mouth betrayed his joy, as if the gun had been returned to his hands.

He listed every name—not just his squad of twelve, but others from different squads whose names he could recall, scraping together a total of twenty.

These twenty were unquestionably the worst villains, surely enough to trade for his own honest self.

That was what Govinda thought.

The soldier took the list to the port and handed it to General McAllen.

McAllen didn't even glance at it; he simply told the soldier to follow procedure and read out the names.

If a name was among those present, someone nearby who knew him would naturally "cut ties" and push him out of the crowd.

Then came the mock trial, where everyone present decided their guilt.

The outcome was obvious—every single one was pulled from the crowd by the Valantians.

Watching the panicked faces being dragged away, Govinda's face lit up with vindictive glee.

But soon his smile faded.

The Valantians showed no sign of letting him go; he waited and waited, but no pardon came.

Could it be...

Were they waiting until just before the execution to secretly release him?

The more Govinda thought, the more anxious and terrified he grew, yet he still tried to comfort himself.

They'd definitely let him go, but the timing and method had to be handled carefully—after all, they had to give some explanation to those he'd denounced.

If they set him free in front of everyone, wouldn't the rules they'd set become a joke?

But just as he was lost in this fantasy, a woman being dragged from the crowd made his heart stop.

It was his "alibi"—the widow who lived across from him!

That woman, always meek and soft-spoken, who never dared offend anyone, was now wailing heart-wrenchingly, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Her utter despair—was it because she was about to die, or because the humiliation trailing behind had torn away her last shred of dignity?

"That slut, I know her! Her husband's been dead barely a few months and she's already found a new lover!"

"Pah! Shameless wench, and she chose those bandits with cloth on their arms!"

"I saw the Heavenly King's Army men go to her house!"

"It's that Govinda, right? I saw him too—I saw him give her a handful of dinars as a reward!"

"You were there too?"

"How could I be! I, I saw it from outside the window! If you don't believe me, search her house—you'll find it!"

"Probably dirty money looted from the port!"

"Kill her! Avenge the dead Valantians!"

Avenge the Valantians...

In that instant.

Govinda felt the world spin, forgetting even to breathe.

Though he still stood on the port, he suddenly felt as if he'd been buried in the ground long, long ago...

...

Watching the last three thousand people being pushed forward, Far-sighted Eagle was momentarily speechless.

Good heavens...

Ten thousand people, and a full three-tenths gone!

He was desperately bargaining for these people, while they were desperately killing their own.

The remaining seven thousand should have few fish slipping through the net.

Hoping to escape this absurd trial by banding together or other means was nothing but wishful thinking.

At this point, whether they were Heavenly King's men or not, anyone who dared to stand out was inevitably singled out, and only those who had been utterly passive from start to finish could survive.

That is, raise your hand without hesitation when it's time, shut your mouth without hesitation when it's time, silently tell yourself you're a dead man, blend completely into the rabble around you, and let no one take notice—only then can you find life in the midst of death.

As for the three thousand-plus who were picked out, just as he had predicted, there were clearly some who were wrongly condemned.

And not a few.

For instance, a few lads just over twelve, or a certain widow in her twenties...

Seeing McAllen cast a meaningful glance his way, Far-sighted Eagle paid no heed to the provocation, merely murmuring a silent "Amitabha" in his heart.

Three thousand is always less than ten thousand.

Besides, this is a matter between the Legion and the Empire; if anyone should be anxious, it ought to be the Empire.

From an outsider's standpoint, he had already done everything in his power.

At least the task could be handed off without issue…

…

The news of the Legion's landing at West Sail Port spread swiftly through Shizhou, and the feat of slaying thirty thousand in three days soon reached the ears of every division in the Heavenly King's Army.

This tidings poured a bucket of cold water over the heads of the Heavenly King's soldiers who had just breached the city.

The Legion had entered the fray!

Though most of the Heavenly soldiers merely felt a jolt of surprise and paid it little heed, a few clear-headed men began to panic.

Take Yudono, for instance.

He was a Lion tribesman, but no noble; indeed, born into poverty, he had been sold as a child to a noble's estate, losing his freedom from that day on.

Though his lofty surname spared him from picking cotton in the plantations, and the noble lord taught him to read, write, and the etiquette of the aristocracy, his childhood experiences still filled him with hatred for the inequitable system of the Xilan Empire.

Later, he was recommended to the military academy established by the Legion to aid the Empire, where he studied military knowledge under General MacLaren, and this further kindled within him the ambition to overthrow the Empire.

Thus, when Yanush proclaimed the slogans of abolishing slavery and redistributing land, he answered the call almost without hesitation, becoming one of the first local army officers to defect, delivering a vicious stab in the back to Grand Duke Sanjay.

Though for some reason Yanush did not trust those who had flocked to him midway, this seemed to be an exception for him, as a fellow disciple of the same school.

After joining the Heavenly King's Army, he not only became a commander of ten thousand but was also kept by Yanush's side as a "military advisor."

Yet just as he was brimming with ambition, he heard the dire tidings from the west.

As an officer trained by the Verant people, he knew full well how formidable the Legion's combat strength was.

This strength was evident not only on the battlefield but also beyond it.

Without exaggeration, the Verant people were a race born for war, and their institutions were designed for war.

Given the strength of the Heavenly King's Army, which lacked even a stable supply line, they stood no chance whatsoever against those fellows.

Thinking of what the Heavenly King's Army had done at West Sail Port, Yudono grew more and more terrified, and finally could not help but seek out Yanush to discuss a solution.

Yet after hearing his concerns, Yanush let out a hearty laugh and instead offered him a few words of comfort.

"Don't be so naive. Between nations, only interests matter; morality is a private affair. The people of West Sail Port are already dead—can they come back to life?"

He paused, then continued in a slow, deliberate tone.

"Besides, I've already left West Sail Port for them to vent their fury. Even if they demand a hundred lives for one, six or seven hundred thousand should be more than enough to quell the Legion's wrath."

"At least for those big shots, it's sufficient to give their supporters an explanation."

There were no surveillance cameras that night; pinning the blame on the dead was no difficult task.

Once everyone was dead, who would remember what he had done?

Those who wanted to keep some Verant people as hostages were truly cowards and fools!

Is there any difference between killing a thousand and killing three thousand?

At least in Yanush's eyes, there was none.

Those who are doomed to die will perish even if they dare not provoke a fly, while those who wish to live must prove their worth to survive!

As long as they could replace the Empire and capture the Heavenly Capital, they would have value worth courting in the Legion's eyes!

Keep them as hostages?

What a colossal joke!

Was he in the business of kidnapping?

Objectively speaking, his subordinates were indeed filled with men whose heads were nothing but mush, lacking clear platforms and demands for interests, but he, as the Heavenly King, certainly had them!

What he aimed to do was rebellion!

Subversion!

Usurpation!

He had to bind everyone to his chariot with the filthiest charges, making them dare only to gamble that he would ultimately win, or else no one would survive!

As for historical judgment and reckoning, that was a matter for after his new Empire fell.

Now, with Xilan still clinging to life by a thread, who was in a position to settle accounts with him?

This was his time—the time for him to settle the sins of Xilan, including the Empire's persecution of the Moonfolk and so on!

As long as they ultimately won, the uprising at West Sail Port would be a glorious revolution!

Hearing Yanush's words, a cold sweat instantly trickled down Yudono's forehead as he stood before him.

He had mostly turned a blind eye to Yanush's ruthless methods, for what revolution came without bloodshed?

Yet after hearing this man's words, his heart still trembled involuntarily.

This man…

Had planned from the very beginning to use those six or seven hundred thousand people as sacrifices for the three thousand Verant residents!

In this man's eyes, what exactly were human beings?!

Livestock?

How could the phrase "Liberate the slaves of Boro Province" ever come from his lips?

And everyone, including himself, had actually believed it!

Yudono finally recalled those things he had selectively forgotten.

Including the piles of bleached bones at the city gates, and the noblewomen whom Yanush had taken into his tent for his own amusement or bestowed upon his subordinates…

Awakening with a start, his back was drenched in sweat, and his voice trembled uncontrollably.

"But what if the Verant people's interest demands that we all die…"

Yanush curled his lip in disdain.

"That probability isn't zero, but the Alliance, the Corporation, and the Academy will not stand by while the Legion continues its eastward expansion for any reason. That is the bottom line they drew in the last war, and even the Legion must seriously weigh the gains and risks of crossing that red line."

"Besides, why don't you guess why the Verant people who landed haven't advanced further? Can it be that they can't guess what sort of mess we've left for them? Even if they can't, those cowardly city defense troops have mouths, don't they?"

"I'll even tell you this: the ones who came ashore this time are certainly not just frontline officers like centurions or chiliarchs; there must be a truly big shot among them."

"That fellow knows full well what's going on; he's probably already putting on a show with the chips we've left him!"

He could even guess that this matter might not have reached Triumph City yet—it might have been intercepted at some point along the way.

Someone was waiting for his outcome.

Though he didn't know who that great personage was, he was certain that capturing the Heavenly Capital was his only way to survive!

Figuring that a day's rest was enough, Yanush slapped his knee with his right hand, rose from the chair in the city lord's mansion, and fixed his gaze on the subordinate standing at the doorway as he gave his orders.

"Pass down my command: have the Lion King, Horse King, Leopard King, Tiger King, and Ox King assemble at the border of Niuzhou!"

"And also relay to all my divisions: set out immediately! Attack the Heavenly Capital!"

"Yes!" The officer immediately snapped a salute and hurried off in a flurry.

Approaching the sweat-drenched strategist, Yanush's face broke into a cheerful smile as he gently patted him on the shoulder.

"...Lion City is in your hands now. This is our great rear base—hold it until you hear good news from us!"

Was this his pledge of allegiance?

The Heavenly King's Army was no ordinary force; it was an avalanche triggered by an earthquake.

What rear base could such an army have? Morale and supplies were all plundered along the way!

As for Lion City...

To put it nicely, it was a great rear base; to put it bluntly, it was just a stone blocking the army's path.

Like the city guard of West Sail Port, they were left behind to "cover the retreat"!

Yudono, now fully awake, understood everything.

He should have guessed it long ago—that wolfishly cunning man wouldn't trust him so easily. Now he finally grasped why he'd been promoted to commander of ten thousand.

That man had counted on him having no way out.

With that pile of heads at the city gate, surrender was impossible and out of the question.

Swallowing hard, Yudono, though a thousand times unwilling, could only nod his stiff neck and accept the hot potato.

"Yes..."

...

At the same time the Heavenly King's Army marched eastward, the Xilan Empire's royal court, after urgently "mobilizing" the conscripts of Lion Province, hastily issued a decree for the "Northern Hunt."

The decree was scribbled carelessly, almost perfunctorily.

In short, it said His Majesty hadn't toured the northern provinces in a long time and ordered the dukes there to prepare palaces for his stay and provisions for his family and servants.

But that's how the decree read. Yet at this chaotic juncture, everyone in the Heavenly Capital could see the true intent behind His Majesty's command.

The three northern provinces—Dog, Sheep, and Bird—were thrown into a flurry by the decree, never expecting the Emperor to come, and they began earnest preparations.

As for the eastern provinces—Tiger and Leopard—they were wealthy and had their own spies in the capital.

Upon hearing the decree, local warlords eagerly telegraphed the court, their messages summed up as: "Come to me, Your Majesty!" and "Flee to me, Your Majesty!"

Even Mammoth Province, currently locked in battle with the Grey Wolf Army, joined the fray, sending a telegram to the capital: "Look at me, Your Majesty—I have elephants here!"

The southernmost Snake Province, being the empire's poorest, knew His Majesty would never come and stayed silent.

Central Elephant Province, though fairly prosperous, sat right next to Ox Province; with Ox Province lost, it was next in line, so its nobles also kept quiet.

Parts of Lowell Province, under the proxy rule of Tiger and Leopard warlords, had their nominal capital still in Jinjialun Port without even a governor, so they too said nothing and kept working the sewing machines.

Wutuo certainly wouldn't be fooled by those eastern warlords, but he didn't actually flee north. Instead, he played a trick, executing a "feint north, strike east."

He first sent a grand procession escorting the Crown Prince and the imperial concubines out the north gate.

As for himself, he slipped out the east gate with the Empress, his beloved consort, the non-inheriting princes, and a retinue of servants and confidants, boarding the royal merchant ship waiting on the banks of the Eternal Flow River.

Not putting all eggs in one basket, Wutuo, though greatly relieved to leave the palace, grimly prepared for the worst in his heart.

If he met with misfortune or was detained while passing through warlord territory, the throne would pass to the Crown Prince, who was truly going on the "Northern Hunt."

Fortunately, the Xilan Empire still had a breath left in it and hadn't truly fallen.

Even though the royal family's prestige was in tatters, no one dared to stop the royal merchant ship, flying the green-bottomed twin-sword flag and the imperial crest, as it sailed toward Jinjialun Port.

Even in waters controlled by warlords, it was the same.

Perhaps those warlords never imagined their Emperor would actually come their way.

And so, after two days and two nights of sailing, Wutuo, with a troubled heart, finally slipped into that land steeped in humiliation, as a "stowaway," safely and without incident.

At that very moment, most residents of Jinjialun Port had no idea that their "respected" Emperor had come by ship to see them...