Chapter 829: The Stench of Corpse Has Already Drifted Out of the Coffin

Chapter 829: The Stench of Corpse Has Already Drifted Out of the Coffin

Downstream of the Eternal Flow River, at the inland river docks of Golden Harbor, several young men in uniforms stood near a newsstand.

They were the water police of this area, primarily responsible for investigating smuggling, maintaining order at the docks and on the waterways, and fishing out drowned stowaways.

Compared to the warlords of Tiger and Leopard Provinces, who shot at refugees crossing the border with guns, the authorities of Golden Harbor were more lenient toward illegal immigration.

Out of a sense of morality, the authorities would not deport them, but neither could they allow the displaced to surge into the city.

Usually, they would send the refugees to resettlement camps on the outskirts, letting them stay temporarily, find work at the docks, or help them find jobs, while also teaching them basic life skills and the laws they must understand.

After leaving the resettlement camp, these refugees would receive a work card with a tax ID number, serving as proof of their identity.

If they later obtained an ID card, the tax ID would directly become their ID number.

In fact, to gain legal status sooner, most stowaways would actively seek them out after coming ashore.

Thus, their work was relatively easy, and when not busy, they would loiter around the newsstand.

The newspapers they held in their hands were the latest issue of the *Survivor Daily*, with the headline covering the West Sailport Massacre that had occurred a week ago.

The newspaper detailed the cause and effect of the incident, as well as the full sequence of events.

It began when a laborer named Orissa died of exhaustion at the docks, prompting other free laborers to strike in protest.

The labor agency controlled by the authorities pretended to agree to the protesters' demands, but as soon as the shipping peak passed, they reneged and began importing slaves on a large scale from elsewhere, trying to replace the uncooperative free laborers, thus igniting the free laborers' fury.

Coincidentally, the port's warehouses held munitions that the Legion planned to ship to the front lines.

Thus, an uprising sparked by a fire began, and it ultimately spiraled out of control, as was obvious.

Due to the lag in news, they only now learned that such a terrible event had occurred on the other side of the coast beneath their feet...

"Damn well deserved..." a young water policeman cursed, flipping the newspaper page in anger.

The next page was about Yanush, the self-proclaimed Heavenly King.

But the *Survivor Daily* branch reporter in Chip Port, lacking clairvoyance, knew little about him—only that he had once served under Arayan, participated in the Butterfly Stroke Competition on the outskirts of Golden Harbor, and was a veteran.

Thirteen armies had set out from West Sailport, burning their way into the heart of the empire; where they had reached by now was unknown...

Unlike the young water policeman, the slightly older man beside him just shrugged.

"But the civilians are innocent."

"Innocent?"

The young man stared wide-eyed at his colleague, as if hearing something unbelievable.

"Are your compatriots Vellant? Did the uprising break out for no reason? The first to die was named Orissa—no less than three thousand Boro people died there! How can you sympathize with slave owners and imperialists?"

Many people, perhaps without even reading, selectively ignored the "lowly" name Orissa, but he clearly remembered that name was the beginning of everything.

He no longer cared what race that person was; in his eyes, that person was his compatriot, a Boro!

As for Yanush and the Heavenly King's Army, they were just sparks that flew up later.

The Vellant were the true arsonists!

The empire's lackeys were playing with fire, skewering his compatriots and roasting them over the flames!

Now that they had lost control, it was only their own fault.

He only regretted that this fire could not reach Triumph City, but instead burned across the Boro Province, making the exploited pay the price for exploitation, forcing his compatriots to endure the agony of war.

He believed he was not the only one in all of Golden Harbor thinking this way; he had seen in more than one newspaper what West Sailport looked like.

Looking at the agitated young man, the older water policeman sighed and said.

"What I mean by innocent is exactly that—the survivors of West Sailport are innocent... including the dead Vellant civilians. They left their homeland to come to our home, expanding the Legion's territory, only to become sacrifices for politicians. As for how much they enjoyed the benefits of the colony, I doubt it was much."

Everything is relative—compare macro with macro, micro with micro.

The Alliance didn't colonize; it pursued cooperation and mutual benefit, and the lives of Alliance residents were not bad. He had never been to Dawn City, but he had seen the changes in Golden Harbor with his own eyes. It couldn't be that they were doing charity, developing the outside better than their own home.

"...They are all victims. What truly deserves condemnation is the system of exploitation and boundless greed."

But this was also hindsight.

By the time he got this newspaper, everything was already over.

The Vellant were probably venting their anger in West Sailport, but the survivors of Boro Province were gradually waking up.

Like the young man beside him, their first reaction was no longer what race Orissa was, but that those big-nosed bastards dared to kill their people!

If the Legion thought killing an entire city's people would conquer them, that was naive.

In the history of the Human Union, imperialism had never truly won; it had always moved from one quagmire to another, eventually drowning in the currents of the era.

This war had only just begun.

What if they had airships?

What if they inherited legacies?

Two hundred years ago, who didn't emerge from the Great Wasteland?

As long as history moves forward, they will eventually be submerged in the endless sea of humanity...

While the two argued, even quarreling, Kapil was casually flipping through the collected works of Mr. Rat.

He had no interest in war.

Ever since a shell took his right arm and sent him to a prisoner-of-war camp, those deafening sounds could no longer shake him.

But those stirring words still could.

He was a reader of "Mr. Rat," even back in the POW camp.

And it was after reading that piece, *Red Earth*, that he made the decision to stay.

The Golden Harbor authorities had reached an agreement with the empire on returning prisoners of war, but due to the Ten Peaks Mountain incident, which prompted Golden Harbor citizens to take to the streets in protest, the authorities did not force the POWs to return home but instead made it voluntary.

At the time, Kapil spent some money, using his saved wages to have the chiliarch in charge of receiving POWs classify him as severely disabled, allowing him to stay in Golden Harbor for continued "humanitarian treatment."

In fact, after installing a prosthetic limb produced in Boulder City, aside from needing to charge it every few days, it had little impact on his daily life and work; he only paid the bribe to preserve his family's and clan's honor.

After that, the POW camp was converted into a refugee resettlement center, and he was reassigned as a water policeman there.

Just as Kapil was flipping through the collected works, a bell rang from the distant docks.

A cargo ship flying a green-bottomed double-sword flag and a royal crest was slowly entering the river port.

"A big ship's coming." The older water policeman put the newspaper back on the stand and put on his hat. "Strange—did the port authority report a big ship's schedule today?"

Another water policeman beside him squinted and grinned.

"A merchant ship of the Xilan royal family. These people never report their arrival here... They still think it's their own home, huh."

Sending a telegram to apply for a flight number and berth before a big ship departs is not a hard rule, just a way to reduce mutual trouble.

After all, berths at the inland river port are tight, and transport resources are limited; there isn't always a berth available to dock a ship.

It was only after a traffic jam on the river during a peak transport period that the relevant regulations were introduced.

But the Emperor of the Boro Province never followed them, and his merchant ships often forgot to apply, or arrived a day early or late.

The water policemen muttered among themselves.

"Tch, I hate people who don't follow the rules."

"Check him!"

"...There's no emperor in Golden Gallon Harbor—everyone's the same. Let's go up and have a look."

"Coming, wait for me."

Kapil placed the collection back on the newspaper stand, left a banknote with the vendor, and asked him to keep the unfinished book aside—he'd be back for it later.

The group walked toward the dock, just in time to see the merchant ship's owner shouting at the harbor officials.

"We arrived a day early! Find us a berth, quick!"

The harbor official rolled his eyes.

"No berths here—get in line on the river!"

Pressed by the distinguished guests behind him, the shipowner grew anxious but couldn't speak plainly, so he resorted to a threat.

"Aren't you afraid we'll block the river?"

The official joked,

"Scaring me? Go ahead, try blocking it."

The shipowner fumed, teeth grinding, but could do nothing.

Fortunately, at that moment, Witchback and the ministers were too preoccupied to mind him. They all stood staring at the shore, mouths agape in unanimous astonishment.

Prince Dilip, in particular, had been here before with that Arayan—back then, they'd stayed in a small house in the Kharaba Market on the outskirts.

As for this place, it had once been a muddy reed marsh; he even remembered the narrow path along the river.

But that path was gone now, replaced by a wider, longer concrete road.

Neat rows of detached cottages dotted the harbor's edge, bicycles tied to the gates of small gardens overgrown with flowers and grass, green-painted mailboxes standing upright.

Not every cottage was so exquisite, but those that were rivaled the homes of the capital's citizens.

Occasionally, a unique mansion caught even the discerning prince's eye, admiration and envy plain on his face—he even thought of buying a couple.

Come to think of it...

Wasn't the Governor's mansion in Nihark less grand than this?

Dilip thought he'd entered the wealthy district of Golden Gallon Harbor, unaware that this was merely its suburb—and a distant one at that, far from the seaport.

Those living nearby were either dockworkers from the inland port, female textile factory workers, or merchants and officials who frequently traveled between Tiger and Leopard Provinces.

Since land in the far suburbs was cheap and less regulated than in the city, the rich from Tiger and Leopard Provinces liked to set up second homes here—buying large plots and hiring Golden Gallon designers to build mansions in the style of the Alliance or the Legion.

Beyond the elegantly decorated buildings, one could faintly see rows of block-like towers as tall as city walls.

These towers, usually close to factories and stations, had rows of windows neatly lined on their facades, like ears of corn, housing newly relocated residents.

"Is this... my Golden Gallon Harbor?"

Witchback was utterly stunned, finally squeezing out these words after a long pause.

Dilip, at least, had been here last year. His memories were even more distant—only recalling red earth along the Eternal River, plantations on the other side, and beyond that, endless low shanties and the high-walled Lowell Camp.

Being governor here was a thankless task—outside the port lay slums, and during the hot dry season, the whole street reeked.

Now, everything before his eyes completely overturned his impressions.

He couldn't even imagine such a settlement existing on the soil of Brahma Province.

The ministers behind him exchanged glances, speechless.

Clearly, they too were shaken.

Just then, a speedboat bearing a police emblem approached.

The water police officer on board shouted to the deck,

"Security! Ship inspection!"

The shipowner, still arguing with the harbor official, quickly turned to the speedboat, forcing a smile.

"We're a royal merchant vessel!"

The water police officer on deck replied impatiently,

"Royal merchant vessels must also submit to inspection. Lower the ladder—now."

The shipowner was caught in a dilemma, looking helplessly at His Majesty and Prince Dilip behind him.

Witchback's face darkened, but after whispering with a minister, he finally nodded.

A eunuch stepped forward.

"Allow them aboard."

The shipowner sighed in relief and knelt in thanks.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

A team of water police boarded the ship, their faces showing surprise at the nobles on deck.

Though these men wore no titles on their sleeves, their robes and accessories were clearly worth a fortune—perhaps tens of millions of gallons.

What was even more puzzling was that these nobles had arrived on a cargo ship.

Even if it was a royal merchant vessel, it was still a freighter...

Kapil felt the face of the leading man looked familiar, but couldn't place it.

Going through the motions, he addressed the group.

"Do you have customs clearance documents or any ID? If not, you'll need to register at customs..."

Before he could finish, the man of obvious status glared at him in fury.

"Nonsense! Why would I need documents to return to my own home?"

Kapil froze, and the surrounding water police were equally stunned, unsure what had gotten into the man.

But then, Kapil suddenly recognized that familiar face, and disbelief crept into his eyes.

How could this be?!

In Golden Gallon Harbor?

His jaw dropped, and he blurted out involuntarily,

"...Your Majesty?!"

...

Witchback had appeared in Golden Gallon Harbor.

And not just that—he'd emerged from the distant reed marsh along with the stowaways.

The moment the news hit the papers, it caused a massive uproar throughout Golden Gallon Harbor.

The inland port, usually deserted, was now packed with a sea of people.

Some even came all the way from the seaport district just to catch a glimpse of what the emperor looked like.

Because the crowd of onlookers disrupted shipping order, the port authorities had no choice but to dispatch extra personnel to maintain order while mooring the royal merchant vessel carrying the full court of the Xilan Empire outside the harbor, asking Wu Tuo to drift on the water a while longer.

In truth, the authorities need not have raised the matter at all.

Seeing the sea of people on the shore, Wu Tuo was thoroughly frightened; not only did he dare not mention disembarking, but he spent the whole day hiding in his cabin, not even opening a window, for fear that light would reveal which room he was in.

The Empire was not the Alliance, after all; he dared not stand among the crowd like a manager.

What if an assassin were mixed in?

Most who harbor guilt are like this—they see everyone as a potential threat to them.

That night.

Sitting by his bedside, Wu Tuo was feeling gloomy, drinking tea and playing chess with Prince Dilip.

Just then, his most loyal eunuch entered from outside the door and kowtowed on the floor.

“…Your Majesty, a reporter from the *Survivor Daily*’s Golden Gallon Port bureau wishes to interview you.”

Wu Tuo frowned.

“A reporter? What in the world is that?”

The eunuch explained nervously.

“It’s… someone who provides material for newspapers.”

“Newspapers?”

Wu Tuo furrowed his brow, vaguely recalling having heard of them—nothing good, in any case.

So he waved his hand and tossed out an impatient remark.

“Not seeing him. Tell him to get lost.”

The eunuch nodded timidly and was about to withdraw from this “temporary palace.”

But Prince Dilip, sitting across from Wu Tuo, suddenly had an idea. He first raised a hand to stop the eunuch at the door, then turned to Wu Tuo and said.

“Wait… Your Majesty, I believe accepting the interview is not a bad thing. The reason the residents of Golden Gallon Port have gathered on the shore is simply to gaze upon Your Majesty’s majesty and sage-like aura—”

Wu Tuo impatiently cut off his rambling.

“How could those lowly folk be worthy of beholding my majesty?”

Prince Dilip cleared his throat and said.

“That may be so… but from another perspective, it is better to guide than to block. If you deign to satisfy the curiosity of those ill-mannered fellows, perhaps they will disperse from the riverbank. Then we can go ashore and not have to keep drifting on this river.”

The bandits in the west—who knew how long they would stir up trouble? The imperial guard had sent no word.

If the residents of Golden Gallon Port kept coming here to gawk, they might never get ashore.

The Eternal Flow River was heavy with damp, and the deck always swayed; he could not bear staying on the boat forever.

Wu Tuo clearly shared this thought. He pinched a chess piece, pondered a moment, and slowly nodded.

“Fine.”

The piece fell onto the board.

He glanced at the eunuch prostrating at the door and said calmly.

“Then let me meet this reporter.”

…

Night deepened, and the Eternal Flow River fell silent, with only the slow croaking of frogs in the reeds.

Though the crowd on the shore had dispersed, those on the boat still dared not come down.

Yet even without disembarking, Wu Tuo slept soundly on the ship; just past ten, his “bedchamber” echoed with thunderous snoring, even more peaceful than when he had slept near the warlord territories.

But while he slept comfortably, some in Golden Gallon Port could not rest.

Take, for instance, Yodu, the secretary to the governor.

As acting governor of Golden Gallon Port, he was responsible for most of the port’s affairs.

He had never received any diplomatic note from the Empire, nor did he know the Emperor was coming to Golden Gallon Port. So when he heard that Wu Tuo had appeared at the Eternal Flow River dock, he was utterly stunned.

“…Is the Emperor really here?”

Standing opposite Yodu, Police Chief Bihari gave a wry smile and wiped the sweat from his brow with a tissue.

“Absolutely true… I didn’t believe it at first, so I went aboard the ship to see for myself.”

He had been the director of the Port District Security Bureau during the Nihaq era and was later promoted to police chief for his outstanding performance during the occupation.

Though he rarely mentioned his noble title anymore, he had once been an imperial aristocrat.

So while others might not know what Wu Tuo looked like, he remembered clearly.

Including the several dukes and princes on the deck.

Pacing back and forth before his desk, Yodu stopped and couldn’t help asking.

“Could it be an impostor?”

Bihari said with a mix of laughter and exasperation.

“Impossible… And it’s not just the Emperor; Prince Dilip is also there. His biometric data was recorded in our prison—one check would confirm it. If you don’t believe me, I can take him to verify?”

Yodu quickly said.

“No need… They’re not suspects; don’t go arresting people casually.”

Police Chief Bihari said with a bitter smile.

“So what do we do? Just let them drift on the river?”

“It’s a tough situation…”

Yodu fell into deep thought.

His political instincts told him there was more to this than met the eye.

Since Wu Tuo had chosen to come here, he must have judged that he had nowhere else to go.

Even the Emperor himself felt he could no longer control the situation…

From the wind blowing off the Eternal Flow River, he faintly caught a whiff of decay. A sudden thought struck Yodu’s mind.

This Empire might be on its last legs!

It was like a corpse kept secret from the public; no matter how tightly the coffin lid was sealed, the stench seeping through the cracks could not be hidden.

A bead of hot sweat formed on Yodu’s forehead.

At that moment, what occupied his mind was not the Empire’s future fate, but how the collapse of this behemoth would impact and affect Golden Gallon Port.

As one of the candidates for future mayor, he had to be responsible first and foremost to the residents of Golden Gallon Port.

Especially for their deposits.

“…Let’s ask the Alliance for their opinion first, see what they say. We’d better not meddle.”

Hearing Yodu’s words, Bihari nodded in agreement and hurriedly left.

"I was thinking the same. You should contact the Alliance immediately."

"I've already sent a telegram to the Alliance side at the first moment, but it's deep night over in Dawnlight City right now—I'm afraid we won't get a reply until tomorrow..."

As he said this, Yodu paused for a moment, walked over to his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed his secretary.

"Have the president of the Golden Port Bank come to my office, along with the director of the Foreign Trade Administration... Yes, right now. I don't care if they're lying in bed or soaking in the bathtub—tell them to get dressed and come over immediately!"

"I have important matters to discuss with them face to face."

...

The next morning, the sun shone brightly, and the port district of Golden Port was as bustling as ever.

The tragedy at West Sail Port two days ago was still the talk of the town, and now the Emperor of Xilan had come running to Golden Port.

People were all murmuring about whether the Heavenly King's army had already taken the Celestial Capital.

It was a pity that neither Lionheart City nor the Celestial Capital had a branch of the Survivor's Daily, so they could only rely on guesswork.

But if only that were true.

At least the Heavenly King's army had shouted slogans about abolishing slavery and redistributing land, and word had it they'd actually done it—so that was some progress, at least.

And setting aside progress for a moment, they'd long been sick of the Empire and its Emperor!

In a breakfast shop serving beef noodles, a crowd of diners slurped their noodles while discussing the freshly printed newspapers.

"A good death! I hope they slaughter every last one of those court officials and grind their bones to dust!"

An old man shook his head and sighed, offering his commentary.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. The Legions won't just sit by and watch the Empire collapse, especially after they killed so many of their men. The thirteen armies may seem formidable, but they're mostly farmers, and their logistics can't keep up. When the real fighting starts, it's hard to say who'll win."

A man who looked refined shook his head and spoke with regret.

"I just fear their blood will be shed in vain."

Not far away, a dockworker clenched his teeth in anger and slammed the table.

"Those dog-faced big-noses! They enslaved our people, and now they want to meddle in our internal affairs! Do they think we're pushovers?"

His words struck a chord, and the diners in the noodle shop grew indignant.

"This is too much!"

"I'm going to donate to the Union right now! I'll give a month's wages!"

"What's the point of donating to the Union? They're backing Rasi, and that guy's still stuck in Mammoth Province, duking it out with Arayang!"

"That Rasi's business is getting bigger and bigger, but he's still not as good as Yanush."

"Ha, I don't have high hopes for that guy... I'm not afraid of him becoming Emperor—I'm afraid he'll just want to go public in Dawnlight City and retire as a rentier."

"Hahaha! When you put it that way, Yanush is more straightforward—just pick up a gun and fight!"

"It's a pity it's not easy to ship supplies from here. It'd be much more convenient if they started their uprising on the east coast."

"It's useless. No matter how many guns you donate to them, can they stand up to the Legions? The Legions are about to step in... Ah! Who ends up with these four million square kilometers is anyone's guess..."

While the crowd was buzzing with discussion, an unusual group entered the noodle shop.

Walking to a corner table, Asin ordered his usual bowl of scallion oil noodles and a basket of soup dumplings, then spread a newspaper in his hands, sipping tea and reading leisurely.

He'd been literate for some time now, and reading and writing were no longer a problem.

Even without someone reading aloud, he could understand on his own.

Standing behind him, Kunar listened to the indignant chatter of the diners and couldn't help clenching his fists and muttering.

"That damn Emperor dares to come to Golden Port... Boss, how about we take him out?"

A single cargo ship on the river—just send someone to drill a hole in its hull, and they'd get a taste of the Eternal River's waters.

"Have you lost your mind?"

Asin froze, then glanced back at his dull-witted underling, shaking his head in disappointment before turning back.

Kill the Emperor?

Was the problem of Xilan something that could be solved by killing one Emperor?

Better for them, small-time traders, not to meddle in the affairs of big shots—otherwise, they'd die without even knowing how.

Of course, if some sufficiently important figure asked him to do it, he'd gladly accept.

Killing one man wasn't hard.

Especially on his turf.

Still, it was strange—why had Wutuo, who had just announced his "northern hunt," suddenly appeared here?

Staring at the newspaper for a while, a glint of sharpness suddenly flashed in Asin's eyes.

"This Emperor... I think he's come to avoid disaster."

Kunar was taken aback and whispered,

"You mean the Heavenly King's army has reached the Celestial Capital?"

Asin replied casually,

"He took two days to get here. For all we know, the battle might be raging right now."

Kunar's heart shook violently. He instinctively pictured the map of Boro Province.

Good heavens!

That meant they'd taken two states in a week?!

Even on the plains where the Legions had built infrastructure, that was an astonishingly fast advance.

"So that Heavenly King is even more formidable than Rasi..."

Hearing this, Asin chuckled and shook his head.

"Don't judge things by appearances. Whether someone's formidable depends on who their opponent is. Yanush faced a bunch of peasant soldiers; Rasi faced Arayang. Don't underestimate that wolf-man. He may have lost to the Alliance, but it wasn't entirely on the battlefield."

Hardly anyone in Golden Port wanted the Empire to win. It would be a miracle if the Gray Wolf Army prevailed.

In fact, Asin himself had learned from the Empire's failures—when expanding his business, he always kept his limits, never pushed things too far, and always left a way out.

Not only that, while other gang leaders practically wore the word "ruthless" on their faces, he was polite to everyone, even sitting down to eat noodles with the neighbors and giving red envelopes to the kids during New Year's.

That was how the Assassin Gang had grown bigger and stronger.

Kunar scratched the back of his head and grinned.

"That's true, hehe... Now that you mention it, I remember—you personally took one out yourself."

Asin shot him a glance.

"That's nothing to brag about... Drop it."

"Got it, boss," Kunar nodded, then paused before asking, "So what about the Emperor..."

Asin smacked him on the back of the head in frustration.

"Can't you learn? Why are you still obsessing over that guy? That's not our kind of work. Just mind your own turf!"

Kunar scratched the back of his head.

“But you said you wanted to pull that emperor down from his throne… I was only trying to share your burden.”

Asin paused for a moment, then recalled that he had indeed said those words, and at the farewell feast for Rasi.

At this sight, looking at the fallen emperor in the newspaper, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

How nostalgic it was to think of it.

In the blink of an eye, the very things he had dreamed of were about to come true.

“Yes, that’s right… Kunar, my friend, I did say that.”

“And I can tell you, my wish is about to be fulfilled, haha!”