Chapter 831: The Faithful Don't Die So Easily

Chapter 831: The Faithful Do Not Die So Easily

[……Dear Administrator, I have followed your instructions and mediated the ongoing incident here. The Legion commander agreed to distinguish between innocents and rioters, adopting a public trial process… I know this isn’t a good idea, but honestly, did I have a better option? Forgive my limited ability—this is the best I could manage with just words.]

[Also, regarding the “arsonist” you asked me to investigate, I regret to say I’ve found no leads yet. I searched the warehouse, questioned nearby residents—some said they saw Silver Moon cultists near the warehouse district, others claimed they spotted someone sneaking over the wall… Their testimonies contradict each other, and they’re unwilling to discuss that day further. As for the Vlandians, they’ve found hundreds of “arsonists,” but I feel every single one of them might be innocent.]

[The one who first shot the guard captain—I did find him. Or rather, someone else exposed him. That rat-man kid seemed utterly ordinary, unlikely to have been instigated. I even wonder if his bullet actually hit. Though I wanted to interrogate him further, the Vlandians no longer seemed to care who fired. When the evening bell tolled, he was dragged to the execution ground with the others.]

[My feelings are tangled. Some of my comrades sympathize with the Vlandians, others with the dead laborers—they’ve argued more than once. Mr. Yarman’s plight moves me, yet I can’t help wondering if the slave owners brought this on themselves… But then I see Ruby’s pitiful eyes, and I wish I could avenge her.]

[Later, a girl about her age asked me in confusion, “What did my father do wrong? Shouldn’t they resist? Should they kneel and surrender to power?”… I admit, that broke me a little. But the Alliance isn’t a wish-granting machine—we can’t change all the world’s laws. No one can. I know that.]

[I deeply admire the players involved in the Boulder City incident. How did they achieve that perfect ending? Should I have planted a goblin rocket on Yarman’s ship? But we were a whole week late. Even looking back, I can’t think of a better idea… Or maybe the perfect ending never existed in this land from the start?]

[The torment ended today. The Legion finally stopped the slaughter and began planning ahead. The count: 80,000 dead. General MacLenn said he lost a bet with Centurion Ross—he’d predicted 100,000, but fell 20,000 short. Yet I can’t find any joy in that.]

[Also, the Legion isn’t stopping. Massive supplies are being shipped from Eternal Night Port to West Sail Port. I’ve heard Eternal Night Port belongs to the Southern Legion… the same one that gave us that 902mm cannon.]

[Honestly, I’m baffled by their intentions. Didn’t they agree not to expand east? But more infantry are landing… I don’t know, but they don’t seem ready to leave anytime soon.]

[That’s all the intel I have on West Sail Port. Some rumors: the Heavenly King’s army supposedly surrounded the sky itself, and the battle was brutal. Also, the Lion, Wolf, and Ox provinces have fallen to the Heavenly King’s forces. Countless freed slaves and serfs have joined them along the way—the army might exceed two million…]

[Lastly, could you form a peacekeeping force under the Cohesion Pact? I feel the situation is beyond our control alone. Bringing in more survivor factions might be wise, especially the Corporation and the Academy.]

When Far-Sighted Eagle typed these words, he himself felt they were unrealistic.

The wasteland wasn’t reality, and the Cohesion Pact wasn’t the UN—how could they form a peacekeeping force?

Those who could move had already joined the regular army; only the immobile were left to talk.

But after a moment’s thought, he deleted nothing and pressed Enter.

[Sent.]

“MMP! Finally done!”

The old eagle let out a long breath, leaned back in his chair, picked up his helmet from the desk, and put it on as if escaping reality.

In the blink of an eye, the ceiling above had changed.

This was the storeroom of the Silver Moon Church—less than fifteen square meters, with four beds crammed inside.

Since the port district had been blasted to pieces by the 380mm heavy cannon, there were no inns left nearby. These days, they lodged in the church’s small rooms, with Yarman and his daughter next door.

Old Stick and Old Pipe were still asleep in their beds; Old Wolf had gone outside, likely to gather clues from the locals.

But honestly, Eagle thought it was a waste of effort.

The whole settlement was in panic—everyone looked at everyone else like a murderer. Only a few naive children would tell them the truth; others, even if they knew something, dared not speak, especially when the topic turned to that night.

Eagle figured the arson case had hit a dead end. Even if solved, it probably wouldn’t matter.

The priority now was figuring out the Legion’s real intentions.

Three thousand-man cohorts had landed at West Sail Port—three regiments by Alliance standards.

The entire Lion Province was crawling with Heavenly King’s troops, yet the Legion didn’t go after them. Instead, they bullied the honest folk in West Sail Port. That didn’t add up.

A few thousand against hundreds of thousands was indeed tough, but couldn’t they at least stab the Heavenly King’s army in the back while it fought the Imperial regulars?

What they were doing now felt like letting the avalanche bury the Empire…

That was their “ally.”

At least, that’s what the lore book said.

Maybe it was just a feeling, but he sensed things weren’t that simple.

Especially when he recalled MacLenn sitting in the church reading a newspaper—the man had two completely different faces: one in the church, one at the port.

One moment he was calm, discussing terms and interests like a business deal; the next, he was a raging demon, eager to slaughter every survivor in West Sail Port.

He didn’t seem like a general.

More like a politician in a general’s coat.

If he remembered correctly, before he entered the game, this guy wasn’t like that.

People change, but MacLenn’s transformation was too drastic.

What had triggered him?

Asking MacLenn directly would yield nothing, and he hadn’t seen the man at the port for days.

As for the Vlandian soldiers, forget it—their relationship was already strained.

Considering all this, Eagle decided to take a different approach, starting with an NPC they got along with.

For instance, Yarman.

Though not military, the local soldiers and officers sympathized with his plight.

Plus, Yarman had a solid local network—maybe he could pry open some mouths and get intel they couldn’t obtain on their own…

After planning his day on the VM, seeing that the other two hadn’t logged in yet, Eagle decided not to wait. He pushed open the door, heading to the backyard well to wash up.

As luck would have it, just as he opened the door, Yarman stepped out from the adjacent room, meeting him face to face.

In just one week, the once-spirited man had shrunk a whole size, a scruffy beard covering his chin. One blow after another had broken his spine; now he looked as defeated as a gambler who’d lost everything.

But at least he hadn’t lost everything—Ruby was still there.

Her heartbreaking face hid behind him, one small hand gently clutching his sleeve.

Eagle gave the girl a friendly smile, then turned to his partner and greeted him.

“Feeling any better?”

Yarman hesitated, then slowly nodded, walking past him with his head down.

“Yeah…”

Seeing they were both heading to the backyard well, Eagle fell into step beside him.

“What’s your plan now? Go back to Triumph City? Or stay here and… uh, continue our old business?”

Eagle naturally hoped Yarman would choose the latter—both for the current mission and future deals.

But after such a tragedy, he couldn’t push. He’d leave the choice to his partner.

Yarman fell silent, not speaking for a long time, as if lost in thought.

“No rush. You don’t have to decide immediately. If you need more time, I can wait—” Realizing his question might sound harsh, Eagle quickly smiled and tried to change the subject.

But then, unexpectedly, the silent Yarman suddenly interrupted him.

“These past few days… I’ve been thinking about one thing.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice heavy as he continued.

“We… have we been too harsh on the local survivors?”

Now it was Eagle’s turn to be silent.

After about half a minute, he finally chose to side with his conscience and shrugged lightly.

“Buddy… if you want the truth, yeah, you guys were a bit too harsh.”

Objectively speaking, the Legion seemed to have brought freedom to the survivors of West Sail Port.

However, given the local reality, this illusory freedom was more like a beautiful soap bubble—pop at a touch, gone with a breath.

All resources and rules of Westsail Port were firmly monopolized by the Vellant and the local nobility.

The survivors of Bugar at least had hope of repaying debts and turning their lives around, but the survivors of Westsail Port had no recourse but to wait for reincarnation.

Clearly, fairness is not something you achieve by writing the word on a piece of paper.

He had once thought the Legion had at least turned the locals from livestock into goods, which counted as a good deed, but he never imagined that after coming here he would realize how naive he was. The livestock were still livestock, just stamped with a quality-inspection seal, and the tools and process of slaughter had been automated.

When slaves lived more comfortably than freemen, what kind of progress was that?

Knowing full well his words were unpleasant, Eagle expected the man to glare at him angrily, even argue back, but instead he fell silent for a moment, then forced a bitter smile onto his face.

"So that's how it is..."

Yarman scratched his messy hair, looked toward the well outside the corridor window, and continued with a heavy heart.

"Actually, I had a feeling deep down... if things go on like this, we're doomed. The Legion's colonies have seen rebellions before, again and again. I shouldn't have fooled myself into thinking Westsail Port was an exception just because the survivors of the Brahmaprovince were docile. Especially since this place is different—there isn't even a standing garrison. If things spiral out of control, no one will survive."

He paused, the regret in his eyes growing stronger, yet tinged with reluctance.

"But I can't do anything—absolutely nothing. I'm just a nobody. My will and my opinions mean nothing in the eyes of the truly powerful."

He remembered it clearly.

When he entered the room, General MacLenn had merely tilted his head slightly, not even glancing at him, as if he were just a speck of dust drifting under the eaves.

As he spoke, Yarman's emotions gradually grew agitated.

He took a deep breath, buried his nose in his palms, and suppressed the tremor in his voice.

"You're right... I actually felt the same way."

"If I hadn't pushed Nagi so hard, that laborer named Orissa might not have died, and there wouldn't have been a strike afterward. Maybe the warehouse wouldn't have caught fire, and even if it did, it wouldn't have spiraled out of control."

No one expected the fire to spread so fiercely—it not only consumed Westsail Port but also Lion Province...

And even ignited the entire Empire.

Yet what pained him most was not the burning Empire or the countless dead compatriots, but the sudden realization that his wife had been indirectly killed by his own actions...

Unable to bear watching the man sink into a dead end, Eagle sighed, stepped forward, and patted his shoulder.

"Alright... don't be so hard on yourself. This isn't one person's fault. Blaming you is no better than blaming that pile of arms in the port warehouse. Damn... lucky our administrator was wise enough to know those big-noses were no good, and intercepted that shipment halfway and dragged it back."

Having said that, Eagle suddenly felt something was off, realizing he had insulted the two men in front of him as well, so he quickly coughed to make amends.

"Ah, of course, when I say big-noses, I don't mean you and little Ruby—"

Yarman shook his head.

"You're right. Those big-noses really are no good, including my former self... Of course, Ruby is still young; this has nothing to do with her. It's the responsibility of our generation."

As he spoke, he paused, and his previously gloomy eyes gradually grew resolute.

"Without a doubt, what should be condemned is the rule of man-eat-man and endless greed. If no one corrects these mistakes, the price of error will be paid again and again... and the debts of karma will eventually fall on our children's heads."

As he said this, he placed his hand on Ruby's head and gently stroked it.

The latter tilted her head in confusion, looking blankly at her father, whose face was haggard yet kind as he gazed at her. Clearly, she did not understand his words.

That was obvious.

For her age, talk of responsibility and duty was still a bit premature.

But Eagle, standing opposite, understood his meaning and couldn't help giving him a thumbs-up.

What vision, brother!

The Alliance had Vellant among them, and quite a few—Vanus was one example.

They clearly held similar thoughts, standing against the Legion for the sake of the Vellant people.

After all, if the Legion were not defeated, the Vellant would never become a normal race.

Their descendants would bleed for the sake of bleeding, revenge for the sake of revenge, and sacrifice themselves again and again in endless battles, never attaining the equality, dignity, and recognition they truly longed for.

However, he didn't want to pour cold water.

Given this gentleman's status as a mere merchant, he probably couldn't change much.

Yet just as he was thinking this, a trembling voice suddenly came from the side.

"Mr. Melchior is actually still alive... Those of devout faith do not die so easily."

"Nor do the brave."

The three of them turned in unison toward one side of the corridor, where the old nun of the church stood at the doorway.

She wore her usual plain robe, her withered index finger touching the silver moon pendant on her chest, and her constantly moving lips seemed to be murmuring something.

The sound was like a prayer.

And also like a confession.

"Mr. Yarman, please forgive me for concealing part of the truth from you, but believe me, I meant no malice."

"I made a promise to that lady... her child cannot be without a mother."