Chapter 834: The Destruction of the Empire

Chapter 834: The Fall of an Empire

The war correspondent followed General MacLennan all the way to the deepest recesses of the camp.

Along the way, he carefully observed the camp’s deployment, and the more he observed, the more alarmed he became.

Row after row of 100mm field guns lay beneath camouflage netting, and alongside them, even 380mm naval cannons—things meant for warships—had been hauled ashore on tracked carriages.

Beyond these were strange, misshapen steel machines; some resembled supply vehicles, while others seemed intended for air defense or support roles.

It was nothing like the situation in the Luoxia Province.

Back then, due to the overextended supply lines, the ten thousand-man detachments under the Eastern Expansion faction had been desperately short of ammunition.

But here, things were different.

Not only had they stockpiled ample ammunition, they had even prepared all the consumables needed for an entire war.

To be honest, so much matériel didn’t seem like something that could be scraped together on short notice…

Just as the war correspondent was taking in his surroundings, General MacLennan stopped before a gray-camouflaged tent, nodded to the guard at the entrance, and then pushed through the drawn flap to step inside.

The war correspondent hurried after him, ducking into the spacious tent.

MacLennan picked up a canteen, poured tea for both of them, then sat down at the table and gestured with a hand.

“Have a seat.”

The war correspondent nodded, sat stiffly opposite him, and wondered what MacLennan wanted to discuss.

But to his surprise, MacLennan said nothing at first—just took a sip of tea, then turned the question on him.

“What do you think of this place?”

The war correspondent blinked, puzzled.

“Which aspect does the General mean?”

MacLennan replied casually.

“Any aspect. Just give me your impressions of the deployment here.”

So, just speak freely?

The war correspondent dreaded the word “freely,” but he steeled himself and said,

“There’s a lot of equipment stockpiled here… It doesn’t look like it’s meant for just one or two battles.”

He paused, then a sudden inspiration struck.

“It’s almost exactly like our front line in the Luoxia Province!”

A faint smile curled at the corner of MacLennan’s mouth, and he nodded approvingly.

“Not bad. Your observational skills haven’t dulled.”

What observational skills…

Wasn’t it obvious?

The war correspondent smiled, suppressing the urge to quip, then frowned and asked,

“What does the Southern Legion want?”

MacLennan chuckled.

“What they want is plain as day. You’re here—can’t you see it?”

Indeed.

What they wanted was written on the faces of the soldiers in the port.

Simply put: kill every last fucking Xilan!

No need for war mobilization.

As an outsider, the war correspondent found it hard to empathize with them, but that also allowed him to think calmly.

“I don’t really understand… why would the civilian faction go along with this? Even if the Legion gains a vast territory, the prestige of the Triumph City civilian officials will be shattered, and their only sphere of influence will be taken away. How does that serve their interests?”

MacLennan smiled faintly and said,

“It’s good that you can consider the different interests of the various factions within the Legion. Most outsiders—and even many Vland people themselves—mistake this vast political entity for a single-minded hive. But knowing the different interests isn’t enough; you also have to analyze what they do to achieve those interests.”

Seeing that MacLennan seemed ready to elaborate, the war correspondent promptly yielded the floor, playing along.

“Please enlighten me, General!”

MacLennan didn’t beat around the bush. He cut straight to the point, starting from the beginning.

“…The civilian faction has long been dissatisfied with the Empire’s weakness in various matters. You should be well aware of that.”

“Duke Garava’s performance at the Commonwealth Assembly made us, as allies, look passive. Bannock the Myriarch has expressed his displeasure with him more than once. To put such a fool in such an important position—you can imagine how incompetent Wuto himself is. He might be good at balancing power, but that ‘add water to flour, add flour to water’ trick only works in feudal dynasties.”

The war correspondent nodded.

“Indeed… Duke Garava managed to offend almost everyone he could at the Commonwealth Assembly.”

“Diplomacy is just one aspect. The economy and industry are even worse. We went to great lengths to help them accumulate a little wealth, only for it to end up in the hands of the Alliance’s lackeys. The steel and cement we helped them produce all went to the rebels… We saw it all, but being anxious was useless. That Wuto was like a deaf-mute, still dreaming that one piece of technology or one battleship could save the Empire.”

MacLennan smiled and continued.

“So the civilian faction came up with an idea: wouldn’t it be better if the Empire had a different emperor?”

“A tougher emperor, one who could inject some militaristic thought into the feudal Empire, would at least make the Empire somewhat useful. The new Empire didn’t need to be strong—just a vicious wolf, baring its fangs when we needed it.”

“Achieving that was easy enough. The Wolf tribe, who had bled for the Empire, had accumulated plenty of grievances. Their children shed blood on the front lines for the Empire, yet the Empire never cared whether they lived or died. They were like a rag, soaking up all the filth, then tossed aside to Westwind Port to squeeze out the last drop of value.”

“I was an instructor to many Wolf tribe officers. I could feel their inner struggle. They yearned for change even more than those pen-pushers writing ‘Red Earth,’ and they had the power those pen-pushers lacked.”

“All they needed was startup capital for their coup. That was easy too—just borrow from the Eastern Legion. They’re good at using other people’s money to get things done, just like they borrowed me to be an instructor here.”

“…You mean, this was the civilian faction’s…” The war correspondent wanted to say “conspiracy,” but caught himself—this wasn’t a forum, and the man before him was a Legion myriarch—so he shut his mouth.

MacLennan clearly saw what he was about to say and just smiled faintly.

“During my captivity with the Alliance, I learned a phrase, or rather a saying: ‘The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.’”

The war correspondent suddenly understood, but his voice dropped unconsciously.

“You mean… the Southern Legion exploited the civilian faction’s scheme?”

“Clever.”

MacLennan nodded approvingly, then continued in a measured tone.

“If I’m not mistaken, the civilian faction’s plan was to have retired Gray Wolf officers and soldiers stage a coup. While the Gray Wolf Army was at the front, they would quickly seize the Heavenly Capital and establish a militaristic regime.”

“That way, the Legions would go from four to five. The fifth, composed of Boro people and controlled remotely by the civilian faction, would not be bound by the ancient compact. As a native wasteland power, it could advance or retreat as needed.”

“They played a clever trick, and the Enterprise, being best at appeasement and self-deception, would certainly not interfere. The only variable was the Alliance, but the Alliance couldn’t do much either—after all, the Legion had no military presence in the east. This vassal was just a bit too big.”

“Everything was within the rules. We didn’t cross the red line—just rubbed up against it.”

The war correspondent stared at him, astonishment written all over his face.

Before coming here, Bannock had told him they’d been outmaneuvered by their ally, but not in such detail.

At the time, he thought the “ally” referred to the Empire. Turns out it was the Southern Legion.

Looking at the pangolin's astonished face, McLean gave a faint smile and continued.

"Yet not everyone was content with just scratching the surface. Some restless souls not only exploited the civil officials' scheme but also added their own weight to the once-balanced scales."

"Those who needed to withdraw had all pulled back, and the uprising happened just as expected. But the one who rose to power was a fellow named Janusz—an obvious scapegoat."

"Then the flames shot into the sky, fiercer than anyone had anticipated. The reckoning against the Empire turned completely into a reckoning against the Empire and the Verlanders, burning over three thousand Verlander civilians to death. Now even the civil officials themselves dare not boast that this was their handiwork. They can only play deaf and dumb while scrambling to put out the fire."

The war correspondent couldn't help asking.

"...What good does this do the Southern Legion?"

McLean glanced toward the tent entrance and said with a faint smile.

"The benefit is what you see out there—they can soon expand again."

"And once war breaks out, the flames won't just burn in the Boro Province. Our vassals in the Luoxia Province will be dragged in too. With the Falcon Kingdom's current strength, it would probably be pierced through by the neighboring Honey Badger in an instant, as long as the Alliance is willing to lend them a hand."

The war correspondent asked in a low voice.

"Do you want this war to happen?"

McLean didn't answer directly. Instead, he poured himself another cup of tea and asked casually.

"What do you think?"

The war correspondent answered honestly.

"I think you told me all this because you don't want the fire to keep burning."

"You're very clever."

A look of approval once again appeared on McLean's face. He took a light sip of hot tea to moisten his throat and continued.

"I can tell you this: this fire does bring me some personal benefit, but if it keeps burning, that might not hold true. Not for me, and not for the Eastern Legion either."

The war correspondent cut straight to the point.

"Then what should I do to stop this fire?"

McLean beckoned him closer, then spoke in a very low voice.

"Some people in the Heavenly King's army have betrayed those who originally funded them—or to put it more precisely, the Southern Legion gave them more benefits and promises... These people will be very sensitive to envoys from the civil officials. I believe Benoit must have warned you about whom to watch out for once you reach the Heavenly Capital."

The war correspondent nodded seriously.

"That man is called Abusek. He seems to have been granted the title of Duke of Lion Province by the Heavenly King—"

"Shh." McLean made a silencing gesture and lowered his voice further. "I don't care what that man or those people are called, and I'm not interested. Just remember it yourself. When you get there, you must first show Janusz a stance of peace talks and declare that you represent Triumph City here."

"I'll bet that no matter how tough Janusz looks on the surface, he'll be overjoyed inside. That man isn't stupid—he knows he can't defeat the Legion with his own strength. Whether he sides with the Legion or the Alliance, he needs to secure an escape route. As for those who were killed, it's simple enough: just pin all the blame on those who've already been purged. Eight thousand lives to compensate for three thousand—no matter how you calculate it, that's more than enough... But all this hinges on one thing: whether the Legion is willing to accept this 'account' he offers."

"You have to make him believe that the Legion is inclined to accept this account, but eight thousand lives aren't enough—he must also offer Lion Province as compensation."

The war correspondent looked at McLean with sudden understanding.

"That's Abusek's fief. You want to stir up internal conflict among them..."

McLean shook his head, then nodded.

"It doesn't matter whose fief it is. What matters is that the conditions you propose will make those cooperating with the Southern Legion realize the truth: the civil officials at most want to switch allies, but the Southern Legion wants their land. Those men will never fulfill their promises, and they won't even hesitate to abandon them and turn to cooperate with Janusz instead."

"This will breed fear and unease in their hearts. After all, they've killed so many Verlanders. If the Southern Legion doesn't keep its promises, they'll be buried in the dirt like clowns... And once these people are afraid, they'll try to demand more promises and guarantees from the Southern Legion—things that can secure those promises. They might even act rashly out of impatience. And that's when our opportunity comes."

A glint of sharpness shone in the war correspondent's eyes.

"You want me to find evidence of the Southern Legion's involvement?"

McLean nodded.

"Exactly. But evidence alone isn't enough. Denying and washing one's hands of it is easy—just one dead 'Griffin' suffices. You have to find a way from the outside, like leaking it to the Alliance. The Alliance has warships and ties with the Enterprise and the Academy. Only if they step in to interfere can the madmen playing with fire be kept in check... at least make them think twice about the consequences of getting personally involved."

The war correspondent stared at McLean in astonishment, never expecting such words to come from his mouth.

Using the Alliance to check the Southern Legion.

Was that something a man in his position should say?!

"Well, this..."

Seeing the pangolin's wide eyes, General McLean assumed he was shocked by his own 'betrayal.'

But he didn't explain. He simply leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.

"I don't see this as betrayal. It's about stopping a group of ambitious men from dragging us into a bottomless abyss."

"I may not seem to have the standing to say such things... but if you trust me, do as I say."

...

The night over West Sailport was quiet. The Southern Legion was busily preparing for a full-scale invasion of the Boro Province, and the fuse stuck into a larger powder keg seemed already to be burning.

The next morning.

Another passenger liner docked at West Sailport's harbor.

The blood and corpses on the pier had been cleaned up, but the scars left by cannon fire still remained.

Some people knelt on the deck; others wept bitterly.

They were the families of the victims...

Standing on the deck, looking at the devastated harbor, Penny couldn't help covering her mouth, her shoulders trembling slightly.

"...This is too much."

She had heard that only a few children had survived, taken in by the Silver Moon Church.

Those who didn't survive had all suffered torment and died in despair and humiliation...

Just then, Penny suddenly remembered that her father had strongly urged her to go home, or at least to seek out her uncle Ross in Eternal Night Harbor.

And not long after that, the governor's office in West Sailport had announced that a large batch of weapons—sold by the pound—was waiting to be bought on the Death Coast... first come, first served.

Her eyes suddenly widened, an incredulous light reflecting in her grieving gaze.

A terrible possibility surged into her mind.

It was her instinct as a journalist.

Could it be her father...

...

The Verlanders on the ship looked at the harbor, and the people on the harbor looked back at those on the ship.

The [Warlike Wolf], carrying his pack, was silent for a long time, then suddenly spoke.

"I suddenly feel the Legion isn't so great."

They were about to set off for the Heavenly Capital, having just returned to Arman's ship to gather their belongings.

The [Stirring Stick] glanced at him oddly, grinning as he draped an arm over his shoulder.

"Brother, let me interview you: when exactly did you ever get the illusion that they were great?"

Old Wolf shot him a sidelong glance, then looked back at the passenger liner and the people on its deck.

"I don't know. Maybe it's intuition... I feel they were pretty good to their own people."

The stirring stick continued with a cheeky grin.

“This is good, but in what way? Is it the B-cup Velantian hunks in the Triumph Gazette, or their use of thick, large calibers to avenge their dead comrades? To be honest, no matter how loud the cannons roar, can the dead come back to life? In my opinion, it’s not as effective as burning paper money—at least it lets them live comfortably underground.”

The Velantian officers left in the Alliance had indeed burned paper for the fallen expeditionary soldiers.

No one knew who taught them.

Old Wolf forced a defense.

“But at least revenge was taken.”

As if seeing something amusing, Old Stick laughed and teased.

“Really? I thought the enemy was in Sky Capital, but they’re still in West Sail Port.”

“But if you ask me, where does the hatred come from? Those who died in the craters outside the Great Rift weren’t all clones—those poor souls had parents or children too, yet no one even collected their bodies, only scavengers rummaging through them. Is this what it means to treat compatriots as human? Didn’t more people die there than here?”

Old Wolf was momentarily speechless.

He wanted to say that those were soldiers, different from the civilians dying here, but he couldn’t articulate the essential difference.

They all seemed like stakes.

Though playing different games, they were all betting on an almost impossible victory.

If they won, their sacrifice would have value, but he couldn’t explain what that so-called value really was.

Wasn’t the Legion’s land already vast enough?

Yet they were still infinitely far from their utopia.

As for that Great Expedition, of course they had won.

In the Triumph Gazette, the Alliance and the Desert Nations, who had not lost an inch of land, were said to have suffered a bitter defeat, surviving only through mediation by the corporations and academies.

And the Great Rift cowered behind the Holy Shield, not daring to move, not even participating in negotiations...

“Militarism plus racism—debuffs stacked to the max and they still think it’s good. A wife cake without a wife at least has a cake; these guys only know ‘ikkai’ and ‘tatakai,’ and the ones who treat their own people the worst are these types.” Old Stick continued to twist the knife, mocking the speechless Old Wolf.

Not wanting the two to start arguing again, Old Eagle quickly coughed to mediate.

“Alright, stop this useless nonsense. Go play cosplay somewhere else... As for whether the Legion is good, go ask Vanus—he’s at least a military aristocrat.”

Old Wolf nodded seriously.

“...I’ll visit him when I get back to Dawn City.”

Old Eagle sighed, squinting at the port, then at the nearby district.

“Let’s deal with the future later. First, think about how to finish this damn mission.”

Catheter Dog couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Can you stop saying ‘damn’ all the time? I’m the one who talks the least, dammit.”

Stirring Stick grinned cheekily.

“But you talk a lot of nonsense!”

Catheter Dog: “@#%@!”

Watching the two start bickering again, Old Eagle couldn’t help but hold his forehead. Just as he was about to say something, a familiar hometown dialect suddenly came from the side.

“Hey, what a coincidence—you guys are here on a mission too?”

The four turned around in unison to see a player standing there without a VM.

“Holy crap!”

“Big shot!!!”

“Pangolin!”

Seeing the big shot standing before them, the four noobs immediately showed excited expressions.

Especially Old Eagle.

The Alliance double agent Pangolin!

With this big shot around, the mission was in the bag!

He no longer wanted to think; he was ready to lie down and coast.

Looking at these energetic newcomers, Warzone Guy gave a helpless smile.

Because of that joke those bastards made the other day, his nickname had become more famous than his ID.

“You’d better not act too close to me... I’m begging you for help.”

Old Eagle’s expression immediately turned serious, putting on a hateful look and whispering through gritted teeth.

“Got it, bro... We’re enemies. By the way, I didn’t see you coming on the forum?”

Warzone Guy didn’t act that convincingly; he just put on his usual poker face and shrugged softly.

“The forum is huge; it’s normal for posts to get buried. I actually sent you guys a private message on the forum, but you didn’t reply, so I came online.”

Stirring Stick suggested.

“This isn’t the place to talk. How about we go offline to discuss?”

Warzone Guy said quietly.

“No need for discussion. You guys come with me to Sky Capital... Uh, I’m an envoy of the Legion, and you guys play the Alliance. After we get to Sky Capital, we need to find someone.”

Catheter Dog said excitedly.

“I get it! We’re looking for that mole, right?”

Mole?

What mole?

That Abusek?

Warzone Guy was stunned for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah, sort of a mole... Good grief, you’ve already taken the mission? That makes things easier—let’s go directly.”

Old Wolf asked worriedly.

“If we act together, won’t the Heavenly King’s Army think we’ve made a deal?”

Warzone Guy smiled and said.

“That’s fine. Let them misunderstand—it’ll benefit what we need to do.”

Just as the five were discussing their next itinerary, news of Sky Capital’s fall finally spread throughout the Boro Province.

Heavenly King Yanush announced his ascension! The dynasty was named the Yanush Dynasty! And he enfeoffed thirteen Wolf Kings at once!

Not only that, a series of rumors also spread from Sky Capital, such as the atrocities committed by the Heavenly King’s Army in the city.

The entire empire was in an uproar.

Hearing that his harem had been occupied, Witch Camel, who was hosting a grand banquet on the ship, suddenly saw blackness before his eyes, choked on his breath, and fell straight into the arms of his old ministers.

“His Majesty has fainted!”

“Quick! Summon the imperial physician!”

“What imperial physician?!! You useless fools will be the death of me—hurry up and dock to get him to a hospital!”

The deck of the royal merchant ship erupted into chaos.

The surviving nobles, who had only half-finished their meals, saw the banquet falling apart and, ignoring the emperor, frantically pulled out plastic bags to stuff the messy plates and cups inside.

They even took the vessels along with them.

The scene was utter pandemonium, with no one paying them any mind as they fished in troubled waters.

Yet their flustered antics lent a touch of comedy to the rescue efforts on the other side…

The turmoil was far from confined to a single boat on the Yongliu River.

It also engulfed the nearby Lowell State, the not-too-distant Tiger and Leopard States, and even Horse State, which bordered Mammoth State.

The warlord of the Tiger Army was the first to send a telegram, denouncing the barbaric acts of the Heavenly King’s Army and declaring that they would never accept a filthy hyena riding atop the Tiger people.

The Black Leopard Army, busy quietly amassing wealth, was a beat slower to react but still promptly telegraphed the Celestial Capital, condemning the rebels’ treacherous deeds and pledging steadfast support for His Majesty and the Xilan Dynasty. They then sent a letter to Golden Gallon Port, offering that if the emperor had nowhere to go, he was welcome to stay in Leopard State.

Furthermore, the Black Leopard Army also communicated with the Tiger Army, agreeing to mutual defense.

If either side came under attack from the Heavenly King’s Army or the legions, the other would jointly dispatch troops to resist.

Clearly, there were clever minds among the warlords’ ranks, who had even considered the possibility of legion intervention.

But aside from the more resolute Black Leopard and Tiger Armies, the spines of the other states were not so stiff.

Take the three northern states, for instance.

The central Elephant State, the southern Snake State, and the western Lion, Ox, and Wolf States had all quietly given up resistance.

In truth, resistance was futile.

With the meager fighting strength of the city defense forces, they could barely buy enough time for escape.

As for Horse State, nestled beside Mammoth State, it remained silent but had clearly surrendered, pinning all its hopes on Alaiyang, who was busy suppressing bandits.

Ironically, in the end, the two states that had most defied the emperor and Alaiyang, whom the emperor trusted least, became the empire’s last loyal subjects.

Even if the whole world abandoned Xilan, they still refused to forsake their sovereign, striving to salvage what they could.

But how much good it would do was anyone’s guess.

The wheel of time cannot be stopped by human hands; the dying dusk eventually sank into the sea, and the pitch-black darkness at last descended upon this land…

The Wasteland Era remained the Wasteland Era, unchanged.

At least for now, the flames had not yet spread beyond Boro Province.

But for the survivors of Boro Province, a more bloody and chaotic era had begun…