Chapter 844: The Flame of Ambition

Chapter 844: The Flame of Ambition

At the checkpoint on the north side of Westport Harbor, a dense crowd stood in black.

On one side were Valorian soldiers, on the other soldiers of the Bharata Kingdom, both standing on opposite sides of the border, with about two hundred Valorian civilians sandwiched between them.

Those civilians were the survivors of the Westport Harbor massacre, and also the parents of the children in the Silver Moon Church.

Now that the Heavenly King’s army had scattered like a tree falling and its monkeys fleeing, the bandages on people’s arms were finally gone, and the Abusek authorities had severed ties with the high command of the Southern Legion. Their lives no longer mattered to the overall situation, and only then did these poor souls dare to emerge from Count Sharma’s estate.

The soldiers of the Bharata Kingdom had escorted them all the way here.

And quite ironically, these soldiers in gray uniforms were the very same ones who, not long ago, had bandages on their arms, scouring everywhere for Valorians and “the dogs of Valorians.”

But the past was now behind them.

The Valorians had once again become the esteemed Valorian lords, and the expressions of these bandaged soldiers had grown much more docile, as if they had truly drawn a line with the past.

As for when they would bare their fangs again at Valorians or others on the wasteland—that would depend on what their masters said next.

Abusek still harbored a faint hope for a ceasefire, especially since the fighting hadn’t even started yet.

Watching those people who had “returned from the dead,” the Valorian soldiers present almost all widened their eyes in unison, their pupils filled with disbelief and astonishment.

Everyone had thought they were dead.

But they never expected them to still be alive!

And the relatives of these survivors were so emotionally stirred that tears burst from their eyes.

Some instinctively covered their mouths, struggling to stifle their sobs. Others recklessly crossed the checkpoint and rushed forward in excitement.

“Marguerite!!”

Seeing that face, haggard enough to break one’s heart, the ever-strong Yarman’s eyes reddened in an instant.

He crossed the checkpoint, dashed to his wife’s side, and pulled her light frame into his arms, holding her tightly without letting go, muttering incoherently.

“By the Silver Moon Goddess above… you’re alive! This is wonderful! I… I and Ruby thought we’d never see you again!”

Marguerite’s eyes were also red, her nose sniffing constantly as she forced a faint smile from her tear-streaked face, even managing to comfort him.

“…I’m fine, it’s all over now… When did you start believing in the Silver Moon Goddess?”

Yarman spoke rapidly.

“After I heard you were alive! I swore to her that if you came back safely, I would build ten churches for her… I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life doing it!”

Watching her husband speak so solemnly, Marguerite’s face bore a smile glistening with tears.

Perhaps…

It really was the Silver Moon Goddess’s divine intervention.

According to Mr. Melchior, the Silver Moon Goddess’s miracle had descended upon that church—a girl with cat ears… He decided to start the newspaper precisely because of that deity’s will.

“…Then you can’t break your word; I’ll supervise you on her behalf.”

Letting go of her shoulders, Yarman cupped her tear-stained cheeks, gazing into those bright, gem-like eyes.

“I promise you!”

He didn’t want to look away for even a moment.

As if everything before him were just an unreal dream, and waking up would bring it all back to the start.

But Marguerite didn’t let him keep her all to himself, because their daughter had also slipped under the checkpoint.

“Mommy!!”

A nearby soldier tried to grab her, but his officer, Peter, held his hand and shook his head.

“Let her go… Everyone’s watching here; what could possibly happen?”

The soldier hesitated, then nodded, his gaze falling on the bouncing hair.

“Yes…”

A distance of less than twenty meters was just a dozen steps for Yarman, but Ruby ran for what felt like an eternity.

Halfway there, she couldn’t hold back the tears in her eyes and let them fall.

Marguerite opened her arms to meet her, scooping up her daughter, threading her fingers through her hair, and holding the small body tightly.

“Ruby!!! I’m sorry… Mommy made you worry!” Her voice carried a note of remorse; no matter the reasons, that night she had deceived her, leaving without a word under the guise of death.

But her lovely daughter wasn’t angry with her; instead, she forced a brave smile from her tearful face.

“Ruby… isn’t crying!”

Though she said that, the tears still stubbornly streamed down. And because she was breathing too fast, she couldn’t help but hiccup.

Feeling the hot tears sliding down her neck, Marguerite’s heart ached. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“Yes! My Ruby… is the best child in the whole world…”

Watching the reunited mother and daughter, Yarman’s face wore a satisfied smile.

To him, they were his angels, his sunshine, and his everything…

As for power, wealth, or the land under the sun—they were nothing but mayflies in a pond, utterly insignificant compared to his family’s safety.

Ishar, dressed in a gray uniform, walked up to him, glanced at the Valorian soldiers standing alert in the distance, then looked at the father, and grinned.

“Congratulations, sir, Mr. Yarman… You and your family are finally reunited.”

“Also, someone asked me to pass along a message—a fellow called Farseeing Hawk. He hopes your cooperation is still valid… but he’s tied up with official business and won’t be able to come for a few days. He wants you to start executing your plan ahead of time.”

“Please tell him for me that I won’t forget our cooperation; in fact, the plan has already begun,” Yarman said, looking at the Bharata soldier, then added sincerely, “And… thank you for bringing my wife back.”

Ishar smiled.

“Don’t thank me… I’m not that capable. Just surviving myself was hard enough.”

But though he said that, he felt a quiet pride inside.

He hadn’t saved the whole city, but saving two hundred was still something.

He wasn’t an Awakened.

And certainly not Bohr.

“…Also, consider this a piece of advice: no matter how much money your business makes, you’d better leave here as soon as you can.”

Looking at the soldiers across the border, Ishar gave a faint smile.

“Days this friendly won’t last much longer.”

Though he didn’t say it outright, Yarman understood the deep meaning behind his words.

He had seen the Southern Legion’s deployments around Westport Harbor these past days.

Especially after hearing what the old nun had said, he had already sensed what was coming… This land might witness a tragedy even more grievous than the previous massacre.

“I am a Valorian. I won’t shirk my responsibility. I will do everything I can to prevent the worst…”

He paused, then added in a sincere tone.

“And even if I fail… I will do my utmost to help more people escape this hell.”

"Very well, then please skip the meaningless struggle and use all your strength to do one last thing."

Isher cut off his grand words abruptly, looking at the stunned man as he continued.

"...No one can stop a train hurtling down a mountain, just as no one can stop a balloon that has snapped its string. We can only let it crash down the mountain, smashing into the hard rock, or let it drift among the clouds, exiling itself in the universe."

Yarman was taken aback.

"What is this?"

Isher said without hesitation.

"Words from 'The Awakened One, Bohr.'"

"Does that book have that line?" Yarman said with a strange expression.

During the time waiting for his wife to return home, he had read that book, and read it over and over several times.

What he hadn't expected was that such a stirring story could emerge from a small stone city.

In the western part of the Central Continent, there were many similar survivor settlements like the Stone City, most built in the early days of the Wasteland Era, supported by the War Construction Commission.

However, over the past century and more, with the collapse of the War Construction Commission, most of these settlements were erased from the map by the Legion in the name of revenge.

Sometimes he couldn't help but think, if those settlements still existed, still providing them with experience, knowledge, and more help, perhaps they wouldn't have gone so utterly mad as they are now...

Seeing Yarman lost in silence, Isher laughed heartily, rubbing his stubbled chin with a rough hand.

"No such line? Then let it be the marginal note left by some obscure nobody for this book."

Barring any surprises.

What followed should be the era of Lord Stephen... oh no, the era of Lord Stephen's ancestors.

That too should be a glorious time, when they would build their own walls on the barren wilderness.

'The Awakened One, Bohr' is the story after that; now is the time for 'The Ratman, Isher.'

Isher had only recently discovered this.

He was actually living in the prequel to 'The Awakened One, Bohr,' and it might well be that he himself was the ancestor of "Lord Stephen," the one who lived in the ancestral teachings of Lord Stephen.

A pity.

He would probably never meet his idol in this lifetime; that ghost hovered over his descendants, not his own.

Still, he was not as pessimistic as the other rats.

He still believed that the light of truth would one day shine upon this land.

It just takes some time for the sun to rise.

And fortunately, this twilight before the nightfall was not as cold as before.

That day, he thought, would not be too far off.

Yarman looked at the officer with surprise, his gaze gradually turning to respect.

The Province of Bolo was not lacking in capable people.

They were in no way inferior to the survivors of the River Valley Province, nor to other Vlandrians.

Yet as respect grew in his heart, he couldn't help but wonder how a group of intelligent people could keep narrowing their path.

They should not have been like this...

...

Just as over two hundred survivors were embracing their families in reunion, the Chiliarch Ross, responsible for the defense of this area, approached surrounded by a squad of soldiers.

Isher, also a Chiliarch, stared at him, feeling a tingling scalp from the overwhelming killing intent.

Unlike himself, who had come into the role halfway.

This man was a true officer tested by blood and fire!

Nevertheless, Isher forced a friendly smile onto his face and nodded politely.

To his surprise, the man actually nodded back in return for his friendliness.

He walked straight up to Count Sharma and his old steward, Sahadu.

Looking at the two trembling figures, Ross suddenly bowed deeply.

"On behalf of myself and my men, I thank you for saving these people in their time of peril."

Count Sharma stared at him in astonishment, never expecting a Vlandrian to bow to him. It was only when the old steward tugged at his sleeve that he snapped back to reality and said hurriedly.

"General, what are you doing?! I only did what any normal human would do; I am not worthy of such a grand gesture from you... Please, raise your head."

Ross did not listen to him, but kept his back bent for a full minute before lifting his head, then continued with a solemn expression.

"...If war breaks out between our two countries, I swear to you that our soldiers will not enter your estate, even if some cowards hide inside."

Isher, standing nearby, narrowed his eyes slightly, a hint of coldness in the slits, but said nothing.

Even if only a single gunshot remained before the two sides clashed, he had to keep playing the role of the good-natured gentleman.

At that moment, Ross turned his gaze to a man and a woman standing behind Count Sharma.

One of them was his niece, Penny, who was now watching the reunited survivors with a gratified smile.

The one standing beside her was presumably that pangolin.

The eastern native promoted by the Eastern Legion and later borrowed by the civilian government.

Ross narrowed his eyes, staring at the man for a while, then looked at his niece and said sternly.

"Penny, come here."

Hearing her uncle's call, Penny was about to go over, but noticed the expression on his face and hesitated, stopping in her tracks.

"Ross... Uncle?"

"Come here now! Now!"

Ross offered no explanation, just beckoned her over, but the urgency on his face made Penny unable to move her legs, and she could only look helplessly at the pangolin behind her.

Having guessed something from the Chiliarch's expression, the battlefield morale officer walked over to Penny and whispered.

"Do as your uncle says, go over quickly... Remember, this whole thing has nothing to do with you. You are just a war correspondent."

"Your duty is not to fight alongside me, but to take what you see back to Triumph City... That is your war."

Penny's eyes widened as she stared at him, her trembling lips seeming to ask why... why, when he had done the right thing, saved over two hundred survivors, was he being treated like a criminal?

The battlefield morale officer knew what she wanted to ask, but didn't know how to answer.

Not everything in this world can be simply defined by good or bad, and not everything has a standard answer.

Right and wrong are just the scales in people's hearts, and those scales have never belonged to an abstract collective.

Especially when the matter involves many collectives.

In fact, when he received Bennott's orders, he had already prepared himself, even thinking of the charges that might be laid against him.

One mission, two payments.

Such a good deal was almost too good to be true...

As if reading the silent plea in his eyes, Penny’s gaze wavered in a long, internal struggle before she finally lowered her head and walked to her uncle’s side.

Signaling his personal guards to take her back to the settlement to rest, Ross turned his attention once more toward the man known as Pangolin.

The latter met his gaze with equal composure, the warm smile on his face even carrying a trace of calm, leisurely defiance.

A sudden flicker of appreciation entered Ross’s eyes.

"You are brave."

The Battlefield Atmosphere Group offered a humble smile.

"Naturally... not to boast, but if I told you the things I’ve done and seen, it might just scare you to death."

The corners of Ross’s mouth twitched in a joyless smirk, the smile fading from his face with visible speed.

"Mr. Pangolin, you have betrayed the Marshal."

The Battlefield Atmosphere Group smiled faintly, the expression on his face cooling as well.

"On the contrary, it is you headstrong fools who have betrayed the Marshal. While we exhaust our minds to bring an end to the Wasteland Era, you drag us down, going so far as to gamble the lives of innocent compatriots just to wage a war for your own selfish desires!"

Ross looked at him with a cold sneer.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. At least from where I stand, you are the ones who caused the deaths of those compatriots! It was your arrogance, naivety, and stupidity that put those innocent people in danger."

"We do not deny that our past selves indeed made mistakes, which is precisely why I came here," the Battlefield Atmosphere Group said, looking at him. "But what about you? Do you dare admit the role you played and the crimes you committed in this chaos?"

Ross frowned slightly, though his brow cleared quickly.

"It seems you have much to say. Save those words for the military tribunal, and explain them to the judges who try you."

The Battlefield Atmosphere Group gave a casual smile.

"It matters not. I will appeal all the way to the Triumph City."

"You may do so. I also hope you understand that arresting you was not my decision, but General Gulion's command... the Southern Region High Command has authorized him full operational authority across the Bhairava Province." Ross waved his hand toward the soldiers standing ready beside him, then pointed at Pangolin. "Take him away."

Watching the soldiers approach him with loaded rifles, the Battlefield Atmosphere Group did not resist, allowing them to cuff his wrists, though he shook off the hands gripping his shoulders.

"I have legs, I don't need your support."

He was, after all, a survivor who had fought his way out of the Sunset Province and the Sea Cliff Province; that blood-thick intent to kill made the spines of the soldiers attempting to escort him turn cold.

It felt as though the entity standing before them at this moment was not a man, but a fierce, bloodthirsty mutant.

Seeing his subordinates looking toward him in hesitation, Ross did not make things difficult for the unyielding Pangolin, merely waving his hand.

"Let him walk on his own."

He disliked that bunch of administrative officials who held them back—those people were a disgrace to the Wilants. However, his impression of this young man was decent, even if the fellow was an outsider.

Perhaps there really was a hidden truth here that he did not understand, and with his intuition, he could guess at it more or less.

But he did not care.

He would always obey his superiors; his commander's stance was his stance. Even if it was a dead end, he would walk down it with his head held high...

The soldiers who had arrived at the checkpoint with Ross soon packed up, leaving only the dozen or so sentries on duty.

The same went for the Bhairava side.

That millennium captain named Ishel took all his men away, deeply afraid that staying here too long might spark an accidental conflict with the Legion.

Looking in the direction where Mr. Pangolin had been taken, Magri tightly gripped her husband's hand, leaning close to his ear to whisper.

"That man, and that girl... they saved us all. I cannot just leave him to his fate."

Gazing likewise toward the direction of the man's departure, Arman gently squeezed her hand, speaking in a comforting tone.

"My dear, trust me, I will absolutely not leave him to his fate..."

Once they returned, he would unite the citizens of West Sail Port to petition the Governor's Estate, and send a joint telegram straight to Triumph City!

He refused to believe it!

Could it be that no one had authority over such a massive matter!

"...Setting aside the filthy dealings of those fellows for a moment, West Sail Port is not a colony of the Southern Region at all. The Southern Region's tribunal has no right to enforce the law here!"

"Even if there is to be a trial, it must be judged by the courts of Triumph City!"

...

Just as the rescued Wilant survivors felt righteously indignant over Pangolin's plight, the slums of West Sail Port were similarly filled with righteous indignation.

However, the cause of their fury was not some Pangolin, but the port authorities' ruthless suppression of the Family Association.

That was, without a doubt, suppression!

For the gang members who came to pick fights—those fellows with rats tattooed on their arms who looked like villains at first glance—the patrolling soldiers merely raised their hands high and let them down gently, not even using their batons to teach those thugs a lesson.

Yet for the impoverished people who united for self-defense, those soldiers issued warnings with vicious glares, as if protecting their own rights was a heinous crime against heaven and earth.

As expected, Mr. Zaid possessed a discerning eye that pierced straight to the truth; those gang members and the Wilants were all in cahoots!

Those gang members hated them because the Family Association, which collected no protection fees and taught people to read for free, had ruined the market!

And those Wilants feared their unity, so they joined hands with those gangs to trip them up, claiming they were spies of the Alliance, and then suppressed them ruthlessly.

In truth, if one thought about it calmly, there were actually many loopholes in this seemingly self-consistent narrative.

For instance, the simplest method would be to compare the dinars that ended up in one's pockets.

The wages each gang obtained from the docks varied, and the management standards, take-cuts, and benefits differed as well, making a direct comparison difficult, but overall it still conformed to the law that "numbers are directly proportional to the premium."

A labor intermediary with more people possessed greater leverage to negotiate with employers.

There was no such thing as a gang with more people, simply because they were more united, receiving a smaller premium instead.

It wasn't that there were no clever people who saw through the signs, but most of them tacitly became Green Families, or even higher-tier Families—namely, those responsible for giving lectures.

The Family Association was still in its early entrepreneurial phase, with a vast number of vacant positions waiting to be filled; as long as one used their brain a little, they could rise to become a "District Agent," and the benefits of that were far higher than carrying sacks at the docks.

While the majority of people were still staring at those meager wages, these clever individuals were already standing on the second tier.

Not only would they refuse to expose those clumsy tricks, but they would instead help Zaid refine his theories.

For example—

The thoroughly rotten Wilants possessed no bottom line, uniting with other gangs to suppress the Family Association.

In this way, the boring question of "why are the dinars given for doing the exact same work less than what others get" could also explain itself.

Zaid's brilliance lay precisely in this.

Although he was no grand expert and had even endured many "cold stares" from capable people, he truly understood the survivors of the Bhairava Province through and through.

The clever people here loved to do one thing above all else, which was to treat others as fools while pretending to be confused themselves. Little did they know that by fooling others, they would end up believing it themselves in the end, and by the time they woke up, it would already be too late...

Sitting inside the shack, Eugene helped wrap a bandage around an injured laborer, just in time to see Zaid standing at the doorway.

That look in his eyes suggested he had business with him.

He put the bandages back into the medical kit, followed Zaid out the door, and stood in the alleyway where the moonlight fell gently.

After walking with Zaid for a short while, he stopped his footsteps, breaking the silence between the two.

"Sometimes I do not understand what you want to do, or for what purpose you do those things."

Zaid let out a soft sigh.

“I actually didn’t think that much about it. I just wanted those poor people to have a home.”

Eugene chuckled.

“You have many family members, but you are the one I understand the least.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know how to describe it,” Eugene said, sitting down on the steps beside him and sighing. “It’s just that… perhaps you should try a different approach. We’re not in a hurry for you to produce results immediately. Even if you were to cooperate with someone like Lister, I think that would be fine.”

Zaid was silent for a moment, then walked over and sat down next to him, speaking in a very soft voice.

“Mr. Lister looks down on us. He is actually a very arrogant man at heart, unlike you, who is willing to stoop down to help us and guide us. When he judged that the risk we posed far outweighed the returns we could bring him, he didn’t even bother to listen to my explanation and shut the door in my face.”

After a pause, he continued.

“Only you—your door is always open to me, even to someone as humble as dust. You never give up on me, but are willing to give me chance after chance to introduce myself.”

Eugene curled his lip in self-deprecation.

“Turning people away at the door—that sounds like something Lister would do. But you don’t need to flatter me… His achievements are evident to the entire Alliance. I’m not worthy to be compared with such a great man.”

“You underestimate yourself too much,” Zaid shook his head. “After we succeed, I will erect a statue for you. Hundreds of millions will thank you for extending a helping hand to us.”

Eugene was taken aback, then said with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“That won’t be necessary…”

Just as his words faded, a glimmer of light flickered in the darkness not far away.

When he focused his gaze, he saw flames wrapped in billowing smoke shooting into the sky.

Faint shouts came from a distance.

“Fire!!”

“Quick! Put out the fire!”

Watching all that suddenly unfold, Eugene was stunned. Then his expression changed drastically, and he sprang to his feet.

That was the registration office of the Family Association!

The very place where he had bandaged the wounded laborers earlier!

“Damn it!”

He cursed under his breath and, without a second thought, ran back in the direction he had come from.

Watching the rising flames and Eugene rushing to fight the fire, Zaid was also startled for a moment, but in the end he just smiled lightly and shook his head, muttering to himself.

“These rats really don’t let a grudge last overnight—can’t even wait one night… heh.”

The Black Rat gang, having suffered a loss, would certainly not swallow their anger and would find a way to retaliate.

The reason these people never amount to anything is that they are always ruled by their limbs instead of their brains, letting emotions dominate their thinking.

If the earlier beating had at most earned them sympathy from a few streets’ worth of neighbors, then this fire should be enough to make them the “stars” of West Sailport.

The Legion will definitely step in.

And they will certainly, before the great war sweeping the entire Province of Bala, use iron-fisted measures to punish all the restless elements!

Those people are not judges who weigh cases; their style has always been to kill one to warn a hundred. They not only disregard the Family Association—all the gangs of West Sailport are but ants before them.

Rumors say that Gurion himself is brutal by nature, stopping at nothing to achieve his goals, and that plays right into his hands.

He will take this already-written letter of fealty and head for a broader stage.

Zaid brushed the dust off his trouser legs, rose from the stone steps, and walked in the opposite direction from Mr. Eugene.

“Sava, time to set off!”

Though it’s a bit unfair to the survivors of West Sailport, everything is for the future of the Province of Bala…