Chapter 845: The Wrongfully Imprisoned Pangolin

Chapter 845: The Pangolin Wrongfully Imprisoned

“Go on in, this is your new home from now on.”

The prison of Westport Harbor.

This fortress built of granite was probably one of the few structures in the Westport Harbor district that had not been touched by the baptism of gunfire.

And the floor where he was located was even deeper underground—the place used to hold heavy criminals.

Listening to the jailer’s sarcastic remarks behind him, the Battlefield Atmosphere Group couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to such a small fry and walked in calmly.

He glanced left and right, his eyes even carrying a hint of novelty.

The cell was indeed simple, and simply real—only a toilet and a bed, with the toilet right next to the head of the bed. When eating, he might even have to set his bowl on the toilet lid.

The four walls were pitch black, without even a window for ventilation. The few exhaust vents were on the ceiling outside the bars.

Were they trying to stink him to death…

The battlefield veteran couldn’t help but complain inwardly.

But fortunately, this room was a single cell, so he didn’t have to squeeze in with other prisoners. It seemed that the person who ordered him locked up wasn’t too comfortable with him being too close to others.

Just as the Battlefield Atmosphere Group was carefully examining his future new home, the barred door behind him slammed shut with a clang, followed by the sound of the floor’s iron door closing.

“MMP, being in jail in a game is one thing… but is the experience of being imprisoned really this realistic?”

That damn Light must have done some field research.

The battlefield veteran sighed and sat down on the bed.

As a model youth, he had never been in a detention center, but he never expected to have the chance to experience it in a game.

To be honest, the experience was quite novel.

Just a bit boring.

Just as he was thinking about whether to go offline and play a couple of games, a series of footsteps suddenly echoed outside the lonely cell.

The cell door, which had just been closed not long ago, suddenly creaked open again.

Hearing the commotion, the battlefield veteran perked up, got up, and walked to the barred door to look out.

He saw a Valiant soldier carrying a gun, escorting a dark, crowded group of people inside.

He roughly counted; there were about forty or fifty people being brought in.

The battlefield veteran was a bit stunned, thrown off by the Valiant’s operation.

What the hell were they trying to do?

Using the rifle butt to drive the last person into the cell, the Valiant soldier spoke in a cold tone.

“The upper cells are full, so you’ll stay here.”

With that, the Valiant slammed the door shut heavily, seemingly unconcerned that these prisoners standing in the corridor might cause trouble.

Or maybe…

They wanted these people to stir up something?

The battlefield veteran grew wary inwardly.

Observing these prisoners standing bewildered in the cell, his eyes scanned the crowd and finally picked out the most honest-looking young man.

Catching the man’s attention with his eyes, the battlefield veteran beckoned him over to the barred door and asked curiously.

“Who are you people?”

The honest young man immediately replied,

“Family.”

The battlefield veteran was dumbfounded.

“Family? What the hell?”

Seeing the prisoner’s confusion, the young man patiently explained.

“We’re the Family Society, an organization founded by families for families… Those over there are from the Black Rat Gang.”

As he spoke, he pointed to the dozen or so people in the corner of the corridor.

The battlefield veteran followed his finger and saw a few guys with Mickey Mouse tattoos on their arms standing in the corner of the crowd, their fierce looks clearly indicating they weren’t good people.

“Then… how did you end up here?”

Speaking of the reason they were brought in, the young man glared angrily at the dozen burly men in the corner of the crowd and lowered his voice.

“Those Black Rat guys started it. They set our house on fire with Molotov cocktails! So we grabbed weapons and fought back… and in the end, the Valiants rounded us all up.”

The battlefield veteran was a bit confused.

“Then… why did they set you on fire?”

The young man replied without hesitation.

“They fear our unity!”

Battlefield veteran: “…”

Though the conversation was disjointed, he roughly understood the gist of it.

After all, it was a gang fight.

Those big-nosed guys didn’t care about the details; as soon as they saw the fire, they probably surrounded the whole street and arrested everyone, one and all.

Although the young man was still indignantly saying that the other side started it, the battlefield veteran had lost interest in the details. Instead, he became curious about the Family Society.

They didn’t seem like a simple gang; ordinary gangs wouldn’t organize classes for their members. And they didn’t just hold classes—they also “deconstructed” social production and labor relations, things that had never been seen elsewhere in the Boro Province.

For example, according to the young man, the family’s work was given by the Family Society, and the family was nurtured by the Family Society. Therefore, they didn’t owe anyone anything; instead, it was the dockworkers and Valiants who had stolen their sweat and blood.

Another example: production was an honor, and nurturing was a blessing, and so on.

What was originally the cornerstone of human society—“division of labor and cooperation”—had been repackaged into something else in a religious way. To this end, they had even invented some specialized terms, but they hadn’t provided specific units of measurement or calculation methods.

For instance, how exactly were blessings and honors to be calculated? How much honor matched how much blessing? How could things that couldn’t be quantified be weighed on a scale? These concrete questions were glossed over with abstract concepts.

Of course, it was possible that Zayd had answered these questions in some class, but the young man had forgotten due to poor study.

But that wasn’t the point; a pipe rifle was still a rifle—at least they had the weapon of theory. And they hadn’t just compiled scriptures; they had also designed some more practical tools for themselves.

For example, the six colored ranks, the promotion system, and so on—these things were similar to the players’ contribution level system.

But the more the battlefield veteran listened, the more something felt off.

This green trash, purple divine gear, golden legendary… wasn’t this just copied from some real-life RPG game?

Probably some bastard was playing “off-field” again, taking the “dregs and essence” of real-world things and passing them on to NPCs.

The young man was still talking endlessly, growing more spirited.

“…Zayd also told us that as long as everyone on the wasteland becomes family, the Wasteland Era will naturally end. It’s simple, but the people outside Boro Province are too greedy.”

The battlefield veteran’s head ached from listening. He pressed his index finger to his brow, trying to sort out the chaotic logic.

“I admit some of what you said is right. We also think the wastelanders outside are too greedy, always wanting more… cough, I mean those who aren’t Valiants. So, are you ready to save the wasteland?”

Close call!

I nearly blew my cover as the mole!

Thankfully, that young man didn’t catch on to anything, or maybe he simply didn’t realize the fellow before him was actually an “Honorary Vallandian,” and just kept speaking with pride.

“It’s only a matter of time—we will eventually save everyone on the wasteland.”

Zhandilao: “…”

If his understanding of the version was correct, this version should be “players who have already finished their own wastelands saving survivors in other regions of the wasteland.”

Brahman Province was the most populous and largest wasteland on the Central Continent; he wanted to tell this guy to save himself first, and it would be good enough if he didn’t cause trouble for others.

“That Family Society… want to learn more?”

Zhandilao said with a bitter smile.

“I’ll pass… I’m not too bright; I’d probably hold you back.”

The young man’s face showed a look of pity, as if he actually felt sorry for him.

But though Zhandilao hadn’t taken in a word of his spiel, those Black Rat Gang members had.

Not only that, but one by one they were drawn in by the young man’s impassioned speech, their eyes growing brighter the more they listened.

“Holy shit!”

“That’s a brilliant plan!”

“Damn it! I’ve long felt the Black Rat Gang had no future—those bastards claim to care about us, but every one of them just wants to squeeze money out of me… I might as well throw in with you guys.”

“Count me in too!”

Most of the gangs in West Sail Port had sprung up after that massacre, barely a month ago, so naturally most gang members had little loyalty.

And with the trouble tonight blowing up so big—that fire had torched nearly half the slums, who knew how many would die.

When dawn came, the Vallandians would surely settle accounts with them. Jumping ship now was also a way to escape punishment…

At least that’s what the small fry thought.

In their eyes, their own Black Rat Gang was doomed!

The young man from the Family Society turned no one away, even forgetting their earlier grudge, and said with a hearty laugh.

“No problem! From now on, we’re all family! Once we get out, I’ll take you to register!”

Eyes blazed with fervor, like candlelight in the dark, kindling glimmers of hope.

Zhandilao was about to sneer, “Brilliant my ass—it’s just a fucking pyramid scheme; even a kid in another map knows it’s a scam,” when he happened to catch the burning look in those gangsters’ eyes.

They were genuinely moved.

Watching the crowd gathered in a circle to listen, Zhandilao, crouching in his cell, fell silent.

Alright.

He had been too hasty…

…

Later, while eavesdropping, Zhandilao learned that the young lecturer was named Aming, just a common family member with no color.

In other words, “white-tier equipment.”

But by their standards, after tonight, he’d probably have no trouble becoming a green-tier family member.

If he could make it out alive…

Listening to the young man’s endless lecture, Zhandilao couldn’t help dozing off, ready to log out.

A few young men stared straight at him—or rather, at the toilet by his bed.

That thing was a novelty to them, since the other cells didn’t have one.

“Bro, how did you end up in here?”

“Why do you get a private cell?”

“Yeah, why do you have a cell to yourself while we’re all in the hallway?”

Zhandilao lifted his eyelids, looked at the youngsters gathered by the bars, and chuckled.

“Me? I’m in for something far worse than you lot.”

The youngsters exchanged glances, looking at him with pity.

“What a shame.”

Seeing them worry about him again, Zhandilao shook his head with a smile.

“You’d better worry about yourselves and find a way to survive tomorrow.”

With that, he closed his eyes, ignoring the chatter outside the bars, and leaned against the wall to “sleep.”

A night of silence.

Zhandilao logged off, played some League, enjoyed some top-tier trash talk, and when he logged back on, he found the people in the hallway had been taken away, leaving only a floor stained yellow with excrement and urine.

The Vallandians hadn’t prepared cells or buckets for them, so they’d just relieved themselves on the spot.

The stench hit him so hard he wrinkled his nose, and he instantly understood the malicious intent of those big-nosed bastards.

Good grief!

If they couldn’t beat him fair and square, they’d use such lowdown tricks to disgust him, huh?

Zhandilao pinched his nose with a grimace, his prejudice against the Vallandians deepening.

Just then, from outside the prison door came the clatter of chains and footsteps.

As the iron door swung open, Penny squeezed through the gap, carrying a lunchbox.

When he saw Penny, Zhandilao was visibly taken aback, not expecting this girl to come visit him.

And he wasn’t the only one stunned—after seeing the mess in the cell, Penny’s face turned pale, whether from anger or the stench.

“They… actually put you in a place like this!”

Where was the Vallandian honor?

These shameless bastards!

Zhandilao made a helpless face, taking it in stride.

“It wasn’t like this at first, but last night they suddenly dragged a bunch of people in. I figured it couldn’t be good, and sure enough… luckily I was asleep when they dropped their pants, or that sight would’ve been enough to burn my eyes.”

Given the poor diet of those people, it would’ve been hard for them to shit so freely.

The Vallandians had probably fed them, maybe even mixed something into the food.

But he had no proof, so he had to bear it for now.

Watching Penny carefully pick her way through the filth, Zhandilao paused and continued.

“…So, how come you’re here?”

Penny spoke softly.

"I've come to bring you food... afraid you might go hungry."

Bringing food, huh...

It must be noon outside now, and the Veteran did feel a bit hungry.

But the overwhelming stench killed any appetite he might have had.

Sensing the difficulty on his face, Penny was silent for a moment, then bit her lip and spoke.

"...I'll go find my uncle and have him get you a different cell!"

The Veteran sighed.

"Don't put your uncle in a tough spot. This isn't something his authority can handle. The one who arrested me is that Gurion."

"Then I'll go find that Gurion!" Penny said through gritted teeth.

"Have you lost your mind?" Glancing at this stubborn girl, the Veteran couldn't help but retort, "That guy outranks your father. What good will it do to talk to him? If you ask me, don't hang around this port anymore. Take my advice, find a ship and go home. Once you're back in Triumph City, maybe there'll be a way."

"I'm not going anywhere until I'm sure you're safe!" Penny stared at him without blinking.

After a moment, her tone softened, and she continued gently.

"Don't worry about me. I know you mean well, but staying isn't just my whim—it's also my father's wish."

The Veteran was taken aback.

"Your father? Mr. Benoit?"

Seeing the surprise in the pangolin's eyes, Penny nodded seriously.

"That's right. The civilian faction won't abandon you. His friends in Triumph City have already started working on it. They'll do everything they can to extradite you to Triumph City."

Hearing this, the expression on the Veteran's face shifted from surprise to disbelief.

That Benoit was actually going to protect him?

Stunned!

This defied all logic!

"...There's no ship heading back in the entire port. The Southern Legion has sealed it off." As she said this, Penny's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "So stop urging me to leave. Let me bring you meals for a while."

"Wait, the port is sealed?" The Veteran was startled and asked urgently, "What the hell is going on out there?"

Penny shook her head.

"I don't know the details. I heard someone set a fire last night—maybe a gang fight? Anyway, there's a crackdown going on outside. I heard a lot of people got shot."

Fire.

Fire again.

The Veteran couldn't help but wonder if Westwind Port had some feng shui problem, like it was missing the element of fire.

But unlike the last fire, this one didn't blow up big. No one organized the troublemakers, and no one burned their way to a king.

Since even the Legion had labeled it a gang brawl, maybe this fire really was just an accident.

Thinking of those bright-eyed young men from earlier, the Veteran clicked his tongue and silently recited a few prayers.

Hope those guys are okay.

They weren't sharp, but they weren't bad people.

Still, it was exactly people like that who were most easily swayed by rumors and most easily used.

"...I have a feeling Westwind Port won't stay peaceful. If you can get out of here, you'd better leave as soon as possible."

Seeing the pangolin still worried about her safety, Penny's cheeks grew even redder.

Come to think of it, it was the same before.

He was always doing the most dangerous things himself, never caring about his own safety, yet worrying about her, an outsider.

"Relax, I'll take care of myself... Eat while it's hot, don't let it get cold."

With that, she handed the lunchbox through the bars, but it got stuck in the grating.

Penny looked embarrassed. She tried turning it sideways, afraid the contents would spill, and fumbled for a while, but it just wouldn't fit.

They stared at each other for a long moment, until finally Penny blushed and whispered.

"Or... I could feed you?"

Looking at her suddenly shy face, the Veteran's throat moved involuntarily.

He felt the air around him wasn't so sour anymore.

"Yeah... thanks."

"You're... welcome."

Blushing, Penny quickly opened the lunchbox. The spoon almost fell, but the Veteran caught it just in time.

When he handed it back to her, Penny suddenly realized he could have just eaten through the bars himself.

But neither of them said a word.

The meal took a full hour.

Staring at the clean bowl and that pretty face so red it looked like it might bleed, the Veteran felt full in every sense of the word...

---

Whether out of respect for the *Triumph Gazette* or for Penny's father, the day after that meal, the Veteran noticed the Wilant soldiers had softened. They sent a ratman cleaner to clear all the sewage from the corridor.

The cell still stank, but it was much better than before.

And so, another week passed without notice.

During those days, Penny kept bringing him food and occasionally shared news from outside.

On one hand, the crackdown in Westwind Port continued.

But oddly enough, whether due to some behind-the-scenes maneuvering, the "AOE-style" crackdown on all gangs had turned into a one-sided beating targeting only the Family Society.

This was suspicious.

Logically, the Family Society was the victim. A fifty-fifty punishment would make sense, but taking all the blame was baffling.

Even if the slave owners couldn't be bothered to reason with the slaves, they wouldn't go so far as to act against their own interests.

Driven by a need to get to the bottom of things, he compiled his questions and posted them on the forum. After some analysis from the veterans, he finally understood.

According to a seemingly knowledgeable guy, the crackdown probably wasn't personally ordered by General Gurion. Just like the sewage dumped in his cell, it was likely a decision made by the underlings.

If it was the underlings' decision, then the solutions were far more flexible.

Maybe other gangs had greased the wheels, while the Family Society, which didn't collect membership fees, couldn't afford to bribe anyone, so they were made an example.

Maybe other gangs were easier to manage, while the Family Society was too big and unruly, a liability that needed to be culled.

Or maybe there were Alliance agents within the Family Society—after all, the gang's name was suspicious, sounding like something a player had cooked up.

Any of these reasons were possible, and it was likely a combination of several factors.

The ultimate outcome of this farce was that the Family Council, already ostracized by the various gangs, then fell under the butcher’s blade of the Legion.

Pity the innocent souls—they had committed no wrong, yet were forced to bear the worst consequences…

On the other side, the crackdown in Westport Harbor did not affect the Vlandians living in the port.

Though the Legion’s high command had never valued the lives of their own kin, there was a fundamental difference between them and the Xilan Empire, which treated its own people like livestock.

Honored Vlandians were protected by law and enjoyed the highest civil rights by statute—even “Honorary Vlandians” like Pangolin were no exception.

That was why others could be shot on the spot, while he still waited in his cell for trial.

According to Penny, the local Vlandians, led by a merchant named Yarman, had formed the Westport Harbor Citizens’ Self-Government Association. In its name, they pressured the Southern Legion to show restraint, avoid provoking war, and release him unconditionally.

Behind this, of course, lay the support—even the instigation—of the Triumph City civil official faction.

Yet their sincere hearts, unwilling to abandon or forsake him, were utterly genuine.

When the Battlefield Bum heard Penny speak of this, though he said few words of thanks aloud, he was deeply moved inside.

Those survivors remembered kindness and repaid it.

They had not forgotten him, who had saved them, even if his deeds were fewer than others’, even if he had rescued only a little over two hundred…

It was thanks to this united force that the Southern Legion had lately ceased to harass him—at least, they no longer pulled stunts like “dragging a crowd in to relieve themselves wherever they pleased.”

Days passed one after another, and soon it was March.

The Brahmin Province had officially entered the rainy season. Westport Harbor saw several downpours a day, and even a typhoon swept through, leaving the street shacks tilted and scattered.

The crackdown outside seemed finally over.

Having wielded the whip, the Southern Legion now pulled candy from their pockets, spending money to mobilize grassroots organizations—including the gangs controlling the docks—to repair damaged houses and clear streets buried in garbage.

This was not out of mercy, but because war was about to break out.

They needed to ensure smooth transportation, the operation of factories, docks, and infrastructure, and that the grassroots forces maintaining these could be harnessed for their use.

To that end, they did not mind spending a few more denars—soon, they would gain far more.

Though the outside world was turbulent, it had no effect on the Battlefield Bum, squatting in his dungeon.

In that godforsaken place, he could not hear the wind, nor even the rain—the worst was when the sewers dampened, making it a bit unbearable.

But these were trivial matters, affecting his life not at all.

Under Penny’s meticulous daily feedings, the Battlefield Bum even felt he had gained weight, though not noticeably.

Now, besides waiting for meals each day when he logged in, he had added a new routine: doing push-ups to stay fit.

One day in early March.

As usual, the Battlefield Bum was exercising on his bed when Penny, carrying a lunchbox, suddenly opened the cell door and walked in.

She had come earlier than usual, her face tense, as if something major had happened.

The Battlefield Bum leaped off the bed at once and looked at her.

“What’s happened outside?”

Penny spoke rapidly.

“Gurion has arrived in Westport Harbor! And with him, the Southern Legion’s military tribunal!”

Hearing this, the Battlefield Bum finally understood why she wore that anxious expression.

So she was worried about him.

But compared to Penny’s unease, he felt not a flicker of panic—only a hint of relieved lightness.

After a whole month locked in this cell, his bones were nearly moldy!

The day of trial had finally come!