Chapter 863: The True Prairie Fire

Chapter 863: The True Spark That Ignites the Prairie

[General Abusek, I am Akbar of the Western Xia Empire. I send this telegram to you for no other reason than the safety of the millions of people of Western Xia.]

[I admit that the former king’s handling of the Gray Wolf Army was indeed improper—the orphans and widows were not settled, the wounded were not properly treated. Yet even so, this is no excuse for your rebellion and disloyalty.]

[However, I am not a tyrant. In consideration of our bond as sovereign and subject, I grant you the chance to surrender now and be spared death, bestowed with the title of Grand Duke of Lion Province, ensuring your wealth and honor remain unchanged.]

[If you, General, persist in your delusion, causing the people of the Western Xia Empire to suffer and be plunged into misery, earning eternal infamy, do not blame me for not offering you a chance to turn back…]

In a modestly decorated office within the courthouse of West Sails Port.

Akbar of Western Xia bent over his desk, writing a two-thousand-character exhortation to surrender with flourish, then rose and respectfully handed it to the Veyland officer behind him.

“How did I write?”

The young emperor’s brows lifted, his smile tinged with a hint of pride and a hint of fawning.

Yet the Veyland man did not even glance at it, only replying coldly,

“That depends on how the recipient responds.”

Akbar’s smile froze on his face, but he still managed a dry chuckle.

“You speak wisely… I hope that Abusek will not be so ungrateful as to refuse and surrender soon.”

The Veyland officer grinned, reached out to pat his shoulder, then suddenly touched his face, as if stroking a very obedient dog.

What a good dog.

His smile carried a clear note of mockery and contempt—a genuine disdain from the heart.

Akbar’s mind buzzed. He stared at the man in disbelief, not understanding the meaning of the face-touching gesture, instead misinterpreting it as something between a man and a woman.

This fellow…

Could he be into that?

Goosebumps rose all over his body, and he stepped back in alarm.

But the officer offered no explanation, taking the letter and striding out the door.

Another person stood in the office—a silent old Lion-man.

He had once been just a citizen of West Sails Port, a sweeper working in the courthouse. One day, out of the blue, he was granted a title and ordered by the Veylanders to serve as a servant beside Akbar, while also spying on His Majesty for the Southern Legion.

As for the emperor’s original servants, they had all been driven away and replaced with locals from West Sails Port.

This included the so-called Imperial Cabinet, and even the one who shared the emperor’s bed.

This was no alliance—it was a band of kidnappers.

The old man sighed softly, looking at the fuming young emperor and offering a few words of comfort.

“Your Majesty, calm yourself… There’s no need to stoop to their level.”

Akbar composed himself and shook his head.

“The Veylanders are men of passion; sometimes they are rough and careless… I understand.”

The old man was taken aback, staring at the young emperor for a moment, as if seeing the late former king.

So alike.

So very alike…

…

The 30th Corps breaks through Lion City!

The news of victory reached West Sails Port, and also reached another front of the Southern Legion’s Boro Province theater—the northern line at Sulak County.

Staring at the shocking battle report in his hand, the Veyland commander Otlay couldn’t help but curl his lips.

“That madman.”

Using incendiary bombs to bomb a gathering of a million people—that man really had the nerve.

Wasn’t he afraid the fire would get out of control and burn all those million livestock to death?

Thank heavens it was the rainy season; the thick smoke from the blaze brought down rain from the sky.

Otherwise, the entire city would have been reduced to ashes!

The adjutant standing beside him nodded, speaking in a very low voice.

“But one must admit, it was highly efficient.”

The six opposing corps collapsed outright, routed by a few thousand-man units.

And the million survivors in the city were beaten until only sobs and wails remained.

Though ammunition consumption was high, relative to the gains, the cost was entirely within acceptable limits.

If Commander Ryan chose to press the advantage and continue eastward, the heavens and earth would likely be thrown into chaos, with allies turning on each other over whether to resist.

Especially that Abusek.

Based on their analysis of him, that “little commoner” would almost certainly flee.

Otlay nodded approvingly, acknowledging his adjutant’s words.

“…Once the reinforcement airships arrive, we might follow suit.”

On the other side, at the central garrison of Sulak County, several patrolling soldiers were also discussing the matter.

“That must have killed at least ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand?! I’d say no less than a hundred thousand!”

“Damn, that’s satisfying!”

A few Veyland soldiers huddled together, excitedly discussing the victory at Lion City.

They were under the command of Thousand-Commander Ross, and were also witnesses to the tragedy at West Sails Port.

Thanks to the Alliance envoy’s bluster and General McAllen’s cowardice, they hadn’t been able to kill their fill at West Sails Port.

Now, at last, a ruthless man had avenged the three thousand-plus Veyland residents who died there, clearing the pent-up anger in their chests.

Indeed, the true orthodoxy of Triumph City lay with the Southern Legion.

Those civil officials corrupted by gold and the landlords of the Eastern Legion had long since degenerated!

Standing nearby, Decurion Pete chain-smoked, unable to bear it any longer, and couldn’t help but interject.

“What’s the point? Even if they hadn’t bombed, those natives with their fire sticks couldn’t have stopped them anyway.”

He thought of the serfs with red earth in their pockets, dying in the woods.

His superior had told him not to speak out of turn, but he couldn’t help wanting to say it—what kind of hero is it to slaughter a crowd of unarmed civilians?

He had never loathed his identity and honor so much; being with these people only filled him with shame.

The soldiers were stunned, exchanging silent glances, until an old soldier finally spoke.

“There is still a point, if only to break the fighting spirit of the Boro people—”

“And if it doesn’t break?” Pete retorted. “The same trick doesn’t always work, and this time we’re facing an enemy several times our number.”

"We are precisely telling them that numbers mean nothing!" The old veteran's temper flared as well, his neck reddening as he argued with him, "They've lost at least a hundred thousand in a single day, and we're showing them with action that a hundred or two hundred million isn't even enough for a year's worth of their dying!"

How could it be that easy?

Even if they could wipe out ten billion rats in a day, they could never kill all the rats in the world.

When you think about it, they never truly conquered the lands they held.

From the day Avant City was founded, their wars never ended.

Perhaps they are the farthest from the new era.

Not wanting to quarrel with his comrade, Pete shook his head, stubbed out the cigarette between his lips, and tossed it aside.

The serfs watched from a distance, and when their eyes met his, they fled in panic.

Pete felt a sense of dissonance, but couldn't pinpoint where it came from.

Only when the serfs vanished did he suddenly realize—no one was after his cigarette butts anymore...

...

In the southern part of Lion City, the once dense cluster of houses had turned to rubble.

That great fire didn't just burn the southern district; it nearly destroyed half the city.

Ryan, who had entered the city, didn't deliberately slaughter the locals—there was no need for that anymore.

Enough people had died.

The survivors, let alone resisting, didn't even dare breathe heavily in their presence.

He wasn't so deranged as to kill for the sake of killing; instead, he ordered his chiliarchs to hire some locals to form a cooperative defense force to maintain order in the city.

There were still remnants of the Bharati Army in the city, many of whom had blended into the civilian population.

These people were a threat.

Since they chose to hide rather than flee, it meant they hadn't given up fighting.

But they couldn't hide for long.

Because soon he would emulate General Gurion's approach during the West Sail Port period, giving a slice of the colonial pie to some of the colonized, making them wealthy, powerful, dignified... even new aristocrats.

That way, no one would miss Abusek; they would even praise the Southern Legion's colonizers for arriving in time to deliver them from suffering.

This was a mix of grace and force.

Once the local survivors felt happiness in their slavery, even the wheat growing from the fields would be credited to the Verants instead of the farmers.

At that point, a prosperous colony would be born.

There might be some resistance, like the various rebellions across the Legion, but it wouldn't become as grand as a 200,000-strong army.

The command vehicle of the 30th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps drove modestly along the muddy road, and Chiliarch Ryan deliberately opened the observation window to take a look at his "glorious achievements."

In the pouring rain, desperate people searched for their relatives' bodies among the ruins, while others stared blankly at their ash-covered homes or lay on the ground wailing.

Those soul-lost figures didn't stir any pity in him; instead, they filled his heart with indescribable satisfaction.

This was the price of opposing the Legion!

But seeing the same faces over and over grew boring. Having had his fill, Chiliarch Ryan closed the window and turned to his adjutant sitting across from him.

"Have you found that fellow named Udonno?"

The adjutant shook his head.

"No... I heard he died in the fire."

Ryan let out a cold laugh.

"Hah, a brave man after all."

I heard that fellow was also a former member of the Heavenly King's Army.

If he hadn't died, Ryan wouldn't have killed him; instead, he would have kept him by his side, letting him witness with his own eyes the places he fought for, his homeland, even the entire Bharati Province... what it would become next.

That would be true revenge.

After a pause, the adjutant continued with a serious expression.

"...Also, news just came from the rear: our 902mm heavy artillery was intercepted. The ones who stopped us were the Alliance's Skeleton Corps. The 34th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps suffered over half casualties; they were routed by the Alliance's armored division. Currently, they're with the logistics transport units, retreating toward West Sail Port."

The casualties of the 34th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps could only be described as tragic.

But there was no helping it—they had run straight into the Alliance's armored forces, and later the Alliance's air force struck back.

Ryan's expression darkened, but he said little, merely nodding calmly.

"I already know."

The adjutant hesitated for a moment, then asked.

"Should we not intervene?"

That railway was still quite important.

Including the armored train and the 902mm heavy artillery on it.

But Ryan wasn't worried; he spoke calmly.

"There are still twenty-two ten-thousand-man corps at West Sail Port. They'll handle the rest. General Gurion long anticipated the Alliance would try to cut our supply lines; he naturally has his own cards to play. This isn't our concern."

The adjutant still had some misgivings but didn't dare ask further, so he changed the subject.

"Then... what's next for us?"

"Sky Capital."

The word slipped from Ryan's lips, and the tight corner of his mouth curled upward.

"Why wait for Otelai to take Dog Province before we move? We can strike straight through the entire Bharati nation while they're still dawdling."

The adjutant's spirits lifted at this, the earlier wariness in his eyes replaced by burning battle fervor.

Sky Capital!

The capital of Bharati!

Once that fell, this war would be all but decided.

Watching the adjutant's eyes ablaze with fighting spirit, Chiliarch Ryan said with a light laugh.

"...I hear there's a ridiculously huge starship there. I'm curious what it looks like."

The adjutant sitting across from him also smiled.

"Leaving such a relic in this backwater is a sheer waste. Those useless civil officials are indifferent. We might be able to use it to build an airship bigger than the Horn."

Chiliarch Ryan smiled meaningfully.

"That depends on whether the air force brothers have anything to say. Can't let them get off scot-free."

...

The torrential rain fell for a long, long time, from Lion City all the way to Sky Capital.

A sentry in a raincoat was patrolling along the muddy road when he suddenly spotted a horse galloping from afar.

On the horse sat a man.

The Grand Commander had long since requisitioned every horse in the vicinity and sent them to the front lines; throughout the entire province of Niu, one could scarcely spot a few horses.

Catching sight of that unusual figure, the sentry grew instantly alert.

He raised his rifle, aimed at the rider galloping through the curtain of rain, and bellowed a command.

"Halt!"

The man did not reply, only pressed onward toward the sentry.

The sentry swallowed hard, hesitating with his comrade beside him, fingers hovering over the trigger—when suddenly the horse, as if spent, let out a long whinny and collapsed to the ground.

The rider was flung off, mud and water splashing high. The horse thrashed wildly in the mire, foam bubbling at its mouth, until it lay still.

The sentry exchanged a glance with his comrade, then hurried forward at a jog. To their shock, the fallen man was a chiliarch. Startled, they rushed to help him up.

"Sir... Commander..."

Isher looked at him numbly, then turned his gaze toward the direction of Sky Capital City. Without a word, he pushed aside the hands that steadied him and limped toward the city gates, leaving the dying horse behind.

His hair clung to his face like wet straw, his lifeless expression as if his soul had fled.

The sentry stared after him, watching that limping figure recede into the distance in silence. Finally, gritting his teeth, he slung his rifle over his back and hurried after him.

"Commander, our post has a bicycle... Let me carry you there! It'll be faster!"

With that, he draped his raincoat over the man's shoulders.

This time, Isher finally reacted. He muttered a thank-you and allowed the young soldier to hoist him onto his back.

Their two silhouettes merged as they cut through the rain, rushing into the nearby outpost.

Soon, a bicycle was wheeled out. The sentry mounted it, pedaling furiously, as if he could spark flames from the chain.

Isher sat behind him, his eyes fixed straight ahead on the clamorous rain.

He clutched tightly the bundle in his hands, which held a camera—given to him by a journalist—containing the photos he had taken at the front.

He would never forget those faces, not for the rest of his life.

Nor that fire that swallowed everything...

...

Ten thousand kilometers away, in the sun-drenched Cloud Province, the ideal city blessed with every favor.

Inside the tallest building of that prosperous utopia, the final hearing on the recent uproar was underway.

The council members seated here would make the ultimate decision: how much budget the corporation would allocate to stop the Legion’s eastward expansion.

Supporters had their reasons—whether to secure arms deals or to uphold moral duty, they had to act.

A contract unfulfilled was meaningless; appeasement only emboldened the Legion further.

Opponents, however, had their own views. After all, these budgets would ultimately be borne by all residents of the Ideal City. In the past two years, they had already spent too much Cr on irrelevant people.

A contract unfulfilled was indeed meaningless, but the Legion, like an indestructible, forgetful cockroach, could not be fought again and again in this "war game" for the sake of those big-nosed fools.

A shareholder from Endpoint Corporation spoke at the meeting, suggesting perhaps they should find a permanent solution—like completely dismantling these militaristic madmen, rather than sending wave after wave of aid.

Of course.

As for how exactly to dismantle the Legion, he had no solid plan himself.

But that could be discussed at another meeting.

Given the sharp clash of opinions, it was almost predictable that this hearing would erupt into fierce debate.

Yet the opposite happened. The councilors, who had been arguing relentlessly until yesterday, were now eerily silent.

In the center of the vast hall, on a cubic holographic screen, a city of a million people burned in flames.

That settlement was not much smaller than the Ideal City—perhaps even slightly larger—though it lacked the dazzling technologies and towering skyscrapers.

Before the cube stood a human-shaped holographic projection.

It was Li Ke from the Academy’s Research Department.

Until this hearing, the most notable achievement of his life had been that fall at Falcon City’s gates.

Now, his research vessel had flown to Cloud Province.

"...This is what the Legion is doing in the Brahmin Province. In theory, it could happen anywhere in this world, just as it has happened countless times before."

"Esteemed councilors may continue their debates. I hope the footage we provided has not disturbed your deliberations."

No further words were needed.

The silent images had already said everything.

Li Ke gave a slight nod, and his pale blue silhouette faded from the vast hall.

The assembled members sat in dead silence.

Their faces bore shock, anger, disbelief, and even an inability to look.

At that moment, Ambassador Shu Yu from the Alliance rose and addressed the councilors.

"...We were not part of the negotiations for that ancient covenant, but we know well that no covenant alone can bind anyone."

"Beyond ending the war itself, we must bring war criminals to trial and settle the accounts of wrongdoing—only then can we ensure such tragedies do not recur, as we did in the Haiya Province."

Gazing at the murmuring councilors, he spoke in a solemn voice.

"What you are unwilling to do, you can leave to us. We do not mind burning ourselves for the sake of those suffering survivors."

"But in return, we need your support—within the bounds of your capability!"

With these words, he sat back down, leaving the floor to the assembly.

The meeting room fell silent again. This time, even the murmurs ceased, leaving only the exchange of glances.

People seemed to have lost their reason to argue.

Before higher interests, the things they had been quibbling over seemed utterly trivial.

Seeing no one else rise to speak, the moderator raised his hand.

"Let us vote."

As his words fell, he pressed his hand to the voting machine and cast his ballot.

Within less than a minute, the vote was over—and the result was a staggering 1000:0:0.

In the past two centuries, such a thing had never happened. Not even a single abstention.

History seemed to repeat itself.

Just as their forebears had chosen to stay on this land, they had once again made the same unanimous decision.

Surprise flickered across every face, followed by delight. Even the moderator muttered, "Incredible."

As his gavel fell, a budget-unlimited aid package was simultaneously approved by the council.

They would provide the Ideal City’s full support to the Alliance, aiding their ally in bringing the instigators of this war to a solemn court!

And at the very moment that budget-unlimited aid package was passed, a special news bulletin shook the entire Port of Gingalun.

The Lion City Massacre! The Southern Legion Sets the City Ablaze!

The newspaper’s headline was a line of shocking, bold characters, the red ink like human blood.

And the accompanying image for the headline was a photograph taken from the “Trumpet” airship as it dropped incendiary bombs!

This photo was taken by a reporter from the *Survivor Daily*, said to have been brought back from the front by a chiliarch named Isher.

As they stared at the ironclad evidence of atrocity, flames of fury burned in the eyes of every survivor.

“…You damned Valentines!”

“Fuck! I’m enlisting too!”

“Didn’t you say you were going to Camp 101 to learn a trade?”

“To hell with that! I’ll go after we’ve killed all these big-nosed bastards!”

“Goddamn… they’re worse than beasts!”

Myriarch Ryan had ultimately misjudged the situation.

The survivors of Lion City were still immersed in the grief of losing their loved ones; though many had indeed lowered their heads, those lowered heads by no means signified submission.

It wasn’t just the survivors of Lion City.

There were also the survivors of Golden Gallon Port, the survivors of Mammoth City, the survivors of Sky Capital, and countless thousands more.

He knew full well that rebellion on Legion territory had never ceased, yet he still dreamed of using an even greater fire to quell the flames of rage burning in the hearts of the survivors on this land.

It wasn’t only Ryan who misjudged the outcome; even Myriarch O’Teley, and General Gurion, the overall commander of the Brahman Province war zone, were all equally and terribly wrong about this matter.

Upon learning of the tragedy in Lion City, Abusek did not flee with his tail between his legs like a coward. Instead, he shed his previous indecisive image, not only personally taking command as Grand Leader and assuming the role of overall commander of the Ox Province war zone, but also issuing a bloodthirsty communiqué across the entire Brahman Province, calling on all Brahman to unite and vowing to fight the Legion to the death!

Whether this was political theater, no one knew, but at least for now, he had not run.

Morale in Sky Capital was higher than ever; this time, even the junior officers who harbored resentment toward Abusek stopped cursing that “hypocrite.”

Though not as forthright as Yanush, at least he had the courage to fight to the death—that alone was worth a word of praise.

Meanwhile, reinforcements from outside were arriving one after another.

The Brahman Province expeditionary force had once contributed to extinguishing the Torch Church, so the survivors of the eastern provinces naturally would not abandon them.

A dozen or so transport ships arrived at the port of Golden Gallon Port.

A group of soldiers, wearing gas masks and shouldering rifles, silently stepped onto the docks of Golden Gallon Port, walking toward the military base amid the flowers and cheers of the locals.

They were the Death Corps.

During the Battle of Falling Sunset and the Gnawing Bone Rebellion, they had earned great renown; their fearless fighting style struck terror into countless raider tribes and the expeditionary forces of the Eastern Legion!

Five thousand had landed this time, with another five thousand expected to arrive in the following days.

Watching the girls tossing flowers from the roadside, Big-Eyes Debt couldn’t help but grumble.

“Why do we have to wear gas masks? Are we that unsightly?”

Edge Paddler, marching in the ranks, rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.

“Do you really think, given our casualty rate, it’s appropriate to show our faces all the time?”

Big-Eyes Debt: “…Damn, you’ve got a point!”

Those walking in the ranks with gas masks weren’t just players; many were Xiaoyu’s fruiting bodies.

After repeated training by Big-Eyes, these near-moronic fruiting bodies had finally evolved from line-firing lobster soldiers into World War I infantry, capable of charging with bayonets like the Legion’s clone cannon fodder.

The genetic blueprints for these fruiting bodies were the cheapest Gnawers, costing far less than those clones.

A Level 10 intelligence player could lead about ten fruiting bodies, but his limit was two hundred!

As for the pollution that mutant slime mold might cause, there was no need to worry—the Red Soil Flora would handle their disposal.

The group arrived at the base, updated their save files, then took a vehicle to the port and boarded a steamer bound for Sky Capital.

The inland river port was bustling.

Except for a lone Royal Merchant ship floating idly on the river, almost all cargo vessels had been requisitioned by the Brahman authorities and the Golden Gallon Port administration to transport supplies and personnel for the war.

Watching his brothers board the ship, Edge Paddler shouted to them.

“The Valentines have taken Lion City—we must not let them take Sky Capital too! The Academy brothers have already deployed anti-airship weapons for us in Sky Capital. Our mission is to hold the line at all costs!”

In response came a chorus of high-spirited roars.

“Ooohhh!!!”