Chapter 871: The Difference Between a Big Win and a Small Win

Chapter 871: The Difference Between a Big Win and a Small Win

West of the Boreal Sea, aboard the bridge of the cruiser "Harpoon."

A group of officers, led by Li Minghui, stood before the control console, their eyes fixed unblinkingly on the glaring radar signals on the screen.

The Legion's airships had taken no stealth measures, and in truth, there was no need for them to do so.

After all, with such a massive target floating in the sky, as long as one wasn't too far away or too blind, even radar was unnecessary—the naked eye could see it clearly.

"Four airships... tsk, quite the grand gesture," muttered the adjutant standing beside Li Minghui, unable to suppress a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he stared at the rippling circles on the screen.

The captain nearby involuntarily clenched his fist and rested his hand on the console.

"This is an outright insult—they just sailed right over our faces!"

"...If only the Haiya were still here."

"You've said that so many times, I'm sick of hearing it."

Salvaging a sunken battleship and repairing it would cost no less than building a new one from scratch.

For now, the South Sea Alliance could not afford such exorbitant costs, and the Representative Council would never approve a proposal that offered no benefit to its citizens.

In truth, not even Li Minghui saw the need to rebuild the Haiya.

With the dawn of a new era, that vessel was destined for obsolescence.

Just like its counterpart, the "Steel Airship."

"It doesn't matter."

Lowering his arms from across his chest, Li Minghui adjusted the officer's cap on his head and continued in a calm tone.

"...Since the Academy says they'll handle it, let them."

——

At the same time, in another world.

[Battle Report Update: Great Victory at Akale County!]

[Attackers: Southern Legion's 36th and 37th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps, Seventh Air Fleet of West Sailport.]

[Participating Forces: 24,000 combat personnel (excluding over 5,000 clone soldiers).]

[Equipment: One Steel Airship, 104 "Firebolt" self-propelled howitzers, 88 "Conqueror V" tanks, 220 "Beast" wheeled infantry fighting vehicles, 45 "Greyhound" reconnaissance vehicles, 500 armored personnel carriers and supply trucks. 20 "Dagger" propeller planes, two "Sabre" jet fighters, numerous exoskeletons and ballistic vests.]

——

[Defenders: Death Corps, Blaze Corps, Goblin Corps; Boreal State's 3rd and 11th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps; First Mechanized Infantry Division of Golden Ganga Port, Tiger Army Expeditionary Armored Regiment, Panther Army Expeditionary Armored Regiment, etc.]

[Participating Forces: 47,000 combat personnel.]

[Equipment: 120 "Chimera" armored vehicles, 99 "Conqueror X" heavy tanks, 42 155mm artillery pieces, 20 88mm mortars, 5,000 exoskeletons and power armors, 3,000 transport animals, 4,100 bicycles and rickshaws. Two "Thunder" fighters.]

——

[Battle Result: Defender Victory!]

[The Southern Legion's 36th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps annihilated! 6,710 combat personnel captured, including Wulf the Ten-Thousand-Man Commander, seven Thousand-Man Commanders, and dozens of Hundred-Man Commanders.

The 37th Ten-Thousand-Man Corps retreated toward the Lion Province! Armored forces halved, support units heavily damaged!

Captured: 52 self-propelled howitzers, 27 infantry fighting vehicles, nearly 300 transport vehicles, approximately 4,000 exoskeletons and non-powered ballistic vests, 17,000 small arms, and millions of rounds of ammunition of various calibers!]

[Rating: S (Epic Victory!)]

The official forum of "Wasteland OL" was as lively as ever today.

Ever since the new expansion "Barbarian Invasion" launched, the forum had been periodically updated with battle reports of major engagements.

Though not all players had joined the volunteer ranks, the involvement of several renowned corps meant that most players followed the progress of the war with keen interest.

Even if most had never even set foot in the Boreal Province.

QuitSmoking: "Fang Zhang, you absolute legend!!!"

Tail: "Oooh! So amazing! (?????)"

FangZhang: "Just routine, nothing special... *ahem* No more bragging. This time we did perform decently. But of course, everyone fought well. (Pushes up glasses)"

TrashPicking99: "6666!"

ForceMyHand: "Perfect score for that flex. (Rolleyes)"

To be fair, this battle was the most skillfully fought they'd had in recent times.

And also the most triumphant.

Though they had achieved some local victories before, it hadn't changed the fact that the Legion's front was advancing like a landslide, with the Boreal State's army being unilaterally battered.

But this time was different—their allies had suddenly stepped up.

Sure, the enemy might have been guilty of overconfidence and negligence, but seizing the opportunity and maximizing its potential was their own skill.

That said, although FangZhang didn't verbally boast, his actions spoke volumes, stirring discontent among his comrades.

EdgeLoafing: "Damn! We were the main force, alright!"

DebtBigEyes: "MMP! That's too much! We fought the hard battles, and you guys take all the glory! (Angry)"

NightTen: "It's not like we took all the glory. We just captured the Ten-Thousand-Man Commander of the 36th Corps, commandeered 52 self-propelled howitzers, and crippled the support units of the 37th Corps... Not bad, not bad. (Rolleyes)"

DebtBigEyes: "@#%!"

Gale: "Your smugness is a bit much. (Side-eye)"

MoleInCanyon: "Something's off—how come you Blaze Corps always seem to be sneaking around picking up scraps? And now you want MVP? Where's your conscience!"

ElfKingRich: "Exactly! I'm with BigEyes on this—too much!"

Irene: "Manual rolleyes."

RaptorWarrior: "Fight!! (Excited)"

With so many voices of protest, FangZhang, perhaps feeling guilty, went silent and lurked.

Only NightTen had the energy to argue with a dozen people across a hundred floors, fighting tooth and nail for that MVP.

The bystanders watched the drama, occasionally chiming in to stir the pot from both sides.

Fortunately, the devs were "impartial"—they wouldn't listen just because someone shouted louder.

When the battle score was tallied, the Death Corps took the MVP by a narrow margin.

After all, they had annihilated an entire division, even if the enemy commander was captured by the Blaze Corps—objectively, that kill was more of a lucky grab.

As for the other division, the credit mostly went to the NPC forces.

Neither OldBai nor FangZhang had any objections to this outcome.

If anything, they were happy to give other corps a chance, lest they hog all the benefits and draw too much hate, prompting cries of "nerf them."

As the top corps in the entire server and the ace of the alliance, they didn't care much about the score of one or two battles.

Especially FangZhang himself.

Compared to the victory and rewards of one or two local battles, he could gain far more from winning the entire war.

It wasn’t just him—the shareholders of Baiyue Company felt the same, along with the other life-oriented professional players who benefited indirectly.

The conversation quickly shifted from the outcome of a single battle to what would happen after the war was won.

That was a province with a population of over a hundred million.

And it was foreseeable that, with the war’s end, a baby boom would likely erupt there, just as it had in the River Valley Province, leading to another explosive surge in population.

These people would need food, clothing, housing, education, hospitals, transportation, and the infrastructure to support that transportation.

But they didn’t just have needs—meeting those needs would create wealth far exceeding the demands themselves.

Especially since the locals were hardworking and had good credit; as long as they had the will to strive, some bank would surely lend them money to tide them over and share in the profits when the pie grew larger.

An ancient feudal empire was about to enter a new era.

They didn’t even need to rely on external opportunities like the Mammoth Kingdom, because they themselves were the greatest opportunity on the entire wasteland—no less than the space elevator under construction.

The latter was a torch burning in the sky, while they would become the light on the ground.

Seizing these opportunities was also easy.

It didn’t even require Abusek to be particularly clever—just being a normal person would suffice.

As Fang Chang talked about everything from agriculture to infrastructure, and then from infrastructure to future space migration, some players and spectators watched in rapt fascination, as if a real planner were painting a pie in the sky.

Yet some expressed rational skepticism.

Thunder Mage Professor Yang: “I’m not trying to pour cold water on you, but I just feel you’re thinking things are going too smoothly.”

Fang Chang: “To be honest, I’ve felt that way myself more than once. But we can’t judge the development of objective things solely by intuition, can we?”

When they needed a strong leader to unite the scattered Boro people, they almost immediately got Rasi.

Rasi’s methods were too harsh—he had the skill for war but lacked political finesse—so they quickly got Abusek, a more balanced type.

From this perspective, things had indeed gone a bit too smoothly for them.

Yet sometimes he couldn’t help but think that this might be the Boro people’s own choice.

There was such a force within them.

Though not strong, it would emerge when the time was right.

But as before, Thunder Mage Professor Yang held a different view this time.

“It’s not intuition. I just think the Legion’s idea of turning livestock into goods wasn’t fundamentally wrong. The problem was their internal divisions were too great, and this time they happened to break the balance of checks and balances, so they messed up.”

“You want to turn livestock directly into people, skipping the middle steps—I think that’s as hard as turning stone into gold. Haha, of course, I’m just a spectator, spouting nonsense. Maybe there really will be a miracle in the game. (Rolleyes)”

Fang Chang: “Tsk, you can be annoying sometimes. Can’t you have a little dream? (Squint)”

Thunder Mage Professor Yang: “I’m a realist and a pragmatist. In my view, a stock you can’t short can’t rise forever, so you have to get off before it crashes. You’re in finance—you know what I mean.”

“Even if you set up a shadowless lamp and bring in all the good people, you can’t eliminate the shadows hidden inside. They are who they are. People have their limitations—that’s their limitation, and yours too.”

Having dropped that ambiguous remark, Professor Yang, having shown off, vanished like Brother Ye Ao, diving into silence.

As usual, no one paid him much mind.

After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d talked nonsense, and he’d never been right before.

As for Fang Chang, though he pondered for a while, he ultimately didn’t take it too seriously.

In truth, he knew what Professor Yang was talking about, but it wasn’t important.

This war would decide not only the fate of the Boro people but also that of the Vellant people.

If the Southern Legion lost, the Legion’s disintegration would be almost inevitable.

After all, they had long wanted to split—the Eastern Legion might even welcome the Southern Legion’s defeat, only held back by internal checks and balances that prevented direct intervention.

And then, a wave of liberation would inevitably sweep through the Southern Legion’s colonies.

The suppressed local forces would be unleashed as the Southern Legion weakened.

But that might not be a bad thing for the Vellant people.

As long as they thoroughly purged themselves and objectively recognized the duality in their own and others’ histories, they too could have a chance to enter a new era.

That was why, even if, as Professor Yang said, the Alliance couldn’t bring every Boro person aboard the ship to the new world, they could at least bring some Vellant people on board.

That would still be no loss.

In other words, no matter what, their efforts would never be in vain.

As long as they could win.

In the end, it was just a matter of a big win versus a small win…

…

Ever since the Legion swept through Lion Province like a storm, Tiandu City had been in a state of panic.

Especially after hearing about the devastation in Lion City, the residents feared that the great fire might descend upon them.

But fear aside, some things were useless to dread—what was coming would come, and life had to go on.

And upon reflection, there was really nothing to fear. Though they had scared off a Grand Councilor, the Grand Commander hadn’t fled yet, so what was there to be afraid of?

Just then, amid the storm, two pieces of great news suddenly emerged.

One was the victory at Akale County, and the other was the release of the grand examination results.

Especially the latter.

For most ordinary survivors, that was a chance to change their family’s fate.

In a sense, the outcome of this grand exam drew even more local attention than the Akale County victory.

On the streets of Tiandu City.

Newsboys ran through the alleys, shouting as they went.

“Big news! Big news!! Victory at Akale County! Tiandu City’s grand exam results are out!”

Hearing the cries, people crowded around, pooling their money to buy a paper.

The new edition of the *Survivor’s Daily* in Tiandu City wasn’t expensive—those living in the city could afford it.

But since the exams were over, they were reluctant to spend even a single coin on something “useless.”

The newsboy was a local, used to this. He knew that at most one paper would sell per crowd, so he quickly ran off to the next street.

After all, there were plenty of people—if his legs were fast enough, he’d sell some in the end.

“Hey! My son isn’t on the list!”

“What a waste! I told you that kid was born to farm—all that money thrown away.”

“You can’t just buy blindly. What’s the use of old newspapers? You need to buy useful books!”

“But… what books are useful?”

“Commissioner Kabaha, who set the exam, used to work at the Royal Printing House—now Tiandu First Printing House. If you find out what books he likes to read, why not ask the employees there?”

“Oh, if only I’d known two days earlier! Why didn’t you tell me sooner!”

"I heard it from my neighbor too... That fellow is wicked, scheming in secret on his own."

"Then did his son pass the exam?"

"Pass, my foot! A rotten scoundrel like him deserves a spot? I said his son would never pass!"

A group of people chattered for a while, only to find that not a single one among them had made the list. Though their hearts ached, they couldn't help but feel some comfort.

At least it wasn't just their own children who failed; the neighbors' kids had failed too.

Soon, rumors spread that the exam had little to do with commoners anyway—the slots were all predetermined. The officers' children took some, the scholars' children took some, and little remained for the common folk.

This was both true and false.

Commissioner Kabaha had indeed been fair enough. He had diligently set up a committee for drafting questions and another for grading, established a "double-blind" rule, and ordered that no one could leave that floating celestial palace until the results were out.

Neither those who wrote the papers nor those who graded them could leave.

Under such circumstances, cheating was nearly impossible—there wasn't even a chance to slip a bribe.

As for bribing Commissioner Kabaha himself, that was out of the question. He was the ruthless man who had dared to curse Abusayek to his face. Better to go straight to Abusayek than to approach him.

Yet, no matter how many measures Kabaha took to ensure fairness, he couldn't fix the mess left by the old empire. Educational resources were inherently unequal.

In all of Skycity, only a handful of people were literate and numerate: either old nobles and former servants, or wealthy merchants and accountants.

Their sons had received an education.

Even if the Common Tongue was easy to learn and arithmetic wasn't too hard, those kids still started a whole tier ahead.

Not only could commoners' sons not beat them in exams, but even the rough-and-tumble sons of soldiers couldn't win.

After all, Abusayek himself had once been a "Gray Wolf" working on the docks, let alone the other officers—some had been farmers, some carpenters, never even touched a book.

Still, some commoner children did get selected.

Especially in the preparatory program, the proportion of commoner children admitted was much higher than in the undergraduate program, which required candidates to be sixteen or older.

These children were true prodigies, like Little Fish, who had a natural sensitivity to numbers.

They possessed an incredibly sharp intuition for words and numbers. Problems that took others hours to solve, they could figure out in minutes, and even apply the logic to other areas of interest.

With a bit of nurturing, they could easily become experts or even masters in their fields.

That was the advantage of a large population.

Bette Street had only a hundred or so households, and even with the shelter's help, only one Little Fish had emerged.

But in Skycity, with its millions of people, the number of talents multiplied geometrically.

Abusayek probably didn't even know what a colossal goldmine he was sitting on.

And that goldmine was exactly what Fang Chang coveted most.

The Legion treating them like an iron mine to exploit was a sheer waste!

Of course, it was too early to talk about such distant matters. For now, the locals were still immersed in their primal happiness.

After all, passing the exam meant changing one's fate—such a windfall didn't come often.

Occasionally, a shout of surprise rang out in the streets, and someone even fainted from joy, causing a stir among the onlookers.

"Hahaha! He made it! My youngest son made it!" An old man in a short shirt beamed with excitement. At his age, having a youngest son meant his family likely had at least four or five members.

And indeed, that was the case. His name was Rots, a neighbor living nearby. His eldest son was thirty-five or six, already married, while his youngest was only twelve, just old enough for the preparatory program.

When he had signed up his youngest, he hadn't held much hope, but never expected him to pass.

The Sun-Drawing Divine Ox must have blessed him!

The surrounding crowd felt a mix of envy and jealousy, but no matter what they thought, they had to offer congratulations.

"Congratulations, old man! Your son will be the Great Commander's man from now on!"

"Ah! When will my family have such luck?"

A man in a short shirt sighed, cursing his own son's lack of ambition.

It was just a muttered complaint, but someone overheard and let out a sneer.

"You? At least Master Rots here lives in Skycity, and his ancestors were well-off. A mud-foot like you deserves to eat the emperor's grain?"

The man's face flushed red, and he reached out to grab the speaker's collar.

"You! Why the hell wouldn't I deserve it?"

The man whose collar was grabbed also reddened, feeling humiliated in public, and shoved back.

"You dare lay hands on me, you bastard? You don't know your place!"

"Fuck you, @#%!"

Words turned into fists, and the two neighbors brawled over the trivial matter of "deserving or not."

The ferocity of their blows seemed to vent all the frustration of their sons' failures.

Onlookers quickly pulled them apart, and the old man, still riding high on excitement, stepped in to mediate.

"Hey, hey, what are you doing! Let go! Have you no respect for the law?"

His righteous intervention wasn't wrong—only those who disagreed would be at fault.

But his tone, like a master ordering servants, seemed to skip many steps, as if he had already settled into the master's chair.

No one around found it odd; instead, they applauded.

As the saying goes, a tiger father doesn't sire a dog son. Old Rots was so upright, surely young Rots would grow up to be an honest official.

The two troublemakers dared not speak further—after all, one had to show respect to a man of standing.

Just then, a man in a long-sleeved shirt pushed through the crowd, flattering Old Rots with a sycophantic smile before eagerly asking.

"Old man, how old is your son? Is he betrothed? How many wives has he taken—"

Before he could finish, the old man shoved him away with a look of disgust.

"Get lost! If my son marries, it'll be to a scholar. What are you supposed to be?"

In another setting, he might have agreed, for the man seemed of no low status. Even a childhood betrothal wouldn't have been a loss for his son.

But the neighbors had lifted him so high that he had unknowingly started to see himself as someone important.

No one found it odd; instead, they chimed in, praising the old man's foresight and insisting that his youngest son's marriage shouldn't be rushed.

The man in the long-sleeved shirt's face turned pale and then red, but in the end, he said nothing, shot a fierce glare at the maddening mud-foots, and stormed off with a flick of his sleeve.

Similar farces played out across Skycity, adding a touch of levity to the otherwise solemn atmosphere.

Watching the noisy crowd, little Gael's face was full of disdain.

It was just an exam.

Look how excited they all got.

His father was a Chiliarch under "Tiger King" Duvata.

Though Duvata's power couldn't match Commander Abusayek's, he was still a big shot in Skycity.

As for that Kabaha, he was just a "commissioner"—to put it bluntly, a dog kept by Abusayek, and not a very obedient one at that.

It was precisely for this reason that he had never taken the so-called grand examination seriously in the first place.

What if he failed?

Even if he failed, he could still become a chiliarch in the future!

Not only did his face show disdain, but the lackeys beside him were the same, their eyes brimming with contempt.

“…A bunch of lowlifes, look at them getting so excited.”

“Exactly!”

“Just scoring a few points higher on the exam—do they really think that can change their fate?”

“By the way, did Brother Gael also take that exam?”

When the topic suddenly turned to him, Gael responded indifferently.

“Yeah, my dad signed me up. He insisted I take that so-called exam, so I went.”

The lackeys around exchanged glances.

They had actually gone too, all forced by their fathers, who said it was to keep another path open.

After all, their fathers were only centurions, not powerful enough to guarantee that they could become centurions themselves someday.

But they never expected that the son of a chiliarch would also have to take that grand exam.

“So… how did you find the questions?” one of the lackeys couldn’t help asking.

Before he could finish, another lackey, eager to flatter, interrupted him.

“What’s there to ask! For our Brother Gael, those questions are nothing but a piece of cake!”

“Exactly!”

The other lackeys chimed in, sparing no praise, showering him with flattery that made Gael’s heart swell with pride.

To be fair, the exam questions were actually somewhat difficult.

Even though his father’s tutor had given him a week of special training, there were still several questions he couldn’t answer, so he just scribbled down some random answers and handed in the paper.

But with everyone flattering him, he now found himself in a bind.

He had to put on a front, whether he liked it or not; otherwise, how could he, the “son of a general,” continue to strut around this street?

“…It was average, not too hard. Anyway, I filled up the entire paper.”

For his father’s sake, and his own, he gave this vague reply.

And as soon as he said it, even he, who had been somewhat unsure, began to feel confident.

On second thought, it made sense.

His father was, after all, a trusted confidant of Duvata! A man even Commander Abusek had to win over!

How could a mere education commissioner dare to fail him?

When the lackeys heard that their boss had filled up such a difficult paper, they all gasped, their faces filled with even greater admiration. They clamored to buy a newspaper to see where their boss’s name ranked among the two hundred undergraduates.

Gael was also curious about his ranking, silently counting a few competitors in his mind.

Abusek was a bachelor with no offspring.

Commissioner Duvata’s youngest son was surely on the list—he remembered he was seventeen.

Commissioner Nigley’s little nephew was also eighteen, and his second wife’s stepchild was only twelve; even if he took the exam, it would be for preparatory courses, not the undergraduate paper…

After tallying it up, he figured he could definitely make the top ten.

With his mind made up, Gael smugly directed a few lackeys to stop a newsboy, then generously pulled out a hundred-boro note and slapped it into the boy’s terrified hand.

“Keep the change, the rest is for you.”

Though the boy had no idea what these guys were up to, he was just a newsboy and dared not offend them.

In the old days, there had been a bunch of old nobles in Tindu who treated life like dirt, but at least they cared about their reputation—they never struck anyone themselves and never mingled with the poor.

But these guys were different. Their fathers were all men of King Yanush, who cared nothing for reputation. They always did their own beating, and they beat to kill.

“Th-thank you, sir!”

Bowing and scraping, the newsboy pocketed the money and fled to the next street, not daring to linger a moment longer.

In a good mood, Gael didn’t bother with him. He flicked open the newspaper with a flourish.

But when he turned to the page with the exam admission list, he froze completely.

His name wasn’t on it.

Not only was his name missing, but Commissioner “Tiger King” Duvata’s youngest son and Commissioner “Leopard King” Nigley’s little nephew were also absent. The list was full of names he had never even heard of…

Gael’s face slowly reddened, then turned livid, like an enraged bull.

How dare that old bastard!

The lackeys who had been cheering earlier fell silent, watching their boss in fear, none daring to say a word.

They were sensible kids, terrified of dragging their own fathers into trouble and ending up orphans.

After a moment, Gael took a deep breath and suddenly calmed down.

The list was printed in the newspaper; the whole city had seen it. Getting angry was useless, and it wouldn’t change anything.

That old bastard was ruthless!

He had offended everyone he could in one go!

With a disdainful sneer, Gael crumpled the newspaper into a ball and threw it hard onto the street.

“…Only idiots take this crappy exam.”

Seeing their boss finally “define” the exam, the lackeys breathed a collective sigh of relief.

If the boss hadn’t spoken, they wouldn’t have dared to curse—they were afraid of messing up their flattery and landing a compliment on the wrong foot, which would be worse than saying nothing.

But their relief lasted barely two seconds before their faces twisted into grimaces.

Only idiots take it…

Didn’t that mean everyone who took it was an idiot?

Well…

Should they curse or not?

“The boss is right…”

“Ahem, the boss makes sense!”

“Indeed… that thing is just for lowlifes to fuss over… nothing special anyway.”

Some mumbled vague agreements, others awkwardly tried to patch up the statement, but no one dared point out the flaw in it.

Gael didn’t care, nor did he pay any attention to the flattery. He just sneered.

Just wait and see.

He wasn’t the only one losing face—everyone was. If the list hadn’t been printed in the paper, there might have been room to salvage things. But printing it meant a total loss of face.

This matter is of great consequence!