Chapter 955: Light and Darkness (2/4)

Chapter 955: Light and Darkness (2/4)

What trapped him was never the thick walls on either side, nor the unattainable clouds above his head—

It had always been himself.

"Merits and faults alike, leave them for posterity to judge!"

Like Mayor Odo of the Free State, he finally faced his own heart, and in the last second before the game ended, he fully understood himself.

And it was at that very moment that the nightmare which had held him for so long finally cleared, like rain giving way to sunshine...

...

The assembled guests all marveled at the grandeur of the conference hall, while some lamented how much better it would be if that money were used to build another shelter.

Only a few could reconcile with the past, and even fewer could step out of the glory of bygone days.

Abusek's performance was relatively decent; at least he could still think like a normal person.

As for the likes of the Dam City mayor, he stood dumbfounded, his jaw dropped in shock, looking left and right for his trusted aides, utterly at a loss without his right-hand men.

It proved that a pig on the wind doesn't necessarily know everything, nor can it always weather the storm.

As for the true heavyweights, they had already taken their seats with calm composure.

Whether it was the Archon of Triumph City, the Administrator of the Alliance, the Chief Technology Officer of the Academy, the Council members of the Corporation, Saren of the Eastern Empire, the bear-like Emperor of the Northern Empire, or the impeccably dressed Foreign Minister sent by the President of the New United Federation...

All matters that needed discussion had already been settled; those left unspoken were deemed insignificant, and those seated here were merely going through the motions.

Yet the conference's hosts were fair; even the leaders of insignificant factions received due respect, and every attendee was guaranteed a seat before the meeting began.

No matter how laughable their stories behind them, no matter who here appeared a clown in another's eyes, those seated were the heartfelt choices of the wastelanders.

At least, the choice of this very moment!

And just as everyone was seated, a solemn and dignified voice echoed through the hall—

"Thank you all for taking time from your busy schedules to grace this occasion..."

"I am the Chief of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee."

Many already knew the old man's identity, and quite a few had even been fortunate enough to see his different face.

But this time, he spoke no riddles, nor wasted a single word.

After a brief opening statement, he handed the floor to the young people present—

"I declare this Human Conference officially open!"

Thunderous applause filled the hall. Zhou Xianlin, seated in a corner, even stood up excitedly, raising his hands above his head.

The nearby Red River Alliance leader shot a disdainful glance at this madman, sneering contemptuously, but ultimately joined everyone else in applause.

Even Saren, yawning in the front row, clapped politely out of courtesy.

For him personally, the real matters had been settled before the meeting began.

He had not only met Chu Guang but also the representatives from the Corporation and the Academy, as well as several delegates from the former Legion.

Including that young man who had inherited Julius's armor and gained the recognition of the Praetorian Guard.

As for the other survivor factions, they were like ants before him; he couldn't care less what they thought.

But seeing the serious expressions of the other big shots at his table, he perked up a little, straightening up from his granite-carved chair.

"Heh, let me see what tricks these youngsters can pull off..."

...

The thunderous applause was like firecrackers on New Year's Eve, bidding farewell to the bygone year 214 of the Wasteland Era.

As for when the new era would dawn, that would only become clear long after the conference ended.

At this moment, in a remote corner of the wasteland, Niyang, stuck on the road leading to the front line, spent a simple New Year in his car with his most trusted student and assistant, Feodoro.

Watching "Mr. Rat," who had been pondering for a long time but still couldn't put pen to paper on the punitive proclamation, Feodoro's face was full of confusion.

The teacher he remembered was not like this.

Even when serving as a servant under Duke Garava, this gentleman's spine had been straight.

But why?

When it came to Rasi, this proud scholar had bowed his head.

Was it just because that man was a bloodthirsty killer, mad enough to turn on his own?

A surge of resentment rose in his heart, and he muttered quietly.

"...If you can't write it, I'll write it for you. If you're afraid, I'll die in your place."

With that, he reached for the paper and pen in Niyang's hand, but the latter snatched them away.

"Don't wade into this muddy water!" Niyang scolded, then turned back to the blank paper, lost in thought.

Feodoro, unconvinced, stared into his eyes.

"He's your student. You taught us to be upright, so why don't you support them?"

Niyang set down the paper and pen, laboriously shifting his body to face his student.

"Let me ask you one question: you want to overthrow Rasi—have you thought about what comes after?"

Feodoro answered without hesitation.

"Of course. We'll establish a representative assembly, then create our fundamental law, just like the survivors of Boulder City."

Looking at the young man with his chest puffed out, Niyang let out a laugh, then couldn't help coughing.

"Rely on you? On children who still ask their parents for tuition, to pay wages to laborers returning from overseas?"

Feodoro's face flushed red, not understanding why his teacher brought up those overseas laborers, only knowing that the look in his eyes showed disbelief that they could succeed.

"Don't look down on us!"

Niyang shook his head, breathing lightly.

"I don't look down on you. I love every one of you deeply. That's why I've never been in favor of politics in the classroom. We should teach children truths closer to the essence—and that's the biggest difference between me and Sir Kabaha... *cough* He says illness needs strong medicine, and overcorrection is necessary, but I say if he does it his way, even a thousand more universities would become a thousand pillars, nailing us all to death."

If a person only gains knowledge from books, they will inevitably view objective problems through the lens of ideology.

And that will surely fall into the trap of the blind men and the elephant.

Abusek was just a dockworker; he didn't understand grand principles, but he had rich worldly experience, could get along with all sorts of people, and knew what they wanted.

Only someone like him could balance the lecherous Duwata, the greedy Sharuk, and Nigli, who loved art and befriended scholars...

That was precisely why, when the Legion attacked, only Sharuk fled, not all three fools, leaving behind a bunch of scheming idiots to be picked off one by one.

Even if the Alliance moved its capital to Tianshu, it would be useless. The "Butcher," "Jungle Rat," and "Iron General" would only flee in panic, with the cleverest running the fastest.

But then again, this kind of "thoughtless" mediocrity was exactly what intellectuals like Sir Kabaha despised most. Even if Abusek had dragged him from under Yanush's blade, they would still believe deep down that these bandits without guiding principles had only won by luck.

Sir Kabaha had never said this to him, but Niyang knew that was exactly what he thought.

They called themselves radicals, believing that if everyone just listened to them, things would get better—only to become idealists lost in their own fantasies, and madmen in the eyes of most.

They would surely think, "At worst, let the Alliance attack their imagined enemy," "As soon as the enemy makes a mistake, everything will be fine," "The enemy's mistakes are inevitable because they are wrong."

This naive notion is fundamentally different from that of an idealist.

It is as if a pragmatist, no matter how closely akin to a nihilist, is ultimately not a nihilist.

Such a madman has only two fates: either to be used as a pawn by a thoroughgoing Machiavellian, or, after a fluke success, to burn himself and all his followers in a self-gratifying martyrdom.

In a daze, he thought of what he should write, and grabbed the pen resting on the paper, but it fell to the floor, alongside a few blood clots as red as earth.

"Teacher!"

Feodo cried out in alarm, dragging Niyan, who had collapsed in the carriage, upright, only to see the blood flowing unceasingly.

"What happened?" The driver, hearing the commotion behind, spun around sharply, and upon seeing Niyan's condition, his face turned ashen. "Sir! What's wrong with you—"

"Never mind that! Drive, quickly!"

Stunned by the sight of blood, Feodo's mind went blank; he recklessly reached out, grabbed the driver by the collar, and shouted at him.

The driver, however, was not frightened by the blood; having once driven for the leaders of the Moon Tribe Resistance, he was half a soldier. But just as he was about to step on the gas, he looked ahead at the sea of carts and people.

Wagons and oxcarts were mixed together on the road...

They were all refugees fleeing eastward from the front lines.

The 30,000-strong corps of the Boro Kingdom was advancing toward the west bank of the Tasan River—that was the legendary, elusive "Jungle Rat"! The undisputed god of war in the entire conflict!

And now this man had turned his gun on them...

Civil war was coming!

"Think of something! Hey, what if we drive off this dirt road?"

Feodo shouted, despair written all over his face, not realizing that this dirt road was still a road; if they drove off-road, the carriage would likely fall apart after less than two kilometers.

The road they were on was the only road; there was no other.

Fortunately, the driver reacted quickly, immediately opened the door, went to the back seat, and lifted Niyan out of the carriage.

"You hold him! I'll go find help!"

Without hesitation, the driver ran swiftly and soon stopped a wealthy household's convoy among the migrating crowd, offering his old service pistol and car keys in exchange for two horses, and promising that whether their master lived or died, they would be well rewarded.

That wealthy household was also shrewd; upon seeing the pistol, they knew the man in trouble was no ordinary person.

So they refused the pistol and keys outright, instead sending three strong young men on horseback to help, and voluntarily stayed behind to watch over their carriage.

In these times, whoever had a gun was the boss; being able to casually offer a gun as collateral meant they had countless guns!

No matter how you looked at it, this favor was a huge gain!

While the wealthy household rejoiced, three fine horses galloped across the wilderness, carrying the unconscious Niyan to the nearest town.

There was a Laxi garrison there, and where there were troops, there were doctors and telephones!

After galloping twenty li, under the stars and moon, the group finally reached the nearest town.

Upon learning of Niyan's situation, the local company commander immediately reported to his superiors for assistance and arranged for a military medic to give him emergency treatment.

Standing beside the hospital bed, Feodo was filled with remorse and self-blame, silently praying in his heart for his unconscious teacher.