Chapter 956: The End of the Show

Chapter 956 The End of the Show

Ross indeed didn’t need to despair too much; he would likely never set foot in West Sailport again in his lifetime, and the Bola people probably wouldn’t welcome him, the invader, back either. No matter what became of this place, it had nothing to do with him anymore.

As for Eternal Night Port.

The Union legions that landed there had a completely different code of conduct from the East Empire soldiers rummaging through West Sailport; his family and furniture were all intact, not a single thing missing.

Although he had to report to New West Sailport first and couldn’t reunite with his family before the Founding Day, they would still be together in the end…

In the square by the dock.

The soldiers guarding him had already been swapped from Bola people to East Empire soldiers.

Looking at the burly young man, Ross thought for a moment, then pulled a gold medal from his pocket.

“Could you lend me two denars? I want to buy a newspaper.”

The young man reached out and pushed the medal back, laughing heartily.

“Keep your medal, sir. I’ll handle this little matter for you!”

A defeated chiliarch was still a chiliarch, especially one with a gold combat medal.

With that, the young man scurried off to a nearby newsstand and grabbed a stack of papers.

The stall owner didn’t dare stop him, and the Gray Wolf soldiers nearby pretended not to see.

When the young man returned with the stack of newspapers, Ross took them with a wry smile.

“You… at least should have paid.”

And so many—he probably wouldn’t finish them even by the time he reached New West Sailport.

The soldier laughed heartily again.

“No worries, the money’s already been paid.”

Ross was stunned.

“…Paid?”

The soldier nodded.

“Enough equipment to arm a million men, twelve hundred tanks, a thousand planes, and the entire air fleet’s pilots staying here to teach until they’re fully trained.”

Ross was speechless for a moment, then sighed after a long pause.

“You people really are rich.”

The soldier smiled sheepishly.

“It’s not all ours; most of it was left over by you… His Majesty said we won’t need the junk from the Wasteland Era anymore. The engineers in Norton City are designing better, more expensive gear to take on new rivals.”

Ross said nothing.

This time he truly didn’t know what to say, so he opened the newspaper to look for useful information, only to see the date stopped at the last few days of December in the year 214 of the Wasteland Era.

Time seemed frozen.

He flipped through several pages, but they were all old newspapers. He shook his head with a bitter laugh.

It seemed the stall owner wasn’t really interested in doing business.

After all, no one was a fool—knowing the Valiants would take things for free and still be forced to open shop at gunpoint, it was only natural to half-heartedly muddle through.

Why not stock new papers?

Go ask the printers!

And the printers would probably pass the blame to the writers and the reporters scrounging for news.

There would be no more news here.

No need for it either.

Just then, a family of five came running from the direction of the city center.

The husband and wife were about thirty or forty, the youngest child only as tall as a wagon wheel, the oldest just ten or so.

They were in a hurry, panic written on their faces, well-dressed and seemingly of some status, carrying only a few pieces of luggage.

The Gray Wolf soldier smoking a cigarette was clearly taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected this family of five to make it here. Without thinking, he took the rifle off his back and chambered a round with a sharp click.

As if hearing the sound of the bolt, the father slid forward, dropping to his knees with his family before Ross.

“My lord! Please, have mercy! Take us with you!”

The mother, too, wept tears like rain, her forehead scraped raw.

“Master! I kowtow to you! I beg you!”

Besides the two adults, the two older children also imitated their parents, knocking their heads to the ground like pestles.

As for the youngest, the one only as tall as a wagon wheel, she seemed frozen in shock, standing blankly as the adults pulled her along.

The sobbing caught Ross off guard, leaving him stunned in place.

“You’ve got the wrong person… I’m just a prisoner…”

How could he, a defeated man, deserve such a grand gesture?

Not to mention protecting others—he himself was like a duckweed blown into a muddy ditch.

Ross suddenly remembered that it was here, in this same square before the port, that Chiliarch Olette had called him to root out the sky bandits who had killed Valiant civilians from among the citizens.

But times had changed; he, the blood-soaked executioner, was now a prisoner, while the victors who had beaten him were kneeling before him, begging for mercy.

Perhaps driven by survival instinct, the elderly father had a sudden inspiration. He shuffled forward on his knees and grabbed Ross’s leg, pleading bitterly.

“My lord… you, you are a Valiant. You can take your slaves! Our whole family will be your slaves! I beg you, give us a way to live. We’ll work like oxen and horses for you…”

“Is… is that a rule?”

Ross was completely bewildered, glancing at the soldier beside him, too stunned to marvel at the kneeling man’s quick thinking.

He was a father too.

His family had been the moonlight he could see without his eyes during those days when he crawled in caves eating insects.

The greatest difference between humans and beasts is that humans can put themselves in another’s shoes.

He no longer looked down on the Bola man kneeling before him, as he once would have, but saw him as a father like himself—one willing to abandon his own dignity to let his children live!

Ross made up his mind, just as he had with his red-eyed subordinates.

They weren’t pawns.

They were people.

The war was over; no one else should die for this foolish war.

He would save them!

As atonement…

The East Empire soldier was also taken aback. After listening to an officer beside him, he scratched the back of his head.

“Well… it’s not forbidden, I think. I’ve seen officers bring people aboard ships.”

Ross glanced at the Gray Wolf soldiers not far away, saw the safety already flipped open, then looked at the man and woman kneeling on the ground.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he turned to the soldier beside him, his voice cold and stern.

“…I am a chiliarch; I need someone to tend to my daily life. From now on, these people are my servants. Let them board the ship with me… I will explain to your commander myself.”

The soldier still hesitated, but the kneeling man hastily pulled out a few crumpled banknotes and pressed them into the soldier’s hand.

“Sir… please have mercy.”

Seeing the several hundred-silver notes, the soldier’s hesitation vanished instantly; he waved a hand with a grin.

“Get on board.”

Clearly, he had never been troubled at all.

He was just following the example of his predecessors, casually fleecing a bit of wool from these fat sheep.

Watching the fawning father then grab another handful of cash to offer him, Ross shook his head.

“Stay close to me… that ship is ours after all.”

Seeing that their benefactor wanted no money, the father froze for a moment, then quickly nodded in thanks, and pulled his family along behind their savior toward the dock, away from the wolf glaring at their backs.

They boarded the steamer. Ross, bringing several Bholans, had been somewhat nervous, but once on deck he realized his anxiety was entirely unnecessary.

Only half of the men and women on deck were Valiants; the rest were Bholans.

Judging by their smiles of survival, they didn’t look like refugees, but rather like they were celebrating a victory party.

Good heavens.

It seemed even an explanation was unnecessary…

Ross suddenly realized his own narrow vision—he had forgotten that people themselves were wealth, indeed the greatest wealth.

How could the Emperor of the Eastern Empire take only machines and forget the talents cultivated by the Southern Legion?

The things left on the shore, including the family he had picked up, were merely trash His Majesty deemed unworthy of taking…

The youngest girl blinked, hiding behind her father, secretly studying her benefactor’s face.

Unable to read the expression on that stiff face, she murmured softly,

“…We won’t cause you trouble. Papa brought some dry rations; we’ll find a corner to hide in…”

Suddenly remembering that Papa had told her not to mention the rations, she clapped her hand over her mouth in panic.

Her cautious demeanor was heartbreaking.

Ross forced a gentle smile—one he hadn’t worn in a long time—onto his rigid face, and reached out to ruffle the child’s fluffy hair.

“No trouble. Just follow me; I’ll get you ashore…”

“Come to think of it, I have a child too. He’s about your age, maybe a little shorter… but in a few years that might change; he’ll at least be as tall as me.”

The girl’s eyes lit up, and for a moment she forgot her father’s usual admonition—never to offend a Valiant.

“Really? Can you tell me about him?” she asked in a crisp voice, as melodious as a lark.

“Of course,” Ross said with a smile, nodding and crouching down. “If you two met, I’m sure you’d become good friends.”

…

On the other side, the wilderness of Wolf Province.

In the dim light of dawn, the Gray Wolf Army’s supreme commander, Gopal, sat in an open-top off-road vehicle, a cigar clamped between his lips, leading a serpentine column of steel along the highway built by the Southern Legion, cutting through the heart of Wolf Province toward the Heavenly Capital.

The world knew only of the “Iron General” Grove, but did not know that the “Iron General” was merely a dog under his command.

Zaid had seen through Grove accurately: the man was nothing but a boastful, self-styled fool. During Operation North Wind, he had “used the alliance to bolster his own weight,” charging ahead against orders, thinking no one saw through his petty tricks—but in truth, no one had bothered to call him out.

That was one of their few flaws.

Fortunately, the Southern Legion had long been beaten into submission, so the whole game wasn’t ruined.

But dealing with Grove could wait. This “Meat Saint” had to be lifted up only to be slammed down hard.

That was why he had sent Grove to take over West Sailport, along with the Southern Legion’s equipment and the Eastern Empire’s aid, while he himself led the true elite eastward, straight for the heart of the Bholan Kingdom!

A cold smile curled at the corner of Gopal’s mouth, and in his heart he admired the revered Mahatma even more.

The fire at West Sailport had burned a letter of fealty into the Heavenly Capital; now the fire at Mammoth City had burned both Rasi and Abu Saqr into mutual ruin.

Even if they hadn’t fought, with their elite forces sitting on their respective borders, it no longer mattered.

Their moles in Mammoth City had already made contact with the Moon Tribe Resistance, making it child’s play to launch a coup while Rasi was stretched thin.

Even if the coup failed, it was no loss—after dealing with the Bholan Kingdom, they could still take on a weakened and divided Rasi.

And the reason their revered patriarch used the Moon Tribe Resistance as a pawn was precisely because he saw the rabble’s weakness.

Win or lose, this move would checkmate Rasi on the board!

As for the Heavenly Capital, it was already a prize in their pocket.

With the Southern Legion retreating step by step, the Alliance forces had moved to the Great Desert, ready to take over the coastal regions and the legacy of the Batoa Province.

Not only was Abu Saqr absent from the Heavenly Capital, leaving the entire Heavenly Capital Council leaderless, but even if he were there, it wouldn’t matter.

His sweeping reforms—from education to the economy—had already stirred discontent within the military.

The earlier “Great Examination” had shown the first signs.

Every time he thought of it, Gopal wanted to laugh.

Not only had they failed to arrange two female students for the “Butcher” Pickley, who had rendered meritorious service in defending the Heavenly Capital, but they had even let his precious son compete with the children of commoners in the “Great Examination” rankings!

What audacity!

Wasn’t he afraid of being shot seven times in the back in his own bathroom at night?

Though this blunder came from Sir Kabah, not the Grand Commander himself, the appointment of the education commissioner was still personally handled by the Grand Commander, wasn’t it?

As for the other commissioners, needless to say—Sir Kabah at least only made the mistake of trying to balance the scales, while others secretly poured water into their own cups.

Yet the latter’s actual harm and “favor” to the Family Council were far less than the former’s, though in future propaganda, the story would have to be reversed.

In short, the Heavenly Capital was no longer fit for battle.

Shahrukh, still dreaming of becoming Grand Commander, had already turned Nigli and Duwata to their side, imagining that everything now was just like when Abu Saqr summoned them overnight to deal with Yanush.

He thought he could replicate Abu Saqr’s success—shoot Yanush dead at the peak of his life and take his place.

But little did he know, the true “Abu Saqr the Second” was someone else, and had long since chambered a round in the gun hidden beneath the table.

Gopal was gazing triumphantly toward the Heavenly Capital when his adjutant suddenly received a message from the Family Council’s underground network and leaned in to whisper.

“According to our informants, Isher’s third ten-thousand-man unit has left the Sheep Province front and is force-marching toward the nearest train station… They might have figured it out.”

Gopal raised an eyebrow.

Oh.

A talent, indeed.

Pity the game is already in its final moves.

If this little pawn were truly smart, he would do what he once did at West Sailport.

As for pushing back... heh.

This fellow had lost his head, truly believing himself to be the "general" seated in the palace.

Not to mention a mere jungle mouse—even if the entire Northern Field Army bore down on him, they’d be ground to red dust before his steel tide, let alone now that the Northern Field Army had been riddled with holes by the Family Society’s infiltration.

In both influence and strength, they were long since no longer the gray wolf that once cowered in a corner of Mazhou, barely surviving.

"Blow up the northern railway, then let Grove..." Gopal stroked his chin, a scheme forming in his mind, and said with a smile, "Never mind, let Jokale take his Eleventh Ten-Thousand-Man Battalion instead."

"Iron General" Grove still had to live a while longer—after all, he was his direct subordinate; even if a bath was due, it wasn’t time yet.

As for Jokale...

Though he was also Family and had lent them some help, he was ultimately a Family member working for Absyek.

Let that dirty rag wipe the dust off the walls for them one more time!

"Yes!" The officer seated nearby accepted the order with reverence, gazing at Gopal as if at a god.

With a plan devised within the tent, victory was decided a thousand miles away!

What "Jungle Rat"? Utterly pathetic!

This was the true "Arayan II"! The undisputed first military god of the Bharata Kingdom!

...

The Bharata Province was seething with turmoil, while the Human Council in the Great Rift Valley buzzed with a gathering of luminaries.

But to be fair, the "heroes" here, even combined, might not match the cunning and schemes of the warlords galloping across the Bharata Province.

That land seemed cursed by the "Four Chaos Gods of Tzeentch"—everyone was far too clever.

In contrast, the people sitting in this council chamber were more like humans, each with their own human traits, each with their own absurdities.

Less than half an hour into the Human Council, Saren, seated in the great hall, had already begun to regret it.

His expressions were precious—a single glance could empty Westport Harbor of all its electric scooters and refrigerators.

Why waste this time on something meaningless?

Perhaps he should never have expected the younger generation to express their own views.

These people weren’t here to discuss issues.

They were here to make wishes.

After a seemingly refined fellow finished his "acceptance speech and future outlook," thanking every big shot—the Corporation, the Academy, the Alliance, the Eastern Empire, and so on—a spirited young man finally stepped up.

Unlike the others.

There was light in his eyes.

Saren was curious for about two seconds, until he opened his mouth.

"...Everyone present, quiet down, quiet down, allow me to say a few words!"

He clenched his fist on the podium and continued in a passionate, stirring voice.

"We can all see that over these years, the Alliance’s achievements are evident to all!"

"Under Mr. Chu Guang’s leadership, we’ve not only wiped out the Raiders, the Mutant Slime Mold, and the Legion, but also..."

"...So why don’t we unite, have everyone join the Alliance, fly into space, and then go wipe out Gaia? Wouldn’t that be wonderful?"

His speech went on, but Saren, the Emperor of the Eastern Empire, no longer wanted to hear his nonsense.

Turning his head slightly, Saren gave a look that everyone understood to the former high-ranking Western Legion official—now the Supreme Foreign Minister of the New United Federation.

"Where exactly is Dam City on the map? Can you send them a big gift for me?"

The Foreign Minister of the New United Federation shot him an impatient sidelong glance.

That look said it all—

If you want to do something so boring, do it yourself.

After receiving the cold shoulder, Saren sighed inwardly at the missed opportunity, then his eyes suddenly fell on a certain blue tin can, and a mischievous smile crept onto his face.

At that moment, someone’s situation was far from optimistic.

Watching his little fanboy ramble on stage, shamelessly praising himself for nearly ten minutes, Chu Guang’s toes nearly dug through the granite, and he was tempted to use his authority to kick that idiot offline to cool off.

But unfortunately.

That guy wasn’t his player, and that "Administrator" probably wasn’t a joke—it was genuine admiration from the heart.

In contrast, the little players who always made jokes about him were far more normal.

For instance, at this very moment, the only player present was behaving perfectly, acting more like a boss than he himself did, sitting imposingly in the seat belonging to Triumph City.

But this pangolin still didn’t know his place.

If it were his good son Fang Chang in the same seat, he would have taken off his leather shoe and hurled it at the podium before Chu Guang could even start cringing.

The representatives of other factions couldn’t do that—even the Alliance’s staunch ally, the Corporation, was watching with interest to see how Chu Guang would handle the awkwardness.

Perhaps unable to bear it any longer, a faint, cold laugh came from the conference seats.

"Heh... everyone joining the Alliance—this brat speaks so lightly."

Seeing someone interrupt his moment, Zhou Xianlin, who was in full swing, grew furious. His eyes shot like swords toward the source of the voice.

There sat an old man with a face full of wrinkles, draped in messy gold ornaments, looking like he was about to lie in a coffin with the offerings.

"And who are you?"

Clearly unimpressed by this arrogant fellow, the old man indifferently gave his name.

"Charlie Lionheart."

Zhou Xianlin paused, then realized who this old man was—that guy with a harem of wives.

At that thought, contempt instantly flashed in his eyes.

"So it’s you... a feudal relic stinking of decay, a usurper with one foot in the grave—how dare you speak so brazenly to me, a progressive youth—"

Before he could finish, a murderous aura slammed into him, choking off the rest of his words.

The old man did nothing, just stared at him with those two hollow black eyes.

The light shooting from those skeletal sockets seemed to nail him to the podium, to drag him into the coffin as well.

A bead of sweat slid down Zhou Xianlin’s forehead. Enveloped by that killing intent, he unconsciously licked his lips.

But there was no fear in his eyes—only a hint of excitement.

People always said he didn’t kill Raiders; now a Raider had jumped out on its own...

A mere kingdom—such a stinking thing was nothing before his Alliance’s iron fist!

Fortunately, someone came to his rescue. The Chief seated below coughed twice.

"Young man, finish your speech and step down. Leave some time for those after you."

Zhou Xianlin walked off the podium without a word, his eyes fixed on the old king like a hyena circling its prey.

As for the old king, he wore a calm expression. After helping someone out of a jam, he returned to his leisurely demeanor.

"I've never been able to figure out... what does the Bone-Chewing Tribe have to do with Dam City?"

Watching the clown being chased down from the stage, the leader of the Red River Alliance dug his ear with his pinky finger, glancing at the Speaker of Garbage City sitting beside him, "Do you have any clue?"

The Speaker of Garbage City shook his head, offering a bitter smile.

"I haven't even heard of this place. Speaking of which, the Grand Canyon really invites just anyone..."

Come to think of it, that grandson really wasn't afraid of death, grabbing the microphone and daring to say anything.

The Human Congress would end after a few days, and the Grand Canyon couldn't possibly protect that bastard for a lifetime.

Is this guy not planning to ever come out of his turtle shell?

On the other side, looking at the embarrassed Chu Guang, the Chief sitting next to him smiled and whispered in a joking tone.

"Speaking of which, time really flies... The last time I saw Charlie the Lion, he was just a child. In the blink of an eye, seeing him again, he has turned from a little lion into an old lion, and he even brought a pride of lionesses to my place."

Chu Guang glanced at the old man.

"Others call him Charlie the Lionhearted, but this is also the first time I've seen him show this side."

The Chief smiled understandingly.

"Meek as a cat in front of you, right? I even saw him looking to share a female cat with you. But there's no helping that. No matter how well you could wield a blade in your youth, there comes a day when you grow old and useless... And besides, who could outlive you?"

Chu Guang rolled his eyes.

"Shouldn't I be saying those words to you instead? Who could outlive you?"

The Chief smiled gently, then nodded thoughtfully.

"True... then let's each count it our own way."

Chu Guang: "..."

Intuition told him that this old codger was probably constructing his next riddle again.

Not wanting to listen to this guy speak in riddles, he averted his gaze and looked back at the stage.

The one going up this time was an acquaintance, Si Wen, the Secretary-General of the South Sea Alliance Representative Council.

This man didn't waste a single word, coming up with a bright and cheerful smile.

"Thanks to everyone's love and trust, this New Era Space Elevator can settle down in our home!"

"We have islands, beaches, crabs, coconuts, and beer here, as well as large vessels and gantry cranes for loading and unloading cargo!"

"I won't say much else. In short, our home is quite big, haha! Welcome all our friends to come and play!"

This was probably the most useful sentence since the opening of the entire Human Congress.

"Good!"

Not only did the old Chief applaud, but even Salun smiled and gave him encouraging applause.

He was still very interested in large vessels and gantry cranes.

The dry bulk terminal of the Southern Legion took too much effort. Ten slaves busy for a whole morning couldn't match that big iron frame lifting and moving once. The Alliance's port was more to his taste.

Perhaps when the meeting adjourned in a while, he could order two units to take back; they would happen to be useful for the New West Sail Port...

...

The meeting went from day into night, with a one-hour break in the middle during which the host distributed box lunches to the attendees.

Generally speaking, some urgent matters were still discussed in this otherwise superfluous meeting.

For instance, the survivor faction from the Cloud Province—presumably a subordinate of the Enterprise—proposed at the meeting, hoping that the old Legion forces would abandon the technology of "producing clones with an eightfold growth rate" and ensure that those mindless clones could spend the remainder of their lives in peace or be euthanized.

Although the Archon of the Wilant Alliance expressed agreement, the conservative factions surrounding him clearly did not think so.

Salun argued that those clones merely possessed a human appearance and could not be considered human in a true sense.

As for the Foreign Minister of the New United State, he proposed that it was the New United State's own business and had nothing to do with anyone else.

The Emperor of the Northern Empire possessed a slightly softened attitude. That man, built like a bear, proposed that abandoning clone cannon fodder was acceptable, but the Wilant people's right to survival must be guaranteed.

Namely, they needed to establish an advanced missile defense system sufficient to replace the clone cannon fodder, and required the Enterprise and the Academy to provide the crucial technologies they needed.

This proposal itself was entirely beyond reproach.

They needed to align with the civilized world, but they also needed self-preservation.

In fact, all the Wilant leaders, including Salun, knew perfectly well that with the lifting of the sky blockade, the elimination of those clone cannon fodder was only a matter of time.

Under the precise positioning of satellites and the accurate strikes of artillery fire, those cannon fodder who didn't even know how to duck would completely serve as nothing but free meat for their enemies.

The tide of the times was irreversible.

And wanting to convert these clone cannon fodder into productive forces was also impossible; let alone the ability to learn, they did not even possess the most basic intellect of a normal person.

The Alliance had already attempted this matter and clearly had not succeeded, otherwise they would have publicized it with great fanfare long ago.

After the demand for advanced technology yielded no results, Salun settled for the next best thing, requesting that the Enterprise use economic aid to exchange for their compromise on the issues of clones and slaves.

After repeated consideration, the board members of the Enterprise actually agreed to it.

The changes in Triumph City and the Wilant Province allowed the Enterprise to see anew the hope of pulling the Wilant people into the civilized camp, as well as the confidence to reunite the fractured "fragments of the War Construction Committee."

The Wilant people had already proven with actions that they, too, possessed an endogenous force for progress.

Since that was the case, why not give them a little more time?

After the chieftain came the king; the story did not end right there.

Preventing a new king from following the king, preventing their ally from becoming a new empire... that was what Ideal City was going to do next.

To this end, the existence of the Eastern Empire was necessary, at least standing from their perspective.

This was a face-up card dealt by the Enterprise board.

Not only could Chu Guang see it, but everyone sitting in the front rows of the conference hall could see it too... even the yawning His Majesty Salun, and that Northern Emperor built like a bear.

Those postures that could be seen with the eyes were all bluffs; true fools never had the chance to sit here.

Even Thyr, who was not sitting here.

That guy was actually very smart, he just played too big and didn't leave himself a single bit of room to maneuver...

The meeting finally drew to a close.

The Chief of the Grand Canyon took the stage to make a few casual summaries, then announced the conclusion of this grand meeting, as well as the agenda for the next Human Congress.

This kind of meeting could be held a few more times.

Although communication could not solve all problems, it could at least let each side understand the other's bottom line.

In addition, the next Human Congress would be held in Dawn City, with the holding time to be determined.

After the meeting adjourned, everyone left the conference hall with expressions that suggested they hadn't had their fill.

They would head to the banquet hall to enjoy dinner, discuss topics that hadn't been fully resolved with those they saw eye-to-eye with, or decide tomorrow's schedule.

Abhishek was just intending to find Chu Guang to have a chat, but saw Shawa, the captain of the Mammoth Country's assault team, walking toward him in a furious rage.

Seeing that expression, Abhishek's heart sank, realizing that something bad might have happened.

And just as he anticipated, the moment Shawa saw him, he barked sharply.

Abusek! Commander of the Bolo Kingdom! We demand an explanation!