Chapter 957: Brothers at Odds

Chapter 957: Brothers at Odds

It was not only Nyan who was worn out by the students’ affairs, but also Meng Jie, the president of Mammoth University.

Recently, the situation in Mammoth City had been turbulent, and Mammoth University, founded by Nyan himself, had been thrust into the eye of the storm.

In particular, the “passive stance” of the Survivor Daily in the conflict had ignited the fury of many students and progressives. Now they demanded not only that Rassi explain the dam incident, but also that he take responsibility for the three dead students and two members of the Family Association.

Now they were all family.

Including those elders of the Moon Tribe resistance who had been marginalized by the Rassi regime.

When Rassi seized Mammoth City back then, he had relied heavily on the support of the Moon Tribe both at home and abroad—indeed, he himself was a Moon Tribesman.

For this reason, he could never fully purge those elders; at most, he could push them to the fringes, far from the center of power—unless he wanted to break ties with all Moon Tribe forces, both domestic and foreign, and even the radical factions within the Alliance who sympathized with them.

The cost was too great…

Conversely, those elders pushed out of the core circle had nothing to lose, for they had already lost everything.

Perhaps they could even prevent a civil war.

They had no interest in contending with Abusek for the three northern states or even the Heavenly Capital; keeping Mammoth State, their own little patch, was enough.

If they could then earn the reputation of peace defenders, the Alliance would surely be quite pleased.

After all, the Alliance’s administrators had always held one attitude—

“You Boro people, calm down. Stop killing your own kin.”

Thus, when they saw an opportunity to seize power back from Rassi, each of them leaped out like starving wolves, opposing their “Great Moon King.”

A surging tide quickly swept through the entire city, leaving no room for a quiet desk.

To keep the campus from becoming a battlefield, Meng Jie had no choice but to temporarily close Mammoth University.

For him personally, this action pleased neither side.

The Mammoth authorities expressed disappointment that he was unwilling to help stabilize the situation—tolerance itself being a form of support. The students, meanwhile, believed he was bowing to the authority of the Mammoth regime, a cowardly lapdog, a weather vane swaying in the wind.

But these were minor matters.

Mammoth University was entirely funded by Nyan himself and did not rely on the Mammoth government’s finances, aside from some initial help from Rassi when it first opened.

As for those children, let them curse him all they wanted. He feared not even death, so why would he fear a few spits of saliva?

No matter how fiercely those children cursed, they would not raise fists against their teacher.

The Family Association’s influence in Mammoth City had not yet reached the point of driving people mad.

Still, when Meng Jie saw those family members emerge, he was genuinely taken aback.

Without his noticing, those fellows had already spread everywhere…

Just at this precarious moment, a piece of news suddenly shook all of Mammoth City.

Nyan was dead.

That Mr. Rat, who had written “Red Earth” and lit the first lamp of enlightenment for the survivors of Boro Province, had died of exhaustion…

…

In the study of his own residence.

Meng Jie, reading the newspaper, first shed silent tears, then covered his nose and bridge, his shoulders trembling.

The maid, seeing this, quietly came over and poured him a cup of hot tea.

When he saw the few tea leaves floating on the cup, his emotions broke, and he sobbed silently.

“Why did it have to be you… of all people…”

“Heaven truly has no eyes, blind to the suffering of the common folk!”

The maid was at a loss, unsure if she had done something wrong. She stood by, uncertain whether to offer comfort or remain silent.

But Meng Jie did not wallow in grief for long.

Looking at the tea leaves gifted by his friend, he thought of unfinished work, of his pregnant wife, of many, many things…

“…When a man dies, everything ends.”

He gazed up at the ceiling, let out a long sigh, and finally made up his mind. He took out a sheet of paper, wrote a resignation letter that he had conceived in five minutes, then carefully folded it and slipped it into an envelope.

“Deliver this to the school administration, then go to the docks and buy two tickets to Silver Moon Bay—for tonight’s departure. If you wish to come with our family, buy one for yourself as well. We will not let you down.”

“Yes, sir,” the maid nodded hastily, then took the envelope and hurried out of the study.

The situation in Mammoth City had been unstable lately; every time she went to the market, she could feel the ominous atmosphere.

Perhaps a great calamity was truly coming…

Since her parents had died early and she had no relatives, she might as well follow someone with a plan.

Meng Jie walked out of the study and saw his wife coming down the stairs, one hand on her belly.

He quickly went over and helped her down.

“Why are you up so early today?”

“I couldn’t sleep at all, so I thought I’d come see you,” his wife said, looking into his eyes as if she sensed something. With a worried frown, she asked, “Are you going on another business trip?”

Meng Jie was silent for a moment, then sighed.

“Not a business trip—a move. We’re all leaving.”

His wife was taken aback.

“A move? We just finished decorating the house. Where are we moving to?”

She hadn’t moved during the war, so why now?

She didn’t understand, but her husband’s expression didn’t look like a joke.

Meng Jie took a deep breath and spoke to her in a gentle, patient tone.

“Something big is about to happen here. We’ll go to Silver Moon Bay first; once there, we’ll be safe. Then I’ll visit my mentor and see if I can use the Alliance’s connections to save some people… If that doesn’t work, so be it. We can’t always put our friends in a difficult position.”

His mentor was Ms. Han Mingyue of the Alliance Academy of Social Sciences.

Though the Academy of Social Sciences was not as famous as the Institute of Biology or the Expedition Corps, the reports it produced could still end up in the desk drawer of the Alliance’s administrators.

His wife furrowed her brows slightly.

“How long will this departure take?”

Meng Jie shook his head.

“Hard to say. Maybe we can come back, maybe not.”

His wife nodded.

“I’ll go with you. But can you tell me what’s really happening? Is Rassi asking you to do something again, or are the students forcing you to take a stand—”

“Neither,” Meng Jie shook his head. “This time, Lowell is probably Zaid, and Sawa… maybe others we don’t know. But whoever it is no longer matters. We’ve already lost.”

This was an invisible war.

A struggle between the Boro people and “feudalism” itself.

In the words of the survivors of Boulder City, Bohr was a specter haunting Lord Stephen, and the reverse was also true—Lord Stephen was Bohr's specter as well.

As for feudalism, it was the Boro people's own ghost, a ghost that could not be killed by bullets, and their society had yet to give birth to a force capable of standing against it.

Instead, through one bloodbath after another, feudalism, killed again and again, absorbed the strength of civilization and evolved into a monster none of them had ever seen.

That monster not only spoke human language and wore a human face, but could even blend into the crowd, masquerading as a force of progress, ready to "fight side by side" with the young lads, to topple the thousand pillars of the City of a Thousand Pillars, and under the banner of breaking chains, to shatter the Boro people's backbone.

If killing one emperor could destroy feudalism, they would have declared victory when Wuto died.

Yet the final result was the emergence of Yanush, a man with "international vision" who shouted, "I can also believe in the Alliance."

Now, not even a year after Yanush's death, another had appeared, one who went further than Yanush, a master of thick black doctrine and even more ruthless—Zaid.

Meng Jie dared not even think about how terrifying the next monster would evolve into if Zaid died.

"...To say something my students wouldn't like to hear, I would raise both hands in opposition to Laxi becoming emperor, but in my heart, I would support it. His killing intent is too heavy, but which founding emperor's killing intent wasn't? He promotes education, builds industry, has a knack for navigating foreign relations, and at home, he endures what he can—at least he won't have your whole family killed for cursing him a couple of times. If history were to judge him, he'd be a wise ruler. Only such a man can contend with the hypocrites."

"As for feudalism... when the productive forces and relations of production advance together, when the ideas in people's heads truly become enlightened, when another real progressive force, capable of balancing feudalism, emerges from the land of Boro Province—no longer a grand performance art—then it will naturally be eliminated."

"That day may come in the distant future, and when it does, no matter which governance we choose, history will move forward."

...

Central Yang Province.

Hearing the news of Tiandu's distress, Isher was burning with anxiety, but he managed to keep his composure and issue orders.

The railway had been torn up by local villagers, and the supplies in the trains had been stripped clean by scattered bandits.

His men captured a few people for questioning; they only said it was ordered from above, but couldn't say who that "above" was.

Without the railway, a forced march to Tiandu was no longer possible.

To the north of Snake Province, in Wolf Province, there was the road network left by the Southern Legion—and not just roads... those gray wolves might have already taken over the Southern Legion's equipment!

Including trucks, and the artillery that could be quickly moved by those trucks...

Thinking of possibly encountering the Conqueror No. 10 on the plains, a bead of cold sweat traced down Isher's forehead.

Even the Alliance couldn't use mountain divisions to attack an armored division.

After all, he was just a commander; he couldn't conjure up troops out of thin air, making his soldiers poke tanks with fire sticks.

He now had two choices left: either go north to join Laxi, or continue south and smash his head against a wall.

One was a mediocre plan, the other a bad one.

As for the best plan...

He could think of it, but he would never choose it.

Just as Isher was hesitating, an officer rushed into the tent, snapped to attention, and saluted.

"Report! The 11th Ten-Thousand-Man Unit has entered our field of vision! They must have come by train from Lion Province!"

Hearing this, Isher felt no surprise; instead, the stone hanging over his heart finally settled.

Now it all made sense.

The entire Northern Field Army had been infiltrated by the Family Council, and even high-ranking officers like Yokale had been turned into "family."

Was it because of those fifty-two "Fire Crossbow" self-propelled artillery pieces?

Abusek had established the Northern Field Army, ordering Yokale to leave the spoils seized from the Legion to the rookies of the 50th, 51st, and 53rd Ten-Thousand-Man Units.

Yokale had always held a grudge over this; every time he lost a battle, he'd think of those fifty-two guns, blaming himself for not holding onto the wealth, yet never considering whether those things could even climb a mountain.

Such a matter—neither trivial nor huge—might have festered in his heart.

But perhaps there was another trigger.

In any case, none of this mattered now.

At this moment, Isher couldn't help but think: if those fifty-two guns could travel through time and come to him, he wouldn't have to be a lone bear smashing his head against a wall.

"Contact the 11th Ten-Thousand-Man Unit's command post for me."

"Yes, sir!" The officer saluted and left the tent.

Isher stood up and walked to the tent housing the radio.

The distance between them was already close enough for direct radio contact, though it would require some risk.

But the risk was worth taking.

Isher noticed the young man standing by the radio was nervous, so he smiled to reassure him.

"Don't be afraid. That bastard Yokale is my subordinate. Even if he wants to turn against me, he'll have to let me finish my words. He won't shell me mid-sentence... If he does, I'll haunt him even as a ghost."

The young man nodded, but still looked tense, staring straight at him.

Isher patted his trembling shoulder, sat down by the phone, took a deep breath, grabbed the receiver, and barked.

"Yokale, what do you mean by this!"

The old commander still had some authority.

Stunned for two seconds by the roar, Yokale nearly snapped to attention and saluted, but caught himself and cursed back.

"What do I mean? What the hell do you mean!"

Isher fumed. "Explain yourself first! Who gave you permission to leave your post? What are you doing here!"

"Leave my post? I took the position you couldn't take in a month..."

Mid-sentence, Yokale noticed the officers near the telegraph sneaking glances at him, flushed with embarrassment, glared at them, and clumsily changed the subject.

"Orders from the Snake Province Theater Commander... Don't ask who gave the orders! It's higher rank than you anyway! I'm here for one reason—to stop you from doing something stupid! I'm telling you, leaving your own theater without authorization... that's treason!"

Hearing this, Isher smiled.

The man was still the same—poor with words, unable to argue clearly even when he was right.

Someone had even scripted his lines for him, and he still stumbled through them.

Thinking that even this simple-minded warrior was now being forced to play politics, Isher felt a mix of bitterness and sorrow.

"Yokale... I won't ask who sent you. I'll just ask you one thing: will you come with me?"

Without waiting for an answer, Isher continued.

"Come with me. When we win this battle, my word still stands. I'll teach you how to court female students."

Hearing such an offhand remark in such a serious moment, Yokale, who had been tense, nearly spat out blood.

"I... you son of a bitch, are you crazy? When did I ever say I needed you to teach me? I'm a ten-thousand-man commander, and I need you to teach me how to pick up women? I'll throw that back at you: come with me today, and I'll give you ten female students! No, twenty! You can pick them yourself!"

Isher chuckled softly.

"Then I definitely can't go with you. If I go with you, this battle of mine will have been for nothing."

Yokale's eyes bulged, his hand trembling as he gripped the phone, and he roared.

"You're out of your mind! Do you know how many men they have? Eight hundred thousand! A full eight hundred thousand! Each one well-fed and strong, standing next to them, we look like beggars. What are you going to fight them with? Those fourteen- and fifteen-year-old child soldiers of yours? Their armored units can line up from the south of West Sails Port to the north! I spent a whole year of fighting to scrape together my artillery, and they have as many in any random ten-thousand-man unit! They could drown us in shells!"

"You say you can fight—what good is one man? Do you really think you're a god? Duwata, Nigli... every one of them pulled out bigger things than you! Even they chickened out! Only you're so noble! So great! Go ahead and drag your fantasy Alliance into a full-scale war with them! Better to leave this place with no one left!"

Holding the phone, Isher smiled and asked only one question.

"Are you jealous?"

Jokale’s eyes reddened.

"I... I’m not jealous! I’m no coward! I wouldn’t even look twice at a sniveling rat like you, let alone those fat pigs, but I can’t watch you throw your life away! If you’re going to die, damn it, die in the north! Die at the hands of the Verlanders! You can’t—you mustn’t die in Celestial Capital! You’re a hero, and you’d best die by Verlander steel! Then there’s still hope for us!"

"Me? I’m not as noble as you think. You might have forgotten..."

Isher started to say something, but Jokale cut him off rudely.

That blunt, straight-talking man had never begged anyone in his life, but now he sounded as if he were about to kneel, his voice pleading.

"Surrender... I’ve found everyone I could. Sharuq even turned the ‘Butcher’ against him! Abusek has already lost!"

"Hahaha! The Butcher... you mean Pickley? That spineless fool who babbles about his son day and night, with his balls in Duwata’s grip? That pig who follows the Alliance around to pick off scraps? You, a veteran of Udono who came back alive from Lion Province, used to despise that piece of trash more than anyone. And now you’re counting on him?"

Isher suddenly threw his head back and laughed, laughing so hard tears nearly squeezed out.

But even that blockhead had turned against Abusek—this truly had to be a dead end.

For some reason, Isher suddenly thought of the Imperial Guard commander who died before the gates of the Celestial Palace.

Wuto had fled, but that man still stood guard at the palace gates, glaring with cold fury at the petty rat who called himself the Heavenly King.

Back then, he didn’t understand. He thought the man was just too inflexible, not as clever as himself.

But now, standing in a similar position, he suddenly got it.

What he defended wasn’t Abusek, nor even the newly founded Bharata Kingdom, nor entirely the people living on this land...

What he defended was merely his own wish, his own ideal, what he believed was right and worth dying for.

Even if that wish wasn’t what every Bharatan truly yearned for in their hearts...

They hadn’t been deceived by anyone at all.

Yanush was exactly the Heavenly King they both feared and dreaded, yet also craved!

Only he could awaken the deep desire within them to knock their own countrymen to the ground!

When you want to kill, whether the curry is spicy or sweet can be an excuse—why worry about finding a reason?

The Federation barely held together not because of the Alliance.

It was only because the Verlanders hadn’t left yet...

Finally, he had laughed enough. Isher took a deep breath, and the expression on his face gradually turned cold.

"Jokale, I’ll grant your wish! The Northern Field Army has no place for cowards like the Eleventh Thousand-Man Company! I, Isher, the Jungle Rat, no longer have you as my subordinate! Pah—! The Third Thousand-Man Company opens fire on you!"

Jokale froze.

Not because of Isher’s cursing or his mock cannon fire, but because this was the first time the man had picked up the nickname "Jungle Rat"—the one printed on his wanted poster—in a tone other than self-mockery.

They had been at odds since the "meat grinder" at the bend of the great river, and now he was granting his wish...

The six-foot-tall man burst into tears in an instant, his eyes red as if swollen with blood, and he roared into the phone without restraint.

"Damn it! Don’t do anything stupid! Come back to Celestial Capital with me! I’ll keep you alive! At least think about your female student... and you’re a bachelor, damn it, think about the brothers of the Third Thousand-Man Company! They have families!"

"Hahaha! Coward! Can’t even lift your blade after one fight? We’ll settle this on the battlefield."

Isher decisively hung up the phone, sat in his chair, straightened his collar, and then looked at the young man whose shoulders were trembling—the Third Thousand-Man Company’s communications officer.

This time, he only spoke in a very soft voice.

"Take my female student. You do it."

His heart seen through completely, the young man fell to his knees with a thud, crying as he said,

"Sir! Please surrender! Outside... the entire communications team is on our side! We’ve all lost! I beg you! Don’t die!"

"Get up! Look at you, so pathetic. You were kneeling before the Verlanders came, and you’re still kneeling after they left! The Third Thousand-Man Company has no soldier as spineless as you!"

Isher glared and scolded him.

He didn’t want to ask what had bought them over—he didn’t even need to think about it.

The Verlanders had families; these young men had their own weaknesses too. A little pressure was all it took.

Those people didn’t need to give anything extra—just do what Yanush did, split the spoils. Nyan’s assessment was right: they were all the same. That was true.

The young man got up from the ground, his eyes red-rimmed, looking at his commanding officer, with snot dripping down to his chin.

He never expected that the communications team leader, whom he regarded as family, would say something as harsh as "kill him if you must," and hand such a cruel task to a new recruit like him.

Why make him do something so brutal!

That was his commanding officer!

A hero of the northern front!

The Verlanders’ nightmare!

His hand simply couldn’t reach for the sidearm at his waist—he would rather aim it at his own head!

"I beg you! Run! I’ll see you out! I’ll tell them... you’re dead!"

Isher laughed softly, looking at the young man sobbing uncontrollably, and said in a gentle tone,

"You’re too young. If I run, what happens to you? I said I’d take you home, and I’ll make sure you live."

"Do it."

He wouldn’t run anymore.

He couldn’t run anymore.

He had run from the church in West Sailport all the way here—where else could he run?

In the end, he was just a little rat, lucky enough to sit in the seat of commander of the Northern Field Army.

This was his home after all.

If it was a Bharatan who wanted his head, then let them take it.

He only felt sorry for Mr. Melgior, who taught him to read and write, and the old nun at the church. He had no parents; they were like his parents to him.

Too bad he wouldn’t get a chance to pray there again. But returning to the Silver Moon Goddess’s side to confess seemed fine too—he hadn’t had time to greet her in a whole year.

Oh, and Mrs. Margaret should be having her second child with her husband soon, right? Sweet little Ruby would soon have a playmate... though he couldn’t keep his promise to meet again.

And Anwo.

That fool, with one foot in the grave, used as a pawn by everyone, was now doing pretty well as a diplomat in Golden Harbor—at least he didn’t have to wade through the murky waters of Celestial Capital...

Come to think of it, it was ironic.

Who would still remember that all of this started because of a simple, short-lived man?

A group of dockworkers, thinking of their own fates, were overcome with grief and wanted to demand justice for Olisa’s family.

After all, 800 dinars for a life—no matter how you looked at it, it was too much... At least make it a four-digit number.

Maybe Abusek himself never imagined that those caught in the vortex would travel such a long, turbulent road, only to find themselves back at the same dry well.

But the people he knew were all good.

After thinking it over, he had no regrets.

……

The Arctic Circle.

A biting wind howled.

It seemed this was the only place left that still bore witness to the early days of the Wasteland Era.

The map of *Wasteland OL* was larger than imagined; no matter how far from home you wandered, boredom never found you.

In the midst of a cluster of igloos, two girls in thick winter gear and a fluffy mother bear gathered around a two-meter-tall snowman, while a ring of children squatted nearby, their eyes brimming with curiosity.

Not long ago, the White Bear Knights had completed a heart-pounding adventure.

In a forgotten corner of the wasteland, beyond the gaze of their esteemed Administrator, they had defeated a mad scientist who planned to conquer the world using mind-control technology and clones to command an army of cloned bears, and they had freed the Arctic villagers enslaved by his twisted faith!

Well, Sisi had her doubts about whether that fellow ever stood a chance of world domination.

At least in the River Valley Province, even without the Administrator’s intervention, Niko alone could have devoured him in a single gulp.

In any case, the incident was over. They had obtained DNA from many pre-war endangered species, which might allow them to revive the rare animals that had been eaten to extinction in the Brahmin Province.

By the way, this Arctic village actually had its own name, but since it was too long for Tail to wrap her tongue around—always stumbling over syllables with an “Ah-ba ah-ba”—the locals had no choice but to accept the outsiders calling them “Arctic villagers.”

Also, nominally this area belonged to the Northern Empire, but the Valyrians had only set up an outpost to extract natural gas and oil, along with something like combustible ice, and didn’t meddle much in local affairs.

But those trivial details no longer mattered.

What mattered now was leaving something behind to prove they had been here before setting off on their next adventure!

Sisi had no ideas; Rourou wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and Sesame Paste was fine with anything, so it fell to Tail to take the lead.

That clever girl actually came up with a terrible idea—to build a snowman for the brave Rourou!

And so, the group busied themselves erecting a snowman in the midst of the wind-whipped igloos.

Though Sisi doubted how long the snowman would last, the hopeful eyes of the children made her abandon that utilitarian thought.

It didn’t need to last forever.

By teaching these children how to build a snowman, the next time they made one, they would naturally recall that a band of brave shelter residents had crossed mountains and rivers to save them from the evil mad scientist.

Watching that harmonious scene from afar, even Sisi’s composed face couldn’t help but blush with a rosy smile.

Being written into a fairy tale didn’t seem so bad after all…

Joyful tidings, joyful tidings.

But just then, a short, sharp cry rang out, and the snowman, already piled over three meters high, collapsed with a crash.

“Save the snowman!”

“Cough! Giao! Why don’t you save Tail instead!”

“Tail, don’t move! There’s still a chance to rescue it!”

“Ah, bring me back a scarf…”

“AWSL!”

Seeing the nearly finished bear vanish, the children gasped and rushed to save the snowman, but it was too late.

Fortunately, the adults nearby ran over, stopping Rourou from trying to rebuild the snowman, and pulled Tail out from the pile of snow.

“Are you all right?” a villager built like a bear asked, brushing snow off her shoulder with a worried expression.

“Ah, it’s nothing… Tail’s been through worse injuries than this; a little bump like this is no big deal.”

Tail waved her hand dismissively, then turned and slipped back to the snow pile, joining Sesame Paste, Rourou, and the children in a frantic rescue effort.

The villagers exchanged glances, scratched the backs of their heads, and their faces grew even more respectful.

Tail didn’t care what they thought; all she wanted now was to save that snowman.

But sadly, in the end, all they salvaged was a round, stubby body.

“It collapsed…”

“Don’t be sad, it couldn’t be helped…”

“It’s all your fault! I told you those heavy paws couldn’t stay suspended in midair! Just stick them on the ground!”

“…Grr! If only we’d built a smaller one.”

Sisi walked over from a distance, crouched down to study it for a moment, then shook her head with a sigh.

“…It’s beyond saving. Let’s build another one.”

“Woo…”

Sesame Paste sat in a corner, hugging her knees and drawing circles on the ground, her face full of dejection.

Though she always said anything was fine, anywhere was fine, she was always the one who tried hardest and took it the hardest.

Tail wrapped her arms around her from behind, patting the cat ears hidden under her hat.

“Oh… my condolences, my condolences. Tail will stay with you.”

Rourou came over too, placing her thick bear paw on top of Sesame Paste’s thick glove, and rumbled, “Let’s build another one. This time, I’ll keep an eye on Tail!”

Hearing that, Tail immediately took offense.

“Giao! Why do you always blame Tail when something goes wrong? Why not blame A-Guang? He’s the real mastermind!”

Watching the two clowns bicker, Sesame Paste burst into laughter, and Sisi doubled over, clutching her stomach.

Somewhere far away in the Great Rift, someone sneezed, rubbed his nose, and muttered,

“Who’s cursing me now…”