Chapter 958: Fulfillment

Chapter 958: Fulfillment

The story does not end simply because a group of people has departed.

The players who came to this world have left their footprints upon it, and have long since forged their own continuations.

Take the lovely Alisa, for instance.

She lives, like a child to all, in the fairy tale that dwells in the hearts of every survivor of Boulder City and every resident of the shelter.

That is not something that does not exist.

As Siboge once said, the miracle of Boulder City was never a Boll who never existed, but every person who, when night falls, holds a torch to drive away the darkness.

But it must be admitted that people were not always so brave and kind from the start, and naturally, not every child is as fortunate as Alisa.

The good thoughts in people's hearts can turn a prison-like giant wall into a castle from a fairy tale, while the evil thoughts in their hearts can just as easily turn that fairy-tale castle into a sinister and gloomy dungeon.

The only comforting thing is that this dungeon can trap no one but its builder.

That, too, is the cold and merciless reality.

The one who builds the dungeon will eventually rot in its deepest depths, just as those who plant the red soil and those who eat it will both be buried in that bloody history.

That is a story written long, long ago in the wind and snow outside Lowell Camp, and it has repeated itself again and again.

No one is an exception.

Those who leave first are not necessarily tragic...

...

Mammoth City.

The flames of protest still boil, and they have burned even hotter since Niyang's death.

Raxi has returned to Mammoth City from the front lines with his elite troops and Niyang's remains, but what greets this victor is not flowers and applause, but stones and rotten eggs.

An officer, unable to bear the humiliation, roars hysterically at the young people blocking his way.

"You bunch of heartless bastards... What has Raxi ever done wrong to you? Where were you when we were chewing on black bread and nutrient paste in the trenches at the front? You were sitting in the mess hall eating bread as white as snow and fat as thick as my fist! You want to overthrow this and overthrow that—have you ever beaten a single Weilante? Have you ever been as hungry as we were? Today you are ungrateful, and tomorrow you will all get what you deserve!"

His roar has no effect; it is quickly drowned out by an even louder wave of voices.

"Don't change the subject! First, we are not such big eaters; second, we eat the rice of the millions of residents of Mammoth Province! We owe your general nothing, and we naturally speak for the people of Mammoth Province! And don't you dare call us ungrateful! The wronged souls under the Tarsang River Dam, the people who died in the conflicts—they stand here watching you!"

Both sides have their own reasons, and each represents a certain degree of justice.

And that is precisely why this is almost an unsolvable situation.

Politics is both the affair of the masses and the art of compromise, and some things that should have been done long ago are precisely what the Raxi administration is least skilled at.

Besides, there is no time.

Almost all their skill points have been spent on the military tree—they have even developed exoskeletons that the Boluo Kingdom has not yet unlocked, and repairing the Conqueror No. 10 is no trouble at all.

If the Family had been the one to solve the problem, they would surely have achieved an outcome satisfactory to the vast majority of Boluo people, including those whose bodies were washed downstream.

But with Raxi, even if the dam had never been blown up, today's situation would have been inevitable.

To put it plainly.

This carpentry work was never meant for a blacksmith.

After dealing with external enemies, they must either find a more capable leader or be replaced by a more capable authority.

Abusek was not boasting; if it came to a fight, his chances of winning were at least seven out of ten, if not nine. It was not his fault that the Federation did not unite; that was the hand he was dealt. His real skill was in keeping this clay Bodhisattva from being washed away by the flood.

As for Abusek's own problems and limitations, that is another matter.

In the crowd.

Students from the Boluo Kingdom are watching the drama, eating their melons.

The trouble in Mammoth City has nothing to do with them, these neighbors from next door.

Even if Tiandu is also on the fire now, at least it hasn't burned their backsides yet, right?

They stand far away, not approaching, occasionally cheering on both sides.

After all, not all the students Abusek sent to study are genuine scholars; among the guaranteed admissions, there are also some "street slickers" who roam the alleys.

These people may worship technology and pay lip service, but deep down they look down on those who pursue knowledge.

They are exactly the kind of people that Niyang despised most—Duke Galawa's ilk, another breed altogether.

With a sugar-ice popsicle dangling from his mouth, Gale, wearing flared trousers, licks it greedily, steps onto a stone block, and smacks his lips.

"I think that officer is right. These little calves in Mammoth City are just too full. Back in Tiandu, I never ate as well as I do here! Damn, this popsicle is so sweet. I swear I'm taking a popsicle-making machine back to Tiandu."

His father is "the Butcher" Pikley, a great hero of the Battle of Tiandu!

Though he himself is a student, he looks down on these bookworms who only know how to take exams.

The youth forced to accompany this military brat casts a sidelong glance at him, smiles faintly to himself, and says nothing, turning his gaze back to the physics book he brought.

His name is Nayak, only fifteen years old, and he lied about his age by a year just to meet the undergraduate entrance requirement.

As for lying about his age, that was his own decision, because he calculated that Sir Kabaha's popularity on the committee was so low that no matter how strictly the exam details were enforced, they would never catch a discrepancy in a candidate's registered age.

And why lie about his age? The reason is simple.

Because the entire education reform was nothing but a wishful thinking of Abusek and the Alliance, a castle built in the air.

Tiandu will not hold another major exam—at least not for a long time—because there is simply no need.

All things follow the laws of their operation, but once the ladder of fate is missed, it is truly missed.

And how did he figure all this out?

He has to thank Mr. Niyang's newspaper. Compared to the "Family, Country, and World News," which strains every muscle to be a meat loudspeaker, the fact-based "Survivor's Daily" can provide some useful information.

Geniuses exist everywhere, and the Boluo Province is no exception. Moreover, with a population far larger than other provinces, it is inevitable that a few extraordinary talents appear that nowhere else has.

Nayak does not, like Gale, arrogantly consider himself that extraordinary talent, but when it comes to aptitude and intelligence, he has a bit of confidence.

The students sent to study here from the Boluo Kingdom are either descendants of the former dynasty's nobility or descendants of the commanders of ten thousand. His family alone, generation after generation, has faced the red soil with their backs to the sky. If one were to count any notable figures, one would have to go back to the Age of Prosperity.

That is too far back.

In any case, relying on the discarded books his illiterate father picked up from the market, he managed to score nearly perfect marks in arithmetic and nearly perfect marks in essays, winning the favor of Commissioner Kabaha and leaping through the dragon's gate to change his life's destiny.

And that is precisely why, while Gale looks down on them, he in turn looks down on this fellow beside him, who cannot even match a preparatory student of eleven or twelve but was forcibly stuffed into university.

Even though he knows that this, like the popsicle machine Gale mentioned, is a "necessary waste of resources for social development," and that keeping the water too level would only turn Tiandu into another Mammoth City.

But looking down on him is one thing; he still has high hopes for this guy's future development.

The reason is simple: this guy is stupid enough, ignorant enough, and arrogant enough—a perfect replica of Xilan Wutuo!

If he had been born a dozen years later, he might even have mistaken this guy for the reincarnation of the old man Wutuo!

Think about it: Raxi's downfall is inevitable, and so is Abusek's.

Whether the final civil war happens or not is the same, and it probably won't happen anyway.

But that is not their fault.

Winning and losing in a casino are mathematical laws, having nothing to do with luck or character.

And this casino had just opened its doors; the gamblers were still feeling their way, equal in technique—naturally, the first mover had the advantage of initiative, the latecomer the steadiness of delay.

But even so, history did not end here; the real drama was only beginning.

Nayak calculated in his head: once Zayid and his entourage had passed, by the second generation half their fortune would be spent, and by the third, half of that again—leaving only a quarter.

Unless, by then, a feudal empire larger than Bharata came to their aid, or some internal crisis within the Alliance forced a compromise with the vested interests.

But that was impossible, for the Valiants’ birth pangs would pass faster than theirs.

After the Legion’s explosion, that emperor named Saren might well have been the zenith of the Eastern Empire; the Alliance would make no concessions outside the rules, for that would only delay their victory.

They were destined for farther shores, merely by a different path than the Academy.

Nayak dubbed this set of his “heresies” the study of civilization.

Mammoth University had no such discipline; all his theories were deductions made in his spare time from limited data, based on scientific method, projecting the future in units of human lifetimes.

The cost of five generations, if paid in a single day, would be crushing—indeed, impossible to bear—but from the height of civilization, stretched over two hundred or three hundred years, it was entirely acceptable.

When discontented, think of the Human Union: a prosperous world spanning two stars, nearly wiped out in the Waste Era, yet now on the verge of rising again.

Rumor had it the new space elevator was steadier and faster than the old one, cheaper too, and if it ever blew up, the damage would be less than before.

But honestly, he cared little for the rise and fall of dynasties; this was just something he’d tossed together in his spare time.

Before leaving Skycapital, he had already decided: he would not be a decaying leaf returning to the roots, but a seed for the future.

As for saying he wanted to see the moon—that was merely so his father could understand.

“Hey! Look! Those guys are about to fight! Think Rashi will mow them all down?” Gael tugged at the bookworm beside him, pointing excitedly, as if watching crickets battle.

Nayak did not look at the street’s grim scene; he only cast a disdainful glance at the overexcited fool.

Those officers were right—these silly kids would indeed reap what they sowed, though not for ingratitude, mostly for lack of skill.

But this fellow taking pleasure in his own kind’s suffering was no noble thing; his retribution might come even faster.

Still, he saw no need to teach the man about storing up hidden virtues, so after a moment’s thought, he said:

“Do you believe in science?”

To his surprise, the reply was a non sequitur; Gael was put off by the bookworm’s response.

But none of his cronies were around, and he had no one else to kill time with, so he just shrugged.

“Sure, science is awesome—wish I could bring some back. Hey, you work hard, okay? You’re good at studying, so study more; my family will need it later.”

Nayak smiled faintly.

“I knew I hadn’t misjudged you. It takes a young talent like you to finish what our fathers left undone.”

“Heh, of course. My old man’s good at fighting, but no good at books—can’t compare to me.”

Thinking he was being flattered, Gael felt a bit smug, and for a moment selectively forgot that this bookworm’s father was the mud-foot he despised most, only remembering he was a top scholar.

If memory served, this guy was even the top scorer in the Skycapital exams!

Though Gael had once said the stupid line “only idiots take exams,” when a cultured man acknowledged him, he couldn’t help grinning like a fool, just like his father who fancied schoolgirls.

In his pride, he couldn’t resist showing off, winking at Nayak.

“Let me tell you a secret that’s not a secret: my father’s actually in the Family Council! Don’t you worry—even if Abusak falls, even if my father’s boss falls, it’s fine! I say, forget the Alliance, stick with me. Got your eye on any girl? I can have her promised to you with a word, believe me?”

For him, it was that easy.

Soon Gopal would enter the city; their families were all in Skycapital—starving any household was just a letter away.

He hadn’t even thought of that himself; a girl who’d asked for his help had pointed it out.

Indeed.

Nayak smiled lightly, his tone gentle.

“I appreciate your kindness, but don’t celebrate too soon. Even if your father lets Gopal into Skycapital, at best he’ll get a chance to realign—there will be two or three trials ahead… though they can be avoided.”

Gael frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Nayak didn’t explain, only said slowly:

“Nothing much. I just recalled a good saying from the Alliance: ‘A wise man adapts to circumstances.’ And also… ‘When heaven is about to place a great burden on a man, it first starves his belly.’ In short, to succeed, you must first go mad.”

“So I recommend two Alliance books to you: *The Thick Black Theory* and *Water Margin*. They’re more useful than what your father gave you, and more entertaining. When you’re uncertain, confused, or bitter, flip through them—you might find inspiration.”

For now, start with those two; later, depending on the situation, you can add *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*.

But first, shape his character, then cultivate his big-picture view—the order must not be reversed.

Otherwise, you’d turn fuel into slag; useless trash never gets on stage. He needed trash that could get on stage.

According to psychological theories from Alliance books, a person’s character forms in childhood, then in adulthood is gradually reshaped into what society needs. Once nothing suppresses it, repressed nature bursts forth like a released spring.

He would mold this fellow’s character, making him the next Vodya after inheriting the family business—even more twisted than Vodya, the kind that would terrify all those kind-faced little mice around him… Only then could the Bharata people be saved.

The grudges of the previous generation left unsettled—let them be settled in this generation.

Zayid?

That man was clever, but even the cleverest one day can’t lift a blade.

After winning everything, he would sooner or later fall into hysterical madness like Rowell, and no one threatening his authority would survive.

Including Sava, who always followed him—that young man barely two years older, looking even more harmless than this “bookworm.”

A “foster son” sitting in the heir’s seat—he must know Zayid could never have a legitimate son. Play soft when needed, strike without mercy when the time came.

Even Gopal, the wolf who had personally placed Zayid on the pedestal, might be the first to be cast out.

Nayak was in no hurry.

He loved reading newspapers, and he was young enough; sooner or later, he’d see in them what he wanted to see.

But Gael beside him grew impatient, frowning.

“Can’t you just tell me what’s in the books? I don’t like reading, dammit.”

Nayak sighed.

A long road ahead…

If this guy really returned to Skycapital with his playboy nature, he wouldn’t last three episodes. What good was a fine “seedling” that never sprouted?

Even the toughest red soil had to endure the early Waste Era before it could plague people.

At least don’t let this good seedling fall before Zayid—otherwise, it might take another few generations.

“You… my good brother, the way you are really worries me. You’re General Pickley’s only weakness. If you don’t wise up, how can your old man stand firm?”

“…Alright, help to the end. Since you promised to look after my father, I’ll teach you the ‘open secret’ they don’t cover in class.”

He paused, put on a serious face, closed the physics book in his hand, and looked at him.

“One problem. I’ll teach it only once. Remember it—it might just save your life in a pinch.”

Gael perked up at that, grinning mischievously.

“Go on, then.”

He didn’t think this exam-cramming prodigy could teach him anything at all, yet he found listening to the guy oddly entertaining—more fun than sneaking around under the desk with a female classmate.

Why not listen?

He had nothing better to do anyway.

The guy’s lectures on math and physics were unbearably dull, but when he rambled about bizarre, obscure knowledge, it was fascinating, always making his eyes light up.

Nayak stared into his eyes with a meaningful smile, launching his counterattack as a farmer’s son.

It would be a century-long war for the Boro people.

When the dawn broke, perhaps no one would remember this moment—

A future soldier and a future scientist, in the long night known to none, had begun their gamble on the future.

He would stake his hope on tomorrow, do everything he could to prepare for the storm, and plant in this clueless fool a seed more venomous than the “Death Agent,” ensuring this carefully sown seed survived to the very end!

If just one seed survived! This war would count as a victory for everyone on this land!

And then, the heroes wouldn’t have died in vain!

“I have four great generals—Jia, Yi, Bing, Ding—and I want them to watch over a flock of sheep for me, but I don’t trust them, because the sheep are clever, and so are they.”

“I know I’ll have to kill them all sooner or later, but the question now is where to start…”

…

The farce dragged on into the night. In the end, Rasi couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger on his own people.

For one thing, they were the fruit of Mr. Niyan’s labor; for another, even a tiger won’t eat its own cubs. He had no children of his own, and those thriving pillars of society were like his children.

If he faced Valiants or men of the Old Empire, he’d kill without a frown, but when it came to his own, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He had met someone who made his hand too weak to wield the blade.

Yet precisely because of this, his weakness was exposed to his enemies.

Those rats who usually lurked in the shadows now pounced like hyenas catching the scent of blood, eager to suck his bones dry.

“An open spear is easy to dodge, but a hidden arrow is hard to guard against…”

In the courtyard of the prefectural mansion.

Rasi, seated in his chair, sighed, feeling like the King of Chu, covered in banners of defeat.

Abusek loved the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, while he preferred the stories that came before it; both were Alliance buffs and had often exchanged thoughts in private.

Gazing at the old stone slabs covered in moss, he suddenly recalled his most triumphant days.

That day he entered the city, where the streets were littered with collapsed shacks. The gaunt residents didn’t curse him but lined the roads to welcome him, grateful that their savior had finally arrived.

He stood right here, looking down at the nobles trembling before him.

“I’ve come here to do three things! You only need to know one!”

“From now on, slavery is banned in Mammoth State! If anyone dares keep a slave, I’ll move his head somewhere else!”

“…Starting today, Mammoth State will have equality!”

He remembered every word he said back then, including the final “No kneeling,” which scared those once-arrogant nobles out of their wits, sending them scrambling in terror.

Now, those collapsed shacks had been replaced by new buildings. He believed he had treated the people here well, yet he still ended up pelted with rotten eggs, humiliated.

Thinking back, perhaps the people standing in the streets weren’t the Mammoth City residents he knew.

But the wronged souls drowned in the Tasan River, come to collect their debts.

“Arayan, are you there too?”

Rasi laughed bitterly, took a swig of fiery vodka, and felt his bitterness ease a little.

Just then, a young officer stepped into the room, stood at attention, and saluted.

“Reporting, sir! Captain Sawa has returned from the Great Rift Valley! According to the telegram, he brings a peace agreement reached with Abusek, the ruler of Boro!”

The man’s name was Udi, a member of the assault squad who had been by his side since he entered Mammoth State—one of his most reliable subordinates.

Setting the bottle on the ground, Rasi stood up.

“Prepare the car. To the airport.”

“Yes, sir!”

Udi saluted, turned, and left the room, quickly getting the vehicle ready.

Rasi opened the car door and got in. The engine started, and they drove toward the airport.

The streets along the way were silent, broken only by the occasional patrol of marching soldiers.

The entire city of Mammoth was under martial law.

Sitting in the car, Rasi turned to Udi and asked, “What did you find out about the family association?”

Udi immediately reported, “They have twenty-one strongholds in our city, mainly concentrated around the port area.”

Rasi’s pupils contracted slightly. “How can there be so many?”

Udi answered truthfully, “Their organization is tight. They use the port as a core and expand toward Mammoth University, stopping at nothing to achieve their goals. From what I’ve learned, they not only have ties with various underworld gangs but also sponsor student group activities and distribute eggs to families left behind.”

Rasi was stunned, his mouth opening and closing, momentarily speechless.

Just… this?

They lived in houses he built, took eggs handed out by others, and then turned against him.

He flew into a rage, instantly sobering up—this disgusted him more than being cuckolded.

But he was no longer the hothead he used to be. Taking a deep breath, he quickly calmed down.

He thought of someone: Asin, who had once seen him off and sponsored him for a long time without asking for anything in return.

He had always looked down on the shady dealings of those gangs, even warning Asin not to expand his business into Mammoth City, despite having just accepted sponsorship from the Assassin Gang.

And that guy had been smart enough not to offend him, only doing what he could.

Yet Rasi hadn’t expected that even without the Assassin Gang, there would be a Black Rat Gang or a Mouse Gang, or even a name change to something like “XX Labor Dispatch Co., Ltd.”

He himself made foreign exchange through labor dispatch—how could others not follow suit?

Soon, someone would organize the people under him into a similar institution, or an organization serving these laborers—like an Overseas Workers’ Mutual Aid Association.

And those people had a natural template to copy.

The Alliance’s Workers’ Association had long wanted to break into Mammoth City but had failed to expand due to their lack of grassroots appeal. The gangs could easily imitate them, swallow the grapes, and spit out the bitter skins.

If he had known this, he might as well have let Asin come…

Rasi closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “We’ve completely lost control at the grassroots level… No wonder such a huge problem has arisen.”

Having spoken thus, he drew a notebook from his bosom, inscribed this lesson upon it, then tucked it back inside.

Yet just at that moment, a sudden explosion rang out from beyond the carriage window—whether a crude bomb or something else, none could tell.

The glass rattled and shook, and soon Laxi heard someone shouting in his direction.

“Avenge the dead…!”

The man likely cried the names of those fallen in the conflict, but Laxi could not make them out clearly.

But precisely then, the engine belched smoke, and the entire vehicle lurched to a halt at the roadside.

The driver, dazed and battered, turned to check on the commander’s condition—only to meet the dark, hollow eye of a gun muzzle.

He froze, his face draining of color as he tried to explain.

“It wasn’t me—”

“Bang!”

A short, sharp gunshot cut short his protest.

Decisive in action, Udi, who had shot the driver, shoved open the door without hesitation and shielded Laxi as they climbed out of the car.

Gunfire erupted across the street; armed men with white cloth bands on their arms clashed fiercely with the patrol that had rushed over.

Bolstered by exoskeletons, the latter drove the former back step by step, yet still could not overcome their numerical advantage—nor the way they mingled with nearby civilians, ducking into homes whenever they were outmatched.

Never had Laxi imagined anyone would dare assassinate him on his own turf, nor that he would have to fight a pacification campaign in his own backyard. Rage surged to the crown of his head; he yearned to grab a weapon and mow down every last one of those rats.

“They’ve rebelled… truly rebelled!”

“Commander! It’s not safe here! I’ve called for reinforcements—let’s move to a secure spot first!” Udi shouted, pistol in hand, firing across the street as he spoke.

Laxi gritted his teeth and nodded.

“Lead the way.”

Udi obeyed at once, guiding him into a side alley; after several twists and turns, they finally left the staccato gunfire behind.

The two seemed safe.

But just then, Laxi suddenly halted, refusing to run any farther.

Udi, ahead, stopped as well, turning back with a bewildered look at the commander.

“What’s wrong, Commander?”

“Hahahaha!”

Laxi threw back his head and burst into laughter.

“No grievance! What a thrill! Truly my own bodyguard—damn well suits my taste!”

With that, his eyes, round as copper bells, blazed, and his gaze pierced the dark alley like a torch.

“You vermin! Your grandpa Laxi is right here! If you’ve got the guts, come out and let me kill my fill!”

His imposing aura was less that of a general or a commander, and more that of a hero brimming with sheer audacity.

He stood in the alley like an avatar of slaughter; even without a thousand troops behind him, it seemed as though rolling thunder echoed around him, daring none to meet his eyes.

Udi stared at him, stunned—first in surprise, then in astonishment, before his expression turned cold.

“…How did you find out?”

As the words fell, a group of men in black, wielding knives, guns, clubs, and staves, emerged from the alley.

Their furtive manner truly resembled rats skulking in a gutter.

The Verlanders had gone.

Spring had finally arrived.

The season of revival was here.

Their eyes gleamed with ferocity; though afraid, even trembling, not one stepped back.

The Family Society had said: kill Laxi, and the mammoth nation’s overseas operations would be theirs.

From now on, as long as the Family Society got a bite of meat, these gangs would not lack a mouthful of blood.

“What’s the use of all that blather? It was you who incited those students, wasn’t it?” Laxi, ignoring his gun, drew his saber instead and sneered coldly at the betraying Udi. “Well? Why not make a move? Afraid I can’t lift my blade anymore?”

“Out of gratitude for your patronage, I’d have granted you a quick death—but since you don’t want it…”

Udi stepped back half a pace, holstered his pistol, and flicked his index finger forward.

“Grant his wish.”

Father, Mother…

Your child has finally avenged you.

Having fulfilled his vengeance, Udi felt a lightness, yet could not bear to witness the hero’s twilight, so he closed his eyes.

The gang members discarded their short guns, brandishing an assortment of weapons as they lunged at the solitary Laxi.

At the Laxi who had, time and again on the battlefield, bloodied Olette’s nose.

“Kill!!!”

“Aaaahhh!”

They charged forward in excitement, eager to gut their hero—but after a fleeting flash of white light, it was a familiar head that thudded to the ground.

A head with yellowed teeth, its face frozen in a final snarl.

The gang members in the lead were dumbfounded; by the bright, clear moonlight, they saw the saber in Laxi’s hand stained with crimson blood.

“Kill—!”

A thin war cry echoed through the alley, yet this time it seemed to carry the blast of a charge!

As if behind that lone man marched a thousand troops, as if on his blade hung the souls of countless demons and ghouls!

Udi’s pupils contracted slightly as he watched Laxi charge into the crowd without dodging; his trembling right hand unconsciously reached for the closed holster.

The Family Society contact had repeatedly warned him: that man was the murderer of his family—never forget revenge, one day you must take revenge, you must avenge!

For a moment, he forgot that even if that man was his enemy, defeating him was no easy feat.

He was, after all, that awe-inspiring general, a foe even their enemies held in deep reverence.

He had his mission—and so did Laxi!

And unlike himself, who had nothing but hatred—

That man had long ago resolved, even at the cost of his own life, to smash every last one of the thousand pillars pressing down on the Boro people!

The thrilling slaughter echoed through the blood-soaked alley—

“Kill!!!”