Chapter 959: Night of the Bayonet! (3/4)

Chapter 959: Night of the Bayonets! (3/4)

But now Sava suddenly felt that if he, as the crown prince, wasn’t careful, he might end up leaving before Gopal after all.

It seemed that once this was over, he’d have to find some harmless way to tarnish his own reputation…

Gazing at his obedient and seemingly gentle adopted son, Zaid’s brow relaxed slightly, yet furrowed again involuntarily.

To think he’d picked up this adopted son so cheaply.

He had originally wanted to emulate Chu Guang’s method of training Lü Bei—taking in a foster child, keeping him close to observe and learn, using him as a sharp, swift, and ruthless blade. But after putting him to use, he realized that this thing, after all, wasn’t born of his own blood; it was always flesh grown from someone else’s body.

Still, on the other hand, this fellow had always stayed by his side. Even if he’d just raised a dog, feelings would have grown by now…

It shouldn’t… be a problem, right?

That adoring gaze sometimes even made him shiver with disgust, and he even suspected the guy’s orientation was off… If all this could be faked, then this fellow’s depth of cunning was no ordinary matter.

Yet he didn’t know that any child subjected to probing every few days would inevitably develop such a depth of guile.

Besides, this was the “clever one” he himself had chosen—touch him once and he’d grasp it; touch him twice and he’d gain divine insight.

Everyone has their own well, and only they themselves can be trapped by it.

On this stormy, lightning-lit rainy night, the glaring white electric light swayed like a fragile little boat on the verge of capsizing. No one knew where this wildly careening skiff would head next.

Perhaps he ought to keep a few shamans to help with the calculations.

But one thing was beyond doubt.

The scheming old man was sharpening his knife, while the one prostrating himself trembled in fear.

Neither of them knew at that moment that their days of mutual love and slaughter were still long ahead.

But that would be another tale of blood and storm…

---

Under a sunny and breezy New Westport, Ross finally set foot on solid ground after three days at sea.

All in all, it was a thriving port. A few green trees dotted the monotonous sand, and at the edge of the dusty construction site, the outlines of houses were already visible.

Saren planned to build another new Westport in the southwestern corner of the Luoxia Province, echoing Silver Moon Bay in the southeast, and to make this place a special zone of the Eastern Empire.

Though it lacked the alluvial plains and fertile rivers of Silver Moon Bay, it had an advantage that place didn’t—immigrants from the Southern Legion, the Vellant people.

People were the greatest wealth.

Bister Town had already proven this: even if they had to import the most basic freshwater from the Honey Badger Kingdom’s “dyke” system, they could still survive on their own strength.

And those survivors from the Falcon Kingdom would eventually become a progressive force to change their homeland, taking up the responsibility that the Alliance’s industry representative council in the Falcon Kingdom had failed to shoulder.

The future aside for now, those bustling on the shore weren’t just Vellant; there were also local survivors from Luoxia Province, and even residents from the distant East.

Saren had promised them certain benefits—equal rights with the Vellant, open media, a ban on the slave trade and slavery… though these rights were limited to the special zone.

All in all, everything was moving in a good direction.

Though many things had just begun, this new start was clearly better than the last.

A family of five, saved by his grace, thanked him profusely, insisting on repaying his kindness. But he only smiled and waved his hand, telling the couple to take good care of their three children, and then bid them farewell.

Life went on.

So it was for the Boro people, and so it was for the Vellant…

At the port’s entry checkpoint, Ross followed the Eastern Empire soldiers’ instructions and arrived at a registration post.

The soldier sitting at the post flipped through a file and quickly found Ross’s name.

Realizing this man was actually a chiliarch, he immediately pulled a letter from a drawer, stood up straight, saluted, and handed the letter to Ross with both hands.

“I’ve long admired your name! Lord Ross the Chiliarch, please take this letter to the Port Authority at the address on the map. The staff there will register your rank and your service record, and arrange your work during the period of ‘monitored residence’… Please rest assured, though it’s monitored residence, no one will be watching you every moment. We also hope you won’t leave this port before the term ends.”

“In addition, we’ve prepared a villa for you. A Port Authority staff member will take you there shortly. You can stay there during the monitored residence, and you can even bring your family to live with you!”

Ross returned the salute, took the letter from the young man’s hand, and thanked him.

“Thank you. I’ll consider it.”

“You’re welcome. It can’t be helped when you’re stuck with a legion commander who plays such big games,” the soldier said with a smile, shaking his hand and winking teasingly. “Anyway, congratulations on coming home—at least you didn’t fall into the hands of the Boro.”

Ross smiled and said,

“They… aren’t as barbaric as you all say. On my way back, they treated me quite well.”

The soldier gave him a surprised look, then grinned as if he understood.

“Really? Ah… then you must have traveled by day, not by night.”

Ross asked,

“What’s the difference?”

The soldier shrugged and laughed.

“I hear there are gunshots every night. Maybe there aren’t any during the day? Ask someone else for the details—I’m just repeating hearsay. Anyway, good luck.”

Ross didn’t press further. What happened there was no longer his concern.

Following the address on the letter, he found the Port Authority, quickly completed the pre-employment formalities, and received the key to the villa.

His job was simple: mainly lecturing the Eastern Empire’s reserve officers.

According to General MacLenn, only those who had fought the Alliance knew how to deal with the Alliance.

They were to analyze how the Alliance fought, how it operated locally, and how it fostered survivor factions…

He heard that Nord City had also established a Social Science Research Institute, specifically studying the Alliance and the cases of shelter residents, and was even planning exchanges with the Dawnlight City Research Institute.

The Alliance seemed to welcome this, as if it didn’t care that they were learning to counter their moves.

Or perhaps this itself was part of that Administrator’s open strategy.

The Alliance was slowly pulling the Eastern Empire into its familiar game rules, using gentle methods to drive change within the old Legion forces… and likely had been doing so for a long time.

High-intensity hot war should be a thing of the past; wargaming might become the new norm.

After all, fighting with words doesn’t cost lives.

Ross couldn’t help but sigh—maybe the world had truly changed, and he had to learn to keep up with the times…

He went home and dropped off his luggage, then strolled around the streets, using his advance pay to buy some proper human food, and stopped by a newsstand on the roadside.

Life was too leisurely.

He felt as if he had suddenly relaxed completely, even tempted to buy a bottle of beer and sit on the beach drinking until sunset.

And the days spent hiding in a cave eating bugs just a few days ago seemed like a dream…

So what exactly did Tyl want?

His eyes grew momentarily lost. As a chiliarch, he suddenly couldn’t understand anymore.

But he still had to think this question through carefully, since he was now the Eastern Empire’s “research material.” Perhaps in a few days, he’d have to lecture the students about it…

“You even have the *Survivor Daily* here?”

The middle-aged man selling newspapers squinted and smiled at the chiliarch standing before his stall.

"Indeed, the port has only just opened to shipping, and these newspapers have followed right in... but I'll let you in on a secret—the *Survivor Daily* here in New Westsail Port is different from the one in Dawn City; it was trademark-snatched by your Majesty."

Ross, upon hearing this, was at a loss whether to laugh or cry, unsure if he should call Saren slick or say it was just the sort of thing the fellow would pull off.

He tossed a dinar onto the newsstand, picked up a paper, and unfolded it for a look. But the moment his eyes landed on the headline, which nearly crammed the entire front page, he froze.

【Mammoth City Mutiny! Rasi Assassinated! Who Is the Killer—the Stormtroopers, the Elders of the Moon Tribe Resistance, or the Family Council?!】

Rasi... dead?

Ross was stunned. He never imagined that the butcher who had made Chieftain Olet gnash his teeth in hatred would die so easily.

He had never crossed swords with Rasi himself, only with Isher, yet he couldn't accept such an ending.

Why?

He racked his brain but came up blank, his mind a fog. On impulse, he dropped a few more dinars and flipped further down the paper.

【Night of Bayonets! Multiple Elders of the Moon Tribe Resistance Arrested! Stormtroopers Run Amok!】

【Horror! Massacre at the Press! *Home and Country News*, *Righteousness Gazette*, *Voice of Justice*, and Several Other Newspapers All Wiped Out by Pu-9 Submachine Guns?!】

【Wolfish Ambitions No Longer Concealed?! Stormtrooper Commander Shava Declares Himself the New Leader of Mammoth Nation, Vowing to Carry Out the Purge to the End!】

【Special Administrative Order No. 1500! Shava Personally Deploys! 1,500 Members of the Family Council, Suspected of Involvement in the Assassination of the Former Leader, Sentenced to Death and Executed by Firing Squad in Court!】

【Zaid Holds a Memorial for His Slain Family, Orders Yokale to Lead the Northern Field Army to the Sheep Province Front, and Declares That the Stormtroopers Must Answer for the Dead.】

The headlines were indeed a jumbled mess, not at all like those of the *Survivor Daily*, but rather mimicking that goblin rag... maybe this was the trend of the future.

And even if New Westsail Port had no news to speak of, there was no need to fixate on mocking its neighbor.

Yet, despite the haphazardness of those lines, every word seemed to drip with blood, making even Ross, who had been fighting on the front lines not long ago, feel breathless.

He wasn't the only one who thought so; two soldiers from the Eastern Empire nearby felt the same.

"Order No. 1500... tsk, that number sounds like it was tacked on after a list was drawn up."

"Isn't that obvious?"

"1,500 people... that's enough for a full thousand-man cohort. How are there still so many people in Bolo Province?"

"Looks like the guys down south didn't lose unfairly—they were indeed short on numbers."

"But Rasi sure had a rough end—didn't die at Chieftain Olet's hands, but at his own people's."

"Not just Rasi—Isher too, isn't it?"

"Wait, you mean the Jungle Rat? He's dead too?!"

"Been dead for a few days now... damn, ten million dinars! What a waste."

"...Killing their own heroes—I'd say these people are beyond saving."

Isher...

At the sound of that name, Ross held his breath for a moment, his trembling index finger flipping a few more pages.

Soon, he found the page those men were talking about—