Chapter 1032: Weightlessness

Chapter 1032 Weightlessness

On the obverse of the coin was written prosperity, and on the reverse, naturally, poverty.

There is ultimately only one Ideal City.

And across those hundreds of millions of square kilometers of land, the vast majority remains barren.

The street battles in the Free State continued, but the civil war in the Brahma Province had already ended.

Under the Alliance's mediation, the Brahma National Army ultimately abandoned its northward advance, retreating from the depths of Sheep Province and Bird Province back to the mountainous region behind the southern plains of the Tassang River.

Of course.

The main reason was that they simply could not fight any longer.

South from Tianshui, the most fertile lands of the Brahma Province experienced a famine unseen in a century, compounded by the deliberate destruction of large-scale production facilities. Even if frontline supplies could still be maintained, the tightened belts had already cut into their ribs.

Furthermore, the Eastern Empire no longer wished to fight, and its military aid to the Brahma Nation underwent a wave of monetization reform.

In other words, if you wanted guns and artillery, you could just go buy them at New Westport.

In truth, this was almost a "clear signal" from His Majesty.

After witnessing the Alliance's space elevator and near-Earth orbital defense platforms, Saren had completely abandoned the idea of contending for land hegemony, turning his thoughts instead to the outer reaches of the solar system.

This was also the suggestion General Maclenn had made to him after returning from the space elevator.

He had a large stock of "frigate cores" in his hands—things that could be mounted on airships and, naturally, on starships as well.

In fact, with just a hyperdrive engine and a plasma engine, along with reinforced structural integrity and airtightness, they could be used directly as bona fide starships.

The Alliance had always been very interested in these fine goods he possessed, and he, in turn, was fascinated by those stars beyond the solar system, even seeing them as a golden opportunity to overtake on a curve.

After all, there was no need for everyone to fight to the death over this tiny patch of land.

It would be better to explore the future together.

And so, a new faction centered on "far-sightedness" was rising within the reborn Eastern Empire, and a race into space had officially begun.

And because the Eastern Empire had reached a consensus with the Alliance, the Brahma Nation's northward advance could only come to an abrupt halt.

Both sides declared their own victories, then each retreated to their original borders.

The Mammoth Nation occupied the northeastern corner of the Brahma Province, governing along the plains on both sides of the Tassang River basin.

The Brahma Nation retained its original borders, including Tiger Province and Leopard Province, which had joined the Brahma Nation through unification during the war with the Southern Legion, as well as the Rowell Province region except for Golden Ganga Port.

Both sides tallied their own casualties. The Brahma Nation claimed 30,000 dead and claimed to have killed a million Mammoth soldiers. The Mammoth Nation claimed 50,000 dead and claimed to have killed 1.5 million Brahma soldiers.

But this was clearly bragging.

Both sides had probably counted civilians who died in the war, even cattle, and attributed them to the enemy.

The Dawn City Survivor's Daily, synthesizing data from both sides and conducting on-site investigations, concluded that the Brahma Nation's deaths should be around 270,000, with nearly 400,000 wounded, and nearly a third of the losses due to malaria and infectious diseases.

The Mammoth Nation's deaths should be around 120,000, with 170,000 wounded. Thanks to good medical conditions, non-combat losses were lower, but relative to their disadvantaged population, it was still a heavy blow.

Because Shava had recalled a large number of overseas laborers to return home and fight, the war's aftershocks even impacted the labor market in the southern seas.

Additionally, the Dawn City Survivor's Daily investigated the civilian casualties that both sides had glossed over, and shockingly found that the proportion of civilian deaths in this war was far higher than in the previous war with the Southern Legion, reaching an astonishing 2.5 million!

In this war, both sides employed countless cunning strategies, repeatedly breaching the limits of human decency.

Gopal, emulating the late "God of War" Arayan, innovated upon the latter's foundation and developed the "sheep tactics"—driving refugees toward towns in Sheep Province and Bird Province, then using artillery and machine guns to force them to charge the Mammoth Nation's trenches.

It must be said, he truly lived up to being Arayan's right-hand man and indeed inherited the "God of War's" fearsome reputation.

Even "Iron General" Grove, in the face of his unscrupulousness, lost out due to a sliver of mercy he could not bring himself to abandon.

Because Grove could not bring himself to do it, Gopal formed the surrendered Vlandians and central vassals from the Southern Legion into "shepherd dog" companies to drive the Brahma refugees, using Vlandians to herd the Brahma people.

This tactic indeed worked wonders.

Those who had already been bloodthirsty in the previous war, hearing that meritorious service could reduce their sentences, went mad when killing Brahma people, their machine guns rattling wildly.

Now there was no issue of being unable to do it.

And not only that—after the war was over, Gopal could shift the blame onto the Vlandians and wash his hands of it.

It was a win-win, you could say.

But what Gopal did not expect was that the man opposite him was also a butcher.

As a former captain of the assault team and Rasi's adopted son, Shava's reputation as the "Butcher" had already been demonstrated during the Mammoth City rebellion, and in the civil war, he naturally showed no mercy.

Just as Gopal was urging "Iron General" Grove to advance, Shava sent Gulian, the former commander of the Southern Legion's Brahma Province theater, directly to the front lines.

This move stunned the frontline soldiers on both sides, including Grove, who was directing the battle.

Although he had caused Gulian some trouble during "Operation North Wind," that had been a stab in the back while Gulian was fully engaged against the Alliance and the Brahma National Army's main forces. Gulian, though gnashing his teeth, had no chance to deal with him.

Now they were face to face, bayonet to bayonet, with no one pulling at each other's teeth or hind legs.

Though Grove had an absolute numerical advantage and relatively stronger firepower, the other side was also a master at building turtle shells, honed by the Alliance's bombers.

And most crucially, this man showed no mercy when killing Brahma people either.

Gopal's sheep flock had hit an iron wall; before they could even charge the Mammoth Nation's positions, they were mowed down halfway.

Grove, too, faced an even more headache-inducing situation: the Southern Legion veterans he had placed on the front lines began deserting in droves.

And the officers led the desertion.

What infuriated him most was Gibson, the ten-thousand-man commander he had captured in the south!

He had even written to the Eastern Empire, hoping they would promote the man's rank—though the Eastern Empire refused.

Unexpectedly, that dog ran away!

Gibson was basically the highest-ranking Vlandian officer under his command.

To prevent similar incidents, he had to withdraw the Vlandian troops from the front to the rear, assigning them as instructors for training new recruits, and sent his own men back to the front lines.

Including the Eleventh Ten-Thousand-Man Corps, the direct subordinate of Deputy Commander Yokal.

After betraying the Northern Field Army, this unit had enjoyed a period of glory, even appearing on the Dawn City Survivor's Daily in the capital with garlands.

But now that everyone else in the Northern Field Army was dead, even the oxen of the logistics convoy had been killed, these favored sons seemed to have become the tail of an old era, forced to prove their loyalty on the most dangerous front.

The only one who escaped unscathed was Yokal himself.

But now he had become a commander without troops, not a single soldier left.

Even among family, some bloodlines are thicker than others, making them seem more like family...

...

By the Tassang River.

A concrete dam stood in the midst of the turbulent current.

In the final battle, the Brahma Nation had tried to blow it up, letting the flood once again swallow Mammoth City.

But fortunately, under the desperate resistance of the local forces, they managed to hold the dam.

Now the war was finally over.

Engineers returning from the southern seas were surveying the dam, pondering how to improve upon the original structure and install generators.

That might not only benefit the farmers along both sides of the river, but many more people as well.

Though most will never live to see that day...

Gazing at the towering dam, Shava, dressed in a crisp military uniform, stood silent, his eyes narrowed as if lost in thought.

Or perhaps mourning someone.

A group of Mammoth Kingdom officers stood behind him, all holding their breath, not daring to disturb.

Except for one Willantian who couldn't read the room.

"...These rolling waves have buried countless talents, countless heroes."

"Hard to say."

Watching Gurion, who was moved by the sight, Shava cracked a smile, his voice tinged with self-mockery.

"Hard to say—maybe in a few years, both the living and the dead will be cowards."

He had long seen through it.

In this land, heroes are either destroyed in body and buried in spirit, as if they never existed, or smeared as villains or clowns. Meanwhile, the true clowns and villains always rise smoothly, ascending to become gods on earth.

And he had drawn the villain's card.

Gurion glanced at him and caught sight of those ashen eyes. For some reason, a pang of sorrow surged in his heart.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he turned his gaze back toward the dam.

"I suppose this is our greatest difference."

Shava shot him a look.

"Oh?"

Gurion paused for a moment, then continued.

"In Triumph City, a hero is a hero, distinct from a saint. We can accept a hero's imperfections, even commemorate his mistakes alongside his glory. The former does not shame the latter; instead, it makes the latter more three-dimensional... like a marble statue—the protrusions are defined by the shadows."

Shava chuckled and teased.

"Even the Marshal?"

Gurion nodded slowly.

"Yes. He did many terrible things, like the massacre in Avant City... For a long time, we regarded it as glory, buried his dishonorable stories, and then everyone paid a heavy price."

Shava grinned.

"You mean to say you're that price?"

"I'm just one of them, not worthy of sympathy." Gurion sighed, turned to face Shava, and paused before continuing, "My war is over. What do you plan to do with me?"

Shava replied expressionlessly.

"I keep my word. You're free. You can take your pension and go anywhere you like."

Gurion said,

"What if I want to stay here?"

Shava looked at him in surprise, disbelief written on his face.

"Are you sure?"

This man, though a loner, had undeniable ability.

Whether he returned to the Bartoa Alliance or the Willantian Alliance, someone would surely need him.

"I want... to atone," Gurion said earnestly. "Though it sounds presumptuous, I want to try to help you, to do what I can."

Shava let out a dry laugh.

"That's probably the most presumptuous thing I've heard all year."

He paused, then, as if weary, turned away and tossed a parting remark as he left.

"Suit yourself. It's your freedom."

...

Not long after, Gurion resigned from his post as commander of the Mammoth Kingdom Army, becoming the first Willantian to end his military tenure in the Brahman Province with a peaceful retirement.

Whether he truly held military power was debatable—after all, behind him stood Shava, the "Great Moon King" and the fiercest figure in the Mammoth Kingdom—but he did set a precedent.

After retiring, he didn't idle. Using his pension, he founded the Mammoth Kingdom Military Academy, cultivating talents for the kingdom in politics and military affairs who were truly loyal to the nation, not to the monarch.

His pension alone was clearly insufficient to establish such an institution.

He was no Mr. Rat, after all, lacking extraordinary personal charm and talent, and he hadn't caught the early wave of history.

Yet, just as he was struggling financially, a massive donation arrived, and the university was founded in an almost miraculous manner.

Some said the donation was wealth he had plundered from the Brahman Province; others claimed it came from Willantians who felt guilty toward the Brahman people; still more speculated that the gangs of Golden Gallon Port had too much money to spend, or that "Great Moon King" Shava had so much cash he wanted to create trouble for himself.

But regardless, the flame that had seemed extinguished appeared to reignite.

This time, perhaps they could kindle their own light.

No longer needing to rely on the Alliance or anyone else...

...

On the other side, in Skycapital.

Outside the city, the land was strewn with corpses, even the red earth scraped clean, while inside the grand theater, traffic bustled and joy reigned.

To celebrate the victory of the Northern Expedition, a circus performance was underway in the grand theater.

The circus troupe was said to have come from Silvermoon Bay and had performed at the Alliance's Victory Day celebration. Now invited to Skycapital, it was the Alliance's way of offering congratulations to the city.

Zayid sat in the audience, a Rick Five cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes narrowed as he took slow, savoring puffs, looking utterly carefree.

Sava had recently come down with some illness—he claimed to be allergic to nicotine, at least.

At a distance, it was manageable, but sitting shoulder to shoulder like this, even with his lithe frame, Sava was choked by the smoke, his eyes watering, coughing incessantly.

Seeing his sickly demeanor, Zayid grew even more spirited. Surrounded by sycophants, he began blowing smoke rings with flair.

Watching Sava's listless expression, he chuckled and teased,

"Sava, what do you think of that clown?"

On stage, a clown was wrestling with a tiger—not a real fight, of course, but a routine of somersaults and antics.

Sava was taken aback, unsure of his godfather's intent, but still flattered with a sycophantic smile.

"I think... that clown is indeed quite ugly."

It was a pointless, redundant remark, the safest answer he could muster.

But he never expected that even this casual comment would be seized upon by his godfather.

Zayid frowned, took the cigarette from his mouth, and spoke without hesitation.

"How can you say that? This clown, I think, is not ugly at all. He paints himself to bring joy to others—how can that be called ugly? It's not ugly; it's great kindness! Utmost kindness!"

Sava was dumbfounded.

Is that even possible?!

The crowd around burst into excited applause, clapping until their hands were red.

“The parents see clearly!”

“That’s the truth!”

“As they say… dust for a face, body to feed the tiger, all for a smile in the mortal world!”

“Bravo!!!”

“Righteousness!!!”

The waves of cheers rose higher and higher; the clown on stage thought the applause was for him and performed with even more vigor, little knowing that the real show was the audience below.

The editor-in-chief of *The Survivor’s Daily* had already settled on tomorrow’s headline: “The Clown Is Not Ugly.” Meanwhile, the uneducated brute Pickley found it utterly splendid, clapping with glee like a monkey just teased by the clown, unable to stop laughing.

Only Education Commissioner Kabaha showed no interest, arms crossed, out of place among the crowd, with a cold, disdainful expression, even sneering to himself.

“I laugh at Abusek, fawning over cats and lording over men—now it seems he laughed too soon.”

Enough.

He had misjudged.

Savva, humiliated, wore a sheepish look, but inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief—a scolding was better than losing his life; at worst, he’d go back and write a thorough self-criticism.

Then someone suddenly asked,

“By the way, why didn’t Gopal come?”

Someone answered immediately,

“He’s sick, so he didn’t come.”

“Sick? I’d say he’s grown lazy in spirit, weary and tired of our enterprise. Doesn’t want to see the circus of the new era, but shuts himself in to watch beast-fighting chess from the Lowell era, huh.”

Zayid flicked the ash from his Rick V cigarette.

That final “huh” was uttered lightly, yet it sent a chill of terror through the surrounding family members.

They were no strangers to killing without blinking, but none could match this man.

Everyone’s mind weighed the gravity of those words, but the instigator himself chatted and laughed about other things, as if he had merely touched on the matter.

But it was no mere touch.

No sooner had the circus ended.

Well-dressed people surged forward, rushing onto the stage to lift the clown actor up as a hero, then grabbing clubs, knives, and spears to charge at the snarling tiger.

The devotees of Silver Moon Bay had never seen such madness; they were stunned, begging the crowd to spare their friend, trying to wake them up, shouting that it was just a performance, but no one stopped.

The tiger, which had never eaten a human, was beaten to death by a pack of upright apes and skinned alive.

The people sang of victory, cheering the Mahatma’s wisdom.

Later, of course, the theater paid the circus a huge sum—in silver coins—and politely saw them out of the Celestial Capital, for they were not Bhorans after all, but wastelanders from the wastes.

But the story did not end there.

The gathered crowd did not disperse; they clamored to go to Gopal’s house and demand an explanation.

A man who looked strong led the way, shouting to the agitated masses,

“Gopal says he’s sick, the Mahatma says he’s not—let’s go see if he’s really sick or faking it, alright?”

“Alright!”

“If he’s really sick, what’s there to fear!”

“Exactly! We’re just going to check on him!”

A surging tide of people flooded toward Gopal’s residence, the commotion growing louder, numbering at least tens of thousands.

Savva, who had taken a few kicks to the backside, sat alone at the theater entrance, trembling in fear, not daring to speak.

He had long suspected that his godfather might move against Gopal first, but he never imagined it would come so fast and so suddenly.

Grove was on his way back from the front—did the master not care about Grove’s thoughts?

Wait—

Suddenly he saw General Pickley, red-faced and thick-necked, cheering with wild excitement.

That man was a former minister of Abusek; by all logic, he should have been distrusted and never promoted.

But from another angle, he might be the safest choice for Zayid…

Because he could be killed anytime, no matter how high his position.

Thinking back to how Pickley had sat near Zayid during the show, just one seat away, Savva’s mind went blank with realization, and his face turned pale.

“Iron General” Grove is in danger!

Cold sweat drenched his body.

He had planned to use Grove as his last trump card after Gopal’s fall, but he never expected the man to exit the stage so early, too early to be of any use.

His scheme had only just begun, and already the pieces on the board were scattered!

Only then did he realize the terror of that Mahatma, but it was too late…

…

Thick, heavy clouds hung over the Bhoran province, and the storm of thunder and lightning seemed never-ending.

The People’s Union soldier sitting under the withered tree, who had hurled his cigarette pack away in fury, would never have imagined that someone would pick it up again, again and again, and twist it into a new trick no one had ever seen before.

This cigarette, it seemed, could not be given up.

The Bhoran province was in turmoil, and even Golden Harbor could hardly stay untouched.

The troops stationed outside the city could keep the Tiger Army and Panther Army calm, but they could not restrain the restless emotions and fraying nerves of the people in the settlements.

Everything seemed to have returned to the days before Wuto’s death.

The once-enthusiastic people grew cold, no longer dreaming of what the future might hold.

All that was too vague.

Making money was the real thing—with money, where couldn’t you go? What couldn’t you do? What couldn’t you buy?

The pragmatists of this harbor finally took that last step, both feet plunging into a void.

Still, for them, it might not be a bad end—at least no more people would die.

When they stopped dreaming of utopia, stopped sponsoring impractical causes, and instead competed over who had more silver coins in their pockets, the high-rises in Golden Harbor doubled, the narrow streets widened, and the bicycles racing down the roads sprouted an extra wheel, speeding along faster!

The first to get rich rode in cars; the poor, after the subway, gained hundreds of new buses, just like the changes the survivors of Dawn City had once experienced.

It wasn’t just transportation.

Prosthetics from the wasteland began to flow in, appearing on the streets and in the alleys.

And immigrants from the Free State.

Tired of endless street brawls and unable to stand the monotonous leisure of Dawn City, they crossed the ocean with their accumulated wealth, trying to find their own piece among the shattered spiritual fragments of the locals.

The flickering neon suddenly filled the pigeon-cage-like streets and alleys, lending this ancient, weathered city an unexpected touch of cyberpunk.

This, perhaps, was something Lowell had not foreseen.

From a biological research institute buried in snow and ice to a cybernetic metropolis bristling with skyscrapers.

The leap was indeed too great…

“Extra! Extra! According to an unnamed researcher, dragon-lizard dung from Baiyue Province has aphrodisiac effects!”

“What the hell?!”

“Seriously?”

The bustling port district was alive with clamor, the newsstand crowded with locals from the nearby neighborhoods.

At the dock, a cargo submarine slowly approached, and a girl with emerald-green skin, eyes wide with curiosity, leaped onto the pier, exclaiming.

“So many people! Over here!”

Gazing at the surging crowd and the buildings not far off, Han Mingyue’s expression couldn’t help but carry a hint of nostalgia.

“It’s changed quite a bit around here.”

“Yeah.”

Ye Shi let out an involuntary sigh as well, his thoughts drifting back to a time long, long ago, recalling the way it looked when he first set foot on this dock…

Just then, the distant chime of bells pulled his thoughts back to the present.

At the same moment, Dora suddenly craned her neck with curiosity, staring at the sky in the distance.

“What’s that?”

There, hot air balloons floated in the sky one after another, imprinted against the sunset like dandelion seeds.

Ye Shi had never seen such a sight before, but he didn’t think much of it—after all, such things were hardly rare in either the Alliance or reality.

“Probably sightseeing balloons, seems like by the Yongliu River… Let’s go take a look later.” Seeing Dora’s expectant expression, he readily agreed.

At that moment, Han Mingyue suddenly interjected.

“Before that, could I borrow a moment of your time? I’d like to take Miss Dora to the Lowell camp… It’s a presumptuous request, but I’d like her to use her psionic power to help me look into something.”

The Alliance had been excavating that ruin, unearthing quite a few interesting things.

But because later occupants had renovated the site multiple times, General Lowell’s personal belongings had been almost entirely lost.

She wanted to see if psionics could uncover anything.

Ye Shi cast a questioning glance at Dora, who immediately nodded and spoke earnestly.

“I can help you.”

A bright smile spread across Han Mingyue’s face.

“Wonderful—if we can find General Lowell’s own notes, we’ll complete the last piece of the puzzle… Thank you!”

Dora gave a shy smile and nodded lightly.

“You’re welcome. We’re friends; it’s the least I can do.”

Her learning ability was indeed extraordinary.

What she had only just learned a few days ago, she could already put into practice.

Just as the group was chatting and laughing, several black sedans pulled up in front of the dock.

As the doors opened, Yodu, the mayor of Golden Kela Port, stepped out and, flanked by several municipal officials and bodyguards, walked up to the group.

It was different from their time in Fries Port.

On the turf of the Alliance’s partner, this semi-official, semi-civilian delegation received an exceptionally warm welcome.

“Welcome to Golden Kela Port!”

Looking at the guests from the Alliance and Nanmen Er before him, Yodu’s face beamed with a radiant smile.

“On behalf of the residents of Golden Kela Port and the entire municipal council, I welcome you all!”