Chapter 1048: Victory Belongs to All Survivors

Chapter 1048: A Victory Belonging to All Survivors

At the very moment Tianhong was slain amidst the chaos by the commander of the Desert Corps, on the other side of the battlefield, Molton—now transformed into a cyborg—fell under the hail of bullets from the Death Corps.

His legs were blown off, one arm severed, and not a single intact component remained on his body. The damage report on his main control program blared incessantly.

Yet even so, he did not stop fighting. With his remaining left hand, he drew his sidearm and tried to aim at the Deathclaw charging straight at him.

"Bang—!"

The bullet burst from the barrel but whistled past its target.

"Roar!!!"

The Deathclaw let out a furious bellow, closing the distance in an instant. It clamped its jaws around his remaining arm and tore it clean from his shoulder.

Sparks flew in all directions, and acrid smoke billowed from Molton’s shoulder joint.

The Deathclaw planted a foot on his chest, spat out the half-eaten arm, and once again opened its savage, blood-drenched maw.

Molton stared at it expressionlessly, calmly awaiting death, when the gaping jaws were suddenly yanked back.

Perhaps worried that his mount might eat something bad, the rider in an exoskeleton dismounted from the lizard’s back and casually grabbed the entrenching tool hanging by the beast’s side.

The shovel’s edge was sharpened—it could serve as both a bayonet and a breaching axe.

Watching the man approach, Molton, who had been silent, suddenly spoke.

"I don’t understand..."

The man, holding the shovel by its edge, raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the cyborg stump lying on the ground awaiting death.

"Don’t understand what?"

Molton stared into his eyes, his electronic voice crackling intermittently.

"How... did you manage it? We had... at least... four active-duty officers from the Human Federation. We expected we might not hold... but against wastelanders... not this fast."

According to simulation results, the three defensive lines they had deployed around Vault 13 should have held for at least half a month—there was no way they couldn’t last even a single night.

Yet the outcome of this war had defied his expectations.

The mechanical soldiers, which should have held out longer, had suffered a systemic collapse in ways he had never imagined, while these organics had endured far longer than he had anticipated...

"Active-duty officers, huh..."

The man, known as Edge Sculler, grinned and quipped at the bewildered hunk of metal.

"Your war lasted three years. Ours lasted two centuries. What makes you think you’re more professional? Just because your ranks are stamped with the Human Federation’s rubber seal?"

The electronic eyes embedded in the metal flickered faintly, then dimmed.

"I see..."

They had lived too long in the glory of the past.

Both the Celestials...

And themselves before becoming Celestials...

Molton said nothing more. He seemed to have finally understood everything, silently accepting the outcome of his defeat.

In the distance, gunfire still crackled on.

Though their commander had fallen, the mechanical soldiers—who knew nothing of death—did not cease. They continued to execute their previous orders.

Even though they had lost any reason to keep fighting.

In a sense, they and the Celestials who created them might be the same kind.

Their era was over.

Still living two hundred years in the past, they had not become a force to rebuild the world but rather an obstacle blocking humanity’s path to a new epoch...

Burning steel littered the wasteland beneath the old space elevator. The clash of blood and fire raged through the night, until the morning sun hung on the hazy horizon.

With the destruction of the last humanoid combat armor, the slaughter finally ended in the Alliance’s victory.

As for the cost—

Though not devastating, it was far from light.

Even though the orbital cannon’s preemptive strike had wiped out the Enlightened’s surface combatants and mutant cannon fodder, the Celestials’ robot army still inflicted considerable casualties on the players.

In a single battle, the total casualties of over a dozen participating corps reached twenty thousand.

Among them, the Death Corps suffered the heaviest losses, with eleven thousand members killed.

Of course, they also had the largest roster on the server, maintaining a steady strength of around thirty thousand.

As for the Skeleton Corps, which relied mainly on armored units, their casualties were comparatively lighter.

Blood dyed the reddish-brown sand an even deeper crimson, gleaming like a radiant sea of blood under the morning sun.

The only consolation was that players who died in battle would not truly perish.

Three days later, they would awaken from their cultivation pods and once again behold the dawn spreading across the land...

...

On the official website of *Wasteland OL*, the forums were buzzing with activity.

Cloud players were busy arguing in the void, debating whether the Celestials or the Enlightened were stronger, and how they compared to other factions on the wasteland. Meanwhile, players who had logged off early were waiting for their freshly fallen comrades to bring back the latest firsthand battle reports.

Soon, news of victory from the front lines arrived, and the official reward announcement flooded the screen at the same time.

It wasn’t just Talan Raider who received the server-wide announcement reward and limited title.

Almost everyone—Edge Sculler, Mole Brother, and others—unlocked their own achievements and ascended to the official Hall of Fame with gleaming honors.

After waiting months, they had finally witnessed a decisive, exhilarating battle. Nearly every participating player was thrilled.

With the generous event points and rewards, the three-day respawn cooldown and withdrawal symptoms from being unable to log in didn’t seem so unbearable.

Probably.

Edge Sculler: "What a rush! Hahaha! Haven’t felt this good in ages! (Grin)"

Drum Roll Shampoo: "Just a bit lonely and cold, though. Didn’t expect the Enlightened to be such pushovers—one map-wide strike and they were done. (Sigh)"

Debt Big Eyes: "Speaking of which, now that the Enlightened are taken care of, should we go after the Eastern Empire next? (Wicked grin)"

Irena: "Saren: Don’t come any closer!! (Rofl)"

Elf King Fortune: "I doubt it. Can’t just go around smashing everything that looks different from us. (Rofl)"

Canyon Fugitive Mole: "Unless a new expansion drops. (Rofl)"

Leftover Old Man: "But they’re still stuck in slavery, right? A rational analysis says it’s not impossible."

Battlefield Atmosphere Group: "That said, they’ve already started changing. New Westport, for instance, is a decent start. The people there are still weak for now, but they’ll grow and become a political force driving reform in the Eastern Empire. If we barge in recklessly, it might backfire—we could end up creating another Frankenstein."

The Legion had been a Frankenstein of sorts before; after its dissolution, it actually became more normal.

The reason the Eastern Empire was the Eastern Empire wasn’t because they had an emperor named Saren, but because of the shared hopes deep in the hearts of everyone living on that land.

The latter was the cause; the former was merely the result.

In that regard, the Vland people of the Vland Province and the Barthoa Province were fundamentally different.

The former already possessed a constitutional tradition during the Julian era; otherwise, even if he shouted himself hoarse as consul, he could not have changed a thing.

As for the Southern Legion, though it took a militaristic path for a time, its society was primarily composed of citizens, officers, and industrialists—fundamentally different from the Eastern Legion, where landowners and military aristocrats played the dominant role.

Whether the Wilants of the Eastern Empire admit it or not, the ecological niche for a usurper objectively exists, along with the tens of thousands of slave owners who depend on him.

Once the tangible sovereign is overthrown, an intangible sovereign will emerge to fill the vacant niche.

This is not merely a problem of the Eastern Empire but a common issue inherent in all forms of feudalism.

Relatively speaking, the feudalism of the Eastern Empire is actually quite advanced.

At the very least, both their sovereign and those tens of thousands of military aristocrats harbor a desire for progress in their minds.

I Am the Darkest: "Tsk, your tone is starting to sound more and more like Fang Chang."

Kakarot: "I have a reasonable suspicion—eight out of ten, you've had some affair with an NPC. (Wicked grin)"

Battlefield Atmosphere Group: "???"

Falling Feather: "Right now, I'm only curious about one thing: what will the next expansion be? (Staring at the sky)"

Wind Clear: "Maybe another planet?"

Garbage Picker Level 99: "Damn, wouldn't that be too big a leap? (Dazed)"

Mole in the Canyon: "You people are so hard to please. When you hadn't even left Clear Springs City, you were shouting about flying into space every day. Now that you've actually flown up, why the hesitation? (Sarcastic)"

Laplace: "Wait, so *Wasteland OL* is actually just a prequel set in the background of the open beta? (Shocked)"

Ma'am, You Wouldn't Want That Either: "Although it feels like there are problems everywhere, somehow it's kind of reasonable—what the hell? (Crying with laughter)"

Garbage Picker Level 99: "Awesome! Using a prequel as a test version is unbeatable."

Tail: "Whoa! *Starfield OL*, launch! (Putting on sunglasses)"

Forcing the Unwilling: "I'm crying. Can this mouse of mine just delete its character and start over? (Crying)"

Outlaw: "Speaking of which, why haven't we seen Old Bai and the others showing off this time? That's not scientific."

Spring Commander: "Their battlefield isn't on the ground—it's at the Lagrange points. I remember their attack time is about the same as ours; it's probably not over yet."

Professor Yang, the Thunder Mage: "Good grief, you're already playing *Starfield OL*?"

Tyrannosaurus Warrior: "Alright, I've been impressed. (Crying)"

Mole in the Canyon: "(Sarcastic)"

...

The battle on the ground was over.

NPC troops of the First Alliance Army began to move in. After a brief rest, the players also started cleaning up the battlefield.

The Enlightenment Society had left behind quite a few good things.

Especially the pre-war exoskeletons and power armor scattered across the battlefield—almost all were ninety percent new, the kind you could just wash and use. This delighted a bunch of players who had never seen such things before.

Although these pieces of equipment didn't belong to whoever picked them up—they were to be exchanged for battlefield points—there was no problem with "trying them on" before handing them over.

The NPCs in *Wasteland OL* weren't as rigid as those in other games. They wouldn't overly question the origin of what players wore on their bodies; only during "registration and binding" would a relatively strict review process take place.

Apart from the equipment and wreckage left on the battlefield, the most valuable items were the black boxes collected by the Enlightenment Society and the production facilities restored from those black boxes.

These black boxes had been seized by the Enlightenment Society from other shelters, and now they had all become treasures of the Alliance.

Wave after wave of heavy trucks from the First Army drove into the Enlightenment Society's production facilities, then drove out again toward the direction of the Ravenka Industrial Zone.

These treasures would be loaded into containers, shipped by cargo vessels to the ports of the Death Coast, and then, depending on their use, either sent to the Dawn City Industrial Zone or kept on the Death Coast to support local construction.

Just as the players were happily scavenging on the battlefield, a group of people arrived from the direction of the Ravenka Industrial Zone.

Clearly, the smell of blood here had not only attracted vultures from the sky but also drawn nearby scavengers.

When the Enlightenment Society and the mutant mercenaries were still active in this area, almost no one dared to come near. But now, the situation was different.

After all, watching those trucks heading toward the Ravenka Industrial Zone, even the dullest person could figure out who had won last night's great battle.

Following the tire tracks on the ground, scavengers along the way had gathered here.

Seeing the growing crowd of scavengers, a player standing guard at the checkpoint stepped forward and shouted at the noisy throng.

"The battlefield is still being cleared. It's not safe here. I suggest you wait until it's secure before coming over."

The scavengers buzzed with noise for a while.

A woman with hair tied like dreadlocks and brown skin stepped forward and called out to the player at the checkpoint.

"Sir, this is our line of work. If we wait until it's safe, what would there be left for us to do?"

Her murky pupils held one part respect, two parts cunning, and the remaining seven parts vigilance.

Though they had heard the Alliance had a good reputation, no one could be sure the rumors were true.

But even so, she was willing to come here and try her luck.

After all, no other place where you could scavenge trash could compare to this prime location at the foot of the space elevator.

Before the player could answer, several scavengers standing at the front of the crowd also stepped forward and shouted.

"Sir, we can help you clean up the battlefield... at a reasonable price."

"We have no other intentions—just want to earn a meal."

The two players exchanged glances, then one of them stepped forward and spoke to the scavengers in the front row.

"We understand your situation. I don't see a problem with it, but I can't make the decision. I need to ask the commanding officer."

"Thank you."

The female scavenger winked at him.

But her unique appearance was perhaps a bit too "wasteland punk" and didn't spark the young player's interest; instead, it left him feeling a bit embarrassed.

His shy demeanor drew laughter from the crowd, livening up the atmosphere around the checkpoint.

The local wastelanders were even more open and passionate than those from the River Valley Province, though their looks were somewhat lacking.

The message was passed up level by level and soon reached the First Army's staff headquarters.

After a meeting discussion, the supreme commander, "Wrench," quickly approved the scavengers' request.

Although unexploded stray bullets and war machines left on the battlefield could pose safety risks, those stationed here had to consider not only safety but also the establishment of reliable order in the area.

Assigning jobs to these scavengers was part of establishing that order.

Rather than letting these guys sneak into the battlefield to steal loot at the risk of being caught or blown up, it was better to recruit most of them at a reasonable price first, then use an iron fist to deal with those desperate outlaws who risked their lives for profit, increasing the latter's risks and costs.

In the end, once the battlefield was cleared, they would return this garbage dump to the scavengers and buy valuable dismantled materials from them at fair prices, thus transitioning from wartime order to peacetime order.

The administrator planned to build a new settlement here.

Besides settling the nearby scavengers, that gentleman also hoped to involve the residents of Vault 13 in the construction of this settlement, to take up the responsibilities and duties they had once abandoned...

...

At the entrance of Vault 13, the alloy door slowly opened.

Under the guidance of the Overseers, a hurried crowd filed through the long corridor, leaving the cradle that had sheltered them for over a century.

Ahead lies the wasteland.

And also their new home from now on.

The morning sunlight shone upon faces of varied expressions, as people gazed at the desolate ruins and battlefield, their features etched with bewilderment and hesitation.

Until yesterday, they had still been listening to Director Feng's honeyed words, believing that as long as they joined forces with the Enlightenment Society and the Celestials, their future would be infinitely bright and filled with beauty.

Yet reality was not so—

What they saw was only a scene of devastation, with death everywhere.

"Ahead lies the wasteland…"

Squinting at the road before him, Medical Miracle spoke to Director Feng beside him and the secretary who still steadfastly supported him.

"You've been comfortable for two hundred years. It's time you learned to face reality."

Feng Zhiheng stared into his eyes, his face pale from blood loss and devoid of much expression. After a long while, he forced out a sentence.

"In fact, you saw it… most people were not really prepared."

Medical Miracle smiled.

"So what?"

Looking at this heartless fellow, Feng Zhiheng's mouth twitched slightly as he lowered his voice.

"Because of your plan, they were hastily driven out… Is that fair to us?"

Before Medical Miracle could speak, Zhuang Lan, who had walked over dragging the president of the Enlightenment Society by the neck, answered for him.

"That question should be asked of you. When Vault 68 opened its doors to explore ways to rebuild civilization, you were already living the Era of Prosperity ahead of time in Vault 13… Is that fair to us?"

Feng Zhiheng's eyes wavered, but in the end he could not avoid that sharp gaze and glossed over the question.

"So what? You've already proven that those beggars aren't worth saving—these people are the root of all problems—"

"Anyone can discuss this, but you cannot," Zhuang Lan said, looking into his eyes, enunciating each word. "Including me."

If you ask why, it is because the shelter was not built to protect any one person, but to protect everyone.

That is the source of its legitimacy in sacrificing some lives to concentrate resources so that others could survive first.

From the very beginning, it existed to carry on the spark of civilization, even if the process involved some twists.

If even this most basic responsibility could be shirked, then police could refuse to enforce the law because the victim was not perfect, and firefighters could refuse to rush into a blaze because the victim was also the arsonist.

But that is clearly not allowed.

Whether it is worthwhile is for later generations to judge; saving those who survive is the duty of the Blue Coats at this moment.

Looking at the speechless Director Feng, Zhuang Lan suddenly curled her lips in a teasing smile.

"No wonder they never called you Overseer, and you never called yourself that."

Gazing at his bewildered face, she said in a half-joking tone.

"At least you have some self-awareness."