Chapter 703: The Vacuum of Order

Chapter 703: Vacuum of Order

Rowe Camp.

The heavy rain that had just fallen washed the blood lingering in the mud into the puddles along the street, the scent of earth mingling with a faint, lingering smell of blood.

Yet the people here seemed long accustomed to death, as if the blood staining the streets had been spilled in vain.

Before the gate that had been blasted open by the 100mm cannon, a dark crowd of onlookers—poor folk—had gathered.

Among them were those living on nearby streets, slaves who had just been rescued, and militiamen from the First Brigade of the Avengers Alliance standing guard at the camp entrance.

At the center of the crowd stood ten militiamen.

White gauze strips were tied around their arms for identification, their hands bound behind their backs with plastic zip ties, yet the expressions on their faces varied—some angry, some indifferent, some defiant, and others uneasy or hesitant, as if sensing something terrible was about to happen.

Not far from them lay two corpses, a man and a woman.

The man looked to be in his early thirties, the woman about twenty-five or twenty-six; they seemed to be a couple. The former’s abdomen had been slit open by a bayonet, the latter’s forehead bore a single bullet hole, and both had obvious bruises and wounds, suggesting they had suffered greatly before death.

Beside the two bodies, two disheveled girls huddled in a blanket barely covering them, crouching in the mud, trembling. Their expressionless faces were frozen with fear and streaked with stagnant tears, as well as stains like muddy water.

They seemed to have forgotten how to cry, only making sporadic sounds like fish stranded on the shore.

Watching the disarmed militia patrol, the corpses on the ground, and the two girls wrapped in blankets beside them, Killer's Dagger—who had just stepped out of the camp entrance—could guess with his toes what had happened, but still looked at the four players standing next to the girls and confirmed.

"What happened?"

Mountains and Rivers in Dreams stepped forward, retracted the visor of his helmet, glanced at the disarmed men, and reported the situation truthfully.

"...We were sheltering from the rain near Blackwater Street when we suddenly heard a gunshot. When we came out, we saw those guys coming out of a house."

The action footage had a complete record.

He didn’t want to describe the scene in detail; suffice it to say, those bastards had done things even beasts wouldn’t do.

From the expression on the player’s face, Killer's Dagger could roughly guess what had happened, and he looked at the militiamen with white strips on their arms.

Though they couldn’t understand what these Iron Men were saying, the militiamen could still read the look in Killer's Dagger’s eyes.

The leader panicked immediately and shouted, trying to defend himself.

"That man! He was a jailer at Rowe Camp! We found an Imperial rifle and a guard’s uniform in his house!"

"Can you prove that gun and uniform weren’t picked up? And who allowed you to enter his house?" Killer's Dagger stared at him. "Even if he was a jailer, even if he did something unforgivable, what does that have to do with his family?"

The men clearly looked defiant, even casting glances at him with a hint of incomprehension.

The leader said nothing, but the man beside him stepped forward.

"We went in to shelter from the rain! And... didn’t you guys go in too? I saw them coming out of a house!"

With that, he turned his head and glared at the four Iron Men who had disarmed them, his face full of indignation.

Killer's Dagger looked at Mountains and Rivers in Dreams.

The latter’s expression froze, and he explained awkwardly.

"We did go in, but we really just went in to shelter from the rain... And I even paid; the family can vouch for us. No, if you don’t believe me, I can open my action recorder—I had it on the whole time."

Ling Chong’s face changed.

Damn?

If they played that here, he wouldn’t be able to clear his name even if he jumped into the Yellow River!

Fortunately, Killer's Dagger didn’t do that; he just tapped on his VM a couple of times, probably discussing with the other players how to handle it.

Seeing things getting interesting, the crowd of onlookers grew, pointing and whispering.

The Iron Men and the armed slaves had fallen out among themselves.

They were just curious how this farce would end.

And the one lying on the ground—someone seemed to recognize him. A few nearby survivors whispered excitedly.

"I heard Abhishik was indeed a jailer at Rowe Camp. Someone told me before, maybe he said it himself."

"I heard he was a shoeshiner?"

"Come on, that guy was a porter, and a boastful drunk. Maybe tomorrow he’ll become His Majesty’s Imperial Guard."

"He had money to buy wine?!"

"Where would he get the money! Every day he’d squat at the dock picking up leftovers the sailors drank. Last time I saw someone piss a bottle for him; he picked it up, tasted it, and drank it all. Later he told us Valyrian wine tasted weirdly sweet."

"Haha!"

"Too bad for his two daughters, caught in the same misfortune as their dad, tsk tsk."

"Not bad-looking faces, just a bit dirty."

"After such a grievance, they must need comfort, hehe."

Just then, a horn sounded from behind the crowd. A desert-colored wheeled off-road vehicle with a machine gun welded to its roof drove up.

The crowd parted.

The door opened, and Fang Chang jumped out, ignoring the onlookers, and walked straight to Killer's Dagger.

"I already know the situation. Where’s that Rasi?"

As his words fell, the man with a crew cut walked over from the camp entrance, bowing his head respectfully.

"Sir, you called for me?"

A white gauze strip was wrapped around his arm, a "Blade" assault rifle slung across his back, and a scar not yet scabbed over marked his cheek—likely from yesterday’s battle.

Fang Chang narrowed his eyes, staring intently at him.

"My brothers told you to restrain your men. Is this the result of your restraint?"

Rasi looked stunned, glanced at the corpses on the ground, then at the men with their hands bound behind them, and finally back at Fang Chang.

"I heard they killed an Imperial soldier."

"I heard he was killed in his own home," Fang Chang sneered. "And are their bayonets hanging from their belts?"

Rasi was taken aback.

Then he walked over to the ten disarmed militiamen, jerking his chin toward the two corpses and the two girls wrapped in blankets on the ground.

"Did you do this?"

His eyes were like those of a wild beast, devoid of any emotion—so much so that it was impossible to tell whether he was furious at his subordinates’ atrocities or sympathizing with the poor girls’ plight.

Stared at by those pupils that seemed to suck out souls, the decurion’s breathing quickened, and finally he looked away.

"...I was wrong."

Rasi nodded, seemingly accepting the statement, turned and walked a few steps away, but suddenly spun around and released the safety on his rifle.

The sudden change startled the onlookers. Even the ten militiamen under the gun were dumbfounded, momentarily forgetting to beg for mercy.

Rasi had no intention of listening to their pleas; he didn’t even give them time to say their last words, pulling the trigger without hesitation.

A burst of gunfire rang out—tat-tat-tat—and the ten militiamen with bound hands instantly collapsed like punctured balloons, twitching as if electrocuted before falling into pools of blood.

"Ah!!"

Watching that bloody scene, the onlookers screamed and recoiled, while the two girls slumped on the ground stared blankly in that direction, as if their souls had fled.

Having emptied the rifle's magazine, Laxi tossed it aside, drew the pistol from his waist, stepped forward, and emptied the remaining clip into the man who had not yet breathed his last.

A deathly silence fell over the scene.

Whether it was the militia standing at the camp gate or the players standing by, all were struck dumb at the sight of this mad dog.

Fang Chang narrowed his eyes slightly, his thoughts unknown—he neither stopped the act nor praised it as right.

Murderer's Dagger stared wide-eyed at Laxi, held his breath for a moment, then suddenly strode forward and roared at him.

"What the hell are you doing!"

"Calm down, brother. They messed up, and now they're dead."

Forced back a few steps by that aggressive glare, Laxi showed no fear on his face, and continued with reasoned logic.

"If you're still not satisfied, I can drag out the whole century they belonged to and shoot them all."

Murderer's Dagger's eyes bulged.

"Are you insane?!"

Laxi looked at the shouting man in confusion, was silent for a long moment, then suddenly blurted out a sentence.

"Isn't that enough?"

Murderer's Dagger stared at him, momentarily speechless.

In a sense, this guy had solved the problem cleanly, yet it seemed he had solved nothing at all.

But as he said.

The men were dead, their lives forfeit.

Was that not enough?

Those who died were slaves themselves, free men for at most a day—they had nothing else to offer but their lives.

"Enough."

Fang Chang suddenly spoke, breaking the tense atmosphere.

He walked up to Laxi, patted this mad dog on the shoulder, then patted his taut face, and smiled to ease the mood.

"Good kill, they deserved it, but the method was too sloppy. You need to set rules telling your men what they can't do and what punishment follows, not just drag them to the square and gun them all down—otherwise, you'll lose their respect."

Laxi bowed his head respectfully.

"Yes!"

His obedient demeanor left no room for criticism. Fang Chang glanced at the bodies on the ground and spoke slowly.

"Take a few men and bury them."

Laxi nodded in acknowledgment, turned back to pick up his rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and bellowed for several subordinates to come and carry the bodies away for burial.

The problem of losing respect seemed not to exist at all.

The soldiers bore no resentment toward their leader for executing their own; instead, their gazes grew more awed and submissive.

None of this surprised Fang Chang.

These men, just released from cages, were not fully human in the conventional sense—beasts who believed in the law of the jungle naturally followed the fiercer predator.

Watching Fang Chang walk away from Laxi, Murderer's Dagger hesitated for a moment, then finally couldn't help but speak.

"I think at least those men deserved a legal trial. This could have been a good opportunity to use them for propaganda—"

"Come on, they're dead. What's the point of trying corpses? The one most deserving of trial is still hanging on the watchtower."

Cutting off Murderer's Dagger, Fang Chang squinted at the warden hanging on the watchtower, left to the crows' pecking, and continued patiently.

"What you're talking about is too advanced for them. They're still in a relatively primitive jungle society; they don't need that stuff yet. Remember, before the survivors of Clear Springs City all had clean clothes, when did we waste time trying those raiders? That came after everyone was fed and warm."

"For now, I have only one requirement for them: obey, listen to us—that's the only demand. Even if their discipline is atrocious, they're still far better than that emperor who could send five percent of his population into concentration camps."

"As for the rest, we can't rush it."

The militia's atrocities were partly a vengeful backlash from the oppressed suddenly standing tall, but more so an inevitable result of the vacuum of order.

The aftermath of this uprising went far beyond these few scapegoats.

The rebel army might restrain itself out of concern for the Alliance's stance, but the thugs who picked up weapons from fleeing soldiers would only grow more brutal and reckless.

At this moment, in those dark alleys, who knew how many tragedies were unfolding?

To fundamentally solve this problem, a new order had to be established locally to replace the old one from Nihack's governorship.

He was actually doing that right now.

Chief Bihari and his lackeys were taking over the city's policing, and militia training was proceeding steadily.

They weren't doing a great job, but it was enough.

Once the new order was built, they just needed to let the local survivors eat their fill, have clothes to wear, a place to live—to live with a little more dignity than under Nihack—and this new order would naturally gain enough legitimacy in the locals' hearts to sustain its rule.

It wasn't really that hard.

Some unlucky emperor had left them a large sum of money, perfect for this purpose.

Taking all that money back home would have been a bit unscrupulous anyway.

After deducting reparations, "borrowing" it in the name of the Baiyue Company and investing it locally would not only earn a good reputation for the Alliance and Fries Port but also turn a profit.

"What about them? How do we handle them?" Murderer's Dagger glanced at the two girls still slumped on the ground, then looked at Fang Chang.

No matter how many solutions existed for the macro issues, they had to deal with the immediate problem.

At least he thought it needed addressing.

All around, eyes were watching.

Fang Chang was silent for a long time, then sighed.

"Give them two boat tickets..."

Perhaps the survivors of Fries Port could help them start a new life, like the survivors of the Refugee Home.

Aside from giving them financial compensation and sending them away from this place of trouble, he couldn't think of a better solution for now...

...

As the bodies at the gate of Lowell Camp and the two pitiful victims were taken away, the survivors who had gathered to watch the spectacle gradually dispersed, their interest waning.

Though the "White Gauzes'" utterly spineless attitude toward the "Iron Men" had left many feeling bored, in the end, they were pleased to see blood spilled.

That guy named Laxi was a ruthless one—killing his own men without blinking, like slaughtering chickens, gunning them all down cleanly.

Those few young men who were executed were truly unfortunate; it wasn't a big deal, at most they'd have to pay with a couple of pigs, but they happened to run into the line of fire.

And—

It turned out that getting shot didn't kill you instantly; you'd thrash in the blood like a fish for a while before breathing your last.

Everyone was delighted, their long wait for the spectacle not in vain.

As for the two girls wrapped in blankets, their fate was equally a matter of concern.

Some said the Iron Men had taken a fancy to them, for otherwise there was no reason to carry them off—they could have simply let them go home.

Others said they would be secretly disposed of; after all, the White Gauze had done the Iron Men such a great favor, the Iron Men had to offer something in return.

Everyone racked their brains in their own way, trying to explain the inexplicable oddities.

At least they tried.

Watching the commotion outside subside, Han Mingyue pushed open the car door and stepped out. She merely glanced at the bloodstains on the ground, then indifferently continued toward the camp gate.

Fang Chang, waiting there, gave her a slightly surprised second look.

"Aren't you afraid?"

In his memory, aside from the "corrupted" disciples of the Enlightenment Society, most Blue Coats on the wasteland possessed an extraordinary moral purity.

He had even prepared himself to be mocked by the NPCs, but the expected reaction never came.

Instead, he was the one making a fuss.

"Do you think the Great Wasteland is some peaceful, pleasant place?" Han Mingyue teased nonchalantly. "Besides, I study this place. Do you think I don't know what the survivors here are like?"

That made sense.

Fang Chang understood in an instant.

This woman probably viewed the people here no differently than Heya viewed Xiaoyu.

Entering the Lowell camp, Ms. Han glanced around, her eyes sparkling with keen interest.

"So this is it..." she murmured.

"This?"

Fang Chang looked around.

Aside from layers of pigeonhole-like structures and rows of open iron-barred gates, there was nothing particularly striking to him.

But Ms. Han clearly saw things differently.

She took a photo of the layout, then spoke with a tone of deep reflection.

"...According to the data I've collected in the Great Wasteland, this was once a scientific research station. During the Three Years' War, a battalion-level combat unit under the Human Union Army escorted a massive group of refugees retreating from the southern industrial zone to this place, and maintained order for a considerable period in the early Wasteland Era."

Fang Chang suddenly grew curious about a strange detail.

"Is Lowell the name of that battalion commander, or the name of the research station?"

Han Mingyue said.

"It's the commander's name. He was called 'General Lowell.' In the cache data of a signal repeater, I found complaints and accusations from the survivors against him, even demands for the Human Union authorities to replace him. Such complaints never ceased until the end of the Three Years' War, but they seemed to have no effect."

"According to the timestamp in the server, the last message was sent by General Lowell himself. It seemed he intended to report to the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, or perhaps to defend himself. But unfortunately, the committee never received that message, and at the time they had no power to care about the distant survivors of the Brahmaputra Province."

"In that message, General Lowell mentioned that besides the necessary coercive measures for survival, he adopted some special methods to fill the local survivors' stomachs, including forcing researchers to study how to make soil edible, and forcing some survivors to act as guinea pigs for taste tests."

"Surprisingly, his researchers actually used the station's equipment to synthesize a single-celled organism capable of degrading biomass remains. After treatment by this microorganism, the soil turned reddish-brown and could be eaten after simple filtration."

"Unfortunately, the project was only halfway done when a riot broke out in the Lowell camp. The rebellious survivors buried General Lowell, his researchers, and the research results together in the wilderness north of the camp, near the Eternal Flow River... That area was probably frozen tundra at the time; they had to work hard to dig a pit large enough. If my guess is correct, there should be a patch of red soil north of Golden Gallon Port."

Fang Chang asked in confusion.

"Why did those survivors oppose him?"

Looking at the mud cakes spread out on stone slabs to dry in the open space nearby, Han Mingyue said casually.

"Matter doesn't appear out of thin air; it only flows from one cycle to the next. Why don't you guess where the organic matter for synthesizing 'red soil' came from?"

Before Fang Chang could speculate, she continued.

"People had to continuously fill the red soil with organic remains like corpses and feces—only then could the red soil keep 'growing,' or else they had to wait for it to grow slowly."

"From a carbon sequestration perspective, it's actually no more efficient than farming; the only advantage is convenience. General Lowell never fundamentally solved the problem. He probably read some old books, did what he thought was a good deed with simple intentions, and ended up being buried by the first generation of survivors who hadn't yet gone mad."

Good grief.

Soil made from buried bodies?!

Fang Chang's Adam's apple bobbed; just hearing it made his stomach churn.

But the researcher seemed unfazed, even with a meaningful smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

"...Ironically, though General Lowell now seems an ambitious but incompetent fool, stubborn and self-opinionated, the descendants of those survivors are clearly even more foolish, having shed the restraint of civilized people. His fanciful method, matched with an even dumber bunch, actually allowed them to live quite comfortably."

"So, in your opinion, is there a better way?" Fang Chang was curious what a sociologist might suggest.

Han Mingyue smiled slightly.

"I think your method is quite good. Your administrator is a decent person—doing the right thing at the right time, not trying to reach the finish line in one leap... As for specific ideas, my research is more theoretical; I can only offer reference suggestions, not direct solutions."

She paused, glanced around, and continued.

"I need to stay here for a few days. Although most of the original buildings have been demolished, I should still find some useful clues... Can you guarantee my safety?"

Fang Chang gave a friendly suggestion.

"I recommend you stay at the port. That's where our actual control is. This place could become the front line at any moment."

Han Mingyue nodded decisively.

"Alright, I'll follow your advice."

...

The day after the Dolphin delivered the second wave of supplies and the research team from the scientific expedition to French Fries Port, Duke Garava, far away in the First Hospital of Dawn City, finally awoke from his sickbed.

Before he could fully open his eyes, a cry full of eager hope landed with a thud at the bedside.

"My lord! You're awake?"

The memories before his fainting surged back like a tide. Duke Garava looked at his servant Niyang kneeling by the window, reached out a trembling hand, and grabbed his arm.

"Gold..."

He was like a drowning parrot, trying to force out the words stuck in his throat.

Niyang instantly understood the expression on his face and quickly said.

"My lord, rest assured! I have already sent word to His Majesty about the Golden Gallon Port matter via a trusted man! If all goes well, he should be at Silver Moon Bay by now. Using the radio there, we can contact the scouts on the eastern shore of the Brahmaputra Province. His Majesty will know the situation here by tomorrow at the latest!"

Duke Garava breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this.

The garrison of Golden Gallon Port was indeed useless, but the Empire's army was far more than just a single garrison. Those good-for-nothings weren't even fit to be cannon fodder.

As long as His Majesty learned of this and dispatched the Gray Wolf Army stationed along the Eternal Flow River, they could drive the Alliance into the sea in no time.

He admitted that this time he had miscalculated, caught off guard by the Alliance, suffering a quiet loss both on the map and in terms of moral standing.

But it didn't matter.

As long as they could retake Golden Gallon Port, they would seize the initiative in ceasefire negotiations, and everything would be fine.

A relieved smile spread across his face. Duke Garava slowly nodded and released his grip on Niyang's arm.

"Well done... In critical times, you're the one I can rely on."

It was a pity his status was too low.

Otherwise, he would have considered promoting this clever fellow, perhaps giving him some position with real power.

Niyan smiled shyly, with a fawning expression, and said,

"It's all thanks to the Duke's excellent guidance."

Galavan nodded slowly, then looked up at the pure white ceiling, silent for a long while, before finally speaking in a low voice.

"Where is this?"

Niyan quickly replied.

"Dawn City First Hospital, the best hospital around here."

Seeing Niyan pause, Bablu, standing nearby, finally seized the chance to interject, adding in a muffled tone,

"The doctors here said your heart has a problem. To cure it completely, they recommend replacing it with a bionic heart. They offered two quality plans: one from Boulder Military Industries, and one from Ideal City—"

There was actually a third option: implanting a biological prosthetic.

But that plan was too avant-garde, seemingly only available to residents of Vault 404 or those infected with mutant slime mold, so the doctor only mentioned it in passing.

However, before he could finish, he was cut off by a reprimand.

"Shut up!"

Eyes wide as he glared at the man, Niyan said aggressively, "Do you want the Alliance to cut the Duke open?! What are you plotting?"

Bablu gaped, staring at Niyan in bewilderment.

He had no ulterior motives—he was merely fulfilling his duty as a servant, faithfully repeating the doctor's exact words.

But alas, he was tongue-tied; flustered and panicked, he stammered for ages without uttering a single coherent sentence, sweat beading on his forehead, which only made him seem more suspicious.

The bedridden Duke Galava twitched the corner of his mouth involuntarily.

Hearing that his chronic heart condition could be cured, he had been somewhat tempted—after all, money was no object. But the moment he heard "cut open," fear seized him.

That meant cutting into his body—no joke.

Who knew if the Alliance's doctors might take the chance to do something to him.

What if that Chu Guang gave a subtle signal, and the doctors here, catching his drift, stabbed him in the aorta? Then there'd be no place to seek justice!

Reading the worry on Duke Galava's face, Niyan leaned in close, whispering in his ear.

"...My lord, I fear the Alliance might tamper with your heart. Your illness can be managed with proper care and timely medication, but if the Alliance gets hold of your heart, who knows when it might stop obeying you."

"Hah, I saw that coming... Those treacherous, cunning bastards—how could I fall for such a clumsy trick?"

Thinking to himself how close a call it was, Duke Galava shot a fierce glare at Bablu standing nearby, then turned to Niyan, steadying his voice to continue.

"Has anything happened in the days I've been away?"

"Not yet, my lord. Foreign Minister Cheng did come to visit you once, but you were still unconscious, so he stayed a while and left."

At that point, Niyan suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, the newspaper you asked me to buy—I've brought it for you!"

With that, he grabbed the neatly folded copy of *Goblin Observer* from the bedside table and handed it eagerly to Duke Galava.

It was the edition from a few days ago.

Duke Galava's complexion had already improved somewhat, but the moment his eyes met the sensational headline, his sallow face flushed crimson.

"Xilan Empire Gray Wolf Army Chiliarch Dirang: 'I cried—I just touched you once, and you chased me two thousand kilometers?!'"

[...The Burning Legion landed at Golden Port Harbor. In just one morning, the city defense forces were routed, and both the port district and the governor's mansion fell.]

Those bastards...

This is an outrage!

Galava felt his vision go dark, the world spinning; his shoulders went limp as he fell backward, the back of his head sinking back into the pillow it had just left.

Bablu and the other wolf-tribe guards saw this and rushed forward, snatching the newspaper from his clenched grip.

"My lord! My lord!"

"Quick, quick—mouth-to-mouth!"

"Are you a pig?! We're in a hospital! Go get the doctor!" Niyan shoved Bablu aside as he leaned in for resuscitation, shouting at him.

The latter scurried out the door in a panic, not bothering to think about who had caused the Duke to faint, and yelled down the corridor,

"Doctor!!!"

At the same moment the doctor hurried toward the ward, far away in the imperial palace of Tian Du on the west coast of Bolo Province, a roar echoed through the majestic hall.

"Bastard!"

Hurling the telegram onto the palace steps, Wu Tuo's face burned with murderous rage, his two mustaches twitching beneath his nose.

The boundless imperial might pressed down on the shoulders of his ministers; they prostrated themselves, trembling, not daring to make a sound.

The telegram contained the original text of *Goblin Observer*, detailing the events at Golden Port Harbor a few days earlier.

But what infuriated Wu Tuo was that the Alliance's forces had landed at Golden Port Harbor days ago, and he, the Emperor, was only now learning of it!

If not for his envoy being in Dawn City and sending this newspaper by express, he would still be kept in the dark!

Wu Tuo's heart felt as if twisted by a knife; he nearly bit his gums bloody.

Governor Nihaq was his trusted confidant, earning him over a hundred million dinars in foreign exchange each year, and now he had become the Alliance's prisoner.

Not only that.

The hundreds of millions of dinars he had deposited in the banks of Golden Port Harbor had now fallen into the hands of those bandits!

Excellent!

Wu Tuo ground his teeth audibly.

He had originally only intended to teach those people a lesson, but he never expected them to be so audacious as to set their sights on his pockets.

Clenching his trembling fists, Wu Tuo let out an irrepressible roar at the ministers prostrate on the steps.

"Pass my order!"

"From this moment, the Gray Wolf Army shall march in full force to Golden Port Harbor!"

"Tell General Alayan: I don't care what methods he uses! I don't care what the cost! I want that double-blade flag flying again atop the governor's mansion!"