Chapter 711: No War on the Front Today

Chapter 711: All Quiet on the Front Today

The eastern outskirts of the City of a Thousand Pillars.

Winding trenches were etched across the positions like twisted centipedes, violently cleaving the earth in two.

Soldiers in steel helmets stood tensely within the ditches, gripping their rifles with both hands, leaning forward as their narrowed eyes strained to pierce the wilderness ahead.

Though it was a rare, cloudless day amidst the rainy season, an invisible shroud of dark mist weighed upon every soul, stifling both the men in the trenches and the fish swimming in the Eternal River.

Inside the frontline observation post.

General Alayan stared at the distant ridge, his brow knit in a deep scowl.

Deep creases were carved into the corners of his eyes; his dark under-eye bags were slightly swollen, and his pupils, clouded like the waters of the Eternal River, were framed by a few silver streaks at his temples. That haggard countenance looked as though he had aged over a decade overnight, a jarring contrast to the high-spirited figure he had cut just a week ago.

Standing beside him, Gopal bore the same look of sleepless exhaustion; usually the one with a plan for everything, he was now conspicuously silent.

An entire legion of ten thousand men, captured intact as a complete unit...

Such an ignominy had never occurred since the rise of dynasties in the Bhairava Province!

This was not merely a disgrace for a few officers, but a shame upon the entire Gray Wolf Army—and indeed, upon all of the wolf-kin.

What wracked their minds even more was the fate of those ten thousand captured wolf-kin warriors.

Their captors were the most vicious thugs of Golden Galleon Port, a horde of slaves whose minds and bodies had been warped by endless torment.

Heaven only knew what foul humiliations those proud sons of the wolf-kin would suffer in their hands.

Yet, even as their hearts bled for the plight of those young lads, they were temporarily powerless to attend to the miserable wretches.

The moment news of the frontline disaster reached the royal capital, His Majesty, far away in the Heavenly Capital, had swiftly dispatched a telegram, ordering them to retreat a hundred kilometers to establish a defense around the City of a Thousand Pillars and to cease all offensive operations against the Alliance.

The City of a Thousand Pillars was the holy city of the Shiran Empire, and the sacred sanctuary in the hearts of all survivors throughout the Bhairava Province; the iron chains wrapped around the totem pillars symbolized blessings upon this land, drawing crowds of believers every year to pray for inner peace and tranquility.

Should the Alliance take this place, not only would the Shiran royal family lose all vestige of dignity, but the stability of the entire province would be severely fractured.

Thugs who pillaged and slaughtered in the name of doomsday would sweep across the length of Bhairava.

No matter the cost, this settlement must never fall into the hands of the Alliance!

General Alayan had already steeled himself for a fight to the death.

Just then, his adjutant came jogging in from the rear trenches, panting heavily as he offered a military salute.

"Report! The buildings within the combat zone have been cleared; not a single shelter or field remains along the entire line! I assure you, aside from our own men, you won't spot a single survivor—not even a rat!"

Alayan nodded, offering no inquiry into where those troublesome survivors had been sent, and simply raised his binoculars once more to peer toward the east.

All was silent there; save for a few abandoned, dilapidated shacks, there was not a trace of human presence.

Standing beside him, Gopal, the chief of staff, finally spoke.

"The Alliance has honored the ceasefire agreement... It seems they ultimately do not wish to blow things out of proportion."

His voice carried a faint trace of relief.

Yet almost before his words could settle, a spectral silhouette of dust materialized on the distant plains.

The moment they caught sight of that dusty trail, the officers inside the observation post froze in collective shock, before Alayan, the first to snap back to reality, bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"Prepare for battle!"

The instant the roar left his throat, piercing alarms blared across the trenches spanning a dozen kilometers.

Machine gunners crouching in their bunkers frantically chambered their ammunition belts, while artillerymen spun their winches so furiously that the clattering metal nearly threw sparks.

Soldiers clutching rifles poured out from the bomb shelters, pressing their chests tightly against the trench rims, their terrified gazes tracking along their rifle barrels toward the open field.

Row upon row of bright bayonets gleamed blindingly beneath the fierce sun.

Everyone stared anxiously at the drawing dust cloud, waiting for the order to fire, while silently praying in their hearts that the command would never come.

Most of the men here had survived the great rout along the banks of the Eternal River, where ten thousand were chased by a mere two hundred, driving some to plunge blindly into the waters.

The memory of that terror was etched deep into the soul of every wolf-kin soldier.

No one wished to relive the horror of that day...

Alayan’s face was as dark as still water, completely silent, as if locked in deep thought. Gopal, standing beside him, was sweating profusely, his hands trembling as he held his binoculars.

This was the absolute front line—

He swallowed hard, saying nervously.

"General, if the Alliance brazenly tears up the ceasefire agreement, this is the absolute front line. We should at least fall back a little—"

In truth, they had already torn it up.

Before the official ceasefire agreement was signed, Alliance soldiers were not permitted to take a single step out of Golden Galleon Port; now, the only thing left to determine was whether the approaching figure belonged to the Alliance itself, or to the puppet army composed of rebels and thugs.

"Wait a little longer."

Alayan cut him off, his gaze locked dead ahead.

The trail of dust was finally close.

An armored off-road vehicle painted in desert camouflage came into the view of the officers, halting roughly a kilometer away from the trenches.

Some sharp-eyed soldiers in the forward positions could even see it with the naked eye, sweat involuntarily seeping from the palms gripping their rifles.

Just as everyone held their breath in anticipation, the vehicle door swung open, and a soldier clad in an exoskeleton jumped down.

On his shoulder he bore a flagpole which, when unfurled, stood a full three men high; on the blue background of the flag was depicted a golden, distinctly segmented, rod-like object, with the Alliance emblem stamped in the upper left corner.

The officers were struck with bewilderment at the sight, utterly unsure of what he intended. The soldiers in the trenches, however, felt their hearts sink as a wave of despair washed over them.

There was no room for doubt—

That exoskeleton belonged undeniably to the Alliance!

They hadn't even bothered to change into civilian attire...

The wind blowing along the Eternal River whipped the flag into a sharp rustle. [Ling Chong] unlatched his helmet’s visor and visor-goggles to catch a breath of fresh air, only to be nearly choked out by the stench.

Flashing an awkward smile toward the silent, grim trenches in the distance, he snapped his visor shut again, and then slammed the three-man-high flagpole violently into the soil beneath his feet.

Driven by the power of the exoskeleton, the pole plunged a full man's depth into the earth, anchoring itself not only beside the Eternal River, but deep within the hearts of the wolf-kin soldiers.

The soldiers and officers in the distant trenches watched with wide eyes, yet not a single soul fired a shot, swallowing the humiliation in absolute silence.

An imperial soldier gritted his teeth and attempted to aim, but the squad leader beside him reached out to grasp the rifle barrel, shaking his head to stay the hand.

Inside the observation post, Gopal swallowed hard once more, offering a strained laugh to mask his embarrassment as he spoke with feigned composure.

"They seem to be exercising a fair amount of restraint..."

Alayan remained silent, as did the adjutant behind him. Sensing the awkwardness, Gopal offered another dry chuckle before refocusing his attention through his binoculars.

The soldier who had planted the flag returned to the vehicle. Then, a chain was dropped from the rear, with a plow-like contraption hitched to its end.

The off-road vehicle restarted, veered sharply on the spot, and sped away with its back to the Eternal River, tracing a path parallel to the trenches.

Massive tires kicked up billowing plumes of dust, and the taut chain clattered loudly, carving a shallow trench into the ground.

At that moment, the officers standing in the observation post finally understood the meaning of the display, and fury crept onto every single face.

Where that flagpole stood was precisely the line of the ceasefire!

Facing the empire's three hundred thousand troops, they sent only a flagpole!

This was a blatant provocation!

An affront to the Gray Wolf Army and the entire empire!

"Those bastards!" The adjutant standing behind Alaiyang cursed loudly, itching to fire a shot at the rear of that vehicle, then turned to General Alaiyang with sincerity. "General! Give the order! They tore up the agreement first!"

Alaiyang said nothing. Gopal, the staff officer standing nearby, was startled by the words and quickly interjected to dissuade him.

"The ceasefire agreement hasn't been signed yet. Ordering those bandits to stay within the settlement was merely His Majesty's unilateral demand... They are indeed not obliged to abide by an unsigned agreement. Calling it a breach is inaccurate."

"Are we just going to watch them parade right under our noses and then return?!" The adjutant clenched his fists in fury. "Never mind what the soldiers think—how do we explain this to His Majesty?!"

"That is precisely His Majesty's intention..." Gopal coughed softly and spoke in a low, hurried tone. "Remember that ceasefire decree from before? The important content was written in the title; the actual text was secondary..."

Alaiyang nodded silently, still saying nothing. He quietly lowered his binoculars, stepped past the stunned adjutant, and left the frontline observation post.

Gopal was right.

A loyal subject's foremost duty is to appreciate the sovereign's pains; ability is not the most essential quality.

If he had stubbornly ordered an attack, even if the three hundred thousand troops had swarmed out to crush Golden Gallon Port into dust, even if they had won a resounding victory, he would have come to no good end. At best, weeds would grow several feet tall on his grave within three or five years.

But if he heeded every word of His Majesty, even if he fought the most foolish battle, he would at most receive a reprimand, endure some spittle from the people of the capital, and then be let off with a heavy show but a light touch, suffering no real punishment.

Wasn't bearing some of the empire's infamy precisely what a minister should do?

Watching the lonely figure turn and walk back into the trench, Gopal's face showed a hint of discomfort, though he breathed a sigh of relief inside.

He sighed softly, reached out to pat the wide-eyed adjutant on the shoulder, then stepped past him as well, following the general returning to the frontline command post.

That day, the banks of the Eternal Flow River were calm. No battles on the eastern front.

Later, a decree arrived, stating that a gentle breeze blew on the outskirts of the City of a Thousand Pillars, and occasionally an armored vehicle of the Alliance brazenly intruded, attempting to cross the ceasefire line for a sneak attack. But seeing General Alaiyang's defenses as solid as iron, with no opening to exploit, they abandoned their military flag and fled in panic.

Propaganda posters bore the photograph of that panicked retreat.

The billowing dust raised by the wheels indeed looked hasty, serving to rehabilitate the disgraced General Alaiyang and salvage some of his lost prestige.

Late at night, that fleeing off-road vehicle finally arrived belatedly along the coastline, escaping back to Golden Gallon Port.

Seeing the dim lights in the distance, [Two Ounces of Moonlight], sitting in the driver's seat, let out a long yawn and stretched his slightly sore arms, muttering.

"Fuck me! Why is it always us who get stuck with these shitty, low-paying jobs?"

[Mountains and Rivers in Dreams], sitting in the passenger seat and idling, said nothing, only subconsciously glancing at the rearview mirror, hoping that a certain "true newborn" would reflect on himself.

However, perhaps because [Version Newborn] was sitting right next to him, Zero Rush clearly didn't realize that "true newborn" referred to himself.

Misinterpreting the team leader's glance, he straightened up from his seat, beaming.

"Been driving all day. How about we find someone for a massage when we get back?"

Mountains coughed.

"Better not go into the locals' homes again."

Zero Rush grinned and winked.

"Who the hell would bother going into a local's home? I mean there's a foot-washing place opened north of the city."

[Version Newborn], who had just woken up, was startled and caught the last part, blurting out instinctively.

"Damn, which genius did that?"

Zero Rush chuckled.

"Who cares which genius? Probably some life-skill player... Don't worry, a Blue Rat doesn't trick another Blue Rat—it's definitely legit! The ones run by locals are the shady ones!"

Ever since they posted the battle report on the forum, quite a few curious players had recently arrived in Golden Gallon Port, mostly those active around Silver Moon Bay. They brought not only money and goods but also some of their businesses.

Currently, Golden Gallon Port was in ruins and ripe for reconstruction—opportunities were everywhere.

Even if they could add one more coat to the wardrobes of Shining City residents or one more pair of shoes on the shoe rack, in reality, that would be a fortune enough to buy an apartment.

Thus, life-skill players of all kinds showed their talents, whether earning money from the locals or from the garrison troops—almost every conceivable method was tried.

Of course, the businesses run by players were relatively legitimate. After all, the closed beta player community was small; any little scandal would be posted on the forum and blabbed about, and it wouldn't look good if the dog of a game designer saw it.

"Forget it."

Version Newborn yawned listlessly, shifted his posture, and closed his eyes again as if suffering from kidney deficiency. "I'll go back to my shady stuff."

Moonlight: "??"

Zero Rush: "???"

Mountains: "..."

Fuck!

How did he end up with such a bunch of weirdos!

...

Although the formal ceasefire agreement had not yet been signed, due to the restrained behavior of both warring parties, the temporary ceasefire had taken effect by mutual tacit understanding.

Based on drone survey data, the players stationed in Golden Gallon Port delineated a territory of about ten thousand square kilometers, with the port as the fulcrum.

Compared to the buffer zone proposed by the Xilan Empire, the announcement drafted by the players was much more direct.

They first declared the establishment of the Golden Gallon Port Regional Government, and then claimed de facto control over the area in the name of Golden Gallon Port.

Currently, the sheriff of Golden Gallon Port was held by Chief Bihari, while the director of the port district and Tulip Street police stations was succeeded by the former duty director, Mandar.

Except for the former settlement court president, who was dismissed for refusing to serve the new authorities and replaced by a citizen who had previously worked as a court recorder in the port district, all other administrative departments—including customs, taxation, education, transportation, firefighting, etc.—remained unchanged for now.

Additionally, a Civil Defense Office was specially established in Golden Gallon Port.

The former First Corps of the Avengers Alliance was officially renamed the Civil Defense Corps, under the command of the Civil Defense Office, but wartime command authority remained with the Alliance forces stationed in the port.

The former corps commander, Rasi, was promoted to director of the Civil Defense Office, in charge of strategic deployment and logistics, and would no longer directly command frontline combat units or participate in frontline battles.

Although this guy was talented—his charisma and execution far surpassing those of other liberated slaves—his impulsiveness was a problem that could not be ignored.

Therefore, after discussing on the forum, the players ultimately decided to move him further from the front line and put him in an office in the rear.

This way, they could cultivate his military literacy—maybe he'd be useful later—and also prevent him from pulling any stunts, like firing recklessly at the front.

Thus, with a series of personnel appointments, the framework of a temporary regional government was hastily set up.

The players, adept at stirring things up, even designed a new currency for this nascent regional regime—the Gallon—with an exchange rate against silver coins temporarily set at 10:1.

That is, 1 silver coin for 10 Gallons.

The main reason for this was that the Xilan Empire had closed its market to Golden Gallon Port, causing the purchasing power of Xilan currency to keep depreciating locally. And since this place, unlike Fries Port, was not Alliance territory, it was inconvenient for players to directly connect it to the Alliance market.

After all, doing so would be like forcibly dragging a settlement of a million people into a "customs union," and it was hard to say who would be subsidizing whom.

In contrast, creating an intermediate currency was a good choice.

This way, Golden Gallon Port could implement loose or tight monetary policies based on its own economic needs. Inflation from overissuing currency would not impact the Alliance market, while also mitigating the impact of Xilan currency depreciation on the settlement's finances.

As for the original Xilan currency, it could still circulate freely within the settlement, or survivors could use their own means to smuggle in goods needed by the port from other parts of the Brahmin Province.

However, some imported goods from the Alliance—priced in silver coins, including food and production tools—had to be purchased with the Gallon currency issued by the Golden Gallon Port authorities.

At the same time, all fiscal expenditures of Golden Gallon Port within the settlement—whether personnel salaries or procurement of goods—would gradually shift from settlement in "foreign currency (Xilan currency)" to payment in the self-issued Gallon currency.

While regional taxes remain at the same rate, they will also be replaced with the new legal tender in accordance with the change in settlement currency.

As for the right to issue currency, it is naturally held by the authorities of Golden Gallon Port, with the issuer being the Harbor District Bank of Golden Gallon Port.

Apart from the vacant position of city lord, the entire settlement, from defense to public order, has largely returned to the track of order.

For now, the settlement temporarily implements the laws of the Alliance.

When the time is ripe, the "shareholders of Baiyue Company" will consider convening representatives from various local industries and strata to establish a representative assembly similar to that of Dawn City, using the Alliance's "fundamental law" as a guideline to formulate a "common law" suited to local conditions.

But to be honest, although order in Golden Gallon Port has returned to a normal track, the efficiency of this massive machine's operation remains excruciatingly slow.

The former Governor Nihark, though a "master bargainer," was a complete amateur when it came to regional governance.

This is evident from the slums stretching right up to the governor's mansion—a settlement of over a million people had no planning whatsoever.

That man would rather endure the stench right under his nose than move a single coin from the treasury to build a drainage ditch in the slums.

Not only that, but across all of Golden Gallon Port, aside from the organizational structures of the customs and tax departments, which were somewhat commendable, the rest of the departments were like decorations, not even knowing how many people they had under them, or if anyone was still there...

...

In the harbor district, the former governor's office.

Staring at the fire department chief, who stood trembling before the desk, Fang Chang couldn't help but tap the ledger on the table with his knuckles and ask.

"Where's the money? I want to know where the money went?"

The man was startled, fearing that this fellow might pull out a gun and press it to his head, and quickly said cautiously.

"Sir... the money, isn't it all in your hands?"

He had heard long ago.

The first thing the Iron Men did after landing was to take control of the security bureau, and then the big bank on Tulip Street.

The five hundred million dinars His Majesty had stored there all went into these people's pockets, along with over a hundred billion Westland dollars, all as war reparations.

Fang Chang rolled his eyes, restrained his temper, and continued.

"I'm asking about the money from before! The ledger clearly states that the governor's office allocated thirty million Westland dollars annually for fire services in Golden Gallon Port. You spent every cent of that budget every year, yet I ask you how many fire stations there are in the entire settlement, and how many firefighters, and you don't even know!"

"Sir, that money was mainly managed by Governor Nihark. I swear I never even saw it!" The man was on the verge of tears, constantly wiping the sweat from his forehead. "As for firefighting... it's mostly handled by the survivor groups in each district. We had no money; we couldn't just conjure a fire brigade out of thin air."

He had taken a little for himself, of course, but nowhere near as much as Governor Nihark—the difference was not even on the same scale.

Fang Chang glared at him. Though he had anticipated this, he couldn't help but ask.

"What do you mean, 'handled by themselves'?!"

Not daring to meet the man's eyes, the chief looked away, stammering softly.

"Each community has its own organization... In the more remote outskirts, the elders of a clan usually assign a few young men to handle fire prevention. In mixed neighborhoods, a few strong fellows might pool together to collect a 'fire fee,' and wherever a fire breaks out, they go."

Fang Chang stared at him blankly.

"...And what about Tulip Street?"

The man grimaced. "The owners of those mansions have their own servants, and the courtyards are watched daily. How could a fire ever start there?"

Good grief!

The level of self-governance was off the charts?!

Fang Chang was utterly stunned.

Normally, a neighborhood's maintenance fees and services should be proportional, but under Governor Nihark, it was the complete opposite.

The ledger listed plenty of tax items, and fire service expenditures were recorded in detail, but the responsible units couldn't operate due to lack of funds, so power and responsibility were delegated to the grassroots level. The locals had to form their own civil groups to maintain basic public facilities, paying for the same thing twice.

In a sense, Governor Nihark, who managed to collect those taxes, was a talent, and the survivors of this settlement were also talents—the wasteland's excellent matching mechanism had perfectly paired them together.

If Lord Hyde were leading these people, even if he created currencies A through F, and the administrator stuffed promissory notes into Mayor Melvin's drawer, Stone City might never have gone bankrupt, and might even have traded blows with the Alliance of the same era.

It wasn't impossible. The locals, who placed their hopes in the afterlife, were like docile lambs—no wonder the Varlants considered them friends.

Not having ruthlessly fleeced these people, Fang Chang felt his moral standards had risen a bit, thanks to Miss Dolly.

In the past, he would have fully exploited the game rules to drain them dry, caring nothing for what happened to the people here afterward.

Seeing the flicker in the man's eyes, the chief felt a hidden fear, swallowed involuntarily, and said cautiously.

"Actually... fires rarely break out in the slums. You don't need to worry too much about those folks."

He paused, then tentatively continued.

"I've lived here for years and haven't seen many big fires, nor heard of anyone dying in one. Besides, they usually don't need fire for cooking, and they rarely use hot water. As for the citizens, they get along fine without us. Keeping things as they are isn't bad—"

"Then why should I keep you? If everything stays the same, it doesn't matter whether you're here or not!" Fang Chang cut him off bluntly, tossing the ledger onto his chest with a look of frustration.

Watching the man fumble to catch the ledger, Fang Chang rose from his seat, grabbed him by the collar, and stared into his evasive eyes, speaking slowly and deliberately.

"Within three days, I want a complete list!"

"It must include the actual person responsible for fire safety on every street. I need you to assign someone to each street, covering their actual area of responsibility—even the demolished ones. Find them for me! And remember, don't think you can just scrape together a few random people. We have our own informants at the grassroots. We're not blind!"

The man was sweating profusely, looking like he was about to cry.

"But, sir... I have no staff. All the money was in Governor Nihark's hands. Our entire department has only ten people."

He had even counted his underage son, or else the department couldn't even muster ten.

"Then hire more! Hire twenty more! And remember, not a single one of those twenty can be from your clan! Not one!"

"Yes, yes!"

Watching the man scramble out of the office, Fang Chang let out a breath of stale air, picked up his cup, and took a sip of tea.

These people.

If the others weren't even worse, and he couldn't pick a decent one from a bunch of mediocrities, he'd have to stick with the ones who knew the job. Otherwise, he'd have fired them all!

Picking up the roster on the desk, Fang Chang took a deep breath and bellowed toward the door.

"Next! The one in charge of the sewers... Plaster! Are you trying to generate electricity with the shit in the cesspits?! If you don't clean it up, I'll make you swim in it! Get in here!"

His hoarse voice was like a death sentence.

The long line of people waiting in the corridor outside the office all shuddered involuntarily, each dreading being called.

But what was coming would come.

"Yes, yes! Sir! I-I-I'll swim!"

The man whose name was called turned pale. Under the watchful eyes of two militiamen carrying rifles, he stepped out of the line trembling, walking into the office as if heading to the execution ground.

The hoarse roar soon came again, and the officials standing at the door all shrank their necks and closed their eyes, as if the spittle was hitting them.

The problem was almost identical—

They could already foresee what was about to happen.

The two militiamen standing in the corridor with LD-47s couldn't help but yawn, their eyes wandering aimlessly over the crowd.

The officer hadn't told them what to do, just to bring their gear and come along. So they came, but there was no follow-up, only the sight of the former governor's appointees trembling with their necks tucked in.

It was almost time for the meal.

Word was that tonight's dinner wouldn't be beans or dirt, but something called corn, shipped in from Silver Moon Bay on a cargo freighter.

Those were imported goods that couldn't be bought with Xilan coins, affordable only to the masters. The two were already so hungry their stomachs growled, and they couldn't help muttering to themselves.

When would the target shooting finally begin...