Chapter 720: Outwitted

Chapter 720: Played for a Fool

“A bunch of useless trash!”

Charlas cursed, hurling the communicator onto the sofa. He paced back and forth for a moment, then closed his eyes.

Soon, a faint golden light appeared not far from him, and an old man in a gray robe slowly materialized.

Before the man could speak, Charlas rushed over, staring him down aggressively.

“Your people messed up again! Why do I have to say ‘again’? Can’t you bastards come up with some decent weapons? Or do you have no one to use except those scaly fish-men?!”

Alzu’s expression was equally grim.

He was not a true Pioneer after all, but an Apostle stationed in the “Second Sanctuary,” unable to fully suppress human emotions and achieve purely rational thought.

Nevertheless, he patiently waited for the man to finish his rant before voicing his own dissatisfaction in a cold tone.

“I must remind you, the sea is your territory. You’ve lived here for two centuries, while we’ve only just arrived. I can certainly help you deal with troubles you’d rather not handle yourselves, but don’t think we’re as omnipotent underwater as we are on land. If that were the case, why would we need you?”

Charlas’s face showed a flicker of embarrassment.

“But even so—”

This time, Alzu didn’t let him finish, cutting him off with a sharp retort.

“Stop with your ‘even so’! Do I have to spell it out for you? You’re too slow!”

Charlas stared in shock at Alzu’s sudden outburst, momentarily forgetting who was supposed to be calling whom to account.

Taking a deep breath, Alzu steadied his heaving chest and fixed his gaze on the stunned Federal Chief of Staff.

“The Alliance is trying to form an encirclement around us. Time is running out. We must open up our strategic space on the sea before that net closes. Research on the Hive Mother aboard the Heavenly Court is essential. What about the Coral City you promised me? Another two months have passed—when will we finally start our research?”

Hearing Alzu suddenly bring this up, Charlas’s expression grew awkward. He cleared his throat and attempted to explain.

“It takes time… There are still voices of concern within the Federation. I’ve been working hard to speak on your behalf.”

He needed to use his friends up north to smooth over some troubles, but that didn’t mean he intended to fully side with them.

In truth, it was nothing more than mutual exploitation.

Yes, he craved power and immortality, but he had his own pace for achieving it—the safest way.

“Too slow.”

Alzu shook his head, his face etched with disappointment.

“I trusted you, gave you my fullest support. Whether you needed technology or aid, we gave without reservation, even offering our most precious ‘Mind Interference Technology.’ And what have you given me? Two months wasted on your tedious bureaucratic games? Do we have to wait until you become President before we can move forward?”

Before Charlas could explain, Alzu continued with a pained tone.

“If I had even one submarine or one warship, I wouldn’t have to rely on those ugly fish-men. Why did our plan fail? Because of you, Charlas! Because of your weakness and incompetence! Time and again, you leave my people isolated! If you’d given them even a shred of support—”

“Enough!”

Unable to bear it any longer, Charlas cut him off angrily.

“I’ve helped you to the fullest extent my authority allows! Do you expect me to bypass the command and order the Federal fleet to open fire on Alliance targets? No one would obey such an order! This isn’t your world! There are no puppets with their brains hollowed out by Nago here. I can’t just do whatever I want—I have to operate within the rules—”

“Operating outside the rules while staying within them? That’s your fatal flaw. You want all the benefits but refuse to take any risks. If you truly revere your ridiculous rules so much, you should never have borrowed our power in the first place. Instead, you should have sought majority support, just like your beloved President.”

Alzu let out a soft laugh, stepping closer to his dear ally. He stared into those wavering pupils and spoke slowly.

“I see it now. Your subordinates are beginning to suspect you.”

Instinctively stepping back, Charlas frowned.

“My subordinates?”

Alzu nodded, his vacant gaze suddenly drifting toward the window as he continued nonchalantly.

“That destroyer is heading toward the incident site… Let me guess. First, it’s certainly not coming to help us. If that were the plan, they wouldn’t have waited until we finished fighting.”

“Destroyer? You mean Dongwen?” Charlas looked at him in surprise, muttering to himself. “Didn’t I order him back to Anle Island to stand by?”

“Seems I guessed right,” Alzu said, a cold sneer curling on his lips as he watched Charlas’s expression shift. “A pity, Mr. Charlas. I’m afraid your bureaucratic game has backfired. You’ve lost your chance to become the Federation’s President—completely lost it. But you’re not entirely without a chance to grasp the power you crave… How about considering the title of Führer?”

Before the stunned Charlas could respond, Alzu dropped his final words.

“This is your last chance. Let me see if you have the courage to bear the consequences of your choices.”

“If you’re a coward, I’d better find a new ally sooner rather than later. Heh.”

As those words fell, the golden phantom began to fade, dissolving like a wisp of smoke into the air.

Charlas jolted in alarm and quickly called out.

“Wait! Hold on!”

But the phantom paid him no heed, not even bothering to listen. It vanished directly from the room, leaving no response no matter how much he called.

“That bastard!”

Charlas clenched his fists.

At that moment, a cold sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped onto the carpet with a soft patter.

Played for a fool!

From the very beginning, that man had calculated that these mutants would fail.

And he, Charlas, who didn’t fully trust the Torch, would, as always, dispatch a warship to monitor the outcome from the sidelines.

Now his subordinates were beginning to doubt his motives, even questioning whether what he was doing was right.

Just as that pretentious fraud had said, he no longer had the luxury of sitting on the fence and speculating.

This time, the suspicion wasn’t coming from the moderates—it was coming from his own side, from the officers who had supported him in this high-stakes gamble.

Now he had only two paths.

Either confess everything to those who supported him and those who doubted him, and accept the punishment dictated by the very rules they had set.

Or, while he still held the initiative, drag those who still backed him into one last gamble…

Charlas felt his palms soaked with cold sweat.

Just then, footsteps sounded at the door, followed by a knock.

He almost reflexively said, “Come in.”

The door opened, and an officer entered, saluting respectfully.

“Mr. Charlas, the President wishes to see you at the Presidential Palace. Regarding the investigation into the ‘Golden Coast,’ he has some doubts he’d like to discuss with you.”

The Golden Coast?

Charlas froze for a moment, then it took him a while to remember—it was the survey ship sent to establish an outpost in the Haiya Province.

Realizing this, he almost wanted to laugh.

At a time like this, these people were still investigating that thing?

But with an outsider present, he held back his laughter. After steadying his breathing, he turned to the officer at the door and spoke with a composed demeanor.

“Please convey to the President that I have some matters to attend to. I will meet with him before dusk.”

"Yes!"

The officer saluted once more, turned, and left the room.

The door closed.

Gazing at the room that had fallen silent again, Charlas paused for a moment, then finally walked over to the sofa and picked up the communicator lying on it.

He dialed a series of numbers with crisp efficiency, his eyes no longer showing the slightest hesitation, his voice devoid of any wavering.

As he issued one command after another, he quickly completed all the preparations needed before embarking on this grand gamble.

In truth, there was nothing to hesitate about.

Alzu's assessment was correct—he was indeed a weak and incompetent fellow.

But as luck would have it, those officers and war hawks who had thrust him into the spotlight were hardly "iron-blooded hard men" either; they were all weathervanes, taking each step as it came, people who wanted the benefits but dared not shoulder the blame—and he was far from the only one.

At least he had one small advantage over them: when a decision had to be made, he could still make one.

There was no reason he would lose this gamble!

...

At Ring Island Harbor.

The ceremony celebrating the water supply's activation proceeded smoothly to its conclusion. Governor Channing read aloud, before everyone, the declaration of friendship between Ring Island, Fries Port, and the Alliance, while Midnight Chicken Slayer, on behalf of the Alliance, read out the Administrator's blessings to the local survivors.

And in the end, just as the Alliance had promised, the freshwater pipeline was unaffected by the sudden blaring alarm.

Clear water still gushed endlessly from the tip of the inverted hammer handle, as steadfast as the rock-solid order itself.

As for that abrupt alarm, it seemed more like a misunderstanding.

At first, the crowd gathered around the square was panicked, thinking something major had occurred.

But when they saw the band continue to play and the ribbon-cutting ceremony proceed, they gradually calmed down and immersed themselves once more in the festive atmosphere.

The celebration ended.

Standing by the fountain, Midnight Chicken Slayer grinned, turning to Governor Channing, whose face still bore an expression of disbelief, and said,

"See? I told you it was nothing."

Filled with questions, Channing, seeing that this Alliance legion commander seemed to know something, finally couldn't help but ask,

"What exactly was that explosion just now..."

Midnight Chicken Slayer pondered for a moment, then confessed bluntly,

"Probably mutants."

"Mutants?!" Channing froze, staring at him in astonishment, blurting out, "How could there be mutants in the southern waters?!"

He had indeed heard of aquatic mutants with gills and scales, but those creatures didn't truly live in the sea—they nested along the shores.

The islands of the southern waters were far from the coastline, and without means to drive off aberrations, even a ship floating on the surface was hardly safe.

Seeing Channing's incredulous look, Midnight Chicken Slayer didn't explain further, simply taking a tablet from his pocket and handing it to him.

Just moments ago, Prostrate Workhorse had shared footage captured near the underwater freshwater pipeline to his terminal device via the radio on the Meat Meat.

Watching the combat footage playing on the screen, Channing's Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.

So they really were mutants...

And so many of them!

The murky seawater was littered with severed limbs, broken weapons, and aquatic aberrations drawn by the scent of blood.

Beyond that, a massive sea monster, "Laken," thrashed in the water, apparently also lured by those aquatic mutants.

While the possibility of a synthetic video couldn't be ruled out, these people clearly weren't playing tricks that could be easily exposed.

"There's nothing strange about it. The southern waters are right next to the Sea Precipice Province. Ever since the Torch Church brought that trash to the Death Coast, it's no surprise they've spread anywhere."

Seeing Channing's eyes glued to the screen, Midnight Chicken Slayer suddenly seemed to recall something and continued,

"Oh, right, two months ago, a group of mutants tried to attack our port, but luckily we caught them before they came ashore."

"This... this is shocking news." Channing stared at him, his expression clearly turning uneasy.

Mutants.

This was no joke.

The explosion occurred less than a hundred nautical miles from Ring Island—if they could swim that far, they could easily come here.

The island had some defensive forces, and in an emergency, they could mobilize reserves, but facing a sudden assault by a thousand mutants, they might not even have time to hand out rifles to the young men.

The consensus among the settlements in the southern waters was to establish defensive forces at sea—a strategic policy set since the days of Vault 70.

That is, to place the Federation's fortresses beyond the islands, using a steel fleet to block threats from the wasteland.

Thanks to this defense mechanism, for the past two hundred years, almost no raider speedboats had come within a hundred nautical miles of any island.

But now, that defense mechanism seemed to have failed.

Two incidents had already occurred in a row...

Watching Governor Channing's shifting expression, Midnight Chicken Slayer continued,

"And what's more intriguing is that, on the same day, your maritime patrols in the nearby waters all vanished... Of course, I'm not blaming you for not warning us—our safety is our own business—but from the look of you, you seem completely unaware of what happened there. If I recall correctly, that area was one of your patrol zones."

"Two months ago... I remember there was an exercise," Channing said with a slight cough. "That might have been a coincidence."

The words sounded like an excuse for the Federation, yet also like he was convincing himself.

"That possibility can't be ruled out," Midnight Chicken Slayer paused, then added, "But I think the Federation Navy must have known what happened there. After all, the patrol returned the next day, and the blood on the beach hadn't even been cleaned up... Didn't they warn you to watch out for the mutant threat?"

Channing's composure began to crack.

"No... Our main enemy is Vault 70, and our primary concern is their submersibles."

He paused, his expression growing more serious as he muttered to himself in thought,

"This is rather suspicious... Why would mutants be interested in an underwater pipeline?"

"I think you should pay more attention to why the fleet that's supposed to protect you would selectively ignore such an obvious threat. Letting mutants come ashore is no joke, especially those scaly ones—I hear their taste for tormenting prey is even worse than the greenskins'."

That was all he had to say.

Midnight Chicken Slayer didn't dwell on this uncomfortable topic.

He knew that Channing, though silent, understood in his heart. More important than whether a problem was properly resolved was whether it was revealed as a problem in the first place. Otherwise, what had happened twice could easily happen not just a third or fourth time, but countless times without anyone knowing.

The Federation fleet, without approval from command or permission from the southern waters settlements, had for some reason tacitly allowed mutant military operations within its jurisdiction.

"Of course, this is just a friendly reminder. We've never placed our security in others' hands. Whether the Federation fleet provides us with necessary support or not, we'll deal with those scaly creatures in our own way."

With a meaningful glance at the governor, Midnight Chicken Slayer turned and prepared to lead his Jungle Legion brothers back to the ship.

Watching his retreating figure, Channing's Adam's apple moved. After a moment of struggle, he finally couldn't hold back and called out,

"Please wait."

Midnight Chicken Slayer stopped, turned back, and cast a questioning look at him.

"What is it?"

“I think… we need to strengthen our cooperation in the security sphere—it may be more urgent than economic cooperation.”

A slightly awkward smile squeezed onto his face, Chaning gave a soft cough, and continued in a tone that was hard to utter, “If we come under attack by mutants, I hope we can count on your support… Of course, the same goes if you’re attacked. Also, any alert information we receive, we’ll share with you.”

Since the Alliance had a way to lock onto the mutants’ positions before they struck the pipelines and eliminate the danger, they had clearly already established a patrol and defense system encompassing intelligence gathering and interception strikes.

Whatever the reasons, the Federal Fleet’s two consecutive failures had made it impossible for him to trust those people anymore.

At present, Ring Island was exposed to the threat of mutants; he needed to add a firewall for the local survivors.

A more reliable firewall.

In exchange, he could share Ring Island’s intelligence network with the Alliance, and the warning signals received by other islands would also reach Fries Port simultaneously.

In a sense, this was equivalent to both sides sharing map vision and verbally signing a mutual defense pact.

Although Ring Island had no army or fleet of its own, the port itself could serve as a military facility.

Having roughly grasped the meaning of Chaning’s words, Midnight Kill Chicken’s face showed surprise, then he let out a hearty laugh and agreed on the spot.

“No problem! If the enemy is mutants, we’ll act no matter when or where, let alone since you’re our partners.”

He paused, then continued.

“Of course, there are two hundred nautical miles between us. If we wait until an attack happens to come over, it’ll probably be too late. I suggest you build an eight-hundred-meter airstrip next to the island—whether with concrete or steel. If our planes can land near your island, we can support you as quickly as possible.”

Taking the advice seriously, Chaning nodded.

“I’ll have someone arrange it soon.”

…

At the same time the Jungle Corps was withdrawing from Ring Island’s port, the Federal destroyer, which had learned of the situation from the Alliance’s aircraft, continued forward toward the sea where the battle had occurred.

Some things couldn’t be clarified over the comm channel; they had to be confirmed with one’s own eyes.

Inside the bridge, silence reigned.

Both Captain Dongwen and his officers were staring silently at the endless sea ahead.

In truth, both the captain and his subordinates had heard that their northern friends had been helping them clean up some troubles.

But they hadn’t expected the attackers to be mutants!

What was even harder for them to accept was that the incident had happened only a hundred nautical miles from Ring Island…

“There must be some misunderstanding…” the adjutant said, cold sweat pouring. “After all… the higher-ups wouldn’t go that far.”

There was always a better way.

If it came to it, the Federal fleet could have acted.

Dongwen said nothing, his gaze fixed on the rolling waves in the distance.

Just then, his pupils suddenly contracted—amidst the surging foam, a mutilated arm appeared.

Soon he realized it wasn’t just one…

Corpse after mutilated corpse bobbed in the waves, their blue scales and skin revealing their identity.

Swarms of aberrations, drawn by the scent of blood, gnawed at the remains, ignoring the warship close by.

The adjutant beside Dongwen swallowed hard and forced out a sentence from his throat.

“…Mutants.”

And not just a few…

With so many bodies, at least a thousand!

Realizing this, cold sweat dripped from his chin.

If these mutants had swum another eighty-odd nautical miles southeast along the pipeline, the consequences would have been unimaginable…

Dongwen stared silently at the carnage on the sea, then glanced at the flickering signal on the sonar screen.

It was a “Laken.”

As if sensing the psychic interference signal from the warship, it twisted its wounded body and fled northward.

A dozen oddly shaped submersibles chased after it—likely the Alliance’s creations. Though the submersibles weren’t in great shape, probably damaged in the earlier fight, they seemed unwilling to let this prey slip from their grasp.

Having promised to support them in his earlier communication with the pilot, Dongwen turned to his adjutant and gave the order.

“Fire a torpedo.”

He paused, then added.

“Also, use a trawl net to haul up a few mutant corpses.”

The adjutant nodded solemnly, saluted.

“Sir!”

With the order given, a torpedo launched from the tube into the sea, racing toward the sonar-locked target.

Without any suspense, the torpedo struck true; the explosion’s column and fire instantly tore apart the massive body, sending the battered Laken to its grave with a single shot.

The Alliance’s submersibles made odd gestures with their mechanical arms, as if expressing gratitude.

Instructing his adjutant to send a comm wave acknowledging the thanks, Dongwen walked alone out of the bridge onto the destroyer’s deck.

Just then, a speedboat flying the Federal flag approached from afar, leisurely drawing near his destroyer.

Dongwen glanced at the man standing on the speedboat—he recognized the name, thought it was Muda, apparently the captain of the maritime patrol.

As he sized up the man, the man sized him back, then looked at the trawl net cast into the sea.

Seeming to make up his mind, the man signaled the speedboat to pull alongside the destroyer, grabbed the ladder on the hull, and climbed onto the deck.

Dongwen didn’t stop him, only watched in silence.

“A big haul—looks like you’ve got plenty of trophies. Lucky you spotted the problem in time, didn’t let those swimmers reach our little island.”

Squinting at the blood-stained sea, Muda walked up to him, his voice carrying a faint sarcasm.

“The folks on Ring Island are waiting for me to tell them what happened here. How about giving me one to report with? Then I won’t have to drop my own net.”

Dongwen didn’t take the bait; after a moment of silence, he said.

“Seems like you know something.”

“Did I hear that right? You’re asking me? So the one watching from the sidelines was me all along?” Muda put on a surprised expression, then laughed. “How about we swap ships? You take my speedboat, I’ll take your destroyer.”

Though it was an exaggerated joke, the captain seemed to take it seriously, pondering for a moment before replying.

“That’s not impossible.”

“Give it a rest.”

Muda chuckled, looking out at the vast sea.

“Over a thousand mutants, charging straight into our territorial waters, while our fleet just stood by and cheered them on… You know everything, and still you want an answer from me? I figured it out two months ago—you lot are useless.”

Dongwen was silent for a long time, then sighed.

“Sorry, brother.”

“I’m not your brother,” Muda shot him a glance. “And you don’t need to apologize to me. Apologize to the hundred thousand survivors on Ring Island, and to the millions in the Federation who pay your wages… and mine too.”

Perhaps out of shame, the captain slowly closed his eyes.

Seeing that he remained silent for a long time, Muda spoke up again.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"Tell me the truth," Muda continued, looking at the captain who was now gazing back at him, "Was it really the residents of Shelter 70 who blew up the ocean current power station?"

Dongwen was silent for a moment, then slowly spoke.

"Probably not."

Muda stared into his eyes.

"Was it you?"

"No."

Dongwen shook his head, but after a brief pause, he sighed and said,

"...But it doesn't make much difference."

Muda frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Without directly answering the question, the man said with implication,

"We, who were supposed to put out the fire, tacitly allowed the flames that had already started, hoping they would take care of the troubles we were not convenient to handle ourselves. Back then, I should have realized that sooner or later, we who hesitated would become the trouble ourselves."

Muda couldn't help asking.

"So why did you do it?"

Dongwen said calmly,

"Because there was only one chance. If we weren't decisive, the survivors of the Federation would never unite to drag those charlatans down from their pedestals. And once their administrators return and retrieve those weapons stored in the shelters, this golden opportunity would never come again."

"And now? Are we more united?"

Muda stared unblinkingly into his eyes, and seeing that he could not utter a word for a long time, disappointment gradually crept into his gaze.

"We, who have hands and feet, need someone else to shit for us, and then another to wipe our asses, just because you hide things from me, and I hide things from you."

After chewing on his lips for a long time, he squeezed out the last half sentence in disappointment.

"...How do you expect me to convince myself to keep trusting you?"

Dongwen looked into the distance, unwilling to meet those disappointed eyes, and reached up to gently straighten the officer's cap on his head.

"I am telling you this precisely because I think what we did was wrong. I don't expect you to keep trusting me... but please give me one more chance."

Muda could feel that those words were not really meant for him, but rather for the survivors of Ring Island behind him.

The disappointment and mockery in his eyes gradually faded, and he asked in a serious tone,

"What else do you plan to do?"

"Make up for past mistakes."

Saying this, Dongwen paused for a moment, then took out a thumb-sized card from his pocket and handed it to the patrol captain.

It was a memory card, containing a recording of his conversation with Charlas, and an audio clip he had recorded afterward.

It contained things that everyone in the Federation fleet knew a little about, but dared not bring into the open.

He knew that this alone would not convince everyone.

But he believed it could at least convince some people like himself.

Muda looked at him in confusion and asked,

"What's this?"

Staring into his eyes, Dongwen said solemnly,

"Take it to the port of Anle Island and give it to the person waiting for me there."

Looking at the memory card in his hand, Muda was silent for a moment, then asked him,

"Why don't you go yourself?"

"I have to go to North Island."

Gazing toward the north, his eyes gradually grew resolute, and his voice no longer held any hesitation or doubt.

At that moment, he seemed like a true captain.

"Our ship's hull has already developed cracks."

"Before these cracks widen beyond repair, someone must step forward to correct the mistakes that have been made!"