Chapter 772: Progress on the Southern and Northern Fronts

Chapter 772: Progress on the Southern and Northern Fronts

"Not a bad performance at all."

In the captain's quarters of the Heart of Steel, Chu Guang sipped his milk-laden black tea while watching the stage play unfold on the holographic screen, a look of genuine interest on his face.

"The acting is solid, and the script holds up well enough."

"Though there are far too many references to hammers and mothers in the dialogue... To think the locals actually penned this themselves?"

He had long grown weary of cinematic works from the old world, and the localized adaptations brought over by the players tended to lean toward the cringe-worthy. By comparison, he found himself far more curious about the novel creations the wasteland survivors managed to conjure up on their own.

For instance, *Boyle the Awakened*, written by Spurg, had truly caught his eye, as had the doggerel verses penned earlier by Hal, and even the picture book gifted to him by the little princess of the Honey Badgers—*The Thick-Haired Father and Son*.

Compared to imported goods, these homegrown creations offered a truer reflection of the wastelanders' inner worlds.

As a manager, his duty was not merely to guide, but even more so to understand.

And in the latest sociological research report concerning the Bhairava Province sent by Madame Han Mingyue, it just so happened that such a representative piece of work was attached.

Though an old-fashioned stage play felt somewhat mismatched with cutting-edge holographic viewing equipment, it felt oddly fitting within the context of the wasteland.

Returning to the play itself.

The piece was titled *A Tale After the Downpour*, written by a minotaur poet who single-handedly handled the scriptwriting, dialogue design, and even the accompanying music.

The entirety of the play's narrative unfolded within a single estate on Tulip Street, which, according to the play's depiction, was actually Nikhar's gubernatorial mansion, while the downpour served as a metaphor for both the rain outside the window and the political winds blowing into Port Golden Gillion.

Yet the play did not dwell on Governor Nikhar and his servants, nor did it concern itself with current affairs or the grand scheme of things; it merely witnessed the end of an era through the eyes of a minor aristocrat, using two unfulfilled love stories as threads to highlight the protagonist's profound disorientation during this transitional period.

Everyone around him was drifting away, yet he himself knew not where to go, let alone where he truly stood.

In a sense, the psychological state of the play's protagonist mirrored the spiritual condition of the local old aristocracy perfectly.

Following their landing in the Bhairava Province, though the Alliance had not plundered the wealth of the locals, those aristocrats no longer possessed any of the privileges of the old era, nor were they looked up to or revered by those around them.

Even if their lives remained comfortable for the time being, it was only a matter of time before they sank beneath the waves of history if they failed to adapt to the changing times.

At the very end of the video attachment, Han Mingyue had left her observations as a researcher.

"...What intrigues me is not the plot itself, but the simultaneous presence of existentialism and nihilism within this play. I believe this work is just as representative as the Red Clay, the latter being the voice of the radicals, the former of the conservatives; both belong to this era, and both serve as microcosms of the cultural phenomena unique to this transitional period."

Shutting off the hologram, Chu Guang resumed reading the report written by Madame Han Mingyue.

According to the views presented in her latest research, the new cultural movement in Port Golden Gillion was proceeding in full swing, its fervor matching that of the local massive infrastructure projects.

The seeds of both romanticism and realism were sprouting concurrently in Port Golden Gillion.

More than that, the former had undergone a further, almost leap-like evolution, giving rise to the embryonic form of existentialism on its foundation.

Namely, that beyond human existence itself, there was no inherent morality or external soul; both morality and the soul were things created by humans in the process of survival, meaning humans were under no obligation to believe in specific religions or ritual laws.

These concepts had all appeared before in the history of the Human Federation, but to witness them in the post-prosperity wasteland era was exceedingly rare and precious.

Naturally, alongside this, another extreme had emerged in Port Golden Gillion—nihilism.

That is, the negation of all meaning, the belief that everything humans did was ultimately futile and powerless.

The survivor culture of the Bhairava Province originated from Camp Lowell, and the culture the local survivors took pride in spanned four million square kilometers. In comparison, the Sea Cliff Province, which tugged at the sensitive nerves of the three "Fallen Empires," was smaller than a single province within the empire.

Even the slaves in the plantation estates could chest out and boast that the so-called "Fallen Empires" and the "War in Heaven" were nothing more than a few strangely shaped large crabs fighting inside a cricket cage.

Yet, when faced with a rising survivor faction that had only been around for two and a half years, their pride was utterly shattered against the ground.

Even if they counted the thousand pillars of the City of a Thousand Pillars ten thousand times over, they could not comprehend why, when the Alliance fought the Torch, the mere wind brushed up by a casual punch managed to demolish the "Grey Wolves" that the empire took pride in and viewed as its spearhead.

Conceit and inferiority complex might be two extremes of self-perception, yet their appearance within the same individual was not contradictory; one could even say the two traits were invariably shadows of one another.

Compared to the City of a Thousand Pillars, Camp Lowell, symbolizing authority, was the true spiritual totem in the minds of the Bhairava Province survivors, even if the locals had never prayed to it and would subconsciously lower their heads and quicken their pace when passing its gates.

Yet few survivors in the Bhairava Province truly realized that prayer was merely a form of expression for believers to show reverence to a deity, not the entirety of faith, and entirely unrelated to its essence.

Primitive societies compiled myths out of reverence for forest fires and heavenly thunder, danced for deities out of reverence, and offered sacrifices to totems...

Myths, dances, and sacrifices were insufficient to sum up the essence of faith; a reverence born from the heart—or rather, fear—was the true core.

With the arrival of the Alliance, the majesty of Camp Lowell was trampled into the dust, and the local old aristocrats lost not only the income brought by their slaves but also their spiritual anchor.

Currently, the tide of nihilism was fashionable among the local upper class, manifesting primarily in the fields of music and painting.

After all, these two domains possessed a higher barrier to entry compared to writing, as the residents of Port Golden Gillion who had just learned to write were still stuck at the stage of learning the Federation language, which was thoroughly drenched in the flavor of the Alliance.

"...The story of *A Tale After the Downpour* is merely a brief interlude in my research report; I know you care more about the voice of progress than the groans of conservative forces. However, I trust you are rational enough to know that radicalism and extremism are separated by only a single step, and the Torch is the most direct example of this."

"Presently, the survivors of Port Golden Gillion have reached a consensus to tear down the thousand pillars of the City of a Thousand Pillars, and all sectors of society are united like never before by this shared consensus. While I lean toward believing that the majority opinion implies a spiritual tearing down rather than a physical one, I worry this movement may ultimately spiral out of control, resulting in damage to important cultural relics and research materials."

"Before that place is destroyed, I wish to conduct an on-site investigation, ideally to preserve some video records and the like, which constitute invaluable sociological research material... Though my research findings cannot immediately demonstrate any practical utility, I still wish to apply to you for an expansion of regional permissions for mission issuance, as well as a Viper transport aircraft and a twelve-man tactical squad."

Chu Guang read the report to its very end, his index finger tapping against the desk, before ultimately denying her request.

"...I do not mean to belittle sociological research; on the contrary, I value it immensely, but we have already signed a truce agreement with the empire. Rashly crossing the ceasefire line could involve the Legion in already complex regional affairs, and even drag the Mutual Soil Society, which ought to be giving its all on the front lines, into a new quagmire. I cannot approve your request."

"Naturally, I will seriously consider your suggestion and urge the vault residents active in the region to support your research through indirect intervention, as well as to protect the new heritage of the post-prosperity era."

The Church of the Torch was currently playing for time, and the Mutual Soil Society had merely completed its encirclement; thoroughly resolving this trouble would take some time.

If the Alliance increased its intervention in the Bhairava Province region, the Legion would immediately follow suit to expand its influence and territory in the province, which might not ultimately benefit the spontaneous transformation of the local survivors.

It was better to maintain the status quo, using Port Golden Gillion to check Port Westsail, allowing the local survivors to decide their own future.

Besides, the local survivors weren't actually doing half bad.

The officers deployed from Port Golden Gillion into the hinterland had turned around the decline of the Moon Clan resistance, pushing through Huzhou and advancing toward the northeastern corner of the Bhairava Province.

According to the report Fang Chang made to Xiaoyu during the hearing, the "military strongman" they had invested ten million silver coins to prop up had successfully secured the first round of private venture capital from the populaces of Port Golden Gillion and Port French Fries, leveraging nearly twenty million silver coins in capital, and was preparing to establish a "New Port Golden Gillion" at the mouth of the Tasan River in Mammoth State.

The economic potential of this port might not rival that of Golden Gillion located at the mouth of the Yongliu River, but it could still radiate into two or three inland states adjacent to the Tasan River.

While this particular pie failed to mystify Xiaoyu, several shareholder representatives attending the hearing concurrently were indeed enticed by the prospect, throwing their support behind Fang Chang without hesitation.

Reasonably speaking, if another Port Golden Gillion could truly be carved out, would ten million silver coins be considered a loss?

Not a loss at all!

Ideal City possessed a deep treasury and could afford to forgo expansion, living comfortably behind closed doors while still having spare cash to throw around the wasteland, but did Dawn City possess such a deep treasury?

Overseas operations absolutely had to expand!

Now they had food, they had minerals, they were only short on population.

If that fellow Rasi could truly turn the beasts of burden in the Bhairava Province into human beings, who cared what kind of creature he was? Could he possibly be more absurd than that Shaman Tuo?

Upon seeing the series of material evidence presented by Fang Chang, Xiaoyu ultimately said nothing more, lifting the summons order once the former provided a complete project plan.

In truth, her actions were entirely based on the Alliance's regulations, devoid of any deliberate favoritism or deliberate suppression.

Chu Guang was quite pleased with such an outcome.

Whether regarding the Baiyue Company, Xiaoyu, or the transformation currently taking place in the Bhairava Province under the guidance of the players.

That place was equally the wasteland; there was no such thing as a main storyline wasteland versus a side storyline wasteland.

The corruption in Jinchuan Province originated from the Torch in Sea Cliff Province, yet the ultimate root lay in Qingquan City of River Valley Province—or rather, the Broodmother of Qingquan City and Vault 117.

The Nanguo of Sea Cliff Province came from Baiyue Province, and the key to finally resolving Nanguo—the Type-B Nanguo bacterial strain—also came from that province, or rather from that slime mold Broodmother located in Baiyue Province that had yet to be discovered by the players.

The reclamation of Baiyue Province could not do without the support of the survivors from the southern seas, including researching the ruins of the sunken Heavenly Court, the abyssal variants, and the Broodmother.

The same applied to developing the Great Desert; the Alliance had to enlist the survivors who had once gone there and fled from there, resolving their problems, or at least bringing along the people willing to step out from that place once more.

Every event that unfolds on the wasteland seems disjointed, yet each is intricately linked to the next.

If they fail to tread carefully with every step, no matter how much legacy they inherit, they will never return to the stars they once touched…

At least, in his lifetime, he feared he would hardly see it.

……

The sun and moon on the battlefield were like snails on a leaf’s tip; the northern front moved slowly yet persistently, inch by inch.

Time gradually slipped into late September.

The allied forces on the northern front had successfully seized control of the entire city of Laishan and, in a three-pronged advance, penetrated deep into the heart of Haiya Province.

Facts proved that the allies’ war of attrition was indeed effective. Even though the Legion’s representatives constantly criticized the Alliance for using the Adhesive Commonwealth system to line its own pockets and develop its industry on the sly.

Yet, after witnessing the Alliance’s casualties on the front—especially among the shelter residents—they could no longer utter those harsh words.

The Corporation had no objections; stable, sustained investment and predictable returns were their very pursuit. They feared only unforeseen risks, not those they had anticipated.

As for the Academy, no one could fathom what they were thinking. Chuguang himself could guess at most ten or twenty percent—their obsession with secrets matched their attitude toward knowledge.

The Torch Church seemed intent on stalling for time, continuing to increase its stakes in the southern seas and sending vanguard forces eastward, trying to spread the flames to the Yuema Province.

This vanguard, led by one Forerunner and over a hundred Apostles, happened to collide with the Corporation’s 99th Mechanized Infantry Division.

A fierce firefight erupted on the plains, and in the end, the latter—whose equipment grew ever more flamboyant with each clash—gained the upper hand, forcing the vanguard to retreat in bitter defeat.

A handful of novice players participated in that battle as mercenaries and were said to have scrounged quite a bit of gear.

But in the end, most of that equipment was bought back at high prices by enterprises like Boulder Military Industries for study.

After all, those big shots in the arms industry offered far too much.

Beyond that, some players even went to the Legion or the Hound Special Forces as mercenaries. A few enthusiasts of “unconventional paths” even summarized on the official forum the pay each faction offered and the most cost-effective ways to slack off.

Among them, the Alliance offered the most stable returns, with the smoothest growth curve, as if meticulously designed.

After all, it was the officially anointed “protagonist faction” of the game, serving the majority—suitable for ordinary players who didn’t want to take risks and for large-scale regiments.

As for the Corporation, being the nouveau riche in the background, the first to get rich on the wasteland, even ordinary soldiers could become quest-giving NPCs, and they paid the highest. The only drawback was that the equipment they provided had low practical combat value.

Aside from bionic chips and some implanted cybernetics that were highly useful, things like exoskeletons or light weapons were better sold for cash.

If one sought equipment, the Academy and the Free State of Bugar were better choices. The former’s technical reserves were the ceiling of the wasteland, while the latter, backed by the Great Rift and thus untouchable, had over the past century managed to steal a bit from the former.

As for the Legion, the pay was meager, the equipment average, but unexpected gains might come—just like that guy, [Battlefield Atmosphere Group].

After reading that player’s post, Chuguang couldn’t help but give it a like.

That fellow had truly mastered the new version; he’d have to be at least a five-surname turncoat.

Of course, as long as it didn’t violate the Player Handbook, Chuguang always encouraged players to “go out.”

But these minor details had negligible impact on the overall war situation. Chuguang only learned about them through Xiaoqi and didn’t bother to zoom in for a closer look.

Currently, the “purification zone” in Haiya Province had expanded to 70,000 square kilometers, nearly one-tenth of the province’s total area of 670,000 square kilometers.

Its significance was roughly akin to biting off the first peak of the Ten Peaks Mountains, but there were many more “peaks” to conquer, each more perilous than the last.

If only a breakthrough could be made on the southern front, Chuguang, commanding from the front line, thought more than once.

Especially now that the Conch-class submarine carrier was complete, the Meissner-effect armor had been successfully installed on the South Sea Alliance’s flagship, and the radar station and missile launchers on Shazhou Island had been deployed one after another—the timing for a decisive battle had never been better.

Just as Chuguang was pondering whether to urge the southern allies to make a move, a telegram with an attached battle plan suddenly arrived at Xiaoqi via the dedicated line from Fries Port.

The plan’s codename was “Raken”—the fiercest sea beast in the southern waters, roughly akin to the Deathclaw of the Hegu Province.

Its author was none other than Li Minghui, commander of the South Sea Alliance Navy, to whom the Alliance authorities had granted full command of the Anle Island naval base and its garrison fleet.

“……The fishing boats and harpoons for hunting Raken have been sharpened. The South Sea Alliance fleet is ready to reclaim everything or sacrifice everything!”

“We plan to launch the final decisive battle in early October, to completely annihilate Charlas and his cronies who have coerced the North Island residents! And to utterly exile the Torch cultists and mutants on the island!”

“This operation will determine the future of us all. We need your support!”

The telegram was only three short paragraphs, but the attached battle plan was a full dozen pages.

It included using the captured Reef as bait to create a flaw and lure the battleship Haiya out of port, suppressing the island’s anti-air fire to cover the Alliance’s ground forces’ landing, and so on.

Since Torch forces were present on North Island, the South Sea Alliance hoped the Dawnlight City side would serve as the main ground combat force.

Afterward, the close cooperation between the South Sea Alliance and the Alliance would continue, and North Island would become a logistics relay base for the Alliance, serving as a springboard for an attack on the southern coast of Haiya Province.

Having read the battle plan to the very end, Chuguang suddenly burst into loud laughter.

“Well done!”

Xiaoqi, perched on the pen holder, tilted its head.

“Master, do you think their plan is good?”

It felt that the plan still carried certain risks; the South Sea Alliance had staked almost everything.

Chuguang’s lips curled slightly as he tapped his finger a few times on the holographic screen, sending the battle plan to the General Staff and the regimental commanders on the southern front.

“……Good or bad, you can’t tell from a map. Whether it works, we’ll only know after trying.”

With that, he looked at Xiaoqi and issued two consecutive orders.

“Notify the southern front players to assemble at Fries Port! No need to be too specific—just say the server has a new event!”

“Also, order the Burning Regiment and the Goblin Regiment to enter combat preparation phase immediately! Be ready for deployment at any time!”

Seeing the excitement flickering in Chuguang’s eyes, Xiaoqi saluted with the Alliance salute, full of vigor.

“Received!”