Chapter 783: Blood Flows Like a River

Chapter 783: Blood Flows Like a River

Blazing flames climbed the wooden eaves, illuminating faces frozen in bewilderment and shock.

The rising black smoke drifted like homeless ghosts, and the crackling wails stood out starkly in the crowd’s silence.

This was the southwestern corner of Mammoth State, a small village called “Stone Village”… or rather, what had once been that name.

Most of the people living here were freemen of the Empire.

But in the Empire, unlike other regions of the Wasteland, being a freeman was nothing to be proud of.

Since the fertile lands along the rivers were mostly held by nobles, most freemen, even if they had land to till, lived in considerable hardship.

If a typical serf ate six meals of red dirt a week, a freeman might have to eat seven or eight, barely clinging to life.

Of course, that excluded those who managed to survive in or near the settlements.

Stone Village was no different. Far from the Tassan River, with no nearby streams or lakes, the land was poor for farming, and most villagers barely scraped by with enough to eat.

These people, living like weeds, yielded little worth squeezing. The Empire generally ignored them, except for collecting taxes, leaving them to fend for themselves.

Of course, this gracious tolerance only applied in peacetime.

A mere five or six li south of Stone Village stood the boundary marker of Horse State, but it was precisely that five or six li of fate that brought the fire of “scorched earth” to this place…

At the entrance of Stone Village, an old man past fifty sat slumped on the ground, looking up at the towering centurion, weeping with tears and snot streaming.

“My lord, we’ve lived here for years. If you burn this place down, where—where will we go?”

The centurion stared at him expressionlessly and said coldly.

“Horse State is next door, and further south is Tiger State. Your legs are your own. As long as you don’t go north, you can go wherever you like.”

The old man begged bitterly.

“But—but without land, how can we live?”

“How to live?” The centurion let out a cold laugh, looking down at the old wretch sprawled on the ground, his tone mocking. “Just sell yourself to some estate… Stop your damn sniveling. You’re old enough to be buried anyway.”

Seeing the old man staring blankly at him, the centurion figured his words were a bit harsh, so he softened his tone slightly.

“Alright, there’s a bandit problem here. Sending you away is for your own good. Don’t be ungrateful. I’m giving you time to pack. If you’ve got nothing else, get the hell out.”

“Bandits?! But—but those Moonfolk never bothered us…”

As the centurion turned to leave, the stunned old man panicked and blurted out without thinking, forgetting the officer’s rank and what the Moonfolk meant to the Empire.

The centurion stopped in his tracks, squinting as he looked the old man up and down, his eyes turning hostile.

“They’ve been here?”

Not only was the centurion glaring at the old man, but the soldiers beside him also placed their hands on their Gutripper rifles.

Sensing the tension, the old man was terrified and began to stammer.

“I…”

The centurion stared at him.

“Why didn’t you report to the nearby outpost?”

“Wh—what outpost?”

Beads of sweat trickled from the old man’s forehead. Before he could explain, the centurion waved at the soldiers.

“Take him back for interrogation.”

Two soldiers stepped forward, each grabbing one of the old man’s shoulders. Ignoring his pig-like screams, they hauled him onto a cart like livestock.

The village’s young men wanted to stop them, but the murderous glare kept them frozen, and they could only watch as their elder was taken away…

A similar scene unfolded not only in Stone Village but elsewhere as well.

Even worse, in some cases.

Over fifty thousand Gray Wolf troops marched into rebel-occupied Mammoth State with overwhelming momentum, from top to bottom determined to avenge their past humiliation.

Alyan sent scouts to track the resistance’s movements while steadily deploying his battle lines, simultaneously dispatching small units along the border to execute his scorched-earth strategy.

It wasn’t just the old man suspected of contact with the resistance who was taken away.

There were also men, women, children, and livestock from the pens who had no idea what was happening.

These imperial soldiers didn’t even spare the eggs laid by the hens.

Of course, not all villages were so docile. Given the ecological conditions in the Pura Province, resisting the nobles’ land annexation required some backbone.

Some indignant young men brought out pitchforks, bows, fowling pieces, and even crude cannons, trying to fight the imperial Gray Wolves.

But their fury didn’t scare off the imperial wolves; instead, it brought death to themselves and their families.

Though the Gray Wolf Army had nearly been drowned in the Eternal River outside Jingalun Port by the Alliance, dealing with a bunch of ragged paupers was no challenge for them. With a single charge, the soldiers slaughtered those clueless weeds, turning the ground into a river of blood.

Once the bayonets tasted blood, things were hard to contain.

Moreover, the Gray Wolf Army had been riddled with corruption by the Tiger and Panther Corps, their fighting spirit and discipline far worse than half a year ago—though they hadn’t been much better back then either.

After venting their bestial urges on the surviving weak, a pack of satisfied Gray Wolves pulled up their pants, granted the “captives” a quick death, tossed their heads onto carts, and took them back to camp as rebel heads to claim rewards.

Along the hundreds of kilometers of border between Mammoth State and Horse State, flames crawled like a winding serpent, devouring village after village.

Their beastly conduct echoed the wolf howls and ghostly wails of Ten-Peak Mountain.

And it was no less savage…

“…Those bastards!”

At the edge of the dark forest, Ackman stared at the soldiers leaving the ruins, his eyes blazing with fury.

When the long-haired woman was dragged into the cowshed, he thought of his mother…

The soldiers beside him felt the same. All of them gripped their rifles tightly, itching to tear that century squad apart limb from limb.

Especially the boy named Udi. If not for his comrades holding him back, he would have charged forward.

“There are too many of them… We’re only ten. We can’t take them on.”

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Ackman said in a low voice.

“Rasi told us that to defeat an enemy far stronger than us, we need not only a fearless spirit but also to learn to think.”

A tall, freckled youth looked at him and whispered.

“What should we do?”

“You take Udi, and you, and you…”

Ackman counted out five local recruits and handed them over to the veteran who had fought all the way from Tiger State, lowering his voice to continue instructing. “Head north and tell the villagers what happened here. Say the Empire’s men have come, killing everyone they see. If they don’t want to die, they should run north.”

“Going there won’t help,” Udi interjected quietly. “It’s all flooded…”

“Only temporarily. The flood season is over, and winter is coming… When spring arrives, the flooded land will be the most fertile. Lord Rasi will distribute the nobles’ land to them for farming,” Ackman said without hesitation.

The lands along the Tassan River, once owned by nobles, had already been consolidated. Once the flood season passed, they could be used to settle these displaced villagers.

Those lands were far more fertile than here. Rasi had promised to give some to the locals. Now that Mammoth State was resistance territory, they had to manage it well.

At the mention of land distribution, the eyes of the two young men lit up, including Udi’s.

His village lay outside Mammoth City, where all the land belonged to the nobility. His parents had tilled the soil for the nobles their entire lives without ever owning a single field of their own, and now someone was willing to distribute the nobles' manors and plantations to them—for a moment, they were so stirred they could barely keep from cheering.

Only a few veterans from Tiger Province smiled wryly at their naivety.

Farming?

That path led nowhere.

They had suffered enough from tilling the soil in the gullies of Tiger Province; the real good life came only when you shouldered a rifle.

The freckled face furrowed his brow slightly, looking at Ackerman as he asked.

"What makes those villagers trust us?"

"Go pick up some things from over there to bring them. Whether they believe us or not is up to them—we only save those we can."

Ackerman pointed at the ruins of a nearby village, signaling him to scavenge some evidence there, then lowered his voice and continued.

"These should be the last villages for today. The Gray Wolves don't dare travel by night, but once dawn breaks, who knows? You'd better move fast and get everything done before sunrise… Remember, notify every village within half a day's march!"

The six young men nodded solemnly, slipped into the bushes beside the road, and cautiously crept toward the village, vanishing in a flash.

As for Ackerman, he led the remaining three, following the retreating Gray Wolf century, trying to locate their "regimental headquarters."

If luck was on their side, they might even find a chance to lob a few shells at them!

Meanwhile, on the other side, in the Gray Wolf command post, General Arayan stood expressionless before the sand table, his thoughts drifting unconsciously with the pieces scattered across it.

He remembered how, at the start of the year, he had been a war god revered by tens of thousands.

And now, in just half a year's time, those who had revered him had trampled him into the gutter as the empire's disgrace.

The higher they had lifted him up, the harder they had thrown him down. But it was precisely that incident that had awakened him completely—

These rabble were not worth his sympathy.

He should never have treated them as human beings, though he hadn't exactly cared for them much before either.

Even today, he could not forget the humiliation he had suffered at Golden Port. Those ungrateful wretches, for a few silver coins, had killed his scouts, sold his intelligence, and deliberately dug their trenches like graves, so deep that his soldiers couldn't raise their hands above the parapet even when stretching.

And then there were the reed marshes along the Eternal River.

Those people would rather take bullets, drown, and become the Alliance's dogs than stay in the empire and live decently.

He knew better than anyone that once he gave the order for scorched earth, his men would surely run amok with their "own methods."

But so what?

Rather than keeping these swine on the front lines to drag him down and deliberately sabotage his efforts, it was better to use their blood to intimidate anyone daring to oppose the empire.

Just then, the officer in charge of the scorched-earth operation entered the tent, saluted respectfully to General Arayan standing before the map, and reported.

"Sir, the Moon Tribe resistance has almost certainly been here."

"They were bound to come—nothing strange about that. Later, check thoroughly. Anyone with relatives in the resistance, whether distant or close, pull them out and form a separate squad. I'll have use for them."

Staring at Mammoth City on the map, Arayan continued expressionlessly.

"That Rasi is an officer trained by the Alliance, and those who left Golden Port with him were also Alliance-trained. Their specialty is infiltration, penetration, breaking into small units, fighting outnumbered… In the Sunset Province and River Valley Province, those people gave the Wilantians no end of trouble with these tricks."

The officer's expression tightened, and he said in a low voice.

"If that's the case, this war won't be easy."

"Won't be easy?" Arayan let out a scoff, twitching the corner of his mouth. "Don't count on a quick victory. To wipe them out completely will take at least three or four months. Let them fight their guerrilla war if they want—we'll set our own formation—"

Before he could finish, the sound of an explosion rumbled from afar.

Both men in the tent froze. Arayan's face changed first, and he rushed out of the tent, looking toward the direction of the sound.

The officer followed close behind, and then a second blast echoed from the distance.

His face paled slightly, and the officer stammered.

"155mm!"

Alliance 155s!

The impression that thing had left on him was too deep; he would never forget the feeling of his skull rattling and buzzing.

"Spare me the obvious…" Arayan cursed, grabbing the radio from his shoulder and bellowing into it.

The first few shells were just ranging shots!

There must be guerrilla scouts and communication radios near the bombarded unit, reporting the impact points!

And indeed, it was just as Arayan had thought.

Soon, the boiling thunder of artillery erupted over the positions of the 7th Thousand-Man Unit under the 1st Ten-Thousand-Man Division, dealing a heavy blow to the once-high-spirited Gray Wolves.

Because the anti-artillery fortifications had been poorly dug, the entire thousand-man unit suffered heavy casualties, with only sixty percent escaping the positions, rescued by the arriving 6th Thousand-Man Unit.

The first clash between the Gray Wolves and the Moon Tribe resistance ended in a small victory for the latter. But a single battle's outcome was not enough to reverse the latter's disadvantage.

The disparity in troop strength remained vast.

Arayan had a full fifty thousand troops, an elite force equipped with Wilantian arms, and their chief instructor was none other than the Eastern Legion's famous general, MacLenn.

As for Rasi, though he had cleverly used a "flood the army" tactic to annihilate the Mammoth Prefecture local forces, allowing the resistance to face the Gray Wolf offensive at full strength, even so, the troops he could field totaled barely over twenty thousand, more than half of them raw recruits.

Though the residents of Golden Port and even Fries Port had donated tens of millions of silver coins in war funds to the Moon Tribe resistance, if the latter could not win on the battlefield, all ideals would ultimately be empty talk…

…

Golden Port, the passenger terminal waiting hall. Qian Duo from Dawn City was leafing through a copy of the *Survivor Daily* with keen interest.

This edition of the *Survivor Daily* was completely different from the one in Dawn City, mainly reporting news that interested the locals, with only a few brief mentions of the war situation in Sea Cliff Province and events in River Valley Province.

As for today.

Almost every newspaper in Golden Port was focused on the front lines of Mammoth Prefecture.

[…Irrefutable evidence! The shameless butcher Arayan!]

[Golden Port Federation Secretary-General Roger strongly condemns the barbaric acts of the Imperial Gray Wolf Army; 100,000 survivors hold signs protesting the authorities' deportation of prisoners of war!]

[Governor Secretary Yodu, who has always refused to comment on imperial affairs, makes a rare statement denouncing imperial crimes: "Stone Village is not the only tragedy; who knows how many more are happening where we cannot see!"]

[A language teacher from the Southern Sea, who declined to be named, expressed shock in an interview: "Disgrace! I will write to my relatives and friends on Ring Island; I will petition the Assembly! The survivors of the Southern Sea will never cooperate with man-eating monsters!"]

"Burned over a hundred villages, driven away over a hundred thousand survivors, countless dead during the relocation… Tsk, these Xilan people are ruthless enough to their own."

Looking at the shocking photographs, Qian Duo couldn't help but click his tongue, but only clicked it once before turning to the next page.

Mammoth Prefecture was where he was headed soon; he was waiting for a flight departing in an hour. But honestly, seeing how brutal the fighting was here, he felt a bit uneasy.

A hundred thousand people…

How many were in Dawn City now?

Three hundred thousand?

Or five hundred thousand?

If you counted the floating population, it might be hard to calculate.

Han Long, sitting beside him, lifted his eyelids and said casually.

"Is the Gnawbone Tribe any less ruthless? Or the mutants of Jinchuan Province?… You're just not used to it."

"Haha, that's true enough... but come to think of it, fifty thousand regulars against twenty thousand stragglers—if the Alliance doesn't plan to step in, I'd say Rasi is as good as done." Qian Duo chuckled, tossing off the remark as he glanced at the next page comparing the two armies' strengths.

"If the Alliance makes a move, the Legion will likely have no choice but to join the fray as well... Hmm, it's a tricky situation." Han Long replied thoughtfully.

Just then, an unfamiliar voice sounded beside them.

"He won't be done for."

Han Long ignored it, but Qian Duo turned with interest to the man who had interjected. He was a gentle, scholarly-looking fellow, refined and easygoing in demeanor.

He appeared to be a man of some status, yet his attire was far from costly. A suitcase sat by his feet, quite large, suggesting he was headed on a long journey.

Curious about a local's perspective, Qian Duo asked with interest.

"Oh? You think he can win even if the Alliance doesn't intervene?"

Zayid smiled faintly, his voice soft as he replied.

"That depends on how you define victory. If the goal is to defeat Alayan, that's no trouble for him. But if the goal is to achieve the Federation's platform, he has no chance at all."

Qian Duo laughed heartily.

"That's an amusing way to put it. My view is the opposite. If the Gray Wolf Army loses again, the Empire will never recover—collapse is just a matter of time."

Zayid shook his head, speaking with clear logic.

"Our views don't actually conflict. But 'the Empire's collapse' and 'the realization of the Federation's platform' are two different things."

Qian Duo grew more intrigued by this fellow, smiling as he said.

"You mean Rasi wants to be emperor? But I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. Even if they went feudal here, it'd still be more civilized than this barbaric state they're in now... Sorry if I'm being blunt, but that's how it looks to an outsider like me."

After all, these were the kind of gods who could go toe-to-toe with the Bone-Chewing Tribe, a bunch already buried in the dirt. Even Red River Town, that godforsaken place, was probably more advanced than them.

Zayid didn't seem offended, merely smiling faintly.

"Anyone can see Rasi wants to be emperor—it's not just you outsiders. But unfortunately, he won't get the chance. The survivors of the Bala Province don't need an emperor. Or rather, what the people here have never needed is an emperor; it's just that the final outcome gave them His Majesty... Of course, what they need isn't equality either, but someone who 'can make decisions for them.'"

Qian Duo raised an eyebrow with interest.

Before coming here, he had done thorough market research, especially reading Ms. Han Mingyue's investigative reports repeatedly.

What this guy was saying was completely different from the Alliance scientific expedition's findings—though not entirely opposite.

"You don't think Rasi is that person?"

Zayid shook his head.

"Clearly not."

Qian Duo asked curiously.

"Because he was born a slave?"

Zayid shook his head again.

"Of course not."

Qian Duo pressed on.

"Then why?"

Zayid stared at the ceiling for a moment, thinking.

"Because... he wants to be a good emperor."

Qian Duo couldn't help but laugh.

"What's wrong with that?"

Zayid smiled faintly, not answering directly.

"There's a logical paradox on this land—let me call it, for now, 'the Rat Can't Become a Man Theorem,' or 'Rat-Man Theorem' for short. The man who wants to be a good general will never be a good general; the man who wants to be a good emperor will never be a good emperor; even the man who only wants to be a good person will never be one. Whether it's Rasi or Wutu, whether it's the young men of the Federation or the old nobles of Wutu, the harder they try, the more they struggle, the further they drift from their ideals."

It sounded like a theory he'd just made up on the spot—after all, he'd taken a while just to come up with the name.

But eager to understand the market he was stepping into, Qian Duo listened on with interest.

"That sounds like a hopeless fate."

"Doesn't it?"

Zayid glanced at the clock on the waiting hall wall. Seeing he still had some time, he continued speaking freely.

"...An invisible curse clings to everyone on this land—whether Ratfolk or Moonfolk. Some realize the curse's source: the red earth, the City of a Thousand Pillars. But more only think they realize it, understanding nothing, so they fix their gaze on the red earth, on those thousand pillars. Like picking flowers in a mirror, fishing for the moon in water, or searching for a fine horse in a cattle shed."

"The one who can make decisions for the survivors of the Bala Province can only be a flawless 'saint.' In this, they are perfectionists, even more devout than the faithful of Silvermoon Bay. And so, they got exactly what they wished for: Lowell... You might say Lowell died long ago, but isn't Wutu just another Lowell?"

"He never really left, always there in the red earth, cursing those who buried him. Now his children have found new answers—things they never even dreamed of before, namely the 'equality' you gave them."

He lowered his gaze, letting out a soft sigh.

"Everything seems beautiful, but unfortunately, the curse has taken effect—or rather, that 'Rat-Man Theorem' has come into play: a rat that yearns to be a good person can't even be a good rat. When all the survivors of the Bala Province, consciously or unconsciously, yearn for 'equality,' they will inevitably end up with the exact opposite."

Qian Duo was taken aback, then laughed and teased.

"If there really were a flawless saint, we'd need one too, not just you... You don't have to pass off laziness as something unique to your people."

Zayid smiled and shook his head.

"You don't actually need one—you're just saying that. You and we are completely different. Let me give you the simplest example: in the Bala Province, a group of people who seem unremarkable but have done some good deeds overall are disliked by everyone, and they're destined for hell."

"You mean the Vault dwellers?" Qian Duo glanced around; there were a few in blue coats nearby. He smiled. "I think the people of Golden Port seem to like them well enough."

Zayid said softly.

"That's because they haven't left yet... And you see, Golden Port seems to have been transformed nicely, and they seem to have finally gotten the equality they dreamed of. But they don't realize they've only found someone who 'can make decisions for them'—or rather, a group to whom they can entrust their weary souls."

It sounded like he was saying the survivors of the Bala Province were all idealists, yet the *Survivor's Daily* in Golden Port championed materialism, just like the Alliance.

Qian Duo raised an eyebrow with interest, though he completely disagreed with the man's views.

"Your reasoning is interesting, but it has no basis... Why not follow Ms. Han Mingyue's example and publish your reasoning as a more structured paper? We'd look forward to a debate between you two."

Zayid suddenly burst into laughter.

"That sort of thing is meaningless. Would you publish the exact steps to making money in a newspaper? And don't forget the Rat-Man Theorem I mentioned—I don't want to be the first victim of this paradox. Too many have already died for it. Time will prove my judgment... My flight is about to board. I wish you a pleasant journey."

With that, he picked up his suitcase and rose from his seat. Then, as if something occurred to him, he smiled at Qian Duo, tipping his hat in salute.

"Also, Mammoth State is indeed a fine place. I have high hopes for its future as well."

Leaving the astonished Alliance merchant behind, Zayid walked toward the security checkpoint. He seemed to have some argument with the staff there, but eventually, he passed through.

Qian Duo turned to Han Long beside him, speaking excitedly.

"Holy shit... this guy's got something. He actually figured out we were heading to Mammoth State for a survey?"

Interesting fellow.

He should have asked for his name.

Han Long stared at the man's retreating figure for a moment, his electronic eye flickering left and right.

"I only care about the boss's business... Speaking of which, this guy doesn't seem too optimistic about Rasi. Do we still need to go?"

Qian Duo laughed heartily.

"His lack of optimism is his opinion. There are plenty of people in this world who disagree with us. Don't let some random passerby's ramblings affect your judgment. Besides, our views aren't entirely opposite—at least he's optimistic about Mammoth State, and on that, we agree."

If the Lister Group wishes to keep pace with the times, it must expand its overseas ventures like Baiyue Company, joining the new supply chain that is taking shape.

In the future, the Alliance's goods will no longer be produced solely in the two industrial zones of Dawn City and Boulder City; an invisible logistics network will link together all the backward and advanced productive forces within the Conglomerate.

Yet while business expansion is critical, controlling risk is even more so.

And that is precisely why, when Lister ordered him to Mammoth City, he chose to make his first stop at Golden Port.

Only the nouveau riche fixate solely on the rate of return.

Before considering gains, he must first secure an escape route.