CHAPTER 826: CHAPTER 826: PUNISHMENT AND MEDIATION

Outside West Sail Port, on a stretch of red soil nearing the coastline.

A dozen Vellante men shouldering their rifles, smoking while watching the people digging pits in the distance.

There are men, women, and even elderly and seemingly young children.

Evidently, the Vellante did not plan to measure their height with a wheel, but chose the fairest approach.

They held shovels, trembling with sobs, as they dug into the blood-red soil.

Though most of them knew what the pits were for, none dared stop.

After all, cooperating might buy them a bit more time.

While stopping would earn them a beating before dying.

As for resisting...

The Vellante wished they would try.

After all, firing on unarmed people would incur some guilt.

"Get on with it, mud worms, finish early and lie in there to rest, hahaha."

On the edge of the crowd, a Vellante soldier carrying a rifle cursed viciously, with undisguised humiliation in his words.

Upon hearing the curses seemingly from hell, the digging people’s shoulders trembled uncontrollably, and their sobbing grew even more intense.

Finally, someone couldn’t hold on any longer and collapsed to the ground with blurred vision.

Until he saw the Vellante soldier striding over, his half-awake state turned to terror as he turned and knelt, pleading.

"Sir... I’m hungry... Can you... let me eat something before digging?"

"Hungry? Eat, then," the soldier grabbed his head, pressed it against the ground like catching a mudfish, sneering, "It’s everywhere, still need me to feed you?"

The man pressed to the ground struggled and begged but couldn’t make a sound, swallowing mouthfuls of mud and sand before barely catching his breath.

"No, I don’t dare... Sir..."

"Then get to work! Useless thing!"

Finding it too filthy, the soldier didn’t bother torturing the dying wretch further, cursing as he gave him a shove with his rifle, ignoring the near-dead wretch.

The others around trembled as they watched, seeing the man squirming like a worm, but not one dared speak, let alone resist.

Not everyone here was frail and old; there were sturdy youths, and even some defeated city guard mixed among them.

Yet facing those fierce Vellante soldiers, even they lacked the courage to pick up guns and resist.

Aside from those crying while working, there were those working with all their might.

Not only with endless strength but also with a "big picture" mentality that most lacked.

Sweating profusely, they tried digging larger pits, proving they could endure hardship more than others, as if this would save them.

Yet those didn’t know their futile diligence seemed clownish to those big-nosed men, only exacerbating their disdain.

They couldn’t bother distinguishing which were Lion Clan People, which were Sun or Cow People, or which were lowly Snake, Rat, Insect, Bird.

All hopeless.

Even at this point not resisting, being buried alive was too kind; best left to the "Gray People."

In fact, they intended to do just that but lacked Gray People mercenaries with the troop, bad efficiency in calling them; the commander finally dismissed the idea.

Already buried a batch yesterday, today was the second, in two months might be enough.

Watching those sweating profusely on the red soil, Peter flicked away his burnt-out cigarette, grabbing another from the pack and lighting it again.

From dawn to dusk, this was his second pack today.

"...Sometimes I really think, we’re born into this world just to do these dirty, tiring jobs."

Beside him, a big fellow looked at his centurion, murmuring somberly.

"These?"

Peter sneered self-mockingly, standing in ashes as he smiled.

"Yes, clearing sticky fungus, clearing trash, and rotten, dirty blood. The jobs those old guys from the Prosperity Epoch don’t want or can’t do, all given to us. Like dialysis for kidneys, we clean up these things, only then might this moldy world return to normal... What do you think?"

Like scavengers.

And after all this, it’ll probably be time for them to be swept into the trash heap.

There’s no future for Vellante People in the New Era; their fate was decided from birth to be the last dust of the Wasteland Era, swept into the trash to become the last Waste Land Wanderers.

But precisely because of this, it highlights Marshal’s greatness.

That noble lord saw through the filth in those high above from the start, and without hesitation, united and overthrew the hypocritical peace.

Though just a small centurion, he respected the lord from his heart.

"I don’t know, but they, must die." The big man’s face was filled with hatred, the grim and muscular face trembling slightly with anger.

"I agree..."

Peter holding a cigarette sneered, looking to the distant sea horizon, squinting slightly at this moment.

Dark dots appeared faintly where sea met sky.

They seemed to be cargo ships.

He took down the intercom hanging on his shoulder, pressed the button, and spoke.

"...A ship is coming."

"Yes, coming from the east."

...

Yarman’s fleet almost rushed into port, nearly hitting the dock due to excessive speed.

The fleet arrived 24 hours earlier than expected.

With Yarman’s nearly frantic urging, his sailors nearly overturned the ship.

Looking at the mess-ridden port, Yarman frantically rushed to the edge of the deck.

"Let go of me! Let me down!"

Seeing their boss trying to jump from four or five meters off the deck, the captain and a few sailors quickly stepped in, holding him tightly to the railing.

"Boss, calm down! At least wait until the gangway is down! Want to die from the fall?"

"Then let me die! I’ll go down to be with them!" Yarman hysterically shouted, trying to break free from those hands.

The nearby sailors, scared, quickly spoke.

"No way, what do we do if you die."

"My entire fortune is on your ship!"

"Haven’t received pay for this trip yet—"

"Shut up!" Snapping at those cynical sailors, the captain looked at Yarman, swallowing quickly, "...Open your eyes, see clearly, those are our people onshore, your family might still be alive, if they knew you died on the dock, what would they think?"

This managed to calm Yarman a bit, his tightened shoulders no longer trembling.

The captain signaled the nearby sailors to keep an eye on the boss, ensuring the gangway was secured before letting him off the ship.

Watching the spiritless man, Brother Dog on the deck sighed compassionately.

"Take it easy, buddy, life’s bound to have its downs... I mean, a blessing in disguise... Pah! Well, at least no bank loan to repay..."

Seeing the insensitive guy messing around, the stirring stick blurted.

"Shut up, will you."

Guide dog reluctantly muttered.

"What’s the big deal... He can’t understand a word I say anyway."

Far-sighted eagle suddenly chimed in.

"Not necessarily."

Guide dog: "???"

Fierce wolf remained silent for a moment, watching the man’s back before finally shaking his head.

"...Condolences."

Unresponsive to the chaos behind him, Yarman’s face pressed against the tide-struck deck, seemingly soulless.

Until the anchor chain and gangway were lowered one after another, and the ship finally stopped, he finally reacted, breaking free from the hands that restrained him, and staggered off the ship.

He had noticed these ships a long time ago, and a squad of Vellante soldiers came over with guns on their backs.

Yarman staggered in front of them, grabbing the arm of one young man.

His bluish lips trembled, opening and closing for a long time but unable to utter a single word.

However, everyone there knew what he wanted to say, as if they could hear him.

Looking at this pitiable fellow, a few soldiers showed expressions of compassion on their faces.

One of the Centurions stepped forward, placed his hand on Yarman’s shoulder and squeezed, saying in a comforting tone.

"...We found some survivors, but we’re not sure if your family is among them."

A glimmer of hope flashed in Yarman’s gloomy eyes, and he asked shakily.

"Where are they?"

The Centurion looked towards the young man whose arm was being held by Yarman.

"You take him there."

"Yes!" The young man stood up straight, and then said to Yarman, "Please come with me."

Yarman released his grip on the young man’s arm and closely followed behind him.

The Centurion then turned his gaze to the four people who had walked off the ship and were clearly not Vellante people, frowning slightly.

He vaguely guessed the identity of these people.

"Alliance?"

"Yes."

The Centurion’s expression turned cold.

"What are you doing here?"

The Dog from the Conduit was about to say "we’re here to break up fights" but got his mouth covered quickly by Brother Wolf standing beside him.

The Far-sighted Eagle quickly stepped forward to take over the conversation, explaining in somewhat proficient United Human language.

"We are his partners... uh, and sort of his friends, can we accompany him? We’re worried something might happen to him."

The Centurion gave him a once-over, with a gaze that seemed to warn him to mind his own business.

"Don’t make trouble... if you don’t want any issues."

He knew this guy was from the Alliance, and he also knew that Triumph City and the Alliance had much cooperation regarding Sticky Community issues, but that didn’t mean he was intimidated by this guy.

The Far-sighted Eagle said thank you, then hurriedly followed behind Yarman.

The Shit Stirrer caught up with him, asking in confusion.

"Aren’t we trying to break up fights?"

The Far-sighted Eagle rolled his eyes.

"Break up what shit, how many of us are there? The Manager told us to act according to circumstances, didn’t tell us to get killed, nor to mess things up... The priority now is to gather information, first see what’s happening here."

They were completely unaware of the local situation, and now the priority was to figure out what on earth was going on.

Since there are survivors, might as well check what’s the current state of those people...

Watching the four people leave, the Centurion took down the walkie-talkie hanging on his shoulder, pressed a button on it, and said.

"...Among the people who just disembarked from that ship, four are from the Alliance."

A response quickly echoed from the communication channel.

"Oh."

Hearing the nonchalant reply, the Centurion hesitated slightly and said.

"Just leave them be?"

The other side of the communication channel responded without hesitation.

"Aren’t they heading my way, leave the rest to me."

Seeing the superior saying so, the Centurion hesitated no more.

"Yes!"

...

The chapel of the Silver Moon Church.

Trash and dust littered the floor, mirroring the dilapidated harbor.

General McCullen, sitting on a bench, put the communicator aside, picked up the newspaper unfolded on his knee again, and continued flipping through it with great interest.

This was a treasure he had found in the ruins, named the "Silver Gospel News."

Judging by the title, those who published this newspaper were quite meticulous, cautiously avoiding taboos that only Vellante people committed to respect the fragile pride of the locals.

Perhaps it was precisely because of this caution.

Before, although he had visited West Sail Port many times, he had never noticed this chapel bearing the moon nor the interesting newspaper issued by it.

The newspaper contained not much news or content on the Silver Moon Sect’s doctrine; instead, it devoted a large portion to a novel named "Awakener Bol."

He had actually heard of this novel before, said to be written by the people of Giant Stone City during the ceasefire between the Army and the Alliance.

Now, due to the rise of cross-regional trade, this romantic novel was taken by a pastor named Melgio to a "primordial jungle" called West Sail Port.

Anyway, being idle, McCullen had the newspapers collected.

This stuff was too advanced for slaves but just right for his leisure time.

He was also very curious about what the Alliance, which defeated him using a pile of broken copper and iron, really was.

This question had puzzled him for too long, he had been wondering since a long time ago.

Perhaps this newspaper could give him some insights...

Just then, the door of the chapel was pushed open, and a man with a panicked expression followed a soldier inside.

"My family..."

McCullen said nothing and didn’t turn around, just nodded to the old nun standing beside and then continued reading the old newspaper in his hand.

The latter’s face revealed a complex expression, and she walked up to the gentleman.

"May I ask what your child’s name is?"

Yarman was stunned for a moment, subconsciously replied with a trembling voice.

"Ruby..."

"Please wait a moment." The old nun nodded slightly and turned to the side hall.

After a while, she came out with a little girl.

Yarman’s eyes immediately reddened, clasping his own hands to cover his nose.

The hair, which should have been smooth, dark brown, now hung messily over her shoulders, like a pilled sweater, but what tugged at his heart with pain was that lifeless pale face and those hollow eyes.

Now standing in this ruined chapel, she looked like a piece of pottery buried under the rubble, both heartbreaking and a relief.

She was alive!

Praise the Silver Moon Goddess!

He never believed in any god, only worshiped the great Marshal, but at this moment, he offered the most sincere prayer and rushed forward regardless.

"Ruby!!"

Yarman hugged Ruby tight, unable to hold back his tears any longer.

This tall man instantly turned into a weeping mess.

Hearing that familiar voice, Ruby finally reacted. Her hollow eyes finally showed a faint glimmer of light, and she reached out to gently stroke the head pressed against her shoulder.

"Dad..."

"...I’m sorry... Dad came back too late... I’m sorry for you all..."

Feeling the burning tears, Ruby’s eyes gradually reddened as well.

But perhaps recalling what Mom once said, she ultimately didn’t cry out loud but instead placed her small, tender hand atop her equally messy hair.

"It’s okay, Dad... Ruby is fine, don’t cry... Mom said, Vellante people don’t cry..."

"Mm! My Ruby, you’re right... Sorry to let you see the shameful side of Dad..."

"It’s okay... it’s okay now."

Ruby forced a smile on her face, seemingly trying to comfort him.

However, seeing her understanding demeanor made Yarman feel even more distressed.

But, in order not to worry his daughter, he wiped away the tears on his face, held Ruby tightly in his arms, and stood up from the ground.

At this moment, he only wanted to take the child and leave this godforsaken place as soon as possible.

But before that, there was one thing he needed to ask...

Looking at the old nun standing in front of him, Yarman spoke in a trembling voice.

"...Where is the child’s mother, her name is Margaret, could you please tell me, where is she?"

In fact, he already knew the answer in his heart before saying these words.

It was obvious.

If Margaret were still here, she would never allow Ruby’s hair to be so disorderly, much less leave her alone in the church...

The old nun looked at him with compassion, glanced at the child in his arms, who was strong enough to evoke sympathy, and finally spoke in a hoarse voice.

"I remember the name Margaret, your wife was a very brave mother..."

...

At the entrance of the church.

The wolf brother, who had been silent, suddenly spoke.

"I don’t understand."

The others looked at him.

Noticing the gaze of his friends, he paused and continued.

"...How did they do it? Making people feel both sympathy and disgust."

He didn’t like the Army, and he could even sum up his feelings toward them with the word disgust.

This was not only because of the Alliance’s position and the standpoint of civilized people, but also because most of the NPCs he knew were survivors from the River Valley Province.

Those who had helped him during his novice period, each one remembered what the Army had done.

These guys, in order to achieve their goals by any means, not only provided weapons to the Looters, but also sent officers to those Looter Tribes as military advisors, teaching them how to operate the Army’s War Machines, and more efficiently wiped out the River Valley Province.

Although in the end they put all the blame on the Eastern Expansionists, wasn’t it them who allowed those people to expand eastward in the first place?

Now they’re playing a similar trick again, and sure enough, they’ve shot themselves in the foot.

He felt no sympathy for the Slave Owner’s plight, but it was puzzling how he couldn’t muster any goodwill towards the Slaves here either.

He sympathized with the suffering these people endured and acknowledged their innocence, yet he felt it was deserved in a way.

He even thought that doing nothing and just watching them fight among themselves was quite satisfying.

"I don’t care..." The conduit dog shrugged, "It’s just a bunch of NPCs, why delve so deeply into their affairs. The Wasteland is so large, there’s no shortage of oddities."

The stirring stick of trouble whistled.

"Actually, I don’t care either... But if we have to debate this issue, what about the kids in this settlement? Is it their fault they didn’t choose to be born into the refuge?"

The wolf brother silently looked to the side, unsure how to answer.

"Alright, enough with the nonsense, why all the blabbering, hurry and complete the task..." The far-sighted eagle sighed, ending the discussion among his brothers before it turned into an argument.

Simple good and evil do not equate to morality, and morality is divided into collective morality and individual morality.

The Alliance doesn’t have just one refuge 404, and the countless Residents of the refuge and even people from Ideal City and the Academy who traveled from afar to join them clearly did not come for the good life of the Alliance, but because they believed the Alliance could end the Wasteland.

If they betrayed their oath, even if they didn’t revert to their original state, the result would still be nothing more than becoming a smaller version of "Cyber Westland".

Therefore, he could understand Chu Guang’s approach.

In this Wasteland, apart from West Winds, almost every camp has its own bottom line and stance.

Even in a tiny place like Mafu Town.

Therefore, he felt that the wolf brother wasn’t entirely wrong; it served the Empire right for such events to occur, but this word shouldn’t be used to describe its People.

At least, those survivors who also suffered from the turmoil were innocent.

And what he had to do was protect this group of people as much as possible, which was how he understood the task assigned by the Manager.

Seeing the eagle brother chime in, the professionally mixed dog brother immediately said.

"Your United Human is best, it’s all yours."

The far-sighted eagle rolled his eyes.

"Nonsense, if I don’t go, do you expect yourself to go?"

This guy opens his mouth, and there would be trouble even if there wasn’t any to start with.

...

When the far-sighted eagle walked into the church, he found that Yarman and his daughter had already left.

Including the old nun.

There was only one person left in the church, and that was McCullen, who was sitting on a bench, flipping through a newspaper.

Having often seen this guy being ridiculed on the Forum, the eagle almost couldn’t hold back his laughter for a moment.

Fortunately, Old Mai didn’t notice.

Hearing the sound behind him, he rustled the newspaper in his hand and said casually.

"An interesting novel... actually coincides with our thoughts."

Unexpectedly, he would take the initiative to talk about novels, the eagle walked over and sat next to him.

"In what way?"

McCullen smiled faintly and read out what he saw on the newspaper.

"... It wasn’t Bol who saved Giant Stone City, but the survivors of Giant Stone City who chose Bol. The workers protected the innocent children, and the soldiers raised their guns an inch, finally realizing that they were compatriots, not enemies, and then made a common declaration, turning their guns on the real enemy..."

"The Weilante were the same; created as Slaves, unwilling to submit to fate and authority, we bravely broke free from our shackles... The Marshal told us more than once, it wasn’t he who led us to victory, but our struggle that won it."

The eagle could hardly contain himself.

"And then you turn around and enslave others?"

"Yes," McCullen admitted this point candidly and without hesitation, with no apparent embarrassment on his face, "weren’t we created to conquer something? We are merely fulfilling the mission written in our DNA."

The newspaper turned a page in his hands, and McCullen continued indifferently.

"Besides, when those people have had enough, they’ll naturally fight for their own freedom... Isn’t that how you won against me?"

The eagle glanced at him in surprise, not expecting him to admit that it was indeed the Alliance that won.

Truly peculiar.

Though the Eastern Expansionists were not well-liked in the Army, up to now, no Weilante has admitted that the unrighteous and rash War was lost by them.

However, arguing over such subjective matters of winning and losing has no real meaning, as both sides will have plenty of reasons to debate, and neither would convince the other.

Not wanting to create unnecessary division, the eagle cleared his throat lightly and said with courage.

"General McCullen, regarding the situation in West Sail Port, let’s talk."

He expected the proud general before him to flatly refuse, but unexpectedly, he heard an unanticipated response.

"Hmm, let’s talk, now you certainly have the right."

The unexpected reply caught the eagle off guard, rendering the prepared strategic retreats futile.

However, he was quick-witted, immediately switching his negotiation tactics.

"... Your retaliations seem thorough, but to us, they appear more like childish tantrums."

McCullen didn’t care for his provocation and said nonchalantly.

"We don’t care how others view us."

The eagle didn’t give up, continuing, "Then surely you must care about your compatriots, those who have died."

McCullen casually corrected him.

"The deceased Weilante."

The eagle continued.

"That’s exactly who I’m talking about! West Sail Port is their hard work, they ventured across the ocean for your esteemed Marshal and other Weilante yearning for sunlit lands to carve a new home on unfamiliar soil... Of course, I don’t like to say they took someone else’s home by force, but this settlement built from nothing is indeed their achievement, isn’t it?"

McCullen chuckled faintly.

"No matter, drain the blood here, we will build a new West Sail Port."

Eagle swallowed a mouthful of saliva and continued speaking.

"And them? This new settlement, apart from being named West Sail Port, will leave no trace of them. As I see it, what you’re doing is no different from the Enlightenment Society! No one in the new West Sail Port will remember those who died, except for the crimson mud under your feet, no one will remember what happened here. In the future, no one will think about why things turned out this way, and one day, it will certainly happen again!"

Upon hearing this, McCullen finally showed some reaction.

He put down the newspaper on his knee, fished out a cigar from his pocket, clipped the head, and held it in his mouth, then, while rubbing a lighter, said.

"Then tell me, what should be done... Haha, I might as well hear the opinion of the Alliance’s so-called good Samaritan."

Seeing a glimmer of hope, Eagle said immediately.

"This can be arranged... revenge for grievances, settle scores for grudges, you can put them on trial!"

Amused by this wild idea, McCullen couldn’t help but snicker.

"We don’t have that many judges."

Eagle shouted bravely.

"Then have a public trial! Let them accuse each other!"

He didn’t really want to suggest this, but there was no better option at the moment.

There will certainly be wrongful killings.

But no matter how many wrongful killings there are, it’s better than killing everyone.

Hearing this idea, McCullen, with the cigar between his lips, was taken aback for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter.

He laughed for half a minute before stopping, turned to look at Eagle, curled his lips, and said.

"I’ll be honest, seeing you plead for these scumbags is quite amusing. As for me, I don’t think anyone else in this city is innocent, in our philosophy, silence is also a sin, a sin of mediocrity, unforgivable."

"As long as they turn a blind eye and let those mobs run wild, chase away the Weilante, and then enjoy the benefits by playing the victim... Tsk tsk, what makes them think they can remain unscathed? Do we look like reasonable people?"

"We’ve already given them a chance, they could choose to die gloriously on the battlefield like heroes fighting for freedom, and we might consider sparing their families. However, they would rather dig the pits to bury themselves than pick up the discarded guns, even hiding behind their own families. We are merely fulfilling their wish."

Upon saying this, McCullen paused and looked toward the front of the church.

"However, I will consider your proposal. On one hand, you make some sense, someone should remember what happened here. Moreover, it seems more entertaining than having the Gray people torture them."

McCullen’s face broke into a smile, resembling a devil.

"How about this, let’s do it by street, everyone must accuse ’one’, and then let the rest of the city decide if that accused person deserves to die."

"Let me think... we’ve already killed twenty thousand, picking another ten thousand should suffice. If there’s more, we’ll keep them, if less, we’ll add accordingly. How do you find these game rules? I’m giving them another chance, haha."

Looking at this fellow casually deciding the life and death of tens of thousands, Eagle took a deep breath.

"Then... shall we begin?"

Both sides made concessions from their respective positions, this was already the best outcome.

He remembered there was a group in the suburbs digging pits, the youngest of them not much older than that Ruby, those kids barely with any hair couldn’t possibly be culprits as well.

If he were to arrive any later, they might have already started filling them in.

At least... we must save those children!

Looking at this resident of the refuge urging himself, McCullen suddenly found it amusing and laughed.

"I’m actually curious, what’s in it for you to meddle in this mess?"

"Or let me rephrase, doesn’t it look amusing watching us destroy our own colony?"

Eagle initially thought to say it wasn’t amusing at all, moreover, his task would be ruined this way.

But then he suddenly recalled the contents of the Player Manual, and ended up changing what he was about to say.

"...Since we’ve already shouted the slogan ’Survivors Unite’, we can’t turn around and say survivors of the Poluo Province don’t count as survivors, or that the deaths of survivors don’t concern us, right?"

McCullen was stunned at the words, then burst into hearty laughter.

The laughter echoed within the empty church, much like the hoarse tolling of a bell.

"...Hahaha! Interesting, you call this ’benefit’?"

Far-sighted Eagle gestured with his fingers, explaining.

"Certainly, there are many forms of benefit, not just about making money or coloring maps..."

"Tsk."

McCullen curled his lips, took the walkie-talkie off his shoulder.

"Ross, have your men pause for a moment, I suddenly thought of a better idea... take those survivors to the port for assembly."

At the very moment General McCullen issued his order, a massive battle erupted in the central region of Lion State.

The attacking side, led personally by Anush, was the main force of the Heavenly King’s army, numbering around fifty thousand, claiming to be a million-strong force.

As for the defenders, they were commanded by the Duke of Lion City, Sanjaya, with under forty thousand troops, half of whom were serfs recruited from various manors, the other half being city defense forces.

The difference in numbers wasn’t really significant, and their training, organization, and equipment were quite comparable, Sanjaya even incorporated some new noble officers trained by McCullen, logically, the local forces should have had the upper hand.

However, as soon as Anush proclaimed the abolition of slavery and the redistribution of noble land and assets, half of Sanjaya’s troops collapsed instantly.

Though the battle raged from dawn till dusk, the outcome was clear from the start.

Ultimately, Duke Sanjaya was shot dead by Anush’s personal guards while attempting to escape.

Upon entering the city, Anush not only massacred all the nobles of higher rank than Count in Lion City and their families but also piled their heads into a tower at the city gate.

The only exception was the beautiful female relatives, whom he kept for himself or rewarded to his subordinates.

The bloody methods terrified everyone, throwing the entire Lion City into mass panic.

It wasn’t just Lion City, though.

At the same time the news of Sanjaya’s defeat reached Tiandu, the entire city was in chaos, with the roads leading out clogged by fleeing convoys.

Next to Lion State was Cow State, and Tiandu lay in Cow State!

Especially the flat terrain from Lion City to Tiandu, offering no natural barriers!

This time, Witch Camel was thoroughly panicked.

He never imagined that a group of revolting slaves could cause such a massive upheaval!

Inside the palace at Tiandu.

Watching Witch Camel, who was like an ant on a hot pan, Prince Dilip cautiously wiped the sweat off his forehead and nervously suggested.

"Your Majesty... there’s no time to hesitate, please move quickly!"

Witch Camel’s eyes widened in shock and fury, he roared.

"Move?! Where would you have me go! Lions to the west, and hungry wolves to the south! That Arai Yang is also untrustworthy! He’s one of the Wolf Tribe, of the same kin as that Anush!"

It’s even rumored he was once his subordinate! This whole affair might even be instigated by him!

Witch Camel’s whiskers shivered with rage, he clenched his teeth so tightly that he nearly bit down to blood, wishing he could grind these traitorous ingrates in his mouth into paste and swallow them.

Traitors, all of them!

Completely disloyal!

Prince Dilip was also anxious, as their fate was intertwined for better or worse.

If the royal family fell, his own end might not be much better off than Witch Camel’s.

"Snake State, Tiger State, Leopard State, Bird State, Horse State... none can be trusted either, the local powers are restless, if Your Majesty goes there, it will be hard to leave."

"So what do you suggest!" Witch Camel roared.

Despite all the foolish decisions he made in his life, Prince Dilip finally acted smart as death loomed, thinking of a place in desperation.

"...There is one place we can go."

In hurried interest, Witch Camel inquired.

"Where?!"

"Jinjaron Harbor..."

Looking at the stunned Witch Camel, Prince Dilip swallowed hard, gingerly continued, "Though it’s Alliance territory, they generally follow the rules, and food won’t be an issue."

"Currently, the Weilante are enraged... that might be the only place guaranteeing our safety."