CHAPTER 882: CHAPTER 882: SCARS

Deck of the transport ship "Salvation Nest".

The bearded captain squinted slightly, looking at the nearby harbor.

"Evernight Harbor... Speaking of which, the last time I passed by here was last year."

Yarman, standing next to him, nodded slightly, also gazing intently at the harbor.

"Hmm... The changes here are so great that I almost didn’t recognize it."

The narrow docks were still as busy as before, even more so than during its most bustling times.

The only difference was that the merchant ships and passenger liners originally anchored here were gone, replaced by the sharp-edged steel decks and towering gun barrels.

The frequent harassment by the Alliance fleet forced the Southern Legion to strengthen patrols between Evernight Harbor and the Far South Sea, as well as organize anti-submarine forces to escort the supply fleet.

Meanwhile, Evernight Harbor also served as a "human transshipment station."

Reinforcements from the colonies and homeland would gather here before taking a unified ship to West Sail Port. And the wounded who retreated from West Sail Port would also be transferred here, switching to a ship heading home.

In the distance on the shore stood some idle young men, and Yarman could easily distinguish who among them had retreated from the front line and who was preparing to head there.

They were like sugar canes continuously fed into a juicer, standing tall with pride before entering, and coming out crushed into a pulp.

No exception at all.

The real tough ones were in coffins, or couldn’t be found at all, there was simply no way they could return from the front line.

Unknowingly, this small border town located at the junction of the East and West Worlds had become the forefront of the clash between two forces.

Whether it was merchant ships from the East or the West, they would cautiously avoid this place.

It was precisely because of these changes that Yarman’s fleet looked so eye-catching here, almost attracting countless curious glances as soon as it approached the port.

Yarman didn’t want to be so conspicuous, even willing to forego the profits from this deal.

However, when the quartermaster from West Sail Port entrusted him with those wounded from the front line, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

Most of those young men had withdrawn from Tiandu, many missing arms or legs, and even unable to take care of themselves, they had become a burden for the front line.

Most Vellante soldiers couldn’t accept that these guys were beaten into this state by a group of Poluo people.

After all, just a few months ago, the Poluo people were like fish on a chopping block in their narrative context, and wouldn’t fight back even at the mercy of others.

To have lost to a group of "mud species" without backbone, they felt that these cowards had utterly disgraced the Vellante people!

Upon learning about the plight of those wounded soldiers, Yarman’s emotions were extremely complicated.

Even if they deserved some of the limbs they sacrificed for the jungle law in their hearts, those people were still his compatriots.

He found it hard to ridicule these so-called useless wastes together with those lunatics.

It was simply not funny.

Out of sympathy, he temporarily altered his route, accepting the logistics department’s commission to transport 5,000 seriously wounded Vellante soldiers to Evernight Harbor before sending laborers to Death Coast No. 1 Settlement.

Moreover, he kind of missed his family too.

Ever since the West Sail Port massacre, he moved his wife and children to Evernight Harbor.

He hadn’t seen them for quite some time.

As the two reminisced about the former prosperity of Evernight Harbor, on the other side of the deck, some "Blue Ground Squirrels" from the Alliance were also eagerly gazing towards the harbor.

"Evernight Harbor!"

"Wow, so many warships!"

"Wait, why are there so many large ships docked at this pier?!"

"Probably to avoid the ’Laken’ in the sea, large ships are more likely to get eaten by fish, so they’ve switched to small boats."

"Speaking of which, we should be the first players to come this far, right!"

"Tail seems to have only been to West Sail Port."

"That was so long ago, I heard the Old Soldier passed by here early on."

"Damn! These old players, can’t they leave some opportunities for newcomers!"

The ship they were on at Death Coast was initially supposed to dock at West Sail Port, but they were unexpectedly denied entry, so they stayed on the ship, following Yarman to the legendary southernmost survivor settlement, Evernight Harbor.

It was outside the war zone. Although the identity of the Blue Ground Squirrel was not welcomed here, it didn’t mean they were refused entry either.

They thought that even if they couldn’t pull off any fancy operations, at least they could open a new map, but they didn’t expect to be beaten to it again.

Everyone wore a grumbling expression, their faces full of disappointment.

Except for one guy.

This person, who went by the ID "Tarlan Raider," was the corps leader of the Desert Army.

The name sounded intimidating, but in fact, it was just an obscure little corps, not even compared to the Sterling Silver Army, and not even as good as the neighboring Abstract Corps during its peak moments.

However, this corps leader was an ambitious person, despite only having t5 strength, yet dreaming of reaching t0.

When he named the corps, he foresaw the Alliance’s upcoming operation in Luo Xia Province but noted there wasn’t yet a player corps specialized in desert operations.

Unfortunately, the leader himself had limited capabilities, and his members always fell short, so from the "Battle of Falling Leaves" expansion to the "Southern Invasion," this Desert Army had yet to make an appearance on the stage of "Wasteland OL."

As the facts proved, the strength or weakness had nothing to do with whether the name was legitimate or not.

Just like the Spring Water Commander wasn’t really a spring, Midnight Chicken Killing didn’t just kill chickens, the Mosquito’s calibre wasn’t small at all, and Tail was indeed super fast.

During this time, many new players were tricked by the name of the Desert Army, thinking it was on par with the Jungle, Storm, or Death Armies, but upon realizing the leader was just a low-rank Kara Mi, they promptly left the corps in disappointment.

Just like that, the iron corps left a fluid leader, and this pit had been occupied by him until now.

But Brother Talan is a man with dreams, and he has never given up on his efforts.

Perhaps touched by his sincerity, the Dog plan finally gave him the opportunity to truly shine!

Just when he logged on tonight, he was suddenly surprised to find a sparkling little red dot at the upper right corner of the task bar on his official website page!

It was the symbol for releasing an offline mission!

As everyone knows, only one situation can trigger a hidden mission, which is when the event happening in the area where the players are located has caught the attention of the Alliance’s first BOSS, the Manager himself!

What does this indicate?

It indicates that the Manager is watching him!

Not only that, but the honorable Manager also expressed his recognition, considering him the most reliable one on this voyage!

Honored with this distinction, Brother Talan was overwhelmed with emotion, almost moved to tears, and immediately made up his mind—

He definitely would not miss this opportunity!

Nor would he let the Manager down!

"Silence! Silence! Everyone, please listen to me."

Stepping in front of everyone, the Tarlan Raider cleared his throat and signaled all the players to look his way.

As for those who ignored him, he didn’t care and spoke loudly to those who paid attention to him.

"I am the leader of the Desert Army. I know everyone is feeling disappointed right now, but don’t worry! I guarantee you won’t make this trip in vain!"

"Just last night, we received news that the Enlightenment Society is suspected to be infiltrating the Southern Legion, and the Manager wants us to thoroughly investigate this matter!"

Watching the players whispering among themselves, Talan was pleased in his heart but showed no expression, continuing righteously.

"This mission is crucial, it not only concerns the safety of the front lines in Poluo Province but also the survival of the entire Wasteland! Therefore, we need your help!"

"From now on, as long as you join the Desert Army within twenty-four hours, you can participate in the hidden mission we’ve triggered! Share in the generous mission rewards!"

To be fair, his mask of the hidden mission indeed attracted quite a few players.

Especially the newcomers, who were already tempted to join.

Only those battle-hardened veteran players stood aside, arms crossed, indifferent.

Compared to those naive newbies, they knew much more.

"If this mission is really that important, how could it be assigned to this guy?"

"+1"

"I think the Manager is just bored."

It’s not that this hasn’t happened before.

Even the ramen shop owner at the door of the refuge received an exclusive offline task, so it’s hard to judge the importance of a task solely by its release method.

While several old players mocked with quiet chatter, Yarman also looked at the shouting guy with a subtle expression.

Although not many people could understand the language exclusive to Shelter No. 404, it wasn’t none.

For example, him, setting aside those strange proper nouns, he got the rough idea.

The gist was that the Alliance’s Desert Army came to the Southern Legion’s territory to find an organization called the Enlightenment Society.

Considering the ongoing war in Poluo Province, this guy might as well have shouted "I’m a spy" in United Human language.

However, Yarman did not expose him.

Firstly, he had business in the Alliance, and secondly, he did not agree with the actions of the Southern Legion.

Besides, as a Merchant, it’s better not to rashly get involved in the games of those big figures.

He had already suffered once, and he didn’t want a second time...

...

While a certain Legion leader was chattering motivational or deceptive words, the customs on the shore also noticed the fleet coming ashore.

Soon after, as the "Salvation Nest" stabilized by the dock, a man with a limp also hobbled to the dock.

He wore a military uniform with a Medal of combat on his chest, but his shoulder badges were gone.

Yarman guessed he was an officer transferred to customs, but couldn’t figure out his rank.

The man took off the hat on his head and squinted up to shout at the deck.

"Where are you coming from?"

The bearded captain shouted back.

"West Sail Port, we’re here to deliver wounded."

"West Sail Port... haha, there’s nothing left there but wounded," the man smirked, with sarcasm hanging at the corner of his mouth, seemingly mocking something, and suddenly continued, "And what else? Where else have you been?"

The bearded captain didn’t expect so many questions and instantly got nervous.

Yarman stepped forward, looking at the man standing on the dock and shouted.

"We’ve been to many places. What, does docking require so much paperwork now?"

The man holding the hat raised both hands, laughing heartily as he said.

"No need to be nervous, I’m just casually asking... Welcome home, compatriots from afar."

The deeply meaningful words seemed to imply he knew where they had been.

But Yarman was unconcerned, and as he disembarked, he slipped a bag of gold coins into the hands of the man who had completely abandoned faith and honor.

Compared to the reward he got from the logistics department of Guryang, this "public relations expense" was trivial.

The man took the money bag and shook it a bit. Seeing that his drinking money for the night was secured, he beamed and grinned at Yarman.

"You merchants really earn a lot... Damn, I should never have become a centurion back then."

Yarman smiled faintly.

"It’s okay. You only see when I make money, not when I lose money."

Everyone is a gambler here; no one is nobler than another, it’s just a matter of winning or losing.

Before this war started, or rather, before it turned into this mess, he wasn’t without envy for those officers.

But now, he no longer cared about winning or losing.

In a mutually destructive gamble, temporary wins or losses mean nothing.

The man raised his eyebrows slightly, stuffed the money bag into his pouch, then extended his right hand.

"Let’s be friends, Kuran, former centurion of the 34th ten thousand troops, now with Evernight Harbor customs."

"Yarman, shareholder and manager of Hanging Wall Labor Intermediary Company." Yarman shook his right hand and introduced himself.

Kuran whistled and joked.

"Hanging Wall? Does it mean hanging on the wall? What a strange name."

Yarman smiled faintly and said.

"My partner came up with it, said it’s to remember our original intention."

Kuran: "A partner from the Alliance?"

Yarman nodded.

"Most guys from the east are like that, many are oddballs, but after spending time with them, they’re quite interesting."

"Mind sharing what business you’re in... oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s after working hours now, if you don’t want to say, that’s fine." Noticing the wary expression of the captain beside him, Kuran smiled and said.

Yarman replied in a casual chatty tone.

"There’s nothing inconvenient. We sign a loan agreement with slaves in West Sail Port to help them buy their freedom and then transport them to the Death Coast where people are needed."

Kuran rubbed his chin with interest.

"Death Coast, I’ve heard about that place."

Yarman continued.

"The Eastern Legion’s expeditionary army has been there; it used to be Torch’s territory."

Kuran curiously asked.

"Are there Weilante people there?"

Yarman replied with a faint smile.

"Of course, and quite a few. Some of the expeditionary army of the Eastern Legion stayed there permanently, and some are from West Sail Port or the New Continent. In any case, you’ll see all kinds of people."

"Even people from the New Continent?!" Kuran laughed, "It seems that place is really nice."

Among the Weilante, there’s also a chain of disdain.

For instance, Weilante people from the New Continent are regarded as the most cunning, with most Weilante from the old world viewing them as not good at fighting, only at producing counterfeits and exploiting opportunities.

For instance, in this contest between the Southern Legion and the Alliance, they just hid behind and made war treasures, refusing to get involved directly.

If not for a few fleets controlled by the Western Legion being up to the mark, their reputation might have been as bad as the civil officials group in Triumph City.

Yarman thought for a while and answered.

"It really is a nice place, in every sense of the word."

Pausing, he then joked.

"On this trip back, I intend to bring my family there too."

Kuran laughed heartily and said.

"From what you say, sounds like paradise. You might as well bring me along too."

Yarman gave him a surprised look.

"Are you serious?"

Kuran grinned.

"Just kidding, but I’d love to hear you talk about the place more. Want to have drinks tonight? My treat, using the money I earned from you."

As he spoke, he unabashedly patted the money bag that hadn’t even warmed up in his arms.

Finding this guy quite amusing, Yarman laughed along.

"Then I better drink it back."

...

After completing customs registration, the injured Weilante people in the ship’s hold disembarked one after another.

And Yarman quickly realized why the former centurion of the 34th ten thousand troops, after hearing that he was bringing his family out, not only didn’t look down on him but half-jokingly asked if he could bring him along too.

Perhaps because there were too many wounded, the logistics department of Evernight Harbor became increasingly unable to care for these new unfortunates.

After all, they could no longer create value for the Southern Legion, and even as a propaganda icon, they were too numerous to be useful.

In the Southern Corps Victory Report, only 2000 people died on the outskirts of Tiandu, so where did all these wounded come from? Whose face was being slapped?

The Southern Legion will not abandon them, but neither will they acknowledge their sacrifice.

There were no doctors to greet them, only about a dozen staff in military uniforms responsible for registering their names and helping arrange their flights home as soon as possible.

Fortunately, they did not have to pay for the ticket home.

As for whether they would receive prosthetic replacements or amputations, that depended on the opinion of the local hospital and logistical support units.

In the end, perhaps the young men from Yavente City would receive prosthetics, while the colonies might adopt another set of solutions.

Yarman suddenly thought that maybe bringing all these young men here was not a good idea; perhaps the Death Coast would suit them better.

However, such matters were not up to him.

Moreover, if he were to do that, these wounded soldiers might not thank him.

Forcibly bestowing goodwill is merely self-satisfaction. Even among the slaves of West Sail Port, not everyone is willing to journey across the seas to a completely unfamiliar place.

After all, that place is the wasteland.

Places that devour people are many, while those that do not are but a few among the few.

However, once this thought appeared in Yarman’s mind, it was uncontrollable.

He wanted to help those disabled compatriots.

And he could sense that they needed his help just as much as those Poluo people.

The legion would not take care of all of them for the rest of their lives, but at least the Alliance’s Home of the Refugees could help them obtain prosthetics that would enable them to sustain themselves.

As it stands, quite a number of officers who withdrew from the front line have been arranged for transition in this borderland of Evernight Harbor.

These people might have different views on war.

Perhaps, when drinking at night, he could chat with that man named Kuran about expanding the Hanging Wall Company business at Evernight Harbor...

Just as those wounded soldiers were disembarking, passengers from the Alliance also got off the ship right behind them.

Watching the Tarlan Raider on the dock looking around, Yarman kindly reminded them.

"I can’t help much with what you’re investigating, but I can introduce you to someone I know. His name is Nos, he used to be a sailor in my team, and later became a mercenary. He’s a native of this area. If you’re looking for a guide, finding him would be more suitable than looking for other Weilante people... especially in this special period."

Saying this, he handed a note to the resident of the refuge with an address written on it.

Seeing the lead from the NPC, the Tarlan Raider, previously troubled by having no clue on where to start, took it with a delighted expression and then thanked him.

"Thank you so much! You’ve been a great help!"

Watching this enthusiastic young man, Yarman smiled and said.

"You’re welcome, I was once helped by one of your gentlemen, and if something terrible is indeed happening here... I hope you can save my compatriots."

...

After bidding farewell to friends from the Alliance, Yarman went to the logistics office to receive his payment, then returned to the docks.

Gazing at the waiting captain there, he spoke in a soft voice.

"Now I can confirm my opinion... this place is no longer safe."

The bearded captain was stunned for a moment and instinctively asked.

"Do you think the flames of war will reach here?"

Looking at the Shallow Water Heavy Artillery Boat nearby, Yarman replied with a meaningful tone.

"Hasn’t it already reached here?"

The captain’s expression slightly changed, but his face still bore an expression of disbelief.

"I think you might be overthinking... This is ultimately a war between the Empire and the rebels. If the Alliance truly fights here, Triumph City will not sit idly by."

His family was in Evernight Harbor.

If the flames of war indeed reached here, he would have to consider the safety of his family.

"It’s not about overthinking; it’s hard for me to trust someone who has lied to me again... If I were alone, it wouldn’t matter, but I must consider my wife and kids."

Yarman placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

"This time, I’m planning to take them with me... you should consider them more too."

"So you’re serious after all... I thought you were joking with Kuran."

The captain chuckled wryly, scratching the back of his head, and reluctantly squeezed out another sentence.

"...Give me some time, I have to think about such a big decision."

It was the first time Yarman saw hesitation on the face of this usually carefree man.

But he understood the feeling.

Back when he sought wealth and planned to leave Triumph City to head to the lack-filled West Sail Port, he spent considerable effort persuading himself and his family.

But this time, it wasn’t wealth he sought, but peace.

He didn’t want to experience partings and separations of life and death again.

It’s hard to say if another occurrence like before would allow him the same luck he had last time.

"We’ll be staying here for a week, you have enough time to think it over."

After a pause, he added.

"But don’t worry too much, maybe it’s just me overthinking."