CHAPTER 890: CHAPTER 890: BUBBLE OF ILLUSION

It was a golden hall...

Armor made of gold hung on life-sized marble sculptures.

A crimson carpet stretched from the top of the hall down to the last marble step below, extending along a towering marble platform, connecting with the distant horizon.

From the sky looking down, the entire hall resembled a longsword laid flat on the ground.

The majestic outline and grand visual perfectly matched the unique aesthetic of the Weilante people.

Below the marble steps, people were cheering with joy.

They stood on both sides of the platform, holding flowers, seemingly celebrating something.

A sudden gentle breeze lifted the petals from people’s hands, and the intoxicating fragrance momentarily blurred Comte’s eyes.

Who am I?

Why am I standing here?

He looked down at his chest, where medals were hanging like a wall.

The countless honors made him feel both familiar and strange, with a hint of nervousness and trepidation.

And just at this moment, vague memories rushed into his mind like a spring, and the uneasy him suddenly remembered everything.

He was the hero of the Weilante people!

The Conqueror of Centaurus!

The Butcher who made the Aliens tremble with fear!

He had made outstanding contributions to expanding the territories for the Army, and the Army’s 500th planet was officially named after him!

And the name people were cheering, was exactly his name—

"Comte!!"

"Well done!!"

"Long live the Army! Long live the Marshal! Long live Comte!!!"

"The Marshal is above! He is watching me!!"

The cheers that filled the mountains supported his spine, and his steps gradually became confident, walking forward, ascending step by step, reaching the pinnacle of the hall.

As expected, the respected Marshal was sitting on a stone chair at the end.

That dignified face was full of kindness.

Comte’s eyes filled with excitement, he knelt on one knee on the stone steps, bowing his head.

And at this moment, a broad and solemn voice came from directly above him.

"...Comte, your loyalty and bravery have won us the final victory."

"Now, I appoint you as the Legion Leader."

"From now on, you will be the 100th Legion Leader of the Army."

"...I hope you do not indulge in past glories and victories, be cautious and diligent, continue leading our people forward, continuing to win in this universe!"

Comte was overwhelmed with excitement, gratefully lifting his head to accept the appointment.

According to the following procedures, he would receive the Marshal’s commendation, return to the crowd with full honor, and receive their cheers and reviews.

However, at that moment, a foreign memory suddenly flooded into his mind.

His heart throbbed, and under a strong urge, he blurted out.

"Respected Marshal, I have something to report to you... Your warriors are absolutely loyal to you, yet there is a group of traitors within our logistics department. While we fight the enemy with blood, they stab us in the back and drink our blood. I hope you can look into this, punish these scoundrels, and give an explanation to the soldiers."

The Marshal’s eyes flashed a sharp gleam, like an indestructible spear.

However, what Comte felt from the cold light was not coldness, but the warmth of the afternoon sun.

"They will be punished."

The solemn promise was like a heavy hammer, shattering all conspiracies.

Comte had no doubt that this sentence had become reality. He even seemed to see those demons and monsters kneeling and pleading for mercy, and the corpses lying in piles of dead bodies.

His heart was extremely relieved, as if a great revenge had been exacted.

After thanking the Marshal, he suddenly remembered those who had cheered for him, so he quickly spoke again.

"Respected Marshal, we have conquered 500 worlds, yet most of our people still live in poverty. Our victory is inseparable from their support, perhaps we should give them some of the spoils of war."

After saying these words, he pressed his forehead to the ground, anxiously waiting for the Marshal’s response.

He felt that his request was somewhat excessive.

Moreover, taking the cake away from vested interests has never been an easy task.

However, the Marshal seemed to be in a good mood today, or perhaps it was because his concerns were exactly what the Marshal was concerned about, that solemn and undeniable voice recognized him once again.

"You are right, these spoils of war originally belong to them, from now on, they will live a prosperous life."

As the words fell, people outside the hall, who were cheering, suddenly had more satin on their bodies, and their faces appeared rosier.

The golden decorations inside the hall still emitted a golden shine, including the crimson carpet... their spoils of war did not diminish one bit because it was given to the people.

The Marshal sitting on the throne was like a god whose words became reality.

Like a living wishing machine.

Comte was filled with excitement, pressing his forehead to the ground again, suddenly thinking of something else.

"I have one more humble request..."

The Marshal, showing no impatience, continued speaking with a gentle tone.

"Tell me, my most loyal warrior."

Comte swallowed, hurriedly speaking.

"That battle was not easy... many brothers have fallen, and some have been left with disabilities. Although they can no longer offer loyalty to the Army, their lives should not end here. I would like to apply for a habitable planet to resettle them and their families."

The Marshal nodded, readily agreeing.

"I grant you permission, use the 500th world you conquered for us to resettle those brave kids. The 499 star systems will provide endless material wealth for that land... it will become paradise on earth, the center of a prosperous world."

Comte was overwhelmed with excitement, but soon new doubts arose in his heart.

What about the other 499 worlds?

What will they become on earth?

He knew that if he continued to pester, anyone might feel annoyed... even the great and kind Marshal.

But he couldn’t help but want to voice the difficulty in his heart.

Because an ethereal voice told him that everything he wanted could be realized in this world.

This is a universe that exists for him—

However, just when he was about to speak, everything in front of him suddenly blurred again.

Comte was suddenly startled and stood up from the ground.

Wait—

Give me one more minute!

The softness enveloping his brain was gradually replaced by the cold air. He abruptly opened his eyes, only to find that the golden hall had disappeared, replaced by a ceiling both familiar and strange.

"You’re finally awake."

A hoarse voice came from the side. He glanced over and saw his superior, Daniel, sitting next to him.

Comte, sitting up from the bed, glanced around and then looked down at his chest. The uniform covered in medals had turned into a thin shirt.

His brain felt like a sponge soaked in water.

He reached out to press his sweat-covered forehead and heavily patted his palm.

"...Where is this?"

Daniel lit a cigarette, and while puffing out smoke, he answered succinctly.

"The Marshal’s armory, the wasp’s hive."

Sluggish memories poured into his mind, and Comte finally remembered what happened before he lost his memory.

"Damn... I inhaled the vaporized powder of snake oil."

Daniel sighed deeply.

"You inhaled an excessive amount of hallucinogens. I thought you might not wake up."

Comte immediately asked.

"What about the others?"

Daniel replied.

"Talan is in the room next to yours, unconscious like you. As for the others, we’ve placed them in Carter Nord Prison, including the gang members and the stowaway Poluo Province laborers."

Comte nodded, suddenly recalling the bottles he found in the warehouse, and quickly looked at Daniel.

"By the way, I found some in the warehouse..."

Before he could finish his sentence, a calloused hand covered his mouth.

"Whatever you found, the fire already burned them all to ashes."

Comte was stunned.

"...Fire?"

Retracting the hand from his mouth, Daniel took a cigarette from the pack and offered it to him.

"With such a big explosion, it’s normal for a fire to start."

That light statement, like smoke dissipating under the incandescent light.

Comte’s Adam’s apple moved as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately remained silent.

He understood Daniel’s gaze, which was both a warning and a reminder.

In the face of higher-dimensional powers, all their efforts and calculations were as fragile as ants, easily crushed by a mere finger twitch of the other party.

For some reason, Comte suddenly thought of that bizarre dream from earlier, a bitterness rising in his heart.

Reality and dream seemed completely reversed.

For a moment, he even considered fully immersing himself in that dream.

If only I didn’t have to wake up...

"By the way, how are you feeling?"

Hearing his superior’s concerned inquiry, Comte raised his head in confusion.

"Feeling about what?"

"Snake oil, you ingested quite a bit, didn’t you?" Daniel tapped the ashes into the ashtray as he stared into Comte’s eyes. "I heard that stuff makes people see illusions... Those who get hooked end up addicted, starting with mental derangement and ultimately babbling incoherently."

Comte shook his head.

"...I’m fine, maybe because it’s my first time."

"That’s good." Daniel patted his shoulder and flashed a smile. "I heard that the faithful are not affected by snake oil. I certainly don’t want our plan to start with a casualty, so it’s good you’re alright."

Faithful, huh...

Comte weakly smiled.

If it were before, he would have nodded without hesitation, but now he even lacked the confidence to affirm such a thing.

"...By the way, since this involves the military, should we keep investigating?"

"Of course," Daniel said indifferently. "We still haven’t found evidence of the Alliance’s involvement."

Comte couldn’t help but ask.

"...What if there isn’t any?"

Daniel pressed the cigarette butt into the ashtray, crushing it into a crumpled paper ball.

Like his frowning brow troubled by frustration.

"Then we’ll have to find a way to fabricate it."

...

Meanwhile, on the "Wasteland OL" Official Website.

Without the big shots’ contact information, Talan could only use a wide-net approach, sending private messages to ask who was available to chat.

"Bro, help, I can’t log in anymore. QAQ"

Fang Chang: "What happened to you? (Sweat)"

Talan Raider: "I seem to have inhaled some hallucinogens and ended up directly getting kicked out of the server. (Crying)"

Fang Chang: "Emmm... Generally speaking, exceeding the pain threshold leads to server disconnection. Hallucinations should count as a trigger condition, too. I remember in an early version, someone got kicked out after accidentally eating a poisonous mushroom. It resolved once the toxin subsided."

Fang Chang guessed that it was most likely because they didn’t implement "hallucinations" as a game experience, so they simply substituted it with unconsciousness.

Of course, it’s also possible it was implemented but deleted to save computing power.

After listening to Fang Chang’s explanation, Talan felt much better.

"I see, I thought I was doomed."

Fang Chang: "Not likely, you’re over level 30, right? Normally, even for Intelligence System players, the Constitution attribute is more than three times that of a normal person, so just get some sleep and you’ll be fine."

This problem really had no technical complexity. After replying, Fang Chang didn’t continue the conversation.

Listening to Brother Fang Chang’s advice, Taran lay down on the bed intending to take a nap. However, he was so used to entering the dream world through the helmet that he couldn’t fall asleep, so he simply put the helmet on his head.

Staring into that pitch-black domain with wide eyes for three to four hours, a sliver of light finally caught his eye.

Taran’s heart leapt with joy, and he immediately opened his eyes, indeed back in the world of "Wasteland OL."

"You’re awake?"

Sitting up from the bed, Taran looked to the side to see his partner, Comte, sitting on a chair and smoking.

"What happened?"

Comte’s expression was somewhat gloomy, and after a long silence, he finally spoke slowly.

"There was an accident. The evidence we painstakingly gathered was all burned."

"Burned?!" Taran’s eyes widened, "What happened?! I don’t remember a fire breaking out."

Comte’s expression grew more complicated, his lips tight, remaining silent for a long time.

Taran took a deep breath, sorting through his thoughts when suddenly something clicked, and he asked.

"... Speaking of which, what did you see?"

Comte didn’t hide it, his answer was concise.

"Victory."

Taran: "Victory?"

"We, who conquered 500 star systems, finally ushered in a golden age for the Weilante people, with the Marshal leading us to establish a true Utopia..."

Comte seemed reluctant to delve into that dream, brushing it off with a couple of vague comments.

Nevertheless, Taran understood the gist of it, left momentarily speechless.

Good grief.

Clearing 500 star systems to win!?

These big-nosed guys sure are tough!

...

With the evidence destroyed, the investigation hit a standstill. However, fortunately, the witnesses were still alive, and Taran decided to break through starting with them.

According to Comte, the Guards, who arrived after the fact, took everyone found at the explosion site to Carter Nord Prison, charging them as arson suspects.

With the help of "Guide" Daniel, Taran followed along to Carter Nord Prison.

The smuggled laborers from the Poluo Province were thrown into shared cells of ten people, while the gang members from the Hyena Gang and Iron Hand Gang received solitary cells.

As they passed by one of the "open dormitory" areas, a laborer from the Poluo Province pressed his face against the bars, pleading with Taran as he walked by.

"Sir, we are just workers, we don’t know anything... Please, let us go."

"Yes... it was those thugs who forced us to do it."

"We were deceived! We really didn’t know what we were... what we were doing..."

"Sob, sob... I want to go home."

Looking at those ugly faces, Comte felt a deep-seated disgust in his heart.

Everyone lies, including himself.

However, these people seemed to not have a single word of truth, like born liars, spouting lies as soon as they opened their mouths. They either muddled things or confused concepts, deceiving others and themselves alike.

However, this was just his perspective. The "spy from the Alliance" standing beside him clearly had a different take.

The guy didn’t even realize how much he was giving away through the details of his words and actions.

"... Folks, don’t worry, I believe as long as you cooperate with us, the Guards will give you a fair deal."

Seeing that someone responded to their prayers, the Poluo people behind the bars were tearful with gratitude.

One burly man with big eyes and thick eyebrows beat his chest, looking like he was ready to fight back against the black forces.

"Sir, rest assured! We’ll answer whatever you ask us! We wouldn’t dare hide anything!"

"That’s for the best."

Taran nodded with a smile, pulling out a small notebook, and started asking.

"Where are you all from? Which state of the Poluo Province?"

Everyone hastened to answer.

"I’m from Snake State!"

"Me too!"

"I’m from Wolf State..."

Taran listened closely, noting that Snake State had the most people, followed by Wolf State, and then Lion State and Dog State.

The latter two were territories occupied by the Southern Legion, while Snake State and Wolf State were still under the control of Poluo Country.

"Who brought you here?"

On hearing the question, they exchanged glances until the thick-browed man spoke up bravely.

"Sir, I can’t speak for brothers from other states, but from Snake State... this was all Lord Shaluk’s idea. Each household had to send one able-bodied person, either to the front lines or to earn money overseas... Wherever he told us to go, we had to go; we had no choice."

"Yes!"

"That’s indeed how it is in Snake State!"

"Well, let’s assume it is for now." Taran noted down a few lines in his notebook, then looked at the others, "What about you guys from Wolf State?"

He asked around, and according to the laborers’ responses, most were sent by local military factions for extra income.

Typically, those military factions would give them a sum of Poluo currency as a settlement fee, while the Dinars earned would go to the military factions.

This setup seemed familiar to Taran, likely copied from Laxi.

Mammoth State was the first in the Poluo Line to engage in labor export, so it was only logical for other states to follow suit.

As for whether or not it was forced, everyone claimed it was, but for now, it could only be considered a one-sided statement.

Having gone through all the suspects, an idea struck Taran. He looked at them and continued asking.

"By the way, after inhaling the snake oil... what did you all see in your dreams?"

The question took them aback, and they responded with a surprisingly diverse array of answers.

"I saw lots and lots of houses, the kind that don’t leak!"

"There were fast-running ox carts, and I earned a lot of money driving them."

"I saw Mr. Zayed! He put a medal on me and said he was going to make me a general!"

"Ahem... hehe, I saw big, white... female students."

Listening to these baffling confessions, Talan couldn’t help but feel exasperated, but he still extracted the keywords and noted them down in his little notebook.

Houses, money, power, women... They seemed to have seen a lot, but what they remembered kept coming back to these.

It seems everyone sees different things when they inhale the snake oil.

As for addiction.

That’s also obvious.

The greed with which they spoke of that dream made it clear they were desperately longing for another taste, to return to that bizarre paradise.

Talan was now certain that Ah Guang had indeed created the "Illusion," but perhaps to prevent the illusion from being too realistic and causing similar effects to the "snake oil," he didn’t implement it.

Of course, this was just an immature speculation from a common player’s perspective.

Perhaps Ah Guang was just plain lazy.

Glancing at Comte, who was smoking yet another cigarette, Talan shook the small notebook in his hand.

"...The testimony mentions a warlord from the Poluo Province; is this enough to prove the Alliance’s involvement?"

"That’s a bit of a stretch." Comte flicked the ash off his cigarette, speaking succinctly, "We need more solid evidence."

He couldn’t very well say that it didn’t really matter, he was just waiting for them to slip up.

Moreover, he was now starting to doubt whether what he was doing was right.

And if not, then what was he fighting for on the battlefield in the past...

He wished he could see Marshal again.

He suddenly realized that rather than making a wish to that man, he wanted to talk with him about his internal doubts...

Seeing the taciturn Comte, Talan shrugged helplessly.

These big-nosed folks are really hard to please.

After all, this is about slinging mud, not really handling a case. A little manipulation of some flimsy leads would suffice, wouldn’t it?

"...Then we’ll just have to keep investigating. I have a feeling we are getting closer to the big fish."

"Yeah, keep checking it out." Comte impatiently waved his index finger, holding the cigarette, ending the topic.

The two continued forward along the corridor, accompanied by the warden, and reached the depths of the cell, where they met with Morse, who was being held in solitary confinement.

This man, exuding a cold aura from head to toe, sat in the corner with an indifferent expression.

When he saw Talan and Comte appearing at the door, a joyful smile finally appeared on his face.

As he had predicted, his abilities were appreciated by the Enlightenment Society.

His earlier life-risking efforts were not in vain...

"Did I pass your test?" Grinning, Morse knowingly asked.

Comte sneered inwardly, mocking this clueless little ant.

Yet he quickly realized, wasn’t he also an ant within another kind of cage, and those truly powerful people looked at him just as he looked at Morse now, causing his internal sneer to crumble a little.

Talan, however, was perfectly into his role as a Disciple of the Enlightenment Society, and he nodded with a smile at the eagerly expectant Morse.

"Congratulations, Mr. Morse, you’ve proven your ability. From now on, you are officially one of us, as a disciple."

He had already sought the opinion of the "Guide," Daniel, regarding inducting Morse into the Enlightenment Society.

The latter, though a bit reluctant, eventually agreed after some convincing.

Morse breathed a sigh of relief.

When he first entered this prison, he felt a bit apprehensive, but now all his worries were gone.

He didn’t know exactly what being a disciple meant, but he knew he now had backing.

"Right, and my little followers..."

Talan glanced at Comte, who cleared his throat lightly and spoke in an official tone.

"The Guards will withdraw their charges and accusations against them. It was just an abandoned factory, and the deceased were merely a few wanted criminals. You didn’t cause any harm to this settlement."

Morse’s face lit up with a broad smile.

To walk out of Carter Nord Prison unscathed and with his followers, no less.

Without a doubt, starting tomorrow, his name would become legend across Blackwater Alley!

"Thank you..."

"You’re welcome. We still need you to work... Due to a fire, the evidence we gathered was unfortunately destroyed. But luckily, the witnesses are all in prison, and we plan to directly find Tony to end this charade."

Morse moved his neck, producing a cracking sound from his bones, his smile gradually turning vicious.

"Fits me just fine; I’ve been wanting to meet him for a long time."

Appreciating the ruthlessness in this guy, Talan nodded approvingly.

"Great... By the way, what did you dream about when you were unconscious?"

Dream about?

Morse was momentarily stunned, a trace of confusion surfacing in his murky pupils.

Seeing him not responding, Talan smiled and prompted.

"Usually, we’d see what we most desire, like what Mr. Comte and I saw... uh, a glorious age belonging to someone of noble lineage."

He initially thought about saying an age belonging to the Vellante people but realized it sounded strange coming from an alien, so he cleverly framed it in a way that could encompass anything.

No Vellante would ever deny their noble lineage, and he didn’t need to explain further.

Comte indeed did not deny it.

Upon hearing Talan’s hint, clarity finally returned to Morrison’s murky eyes.

His Adam’s apple moved as he forced a peculiar smile from his face.

"Of course, it was becoming a legend in Blackwater Alley... I dream of being on top of everyone."

Comte let out a cold chuckle.

"A pretty simple guy to understand."

"There’s nothing wrong with that; simple people are easier to satisfy, and becoming a legend in Blackwater Alley is much simpler than conquering five hundred stars."

Talan placed his hand on his partner’s shoulder, then looked at Morse and said, "Listen, as long as you behave, we’ll make your dream come true."

While speaking, he tossed a set of keys to Morse.

"Now, go release your partners, and make sure you don’t let the wrong people out."

Morse nodded respectfully.

"Yes, Sir."