CHAPTER 891: CHAPTER 891: DISILLUSIONMENT

In the Governor’s Mansion of Evernight Harbor, Governor Ya Hui was reviewing documents as usual.

Just then, there was a gentle knocking at the door.

Upon hearing the knocking, Ya Hui couldn’t help but feel a slight sinking in his heart.

Just two hours ago, he had instructed his secretary to decline all meeting requests during working hours today that were not scheduled in advance, yet the knocking persisted.

It seemed that this knocking was something neither he nor his secretary could refuse...

"Come in."

Almost the moment the words left his mouth, the person at the door pushed it open and walked in.

"Long time no see, Governor."

Looking at the man in military uniform at the door, Ya Hui put on a warm smile.

"Long time no see... Mr. Peter, what brings you here?"

Although the man in front of him, named Peter, had a military rank of just a Thousands of Leaders, as a Ten Thousand Leader himself, Ya Hui dared not show any neglect.

There was a reason for this.

This person was the secretary of Captain Dickens, the Minister of General Affairs of the Southern Legion Poluo Province War Zone.

This position was not insignificant.

Although Ya Hui was also a Ten Thousand Leader, and a two-star Ten Thousand Leader at that, in the legion’s system that emphasized military merit, the rank of administrative officers was naturally one level lower than that of military officers, with further divisions within the military.

Though General Affairs of the War Zone was not a combat post, it was still within the military system, and also on the front-line war zone. Its level far exceeded his as the colonial governor.

The key was that Evernight Harbor happened to be on the supply line of the front-line war zone, and as the colonial governor, he had the duty to cooperate with the other party to meet all the supply needs.

Even if there was no direct superior-subordinate relationship between them, he had to lower his own stance.

After all, if the label of "hindering front-line logistics" was placed on him, his political career would not simply end, but it would definitely face considerable trouble.

And it was precisely for this reason that his heart ached so much.

Looking at the warmly smiling Ya Hui, Peter merely smiled faintly and said, somewhat pointedly.

"I’ve heard Evernight Harbor hasn’t been very peaceful recently."

Ya Hui thought to himself that it was indeed not a friendly visit, but he still feigned ignorance and asked

"This... which aspect are you referring to?"

Not intending to beat around the bush, Peter said directly.

"The explosion at noon, I heard it seemed to blow up a factory."

Ya Hui put on an expression of realization and said with a smile.

"It’s true... I heard it was a gang conflict, but it was only an abandoned factory and didn’t harm any unrelated personnel."

Though a few gang members and smugglers died, such things were barely considered human.

In Evernight Harbor, only matters concerning the Weilante people were significant; everything else was minor.

Peter apparently also accepted this explanation, but was not very satisfied with Ya Hui’s answer.

He squinted slightly, asking with a half-smile.

"A gang conflict, but why did I hear... the guards’ intelligence division was also involved?"

Under his scrutinizing gaze, Ya Hui felt a faint tingle on his scalp, inwardly cursing that fool, Supervisor Willoby, repeatedly.

"There are indeed some hidden circumstances, but—"

Before he could finish speaking, Peter raised his hand to stop him.

"Governor, I’m just here to convey Captain Dickens’s opinion. He thinks... you all have been a bit derelict in duty."

"Moreover, the anti-aircraft cannon that should have been sent to the front lines was found in the slums of Evernight Harbor. We have to suspect there’s some kind of interest transfer behind this."

After hearing these words, Ya Hui couldn’t help but curse inwardly, calling it shameless.

Who exactly was the one transferring interests behind the scenes!

These days, the thief is the first to yell "catch the thief."

Looking at Peter’s half-smile, he said in a steady voice.

"...I will notify the guards."

Peter nodded slightly.

"No need; I’ve already communicated with Supervisor Willoby before coming here."

Leaving this remark, he turned and walked towards the door.

This arrogant gesture caused a trace of anger to flash in Ya Hui’s eyes.

But realizing it was unnecessary to argue with a Thousands of Leaders, he finally suppressed his temper.

A secretary could not act on his own in making so many decisions, unless instructed by his master behind him.

This was a warning from the General Affairs Department, possibly even from Minister Dickens himself.

"...A lackey arrogant on master’s power."

Watching the figure disappear out the door, Ya Hui cursed quietly, picked up the phone on the desk, but didn’t know whom to call, and then slammed it back down hard.

Just then, his secretary timidly walked in from outside.

"Governor... I wanted to stop him, but—"

"It’s not your fault, it’s none of your affair."

With a troubled heart, Ya Hui waved his finger dismissively, throwing out a random dismissive statement.

The secretary hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a low voice.

"Supervisor Willoby wants to see you—"

Ya Hui interrupted his rambling impatiently.

"Tell him to scram! Go do whatever you’re supposed to do."

...

One always has to choose between faith and bread, and it’s not only some obscure customs worker who has to make such a choice; it also falls upon the big shots.

The difference is the latter usually have access to far more information than the former.

It is for this reason that, often while the former are still struggling, the latter have long made their decision.

All afternoon, the tranquil Evernight Harbor lay in that serene and harmonious turmoil.

The unremarkable abandoned factory seemed like a powder keg stuffed to the brim, filled with all the timid dreams.

Whether it be the faithless Weilante people, or those still holding on to their beliefs.

At the entrance of Carterlod Prison, at dusk.

Just as Comte was about to get into the car parked at the entrance, he suddenly received a call from Daniel, his hand paused on the handle he had just pulled open.

After telling Talan behind him to wait a moment, he excused himself to step aside.

At that instant, the voice over the earpiece caused his heart to sink slightly.

A few hours ago, his superior who had instructed him to continue with the plan suddenly changed his stance.

The thing he feared most had happened.

"...The operation is canceled."

His Adam’s apple moved slightly, and he forced out one more redundant question from his throat with difficulty.

"Why?!"

"A call from Supervisor Willoby was made to the Intelligence Section, canceling the Wasp Plan... Obviously, our ’Cocoon Room’ hit a wall much harder than us."

Daniel’s voice carried a hint of fatigue, and also a touch of self-deprecation.

Comte knew what he wanted to say but didn’t, that their targeted prey had clearly taken the bait, only now to say it was time to give up...

Unwilling to give up like this, he couldn’t help but ask.

"Have you explained to the Section Chief..."

Daniel let out a deep sigh.

"I explained, but it’s useless. I’ve heard there’s pressure from the War Zone General Affairs Department. The entire plan was personally deployed by Supervisor Willoby, whatever explanations needed should have been made. Reporting upwards would be redundant."

General Affairs Department...

Comte held his breath for a moment and then slowly spoke after a long time.

"Then what about our Wasp?"

Daniel was silent for a moment.

"The Section Chief of Intelligence and Supervisor Willoby discussed this issue, they re-read the documents provided by Triumph City, and came to a new conclusion... Maybe the Torch Plan never actually completed, from the very start it might have been a botched project."

As if to convince himself, he continued.

"... This does make sense, after all neither Triumph City nor the Eastern Legion paid enough attention to the weapons mentioned in the plan. Expecting to intercept this non-existent secret weapon might have been wishful thinking from the start... or rather, Supervisor Willoby’s wishful thinking."

Things like this weren’t unprecedented, they had happened more than once.

But due to the survivor bias, only successful plans are remembered.

In reality, situations that end in failure due to various reasons are the majority.

The more meticulously prepared and complex a plan is, the more this tends to be true.

Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose and continued on the phone.

"As for Wasp... I planted a bomb in the car, add a zero to the number I called you from and dial it back to activate it, it’s up to you now."

That guy probably wasn’t an Alliance spy, just an ordinary resident of the refuge.

If at first, Daniel only vaguely suspected, after so many tests, he could almost be sure of it.

Only such an explanation could justify why he never slipped up.

However, that guy had gotten involved in so many operations by now, they couldn’t just politely escort him out of the territory.

Once that guy realized, they would become the laughingstock of everyone.

Even if just for the dignity of the Southern Legion, they must keep him here.

Comte remained silent for a while and quietly responded.

"I understand."

After hanging up, he stood for a long time before eventually returning to the side of the car.

The "Alliance spy" was already sitting in the car... Actually, he couldn’t even be called a spy anymore, just a not quite right in the head guy.

No matter how many lies the Survivor Daily told, it couldn’t prove that the Triumph Newspaper or the Southern Corps Victory Report were innocent little white rabbits that never lied. Using one person’s lies to validate another’s honesty is inherently foolish.

At first, he thought it was just a spy’s clumsy excuse made on the spot, but now it seemed this guy really might think this way.

Comte didn’t know how to describe his feelings, but to travel across seas and risk his life for such a foolish reason was just too foolish.

Just like now.

All he needed to do was dial the number, and that guy sitting in the car would become a charred corpse.

Afterward, whether to blame the Enlightenment Society or gang members, or not explain at all, the matter would be considered closed.

But...

Is it really okay to end it like this?

A terrifying thought suddenly emerged in Comte’s mind.

Actually, holding the "remote" doesn’t limit him to just one choice... there’s another choice that might not be satisfactory for everyone, but for him could be quite satisfying.

And that is to let this bomb that was destined to explode, explode more fiercely, letting it turn into fireworks right at the heart of the trouble, exhibiting its value in the last second of the countdown... instead of disappearing silently as expected into a hidden corner.

Gazing at the car, Comte was suddenly reminded of that bizarre dream.

The image before his eyes seemed to split, and then flickered like a slide show, gradually merging with the five hundredth world he conquered.

But these were not the key points.

The real key point was —

"I am the hero of the Weilante people..."

He muttered softly, as the murky pupils became increasingly determined, as if solidifying the resolve for what he was about to do.

Like a true addict, someone hopelessly lost in his hallucinations.

Reciting his name in his mind, he didn’t dial the number to end it all but activated the signal jammer and stepped forward to open the car door, taking a seat in the driver’s position.

Bread and faith, you have to choose one.

And he had already made his choice...

Seeing Comte "reinvigorated" once again, Talan’s face broke into a brilliant smile.

"...Are you ready, buddy?"

Taking a glance at the face in the rearview mirror, Comte’s lips curled into a rare smile.

This madman was as usual.

But wasn’t he too, at this moment?

In that flickering vision, the narrow road transformed into an endless red carpet, and he, adorned with medals, was walking on that path of pilgrimage.

What he was doing was exactly what he longed to do.

"I’m an old soldier of the 300,000 Ten thousand troops. The moment I enlisted, I was ready to dedicate my life to the Marshal... Shouldn’t I be asking you if you’re ready?"

"Haha, is that even a question?" Talan was stunned for a moment upon hearing this, then laughed out loud recklessly, and said straightforwardly, "Let’s go, stop dawdling."

"Very good." Comte lit a cigarette for himself, expertly started the car’s engine.

Talan said excitedly.

"Are we going to find that Tony now?"

Comte grinned, then disdainfully curled his lips.

"That sort of small fry isn’t worth mentioning, and that’s Morse’s work. Let Blackwater Alley take care of its own troubles. Tonight is the best time; no one will disturb them."

"Similarly, the Weilante People’s troubles should be dealt with by the Weilante People themselves... While there’s still a bit of time, I’ll take you for a big job."

Once he finished speaking, he seemed to suddenly remember something and added another sentence.

"By the way... This is the order from the Enlightenment Society, our mission isn’t over yet. We have to dig out that leech sucking on our backs."

Talan indeed didn’t have much interest in asking more, just lightly raised his eyebrows.

"A big job? How big?"

"Superintendent Willoby, the chief of Evernight Harbor Guards... Reliable intelligence shows he’s the traitor hidden among our ranks. At the very least, he could help us find that guy."

Comte squinted his eyes while biting the cigarette, squeezing out a sentence from between his teeth.

"...It’s currently 5:30 PM; in fifteen minutes, it’ll be his off work time. Later, I’ll park the car at the entrance of his unit, and you’ll be responsible for inviting him into the car."

...

With the surveillance signal disappearing, Daniel no longer cared about the stray wasp outside.

Comte will arrange everything for him and then return with the last file,

As for himself, what he needed to do now was to clean up the "battlefield" and wrap up this hastily ended operation.

On the other side, the Comedian, squatting not far from "Marshal’s Armory," yawned.

This time he didn’t dare to space out, and his surveillance work was relentless.

However, just then he suddenly noticed a large group of people in black coming out of the "Enlightenment Society stronghold" he was watching.

There were about thirty of them, all in a hurried manner, carrying large bags and packages of documents.

Within mere minutes, the entrance of the hotel had a "Closed" sign hanging.

This absurd scene made him involuntarily widen his eyes, unable to figure out what on earth was happening.

Without any hesitation, he immediately went offline and informed his resting teammates of the online situation.

Meanwhile, at the entrance of Carterlod Prison.

Just not long after Comte drove away, Morse regained his freedom, surrounded by a group of underlings.

The worshipful eyes made Morse feel intoxicated, as if he really had become the emperor of the underground world of Evernight Harbor.

Being able to come out of the notorious Carterlod Prison unscathed was, in the eyes of the aliens in Blackwater Alley, an incredible legend.

The previous legend was Tony.

Now, it’s become Morse’s collection.

A burly man walked up to Morse and York, lowering his head respectfully.

"Congratulations, chief."

Ignoring the prison guards behind him, Morse grinned, patted the back of his underling’s head, then pulled his head closer and whispered into his ear.

"...Tell the brothers to get ready; we have a score to settle with those Iron Hand guys."

"Yes!"

The strong man straightened up, nodded respectfully, then turned and shouted orders to the group of minions.

The minions were excited, high-spirited, like real hyenas ready to march into battle!

The sky was filled with dark clouds, covering the twilight on the horizon. A fierce storm was silently brewing.

If the Weilante People still had bread and faith to choose from, then the scum living in Blackwater Alley had no choice at all.

Blackwater Alley is not just a small alley, but rather the collective name for all the streets in Evernight Harbor "without street names or drainage systems."

It’s not a planned urban area but a decayed area naturally born from the "sewer outlet" of Evernight Harbor.

Those who live here either get assimilated by the stinking things or desperately grow wings.

Even if they grow wings, they’re no more than flies, but it’s better than rotting away with the other trash.

Standing in front of Carterlod Prison, Morse gives a pre-war pep talk to his underlings.

The shouting voice and flying spittle make him look like a truly vicious dog.

Yet, at this moment, he has no idea that the "Enlightenment Society" he pledged allegiance to has vanished without a trace because of a big shot’s words.

The "disciple" status he bet his life and those of his neighbors on has turned into a complete joke.

If that car exploded in front of the prison, he might wake up to reality, then shiveringly tuck his tail in and wait for the wind to pass.

Yet fate played a joke on him; the hand that pushed him to his current position went mad before he did...

Their target is "The Last Game," the largest den in Blackwater Alley, and the headquarters of the Iron Hand Gang.

Without a doubt, with such a big event happening, Tony would definitely be there, worried, pulling out his hair.

Plucking one hair at a time is too troublesome. He could make an exception and give the guy a hand, free of charge.

After completing the war mobilization, the minions gathered at the entrance of Carterlod Prison scattered in all directions.

The guards standing by with batons at the prison entrance breathed a sigh of relief, lowering their weapons.

The cockroaches from Blackwater Alley daring to cause trouble at the entrance of Carterlod Prison—this was a spectacle they had never seen before.

Who knows where they got their courage from...

The crowd whispered among themselves, exchanging murmurs, but the warden, with a taut expression, said nothing.

He knew exactly who had given these guys the guts to disregard Carterlod Prison.

And precisely because he knew, he merely stood at the entrance with his men, instead of calling for the Guards’ support or charging forward.

After all, who could guarantee that this bunch of chaotic cockroaches wasn’t part of the plan?

Since the big shots from the Guards said they could be useful, let’s just consider it that way.

At least until he received new instructions, he had no reason to apprehend anyone on his own accord.

The henchmen around him gradually departed, and a flashy Morse was ready to return home to fetch his stuff.

Just then, he suddenly spotted a familiar face among the line of prison guards.

A hint of joy flashed in his eyes, and he walked over with a smile, giving that guy a pat on the shoulder.

"Hey, brother, I’m a disciple now too."

Seeing the malicious dog fixated on him, Andrew’s brain momentarily froze, his face turned pale, and he even forgot he was a superior Vellante person.

Only one thought remained in his mind—

Why would the dogs raised by the Guards recognize him?!

Morse didn’t linger long, simply greeted and casually left, leaving Andrew standing dazed at the spot, surrounded by countless stares.

The warden frowned.

Like the other guards, he cast a scrutinizing glance at the longest-serving employee of Carterlod Prison.

"Do you know that guy?"

Andrew shook his head in fear, stammering.

"No, I don’t..."

The warden frowned but didn’t say anything since this guy always looked so timid and meek.

Unlike him, however, the other guards in uniform began whispering.

Disciple?

What is a disciple?

...

Meanwhile, in a good mood, Morse had returned to the Hyena Gang’s base, holding the "Ripper" light machine gun he hadn’t gotten to use in the noon battle.

He swore.

He would use this thing to leave a lasting impression on the guy who claimed he’d attend his funeral.

Just thinking about that face twisted in fear made him uncontrollably excited, eager to fire a few rounds at the roof to feel its weight.

Just then, he suddenly felt a twitch between his brows, followed by a current-like sting crawling towards his left eye, rendering his vision dizzy.

"Ah..."

Dropping the machine gun in his hand, Morse groaned in pain, pressing a hand over his eye.

Seeing this, York hurriedly stepped forward and asked.

"Boss, what’s wrong?"

Shaking his drowsy head, Morse frowned and said.

"...Nothing."

York still looked at him worriedly but didn’t dare to say more idle words.

Just then, Morse seemed to recall something and looked at York asking.

"By the way, York... what did you see in that dream in the afternoon?"

York paused, his fat, ugly face suddenly turning bashful.

This bald man with a scar across his chest scratched the back of his head, sheepishly chuckling.

"Don’t laugh at me... I... dreamed of my old mother."

Morse was momentarily speechless, dazed for a while, then suddenly burst into laughter.

"Hahaha! You damn... you’re truly something."

Seeing his boss laugh at him, York looked helpless.

After a pause, he suddenly seemed to think of something and said with a sly grin.

"By the way boss... when we eventually take over Tony’s trade, can we get some of that stuff?"

The boss from the Enlightenment Society only warned them not to trade with the Vellante people but never said they couldn’t handle this trade.

The name Snake Oil was too casual.

If they changed it to "Dream" or "Aurora," they might earn more than Tony ever did.

"Can you have some ambition, damn it," Morse hit him on the head irritably, "with money, what can’t you get? Who needs that stuff?"

With an innocent look, York knew why the boss was teaching him a lesson.

He had seen, with his own eyes, the miserable ends of those useless people and had twisted quite a few necks himself.

The problem was... this couldn’t be solved with just money either.

He didn’t think much; he just wanted to finish that meal he had dreamed of.

The punks in Blackwater Alley didn’t always get to eat meat, especially when he was just a little punk. His mom had stewed a pot of oxtail soup with the money she earned from the night job, and its aroma made his mouth water, his eyes twinkling.

Standing at the kitchen door, he and she talked for a long time, about a lot of things, including the present, the future... and it was the first time he relaxed like this since burying her.

Just as that pot of food was about to be ready, he woke up halfway through his dream.

If only he had one more second...

Just one second.

"Boss, by the way, what did you see?" York suddenly grew curious.

He always felt the boss was much more promising than he was and would probably dream of something more interesting.

However, Morse, loading the machine gun, seemed impatient and only responded perfunctorily.

"It’s none of your business."