This Game Is Too Real
Chapter 545: The Path is Chosen by Oneself

Chapter 545: Chapter 545: The Path is Chosen by Oneself

Why?

Kneeling in the square, Woffiel stared endlessly at the sky, the afternoon sunlight glaring through his swollen eyes.

He would rather it snow right then.

Preferably a snow that would bury him.

The purging was over.

They had lost everything in this settlement.

The Alliance hadn’t allowed the free exchange of chips and silver coins. Even though his father certainly had unconventional means of exchanging a few, it couldn’t have been much. Let alone CR and Dinar, the exchange was already sealed off. Even if there was a little CR left in Kishu’s account in Ideal City, it was far from enough to sustain their family’s previous lifestyle.

Money was a minor issue, losing power was his greatest pain.

Woffiel would have preferred if the Militia Group had killed him, as death was the quickest escape.

It would be best if they killed his wife, kids, mother, and that useless brother altogether.

He would leave his corpse in the streets and plant a seed of hatred in Alyssa’s heart. Perhaps that seed would never sprout in her lifetime but would torment her repeatedly.

As long as one day in the future she saw any ugliness from the new authorities and began to doubt the correctness of the past, she would surely do something. With a reason no one could refuse, she would raise another chip high, and the casino would reopen...

His own death could help her escape the purge, and she was still young, definitely living longer than those brutes who only had brute strength.

She carried Melvin’s blood and was smart enough, capable enough—perhaps even more so than him...

Though the kings of Stone City were gone,

Their family could become the new royal family!

It was possible!

"Hehe..."

As Woffiel thought, he suddenly burst into laughter, and then started sobbing.

Why?

Why not just shoot...

Two Militia stood nearby, disdainfully observing this pitiful insect. Most people had already dispersed from the square, leaving him alone, unmoving.

Genesis left with Kishu. His wife and kids left too. No one dared come close to him, especially since he had just been beaten by the Militia of the new authorities.

Woffiel felt his consciousness blur and suddenly a warm, damp handkerchief was placed on his face, pulling his faltering consciousness back from the brink of darkness.

"...brother."

Wiping the mud and blood from his face, Alyssa looked at him with both distress and fear, whispering,

"I’m sorry... I put all our family’s assets on the list, but they were originally seized from others—"

"There’s no need to apologize..." Woffiel struggled to speak with his swollen lips, gasping, "You did right. If I were outside, I’d do the same. But next time, don’t joke with your own life. In two more years, you’ll understand. If they really wanted to do something to you, they wouldn’t just scold or beat you..."

Alyssa gazed at him sadly.

"Brother... why must we... do that?"

She couldn’t describe what she felt.

But she could sense another kind of hope her brother held for her— a hope she had no desire to fulfill.

"Why..." A moment of confusion flitted across Woffiel’s eyes.

He truly couldn’t answer that question, nor did he know how to.

In a cannibalistic casino, wasn’t it natural to feed on others?

Alyssa sniffled, seriously responding,

"It’s over now. This casino... along with its chips, there will be no more Black Cards. From now on, we only uphold our Constitution."

Woffiel suddenly smiled, lovingly looking at his sister, wanting to touch her head but hesitated and withdrew his hand.

"Father wrote you a fairy tale in your heart. If possible, he hoped you’d never leave it... but you jumped out the window."

"We’re family. Whatever you can see, why wouldn’t he see it? But some actions are pointless right now, they’d only get you killed, and even if successful, everything would revert back."

Alyssa gently shook her head, looking at her brother earnestly.

"Let the future take care of itself. We just need to handle the now, at least now everyone is a good person."

Woffiel looked at her in despair, "Why can’t you understand... Fairy tales can never be true. Life is inherently unequal, otherwise why would the Prosperity Epoch disappear? Those people will revert back one day! It’s only a matter of time!"

"You just said we are a family, how could I not understand," Alyssa embraced her brother comfortingly, patting the back of his head, "It’s okay, I’m still young... When I get as old as father, my children will watch out for me."

Woffiel’s expression twitched.

He had never once cried in over thirty years, but now he couldn’t hold back.

His sister had chosen the most difficult path with no visible future—at least he saw none. And now, he himself was already dead.

Their family was probably doomed.

Watching his sister who continued to comfort him, Woffiel didn’t even know what he was grieving for—perhaps just grieving for himself.

He was ready to die, having played his final chess move with painstaking effort, yet rendered a joke by a bunch of stupider fools.

Maybe the casino would truly never reopen.

He knelt on the square, weeping uncontrollably, howling for the first time in years...

At the same time, in front of the grand door of Hotel Wind From Afar, a lovely group of people approached amidst the afternoon light.

They brought weapons.

But more so, they brought food, blankets, and hope to survive the winter.

These residents from the refuge never forgot that the survivors standing on this land were siblings under the United Human banner. Even if radiation dust buried the refuge underground, they would forge ahead and fulfill their oath under the flag.

Besides, quite a lot of these supplies had come from freeloading off Stone City.

Compared to what they received from this settlement, these supplies were nothing.

And it wasn’t just the survivors inside the Giant Wall, the Alliance also planned to rescue the survivors from the slums outside the wall.

Players had installed an elevator next to the high bridge by the Hotel Wind From Afar to lower goods from the parked trucks one by one.

More players set up a tent at the entrance of Hotel Wind From Afar, organizing barrier tapes to maintain formation and order.

Most of them were non-combat professional players.

Now that Giant Stone City had become the fifth city of the Alliance, it was time to boost regional reputation.

Having never seen such an extraordinary scene, both the poor from the slums and the merchants in the square in front of the Giant Wall Gate stopped their activities to curiously watch the commotion.

"What is the Alliance trying to do?"

"They’re planning to take over Giant Stone City?"

"Hahaha, collecting Silver Coins was indeed a genius decision!"

"Damn! I also collected some chips, hoping the new authority would let them rise again! Seriously bad luck!"

Completely ignoring the discussions of the survivors, the players couldn’t understand what they were saying anyway and started playing a pre-recorded announcement through the speakers.

"If you can work, come register! No wages, but food and accommodation provided!"

"Elderly and children, come this way! We will arrange unified accommodation!"

"Crap! There are too many people!"

"Taking in kind-hearted big sisters over eighteen! My place is quite spacious, welcome to come and play, and rest if you get tired, no problem—"

"Damn! Some Jerk got mixed into the line!"

"Drag him out!"

"Ah! Stop, you guys, I’m here to help people! I’ve shed blood for the Alliance, I’ve earned merits for the Alliance, I demand to see the Manager!"

No joke, a few scruffy-looking girls were genuinely considering it, and a little girl curled up in a plastic sheet even sneakily started calculating her own age.

After all, those wearing Blue Jackets did look decent and weren’t reeking, if something did happen, it was hard to say who would be at a disadvantage.

The most critical thing was that, those in Blue Jackets certainly wouldn’t "eat" people, but other Wasteland Wanderers might.

Some merchants looked decent enough, but maybe once they took them far from the Giant Wall, they’d simply slaughter them like lambs.

Not to mention the gangs mixed in the slums, occasionally picking some decent-looking "lambs" to sell to outsiders. The lucky ones could end up in the Free State in the north, becoming moneymakers for bosses, the unlucky ones might find themselves on the Looter’s dinner table or operating table.

Regrettably, the discipline of those in Blue Jackets was extremely strict, annoyingly so.

The guy who was crying and laughing was quickly dragged away, as if he was just there to mess around.

Curious girls who had gathered could only go to the neighboring table to register their names, waiting to be settled by the Home of the Refugees...

Although the players had done some things, a few hundred people facing tens of thousands was still challenging, not to mention the over five hundred thousand inside the Giant Wall.

The scene was a chaotic mess, making one doubt if they could really handle the situation.

But someone willing to do something, was still touching, and some were willing to step forward to help them out.

The Burning Corps and the First Army Corps entered Giant Stone City, taking over the city’s defense duties from Stone City’s First Thousand Team.

Old White took some people to the armory.

The new Militia Group leader, Joey, took them to see some of the weapons, with another part stored in the Inner City’s warehouse and hangar.

Upon seeing the weapons stored inside, all the players couldn’t help but exclaim.

"Damn! Power armor!" Quit Smoking excitedly walked up and touched the metallic mass standing in the room.

Killer Dagger looked at him with a grinning face.

"Bro, want one?"

Quit Smoking nodded vigorously, excitedly saying,

"Yes! I’ve dreamed of this!"

"Having dreams is good," Kidney Fighter patted his shoulder, "Save up Contribution Points and money."

Quit Smoking: "I’m crying!"

There were a total of thirty sets of power armor, all pre-war models, and over half of them were the same type as Old White’s Dragon Cavalry.

Some were in disrepair and unusable, but with Yin Fang, the archaeological whiz kid around, this was clearly not an issue.

However, this confiscated equipment was all considered props.

Although most likely also available in NPC shops, they were items that required Contribution Points to purchase.

"Damn..." Night Ten muttered under his breath, "Such good equipment wasted on those aristocrats!"

"Be glad, we got here in time, didn’t let them fall into the Looters’ hands."

Moving his gaze away from the power armor, Old White glanced at the corner of the room where boxes marked with radiation symbols were stacked.

According to Joey, those were miniature tactical nuclear weapons left by the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, as small as bowling balls and with an explosive yield of 1~10 tons. Comparing horizontally to a 155mm artillery, depending on the shell type, the yield is around 10~45 kilograms.

In the real world, creating such small, even throwable as bowling balls, tactical nuclear bombs would be challenging, but this was, after all, a game.

Destruction is much easier than construction, and obviously, the Manager had done a lot of preparedness work behind the scenes.

Otherwise, the explosion of this dead whale could at least disturb Qingquan City and the southern part of River Valley Province for ten or even twenty years...

That wasn’t just about adding a few monsters; it was a crisis more enduring and far-reaching than the Bone Chewing Chaos!

"But seriously, they didn’t use these things during the riots." Night Ten scratched his head, puzzled, "Why?"

Incomprehensible!

A tactical nuclear bomb would vaporize everyone on a street, right?

Wild Wind glanced sideways at the kid.

"You’ll understand when you grow up."

Hearing that fatherly tone ticked Night Ten off, and he rolled his eyes.

"I’m your dad!"

Elsewhere.

At the entrance of Giant Stone City.

Like others who came on a mission of aid, the NPCs of the Alliance mostly lacked motivation, unlike the players who were busy completing missions, earning Contribution Points and prestige.

It should be clarified that they were enthusiastic when facing other survivors in need of help and never turned their backs on refugees who had fled to the Alliance from Giant Stone City.

But "door-to-door service" was something few had anticipated.

Gazing at the towering wall that pierced the clouds, Zhao Shu muttered.

"Why?"

Yang Ergou glanced at him.

"What do you mean ’why?’"

Zhao Shu pointed at the guys at the gate holding suitcases, but his gesture wasn’t really directed at them—it seemed more aimed at what lay beyond them.

"Why do we have to help these guys?"

Both men were residents of Bet Street and had worked at the Bull Horse Brick Factory long ago, rising to the position of foreman, even having the army staff member, Vanus, under their supervision as they performed reformed labor.

After the Alliance was established and everything became formalized, the Home of the Refugees turned into a semi-official aid organization, and they both went there, continuing to help the building rise brick by brick with survivors who embraced the Alliance.

Zhao Shu was no stranger to Giant Stone City.

Especially when he learned that those lucky ones who just screwed bolts in the factories could earn "about the same" wages as scavengers like them, who risked their lives picking up garbage in the Wasteland, his disdain for this decaying settlement grew.

The Giant Wall itself was an evil presence, blocking not only the sticky mold but also denying the entry of countless survivors.

Bet Street, Brown Farms...almost all feudal or semi-feudal survivor communities were legacies left by the ancestors of Giant Stone City.

These facts he had gathered from the "Survivor’s Daily."

Giant Stone City began to decay first, and then the plague of ideologies slowly spread to other settlements through the bonds maintained by stakes.

The entire Southern River Valley Province had become a breeding ground for decay.

Of course, there were many settlements more corrupt than Giant Stone City across the Wasteland, but since Giant Stone City was right next door, he naturally disliked the people there the most.

Especially since the survivors here were particularly fond of showboating, disparagingly referring to Yang Ergou and Zhao Shu as "Blue Ground Squirrels" and "hicks" behind their backs.

Don’t think he didn’t know!

Zhao Shu cursed inwardly.

"Damn beggars..."

Can’t even afford to eat barley cakes!

They truly deserved it!

Yang Ergou glared at him.

"What are you blabbering about!"

"Am I wrong?" Zhao Shu said defiantly, "The garbage we pick, the crops we grow, we’ve been feeding these creatures! And now we have to clean up the mess they’ve made! In my opinion, the survivors in the slums outside the walls could be taken in; they are truly innocent. Those inside should be left to rot in their prison forever!"

Yang Ergou frowned, "That’s the masters’ fault, what does it have to do with ordinary people? They can’t even chew on Foxtail grass, they might not be better off than us."

Zhao Shu rolled his eyes.

"Come on, they live far more comfortably than we do. And when we were being exploited, did any of them speak up for us?"

Working in a factory was definitely safer than scavenging or hunting in the wild, they did enjoy some benefits after all.

Bet Street’s population hadn’t grown much in over a hundred years, and the average lifespan was around thirty. From this perspective, the residents of Bet Street had indeed been robbed of their lifetimes by the city dwellers.

"You’re not wrong."

A voice came from behind, interrupting their increasingly loud argument.

Luka approached them.

Seeing the old butler—or maybe now should be called the city master—the arguing pair immediately shut their mouths and fell silent.

Feeling guilty, Zhao Shu apologized on his own initiative.

"I’m sorry...I—"

Luka looked at the young man and said in a soothing tone.

"You don’t need to apologize. I understand the anger in your heart. When I saw Brown, I too felt the urge to kill, wishing I could slaughter his entire family and his servants."

"We could certainly barricade the gates, letting the ’damn beggars’ inside produce goods for us, giving them just enough slops to keep them alive, and squeeze every last drop of blood from them and their future generations..."

"But do you expect such an Alliance to end the Wasteland?"

"Or think about it from another angle—not as a Weilante person, did you ever for a second think the armies could end our struggle in the Wasteland?"

"Almost the entire desert is openly or secretly standing with us; we have united nearly everyone we can, even our enemies dare not face us. It’s not because we are stronger, nor because we have the biggest fists."

"It’s because we are an Alliance, not an Empire."

Watching the skinny old man, Yang Ergou gave a thumbs up, chuckling.

"That’s exactly what I thought, but I’m not good with words."

Zhao Shu scratched his head, still not quite getting it.

He didn’t care if it was an Alliance or not—if the Manager wanted to be an emperor, he’d support him with both hands. It would be best if he could marry the youngest daughter of the Yu Family, then maybe the old neighbors could share in the fortune too.

The once skinny girl had blossomed into an elegant beauty, also well-liked by the residents of the refuge.

At least in his view, far better than that crude mercenary!

Luka patted his shoulder, not forcing him to understand any of this, and continued leading everyone onward.

Regardless of whether these people were worth saving, since the Manager had declared this place the fifth city of the Alliance, they were comrades in arms on the same front, and he was going to do what he needed to.

There was no reason.

And he would represent the Alliance to do some things at Giant Stone City that neither the Workers’ Association nor the Militia Group could do, making some unavoidable compromises with reality.

Including some criminal cases that occurred during the riots, including some incomplete accounts, and more.

Residents of the Inner City, of course, could gain the forgiveness and pardon of the Outer City residents, after all, Black Cards were completely abolished. It was up to the rebels themselves, as written in their charter, to decide how thorough the reckoning should be. Others didn’t have a say, nor was there a need for anyone to instruct them.

But similarly, every matter has its place; whether or not to accept those people into the Alliance, or rather, which of them to accept, was the affair of the Alliance.

Those accused of involvement in homicides by responsible parties, labeled as "criminals," would not gain the status of Alliance residents, regardless of whether they were residents of the Inner or Outer City.

The Alliance would establish new courts in Stone City, responsible for conducting public and fair trials, where new evidence could be submitted within a five-year statute of limitations.

If those criminals were proven guilty by solid evidence and their restitution failed to earn the forgiveness of the responsible parties,

they would either have to accept reformation through supervised labor or, as the Outer City residents said, roll out and find their place in the Wasteland...

But to say it again, this was actually superfluous.

Most of the pardoned residents of the Inner City neither wanted to stay nor could they.

They were already burdened with original sin.

The residents of the Outer City did not execute them, only because they had promised not to engage in a massacre in their rebellion charter, and they had also voluntarily released Spielberg and other "hostages" they held.

After all, the settlement of over half a million people was too small.

Everyone recognized their faces.

They had no future living in this settlement; even eating a meal could result in the cook spitting in their bowls or the servers rolling their eyes at them.

This was more tormenting than being killed, as death was but a moment.

Unless, like the Outer City residents’ generous pardon, they, like the young girl called Alyssa, attempted some form of atonement themselves, making everyone in the Outer City feel like this person genuinely intended to be part of their family.

But this was too hard.

Not everyone had the capacity and opportunity for redemption.

Stripped of power and all their possessions, they couldn’t even live self-sufficiently, let alone survive.

This was undoubtedly a pardon.

But for many, it felt more like exile...

...

In front of the Giant Wall Gate.

Bonnie and Kumarit were hesitating about their future.

Her husband, Sid, had died, and her family members, senior officers in the Militia Group, had almost perished in the riots.

The victors hadn’t annihilated everyone, but that didn’t mean there were no deaths.

After learning Stone City would become the fifth city of the Alliance, her other two sons had swiftly confessed, ready to do labor reformation in the Alliance’s POW camp.

With good behavior, they could be free in three to five years, perhaps learning a trade or skill to start ordinary lives anew.

But she couldn’t.

Without servants, she wouldn’t even know how to comb her hair.

Not just her, but her most cherished young son, Kumarit, was the same, unable to do anything without someone to care for him. Without someone to look after them, they would wither like flowers deprived of water...

Thinking of her future life and the mere twenty kilograms of luggage, Bonnie’s eyes once again uncontrollably welled up with tears.

"Mom..." Kumarit tugged at her hand, wanting to comfort her but finding himself at a loss for words.

He also didn’t know where to go.

The new authorities had confiscated their credits and dinars; they couldn’t afford tickets to Ideal City, let alone serve any purpose going there.

Their suitcase contained just some clothes, a sleeping bag, high-end canned goods, and foolproof nutritional paste.

As Kumarit despaired over a bleak future, a chubby boy suddenly popped up from the crowd, waving vigorously at them.

"Hey! Over here!"

Drawn by the comical gesture, Kumarit turned his head and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Piru?!"

Piru’s face blossomed into a smile, just like his father, Mr. Weijia.

"Master Kumarit! How lucky, you’ve finally come out. My father and I have been waiting for you for a long time!"

Beside him stood his father’s secretary, Aaron.

They had planned to bribe the Militia Group to get Bonnie out, but they didn’t expect the new authority to hand over the entire mess of Stone City to the Alliance.

A turn of events even his father had not anticipated.

If the residents of the Inner City also became citizens of the Alliance, they would never be able to make up for those regrets!

Observing the excited and flushed-faced chubby boy, Kumarit embarrassedly scratched his cheek.

"I’m no longer any master, don’t talk like that..."

Having gone through what he considered a transformative night, he felt he had grown some, at least in his own view.

"How could that be?! In my heart, you will always be Master Kumarit!" Piru replied respectfully, still behaving as before.

Moved, Kumarit felt touched.

Apart from those ruffians who had swarmed to pilfer his possessions, there indeed were good people in this world!

"Piru... my friend, you are truly kind!"

"You’re too kind!"

Piru beamed a simple smile, then turned to Kumarit’s mother beside him, winked, and said, "And Aunt Bonnie, you are as charming as ever, as if you’ll never age."

Amused by the comment, Bonnie, tears still on her cheeks, couldn’t help but curl her lips into a smile.

"Thank you, you’re such a sweet talker... just like your father."

Piru joyfully continued,

"Speaking of my father, he has prepared a reception to clean off the road dust in the Hotel Wind From Afar. He knew you’d be unsure where to go, and has specially reserved rooms for you."

Bonnie paused slightly.

"Mr. Weijia? Thank you all... for considering so much for us."

"Of course, that’s what we should do!" Piru looked at her innocently, speaking with utmost seriousness, "My old man always taught me that the most important thing for a merchant is to keep his promises. He swore to remain loyal to Elder Sid forever, so he must do it. We are sorry about Elder Sid’s situation, but thankfully you are still alive, and we will take care of you on behalf of that good man."

Bonnie hesitated a bit in her expression.

Somehow, looking at this sunny, cheerful chubby boy, she felt an inexplicable sense of unease.

Was Vite that kind of person?

Although she always advised Sid to treat the merchants who made him money well, Sid had never truly listened to her words or the ancestral teachings she nagged about.

But still...

She couldn’t help but fantasize.

Maybe Mr. Vite really was a good person, grateful for Elder Sid’s constant help, willing to take care of her and her son...

Seeing another pair of Inner City residents, a mother and son this time, intent on leaving permanently, the militia young man beside them could no longer stand it and coughed loudly.

"Hey, lady, ahead is the Wasteland, think it over! Once you leave here, no law will protect you and your son."

Seeing the noblewoman still hesitating, the young man couldn’t help but advise her.

"If you haven’t done anything outrageously wrong, the Alliance will accept you... Not everyone with a Black Card is a criminal, Mr. Lister is still a resident of the Alliance."

Maybe he shouldn’t have added that last part.

Bonnie was somewhat tempted to stay, but upon hearing his latter words, her heart tightened, and she involuntarily gripped her little son’s hand tighter.

She certainly hadn’t done anything outrageously wrong; she even provided hefty red packets for each maid that left her family to marry...

But Kumarit hadn’t.

She knew well what that fire five years ago had buried, her brother Russell had even lost his temper at her husband over it...

"Mommy..."

Fear filled Kumarit’s eyes as he gripped his mother’s hand tightly.

He didn’t want to stay with those looters.

He had heard that the Alliance’s POW camps held ghastly demons from the Wasteland, the kind that really ate children...

Maybe he should let go, allow his mother to lead a normal life.

But he just didn’t have the courage.

Just like last night, clinging to the S-coin trader under his blanket all night long, it wasn’t just about letting go of his mother’s hand; he didn’t even dare to see his father for one last time...

His son’s trembling hand ultimately made Bonnie make up her mind.

Gently patting Kumarit’s hand, she took a deep breath, bowed gracefully like a true princess.

"Thank you, soldier sir, we appreciate your concern and kindness... but we have already considered our future path, our fate is not here."

"We sincerely thank you for letting us find our own way, and wish you could continue your ideals."

The militia man hesitated, glancing at the innocent Piru, then over at the expressionless attendant beside him.

He felt these two might be up to no good, but he indeed didn’t have the authority to make decisions for others, nor could he say anything eloquent.

"Take care..."

Bonnie nodded, gratefully glancing at the soldier, then, holding her son’s hand, followed the delighted Piru toward the direction of the Hotel Wind From Afar.

They exiled themselves, leaving their settlement for the Wasteland.

But this was their choice.

Watching the mother and son’s receding figures, the militia man felt down and muttered to the old militiaman beside him.

"I don’t know if what I did was right... Elder Sid was utterly rotten, and his son was bad enough, but his wife actually hadn’t done much, rarely even leaving her door."

The old militiaman glanced at him.

"What do you know? Good words can’t persuade a damned soul, why worry about where they go or what they do? Just focus on your work."

Paths are chosen by oneself.

Look at those lost, ignored elderly lords and ladies, one couldn’t know how many might envy those two.

Not far away, Genesis clung tightly to her husband Melvin, crying incessantly.

Melvin’s lips quivered, gently patting his wife’s back, speaking words of comfort, yet his eyes were filled with vicissitudes.

He seemed to have aged a decade overnight, his deep wrinkles capable of holding melting snow, his dishevelled hair interspersed with countless white strands.

"It’s alright... everything will be alright..."

He murmured to himself while also praying for other family members.

Watching Kumarit’s departing figure, Kishu stood by his parents like a soulless puppet.

He had wanted to change this settlement, so he had flown back from Ideal City from afar.

But he had never expected things to turn out this way.

He had no face to meet his father Melvin, nor his elder brother Woffiel, and certainly no face to meet Alyssa...

He had always had a chance at redemption.

If he had been braver then, not hidden in the Inner City with his brother but rushed out to find Alyssa regardless of everything, he might have been killed by the angry mob, but perhaps he would have earned forgiveness alongside Alyssa...

But there was no such thing as a regret medicine in this world.

If he really regretted, he should not have come back...

Kishu stepped forward, Melvin saw and immediately grabbed him, staring intensely at this scoundrel.

"Come with me to confess! Confess to the new authorities everything you’ve done! The Alliance will not kill you, they will give you a chance to start anew—"

"It’s too late." Kishu shook his head.

Seeing his son’s cowardly look, an outraged Melvin slapped him fiercely across the face.

"Slap—!"

A crisp sound.

Kishu didn’t dodge, letting the slap strike his face, causing his hollow head to jolt sideways with the blow from the calloused hand.

Seeing his unrepentant demeanor, the furious Melvin raised his hand to strike again, but was forcefully restrained by his wife.

"Enough," Genesis said, staring at him through blurry, tear-filled eyes. "Don’t hit him anymore, Kishu is still a child, let me talk to him..."

"Damned fool!" Melvin glared at Kishu and scolded, "What time do you think this is? Can’t you just listen to your father for once!"

Why did everyone have to be so contrary!

Even his son, Sid!

Kishu suddenly laughed.

As he laughed, tears began to fall again.

"I’m sorry, Dad, I’ve let down your expectations... I really am a hopeless idiot, just like you see."

He paused, speaking to himself.

"My friends on Endpoint Cloud were right, I’m just like them, we’re all lazy monks devoted to our scriptures, but the difference is they know their recitations could harm others, so they never teach the people of the Wasteland how to do things. But I’m different, I not only think I’m right, I also think I’m bringing back treasures that everyone should use..."

Watching his suddenly unfamiliar son, Melvin said with a trembling voice.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Wasteland," Kishu said calmly.

"Are you mad!? That’s a place that devours people! Do you think you made it to Ideal City on foot? I found the mercenaries for you! You waste, you won’t live till tomorrow morning!" Melvin, fuming with anger, tried to grasp hold of this wayward boy but tripped over the thick snow up to his knees.

Not helping his father who’d fallen onto the snowy ground, Kishu took a step back, looking ashamedly at him, his temples now unknowingly tinged with white.

"I understand your heartfelt concerns, confessing my sins and undergoing reform is my last chance, but I can no longer face anyone in this settlement... they’ve forgiven me, but I can never forgive myself."

"A worthless, arrogant scum like me should just go to the Wasteland and get beaten up, rotting away in some nameless filthy drain; that’s where I belong."

"Farewell, please tell my dear sister that her bastard brother is already dead, she need not atone for such a rotten person, she should live happily in the beautiful new world—in the fairy tale you’ve quietly written in her heart."

"I think the Alliance is actually a good place... but we probably won’t see each other again."

He bowed slightly toward the giant wall, tightened his grip on the suitcase in his hand, turned his back on the bustling square and his despairing parents, and walked into the howling cold wind...

...

At dusk.

The Alliance’s relief station opened in Giant Stone City, setting up large pots in front of the huge wall’s inner gate, convincing the people wanting to escape the city to stay.

Fifty million pounds of food a day, worth less than 250,000 silver coins, especially if used sparingly, it’s not that much.

Compared to the cost of watching this settlement decay, this amount of money is nothing.

And now, we’re all one family.

Smelling the tantalizing aroma, not just the starving poor, even the guards at the gate began salivating.

"It’s actually porridge..."

"I thought it would be nutrient paste... even nutrient paste would be good."

"Praise the Alliance! Praise the Manager!"

"My child will be saved..."

People, huddled and necks shrunk from the cold, murmured softly, some even secretly wiping away tears, hope rekindled in their eyes for surviving the winter.

If not for extreme hunger, no one would choose to eat those who had died.

Even just a bowl of rice soup could remind them of human dignity, respectfully lining up within the quarantine zone.

Led by Lovett, members of the Worker’s Association spontaneously helped maintain order.

Most of them were uneducated, not very bright, always chanting the same slogan—do what Pol should do.

Their object of worship wasn’t even a real person, yet their initiative and enthusiasm were astonishingly high.

They didn’t even realize that under the encouragement of victory and miracles, the nonexistent Pol had become a faith in their hearts—

A faith more pure and closer to earth than the Great Antler God!

Even well-trained soldiers couldn’t help but give those workers a second look.

No doubt, if these people were given guns, they’d fight better than the mercenary soldiers who were only motivated by money.

Even though these people had never been on a real battlefield.

"Everyone, don’t push, there’s enough for all!"

Holding a large spoon in her right hand and a megaphone in her left, Crow, with a proud smirk, shouted.

"Vegetable mushroom minced meat porridge! Sponsored by Teng Teng’s Vine Cottage, we hope everyone can safely get through the winter! Next spring, we’ll have new clothes for everyone, and let’s leave the unpleasantness in the past."

Not many paid attention to her; everyone’s focus was on the steaming pots.

But Crow was amusing herself nonetheless.

Her United Human language was not quite standard, a good chance to practice!

Teng Teng glared at Crow, wishing she could throw her into the pot as well.

"You, that’s enough! Focus on the job, don’t say anything unnecessary..."

She was here to build regional reputation.

Regional reputation wasn’t useful for combat professional players, but for her who was passionate about simulation management, it was extremely valuable!

Plus, this kind of rare special server event could unlock achievements that daily activities couldn’t.

The place to earn medals wasn’t just the battlefield, according to the Manager, this too was a kind of battlefield in its own right.

But even setting those aside, she genuinely enjoyed doing these things.

Survivors on the Wasteland have a simple understanding of kindness; a bowl of warm porridge or a small gesture could move them to tears.

And she also found emotional fulfillment in the process, the cost being merely some time "dreaming" in bed.

Watching Teng Teng’s blushing face, Crow playfully squinted her eyebrows.

"What does it matter, it’s sponsored by you anyway, I’m just advertising your artwork on the side!"

Seeing her about to make up some outrageous advertisements, Teng Teng blushed, unable to speak, and hid her face in the milky white mist.

Besides Crow, who came to join in the fun, Hua Hua, a store clerk dressed in a maid’s long dress, was also eagerly helping.

That enthusiastic little boss had almost become her idol.

Upon hearing about the big event in Giant Stone City, she didn’t hesitate to put aside her tasks and decided to help, even closing the store!

Such a kind person!

Thinking of Miss Teng Teng’s generous acts, Hua Hua was deeply moved.

In her eyes, the residents of Shelter No. 404 were like little angels sent by the Great Antler God to help them, the Waste Land Wanderers...

Not far away was a stall.

Holding a bowl of piping hot porridge, Kent bowed his head sheepishly, thanking the chef, and felt like there was a stone in his chest.

That night he stayed home and didn’t go out. Although there was chaos outside, it didn’t affect his leaky house.

The mercenaries and soldiers who took advantage of the commotion were targeting houses closer to the outer city and would not go to the slums of the industrial area.

Unable to resist his drowsiness, he closed his eyes and slept, and then the day outside brightened.

When he got up, he intended to go to Lord Weijia’s factory to work, but when he arrived, he found it had been sealed off.

The Workers’ Association had sealed it.

Those thieves who were usually in prison were now in charge.

Looking at the boxes of frozen meat and vegetables moved out of the storeroom, Kent felt a tight pain in his heart, but he didn’t dare ask where these ingredients were being taken. Instead, he blended into the queue of the Workers’ Association to help and even got a bandage armband.

Most workers didn’t recognize him; on the contrary, they liked this hard-working fellow.

Seeing the bodies dragged out of the alleys, Kent felt exceedingly fortunate. He was lucky he had stayed home that day, or he might have been lying among them...

Squatting by the roadside, he took a sip of the rice porridge sprinkled with vegetable scraps and minced meat. Kent felt warmth in his stomach, but his heart felt increasingly clogged.

To make himself feel better, he muttered,

"Heh... you destroyed everything, and what did you obtain?"

"Saying you wouldn’t become Mr. Stephen, but hasn’t Lovett become the chairman of the Workers’ Association? Joey is the head of the Militia Group, just another Captain Zhao, a bunch of new masters... and I still have to eat the food from the Alliance."

The more he thought, the angrier he got, and he swallowed a hot spoonful of porridge, mumbling discontentedly.

Hearing his mutterings, a fellow worker shifted his position and, smiling, sat down beside him.

"Buddy, how can you say we haven’t gained anything? Lovett said we would have a constitution that everyone adheres to."

"A constitution of the Alliance?" Kent glanced at him and snorted, "Don’t dream. It’s just a switch of masters."

That worker looked at him in astonishment, his expression suddenly turning sympathetic.

Kent hated that look, but, wary of his armband even though he had one too,

"I know who you are."

Kent’s heart tightened, his face turned pale, almost scared out of his wits.

He harbored a secret in his heart—that he, along with Alec and Phyllis, had captured Spielberg from the entrance of the tavern and sent him to prison.

Although he hadn’t seen the wanted poster on the wall, he was certain his coworkers were secretly searching for him, and once they found him, they would drag him into a back alley and secretly execute him.

"Who?" he swallowed hard and asked, trembling.

The coworker shrugged.

"Ken."

There was silence for a moment.

...Ken?

Who was that?

A new riddle?

Kent looked bewildered.

Just now, he had felt the sensation of riding a roller coaster, especially when his coworker had uttered the first half of the syllable.

"We have a fundamental law that everyone must follow, and you say we got nothing. Maybe in your heart, you don’t think it’s something important."

Kent’s face flushed with anger.

"Isn’t it though? The whole settlement has gone to chaos! It’s all because of you, I lost my job! If it weren’t for that idiot Spielberg insisting on being contrary, if it weren’t for you all preferring to believe a damned guy like Pol, or listening to some little girl’s words, we wouldn’t be reduced to begging our neighbors now!"

"Just accept it. And you’re right, begging isn’t good, we will repay this favor." The coworker sighed, unwilling to explain further and said to himself, "Lovett said we can’t convince everyone, and that’s just life. There will always be people who find various reasons and perspectives to criticize us, but that doesn’t matter. They say what they want to say, and we do what we need to do."

"He wants us to monitor him, and if he ever starts speaking for those who bully us, we should punch him hard, spit on his face—that’s what’s important."

Watching Kent, who looked almost suffocated, the coworker spoke with a tone of apology mixed with jest.

"You better leave; this place isn’t for you, really. You’re not even as good as your Lord Weijia, who takes risks in his business and even has to lick Elder Sid’s boots occasionally. You aren’t like Alyssa, who has taken risks you could never handle in your lifetime. What did you do last night? Hide under your blanket and cry?"

"And now, here you sit with a bowl, then over there making snide remarks—’Oh, those country bumpkins can’t accomplish anything grand, you just changed one set of masters’, ’Oh, what does a little girl know’, ’Oh, it’s all your fault I lost my job’. Yes, you’re right, we did screw you over, and we are all doomed tomorrow, you better run."

"Or how about going to Red River Town? There you can use your endless energy to work twenty-four hours straight without worrying about folks stopping you from making money. They would kindly block out the Variants and Looters for you."

Laughing, he patted Ken on the shoulder, finished the porridge in his bowl, and stood up to return the bowl to the kitchen.

In a while, he would go help out at the Workers’ Association.

They had already come together and achieved victory.

So, they would continue to stay united.

As for the future...

They would deal with that when it comes.

If Lovett didn’t perform well, beating him up would do!

...

On the other side, at the Alliance’s registration office, a sign read "Leniency for those who confess, severity for those who resist."

Some Inner City Nobles and their lackeys were also lining up there.

For those wanting to stay in the Alliance, here they could confess their crimes, apologize to the offended party with the help of the Alliance, and request leniency.

The Alliance would blur their photos in the newspaper, with a maximum sentence of twenty years, but with good behavior, it could be reduced to three to five years. Upon completing their prison term, they could start anew, and active participation might earn them a sentence reduction.

Of course, they could also choose to keep their secrets to themselves, hide like a rat, and pray that no one would come forward with evidence against them.

The staff of the Alliance indeed did not discriminate against them, but the contemptuous looks they gave were truly terrifying.

Haus initially did not want to go but seeing the Alliance soldiers at the city gate, he shivered and ultimately mustered the courage to approach.

Occasionally, people left the line and others joined. Finally, it was his turn.

Haus dared not delay; he followed a nobleman with a dirt-smudged face to the wooden table, rubbing his hands nervously as he sat down.

The staff member turned a page filled with writings and handed him a cup of hot water, speaking expressionlessly, "Tell me, who did you kill? How did you kill them, how many people, how old were they?"

"I... I didn’t kill anyone, I swear to God!" Startled by the blunt opening, Haus quickly raised his right hand and trembled, "Absolutely not!"

Great Antler God above!

He could not help but glance at the noble being led away by an Alliance soldier.

What on earth did this guy do?!

The staff member paused, staring oddly at the man before him, feeling that he looked familiar but unable to recall where he had seen him.

The nearby Alliance soldier also frowned and stared at him.

"Hey, you look familiar... where have I seen you?"

"Haus!"

Afraid that his confession wouldn’t count, Haus squeezed out a pallid smile, his hunched figure seeming to shrink even more.

"I... I confess everything! But please give me a chance to explain and atone!"

Before the staff could speak, Haus swallowed and continued.

"Do you know? If a person always speaks nonsense, it means he actually knows the answer. Have you played the guessing game in the newspaper? It’s not easy to get everything right, but it’s not easy to get everything wrong either."

"I’m sorry, I really am sorry. I’ve cursed your Managers, and I’ve cursed you all, but in my heart... I don’t truly hate you. I’ve even found myself secretly applauding your courage, but I had to speak for the lords."

"My logic may be scrambled, but it’s okay, you might not understand, but the Manager surely understands my point. I curse at you all only to make you hit us sooner, to shut down this betting den sooner. After all, with Mr. Sid managing things, there’s no hope here, but with Mr. Dawn taking over, surely a solution would emerge! You see, you really did strike! Actually, I played a role in this!"

These words were Haus’s heartfelt confessions.

Ever since he understood what kind of organization the Alliance was, he had no doubts that the Manager was a truly good person.

There are actually good people beyond idiots on this wasteland!

If he were truly a schemer, he could’ve avoided accelerating and instead, cozy up with Melvin to keep the game of debt ongoing, turning the residents of Stone City’s savings into debt. Then, the people here would truly be doomed.

The lords could go enjoy Ideal City while the poor would have to work for the Alliance until death, living under the Alliance’s oppression with no chance of turning the tables, the lords on their backs increasing from a thousand to over two hundred thousand.

In the north, the Bugra Free State under Mr. Sigma surely wouldn’t hold back, but the Manager restrained himself, even kindly pulling them onto the same side... This was what shocked and astonished Haus the most.

That esteemed one truly intends to end the wasteland!

He truly regards the survivors of Stone City as survivors!

Praise the Alliance!

Praise the Manager!!!

Ever since he heard that the esteemed one called the Workers’ Post a progressive voice, Haus was convinced he hadn’t misjudged.

After all, he is one of the few awake in this gambling den!

Even Spielberg, who turned halfway, was invited to be a guest; if it were him, the Manager would surely treat him like an honored guest!

The staff and soldiers exchanged looks.

They initially kept a straight face, but when Haus said "he also had a part in this", they finally couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Haus stared at them blankly, not understanding what they were laughing at.

He had mustered the courage to sit here and confess his crimes, yet these people treated him like a joke!

His face grew redder and he clenched his fists, but dared not lash out, only hiding his fists in his sleeves.

"What do you want, exactly? I can explain it to the Manager face to face—"

The staff, however, did not offer an explanation, speaking through laughter,

"Are you here to make us laugh? No offense, but everyone registering here has blood on their hands; we really don’t have time to listen to your jokes, although they’re pretty good."

Another staff, stifling laughter, joked,

"If you think you’ve done some service, then go to the Workers’ Association or the Militia Group and claim credit there; they are the ones who took up arms. Sorry to disappoint, but we never considered you a threat. If it wasn’t for the fact that we’re all from the same place, we wouldn’t have bothered to come."

A soldier in an exoskeleton reached out, picked up the stunned Haus from the table, and led him outside the isolation area.

The soldier patted his shoulder, looking at him disdainfully.

"Get lost, the Manager doesn’t care to deal with you, but I really feel like kicking your ass. If I weren’t on duty, I’d have done it already."

The Alliance has its discipline; after all, it’s not worth risking his honor over a clown while in uniform.

The soldier returned to his post.

Haus stood dispiritedly on the street.

Watching the true villains lining up to confess their crimes, for a moment, he wished he was grabbed by the Alliance soldiers, thrown into jail, or even beaten up.

Indifference is the greatest arrogance.

It turned out they really didn’t care about him.

Even the barely year-old Workers’ Post was seen as a progressive voice, while his broadcasts of more than a decade were never even glanced at by the other side.

What had he done all his life...

"They don’t need me..."

Life seemed to lose its meaning.

Like a walking corpse, Haus walked away with lifeless eyes.