This Game Is Too Real
Chapter 548: Nailing the Last Nail in the Coffin

Chapter 548: Chapter 548: Nailing the Last Nail in the Coffin

Spielberg had returned.

And he had met the Manager!

Stone City Hall.

When they saw the familiar face appearing at the door, the members of the Workers’ Association excitedly rushed over to surround him.

"Wait a second! Don’t ask me about the manuscript first!" Seeing the surging crowd, Spielberg seemed to have guessed what they would say and immediately shouted in a high-pitched voice, "I have something important to say!"

"Hurry up! Stop the nonsense," Lovett said, hooking his arm around his shoulder, urging him on, "You said you were going to take a trip to ’North Suburb,’ and now that you have, what about the rest of the story? How is the Chapter on the great revolution going?"

"What I want to talk about now is something even more important!"

Pushing Lovett’s hand away, Spielberg signaled for everyone to be quiet, cleared his throat, and said, "He let me try on his power armor; that thing is really something else... Even with my physique, wearing the power armor, I could gain strength like that of a giant!"

An electrician couldn’t help but say,

"Incredible... he actually let you wear it."

The other workers also jokingly jeered,

"I don’t believe it! Didn’t your coat stink him to death?"

"Exactly!"

"You’re bragging, aren’t you?"

Spielberg didn’t take the teasing of the crowd to heart because he knew what was real could not be faked, and what was fake could not be made real.

"Believe it or not, that gentleman is actually quite easy-going; he didn’t fuss over much. Although his guard was a bit scary, that guy kept staring at me until I didn’t dare to ask to use the bathroom... but that’s not the main point."

Lovett swallowed saliva.

"What’s the main point?"

Was there anything more incredible than a can worker being invited by the Alliance’s Manager to be a guest and even trying on the power armor?

Everyone stared intently at Spielberg, waiting for him to continue.

A pleasant smile appeared on Spielberg’s face, as though a dream had been realized.

"Awakeners can defeat power armors! The Manager himself told me! He is both an Awakener and has power armor; no one understands this better than him!"

A murmur of amazement spread through the crowd.

That headline had indeed troubled them for a long time.

Even because of that headline, Bol’s story had often been ridiculed by the illiterate members of the Militia Group.

Although it was a trivial matter, the controversy had finally ended now.

Lovett clenched his fists with excitement, "I told you that headline wasn’t an exaggeration! Joey that punk, I’m going right now to clear things up with him!"

Seeing Lovett excitedly turning to leave, Spielberg quickly reached out and grabbed him.

"Forget it, it’s not worth it over such a small matter."

He didn’t like the people from the Militia Group.

But the great revolution was already over, and what was most needed now was unity.

A worker standing nearby laughed heartily, patting Spielberg on the shoulder.

"Don’t mind Lovett; he and Joey are actually good friends."

Another worker also said, laughing,

"That’s right! Joey isn’t the petty type; he’s one of the few in the Militia Group who’s willing to speak the truth; don’t write too tragic an end for him in your book."

"Joey? Is he in the book? Never mind..." Spielberg scratched his head, unable to recall this character in Bol’s story.

However, he did plan to write about a Centurion who stood on the side of the people.

After all, during his time in prison, he had probably portrayed the Militia Group too negatively, but in truth, there were good people among those soldiers.

Regardless of whether those guys had joined them because they weren’t getting paid, couldn’t rob money, or for other reasons, this victory was something they had all achieved together.

This fact would never change.

Alyssa stood on the edge of the crowd.

She clenched a letter in her hand, wanting to come forward but unable to squeeze in, only managing to tiptoe and wave her arms.

Spielberg quickly noticed her, cleared a path through the crowd, came to her, and said with a slight smile,

"Need any help?"

She nodded vigorously, a rare nervousness appearing on Alyssa’s face.

"Um... is there a reply?"

Upon hearing this, Spielberg scratched his head.

He had returned empty-handed.

The Alliance had already declared their stance and choices through their actions, which, for them, was worth more than anything, but he felt that this young lady was expecting more.

Still, he chose to tell the truth.

"There’s none..."

Watching the disappointment in Alyssa’s eyes, Spielberg thought for a moment, sighed, and continued,

"Actually... I feel that the gentleman regretted something."

Alyssa froze.

"Regret?"

"Yes," Spielberg nodded, recalling the moment as he spoke, "After reading your letter, I noticed a clear change in his expression... as if, your choice was something he hadn’t anticipated."

Those important figures can’t always account for everything, a fact he became sure of after meeting Mr. Fang Ming.

Even someone as clever as that gentleman could not foresee every outcome.

And the Manager of the Alliance, as he had seen, was just an ordinary human, not a being with three heads and six arms.

It was just that the adoration of many followers had endowed his identity with different meanings.

It was for this reason that he carefully considered the impact of each choice and felt regret for any unexpected errors.

"Why?" Not understanding those reasons, Alyssa anxiously looked at him and pressed, "Did I... do something wrong?"

Spielberg scratched the back of his head.

"No, it’s not about right or wrong. Rather, you did so well that it made him feel somewhat guilty. He probably didn’t expect that a mere word from him could push a passionate youngster to the edge of a cliff... How should I put it? I think he wanted to compliment you on doing great, but he held back."

Spielberg felt that he could perceive these sentiments, perhaps because he had once harbored the same feelings.

Especially when he watched the A-ending in the projection room.

His colleagues carried his body as they advanced towards the Inner City, and then they fell in swathes, their blood dyeing the entire street... Even knowing it was all fictitious, he couldn’t help but shed tears.

If there hadn’t been the Survivor’s Daily and subsequent Worker’s Report and the born-from-it "Awakener Bol," those hot-blooded workers likely would not have existed, and this jungle-like casino would probably still be in business.

He did not regret bravely reading aloud from the newspapers, but the thought still frightened him a little, which was not contradictory.

If a single sentence could turn a coward into a warrior fearless of death, then a letter could definitely be taken as a divine command by a group of people.

Even if Alyssa didn’t have that intention, there would be some opportunists with such a motive.

Unexpectedly, the next ruler would likely emerge from the Workers’ Association or the Militia Group, or maybe a Citizen.

But if the Manager had written that letter, frenzied people might push a sixteen or seventeen-year-old girl into a place she shouldn’t be.

She had already done enough.

Solving the immediate problems of Giant Stone City wasn’t as simple as calling everyone to plant vegetables in flowerpots; many households didn’t even possess potted plants.

Ideals could bring near-impossible miracles to life, but sustaining them required far more practical methods.

Otherwise, it was just another form of hell...

Looking at the dejected Alyssa, Spielberg had a sudden inspiration and spoke.

"It’s normal that you don’t understand. I too had to walk through Hell’s Gate before I understood some things... Like seeing the people you want to see, doing the things you want to do, you don’t necessarily have to wait for spring."

Alyssa blinked.

"You don’t have to wait for spring?"

"That’s right. I told my editor, Miss Dolly, in a letter that I would visit the Alliance in spring, but I should actually go right away... You have a letter you want to deliver to that gentleman, right?" Spielberg looked at the envelope in Alyssa’s hand and said with a smile, "Why not deliver it yourself? He just happens to be in this settlement and will likely stay for a few days."

"He may not be able to reply to your letter, but if you want to talk to him privately and in person, I’m sure he wouldn’t be stingy with a few words of praise!"

...

Simultaneously, in the northern corridor of River Valley Province, a vast and flourishing city-state lay on a plain adjacent to the Grand Canyon.

This city with a population of a million stood like an island in the wilderness.

The intermingling red and blue lights resembled those of Ideal City.

However, that resemblance was merely superficial.

Whether in size, population, productivity, or the most core essence, this settlement known as the Free State was the antithesis of Ideal City.

Rampant cybernetic enhancements and psychoactive drugs pervaded every street and corner, with cheap virtual dreams curing people’s traumas and fulfilling all their fantasies just like those fragile dreams.

Of course, there was more than just degradation and desolation; there were also good aspects.

Just like there were fridges with free but ad-supported access, there were also spotless split-level apartments with floor-to-ceiling windows both inside and outside.

Regardless of poverty or wealth, anyone who had value to this settlement, no matter how little, could keep living here.

The Grand Canyon puppeteers built this settlement and imposed a set of rules upon it.

The people of the old era placed high hopes on it, wishing it to become the second Production Department—a true service to the Wasteland and in allegiance to the old Ideal City. However, those lofty planners never asked the survivors there what they hoped to become.

The only power the ancestors left to their descendants was to name themselves.

Thus, the people chose to call it Bugra.

Bugra was both their Money and the name of the Free State.

Because here, only "Bugra" could grant true freedom, and those who held "Bugra" were considered truly alive.

In the president’s office of the Firestone Group.

Standing in front of his desk, Xavier respectfully said,

"...Recently, a group from the South has migrated here, claiming persecution by the new authorities of Giant Stone City and have sought asylum with the Bugra authorities."

Sitting in the office chair, Sigma turned his back to him and asked indifferently,

"What is their stance?"

"As before, they plan to hand this trouble over to the Grand Canyon for deliberation..." Xavier respected the real emperor and cautiously asked, "What is your opinion?"

"I think they’ve done well."

Sigma suddenly chuckled, his tone mocking, "Let the old fossils of the Grand Canyon see what kind of mess they’ve fostered."

Of course.

Given the Grand Canyon’s style, they would definitely hospitably welcome these "disgraces" and allow the Free State authorities to provide them with some living expenses to help them survive.

Sigma was aware of this.

To this day, that oldest living relic still harbored resentment towards the disintegration of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee and the decision that allowed each settlement to fend for itself.

He had no objection.

Since that old man was so nostalgic, let these bugs live.

Ugliness had its meaning.

Keeping those maggots alive was the greatest insult to the War Construction Committee.

Xavier looked at Sigma, admiration filling his eyes.

"You truly have a divine insight, Giant Stone City won’t even survive this winter."

Most of the high-ranking officials of Firestone Group believed that Giant Stone City could at least survive this winter, and it would be the spring tide that would break the camel’s back.

Logically, since the Alliance needed Giant Stone City to share the burden of the tide, they wouldn’t watch Giant Stone City collapse; they might even help them delay the crisis.

Thinking this way showed they didn’t understand the Alliance and the Manager at all.

There really were people everywhere who ignored the actual conditions and rigidly applied their preconceived notions.

Sigma smiled faintly, and said casually,

"...The downfall of Giant Stone City was inevitable, as a vast amount of resources were concentrated in the hands of a group of wastrels. They used a system that could not create any value to select the victors, none of whose assets were obtained from actual production and operations. It was like giving guns to the blind and walking sticks to the strong; their survival to this point was a miracle."

The Firestone Group was entirely different.

Only those who created value for the company could get promoted in the workplace, and bloodlines were worthless here.

Even the children of the company executives had to go through the education system and were selected for specific positions, to be the company’s dogs.

He himself was the best example.

When he replaced the previous president and sat at this desk, he was merely a slum thief.

"And the Alliance?" Xavier asked curiously, "How far do you think they can go?"

"The Alliance is another matter," Sigma said lightly, "They are a different kind of army; they might go far, or they might quickly fade into obscurity."

Xavier furrowed his brow and asked,

"Do you think they are also military-centric?"

Sigma smirked.

"Is your understanding of the army limited to militarism? That, along with slavery, feudalism, clone troops, are just means to an end. The Weilante people use racial narratives, while the Alliance uses another type of narrative. Their goals are clear, one to unite all Weilante people, the other to unite all survivors, and that is the fundamental difference in approach, nothing more."

If the army won, this planet would likely give birth to an empire ruled by New Humans.

And if the Alliance won, it would likely give birth to a new United Human.

If Giant Stone City won...

That probability was so small that almost no one took it seriously.

As for the Bugra Free State.

In the future he envisioned for the Free State, they needed to first break free from the control of the post-war reconstruction committee’s toxics, then go on to rally all the Waste Land Wanderers abandoned by Ideal City.

In fact, these two tasks had always been concurrently underway by the Firestone Group.

Whether it was the army’s expeditions or the Bone Chewing Chaos, both had infused the Free State beneath his feet with massive amounts of fresh blood and wealth; many officers who couldn’t return to Triumph City mostly stayed in the Free State, and the nobles driven away by the new authorities of Giant Stone City also fled here.

Eventually, they would become another kind of Ideal City!

A heaven where all Waste Land Wanderers could indulge without having to worry about being drowned by dreams!

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

Seeing the look in Sigma’s eyes, Xavier tactfully bowed slightly and pushed the door to leave the office.

A man in formal wear passed him by and stood in front of Sigma’s desk, speaking in a deep voice,

"There’s new information from Giant Stone City."

Sigma looked at him eagerly.

"Was that weapon found?"

The man hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.

"No..."

Sigma was silent for a while.

"What about Rhine?"

The man lowered his head and said,

"...He’s dead."

Sigma took a deep breath, rose from his office chair, and walked to the room’s floor-to-ceiling window.

His gaze passed over the neon-flashing skyscrapers, looking towards the boundless wilderness to the south, and after a long time he cursed under his breath,

"Damn!"

That was a huge loss!

...

Garbage City.

The circular council chamber was silent.

Just moments ago, the drastic changes in Giant Stone City and the news that it had become the Alliance’s fifth settlement had finally reached here.

Upon learning that a large number of Inner City residents had been banished, almost every councilor’s face showed a chilling expression.

Although they were called councilors, they were well aware of what they actually were.

As one of the old survivor forces on the Wasteland, a beacon that had shone over the Southern River Province for a century and a half, Giant Stone City largely played an exemplary role.

Even if their methods were not the best, rewinding history on the Wasteland was indeed feasible.

Whether it was the earliest Red River Town or the Garbage City beneath their feet, they all bore some shadow of Giant Stone City, imitating the ruling model of the Inner City nobles.

And now, in those exiled from Giant Stone City, they seemed to see their own future.

Almost every councilor grew tense, chattering over the conference table.

"They say Giant Stone City was overthrown by a group of workers and militia, and some scavengers also joined in the chaos..."

"But we can’t just close the factories and drive away the scavengers."

"Maybe we should improve their conditions."

"At least raise the soldiers’ pay!"

"Let’s reserve some Dinar or Cr, at least if our currency falls apart, we can still pay the soldiers with foreign currency..."

This suggestion received considerable agreement.

Many councilors nodded involuntarily, and even the chairman, sitting at the head of the table, rarely showed support early on.

"That’s a good idea."

Not just Dinar and Cr, but silver coins should also be included in the necessary foreign currency reserves!

Otherwise, Giant Stone City’s today would be their tomorrow!

This topic quickly proceeded to the voting process and was swiftly passed by a high vote.

Garbage City planned to gradually increase its reserve of silver coins through trade until the reserves neared about 200 million.

Meanwhile, they also needed to buy bonds priced in silver coins issued by the Alliance Bank to hedge against the inflation of the silver coins themselves.

Though everyone knew that this was not a remedy for the root cause, it was still better than doing nothing.

They considered it akin to paying protection fees to a powerful neighbor.

What sent chills down the spines of all Garbage City council members was that, in less than a year since the establishment of the Alliance, those toxic ideas had already corroded the towering dam significantly.

They couldn’t help but think about the future.

What would they do if the ideology of the Alliance spread to Garbage City?

They heard that some Waste Land Wanderers from the City of Dawn had brought the "Survivor’s Daily" and even started printing and selling newspapers themselves, recounting the stories of Bol in taverns.

They couldn’t just snatch the newspapers from people’s hands, could they?

But if the survivors of Garbage City started to follow suit...

The council members grew more fearful the more they thought about it, until finally, someone couldn’t resist and raised his hand to propose.

"Why don’t we follow our neighbor, the Red River Alliance, and change our name to... Garbage Alliance?"

Before he could finish, a council member sitting nearby immediately shot him down.

"Are you freaking mad?! Are you asking for death?"

The man was stunned for a moment, reconsidering his words before realizing the absurdity of the name he had just come up with.

He apologetically said sorry, and amid lethal stares, sheepishly withdrew his hand.

He admitted the name sounded awful.

Yet beyond that, he couldn’t think of any other good and applicable method...

The same scene unfolded not just in Garbage City, but in various settlements of the River Valley Province.

Faced with the ruins of the Stone Building, some saw the long night that was descending, while others saw the dawn breaking through the darkness.

They were insignificant figures in the Wasteland, slaves of the mines, wandering herdsmen, and scavengers marooned in piles of rubbish.

Most of them didn’t know Bol’s story.

But they knew, in a place called Qingquan City, a group of united survivors had defeated the evil dragon that enslaved them!

This scar-riddled ruin was finally welcoming new light...

...

In the very heart of Stone City.

Faced with the ruins of the Stone Building, Melvin’s weather-beaten face was etched with exhaustion and despondency.

Old Luka looked at him.

"Do you have any regrets?"

"I... What is there to regret?" Melvin sighed lightly as his gaze returned from the ruins, "It was bound to happen sooner or later."

He was aware.

What defeated them was not the debt of over three billion, nor the skyrocketing S Coin, but the greed in their hearts.

But there was nothing he could do.

He had exhausted all available methods.

Luka shifted his gaze from him, looking at the age-old ruins and spoke.

"The Manager said you are a smart man, you were the earliest to notice that this train had to apply brakes."

Melvin gave a bitter smile, self-deprecatingly saying,

"On the contrary, I’m not only not smart, but also hopelessly foolish, otherwise I wouldn’t have only seen the reality at the very end..."

In the end, the sins of his family had to be washed away by the fairy tale left in his youngest daughter’s heart...

That was what shamed him the most.

Luka didn’t look at him, but simply spoke his purpose.

"Manager has given you a task."

Melvin looked towards him and asked,

"What task..."

Luka continued,

"Compile the history of your settlement for two hundred years accurately and in detail. His library needs such a book, and so does the library of the Alliance."

Melvin, with a wry smile, said,

"Is this some kind of collecting hobby?"

"He says it’s part of his job," Luka looked at the elderly man who was only a few years younger than himself and continued, "If you truly want to atone for the past, take this final task seriously. Or do you think, at your age, you’re still capable of physical labor?"

Melvin was slightly startled.

His Adam’s apple moved slightly and after a long while, he slowly nodded.

"I will take this task seriously."

Atonement...

Ah...

What a merciful superior.

Melvin suddenly felt a sourness in his eyes.

He was right.

If he didn’t want to bring regrets and remorse into his coffin, this was the only thing he could do, and was still capable of doing it—

To completely nail the last nail in this rotten coffin.

Watching the gratitude emerging behind those cloudy eyes, Luka said nothing, simply nodded slightly, then turned his back on the ruins of the Stone Building and left...

-

(The cold is a bit better, I almost got burnt out these days, and I’ll have to travel for materials in a few days, trying not to break the updates this month, take a break and continue to burst.)

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.