CHAPTER 886: CHAPTER 886: HAS THE SERPENT FINALLY EMERGED?

The Blue Ground Squirrel made it...

Yarman’s face was full of surprise.

Perhaps because all the residents of the refuge he knew were quite nice people, he found it really hard to believe that among those kind-hearted folks, there were also devils with extreme stances.

Of course, he was only surprised for a moment and quickly came to terms with it.

After all, let alone others, wasn’t he himself also out of place in this tavern?

"...I’ve heard a rumor that the earliest Poluo People were actually a branch of the remnants from the Central World, and their genes are not much different from other survivors on the Wasteland."

The vast majority of Poluo People can recognize their compatriots at a glance by their spirit, and then roughly judge which clan the other person is based on their surname.

However, outsiders can’t really tell the difference between them unless they frequently interact with Poluo People.

This phenomenon is particularly common on the Death Coast, where residents from Falling Leaves Province and Poluo Province, aside from cultural and religious barriers, don’t have much difference in appearance.

Kuran grinned.

"I’ve heard about it, but so what? We aren’t remnants of the Central World; we are their conquerors. That virus can’t affect us, and cleaning out some trash is no big deal..."

There are too many indigenous people in the colonies; the technology of the Prosperity Epoch allowed some who shouldn’t have survived to live.

Take Blackwater Alley, for instance.

It’s simply a breeding ground for plague and corruption.

But it’s undeniable that the prosperity of Evernight Harbor indeed owes something to the people there.

If it weren’t for their patient endurance of exploitation, how could the Weilante People live in big houses?

A good life can’t possibly fall from heaven.

Kuran was silent for a while, took a sip of beer, and said somewhat contradictorily,

"Actually, it’s not good. I’ve never agreed with achieving victory that way. Honorable combat is our tradition, and dying before aging is also a glory... But those are the games of big figures, and even if you and I feel uncomfortable about it, we can’t change anything."

Yarman fell silent for a moment.

On this point, he felt it most deeply. Even if he moved his home next to the governor, it wouldn’t change the fact that he was just an insignificant pawn.

When disaster strikes, there’s nothing he can do but pray to God.

Unwilling to talk more about the "Mortal Serum," Kuran quickly changed the subject.

The two sitting at the bar had been drinking bottle after bottle, unknowingly chatting for a long time.

Kuran later talked a lot about stories from the front line, from the meat grinder of Reed Bull County to the three bloody battles at the river bend.

And those stories are like two entirely unrelated worlds compared to what’s written in the Southern Corps Victory Report.

What made Yarman particularly emotional was that the Mouse Tribe person, who once bandaged his head, had transformed into the "Jungle Rat" that the front line troops found extremely troublesome.

Indeed, gold shines no matter where it is.

Yarman wasn’t the only one feeling emotional.

Upon hearing he had met Yishel once, Kuran also showed an astonished expression.

"Damn... you know that guy? I heard he gave Olet Ten Thousand Leader a hard time more than once in the Northern Three States of Poluo Province!"

Olet Ten Thousand Leader and his commanders were previously stationed at Evernight Harbor for a long time, well known in the area. His reputation struck fear into the hearts of mutant tribes in the Great Desert.

Yarman was certainly familiar with this name, and he was even more surprised to learn that Yishel could be mentioned in the same breath as this general.

Facing Kuran’s surprised gaze, Yarman lightly coughed and humbly said,

"Just acquaintances... My wife knows him better. Thanks to his help at that time, my family managed to stay safe."

Kuran’s heart was moved, and he suddenly lowered his voice, face shrouded in mystery as he continued,

"Speaking of which, you should know quite a few Poluo People, right?"

Yarman was momentarily stunned and noticed a hint of unusual eagerness in his eyes, making him a bit wary.

"What’s the matter?"

Kuran smiled mysteriously, pulling out a thumb-sized bottle from his pocket and gently placing it on the table.

Inside the bottle were clusters of crystal-clear dark green crystals, like shavings scraped from a crystal surface.

Seeing this thumb-sized bottle, Yarman was dumbfounded.

"...What is this?"

"Crystals refined from snake grass... As for snake grass, it’s a specialty of Poluo Province, or rather, Snake State."

Kuran lowered his voice, continuing in a very soft tone,

"Put simply, it can help you temporarily escape worldly troubles... like cigarettes and alcohol. Want to try it?"

That voice was like the devil’s whisper.

Looking at this bottle of deadly poison, Yarman’s Adam’s apple moved, his forefinger gently pushing it away.

"This probably isn’t as simple as cigarettes and alcohol."

Kuran smiled faintly and continued,

"Indeed, compared to cigarettes and alcohol, it’s more hallucinogenic, and it’s easy to get hooked. But other than that, there are no other side effects. The warlords of Poluo Province plant it to raise military funds, while the logistics department mixes it with other medications to make sedatives, treating the psychological trauma of the wounded, such as PTSD from hearing explosions... and then they line their pockets with military funds."

Yarman was astonished.

"How could the warlords of Poluo Province do business with the logistics department?!"

Kuran said softly,

"Of course, they don’t do direct sales, but some local gangs are happy to be middlemen, like the Mad Mouse, Blood Lion, and some other mish-mashing groups. Just a little oil leaked from this profit is enough for them to eat well."

At this point, Kuran paused, glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, then softly and quietly continued,

"The front line creates the wounded, and the logistics department makes money off them... although the wounded themselves don’t have to pay this money, ultimately, it’s the Weilante People’s taxes that foot the bill. Soon, someone saw the business opportunity, buying those magical little pills from the wounded, extracting the active ingredients, and making something even stronger, then selling it to those in need."’

Yarman stared at him with wide eyes.

"Are you crazy? This thing—"

"Haha, don’t misunderstand, I don’t have that ability, I’m at most a buyer," Kuran raised his hands and said with a smile, "But after saying so much, haven’t you noticed the business opportunity in all this?"

Before Yarman could speak, Kuran continued in a low voice.

"Snake grass only grows in Snake State, the Great Desert doesn’t have the conditions for it to grow. If you can establish connections with the military factions in Poluo Province, we can bypass the logistics department and the West Sail Port gangs to get a large quantity of snake grass directly, rather than purifying crystals through those small pills—"

"I’ve never heard of such a thing, and I’m not interested in that kind of business."

Before Kuran could finish speaking, Yarman suddenly stood up from the stool, interrupting him halfway through.

"Sorry... This might be a highly profitable business, but the risks are too high."

Kuran looked at him in bewilderment, not understanding what was wrong with this guy.

"Risk? My friend, I have connections with customs and the port, and you’re transporting wounded for the logistics department... if we join forces, what risks could there be?"

Yarman couldn’t help but ask.

"Do you remember you used to be a Centurion?"

"Centurion..." Kuran smirked sarcastically, "Turns out I was a Centurion, didn’t think anyone remembered."

"I remember, I believe many people remember, you bled for the Weilante people, so please don’t give up on yourself."

Yarman placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it hard, then left a tip on the table.

"I was actually planning to discuss another business with you, although it doesn’t make as much money as the one you mentioned, it won’t harm our compatriots... again, I’m sorry, I can’t participate in your business, let’s pretend we didn’t meet tonight."

His Adam’s apple moved, and he continued.

"But if you change your mind, I would welcome you at any time."

Leaving those words, he removed his hand from Kuran’s shoulder and turned to walk out of the tavern.

Kuran stared unwaveringly at Yarman’s back.

A flicker of struggle flashed in his eyes, though it quickly disappeared.

He’d already given enough for the Army, almost dying on the front line.

Because he was a Centurion, he could still mix around at customs, while his comrades could only return home with shame and scars.

If all this was for loyalty, then fine, he never fought for money anyway.

But upon returning to West Sail Port, he had to constantly endure cold mockery from his compatriots, as well as the tearing of lies against reality.

He did not obtain the honor he desired.

He and his 34th Ten Thousand Troops had become the shame of the Weilante people.

Faith or bread, you have to choose one.

If the former no longer exists, then he at least needs to earn more to fill the hole in his heart.

Taking a swig of cold beer, Kuran drove the gloomy mood out of his mind.

At this moment, a man in formal attire sat beside him, handing him a box of cigarettes.

"How did the talk go?"

Looking at the man next to him, Kuran answered in a hoarse voice.

"He refused."

"Really?"

Tony sighed, shrugged helplessly.

"Although expected, it’s a bit of a shame... if we could use those big ships, we could do this business even bigger."

Kuran gave him a glance.

"You don’t seem surprised at all?"

Lighting a cigarette for himself, Tony replied casually.

"I’ve looked into him, that guy is a believer of the Silver Moon Sect, people with faith are mostly hard to deal with."

Kuran raised an eyebrow slightly, speaking with annoyance.

"Are you questioning my faith?"

Tony was taken aback, not knowing why this guy suddenly got so sensitive but still laughed and shrugged.

"Why would anyone need to doubt that? Come on friend, let’s keep talking business. Listen, I’ve found a new partner."

Kuran held back his composure and asked.

"Is that guy reliable?"

"One hundred percent reliable, the military faction in Snake State of Poluo Province is their own man." Tony said with exuberance, gesturing towards the doorway to signal a young man standing in the corridor to come over, "I’ve brought the person, let me introduce you."

Kuran followed his gaze, sizing up the young man.

The guy was a Poluo person, but not of the typical kind.

The vast majority of Poluo people would instinctively look at his shoe tips when making eye contact, but this guy maintained a calm, level gaze.

"Marta, Blue Family," Tony patted the young man’s shoulder and grinned at Kuran, "they’ve gotten a large tract of land in the northwest of Snake State and set up a fishing port."

The young man named Marta nodded courteously, politely speaking to Kuran.

"Hello, Mr. Kuran, I’ve heard of your prestigious reputation."

Kuran grinned, finding it rather amusing to hear those words from a Poluo person’s mouth.

Regardless of his reputation, even if he truly had it, it’d be made from the piles of Poluo people’s heads.

"What the hell is a Blue Family?" Looking at Tony, Kuran spoke bluntly, "Is this thing reliable?"

Tony raised his eyebrows at him, beaming with a bright smile.

"Don’t mind, that’s just their level, which goes in the order of white, green, yellow, blue, purple, and gold. The blue family’s level is already quite high. You can think of them as a kind of special religion."

As he finished, Tony also wrapped his arm around Marta’s shoulder.

"Don’t take it to heart either, the Weilante people are always like this; they say whatever comes to mind."

Marta, on the other hand, had an indifferent expression, while Kuran raised a curious smile.

"I thought people with beliefs were harder to deal with."

Tony was about to explain when Marta, who had been silent, suddenly spoke with righteous indignation.

"The Family Meeting needs funds to break free from financial difficulties. Mr. Zayed said this is a necessary evil in service of a higher cause, a strong medicine for the chronic diseases of the old era, a dialectical distinction between primary and secondary contradictions, even if planted, it’s reasonable."

Besides, it’s for you to draw.

Marta laughed coldly in his heart, but he hid the words and the cold smile within.

His superior told him not to haggle with the Weilante people and to just focus on making money from them, using their money to buy their guns, and then taking those guns to fight their people.

Before coming here, he had made adequate psychological preparations, yet he still couldn’t suppress his dislike for the Weilante people.

After all, before being a family member, he was first a Poluo person.

Kuran chuckled and showed no concern for the nonsense the young man was letting out and turned to look at Tony, who had a helpless expression.

"How’s the deal?"

Seeing that the most difficult Weilante person finally stopped nitpicking, Tony heaved a sigh of relief and quickly continued.

"It’s simple, using those speedboats that transport weapons! We’ve bribed some people, and when they return to the city, they will detour along the southwestern coast of Poluo Province and pass by the Snake State fishing village. We’ll hide the goods on the ships and then dock on your side and pass through. As for sales, my Iron Hand Gang will take care of it."

Kuran nodded.

This method is good.

They were already not very strict in checking empty ships, let alone making it for the front line supply boats.

Having explained the transport process, Tony looked at Marta, who continued his explanation.

"As for the goods you need, we have them in abundance over there, but we only accept Dinar for transactions, and we need to purchase some materials to be transported to Snake State."

Kuran chuckled again.

"What for?"

Marta narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Do you really want to know?"

Seeing that the atmosphere between the two was becoming tense again, Tony quickly stepped forward to mediate.

"Alright, alright, don’t ask too much, and anyway, buying supplies is for their civil war... it has nothing to do with you."

After saying so, he winked at Marta.

Although unwilling, Marta begrudgingly nodded, accepting this explanation.

Kuran coldly smiled but didn’t expose the matter.

"Let’s leave it at that."

Even if the Weilante people’s weapons showed up on the front lines, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

Even now, half of Poluo Country’s army still hasn’t replaced its legion-style equipment, forcing the Alliance to create an additional ammunition production line to produce ammunition for legion-style weapons.

No one would trace it back to him.

Besides, all he did was turn a blind eye, and the real transactions never passed through his hands.

All that dirty work was the business of Blackwater Alley.

After a pause, Kuran held up three fingers.

"I want a cut of thirty percent from your sales revenue."

Tony showed a pained expression, but eventually nodded.

"No problem..."

This job can’t avoid the Weilante people; even if it’s to sell the goods to more places in the future, he had to find a way to pull this guy into the game.

Kuran nodded, gestured to the bartender who had somehow retreated to the other side of the bar to come over, and patted Tony on the shoulder sitting next to him.

"He’s paying."

Later, he’ll arrange for a few comrades to keep watch.

As the war continues, the Southern Legion’s guarantee money will surely be affected.

Besides, that bit of money isn’t nearly enough for them to comfortably live out the rest of their lives; being their old superior, he had to think of a way for them.

Finally, leaving a parting comment, Kuran grabbed the money Yarman had left on the bar and stuffed it into his pocket, limping out of the tavern.

...

Just as the head of the Iron Hand Gang was happily drinking with the blue family members, urgent and unfamiliar footsteps echoed at the corner of Blackwater Alley.

A man with a scarf wrapped around his neck hurriedly walked into the small alleyway.

His name was Andrew, a pureblood Weilante, who worked as a guard at Carter Nord Prison.

Besides that, he held another identity, that of a disciple of the Enlightenment Society.

It’s worth mentioning that although the Enlightenment Society nominally only recruited residents of the refuge, being a resident of the refuge wasn’t a very high threshold; anyone could register at a refuge with less strict rules.

And precisely for this reason, when the Enlightenment Society spread its doomsday belief, it would also add a line—once you become a disciple of the Enlightenment Society, you’ll be able to live in the refuge’s Ark on the day the world restarts.

And this is what’s referred to as the "Handle" of the "Torch."

However, Andrew didn’t join the Enlightenment Society because of any doomsday prophecy; rather, it was because the Enlightenment Society offered him considerable benefits.

For instance, they bestowed upon him a pure-blooded Vellante wife with fair skin and beauty, gentle and charming.

Although Carter Nord Prison looks impressive from the outside, being a guard inside is not a particularly desirable job, especially since this prison is full of paupers.

In the Southern Legion, only those who don’t fare well get assigned here.

And for someone like him living at the bottom of society, old, ugly, and poor, selling his noble bloodline to marry a subpar native for mutual needs is almost the only choice.

After all, he couldn’t, like those young lads, go to the battlefield and earn a medal.

His age has missed that chance.

Moreover, he is inherently cowardly, with the little courage he has spent fantasizing about the greatness and omnipotence of the Vellante bloodline.

He never dared to go to the battlefield before, much less now. Apart from material conditions, his spirit is also lacking, without a bit of anything interesting.

And precisely because of this, he is moved to tears by the gift from the Enlightenment Society—the marriage and family they granted him is something he could never have gotten by following a normal life path, even if he spent his whole life trying.

Even if they frankly told him that his wife was a clone, a soulless shell apart from knowing how to live independently.

But Andrew didn’t care about that stuff anyway; on the contrary, it suited him just fine.

After all, the clone’s mark does not inherit, and a compliant puppet saves him from the family’s trivial affairs, showcasing his undeniable "authority."

The concept of the Enlightenment Society coincided with his views on a twisted dimension, with only a "small difference."

The Enlightenment Society wants to create an elite world composed entirely of the residents of the refuge, while his ideal elite world would be entirely composed of Vellante people.

With ideals having so little difference, it’s no wonder they walked together.

In fact, many Vellante people with similar experiences to Andrew exist in Evernight Harbor.

They are scattered across various fields, especially those "lowly trades" not recognized by mainstream society but indispensable.

Though clones produced on assembly lines have lower social attributes compared to naturally arising populations from social activities, they cannot execute overly complex tasks, yet they can infiltrate the Southern Legion’s society in a parasitic-like manner.

This infiltration plan is carried out simultaneously with other plans they are executing.

From long ago, they started consciously infiltrating the society of the Southern Legion.

Just like the iron worm that captures the mantis.

All this happens silently...

Stopping before a secluded house, Andrew glanced sideways to ensure no one was tailing him, then reached out and tapped the door lightly.

After about half a minute, there was some noise behind the door, but it did not open.

Andrew pressed his face against the crack of the door, lowering his hoarse voice to speak.

"Carter Nord Prison... Recently admitted thirty-one prisoners, they are residents of the refuge and also people from the Alliance."

After a pause, he continued.

"Our warden says they’re Alliance spies, but I always feel they aren’t such clumsy spies, or rather... this crowd’s get-up hides further intentions."

"I risked snooping some interrogation details, one of them mentioned us at the end and expressed wanting to join us..."

Behind the door came a distinct stir, then a raspy voice like a snake hissing closely through the door crack.

"Who did he say this to?"

"He said it to the one interrogating him; that fool even agreed to him."

At this point, Andrew’s voice carried a tone of irritation, also mixed with puzzlement.

"...The issue lies here; that guard who came from the Guards isn’t our person at all! I exchanged signals with him several times and he didn’t notice me at all!"

A prolonged silence ensued behind the door.

"... It’s a bit messy, I need to sort it out; come see me again at this time tomorrow."

Logically speaking, the Southern Legion shouldn’t be aware of their existence.

The various anomalies bewildered him, to the extent that he couldn’t even ascertain whether this bizarre act had anything whatsoever to do with them... Even if nominally they seemed to have taken the center stage.

In any case, now isn’t a good time to alert the Southern Legion; they need to muddy the waters in order to fish in troubled waters.

Before taking the next step, he needs to consult with his superiors.

Upon hearing the voices from within the door, Andrew quickly nodded his head.

Blackwater Alley is not a great place, if possible he wouldn’t want to stay here a second longer.

"Okay... I’ll head out first."

Leaving those words behind, he turned around and quickly headed back to the street, going straight back to the nearest market.

However, he didn’t notice that a pair of eyes had been glued to his back all along.

From the moment he entered Blackwater Alley.

"Enlightenment Society... Seems like this really exists."

Fiddling with the dagger in his hand, Morse muttered thoughtfully in the shadows, suddenly cracking a neurotic grin on his face.

Having lived in Blackwater Alley for so many years, this was the first time he felt his doorstep so unfamiliar.

Unexpectedly, such a small fry like himself had the fortune to participate in the game of the big fish... Even if it’s just seeing it from a distance.

Morse felt his body cells uncontrollably excite.

His name and his Hyena Gang might turn into legends of the entire Blackwater Alley!

By then, forget about Tony, even his boss behind him will lick his shoe soles!

At this moment, standing beside him was York, the burly man with a knife scar on his chest growing tense.

One moment it’s the Alliance, another it’s the Legion.

He constantly felt this might turn into a huge problem...