CHAPTER 893: CHAPTER 893: THE VEIL TORN AWAY

8:00 PM.

Evernight Harbor had completely merged into the night, leaving only the colorful lights floating up and down on the water’s surface.

Yarman, standing by the window, had a trace of worry on his brow and sighed softly.

"It’s becoming more and more unstable here lately."

Gang fights, addictive substances, power-money transactions... good people were either forced into being bad or died in despair, whether they were Weilante people or aliens.

He had been here for less than a week, and almost every day he witnessed terrible things or heard terrible news.

Yet, when he opened the newspaper, all he saw was the proud Weilante people striding from one victory to the next, with not a word about the problems they were encountering.

The news and reality were like two parallel lines that never intersected; the more he read, the more he felt the disconnect.

Sometimes he couldn’t help but think, if only the Marshal could order something about this dreadful settlement. However, the reality was, the respected Marshal might not even be aware of a place like "Evernight Harbor" beneath his feet.

And where would they even begin to address it?

This was probably an unresolvable issue.

Noticing the trouble in her husband’s heart, Margaret, in her pajamas, walked up to him.

She wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed his cheek gently, soothing him with a soft voice.

"The whole world is like this, so why would this place be any different? Don’t worry too much about us, we’ll take care of ourselves... and you too, take care of yourself out there."

Gazing into those eyes, Yarman was silent for a moment, then voiced his thoughts.

"...I want to take you all away from here."

Margaret looked at him without blinking and asked softly, "And then where to?"

Yarman took a deep breath.

"I used to think about going to Jinjaron Harbor, but later found that Potato Harbor is also good, and then there’s No.1 Settlement... actually, there are quite a few places we could go to."

After a pause, he continued.

"The business I’m doing now doesn’t rely heavily on the Legion’s colony... The market here is big, but so are the risks. Compared to that, there are better options. Plus, I want to be closer to you, in case something unexpected happens, I can’t rush back in time."

After hearing his concerns, Margaret nodded, but there was still a faint hint of worry on her face.

"But... we’re at war with the Alliance, is it really safe to go there?"

Placing his hands on his wife’s shoulders, Yarman gave her a reassuring look.

"There are quite a few Weilante people living there too, and... based on my experience with the residents of the refuge, they will treat us equally."

He remembered a resident of the refuge who once sailed with him saying, if wolves come, there are hunting guns; if friends come, there are fine wines.

Their enemies were not those with higher noses but those who wished to ride on others’ necks to pee and defecate.

Even if that person had a nose like theirs, they shouldn’t even think about it.

Margaret was still hesitant. Though she trusted her husband, her concerns were not just about herself.

They had moved before, but it was always to colonies directly or indirectly controlled by the Legion.

She had never contemplated completely leaving the territory controlled by Weilante people.

"So... what about Ruby? She just made new friends."

Yarman fell into silence.

His wife had touched upon his greatest concern.

Ruby was still young.

He couldn’t let her drift around like a sailor as he did.

Sensitively perceiving her husband’s hesitance, Margaret tidied his collar.

"You hope I’ll talk to her, but I think... she might prefer her father to talk to her personally. She’s no longer a child who doesn’t understand anything; she is a member of this family... If you’re willing to talk with her, I think she’d be delighted."

"You’re right, I should talk to her myself, about my concerns, my thoughts... and hers."

After hearing his wife’s words, Yarman felt a lot of his worries dissipate, and a smile appeared on his previously troubled face.

"And... thank you."

Seeing her husband’s shy demeanor, Margaret smiled warmly.

"Since when have you been so polite with me?"

"I’ve said it long ago, no matter where you go, I will accompany you."

Leaving a goodnight peck on his lips, she turned and left the study, gently closing the door behind her.

Watching the graceful departing figure, Yarman suddenly felt as if his heart, like an old clock, had reignited.

He shook his head with a smile, intending to get a bottle of red wine from the wine cabinet, but remembering he had to talk to his daughter later, he instead reached for a tea bag of black tea.

Though Evernight Harbor was no longer peaceful, at least the moonlight tonight was as serene as water.

He added a lump of sugar to the steaming teacup, then pressed the radio button.

This wasn’t a decision to make lightly.

He needed to settle down and think it over carefully...

However, at that moment, the voice from the radio made him freeze on the spot.

"Good evening, residents of Evernight Harbor."

"I am Comte, an agent from the Garrison Intelligence Department, formerly served in the 30th ten thousand troops, an unassuming person like you."

"But not exactly the same either."

Yarman instinctively paused his finger next to the teacup, the look of surprise on his face gradually turning into contemplation, and then replaced with an intrigued expression.

A hint of an unusual light seemed to appear on the sea horizon shrouded in darkness.

The spark of hope flickered faintly.

He decided to watch a little more.

Or rather listen, listen to what this fellow Comte had to say.

Not only did he pause his actions, but people in the taverns of the harbor district also put down their glasses, ceasing their whispered conversations.

The Evernight Harbor Radio seemed different from usual tonight.

Yet, for this very reason, people turned their curious gaze to the radio on the bar table, wanting to hear how this guy named Comte differed from them.

Including Kuran, the lame customs officer sitting at the bar.

Unlike everyone else sitting there.

The pupils reflected in the wine glass showed a faint murkiness.

"...Our difference lies in that between faith and bread, I chose faith."

...

The studio of the broadcasting station.

Supervisor Willoby slowly awoke from his coma, leaning on the chair.

He had a very long dream.

And it wasn’t just long.

The dreamlike everything was so beautiful that he wished he could sleep forever and never wake up.

"You’re awake?"

Hearing that ghostly voice, Willoby shivered as if he’d been splashed with cold water, waking up abruptly.

He instinctively glanced around, only to find the room empty except for a beam of light shining directly ahead.

Below the light source seemed to be a chair, with someone sitting on it.

This place is like an interrogation room.

Yet not entirely.

Slightly squinting to avoid the glaring white light, he tried to move his hands and feet, discovering that his arms and ankles were firmly bound to the chair, unable to move.

Swallowing a mouthful of saliva, Willoby, recognizing the situation, finally gave up struggling and resignedly spoke in a low voice.

"...Where is this?"

The man sitting directly opposite him didn’t hide and openly answered his question.

"This is somewhere in Evernight Harbor."

Hearing he was still in Evernight Harbor, Supervisor Willoby secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

As long as he’s still in Evernight Harbor, it’s fine.

After all, a missing Supervisor is a big deal; someone will soon notice his disappearance, followed by the guards going crazy... including the governor who turned him away earlier.

That fool should be regretting not having met him now.

Willoby felt secretly pleased.

Yet he soon thought of his predicament, and his joy quickly vanished.

"...Are you Comte?"

Comte calmly nodded.

"Yes."

Receiving a definitive reply, Willoby gathered courage, and his previously weak gaze turned sharp.

"Comte... have you lost your mind? Do you know what you’re doing?"

"I know," Comte nodded, speaking as if it were redundant, "I’ve kidnapped Supervisor Willoby of the guards."

Willoby slightly frowned.

For some reason, the way this guy talked and his tone made him feel an undertone of something off.

But at this particular juncture, what concerned him more was evidently not the posturing of this insignificant person.

"...What exactly do you want? Money? Or something else?"

At this moment, he desperately hoped to hear the word ’money’ from the other person’s mouth.

Because that was the easiest issue to solve for him, and the least scarce for him.

But it was precisely the opposite; Comte, sitting before him, didn’t fulfill his wish, instead spewed out a word he hadn’t anticipated.

"Truth."

"...Truth?"

"Exactly, that’s all I want," looking at the shocked Supervisor Willoby, Comte asked in uncompromising tone, "Why was the ’Wasp’ project canceled, tell me the reason."

"Why... There’s no why," sweat dripped from Willoby’s forehead as he furiously stared at the clueless guy, "It doesn’t concern you, stop nosing around, knowing too much won’t do you any good!"

Comte quietly listened to his ranting, not interrupting until he paused to catch his breath, then took out an alarm clock from his pocket and placed it on the floor quietly.

Seeing the countdown on the LCD screen, Willoby’s pupils suddenly constricted.

"...What’s this?"

"Bomb." Looking at that gradually pale face, Comte lightly smiled and continued in a soft voice, "It’s for me to decide whether it’s beneficial or not; you just have to answer my questions, while there’s still time, got it?"

Willoby’s eyes widened like copper bells, incredulously watching the subordinate threatening him with a bomb.

This guy is a lunatic!

Seeing his indifferent expression, he swallowed hard and said in a trembling voice.

"Because... pressure from above, I have my difficulties. Listen, don’t look at my position as Supervisor, the guards aren’t the army, I command fewer people than that Ya Hui bastard."

Comte frowned.

"Whose pressure? Governor Ya Hui?"

Willoby shook his head.

"I can’t say, if I dare to say it... I’ll be finished."

Comte shrugged lightly, dimming the light source behind him a bit, revealing his indifferent face.

"...It’s fine; you still have nine minutes; you can think about it for a while, just answer the following questions faster."

He’s gambled everything in this trial, and no longer cared about anything else besides the truth.

Looking at that indifferent face, Willoby’s expression gradually twisted, then after struggling, became progressively more frantic.

Eight minutes!

The countdown ticked like his remaining heartbeats!

Finally unable to withstand the pressure of death, he opened his mouth in resignation, unleashing a hysterical roar.

"It’s the General Affairs Department! Poluo Province War Zone General Affairs Department! Are you satisfied now?"

Comte softly answered.

"It’s not enough; that’s too broad an answer; I need you to name the specific person."

This lunatic!

The ropes sunk into his clothes, Supervisor Willoby’s eyes were bloodshot.

To save his life, he completely gave himself up.

"Minister Dickens... it was his secretary who contacted me, he stood in my office, demanding that we stop the investigation!"

Comte lit a cigarette for himself, glanced at the timer on the floor, and slowly asked.

"There has to be a reason, right?"

Willoby, having thrown caution to the wind, loosened up a lot and sneered coldly.

"A reason? Do you think they’d tell us about that... but I suppose you can guess."

Comte: "Snake Oil?"

Willoby curled his lips, looking at him like he was an idiot.

"What else could it be? ’Sharun’, used to treat post-war trauma symptoms, is the raw material for making ’Snake Oil’. The active ingredients of both come from Snake Grass. We can’t exactly tell those old soldiers that the sedatives they take are mixed with hallucinogens, that the beautiful dreams they have every night are not because of the ’Southern Military Victory News’, but because of the medicine prescribed by logistics."

Comte clenched his fists, then suddenly released them, looking at him mournfully.

"Why?"

"Another why? What’s the use of knowing, even if you do?"

Glancing at the countdown, Willoby asked impatiently.

But Comte, sitting in front of him, seemed as though he hadn’t heard, continuing to speak to himself.

"Our Soldiers fight for the Weilante people’s honor and space to live, and yet you... you’d rather prescribe them a bunch of ineffective medications, using chemically manufactured bliss to numb their pain, letting them rot in unseen corners, but refusing to face their problems directly."

As he spoke, Comte stood up from the chair, angrily staring at Willoby the Ten Thousand Leader, who was tied to the chair, and grabbed his collar.

"You parasites! Scum! Do you even consider them... consider us as your compatriots!"

Willoby glared at him fiercely, without a shred of fear in his eyes.

"What are you talking about, nonsense. If I’m not a Weilante, would I be an alien? This is the decision of the General Affairs Department! Moreover, it’s the most economical solution. At least we’re still giving them free medication; if they don’t want to take it, they could resell it!"

"And then the gangsters in Blackwater Alley buy it back to make stronger stuff, harming more people... isn’t that right?"

Comte snorted coldly.

Looking at Willoby the Ten Thousand Leader, who was staring like a goldfish, he articulated clearly.

"And you all, can scoop a massive fortune from the taxes paid by all the Weilante people."

In this world, there’s nothing truly free; at most, the hand signing the check is hidden away.

The taxes contributed by the Weilante people are supposed to give them a better life, not squandered on some individual’s ambition in incomprehensible ways.

For instance, starting a foolish and senseless war, then using countless lies to plug that riddled gap.

Snake Oil is merely the pus on the surface, and below are even more stubborn toxins.

As long as these parasites exist, the Weilante will never achieve that unreachable dream.

Willoby the Ten Thousand Leader chuckled, watching Comte with a look one would give an idiot.

"Heh, I don’t deny it, but that’s merely your speculation. You have no evidence, and neither do I, and even if there is, it wouldn’t change anything. Why ask? Because the Army is just like that, can you expect a chicken to lay a duck’s egg?"

"...If you have any more questions, ask quickly. Kidnapping your superior for something like this, knowing full well the answer, is really ridiculously boring."

Watching the LCD screen’s countdown reach the last three minutes, his expression grew frantic again.

After all, he wasn’t truly unafraid of death.

Everything he said was all for survival.

With some disappointment in his eyes, Comte released his collar and stepped back two steps, returning to his chair.

"One last question, you answer, and I’ll let you go."

After a pause, he continued softly.

"...That dream just now, what did you dream of?"

Hearing this unexpected question, Willoby was stunned, thinking the guy was joking.

But time was running out, and he couldn’t care less if Comte was joking. He had to grit his teeth and share that unspeakable dream.

"...I became the Legion Leader."

"And then?"

"Then?" Willoby, puzzled, replied, "That lord made me governor of a thousand worlds, and then nothing... is there a problem?"

If possible, he wished that dream could last a little longer, let him see the continuation of that dream.

It truly was a glorious era.

After sacrificing billions, the borders of the Army finally expanded to the edge of the Milky Way.

Comte looked at him with final pity.

"Nothing... I’ve asked what I needed to ask, untie him."

Standing behind Willoby, Talan pulled out a dagger and cut the ropes binding him to the chair.

Willoby was taken aback.

He hadn’t even realized that there was a third person in the room.

Of course, there were many things he didn’t know, such as the live broadcast happening in the studio.

His "impassioned" speech stripped the Southern Legion down to its underwear.

Now, half of the gathering spot’s Weilante people knew what "Sharun" was made of, and what "Snake Oil" really was.

And not just that, but also the sordid dealings of the General Affairs Department and Minister Dickens’s involvement.

As for what the Wasp Plan was, or the Enlightenment Society not mentioned in this interrogation... these trivial details mattered less at this moment.

Excessive information would only make people lose sight of the real issue, lose focus on the true conflict.

Comte’s goal from start to finish was only one.

And that was to try to wake his fellow compatriots still pretending to sleep.

The Weilante people’s issues ultimately must be faced and solved by the Weilante people themselves.

This has nothing to do with the Alliance or the Enlightenment Society, nor with their enemy in conflict — the Poluo people.

However, he’s just an agent in the Intelligence Department; all he can do ends here tonight.

"Just letting him go like that?" Talan, holding Willoby’s collar, asked Comte.

He suddenly admired the guy a bit.

He had played this Game for two years, learned United Human language, but had never had such a deep interaction or even became friends with any NPC.

Even though they’ve known each other for just a few days.

"...Let him go; he’s just a pitiful creature keeping silent about the truth, not some villainous thug. Moreover, the survivors of Evernight Harbor have seen the true colors of these guys. As for what happens next, that’s for after dawn, and what we can do tonight has been done."

Comte’s voice carried a hint of fatigue, but also a sense of relief.

At this moment, he suddenly remembered something, looked at Talan, and said.

"By the way, don’t just kick people out directly. Use him as a shield in front of you, have the guards outside give you a car filled with fuel, and drive north... Leave him outside the settlement, and what happens after that is up to you."

Whether this guy is really the leader of the Alliance’s troops, or just a not-so-smart brute, he’s done quite a few good deeds for the Vellante people.

There’s no need for him to die with me.

Talan frowned.

"What about you?"

Comte joked.

"My mission is over, and a planet named after me is still waiting for my appointment."

Talan was startled, then burst into laughter.

"You’re quite an interesting guy."

Comte chuckled.

"Hehe, is that your assessment of me? By the way, speaking of which, you’ve taken that thing too, haven’t you... Honestly, what have you really seen? A prosperous era belonging to people of noble bloodlines? You can fool others with that, but the residents in your refuge talk about ghosts and bloodlines."

Talan was silent for a while and then answered honestly.

"A world of equality, where people have truly achieved equality, with no one thinking about how to sit on someone else’s head all day, and no endless scheming. My fellow people and I live in abundance. Although we’re still far from Utopia, I’m quite satisfied."

Comte’s eyes showed a trace of envy as he sighed softly.

"Really... How nice."

"Have you finished chatting already?" Just as the two were talking, Willoby’s eyes were fixed on the countdown timer, trying to break free from Talan’s grip.

Watching Supervisor Willoby squirm like a worm, Tara laughed and tossed him out the door.

"Get lost."

Not standing firmly, Willoby stumbled, scrambled to his feet, and dashed towards the stairs, not daring to linger for even a second.

Comte looked at Talan, surprised, and asked with a strange expression.

"...You just let him run?"

"What else? What good is he to me?" Talan shrugged, grinning, and said, "Besides, fleeing isn’t my style. We five-star good citizens prefer to fight our way out."

Comte didn’t quite understand what five-star good citizen meant, and Talan didn’t intend to explain.

Meanwhile, Willoby, who had fled in a panic, had already reached downstairs, just as a timer was thrown in front of him, scaring him to the ground.

"Bomb! Get down!"

The people around him were startled by this shout.

However, at this moment, an untimely alarm clock suddenly sounded.

"Ding-ling——!"

The piercing sound caught everyone present off guard, including Willoby, who hastily dived to the ground.

His face gradually turned the color of liver, and he angrily and shamefully climbed up from the ground, dusting off his dusty clothes and pants.

That lunatic tricked him!

Thinking of his embarrassing reaction, Supervisor Willoby was furious, grabbed the collar of a young man next to him, and shouted at him.

"What are you waiting for! Just watching? Get in there and shoot those two bandits dead for me!"

The young man’s face tightened, looking at Supervisor Willoby with spitting rage, with a strange look in his eyes.

Not just him, everyone around him was like that... except for Governor Ya Hui, who was fuming.

Watching the shouting Willoby, Ya Hui strode forward and slapped him on the head.

"You stupid pig, do you even know what the hell you just said?"

Willoby was taken aback for a moment.

"What... What did I say..."

Ya Hui grabbed his collar fiercely.

"Look carefully at where you are! This is the broadcast station! Not only the people here, but everyone in the entire settlement heard your fart!"

Willoby’s face turned pale instantly, like a freshly painted wall.

His lips trembled, like a mute.

The soundproofing of the studio was too strong. He hadn’t heard the outside broadcast at all, let alone the radio transmission from the station.

He thought Comte might have at most hidden a recording, but he didn’t expect him to broadcast it live...

Seeing this waste, Ya Hui angrily released his collar and yelled at the few guard captains present.

"Are you here for a show! Get in there and shoot the people inside for me!"

The few guard captains looked at each other, all with hesitant expressions.

Seeing no one moving, Ya Hui was so mad that his nostrils flared, extending a trembling finger.

At this moment, five "Grey Dog" scout cars surrounded a "Beast" armored personnel carrier that drove over.

Looking at those thick and long guns and the soldiers armed to the teeth, Ya Hui was overjoyed.

Reinforcements have arrived!

The leader was a centurion wearing a "Rhino" exoskeleton, shouldering a light machine gun with a belt of bullets.

He walked up to Governor Ya Hui, saluted crisply, and said sternly.

"I heard someone was attempting to rebel."

Ya Hui nodded quickly, then pointed to the broadcast station directly ahead.

"It’s over there! A traitor and a spy have occupied our broadcast station!"

Just two people?

The centurion raised an eyebrow and glanced around at the guards holding submachine guns, a trace of disdain flashed in his eyes.

Even though these guys don’t have to go to the front lines, being unable to take a building with just two people is quite pathetic.

He said nothing, waved his hand, and led a dozen soldiers wearing bullet-proof armor forward.

Meanwhile, on the other side, inside the building, Talan’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

"Good... They’ve even brought out the armored personnel carrier!"

Finally, I’ve earned five stars!