Capítulo 1602: Chapter 90: A Visitor from Afar (Final)
“Mr. Conar,” Winters said with a faint smile, “you must understand, when you speak of ‘them,’ you are not referring to one person or two, nor a hundred or ten thousand people, but a—possibly several—generations of ethnic groups living on that land.”
His eyes shone brightly, and his tone was solemn, “There are only two ways to ‘eliminate’ such enemies.
“One, you personally take up the saber and exterminate them to the last, literally, indiscriminately killing them, regardless of gender, regardless of age;
“Do not expect to hand them so weapons and wait for them to slaughter each other—self-inflicted slaughter has its limits;
“Nor should you expect to accomplish this by soone else’s hand—that is not only foolish but cowardly—if you’re going to do the dirty work, don’t pretend your boots aren’t stained.”
The candlelight quivered uneasily, and the guests’ shadows danced wildly on the walls of the dining room.
Everyone felt a chill, as soone had not yet finished speaking.
“But you must know, Mr. Conar, ‘people’ are hard to kill off completely,” Winters said with a rational yet ruthless tone, “because people have hands, they resist, they have legs, they run, they have brains, they hide.
“One person cannot accomplish this, only one ethnic group can annihilate another.
“This ans you have to mobilize many people, spend great effort, and take a long ti, and many will die, many, many—these are not ‘enemies’ but your own people—only then you might achieve this.
“In the end, once you actually accomplish this, your reward will be a barren land. That’s all—after all, you’ve killed off all the people.”
“I am not a businessman, I am not good at calculating costs and profits,” Winters leaned forward, pressing his hands on the long table, leaning close to the three guests on his left side.
While Blood of the Wolf remained seated, Matteo Conar, Fernando Leo, and Niccolo Polo felt as if they were being stared down, almost suffocated.
Winters fixed his gaze on the thin old man, “So, Mr. Conar, tell , does this thod bring great profit, or is it not worth the cost?”
Matteo Conar did not answer.
“Or, using another thod,” Winters spread his right hand, “you acknowledge that they are also ‘people,’ understand their needs, listen to their demands, govern them fairly, integrate ‘them’ into ‘us,’ and you don’t need to ‘eliminate’ them.”
Winters rapped his knuckles heavily on the table, “That’s what I’m going to do.”
The knocking sound snapped the listeners out of their trance, and only then did Matteo Conar realize he had unconsciously been holding his breath.
“The New Republic is committed to establishing lasting rule over the Hurd Wasteland, delivering a batch of weapons, stirring up a lee, just for a night’s sleep, while ignoring future hazards? Such a thing, I disdain to do.
“So, yes, exactly,” Winters returned to his original sitting posture and said seriously, “I don’t want to see the Great Wilderness beco a river of blood.”
Matteo Conar slowly exhaled the stifled air in his chest and nodded, “Boldness.”
“Doesn’t sound like praise,” Winters grinned.
“Ultimately, it cos down to a moral issue,” Matteo Conar mused, “not a capability issue.”
“If you truly calculated the cost of ‘extermination,'” Winters politely corrected, “you’d realize it’s not about moral consideration; it’s simply impractical.”
“However, I still don’t understand,” Matteo Conar persisted in asking, “If I understand correctly—you wish, no, you need the Barbarians to be fractured, you need the Red River Barbarians to continue to stalemate with other Barbarians. But division and stalemate an friction; in other words, you need the Barbarians to bleed;
“At the sa ti, you want to fully integrate the Barbarian tribes into Paratu, so you don’t want the future Paratu People to bleed.”
Matteo Conar scrutinized Winters Montagne, “That is to say, you want the Barbarians to bleed, yet you don’t want them to bleed.”
Winters thought for a mont and boldly admitted, “Yes, that’s right.”
“So, you acknowledge your contradiction, yet you do not intend to resolve it?” For the first ti tonight, Matteo Conar furrowed his brow, “You must know, sir, many things in the world fall apart over ‘wanting both, and wanting yet more.’
“Of course, I know,” Winters retorted, “And also, as you said, ‘Who doesn’t have insatiable desires?’ Who doesn’t want ‘both, and more?’
He asked word by word, “If everything was so easily done, what do you need for?”
The thin old man fell silent, and after a mont, also for the first ti tonight, Matteo Conar burst into laughter.
This ti, he genuinely offered a critique: “Boldness.”
“I’ll take that as a complint,” Winters thanked him with a smile. The next mont, his smile vanished without a trace, “Mr. Conar, you’ve already asked enough questions tonight. May I ask you one?”
“Of course, sir,” Matteo Conar nodded.
Winters stared into the thin old man’s deep well-like eyes, as if trying to pierce through the mist in the well and explore the depths below, “What exactly are you trying to ask?”
“Mr. Conar,” Winters said gravely, “I don’t believe you asked so many questions because you care about the fate of the Hurders—you are not so benevolent;
“Nor do I believe you’re persuading us to sell weapons to the Hurd Tribes because you’re coveting this business—perhaps the profits of the wasteland trade might entice the Peruzzi Trading Company, but for the Conar family, it’s insignificant.”
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