Beneath Horn Fort, a hundred ters underground, lay a nuclear bunker reinforced with concrete.
Due to the anticipated war with the Grand Canyon that would reach the vassals of Falling Leaves Province, General Kras ordered the Army’s engineers to construct this bunker to the standard of "withstanding a nuclear weapons with a yield of a million tons."
Theoretically, it was absolutely safe.
At this mont, in the temporary command center of the bunker, General Griffin sat alone in front of a command table, facing a silent radio.
His left arm was bandaged, and the collar of his military uniform also revealed traces of dressing.
Although he had escaped death in a conniving assassination attempt a few days earlier, he was not, as the outside world believed, unhard.
Four shards of tal had embedded themselves in his body, one less than 7mm away from his heart—his closest brush with death yet.
To avoid affecting the army’s morale, he imdiately ordered his transfer to the bunker and sealed off news of his injuries.
Although in the eyes of the outside world he was frightened by the assassination attempt, after so many years as a soldier, how could a few assassins truly scare him?
Instead, he felt a tinge of excitent at their initiative.
He had long felt that there were spies within his Army, but had been at a loss to identify the real traitor(s). If a single injury could solve this problem, there was no doubt it was a huge gain.
The sound of footsteps approached from outside the door, quickly followed by a gentle knock.
"Co in."
The door opened.
Standing in the doorway was his personal guard.
Glancing at the loyal soldier, General Griffin spoke.
"Did you find them?"
"Yes, sir."
The guard nodded, his face devoid of joy but rather marked with somberness.
Detecting a hint from his expression, General Griffin’s brow furrowed slightly as he continued to inquire.
"Who is it?"
"The Thousands of leaders of the Seventh Ten thousand troops’ Third Thousand Team and the Centurion of the Sixth Ten thousand troops’ officers’ team took part in the assassination that day... They had bribed those responsible for the eting that day."
General Griffin fell silent for a longer ti.
The Thousands of leaders of the Seventh Ten thousand troops’ Third Thousand Team was an officer he had personally promoted, and he found it hard to believe that the faithful young man would betray His Majesty the Marshal and beco a spy for corporations or the Alliance.
What troubled him most was not the betrayal of those few...
But that the assassination had implicated two Ten thousand troops units.
This accounted for 40% of his military command!
After a good while, General Griffin slowly broke the silence.
"Is the information accurate?"
The guard nodded.
"Accurate... we’ve secured reliable evidence, we just haven’t startled the snake by hitting the grass yet."
"Very well."
General Griffin nodded.
However, as he was about to make a decision, he suddenly seed to think of sothing, and his half-spoken sentence hung unfinished.
The guard looked hesitant, cautiously asking.
"Should we capture the three?"
General Griffin was silent for a mont before speaking softly.
"Wait, for now, let’s not startle the snake."
"Yes."
The guard nodded slightly and respectfully exited.
The door closed.
General Griffin sighed softly, relaxing his shoulders as he leaned back in the chair.
His gaze inadvertently fell on the incandescent bulb above his head, and he suddenly felt that his fate was much like this light bulb.
Bright, scorching, and full of energy... yet dood to hang in an inconspicuous corner, exhausting its life to illuminate just one room.
As for his ambitions and ideals, they were like a leaf on the torrent of the tis, which could not change the mountains and rivers beneath, no matter how hard he tried.
Unlike officers like McCullen who were born into nobility, he was not from a noble family, just an ordinary citizen family in the suburbs of Triumph City.
Like most kids from Vellante, he participated in his first junior training at the age of six and displayed a gift for leadership during his initial military life experience, leading to an instructor’s recomndation for training at the Triumph City Military Academy.
Talent, diligence, and a bit of luck...
Ever since he enlisted, his career path was smooth sailing, finding himself in the position of a Ten Thousand Leader at the young age of 29.
Later on, he t his life’s benefactor—General Kras, who offered him an olive branch from the expansionist faction, sending him far east to open up a future for the legion.
He still rembered what General Kras told him ten years ago—
"The greatness of the Marshal is beyond doubt, the only pity is that Triumph City has beco corrupt. Those codgers, blessed by their ancestors’ shade, are so drunk with their vast territories and extravagant lives that they forget to strive for better, forgetting the enmity of one and a half centuries ago, forgetting the ambition to conquer the world, forgetting unity. If left to their own decay, this empire sustained by war will one day crumble and fall apart."
"To prevent that day from coming, we must face an opponent serious enough to make us take notice, and our territory must continue to extend to the ends of the earth, forever."
Griffin still rembered how he was filled with ardor, wanting nothing more than to head straight to the front lines and fire the first shot at expanding boundaries.
The pity was that he soon realized things weren’t as simple as he had imagined.
One after another, the insightful mbers of the expansionist faction died in the expedition, and their sacrifices received no sympathy from Triumph City, which instead of strengthening the expansionist faction, weakened it due to the loss of talent.
Even after witnessing the power of the Grand Canyon, the leader of the Eastern Legion changed the earlier support for them, and their attitude started to grow unclear.
If it had been his younger self, he would have felt anger and sha at the betrayal of his brothers in arms.
But now, he would no longer be angry but would think calmly about how to solve the problem.
To use one’s own sacrifice to gain the support of other factions was a misguided approach.
General Kras had already paid for this with his life, which not only failed to elicit charity from the spectators but also pushed their political power further to the margins.
In the end, other factions saw no benefits from the expedition, observing only endless calamity.
Only by including the mbers of other factions in advancing and retreating together, could those diocre, self-serving talents be united.
For this reason, he changed General Kras’s strategy, not directly seeking to invade the Grand Canyon but instead initiating peace talks with them.
Following that, he chose the mutant tribes of the Great Desert and the Falling Leaves Province as his opponents, ticulously planning victory after victory. This gave those young talents eager to make a na for themselves hope for honors, traveling thousands of miles to support his cause.
If all went well.
The ancient grain-producing regions would fall under the legion’s control.
And even if progress was not going well, those other factions entangled by interests could not help but increase their bets on him.
For example, the nuclear bomb, as well as the previously ntioned Peidao fighter plane, were obtained through officers under his command—especially those from noble families—from their respective factions.
As for the legacy left by General Kras, it had already been spent during the expedition.
And if progress turned out to be extrely unfavorable...
He could also unite all the factions through sacrifice, including his own, using hatred.
At that mont, the signal light on the radio suddenly flickered.
Seeing the flashing signal light, General Griffin’s expression turned serious, and he imdiately reached for the phone that rested on the radio.
Before he could speak, a familiar voice ca through from the other end.
"This is Joseph."
Hearing this na, Griffin breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that this person was a subordinate of the Eastern Legion’s leader. His taking control indicated the Marshal hadn’t abandoned them.
However, before he could relax, the second sentence that ca through the receiver caused the color to drain from his face.
"The Marshal has seen through your plan. It’s not just coming to the Falling Leaves Province; it’s also Cohen from Triumph City."
General Griffin turned slightly pale.
After a while, he swallowed and asked,
"...What did he say?"
There was a mont of silence on the other end of the line, not answering the question, but asking in return,
"Are you loyal?"
Griffin, intuited what that might an, replied with a quivering voice,
"My loyalty to the Marshal is beyond doubt."
"Very well," Joseph paused for a mont, then continued, "You have two choices: die as a hero, or die as a traitor... you understand what I an, the choice is yours."
Griffin’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
"...Did I do sothing wrong?"
Joseph replied calmly.
"Waging war against the corporations won’t bring us any benefits, and His Excellency the Marshal believes so too. I can understand your feelings, but now is not the ti for that."
This "you" definitively marked the boundary between them.
Griffin remained silent for a long while.
"I understand."
"You have twenty minutes."
Without waiting for his reply, Joseph hung up the phone.
Griffin closed his eyes.
Five minutes later, he reached out and pressed the buzzer on the command table.
Soon, a young officer entered the temporary command room.
His na was Carloff, the captain of Griffin’s personal bodyguard and also his most trusted subordinate—more so than his adjutant.
Standing to attention in front of Griffin, Carloff spoke crisply.
"Sir, you wanted to see ?"
Griffin began to speak slowly.
"I am going to die in a quarter of an hour."
Carloff was stunned on the spot.
Regaining his composure, he looked at General Griffin incredulously and said.
"What are you talking about?"
"Do not panic; this is an order from His Excellency the Marshal."
Griffin continued calmly.
"To make a long story short, I need you to do two final things for . The first is to announce that my cause of death was a stroke. The second is... you must watch over my body, allow no one to co near, prohibit any examination, and keep the cause of my death unknown until my remains are handed over to Joseph. He will take back to Triumph City."
After a pause, he added.
"Also, my will is in my briefcase; please pass it on to my family."
A mixture of disbelief, anger, and incredulity played across Carloff’s face. He could not believe that the great Marshal would issue such an order.
The great Army would never compromise by sacrificing any Vellante People, let alone a general of distinguished rit.
It was absolutely impossible!
There must be so traitor working behind the scenes...
Clenching his fists, fire flashing in his eyes, he took a step forward and said.
"Sir, perhaps we should—"
Griffin cut him off.
"Do not even think about it. After my death, I will be honored as a hero and will receive a state funeral in Triumph City as a general... I do not wish for my lifelong efforts and honors to be washed away because of a minor mistake."
"Promise , Carloff, let go alone, do not hate any of our compatriots, do not resist."
Griffin’s voice carried a trace of entreaty.
Carloff silently stared at him for a long mont, finally nodding slowly.
"I promise."
Seeing the young man nod, a relieved smile finally appeared on Griffin’s face, and he spoke in a gentler tone.
"My deputy will take over command, Horn Fort will surrender to the Alliance, and ceasefire negotiations will soon produce results... This war is over."
"Soon, you will all be able to go ho."
"Go now, wait for by the door. I’d like to spend the last few minutes alone."
Holding back the sadness and tears in his heart, Carloff clenched his teeth, turned away, and walked out the door, his back to the general he respected.
Looking at the empty room, Griffin, having let go of everything, actually felt a sense of relaxation wash over him.
In truth...
Their efforts were not aningless.
At least they made Triumph City send a five-star colonel as the governor.
With direct support from Triumph City, in a maximum of ten years, they would gain an even stronger vassal. Then, a push to the east might not be out of the question.
And their sacrifice would also beco the driving force for the Vellante People to keep moving forward.
There will always be those who pity them.
There will always be those who continue what they left unfinished.
"The world shall eventually kneel at our feet."
Griffin poured himself a glass of red wine, then reached out to slide open a drawer from which he fetched a cigarette-box-sized silver case.
Inside was a capsule of neurotoxin.
It would allow him to die painlessly, ensuring his corpse remained intact.
"No one can kill ."
Griffin smirked, tossing the capsule into his mouth and washing it down with the red wine.
"...except myself."
Putting down the glass, he chose a comfortable position to lean back in his chair and closed his eyes.
This ti, he could sleep a bit longer...
...
Less than ten minutes after Griffin’s death, the news quickly spread among the high-ranking officers at Horn Fort, stirring up a tempest.
His second-in-command, General Alec, promptly took over the command of Horn Fort and its stationed forces.
Griffin’s Chief of the Guard Carloff assisted with the temporary handover of command but refused to release the general’s body, claiming they would guard it in the bunker until General Joseph relieved them of their orders.
Of course, Alec saw no profit in provoking Griffin’s subordinates; he and a group of officers, aware their defeat was inevitable, only wanted to go ho.
Ignoring Griffin’s affairs, the first thing Alec did after assuming command was to restore communication with Adjudicator and report the true state of the fortress to the newly appointed governor, also discussing how to "gracefully exit Horn Fort."
If they did not wish for this war to drag on endlessly, the Alliance Soldiers surrounding the fortress were unlikely to go too far.
Previously, the Alliance Commander had already called out to them, assuring that if they laid down their weapons, they could retreat through a designated safe passage to the nearby riverbank where they would be provided with food and water.
Walking back and forth in his tent, Verrich had just received the news of Griffin’s death. However, due to his position in Defense Area 5, so distance from the headquarters, Verrich was uncertain whether the news was true or false.
At that mont, footsteps approached the entrance.
As his confidant appeared at the door, Verrich imdiately asked,
"...Griffin is dead?"
The confidant nodded gravely.
"Yes."
A fleeting look of ecstasy appeared on Verrich’s face which he quickly suppressed, and continued to ask his confidant.
"How did he die?"
The confidant hesitated for a mont, then shook his head.
"Chief of the Guard Carloff claims it was a stroke, but there are many suspicions... They are refusing an autopsy by the military doctor for Griffin and insist on handing over the body to the hands of the new supre commander, General Joseph. I suspect the cause of his death might be more than ets the eye."
After pausing, he continued,
"...As of now, the full command of all units in Luo Xia Province has been temporarily transferred to General Alec, Griffin’s deputy. I’ve heard he’s in communication with the governor about a dignified withdrawal."
Verrich asked with a grave tone,
"What do you think is Griffin’s true cause of death?"
The confidant spoke cautiously,
"I don’t know, but Griffin had been investigating the traitor who attempted to assassinate him... Carloff might suspect us, hence is unwilling to release Griffin’s body, demanding it be delivered to General Joseph."
"We? How could...."
Verrich scoffed, about to say how that could be possible—after all, even if his peers were foolish, they wouldn’t act so soon after a failed attempt.
But he quickly recalled that just days after the failed assassination, he really did privately entrust a powerful attendant to kill Griffin.
Could it be...
Was it that Pangolin’s doing?
Verrich’s heart pounded as the idea seed more and more likely. After all, a stroke seed like a flimsy excuse; it was blatantly absurd.
He had experienced Griffin’s cunning firsthand; the man wouldn’t have fooled them all without so cleverness.
To kill Griffin unnoticed by the Personal Body Guard and under the heavy protection of the bunker... and make a clean getaway.
Just who on earth was this Pangolin?!
Verrich pondered for a long while before speaking.
"Fetch Pangolin for ."
The confidant standing inside the tent clearly had the sa thought, nodding seriously as he replied,
"Yes."
He was well aware that his superior had taken a shine to talent.
If that Pangolin truly had such abilities, he was unquestionably worth courting.
This person did not only possess the valor to stand alone against a thousand on the battlefield and decapitate the Mother of Dead Claw, but he also had the skill to claim the heads of generals amid layers of guards...
Even General McCullen, who couldn’t stop praising the warrior, following a re Centurion Coleway seed beneath his abilities.
The confidant was just about to turn and leave upon receiving the order.
Suddenly, Vilic stopped him.
"Wait... does he have any particular vices? Money? Won? Power... or sothing else?"
The confidant halted, pondered for a mont, and responded.
"He steers clear of won in the military, doesn’t covet gold or treasure, and hasn’t shown much pursuit of power; aside from eating a great deal... he seems to have no other hobbies."
No hobbies...
Sowhat troubleso.
But actually, it was normal enough; the Waste Land Wanderers mostly lived a primitive life, completely devoid of any concept of ’prosperity’, so naturally Dinar held no allure for them.
He would gift him an estate when the ti ca and take him to Triumph City to show him around, undoubtedly stirring his interest in worldly possessions.
That’s it, he had heard of his close relationship with that female journalist.
As a foreigner seeking to marry a Weilante girl, without wealth in the family, it was impossible, especially when she was the daughter of a civil official. Their status might not be comparable to that of military officers in the army, but it was officialdom nonetheless.
With a plan in mind, Vilic looked up and said,
"In that case... go to the ss hall, ask the chefs to prepare a table of fine food and drink to send here, and invite Pangolin over!"
The confidant nodded and complied.
"Yes!"
...
anwhile, sowhere in Horn Fort.
The Battlefield Atmosphere Group was unaware that his assassination target had already died, nor did he know that he had been set up as a scapegoat before even making a move.
Realizing that his choices would influence the ga’s future narrative, even the version direction, he was far from as pleased as the jesters on the forums imagined.
Looking at the crumpled note in his hands, the Old Soldier squatted over the latrine, cursing and complaining,
"Damn it... if only I could save the ga."
The note had been delivered by Vilic earlier, detailing General Griffin’s upcoming itinerary. However, it was virtually useless since Griffin had been holed up in a bunker since the last assassination attempt, hardly ever coming out.
The only sowhat reliable opportunity would be the day after tomorrow.
In the morning, Griffin was scheduled to inspect the defense sector he was responsible for, perhaps then an opportunity could be seized. But as expected, a host of powerful Awakeners would surely be guarding him, and even if he found a chance to shoot, he would most likely get killed.
Whether or not Griffin died didn’t matter to him.
But having to choose one out of two narrative paths was distressing.
If possible, he wanted to witness both the killing and non-killing narratives, and collect the "BE" along the way, then select the most profitable option... that’s how he played most RPG gas.
However...
That was applicable to single-player gas.
"Wasteland OL" was an MMORPG, where players’ impact on the world lines was permanent, so such a maneuver was clearly impossible.
After copying the content of the note into a notebook from another world, the Old Soldier tossed it into the latrine to flush away.
Pulling up his pants and leaving the restroom, he headed towards the nearby barracks, planning to consult with Coleway before making a decision.
They had a bond forged in life and death.
Coleway certainly wouldn’t harm him.
Of course, what truly reminded him was the nonsense statent from Teng Teng.
When he ca with General Vilic that day, Coleway’s hesitance and tone did catch his attention.
But there had been no opportunity to ask at that ti, and afterwards, he’d forgotten about it.
...
At the entrance of the barracks.
The Old Soldier turned to the on-duty guard and said,
"I’m looking for Officer Coleway."
Knowing the face of Pangolin, the guard saluted.
"Officer Coleway is not here, he went that way."
Saying this, he pointed in the direction of the west.
"Thank you."
The Old Soldier nodded and followed the direction the guard had pointed, indeed spotting Coleway next to a tent stacked with miscellaneous items.
He saw him sitting on a concrete step, smoking a cigarette, lost in thought as he gazed at the rows of concrete fortifications on the distant front and the setting sun slowly descending, even oblivious to the cigarette burning down to his fingers.
Hearing footsteps beside him, he snapped back to reality and looked over.
"You’ve co?"
The Old Soldier nodded and sat down next to him.
"General Verrich has sent a letter."
Brushing the ash off the cigarette butt, Coleway said sowhat irritably,
"Is he urging you to make a move?"
The Old Soldier nodded.
"Yes... he provided General Griffin’s itinerary, the day after tomorrow is the only opportunity."
After listening to him in silence, Coleway spoke up,
"The inspection the day after tomorrow... You shouldn’t tell such things. If I were one of Griffin’s n, you’d be dead by now."
The Old Soldier rolled his eyes inwardly.
Cut the crap.
You’re a direct descendant of McCullen, how else could General Verrich have found you!
Being taciturn and silent was just his façade; he wasn’t actually foolish.
But...
There was no need to voice those thoughts.
"I trust you," the Old Soldier shook his head, looking at him earnestly, "you will always be my officer."
Hearing this, a trace of gratification appeared on Coleway’s expressionless face.
I never thought I’d have confidants too...
But that gratified smile soon took on a touch of lancholy.
Looking at the distant sunset, he sighed,
"I’m happy to hear you say that. It would be nice if everyone were like you."
"Like ?" The Old Soldier was taken aback, not understanding why he would say that.
"Yes, loyal, courageous, open... without a shred of falsehood."
Coleway flicked the ash from his cigarette, casually making the remark.
However, while the speaker ant little, the listener took it to heart, and the Old Soldier’s face turned involuntarily red, awkwardly shifting his gaze away.
Like , indeed...
If all Weilante People were like , the legion would’ve been done for long ago.
Coughing, the Old Soldier deflected the topic from himself,
"And... what about you?"
"?" A hint of confusion floated in Coleway’s eyes before he shook his head after a long while, "I... am not sure."
The Old Soldier looked at him in surprise.
He didn’t expect this man, who always professed loyalty, to also have monts of such hesitation.
Coleway paused, then continued,
"How should I put it... The loyalty I understand is a unity of heart and purpose, a solidarity from the bottom up, but what I see is not quite like that."
As he spoke these words, his heart was exceedingly complicated.
When he was just a centurion, he never thought about so much... It wasn’t until after McCullen’s death, when he was promoted by Griffin to Centurion and assigned to Verrich’s ten thousand troops, that he gradually ca into contact with the inner workings he had never been privy to before.
In reality, the Army wasn’t the tightly-woven hemp rope he had imagined, made of thousands of threads twisted together, but a blanket knitted from strands of wool, each bending to the left and right.
Like now, for instance.
General Griffin wanted everyone to join him in death.
To fulfill his long-ti ambition of conquering the Grand Canyon, to unite all the cowards who feared battle and the squabbling factions, to expand the Army’s territory beyond the Great Desert, he didn’t mind dying... This was his loyalty to the Army, to the Marshal.
However, the likes of Wirie and other subordinate Thousand Leaders didn’t want to perish alongside that madman; they would rather have Griffin die to end this foolish war... They believed that this was the true loyalty to His Majesty the Marshal.
Everyone was doing things in the na of loyalty that he couldn’t understand; everyone had their own interpretation of loyalty.
So what exactly is loyalty?
He even began to doubt whether he, who had never considered these issues, could be considered loyal, unsure of which side was the right one...
Watching the confused Coleway, the Old Soldier didn’t know how to comfort him, so he stuck to his taciturn persona, and asked softly.
"What should I do?"
"I don’t know, my dear friend."
Coleway sighed, dropped his cigarette butt, and stomped it out.
He clapped his hands, rose to his feet, and looked towards his battle-tested comrade next to him, forcing a smile on his face, and gave his shoulder a firm pat.
"There cos a ti when everyone needs to make their own choices; go for it... follow your heart, and no matter what you decide, I won’t bla you."
"Honestly, I don’t trust anyone here much, but I trust you."
"You must be the most loyal."
The Old Soldier nodded and watched as Coleway’s figure disappeared around the corner not far away.
Regrettably.
This "good brother" was bound to be disappointed.
He wasn’t the "most loyal" by any ans. If even a drop of Vellante blood ran through his veins, what he was doing would be enough to send him to hell after death.
Barring any surprises, he was likely the only spy here.
After all, in such a short ti, the Alliance simply didn’t have enough ti to deploy other intelligence personnel within the Army and build a spy network.
Those previously caught were probably eighty percent frad...
"Tough call."
He shook his head, standing up with a headache.
According to the itinerary provided by General Wirie, the day after tomorrow was the best chance, and he must make a decision as quickly as possible to gain Wirie’s support.
For example, preparing weapons for him in advance, or causing a disturbance at a specific ti...
Griffin’s guards included powerful Awakeners, so even at the Second or Third stage, and there might even be those like Perception-type players.
Plus, an unsuccessful assassination attempt in recent tis had made Griffin wary and he was naturally cautious, making the mission anything but easy.
"...If the assassination fails, or if I succeed but my identity is exposed, the Pangolin’s mission is over, right?"
Should he say goodbye to the NPCs he knows?
Thinking of Penny, the female reporter, the nurse who told raunchy jokes while bandaging his wounds, and the chef who complained about his big appetite, the Old Soldier scratched the back of his head.
Forget it.
After all, he was an undercover agent.
Once the mission was done, it was ti to move on, perhaps to et again if fate allowed.
At that mont, two people approached from a distance.
The Old Soldier recognized them; they were underlings of General Wirie.
One of his confidants ca up to him, his eyes flickering as he spoke in a low voice.
"...General Wirie has asked to see you."
Discussing the details of the operation?
Deciding to keep up the facade of a man of few harsh words until the end, the Old Soldier appeared nonchalant and casually nodded.
"Hm."
Perhaps it was his "King’s Domineering Aura" that stunned them.
The Battlefield Atmosphere Group could clearly sense that those two n’s gazes had changed in an instant when looking at him, as if they were seeing a true master.
Was it an illusion?
While he was mulling this over in his mind, he had already followed the three n to the entrance of General Verrich’s tent.
The two n consciously stood to the side of the door, one on the left and one on the right.
After glancing at the two n, whose expressions were respectfully solemn, the Old Soldier didn’t think much of it and strode into the tent alone.
Inside the tent was a table.
It was laden with abundant food and fine wines, including his favorite roasted pig’s trotters, stewed beef, grilled fish, and grilled chicken... as well as the chicken soup he yearned for.
A month ago, this feast of at and fish wouldn’t have been of much interest to anyone, but now, supplies in the fortress were scarce, and preparing such a table was sowhat difficult.
The Old Soldier couldn’t help but swallow his saliva.
My goodness.
Was this a farewell feast for him?
It seed that the guy who sent him the itinerary had already presud he would act on that particular day.
Dressed in a military uniform, General Verrich sat opposite him at the table.
His face was inscrutable, revealing neither gratitude, admiration, nor fear, or perhaps a bit of both.
Since it was a farewell for him, the Old Soldier didn’t hold back and took his seat directly across the table without fuss.
Just as he was about to cut to the chase and clarify his decision, Colonel Verrich preemptively raised a cup filled with red wine and said solemnly,
"On behalf of the hundreds of officers of Horn Fort and the more than fifty thousand soldiers here... I thank you for everything you have done for all of us!"
Hearing this bewildering thanks, the Old Soldier was taken aback.
He hadn’t even made a move yet.
Wasn’t it too early to thank him now?
Sitting motionless, stunned for a full two seconds, he furrowed his brow and asked,
"What have I done?"
His question carried no ulterior aning.
But combined with his calm and collected deanor, this ordinary query struck General Verrich with a knowing implication.
Verrich imdiately "understood" his point and laughed heartily, giving the Pangolin comrade sitting opposite him a knowing look that said "I get it."
"Understood! You’ve done nothing! Let’s not talk about that madman on this day worth celebrating!"
The Old Soldier: "...?"
Without waiting for the reticent expert to speak, Verrich downed the red wine in his cup and enthusiastically beckoned with a smile,
"Eat up! This whole table is prepared for you!"
"Don’t worry about it being too ostentatious and arousing suspicion, General Alec, who’s acting as the commander, is one of us... Griffin is dead, and even if his direct descendants are here, they can only act ekly."
"It’s over! Thanks to you, this foolish war has finally co to an end! When we return to Triumph City, I’ll treat you to sothing nice!"
Griffin is dead?
Hearing this news, the Old Soldier was dumbfounded.
Piecing together General Verrich’s sudden enthusiasm, he imdiately realized that the man must have mistaken the mont of the murder for his own doing.
No wonder...
Griffin was sitting pretty in the bunker. If soone didn’t assassinate him, he wasn’t about to smash his head on a gun by accident, right?
But the situation was too strange.
Without uttering a word, he grabbed a chicken leg and stuffed it into his mouth. Under the Colonel’s beaming gaze, the Old Soldier unabashedly began to feast.
Regardless, there was no need to take it out on the food, especially since he was hungry.
Let the Colonel misunderstand if he wanted, since without making a statent, that guy wouldn’t go around talking about it, much less bother investigating the cause of Griffin’s death.
As for silencing him?
That was even less likely.
Forget the fact that there was no evidence to prove he was responsible, even if there was evidence, what then?
Griffin’s direct lineage had been suppressed, the new governor was from Triumph City, the expansionist party was finished, and everyone who supported the ceasefire would see him as "one of us."
The Old Soldier suddenly felt a bit lancholic.
He had not expected Griffin to die just like that.
But thinking about it, this war was ninety percent over, and he wondered whether his undercover mission was considered complete.
He hadn’t saved his progress in almost half a year...
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