Chapter 1800: Chapter 1799: The Mist Enshrouds Ains
Wint City
The petite, slender blonde girl sat on the wooden sofa, gazing at the content on the massive projection in front, her eyebrows slightly furrowing.
"Christos has made his choice," across from her, the elderly man sitting in a bamboo chair picked up the milk tea on the table, bowed his head, and said hoarsely, "Although a bit late in timing, missing the best tactical moment, politically speaking, the timing is still quite good."
"Now the mercenary corps of various consortiums have surrounded Dawn City, cutting off its trade routes," the blonde girl turned her head to look at the elderly man, "In fact, they’re already besieging Dawn City, inciting an internal war. At this moment, Christos, as the mayor of Dawn City, making the decision to resist is indeed the most likely to win the sympathy of the entire Federation, thereby justifying his narrative of resistance."
She paused slightly, a blood-red butterfly landed on her shoulder, "But now Dawn City has already missed the best chance for a breakout, is what he’s doing worth it?"
"There’s no such thing as worth it or not," the elderly man took a sip of milk tea, continuing hoarsely, "Behind every choice, there are benefits and disadvantages. If he chose to start the war earlier, he would gain a short-term tactical advantage, but from a long-term perspective, it would exacerbate his ’instigator of civil war’ label.
"After that, all the influence of Dawn City, along with the ideas he advocated, would be resisted by other neutral cities, even his support rate within Dawn City, from a long-term perspective, might drop.
"People are always full of fantasies. Before the war completely starts, they always think there’s room for reconciliation. If you initiate the attack first, even if forced, you still become the initiator of the war."
The elderly man turned his head to look at the projection, "If he wants to compromise, then actively attacking is reasonable. This will gain him a temporary advantage, providing leverage in negotiations with the Federation, quickly realizing his chips, and withdrawing successfully. But it will also make the laws and ideas he promotes more difficult to gain traction and recognition throughout the Federation."
He turned his head, looking at the blonde girl, "Vili, violence often quickly resolves short-term problems but tends to make long-term problems harder to resolve."
"Oh." The blonde girl nodded slightly.
"Gaining political advantage helps solve long-term issues," the elderly man continued to turn his gaze, looking at the large projection, "This is why, even in the history of the Era of the Great Cataclysm, city-state wars sought a ’justice’ slogan.
"If you can’t gain a sympathetic or recognized ’justice’ banner politically before engaging in war, then from a long-term perspective, problems often become harder to resolve."
The elderly man raised his hand and took another sip of milk tea, "Hence, the ancient saying often goes, ’War is the continuation of politics’; war is encompassed within politics, serving as politics’ most extreme means but cannot be separated from politics."
"So, did Christos choose this timing because he felt it was the best?" The blonde girl asked softly.
"Perhaps partly," the elderly man observed the man in the projection, speaking softly, "But I believe he has probably struggled for a long time."
"Why?" The blonde girl was somewhat perplexed.
"I’ve never met this Christos, but from his life resume, he’s not some born saint," the elderly man cradled his warm milk tea, "Most of his life was actually spent in confusion, and it’s right for a person to be confused when facing such issues. If I were in his position, I’d probably hesitate and struggle even more."
"Is it hard to make this decision?" The blonde girl’s confusion intensified, the blood-red butterfly on her shoulder gently fluttering its wings, "But the Consortium Mercenary Corps have already surrounded Dawn City, forcing it to this extent."
"Starting a war against the consortium isn’t hard, even forcing Federal Central to compromise isn’t difficult, given Dawn City has such a large population and so much industrial reserve," the elderly man gazed at Christos in the projection,
"But this war isn’t just a simple war; Christos is probably very aware that he is standing at the crossroads of history, trying to turn a new page in history. Until he completely fails or history is completely turned, this war probably won’t cease easily."
"Won’t he negotiate peace?" The blonde girl pondered softly, "even if compromise is made by the Federation and consortium parties?"
"This is a war between both parties, not decided by one," the elderly man shook his head, "Haven’t you noticed? The initiator of this war isn’t truly Christos; the real war began the day Kemingda was assassinated."
The blonde girl turned to look at the projection screen, "Is it the consortium? Do they have to start this war? Defeating Dawn City would require paying a huge price, are they willing to bear these costs?"
"The true decision-maker of the war might be someone or a vested interest group capable of concentrating consortium power," the elderly man said hoarsely, sipping his tea, "Compared to Christos’s hesitation, the decision-maker of the consortium is more cunning and decisive. For the consortium, once the seeds of ideas begin to grow, the bell of destruction has already tolled."
He paused slightly, his voice somewhat elongated, "Now the consortium’s power is still very strong; it’s the best time to extinguish everything, but to drive the Consortium Alliance at this time requires tremendous courage and capability."
The blonde girl gazed at the projection’s front, realizing the elderly man’s meaning in his words, "We are facing a very terrifying enemy..."
——
Ains Julia Mansion
The noble-dressed man with slicked-back hair stood before the TV, watching the live video footage in front, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, "So, Christos really intends to wage war against the Federation?"
"It does appear that way," another handsome man beside him nodded, continuing, "Dawn City’s inside is far from united. Christos somewhat overestimated his strength; a war against the Federation is not something he can sustain."
"But now Gray Stone Palace must be very angry," another tuxedoed man on the other side laughed, "Perhaps that one is throwing things angrily right now."
"A person who stood in the middle due to an era’s opportunity, relying on betrayal to become President, what power does he have," a hoarse voice in the corner opened, "His role sitting there is to take the fall for this war, but he still thinks he can change history and stir up the storm."
"Alright," the man standing in the middle of the hall said softly, "after all, that person is President, especially when our people still seek positions at Gray Stone Palace, refrain from making rash comments."
"Yes." Everyone responded.
"Dawn City is about to become a battlefield; do we need to bring Selena back?" A graceful woman in a burgundy gown holding a wine glass said softly.
"No need," the man in the middle of the hall picked up a wine glass brought by a waiter, taking a sip, "Blood and souls are exactly what the Divine Being desires, it’s better to let her stay there."
At this moment, a young man standing at the hall’s edge suddenly spoke up, "What is that outside?"
"The sky is overcast and dark, what’s the curiosity about? Haven’t you ever seen a cloudy day?" Someone in the hall said impatiently.
"No," the young man shouted, "there’s fog outside, black fog! And it’s reached our floor! We’re on the thirtieth floor!"
At this, everyone paused slightly.
The man in the middle of the hall turned, quickly moved to the window, and looked outside.
Everyone in the hall followed, moving toward the window.
Outside that window, the opulent edifices originally veiled in light were now enveloped by some sort of indistinct, sullen fog.
This fog seemed to rise from the ground, or perhaps descend from the clouds, like a layer of hazy cotton wool, permeating into the buildings, obscuring everything around.
And within this haze, some shimmering lights could be seen faintly, piercing through the fog, outlining some intricate runes.
"What is this?"
In the crowd, someone looked out the window and spoke in a low voice.
"The power of some sort of mystical ritual," the elegant woman holding a wine glass rasped, "I’m afraid it’s the power of some divine being, a sect performing a sacrifice."
"Sacrifice in Ains?" someone in the crowd widened their eyes, "What about Ains’s angels? Are they just loafing around?"
Smack—
A slap landed on the speaker’s face, sending several teeth flying to the ground.
The man in the tuxedo withdrew his hand and calmly said, "Put back your teeth, don’t think the angels can’t see you."
"Yes, yes," the speaker covered his bleeding mouth, responding hurriedly.
"Ains’s angels have all recently left," someone in the crowd whispered to mediate, changing the topic, "It seems to be because of something in Dawn City; currently, in Ains, probably only Elder Boris and the old director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation remain."
"The old director hasn’t shown up for a long time; it’s said the new president went looking several times and couldn’t find him," another voice interjected, "He’s likely avoiding the new president, has left Ains."
"With only Mr. Boris as an angel, oversight is inevitable," someone in the crowd still commented.
"But what do we do now?" the elegant woman leaning by the window asked softly, "Such a widespread sacrifice, I’m afraid we ordinary people can’t resist."
Everyone’s gaze gathered on the man with slicked-back hair standing in the center of the crowd following these words.
The man in the tuxedo stood to the side behind the man with slicked-back hair.
As for the man with slicked-back hair, he raised his wine glass, lowered his head, gazed at the clouds outside the window, and said calmly, "This isn’t black mist; it’s purple."
Then he turned back, drained his glass, and looked at the crowd, "Open the family palace."
---
Old Factory
He Ao lifted his head and looked at the mist rolling in from all directions, eyebrows slightly furrowed.
The sky and sun already shrouded by thick clouds, and the enveloping mist seemed to swallow building after building almost instantly.
"What’s happening?" Medala stood amidst the factory ruins, lifted her head, looked at the surrounding mist, her gaze somewhat dazed.
"Appears to be powers conjured by some sacrificial ritual." A flash of purple light passed in He Ao’s pupils, the black mist in his field of view shimmering purple, layered with a silent deathly aura.
Squawk—
A bird fell from the sky, crashing onto the ground.
He Ao shifted his gaze toward the direction of the bird, seeing more birds wobbling across the sky.
These birds darted quickly through the mist, seemingly unaware of its presence, but their lives and souls were rapidly thinning with time.
Caw, caw, caw—
Under He Ao’s gaze, more birds fell from the sky, hitting the ground with a thud.
Standing beside He Ao, Medala naturally watched the scene, eyeing the mist around them, her brow tightly knit, "Is this mist poisonous?"
"Someone’s trying to absorb the life of everyone in Ains," He Ao’s tense brows lifted slightly, "conducting a grand sacrifice."
He gazed at the hazy purple brilliance in the mist within his view, "I’m afraid it’s the Church of the Grim Reaper."
"Church of the Grim Reaper?" Medala suddenly widened her eyes, "Aren’t they collaborating with Rockville Energy Group? Why are they in Ains?"
"If it weren’t for their collaboration with Rockville Energy Group," He Ao shook his head, "they wouldn’t have the chance to operate in Ains like this,"
He furrowed his brows slightly, "But how did they manage to set up the array in Ains?"
The angels hadn’t left for long; how did they arrange an array covering the entire city in such a short time? Though the angels left, Boris is still here, and those ancient families’ Angel-level items aren’t to be trifled with, why hasn’t anything been discovered?
The Church of the Grim Reaper can’t have bought everyone off, can they?
"Did Mr. Boris not notice these issues?" Medala asked while watching the mist already encroaching around them, a vague discomfort she couldn’t quite explain washing over her, "We must leave here; I know a place that can protect us."
She looked at He Ao, smiling, "Handsome old man, this time you must come with me."
"You want to return to the Ellison family and rely on their high-positional items for protection?" He Ao glanced at her, softly asked.
"You don’t want to come with me?" Medala replied in a low voice, "But there’s no other way now."
"Perhaps it’s not about wanting, but whether we can," He Ao shook his head slightly, raised his head, and took out a chip, "Listen to the recording in here; it’s technically optimized and amplified for clarity, may sound less authentic, but the content is real."
"What does that mean?" Medala paused, but took the chip and connected it to her wristband.
He Ao then lifted his head, eyeing the mist, its color deepening around them.
He was curious about what those ancient families would do.
The sacrifice seemed formidable, but even if Boris was held up, once those ancient families decided to wield Angel-level items together, dismantling such a sacrificial ritual would be easy.
As he pondered, in He Ao’s field of view, within the super memory’s view, a vague glow rapidly shone.
It was a high-positional extraordinary item, towards the direction that seemed like the Ellison family.
