Chapter 703.1: Sneaky Bastards in Port Gallon
North of Port Gallon.
Across a barren stretch of red earth, a massive force advanced toward Port Gallon in a rolling cloud of dust. There were trucks, motorcycles, and three-wheeled utility bikes, all uniformly painted in desert camouflage, clustered around long columns of marching soldiers.
In addition, there were several open-top off-road vehicles with a heavy wasteland aesthetic, as well as towed artillery pieces hitched behind the trucks.
Objectively speaking, both their firepower and mobility far exceeded that of the city garrison, which had only a handful of 100mm guns, and their soldiers looked far better trained.
But compared to the Bonechewer Clan’s Fang clan, who had once been thoroughly thrashed by the New Alliance, they were probably only on par, perhaps even lacking a few tanks by comparison.
That said, tanks were not really useful where they were anyway.
Although the Poro Province was mostly plains, it had few proper roads, and the area around Port Gallon in particular was a flood-prone alluvial plain.
Even light vehicles were already struggling to move. If tanks were brought in, they would probably break down before going very far.
Survivors nearby, carrying baskets on their backs and earth-filled trays hooked over their arms, hastily moved aside, casting awed glances at the fluttering twin-blade banners and flags that bore the emblem of a gray wolf.
“It’s the Gray Wolf Army!”
“His Majesty has finally made his move.”
“I wonder who’s stronger, them or the iron men.”
Some Wolffolk commoners prostrated themselves on the ground, praying as they looked up at the pride of their race, chanting in deep, hoarse voices, “... The Gray Wolves, undefeated on the wasteland, run in packs like sweeping sandstorms, bringing death upon their enemies.”
Others, however, had greedy green light flickering in their eyes.
Where there was war, there would be death.
When the time came, stripping a couple of pairs of pants amid the chaos would mean a few more people could go scavenging, or they could go cut sugarcane at the governor’s plantation.
At this moment, the brilliant commander General Alyang sat in an open-top off-road vehicle, squinting toward the direction of Port Gallon.
As early as the initial defeat of General Abhinan, he had noticed the situation there, but without orders from the emperor, he had not dared to act rashly.
What if letting the New Alliance come ashore had been His Majesty’s intention?
Or what if His Majesty planned to resolve the matter through other means?
Such things were impossible to know, and even more impossible to guess.
Alyang had never been to the New Alliance, but having lived in Poro Province for over 30 years, he knew Wutuo Xilande’s temperament well. What His Majesty feared most was not incompetent subordinates or failed operations, but people who were not supposed to think, thinking, and people who were not supposed to see, seeing.
That was precisely why he had chosen to wait, holding his position while secretly dispatching scouts disguised as civilians into the city to gather intelligence on the iron men, inquire about Governor Nihark’s whereabouts, and await orders from their Heavenly City.
Now the long-awaited telegram from the Heavenly City had finally arrived. Without hesitation, Alyang issued orders, commanding the Gray Wolf Army, already fully prepared, to advance toward the frontline.
Although he and his troops were still 70 or 80 kilometers from Port Gallon, he already had a clear picture of the situation there. Beside him, Staff Officer Gopal spread a map across his knees and pointed at two marked lines, speaking casually. “... At present, the New Alliance’s defensive line in Port Gallon is anchored at the Governor’s Manor and Rowell Camp. If we can take out either one, the situation will tilt greatly in our favor.”
He paused, then tapped the map with his index finger. “Personally, I think Rowell Camp is a good breakthrough point. What’s stationed there is just a mob that’s only recently touched guns, plus at most a few dozen New Alliance instructors. Once we take it, we can in turn mobilize those slaves the New Alliance has won over and put them to use for us.”
The adjutant in the passenger seat turned back and asked, “Why would they work for us? I think it’d already be good enough if they didn’t cause trouble.”
Gopal smiled faintly and replied lightly, “It’s simple. We give them something the New Alliance can’t. Besides restoring their status as free citizens, we can also allow them to burn, kill, and loot in designated districts as a reward.”
Aside from Tulip Street, which was firmly cordoned off and untouchable due to the big shots living there, there were always a few New Alliance-controlled neighborhoods or streets with some fat to skim.
And even if there was no fat, people themselves could be considered a form of spoils of war.
Once the war was over, they could slap a charge on those survivors who had aided the New Alliance, brand them criminals, and hand them over to those wild dogs to deal with.
It wouldn’t cost them a single penny. They could even skim a cut from the legally seized spoils.
Alyang narrowed his eyes slightly, pondered for a moment, and pointed out a flaw in the plan. “But most of them are Moonfolk. Other races make up less than 30%.”
The racial segregation of the Moonfolk was the emperor’s policy. They had no authority to restore those people’s status as free citizens.
That was a matter of principle.
As if expecting the question, Gopal smiled calmly. “It’s just a way to convince them to work with us for the time being. I never said we absolutely had to honor it. Or we could apply to His Majesty for a special pardon, re-register them as Ratfolk or Snakefolk, give them new surnames and new faiths. That’s not difficult.”
If the emperor refused, it didn’t matter either. They could simply dispose of those expendable people once they were no longer useful.
While the group chatted and laughed, the main force had already reached the northern outskirts of Port Gallon. Each combat unit quickly moved into its preassigned positions and set up camp.
A full five divisions deployed along a front less than 20 kilometers wide, surrounding the settlement so tightly that it looked like dark clouds pressing down, threatening to crush the city.
Five divisions was no small number. Taken to the eastern provinces, they would count as a fairly large settlement in their own right.
Still, Alyang remained cautious.
Even though intelligence indicated the enemy numbered fewer than 1,000 and had just been worn down by the city garrison, he still did not allow his troops to rush forward. Instead, he ordered his adjutant to round up laborers from nearby areas to dig artillery shelters, trenches, and foxholes on the outskirts.
At the same time, in the suburbs of Port Gallon, on the rooftop of a three-story residential building, four players in exoskeletons raised binoculars and observed the positions a kilometer away.
“Not bad. These guys actually know what they’re doing,” Coincidence said, surprise flickering across his face as he looked at the neatly dug artillery shelters.
It wasn’t just the fortifications. They had even set up camouflage nets to block drone surveillance, which looked like imported Army gear.
Half Wasted looked somewhat serious, while No Family, standing beside him, wore an eager expression and muttered excitedly, “Finally, a real fight!”
The private troops at the Governor’s Manor earlier had been far too weak, looking impressive but unable to even scratch the paint on his exoskeleton chest plate.
According to the locals, the Gray Wolf Army was the elite of the Xilande Imperial Army and a ground-combat ace unit directly under the emperor.
For someone like him who lived for excitement, stronger enemies only meant more thrill.
After all, beating opponents who collapsed at the first touch brought no sense of achievement, and there would be no one on the forums to applaud his bragging afterward.
So far, the force’s performance looked solid, its deployment speed and methodical advance showed few obvious weaknesses.
The survivors dragged to the positions faced the yellow earth with their backs to the sky, swinging shovels from morning until nightfall.
Apparently dissatisfied with how slowly those half-starved people worked, dozens of overseers carrying whips soon appeared. A few lashes later, the survivors’ pace visibly picked up, though several youths who were nothing more than skin and bones collapsed from exhaustion.
The officer leading the overseers was quite satisfied with the scene.
The survivors’ strength was like toothpaste. Squeeze hard enough, and something would come out.
The players hidden at a distance chewed on their rations, watching the survivors work, staying on the rooftop until night fell.
As the sun set, the soldiers did not let the survivors eat. They took back the tools they had issued and drove them out of the positions.
A ragged group of survivors limped toward the settlement, resentment bottled up on every face, holding an anger they dared not voice.
Seeing one group of survivors heading toward their area, the four players exchanged glances, quickly tossed down a hundred-unit bill, withdrew from the house, and seized an opportunity to block part of the group.
“Hey, hey! Friends up front, don’t go! We’ve got something to talk to you about!” Coincidence lifted his visor, smiling as he waved them over.
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