Lance Charge on the Arkship, but No Mount

"It doesn't matter. My Oripathy can't be cured anyway. I might as well stay and help you." The girl remained as stubborn as ever.

A hand covered in heavy armor gripped the vehicle door, its immense strength nearly crushing the metal out of shape. Patriot's massive body bent down.

"Don't say that. Live properly."

"That's right. At the very least, you need to get your Oripathy under control first and keep it from worsening at any moment. Leave everything else to us. Just trust in our abilities." Claude added.

"I understand."

Yelena nodded hard, her face once again bearing that resolute expression.

"We'll protect them. We'll definitely get them safely to Rhodes Island."

"And take this communicator. You can use it to contact Rhodes Island when the time comes. I've already spoken with them."

After reminding Yelena of everything, Claude turned to Skov. That guy never let him rest easy. What Skov had nearly done back then had always weighed on him, leaving him ashamed even now.

When he turned around, he found the man smiling at them, his face filled with relief. Claude could not help but ask.

"What's wrong? Why do you look like something good happened?"

"Nothing. I just suddenly realized how fortunate I am, my lord. I always get to meet so many noble, good people."

Claude could not help but smile as well.

"Yes, I'm fortunate too, to have so many kind friends."

After one final inspection of the supplies they carried, they set off. Their group consisted of ten members of the Yeti Squad and twenty people talented in various fields. They carried communicators, and once they entered a certain range, Rhodes Island would send people to meet them. There was nothing else to worry about.

Watching the convoy disappear into the distance, Claude stood there for a while before climbing down from the wall. This convoy was not just going out to study—it was their hope. As long as they returned safely, the Reunion Movement would enter a period of rapid development.

Claude lowered his head as he considered the next stage of their plans. Political education for the soldiers had to keep pace; that was something they absolutely could not neglect. The soldiers needed to understand what they were fighting for, or the army's combat strength could not be guaranteed. Perhaps Alina could handle that. She should be good at this sort of thing. He could assign her a few assistants—no, not just assistants. They needed to establish a team specifically responsible for it.

They could not miss this year's moss wheat planting season either. They had to reclaim more wasteland, or food would become an unsolvable problem. Maybe they could buy some higher-yield crops elsewhere. Moss wheat's pitiful yield meant they would need to plant huge areas to feed so many people. It was not only time-consuming and labor-intensive, but it also had little nutritional value.

He had heard that Rhine Lab, or some company like it, had research in this area. Perhaps they could seek cooperation. But how were they supposed to get in touch with the company? It was all the way in Columbia, a journey that could not be completed in just one or two months.

Perhaps they could also try raising livestock, keeping more docile wild beasts in enclosures to provide meat for the soldiers. Otherwise, they would grow weak and powerless. They also had to consider the possibility of the Ursus Empire blockading them in the future. They had to ensure stable, reliable supply routes.

And for all of this to operate steadily, they needed people with relevant expertise. Quite a few people were joining them now, so they also needed to establish a reasonable system for selecting talent.

Claude suddenly stopped walking. A tall, familiar shadow loomed over him. Boccas had suddenly blocked his path.

"Mr. Patriot, is something wrong?"

At Claude's question, the powerful warrior showed an unusual trace of hesitation. But he quickly reaffirmed his resolve.

"I came to thank you. Without your arrangements, Yelena might have..."

"There's no need to thank me for that. She's an important comrade of mine to begin with. I could never stand by and watch her die of Oripathy when there was a way to save her."

"No. This means something extraordinary to me."

Patriot stubbornly shook his head. He had never been one to easily abandon his convictions.

"I understand. Then I'll accept your thanks, Mr. Boccas."

Claude did not insist any further and accepted the other man's gratitude openly.

"One more thing. Gather everyone. We need to hold another meeting. We have quite a lot to do in the days ahead."

Claude headed toward the meeting room at the center of the camp, while Patriot silently followed behind him.

A New Beginning: Blood-Soaked Land

The snow covering the earth had thinned with the arrival of spring, making it possible to dig through it and plant crops beneath. The work was extremely arduous. Without machinery, every step had to be done by hand. Using tools like shovels and rakes, they cleared patches of relatively flat, cultivable land from the snow.

A Bo bent over and used the tool in his hands to pile the thin snow into a heap. He had worked from dawn until noon, taking only two breaks. Only when word came that the meal was ready did he straighten his aching back. Looking at the two mu of land he had cleared, he could not help feeling a deep sense of accomplishment.

Next, he would have to loosen the soil inch by inch, breaking apart the frozen clumps. Once all the soil became loose and soft, they could sow the seeds, pour on some water, and wait for the future harvest. He knew very well how much moss wheat a few mu of land could yield—perhaps not even enough to feed him alone. But there was no choice. Only crops as lowly as they were could survive here.

"A Bo, what are you doing? The food's ready. Hurry up and eat." His friend came over carrying a hoe. The other man worked much faster than he did and had already begun turning over the soil.

Seeing A Bo staring blankly into space, his friend could not help patting him on the shoulder.

"Nothing. I was just thinking... aren't our lives a little too easy now? It feels like a dream."

"What's wrong with easy? We don't have to go hungry anymore. With a big eater like me gone, my family can even save up some food." He brushed the dirt off his gloves, then saw another tear in the worn-out fabric and rubbed at it hard, unable to hide his distress.

"It really is good. Before, every time we reclaimed one mu of land, we had to pay another fee to the patrols. It didn't matter whether we harvested anything or not—the money we had to pay every year just kept increasing. Eventually, no one wanted to reclaim land anymore, because all the food put together wasn't enough to cover those taxes."

"By then, most people had gotten used to starving. They would rather endure on that pitiful income. Only the stubborn old man in my family refused to accept it. He desperately reclaimed dozens of mu of land and worked himself to death out there. But in the end, we still couldn't keep any of the food we harvested. My older brother starved to death around then too."

"Who knows how many people are buried in this land? Too many to count..." A Bo squatted down and grabbed a fistful of dirt. He watched the icy soil crumble apart in his palm.

"I always feel like the reason things can still grow here is because the crops drink human blood as they grow. They can only grow because people keep dying in the fields..." He slowly loosened his hand and watched the crumbs of soil fall through his fingers.

"No one will starve to death again. That's what the general told us." His friend grabbed his clothes and pulled him up from the ground.

"That's right. One day, no one here will ever starve to death again." He slung his shovel over his shoulder and headed toward the camp without looking back. His friend immediately followed.

Across the vast snowfield, scattered dark figures like them converged in the same direction. Behind them lay great stretches of reclaimed land, nurturing not only seeds, but hope.

"Ma'am, do you know anyone at Rhine Lab?"

Claude stared at the woman before him in surprise. Just moments ago, he had been chatting with Talulah when she had suddenly joined them and announced that she could contact Rhine Lab.

"I used to be an employee of Rhine Lab. Although I had to leave for certain special reasons, I still have channels to contact them. I should be able to help you purchase seeds for high-yield, cold-resistant crops." Saria spoke to Claude with some hesitation. She did not know whether she should get involved with Rhine Lab again, but Claude had helped her greatly, and she wanted to help his organization as well.

"I understand. I won't ask unnecessary questions. And thank you very much, ma'am."

"It's nothing. I came to say goodbye this time as well. I have no choice but to leave now." Saria gently shook her head. Though she greatly admired what Claude had done, she also had things she had to do.

"Alright. Then I'll see you off." Claude nodded, stood up, and shook the snow from his cloak. Whether it was spring or winter, this place never lacked snow.

"Talulah, this needs to be arranged as soon as possible. Send suitable people to bring back the crop seeds." He turned and gave instructions to his deputy. The gray-haired Draco nodded and quickly went to make the arrangements.

Looking at the battered motorcycle before him, Claude felt a little embarrassed, but he still turned to her and said, "Ma'am, this motorcycle may look run-down, but most of its parts are still intact. Together with this fuel, it should be enough to get you out of the snowfield."

"Thank you again, Mr. Claude. This is a great help to me. It will save me a great deal of time." Saria sincerely thanked Claude, then took the supplies she needed and climbed onto the vehicle. With Claude waving farewell, she disappeared beyond the distant horizon before long.

Tonight's dinner was potatoes stewed with meat. The meat came from wild beasts, while the potatoes had been bought from nearby villages. There was not much of it, but it was enough to fill most people's stomachs. Claude scraped up the last bit of soup with his spoon, then ate the remaining bite of hard bread.

He set his tray aside for someone else to clean up, then picked up the documents again. He felt as though he were walking on thin ice, with no idea which step would doom him beyond recovery. He had to find the one correct path among countless choices, then lead everyone down it without wavering.

If they truly wanted to develop, the best option would be to seize a landship with factories aboard. But that would not be easy. Every landship was precious property of the Ursus Empire, and none ever traveled alone without a massive legion guarding it. They would need the strength to defeat an Ursus legion head-on before they could do such a thing.

He turned the documents over and over, but found no inspiration. Claude simply tossed them onto the table, pushed open the door, and went outside to catch his breath. There was no point thinking too far ahead when they could not do anything about it yet. At the very least, they first needed to take control of the surrounding region, and a battle plan had to be drafted before anything else.

Their greatest advantage was the enormous strategic depth of the sparsely populated snowfields. No army could afford to keep wearing them down forever. If they could gain the support of the people, they would have even more room to maneuver and become impossible to defeat. So propaganda in other parts of Ursus also had to be put on the agenda. They needed to create fertile ground for their growth elsewhere.

Lost in thought, he unconsciously arrived at Alina's workplace. It was not only a school for children with no one to care for them, but also a training ground for propaganda workers. Though it had only just begun, he could already hear Alina's voice inside as she explained the key points of propaganda work to the others.

He pushed open the door and walked in, pressing one hand down slightly to signal everyone to sit back down. Alina was not the only one teaching here. He often came as well, explaining the knowledge he possessed in language they could understand as easily as possible.

A landship as tall as a mountain rolled across the plains, crushing stones and ravines beneath it. It looked unstoppable, as if there were no force in the world capable of bringing it to a halt. In the darkness, several enormous crimson signal lights at its bow stood out sharply, making it resemble a silent monster preparing to devour life.

Mist rose from the plains in the frigid night. The landship's enormous bow passed through it without obstruction, yet brought a trace of chill and dampness to those aboard. Even in such an environment, the soldiers in black coats standing above remained utterly motionless, as though the biting cold wind did not exist.

The soldiers were as silent as statues. Icy dew dripped from their collars to the ground, and before long, their entire bodies were covered in moisture.

A piercing alarm rang throughout the landship. Steel gates slowly opened, and a standard Ursus military vehicle approached from the wasteland ahead before driving through the newly opened metal doors.

Very soon, a report was delivered to the true ruler of this place.

The messenger delivering it was drenched in sweat, even his legs trembling faintly. Yet he did not dare make the slightest movement, because the person who could decide his life or death sat right before him.

"So, you failed."

A voice devoid of any emotion slowly sounded, cold and hoarse. Just hearing it was enough to imagine what its owner looked like. A glass goblet held bright red wine, while thick fingers held a large cigar and lightly tapped the gold-inlaid armrest.

The messenger could only see a pair of polished boots, but he did not dare hesitate in the slightest.

"Yes, General! A company sent there vanished without sending back any reports. We believe they may have been wiped out by the guerrillas."

"Trash." The words still carried no emotion, as if they were not a rebuke, but merely a statement of fact.

"A full five hundred and sixty Ursus soldiers were eliminated, yet they could not send back a single message. Such incompetence..."

Those polished boots stepped onto the wooden floor, producing a sharp sound. They took several steps forward and stopped before the messenger.

The messenger looked up and saw a grim, imposing face. The eyes that had been turned gray-white by scars from blades and swords trembled faintly.

"Where is that place?" he asked.

A New Beginning: Imperceptible Change

Rat was an Infected. There was nothing unusual about that; there were Infected everywhere here. What was unusual was that he was an Ursus Infected, yet he had not been thrown into a mine. Instead, he drifted through a town. Anyone who understood Ursus knew how difficult that was.

He had been infected with Oripathy for as long as he could remember. He did not know how he had survived as an infant before then. But he seemed to possess a special talent. Though the pain brought by Oripathy had never lessened in the slightest, the disease progressed remarkably slowly. Even now, his condition remained manageable.

He lived in the town's sewers, like a real rat. With his small, thin body, he could squeeze through cracks that others could not and reach places no one else could enter. By relying on this, he had evaded capture countless times.

Just like this time. While rummaging through a trash bin, he had suddenly heard a shrill whistle. Military police in black coats came after him, leading a hound. That beast, long accustomed to feeding on corpses, opened its bloodstained jaws wide and tried to tear flesh from his body. But without panicking, he flung the dust from his pocket straight into its face.

The hound immediately howled in agony on the ground. Of course, it was not ordinary dust. He had mixed quite a few unpleasant things into it—enough to make the creature suffer.

Then he twisted his body and slipped through a crack in the nearby wall. It was so narrow that no one could imagine a person fitting through it. But his luck was not very good today. The moment he emerged on the other side, he saw another black-clad military policeman charging around the corner.

But this place was filled with hiding spots for him. He ran along the wall at full speed, then climbed into an air duct around a corner in just a few movements. The military policeman could only stare at the tangled network of ducts and curse loudly. Rat did not even look back, leaving those insults behind. He had heard such things far too often, and they had long ceased to stir even the slightest ripple in his heart.

He went around through the third pipe, crossed a low wall, then opened a manhole cover and slipped inside. The moment he descended, the small mechanism supporting the cover locked it firmly in place. There was no trace left outside, and the stench of the sewers would keep the hounds from tracking him.

Looking at the familiar sewer, he let out a breath of relief and prepared to return to his hiding place. As he walked, he pulled a half-eaten hard biscuit from his pocket. He had found it in the trash bin outside the mayor's house. That was the only place in the entire town with plenty of food. Sometimes, he could even find leftover meat there.

He did not care in the slightest about the bit of sewage on the biscuit. Long ago, he had discovered that no matter how filthy the things he ate were, he never got sick. So while the Infected living in the sewers came and went in waves, he had always remained here.

His yellowed, crooked teeth chewed the biscuit. He did not even watch where he was going; all his attention was on the food. Yet his body's instincts carried him through corner after corner, tunnels and slopes alike. No matter how slowly he chewed that little biscuit, it was eventually gone. It was one of his little tricks—if food was scarce, he would chew it longer to create the illusion of being full.

There was a small crack in the sewer wall ahead. That was his hiding place. Only he could fit inside. He leaped up, grabbed the crack, and deftly folded his body through it. Inside were some dry grass and bedding. The space was not large, with most of it only about one meter thirty high, but it was spacious enough for him.

He buried himself in the pile of dry grass, covered himself with the bedding, and curled up, reducing the drain on his body as much as possible so hunger would come more slowly.

He had nearly been caught by those people today. They would be on alert for the next few days, so he could only hide for a while. In his mind, he calculated what he had left and how long it could sustain him.

Like a real rat, he never thought about anything beyond survival.

Wary orange-yellow eyes peered quietly out from the eaves. Rat held himself in place with only two fingers. He vigilantly watched every movement around him, making sure he would not be caught while rummaging through trash bins. If those military police caught him, he would never survive.

After waiting cautiously for a long time, he finally lowered his guard a little. Just as he was about to leave the roof, the familiar shrill whistle sounded in the distance again. He immediately shrank back. Even his breathing and heartbeat slowed. No one, not even a hound, could detect him in that state.

But he quickly realized that the person being pursued was not him. Someone wearing a gray cloak was running at high speed, with an Ursus hound chasing behind him. Just as the beast was about to leap up and bite through his leg, the man drew a hand crossbow from his chest. A bolt pierced the hound's eye, and it collapsed without even struggling.

That person was clearly unfamiliar with the roads here. He turned around a corner only to find himself in a dead end. A military policeman rushed in, believing he had trapped him. Just as the officer was about to call for support, the man instead drew a long blade and charged at him. The military policeman hastily drew his own weapon, but he was clearly no match. After only a few exchanges, the blade viciously pierced his chest.

Pulling the blade from the corpse, the man looked around. Seeing that the alley wall was fairly low, he took two steps back and leaped up onto it. Just as he was about to leave, a crossbow bolt flying from nowhere suddenly pierced his calf. He lost his footing and fell from the wall.

Rat saw clearly from his high vantage point that black-clad military police were about to surround him. His reason told him that the best thing to do was stay here quietly. After the military police took that person away, they would let down their guard for a while. That would be his opportunity. He told himself that as long as he stayed here, he would soon be able to rummage through the mayor's trash bin for the food he needed, and then he could continue living.

Yes, that was good. Keep living...

But what was he living for?

All at once, he seemed to fall into confusion.

Cement Nail looked at the crossbow bolt lodged through his calf. The searing pain nearly rendered him unable to move, yet he still gritted his teeth and stood. With a swing of his blade, he cut off the arrowhead and fletching, leaving only a short section inside. Leaning against the wall, he limped away in search of a place to hide, but at his current speed, that was nothing more than a fool's dream.

He clutched the object hidden against his chest and anxiously looked around. Even if he died here today, he absolutely could not let this thing fall into the hands of Ursus dogs. But unable to find anywhere to hide it, he steeled himself and prepared to swallow it. Then he suddenly felt someone tugging on his sleeve.

He nearly slashed out on reflex, but when he turned around, he saw a small, thin Infected. The other person looked at him anxiously, gesturing with his hands. Yet of the words coming from his mouth, Cement Nail could understand only a few. As the other kept pulling at his sleeve, he followed him as if possessed.

They turned around a corner and found a sewer cover concealed behind a pile of discarded junk. The thin person opened the cover and gestured for him to go down. Without much hesitation, he climbed down the ladder. The other returned the way he had come, apparently making some final arrangements, before descending after him. The moment they were both below, the cover shut completely and locked in place.

Only then did Cement Nail notice in surprise that a highly ingenious locking mechanism made from discarded materials had been installed around the manhole cover.

Rat used clean gauze to bandage the man's wound. The other person remained silent the entire time, merely watching him. Rat did not know why he was doing this, just as he did not know why he was alive. He had saved this clean gauze for himself in case of emergency. If he was ever beaten badly enough, perhaps it could help him survive.