Lance Charge on the Arkship, but No Mount

The arrow shaft left in the wound had already been pulled out, and it was no longer bleeding. Rat looked at the other person, at a loss for what to do.

"Friend."

Rat raised his head and pointed at himself in disbelief. No one had ever called him that before.

"Yes, you, friend. Would you like to learn about the Reunion Movement?" As he spoke, the other person pulled a small booklet from his clothes.

New Beginning: Undercurrents Stirring

The plump pork knuckle had been roasted until the meat fell cleanly from the bone. It was served with fresh vegetables and a glass of wine. Soft, sweet bread sat on the plate, giving off the sugary scent of honey. Together with rich, mellow cheese, it made up the mayor's breakfast that day.

He deftly used his knife and fork to strip the meat from the bone, scraped a layer of cheese over it, and stuffed it into his mouth. The rich, creamy flavor exploding across his tongue made him narrow his eyes in satisfaction. Then he took a sip of wine, letting its mellow taste cut through the grease in his mouth.

He wiped the grease from his lips with a napkin without looking at what remained. Those leftovers would be dealt with soon enough. He carefully wiped the traces of oil from his neatly groomed beard. After seeking his permission, two servants began clearing the scraps from the table. He had never known where the leftovers went. Presumably, they were fed to cats and dogs.

He greeted his wife, then went to the window and drew open the curtains. The snow-covered town came into view. Looking at the spotless streets, he felt deeply satisfied. There were no wandering vagrants on the roads, nor any unsightly trash bins. It looked far better than before. The people now seen around town were all respectable folk, each with enough property to buy themselves a house. Those eyesores—the vagrants and the Infected—had been driven outside the town. Without them, the town had become increasingly prosperous.

He turned toward his office. The waxed hardwood floor thudded beneath his boots. Firewood burned in the enormous fireplace beside him, crackling softly. Warm waves of heat completely cut the house off from the outside. Sometimes it was so warm indoors that one had to take off their coat.

"Oh, my dear sir, I've kept you waiting."

The moment he entered the study, he spread his arms wide and flashed a warm smile at the man in the black coat sitting on the sofa.

The other man also rose from the sofa and raised his wineglass in greeting. His face, with its thick chin and dense beard, wore a fawning smile.

"Thank you for your generosity, Mayor. This is truly the finest wine I've ever tasted."

"Haha! It's nothing. As long as we continue cooperating sincerely, every one of us will make a fortune."

Taking a seat opposite the sofa, the mayor poured himself a glass of wine and drained it in one gulp without a care. Feeling a little warm, he loosened the collar of his fur coat and took it off. Only then did he smile at the police chief before him.

"Now then, my old friend, what brings you here? You seem rather anxious."

The police chief immediately set his wineglass on the table and rubbed his thick, fleshy fingers together. After hesitating slightly, he finally spoke.

"My lord, I came because the situation in town lately... has not been very good."

Seeing the mayor's puzzled frown, he continued.

"Recently, some vile rumors have been spreading widely among those paupers. I fear that if this continues, it may have an unfavorable effect on your reputation, Mayor."

But upon hearing the police chief's words, the mayor's expression suddenly relaxed. He leaned back on the sofa, his huge belly bulging outward.

"My friend, you're being too sensitive. They're just a bunch of paupers. What can they possibly do to me? They don't even have a sharp piece of metal in their hands. Let them make whatever trouble they like. Once winter is over, they'll all be sent away anyway."

"You truly are a merciful man, to forgive their offenses so easily."

The chief rubbed his eyes, the motion making it look as though he wanted to gouge them out.

"Still, what about that matter I told you about last Monday? How did your contacts work out?" The mayor suddenly raised his head, seemingly becoming alert.

"I contacted Captain Kolchin. He said that as long as we can send people to mine, he'll give us half the proceeds. He'll take as many as we can provide."

"Oh, that is quite good. We have so many paupers here. If we send them all over, we can make a great deal of money in a year." The mayor's greasy, fleshy face wrinkled all at once, making it impossible to tell whether he was laughing or crying.

"But Captain Kolchin has one condition. He requires that the people we send over must be Infected."

"Isn't that easy? Just find a couple of nimble fellows and have them plant some Originium dust bombs in the places where those paupers live. Wouldn't that give us an endless supply of Infected?" The mayor waved a hand dismissively, then fell into thought.

"Still, if the people we send are Infected, those paupers probably won't survive more than a couple of days in the mines. That would be a loss for us," the police chief reminded him.

"It's fine, it's fine. There are plenty of paupers. They'll keep appearing endlessly. When the time comes, we can just find some excuse to send them over."

"Those people should thank us for finding them a place to work, so they don't spend all day doing nothing and wasting the Empire's resources." The chief lifted his glass again, clinked it against the mayor's, and drained it in one gulp.

The two resumed their conversation, both in excellent spirits as they sincerely rejoiced over the bright and promising future of their town.

Rat hurried through the sewers without needing to stop and look for a route. There was not a single place in the entire sewer system he did not know. He could make a round trip through it with his eyes closed. One hand pressed against his chest, feeling the small booklet inside.

It was clearly only a thin booklet, printed on cheap paper that made it soft and fragile, yet it felt scorching hot against him. Thinking of the things those people had told him, he felt the booklet becoming hotter and hotter until his whole chest was burning.

He shook his head to stop himself from thinking further. He was carrying an important mission now. He needed to transport weapons and equipment back from outside the town. Others were following behind him; after all, he could not carry that much by himself. He had gone ahead first to scout the area.

Soon, he reached a sewer outlet beyond the town. This was an escape route he had prepared for himself, a precaution for the worst-case scenario, so that he could flee the town.

A patch of snow suddenly lifted. Looking closely, it turned out to be a square tunnel entrance. Rat's wary yellow eyes peered out from within.

He waited patiently, not rushing outside. He lifted the hatch just enough to leave a four-inch gap, allowing him to observe the outside without exposing himself. Only after fifteen minutes did he feel it was safe enough. Then he carefully lifted the hatch all the way open and crawled out.

He turned back, put the cover in place, and covered it with snow until there was no sign of anything unusual. Then he sprang up into a tree in a few steps and waited among its branches.

Cement Nail had told him there would be a special recognition signal, so he made no sound. Instead, he tilted his head and listened with full concentration.

Second by second, time passed. His thin, exposed fingers were nearly frozen stiff by the cold wind, so he tucked his hands into his clothes. The thick cotton coat he wore gave him a warmth he had never experienced before. Curled against the trunk, he continued listening warily for any movement around him.

"Caw, caw, caw. Knock, knock!"

The cry of a feathered beast, followed by two knocks, immediately put him on alert. Pinching his nose, he made the same call, then used a stone from inside his clothes to knock twice against the nearby trunk.

The same sound came again, and he repeated the signal. Only after three rounds, with the order switched on the last one, did they complete the rendezvous.

He jumped down from the treetop. Before him stood a medium-built warrior dressed in white. He wore camouflage made from strips of white cloth and held a powerful crossbow.

"You're Rat, right? Nice to meet you. You can call me Number Three." The warrior wore a white mask that hid his expression. He extended a hand to Rat, who instinctively shook it.

"All right, this is the equipment. There are fifty-eight swords and fifteen crossbows. Our weapons are limited for now, so this is all we could spare."

"It's enough, it's enough. I've never seen so many weapons in my life." Rat looked at the blades glinting with cold light and the finely constructed crossbows. He had only ever seen such things on soldiers and police officers before. They were not allowed to possess any weapons, not even kitchen knives.

"All right, goodbye, friend. I have other missions to carry out. Be careful on your way back. Don't let yourself get caught."

Seeing Rat's surprised expression, Number Three added,

"As long as you join our cause, you are all friends, because we are risking our lives for the same thing." As he spoke, he reached out and patted Rat's shoulder. Rat was so thin that his body tilted to one side.

"Oh, and this. It's dried meat. You can try it. I made it myself. Look how skinny you are." Number Three pulled a paper-wrapped strip of dried meat from his clothes and handed it to Rat.

Rat reached out and accepted it. But the food he normally could only dream of did not catch his attention now. He looked at Number Three, his lips moving. After hesitating for a while, he finally spoke.

"Goodbye... friend."

After saying that, a worried expression appeared on his face, but anticipation shone in his eyes.

"Take care, friend. I hope you'll be the one meeting me again next time. Make sure you stay alive." Number Three waved to him, then turned and walked across the snowy plains. His white camouflage soon made him disappear from sight.

New Beginning: The Resisters

The dried meat was roasted very tough so it could be preserved for a long time. It took effort to chew, but he could still taste the precious salt on it. Rat ate cautiously. He broke off half a strip and chewed it in his mouth for a long time, reluctant to swallow. Even though the scent of meat made him feel as if he might bite his own tongue off.

A gaze from nearby made him turn his head. Only then did he notice a filthy child staring at the dried meat in his hand with desperate longing. Instinctively, Rat wanted to protect his food. He wanted to drive the child away and make him stay far from him. To him, that was the right thing to do. There was no room for sharing here, because food was one's life, and no one shared their life with others.

But for some reason, he thought of what Number Three had just told him: as long as they joined their cause, they were all friends. The words he had been about to say to drive the child away went back down his throat. He handed the remaining half-strip of dried meat to the filthy child. Watching the child desperately tear at it with his teeth until his gums bled, he could not help saying,

"Don't bite so hard. Hold it in your mouth for a while and it'll soften up. Chew slowly. You won't get hungry again so fast."

The filthy child nodded, held the dried meat in his mouth, and chewed slowly. Then he looked up at Rat and gave him a foolish smile. Snot dripped from his nose. Noticing it was about to run into his mouth, he sucked it back hard. But it quickly ran out again. Soon, he came up with another solution and wiped it away with his filthy, shiny-black sleeve.

Rat could not help laughing. He did not know why he wanted to laugh. He simply felt strangely happy.

The junction of several sewers was an open area where all the wastewater gathered before being drained out through a pipe. Now, wooden boards had been laid over the sewage pools, sealing them shut.

Several dozen small-framed people stood in rows atop the boards. They looked so frail that they could barely withstand the wind, their clothes torn, old, and filthy. Some of them unconsciously bent at the waist as they stood, accustomed to living in cramped spaces. But the moment the white-clad warriors above turned their gazes toward them, they immediately straightened up again.

Cement Nail looked at these fragile people. They clearly were not qualified recruits. Some of them might not even be able to lift a sword. Yet seeing them reminded him of himself half a year ago. Back then, he too had been so thin that a gust of wind could knock him down—perhaps even worse off than they were. Whenever he saw someone holding a sword, he would be so frightened that he would lie on the ground and dare not move.

But after joining the Reunion Movement, he had quickly grown stronger. After long training and several battles, he had become a qualified warrior. It was not only his body that had grown strong; his heart had long since become incomparably strong as well. When faced with this dangerous mission, he had volunteered without the slightest hesitation.

And now, his task was to train these people into warriors like them, perhaps even stronger ones. It would not be easy, but he was full of confidence in their future.

He looked toward the teammates beside him and nodded.

"Hand out all the weapons we brought. At the very least, they need to get familiar with them first. Don't let them hurt themselves when using them."

Crates of swords were placed on the ground by strong warriors and distributed to their new members. The civilians curiously looked at the swords and powerful crossbows before them. They had normally been forbidden from touching any weapon, even a sharp piece of metal. If the soldiers or police saw them with one, they would be beaten severely.

Rat reached out and accepted a machete handed to him. Its weight immediately forced his wrist down, but he gritted his teeth and raised the blade anyway.

"Try the weapons and see whether they feel right in your hands. Remember, you hold the part without an edge. The part with an edge faces the enemy. Do not point it at your comrades, and do not point it toward your own body."

Cement Nail's voice was amplified several times over in the enclosed sewer, reaching every person's ears clearly.

He suddenly frowned, strode into the crowd, and snatched away a crossbow someone had been pointing at a companion's head.

"One more thing: do not point the crossbows in your hands at your comrades unless you want to kill them."

"Today, I'll teach you how to hold your weapons. Tomorrow, we'll begin formal physical training. At the very least, you need to stop getting out of breath after a single swing."

Several months passed in a flash.

Under cover of night, two military police officers led a cleaverbeast as they staggered into the slums outside town. Seeing the residents look at them with the same fear as always, they felt a flicker of smug satisfaction. One of them kicked down a child who had blocked his path, then yanked back the cleaverbeast that habitually tried to lunge and bite, and they continued their patrol.

Before long, when they reached the central area, both men stopped at the same time. They glanced around nervously like guilty thieves. After confirming that no one was nearby, they took two fist-sized mechanical devices from their clothes.

"Hurry up and get it done. This damn weather is freezing. I still need to head back for a drink," one military policeman urged his companion.

"Why am I the only one doing it while you just stand there watching? Get over here and help me. You idiot, if those paupers find out, we're both dead."

Cursing under their breath, the two fastened the mechanical devices to the inner wall of the central well, then turned the timing dials. Ten minutes after they left, the Originium bombs would explode and completely contaminate the well. Focused entirely on installing the bombs, they failed to notice several figures with crossbows appearing on the roof behind them.

Rat held his crossbow steady, the reticle in the sight locking onto the military policeman's body. He controlled his breathing and waited for his captain's command. After trying several weapons, Rat had still chosen the crossbow, because he simply lacked the strength to wield swords. The harsh environment he had lived in since childhood had thoroughly changed his body.

He could not use bows that required strength to draw, either. Only crossbows, which used mechanisms to assist in loading, suited him reasonably well. Of course, this was not where his true strength lay. What he was truly good at was gathering intelligence. Over the past few months, nothing that happened in this town had escaped his ears.

A few days earlier, while scouting the police station, he had accidentally overheard some news outside the chief's office. The vicious scheme had shocked him so badly that he had nearly fallen off the roof. Once he recovered, he immediately told his captain.

"Kill the one on the left and that beast. Leave the one on the right alive. We need to question him later."

The aiming guide locked onto the military policeman beside the other one. When he and his cleaverbeast lined up, Rat decisively pulled the trigger. The powerful recoil of the heavy crossbow jolted his shoulder violently backward.

The powerful bolt pierced through the military policeman's throat and skewered him together with his cleaverbeast. The other military policeman had only just realized what was happening and tried to flee when two bolts shot through his knees.

Before he could howl, Rat was already standing in front of him. He raised the stock of his crossbow and smashed it down hard, knocking him unconscious.

Under cover of night, the resisters were taking action.

The Rising Reunion Movement: The Noose Takes Shape

The savage beating broke his nose. Blood gushed down his face, his entire head buzzing as tears and snot streamed uncontrollably. He tried to struggle, but his hands were firmly fixed to the armrests, leaving him unable to move at all. They had not asked him a single question. Ever since they captured him and brought him here, they had done nothing but beat him without pause.

His eyes were covered. The fear of not knowing when the next blow would come made him tremble in terror. Another heavy punch sent his head snapping backward. The blow nearly knocked him unconscious, robbing him completely of any ability to resist, even of any ability to think.

"Who gave you this assignment? Who told you to do it?"

A cold voice suddenly asked. He was still dazed and did not answer quickly enough, so he was immediately punched again.

"It was the chief's order! It was the chief's order! He said he'd give us a large sum of money after we finished!"

Daring not to hesitate even slightly, he immediately spilled everything he knew. Not even the slightest thought of resistance or deception arose in his mind. The relentless beating had left him utterly incapable of considering it.

"When did he tell you?"

"This morning! This very morning! He called the two of us into his office and told us!"

"Where did the bombs come from?"

"We took them from the armory!"

"Where is the armory?"

"Right next to the mayor's house, that inconspicuous little low building! That's the place! There's an underground passage connecting to it!"

"How do we get in? Is there a password?"

"No password! No password! The entrance is beside the police station! Just open it and you can go straight inside!" He screamed out the last thing he knew, then waited in terror for his fate.

"Dispose of him."

Those three simple words shattered the last of his sanity. He began cursing loudly and struggling wildly in the chair.

"You lowborn scum will all be hanged sooner or later! Every last one of you will be hanged! Every lowborn wretch connected to you will be slaughtered! You should all be sent to mine Originium until rocks grow out of your bodies! You pieces of shit, you filthy bastards! You... hehehe..."

A length of steel wire suddenly looped around his neck from behind, strangling the rest of his words inside him. The person acting showed no mercy at all. He braced a foot against the back of the chair and used all his strength, trying to garrote the military policeman's neck. Before long, the man stopped struggling. To be safe, he kept the wire tight for another two or three minutes, ensuring the man was completely dead.

Cement Nail looked at the hanged military policeman. The man's struggles before death had been agonizing, but not the slightest wavering showed in his eyes. If Rat had not discovered them in time, what those two had done would have caused a terrible disaster. Everyone in the slums would have become Infected. With no medical care available, it would have effectively been a death sentence.

If he could, he wanted to deal with that bastard in a way ten times, a hundred times more painful than this. But he could not. Their general had told him that pursuing cruelty too much would also change one's original purpose. He was a soldier. A soldier should do a soldier's duty.