Miss Wang Weina, even your cousin won't do!

Chapter 103 Celtic: A Soulmate for Life

"Who is the Pulitzer reporter?"

Reed, full of questions, approached Celt. It was the first time she had ever heard her sister say she "admired someone." Celt had always been a proud person, and no one was more proud of her Draco bloodline than her. She had always considered herself the true Queen of Victoria, so for her to say something like "admiration" piqued Reed's curiosity.

Seeing his sister's interest in the Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, Celtic immediately became interested. Whether it was simply a fan wanting to recommend it, or the thought that idolizing an unknown Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist was better than idolizing Draco's enemy, Aslan, Celtic enthusiastically began to promote it:

"The Pulitzer journalist is a truly talented person. He's also a true champion of justice. You probably know what's been happening in Colombia lately, right?"

Reed nodded. Everyone in Terra knew about Columbia. Gossiping about Columbia had almost become the fourth physiological activity for people, after eating, drinking, and going to the toilet. Reed would hear about Columbia at least ten times on her short journey from the Northern Palace in Dublin to the Celtic camp at Deeppool. How could she not know?

Victoria is arguably the country that has been most ruthless in this drama, given the various grudges between Victoria and Colombia. Victoria looks down on Colombia, a new nation formed by defectors, and naturally feels a sense of satisfaction upon seeing them suffer.

"That's right, the Columbia incident was done by a Pulitzer journalist!"

Celtic announced happily, a smile on her face as if she were proud of the event.

"Not only this matter, but also the recent exposure of the Duke's corruption under Aslan's rule, and the Reformation incident, were all the work of Pulitzer journalists. The key point is that he did it at great risk, possibly even risking his life, but he still did it. Isn't that better than your brother Wayne?"

Reed rolled her eyes. It was a pity she hadn't spent enough time with Wayne, otherwise she would have said something like, "It's not good to put one down and praise another!"

However, judging from what Celtic's sister said, this Pulitzer journalist is indeed a very impressive person.

The Reformation withstood the growing influence of the Lateran Catholic Church across the land, igniting the flame of Protestantism. The Northern Rebellion, under pressure from Victoria, forcefully exposed the corruption of a trusted Grand Duke of the borderlands. But this wasn't the end; this time, he went so far as to completely destroy the credibility of a national government through news reporting, revealing the truth to the people of Colombia.

Whatever the cost of his actions, the fact that he could remain hidden behind the scenes after doing all this makes the Pulitzer journalist truly a remarkable figure.

The Lentinium Morning Post described him as "someone who will make an era known by his name." I wouldn't dare to exaggerate like some media outlets that are just chasing clicks, but if I were to give my opinion, I might say he's "about as good as Wayne."

Reed nodded, indicating that she would pay attention to news about Pulitzer Prize-winning journalists in the future. Then, she asked curiously:

"Then why do you admire him, sister?"

Celtic pursed his lips, glancing somewhat shyly at Reed. After thinking it over, he figured she was his sister anyway, and there was nothing to be ashamed of, so he said:

"Because he really is cool."

"Sister, do you understand our current situation?"

Celtic said earnestly:

“The bloodline of Drak is now considered to be extinct throughout the land. Our existence is actually not allowed in Victoria. Even if we exist for only one day, we are a threat and a challenge to the legitimacy of the Aslan monarchy.”

"Our weak uncle Edward abandoned his duty and the glory of Draco, choosing instead to flee eastward with a dragon and establish the Dragon Gate there. But Victoria showed him that fate is inescapable. Those who refuse to fight will only die a miserable death. The unicorns, in league with the true dragon's minions, issued a secret order, and Uncle Edward met a tragic end at the hands of his trusted brother. I didn't tell you these things before because the time wasn't right, but now I think you can know."

“Reed, our situation is not good. I don’t know how your adopted brother Wayne managed it, but he did hold off Aslan and the unicorn’s pursuers, buying you, me, and Deeppool some time. But it’s only temporary. Sooner or later, when the blood feud between Aslan and Drak reignites, he will stand before you with sword in hand. At that time, whether the lion pride slaughters the dragon or the dragon steps over corpses to reclaim its throne, everything will come to an end. Fate has been decided, only the time has not yet come.”

Celtic sighed, somewhat dejectedly saying:

"But frankly, Deeppool and Drak have nothing but the courage to fight and win. We have no city of our own, no regular army, no talent academy. From supplies to military equipment, we have nothing. Even Dublin would be hard to survive without your influence. Before, before we really clashed with Victoria's army, I still had courage. But since that night, when Deeppool's painstakingly built headquarters in the Northern Mountains, with dozens of warriors, was easily wiped out by a unicorn, I almost lost my courage. When I risked so much to save you, I did think I would be captured by a unicorn, fall into Aslan's hands, and die. But at the time, I even felt it was a relief."

Reed was somewhat bewildered; it was the first time she had seen Celt's pessimistic side. In the past, no matter how gloomy Deeppool seemed, no matter how difficult the situation, Celt always encouraged everyone with a proud smile and a resolute tone, painting a picture of Draco's great cause. No one doubted her determination; everyone believed she truly saw such a beautiful vision.

But today, at least Reed knows that beneath the resilient dragon exterior of her Drakian sister, there is still an uneasy and confused heart.

Idealists are not afraid of not being able to see where their ideals are; they are afraid of seeing their ideals clearly but being unable to find a way to realize them despite exhausting all means.

"But the Pulitzer journalist gave me confidence."

Celtic took a deep breath and said with admiration,

"He is my mentor. He taught me how to turn the impossible into the possible, whether an individual's strength can truly shake a behemoth. He told me that my persistence is meaningful, that there is a way to restore Draco's glory, it's just that I haven't found the method yet, but it must exist!"

Celtic said with longing:

"If I could, I really want to find him. He is the one who deserves our respect. If she is a woman, I would treat her like a sister; if she is a man, I would consider him my confidant to spend the rest of my life with."

Reed was truly shocked by Celtic's statement. But the next second, Celtic, blinded by emotion, realized the outrageous thing he had just said. He sprang up from the long wooden bench he had made himself, his large tail swishing like a fan, and frantically waved his hands, saying:

"I was just kidding, I was just kidding, sister, don't take it to heart. As the Queen of Draco... yes, Queen, I've long been prepared to dedicate my life to the revival of my homeland! Such a thing is impossible!"

"Sister..." Reed called out with a subtle expression, but it did nothing to stop Celt's overreaction. Instead, it caused a puff of white smoke to rise from both Celt's head and tail tip, causing Celt to completely shut down and become completely silent.

Wei Cao scratched his head.

What she really wanted to say was that if her sister wanted to restore Delacroix's glory and his rule over Victoria, all she had to do was marry Wayne.

But then I thought again, I still can't say it.

This was a mission her father had assigned her, and she didn't want to create an enemy for herself out of thin air.

Let's just stay sisters for now. I'll tell you after I've accomplished my "indirect" goal, so you can have a good laugh.

As for the Pulitzer journalists...

Reed had been a little confused since earlier; she felt like she had heard the name somewhere before.

That night, in the corridor of the Northern King's temporary residence (the Earl of Princeton's mansion), he thought he heard his brother Wayne mention this name in his room.

If you have the chance, try asking Wayne; maybe he knows the answer.

Perhaps the Pulitzer Prize reporter can help persuade the sister to stop arguing with Wayne, which would make her path easier.

Chapter 104 Preparation

The former site of Kazdel, deep within the Scar Market.

As a veterans' market that has managed to remain at the site of Kazdel despite the heavy pressure from Theresis and the Military Council, the true identity of the owner behind Scar Market remains a subject of much speculation among the Sarkaz.

This market almost runs counter to Theresis's ideals. Here, items strictly controlled by the Military Council, such as potent analgesics, military-grade Originium Arts amplifiers, and large-scale radio equipment, can be easily bought with "money." Of course, this "money" comes at a high price. It's not like Lungmen Dollars or paper money, nor is it like Victoria Gold Coins; instead, it's medals, or rather, name tags—name tags symbolizing a Sarkaz's identity and the complex story behind it.

The big boss behind the Scar Market periodically issues "official commissions," rewarding those who complete them with a large number of brand-name items. The Sarkaz have waged war for years, and the number of their comrades who perished in the wars is countless, so no one questions the origins of these brand-name items. Besides the big boss, there are also private commissions, but correspondingly, the number of brand-name items is much lower, and some are even paid for with gold coins, paper money, or even rare materials. This is the operating principle of the Scar Market.

It was a pristine land separate from the Kazdel Military Council, a paradise exclusively for mercenaries. Headhunters would issue commissions, set prices, and mercenaries would take the money, bring back the name tags, collect their bounties, and then the headhunters would gather the name tags to fulfill the official commissions of their bosses, thus earning huge profits. The cycle repeated itself endlessly; there were curious onlookers, but no one willing to explore its secrets.

To this day, Bozokastie is the first person to know the truth.

The absolutist led him to the deepest part of the Scarred Market. This was a ruin, what the people of the land called these dilapidated buildings. Their construction time, usage, and completeness were unknown. Apart from the Laterans and Iberians, no one would be interested in these things.

Who would have thought that the deepest part of the scar market is one of the five core members of the Order of the Forgivers?

"Are you surprised, Bozokasti?"

The absolutioner was responsible for temporarily monitoring Bozocasti's movements before Theresa's arrival, and since Bozocasti had already come here, it was harmless for him to reveal these secrets that were no longer secrets.

“I… am somewhat surprised,” Bozokas said. “The Scar Market… was formed by veterans… This has always been our… view.”

"But in reality, the scar market is certainly not like that. Nothing that can survive in Kazdel can escape the Military Council, can escape the General's sight. And nothing can defy the Military Council."

In Terra, it's not uncommon for official forces to possess some clandestine methods. The Scar Market, seemingly independent of the Military Council, was actually originally an intelligence station established by the Military Council—this is not surprising either. The statement that the so-called mastermind can rival Theresis isn't entirely wrong; after all, few can rival Theresis, and Theresis herself is certainly one of them.

Theresis knew very well that although he dreamed of reviving the Sarkaz Empire, not all Sarkaz people shared his vision. In this era, many Sarkaz people didn't even know what "Tikaz" meant; they were used to being undisciplined and had long lost the patience and power to be restrained, taught, and ruled.

For them, rather than following Theresis to accomplish some grand undertaking to restore Kazdel, it was better to lie low and wait to die. With their muscular physiques, they could work as mercenaries, sailors, or even as day laborers on construction sites, and they wouldn't starve.

Although Theresis was furious at these people's lack of ambition, he was powerless to change them. He couldn't personally guide them into battle, and besides, sending these immature individuals onto the battlefield might even become a threat to the war effort.

So he came up with another idea.

Since they didn't want to serve the country and only wanted to live for themselves, Theresis simply gave them a place to live for themselves. With the help of the Military Council's resources and intelligence, the Scar Market was born. It could obtain the latest intelligence in the first instance and help Theresis issue commissions, using civilian forces to deal with those "annoying but wasteful" scoundrels.

As it turned out, the effect was very good. The civilian fighting forces that were unwilling to join the army were organized, even if not all of them, and even if the efficiency was not very high, but at least those guys who were "unspirited and unambitious" in Theresis's eyes were put to good use.

Of course, there was a reason why the absolutist brought Bochokasti here.

Because of Kazdel's relocation, the old site no longer has a place for aircraft to take off and land. This means that if Wayne and Theresa want to come, they will not be able to use convenient aircraft, but will have to travel by car or road-going vessel.

Against this backdrop, Theresa chose the Scar Market as the meeting place. Firstly, it offered a high degree of seclusion, and secondly, Theresa had another important matter to attend to.

She plans to post a commission on the Scar Market, hiring a reliable mercenary team to conduct a preliminary investigation in Rembiton.

Indeed, Theresa obtained a set of coordinates from Kal'tsit, which, according to Kal'tsit's description, might indicate a large ancient ruin. Since the exact location of the ruins couldn't be determined, Theresa couldn't send a high-profile official investigation team and could only send mercenaries to scout ahead. Once the location was confirmed, formal excavation would begin.

Even Wayne doesn't know about this yet. It's not that Theresa doesn't want to tell him, but the time isn't right. Given Wayne's personality, he might cause some big commotion.

“How long do I need to wait here?” Bozokasti asked.

“Three days is enough,” the pardoner replied without any emotion.

It takes at least three days to travel from Victoria to the old site of Kazdale by land.

"During these three days, Bozokastie, you can tell me what you need, and I will try my best to meet it."

The pardoner said earnestly,

"Because you are a guest now. Of course, I really hope that you can see the error of your ways and become our comrade again."

"The reasons you left Kazdel in the first place have disappeared. Although the differences between the General and His Highness still exist, cooperation has become the mainstream. Since you have already left the Ursus army, why not return to Kazdel? We will give you the treatment you deserve."

Bozokasti's red eyes flickered for a moment, then he shook his head:

"I... will... reconsider this matter."

Chapter 105 Talulah and the Seed (End of Volume)

Ursus, the northern tundra, the first month after Patriots left the team.

"Leader, the camp's supplies are running low. If this continues, we might not make it through the week. Should we... tell the brothers outside not to accept any more infected?"

This was the fifth time Talulah had heard this suggestion in the past few days. She looked up, trying to make her somewhat weary face appear more energetic, and offered words of comfort to the warrior before her:

"Don't call me leader, I'm no different from you."

"As for supplies, reduce some from my rations. The infected are our compatriots. If we refuse their participation, they will only freeze to death, starve to death on the tundra, or be captured and killed by the thugs of the picket line. This goes against the original intention of the guerrillas."

The warrior frowned, staring at Talulah for a long time with a bitter expression. Talulah had no choice but to wave her hand again, and only then did the warrior nod helplessly and jog away from the tent.

Talulah sat back down at the table.

How could she not know that the supplies were running out?

But the guerrillas currently have no good way to replenish their supplies. A raid on the mines? Talulah couldn't distinguish which mines were viable targets, and which were bait set by Ursus to lure "Shields." A reckless raid two weeks ago had already cost their force five ordinary soldiers, and a Shield Guard was seriously wounded while covering Talulah's retreat. Talulah was incapable of organizing another raid; the guerrillas simply couldn't afford another failure.

Raiding villages? Villages are already scarce in the Northern Tundra. For most villagers, their food reserves are their only guarantee to survive the long, harsh winter of the Ursus Tundra. If Talulah were to seize the food reserves from those unarmed villagers, it would be tantamount to killing them.

Most military leaders in Terra, when faced with a choice between the army and the people, would choose to preserve the army's strength, because as long as they have an army, they still have the means to make a comeback. But Talulah wouldn't do that; if she did, she wouldn't be Talulah.

She had no way to replenish supplies.

For the first time, Talulah felt suffocated; the pressure felt like a mountain pressing down on her not-so-strong arms. For the first time, she realized how difficult it was to bear the trust of others, to be their hope, and to guide them.

It's far easier said than done.