The light of dawn spilled down from the sky, gilding the man’s shoulders in a layer of sacred gold.

McClennan narrowed his eyes and made out the face.

The sharp, angular features radiated a commanding authority without anger, much like the domineering, majestic flying-ship palace beneath his feet. Yet deep within those sunken eye sockets lurked a kind of cunning and cruelty that was all bark and no bite, like the most common hyena of the wasteland.

He had heard that the man’s name was Wutuo Xilande.

However, McClennan felt nothing but indifference toward this emperor who stood above ten thousand others.

Leaving aside any comparison with the battle-hardened Marshal, even compared to the one McClennan had seen in Dawn City, the fellow was little more than a monkey with a crown perched on its head.

Perhaps his father had been someone remarkable, but Wislanders respected strength, not someone’s daddy.

What truly baffled McClennan was that the people there would actually kneel and worship a monkey, reverently addressing him as the supreme emperor.

Had no one ever stopped to ask whether the guy was worthy?

McClennan couldn’t understand why the great Marshal would instruct weak, spineless civil officials to cultivate the land. Everything that was there didn’t even require the Eastern Expansionst Army or the Southern Army. McClennan could take down the so-called Heavenly City himself with a single airship.

They were born slaves.

If they took the place, every Wislander could be allotted two of them. That was what the Army ought to be doing.

Still, noticing the look from the aide beside him, McClennan restrained himself, cleared his throat, and spoke with perfunctory politeness. “Your Majesty, I bring you the friendship of Triumphant City.”

The slight bow of his head concealed the disdain curling at the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t even be bothered to introduce himself, going straight to the point.

The aide hadn’t expected the general to cooperate for long anyway. He quickly picked up the thread, smiling courteously. “Your Majesty, this is General McClennan, whom we have recommended to you. He rendered outstanding service to the Army in the desert and transformed what was once the weakest state in the Sunset Province, the Falcon Kingdom, into the strongest power in the desert! With him as your military advisor, he will surely help you forge an invincible army of steel!”

Looking down at the two Wislanders standing below the steps, Wutuo Xilande stroked his thick beard with his right hand, his face beaming with delight.

Especially General McClennan, the more he looked at him, the more he liked him!

The man possessed every quality a fierce general should have: proud, unruly, with a high, straight nose. He was a born commander!

There were many tall and powerful men in the Poro Province, but compared to the battle-bred Wislanders, they were still lacking.

“May the gods bless my Empire!” he said joyfully, raising both hands in welcome. “I have long heard of the general’s great reputation. Seeing you today, you truly live up to it. I have prepared a welcoming banquet in the palace, please, come with me at once!”

As his words fell, an elephant-shaped palanquin decorated with flower baskets came to a stop at the foot of the marble-carved steps. Four burly, dark-skinned men bent their knees slightly and set it down heavily on the ground.

McClennan glanced at the four of them and grunted, “I have legs.”

He wasn’t about to sit in that ridiculous rocking contraption, it was a toy for three-year-olds.

With that, he started walking up the steps.

The aide looked at this temperamental man with a mix of laughter and exasperation, then glanced at the palanquin beside him. Finally, he raised his head and gave the lofty emperor an apologetic look, steeling himself as he followed McClennan up the stairs.

Wutuo showed no displeasure at all. On the contrary, he was delighted to have seen a “true Wislander.”

The group moved into the central building of the Heavenly Palace, passed through a flower-laden corridor, and entered a magnificently decorated banquet hall.

Soon, everyone took their seats.

Preoccupied with his own thoughts, McClennan held his breath and watched the officials and nobles slowly take their places one by one. His index finger tapped the table again and again until he finally couldn’t hold back. He turned to the calm aide beside him and whispered, “When are we telling them about the port?”

The aide froze, looking at him in surprise. “Why would we tell them?”

McClennan stared at him in astonishment for a long moment, then spread his hands, unable to find words and instead communicating with his eyes.

They’re your allies. You’re asking me why?

Realizing McClennan had misunderstood something, the aide coughed lightly and spoke softly by his ear. “When dealing with them, we must use their own philosophy. Port Gallon is the emperor’s territory. If you want to befriend him, you can’t discover the problem before he does. He has his own appointed governors and intelligence network. Even without our reminder, he will realize something is wrong, it’s only a matter of time.”

McClennan didn’t get angry at it, but laughed instead. He realized his temper really had improved, he could even patiently ask follow-up questions. “So we just wait?”

The aide shook his head lightly.“No need to wait. What’s there to wait for? Do I look anxious to you? We can simply act as if the problem doesn’t exist. Letting them suffer a bit is actually beneficial, they’ll only rely on us once they’re beaten badly enough, trading their resources for our rifles... You’ll get used to it after staying here for a while. When dealing with them, never be impatient, especially don’t be more impatient than they are.”

McClennan looked at him speechlessly, then gave up arguing altogether and took a grim sip from his teacup.

He longed to wash away past humiliation, but in the Xilande Empire, he saw no hope at all, only the torment of time and patience being ground away.

For the first time, he felt a twinge of regret about agreeing to come.

...

While the Heavenly City was still celebrating, the defenders of Port Gallon were being beaten into wailing submission by the Burning Corps, cowering in the slums and daring not to come out.

They discovered that as long as they stayed mixed in with civilians, the people at the port wouldn’t lob shells at them, and would only return fire when they themselves opened fire.

Of course, that wasn’t guaranteed. For instance, when they tried setting up artillery in a slum courtyard to fire toward the docks, they were still treated to mortar strikes and pointed out by drones.

The survivors living in the slums had learned their lesson too. Knowing that sticking with those guys only meant getting bombed, they naturally refused to stay near them. At the sight of garrison uniforms, they scattered, hiding far away, some even watching the spectacle from a distance.

Something similar had happened a month earlier, when a group of armed big shots had been chased all over the streets by a single white bear.

This time, it seemed even worse.

The exoskeleton-clad men had stormed straight into the Governor's Manor. Not only were the governor’s private troops routed in panic, even the twin-blade banner flying atop the building was torn down.