Raising his hand, hardening gradually spread along Yago's palm, and Bertholdt's face was about to be swallowed by it.
"Wait, Yago, I still have one last question. Why would Annie choose to help you? Was it really because of the feelings from these three years?" Bertholdt finally asked bitterly the question he had buried deep in his heart.
The hardening stopped. Yago smiled and said,
"Bertholdt, if I told you that Annie and I already knew each other back in the Liberio internment zone, would you believe me?"
"What? Yago, you're from…" Bertholdt was utterly shocked. In an instant, he understood something from Yago's words—Yago, too, was from Marley?
But before Bertholdt could say the word Marley, the hardening sealed him inside.
Yago took one last look at Bertholdt, encased within the hardened crystal, then turned and left.
Bang! The iron door slammed shut. Under the dim lighting, Bertholdt inside the crystal still wore that stunned expression.
Stepping out of the bunker, Yago took a deep breath. The road ahead was unknown. Paradis Island needed to develop as quickly as possible, so Zeke's assistance had become increasingly important.
However, Yago did not fully trust Zeke either. How much trust Zeke had in Yago was also a question. The two of them seemed to each have their own little calculations, like two foxes cooperating while remaining wary of one another.
Yago turned his head. Beside the bunker was a newly built firing range. Equipment seized from Marleyan soldiers was being studied there by craftsmen and blacksmiths called forth from within the walls, and scattered, bean-frying-like gunshots could be heard from inside the range.
With that thought, Yago started walking toward the firing range.
Inside the range, a burly man with bulging muscles, a scruffy beard, a piece of wire clenched between his teeth, and bloodshot eyes was holding a Marleyan soldier's firearm and examining it repeatedly.
On the table in front of the burly man were already many disassembled gun parts.
"Hey! Lynch, what are you up to?" A familiar voice came from behind. But Lynch did not turn around. He spat out the wire from his mouth and said, "What are you here for, kid?"
Yago casually dragged over a stool and sat down, grinning as he said,
"Just came to chat with you. I say, you've taken apart quite a few rifles, huh? Well? Can you make them? Shouldn't it be too hard for you, the chief researcher of Vertical Maneuvering Equipment, right?"
"Get lost, get lost. Don't pick a fight. How could it be that easy?" Lynch replied irritably. Then he lifted the rifle and said,
"The other parts of this gun are fine, but this internal spring—I don't know what material it's made of. It seems to be some kind of special steel, very hard to make. Even alloys can't reach this level of hardness."
"And these bullets, too—unbelievable. How do they manufacture them all exactly the same? They're extremely precise."
As Lynch spoke, his brows were tightly knit. Clearly, replicating rifles was very difficult, and Yago's expression also grew grave.
This was where the gap showed itself. On Paradis Island, the Military Police and the Garrison were still using flintlock muskets, with ammunition that was entirely handmade—fixed paper cartridges. Meanwhile, across the sea, Marley and the rest of the world had already entered the era of industrialized military production, where high-powered machines replaced manual labor.
Technological capability was now the short board of all Paradis Island. Compared to the outside nations, Paradis Island's existing military strength was simply like a plate of bean sprouts.
They couldn't even replicate the most basic standard-issue rifle. The situation could be said to be extremely grim. If this continued, aside from the Rumbling, Paradis Island would have no protective force left.
"There's no way around it. Zeke, you'd better not drop the ball." Yago could only choose to believe that Zeke would truly bring help.
Leaving Lynch's workshop, Yago saw two figures inside the firing range.
Sasha was half-crouched on the ground, holding a long gun wrapped in strips of cloth. With one eye closed, she seemed to be aiming at something.
Bang! One shot. Reload. Bang! Another shot! … In one smooth sequence, Sasha fired five shots in a row. If one were to walk up to the target she had been shooting at, they would find that on the washbasin-sized target, there was only a single bullet hole at the bullseye.
Someone unfamiliar might think Sasha had only hit once, but make no mistake—the truth was that all five shots hit the bullseye consecutively, each passing through the same hole.
Sasha was a born sniper. Beside her, Koris was already so shocked he couldn't even whistle. He himself was considered a renowned sniper in the Marleyan navy, but at this distance, he could only guarantee that each shot stayed within the eight-ring.
Koris had never seen a sniper as outrageously gifted as Sasha.
"How was it? All hits! Remember to treat me to a meal!" Sasha said proudly, slinging the sniper rifle over her shoulder.
Koris smiled. "Alright. If there's a chance, I'll make seafood for you. I once learned a few tricks from a very capable young chef next door."
But Sasha scratched her head in confusion and asked, "Seafood? What's seafood?"
Koris froze. On Paradis Island, surrounded by the sea on all sides, this child didn't even know what seafood was?
"Sasha, you don't know the sea?"
"The sea? What's the sea? An animal? Can you eat it?"
Koris fell silent. In his heart, a voice seemed to ask,
"What have we Marleyans… actually done?"
...
Eastern Port of the Marleyan capital. At this moment, dozens of warships of all sizes filled the harbor. This was Marley's strongest First Fleet, and they were about to set sail for the battlefield, to give those ungrateful Middle Easterners a bloody lesson.
Within the First Fleet, a destroyer sounded its horn and powered up as it left the port. Strangely, the direction this destroyer was heading was not the direction of the battlefield the First Fleet was bound for.
Inside the captain's command room of the destroyer "Courage," a dark-skinned, thick-lipped crewman held the helm. Beside the Black crewman was the captain, already dead drunk and fast asleep.
Bang! The door to the command room was thrown open. A soldier wearing the same Marleyan naval uniform walked in. With emotionless black eyes, they glanced at the snoring captain, removed their helmet, revealing short blond hair and a strikingly heroic face.
"Oluo—how is it? Have you contacted Zeke yet?" The newcomer's voice was clear, even somewhat crisp—it was actually a woman's voice?! It didn't quite match her androgynous appearance.
The Black crewman nodded and replied, "Yeah, but there's no reply yet. By the way, Yelena, didn't Zeke say at first that there was no rush to help Paradis Island? Why is he in such a hurry now? He wants us to move with the first reconnaissance fleet?"
The woman called Yelena looked out at the sea beyond the command room and said, "Because… the situation seems to have changed."