Chapter 985: The Shift in the Situation

For several consecutive days, over a week, new “anti-government rebels” were brought to the execution scaffold every day.

The central square of Zolan reeked of thick bloodstains; even though cleaners swept it twice daily, the stench was nearly impossible to dispel.

Even disinfectant couldn’t remove it—the blood had long seeped into the brick seams and the soil.

There was no way to eliminate the odor in the short term.

Diego was truly enraged—he had stuffed the severed heads into cloth sacks, mounted them on poles, and lined them along both sides of the road into the city.

Zolan, and indeed all of Lapa, had grown somewhat calmer amid this massacre-like execution.

Federal journalists came to witness it—the roadways were lined with wooden poles, standing four or five meters tall, or even higher.

Each pole was wrapped in burlap, the bottom stained black with streaks of fresh red; birds perched atop the sacks.

They pecked relentlessly, indifferent to the occasion or the crowds on the road.

This horrifying sight caused intense physical discomfort in many journalists—even some who had covered frontline battlefields.

They had felt no such revulsion amid piles of corpses and body fragments on the battlefield, but here, they felt sick.

Death was the main theme of war; no matter how soldiers died, it was a kind of “respect” war bestowed upon them.

Though their bodies were scattered—here a limb, there a torso—it only evoked the brutality of war.

Here, however, it evoked pure nausea.

Power overrides basic human rights!

Lans held the latest issue of The International Observer; the front-page headline read “Whose Hell?” describing the massacre unfolding in Zolan.

Journalists used extensive photographs to give readers a sense of being there; many readers called to curse the reporters and editors, saying, “You made me feel sick to my stomach.”

They believed these images had no place in newspapers—their shock value left Federals trembling, yet also filled them with a stronger sense of happiness!

Being born in the Federation? It’s the luckiest thing a human being could ever experience—no exceptions.

Mainstream media republished these articles, and the reporters slipped in plenty of hidden agendas.

They claimed this was merely a reflection of the backwardness and barbarism of the Aylan region, that all of Aylan was like this.

Power was hereditary; the ruling class arbitrarily stripped people of their lives, using it as a tool of control.

This made many people harbor no affection for Aylan’s ruling elite.

The Federal government showed the world what it wanted to export—and gained public approval—turning annexation from “shameless invasion” into “humanitarian redemption.”

Congress was thoroughly satisfied, so even The Federal Post, the core political newspaper, republished these news stories and photos, commissioning two opinion pieces by freelance writers.

Lans flipped through the newspapers—he knew they were from yesterday.

“Some agencies conducted public opinion polls yesterday; thirty-one percent believe the Federal government should intervene or speak up for Lapa’s people.”

Albert sat beside Lans, stirring his fine coffee, discussing domestic developments.

These past few days, Diego continued ordering the military to arrest rioters; no one knew whether those captured had truly participated in the uprising.

The military may have had their own agenda—rumors say many local Zolan residents were also arrested and imprisoned.

Naturally, their assets became targets for military plunder.

But who can say for sure? Perhaps… it’s just rumor. Diego’s government will surely issue a denial soon.

Lans savored his breakfast—today’s meal featured local flavors.

They threaded tiny beef cubes—barely a centimeter thick, eight parts fat, two parts lean—onto thin iron wires and roasted them over a flameless grill.

This allowed the fat to drip away without frying; by the end, the beef had shrunk to slightly larger than soybeans, crisp and dry.

When chewed, they released a rich aroma of beef fat, yet felt anything but greasy—the fat had all drained away.

They carried a smoky barbecue flavor, and the lean portions remained tender—even eaten plain, they were delicious.

They mixed these with onions, apple bits, local fruit pieces, and a touch of vegetables.

Tossed with a sweet-and-sour sauce, then stuffed into a fried, half-spherical wheat shell, shaped like a bowl.

Sprinkled with spices, each bite-sized morsel was no bigger than a ping-pong ball—perfect for one bite.

Extremely delicious!

The flavor profile was uniquely complex, the texture superb in every aspect—almost no flaws to be found.

Though Lapa was poor and backward, its privileged class and ruling elite enjoyed comforts no less refined than those of the Federation’s masters.

Not to mention fresh-squeezed fruit juice with ice cubes in the dead of winter—reportedly Diego’s favorite, its intense sweet-tart taste whetted the appetite.

“Still too little,” Lans swallowed the delicious bite—he rarely felt strong cravings for food.

But this local dish was truly good, mainly because it wasn’t greasy at all; the tart fruits inside perfectly cut through any residual oiliness.

He picked up another and popped it in his mouth. “Only twenty to thirty percent support us doing something. Looks like a lot, but seventy percent still oppose it.”

“We need to expand our influence and make people realize the benefits this can bring us.”

“Benefits for the government—and for ordinary people.”

He swallowed again, sipped his coffee. “Lapa is ideal for coffee cultivation, yet they’ve never exploited it.”

“It has abundant mineral resources that could meet domestic production needs—and requires laborers.”

Lapa’s labor costs are extremely low—even lower than those of Federation refugee workers; by exploiting local labor, we can raise wages for Federation employees.

For workers willing to go abroad, they are real beneficiaries—and Lans intends to prioritize Federation-native workers over immigrants or refugees.

After multiple rounds of legislative reforms, the Federal government granted voting rights to immigrants and dark-skinned people, then stripped them away through other laws.

The most notorious example: the Hernandez Act, which required naturalized citizens (immigrants) and dark-skinned people to pay a fixed annual fee to retain voting rights, starting from their naturalization date or citizenship acquisition.

The fee wasn’t much—just ten or so dollars a year.

But for poor families, especially imperial immigrants from the Empire District, they might save only twenty or thirty dollars annually.

To then spend half their savings on a voluntary tax they didn’t have to pay—just to legally tick a name on a ballot—clearly wasn’t worth it.

So many immigrants and dark-skinned people had no voting rights at all.

Even Federation natives lacked voting rights if they owned no home or steady job—

Capitalists promoted home ownership with the slogan: “Love this country? Participate in politics!” linking homeownership to patriotism, and it sounded plausible.

Many indeed took out loans to buy homes just to gain a voting right that was practically useless—only to later realize they were one in millions.

Their votes couldn’t change outcomes; sometimes, when results displeased the masters, they were simply altered manually.

Overall, however, it was a three-way win.

Capitalists sold unsellable properties; the public gained a strong sense of patriotic duty and eligibility; politicians won more voter support—completely victorious.

The masters needed these voters; Lans needed them too. Never mind whether their voting rights were obtained by stabbing themselves in the back (through loans)—at least they now possessed them, and were true voters!

For those without power, these political rights meant nothing.

But for those who could wield them—like Senator Cleveland and his small group—voters were invaluable.

Bring these politically empowered voters to Lapa, to Aylan, offer them high welfare and high income, and they’ll become more dependent on the invasion of Aylan.

When voters with ballot power are “locked in” to this land, a single public vote will grant the Federal government and Congress “the people’s mandate” to act in Aylan.

Lans had already discussed this with Senator Cleveland, who strongly supported his plan.

But he hadn’t told Albert in detail—even though Albert shared a name with one of Patricia’s three grandfathers.

Sometimes Lans found it odd how names kept repeating among Federals, and people across the world.

He glanced at Albert. “After the New Year, you can start approaching those people.”

During this period, two “students” were arrested, their heads hung on poles along the main road into Zolan—still some time before the New Year.

After the New Year, the current high-alert security should ease.

Albert nodded. “Understood.”

After seeing Albert off, Lans returned to his study, propping his chin on the armrest of his chair, pondering a letter delivered with today’s newspapers.

The letter was from Senator Cleveland: he informed Lans that the Jede Republic had decided to send Lapa a shipment of grain.

According to their information, the first batch would be roughly four thousand tons.

This amount could resolve some of Lapa’s current problems.

They didn’t know the hidden terms of this aid—Congress wanted to know what conditions Lapa had agreed to in exchange.

On the other hand, since the shipment traveled by rail, it would be nearly impossible for the Federation to interfere.

Among the “non-governmental organizations” operating in Aylan, only Lans was in Lapa with the capability to sabotage this deal.

Senator Cleveland’s message was clear: do everything possible to prevent the transaction from succeeding.

Frankly, it was a difficult request.

Lans had burned the letter—he dared not discuss this over the phone with home, unsure if Lapa was wiretapping his calls.

It gave him a headache; delayed access to information could cause missteps.

Fortunately, the deal wouldn’t happen until after the New Year.

Senator Cleveland also wrote that Congress and the Federal government would focus their attention on the war for now, leaving Lans to fend for himself—especially regarding personnel.

If he needed supplies—weapons, food, or anything else—they could be fully provided.

But if he requested government officials to assist, he’d get no help—not even for covert military operations in Aylan.

Over the past few months, the Federal Navy had deployed its main forces to protect key ports and coastal cities from renewed Dantela naval attacks.

Only a few warships escorted merchant vessels between the continents, causing frequent disruptions in supply transport.

Of course, that was the official story; in reality, they sometimes simply sent empty ships and claimed they’d been sunk en route.

Threatened shipping lanes and rising risks inevitably drove up transport costs.

No one risked their lives transporting goods back and forth for charity—charging more was only natural.

Now, only Federal Army supply ships received naval escort; civilian free trade was largely ignored.

This caused supply issues for Slade and his allies.

This caused Slad and his allies to encounter minor issues with supply provisions.

They knew full well this was the Federation’s underhanded tactic—the Federal Government was seeking greater initiative and power, strangling them with these despicable means.

They wanted to become the dominant force in the military alliance, even to control the entire alliance and the future of these nations.

Moreover, their justification was sound: according to Congress, they deserved “respect” commensurate with their strength.

The Slads were pounded into constant retreat and defense, as the Federation poured in massive troops to push the front back near the two nations’ border—at a terrible cost.

In undisclosed figures not shared with the Federation, frontline casualties had already exceeded three hundred thousand.

With so many dead and so much wealth invested, it seemed only natural for the Federal Government to demand command of the war.

It was they who prevented the war from worsening further and delivered solid results.

But the Slad government did not see it that way—if the Federation took command, they would lose all their current status.

Moreover, they were unsure whether the Federation’s greedy appetite could ever be satisfied; if it couldn’t, it would be a major problem for them.

Within Slad, many hoped to gain massive war dividends from Dantela through victory in this war.

On one hand, to resolve their escalating domestic class conflicts—in truth, like the Federation and other actively participating nations, they needed to export their troubles.

On the other hand, they also sought to solidify their position on the Tanfet Continent and curb the development of the Dantela Republic.

If they handed command to the Federation, would they receive fewer benefits?

Would their strategic plans still have a chance to succeed?

And in the military alliance, and any future international bloc that might form, would the Federation also hold dominant control?

Considering many factors, both sides had been locked in prolonged “negotiations” over this issue, and the talks had consistently stalled—neither side wanted to relinquish its own gains or let the other gain anything.

The grueling negotiations eventually wore down the Federal Government’s patience; in October, the Federal military halted completely, holding their ground—this gave Dantela a sigh of relief and greatly reduced their pressure.

They seemed to realize this: something had gone wrong between the Federation and Slad. So they suddenly intensified their offensive, pushing the front back into Slad territory.

They’d been beaten black and blue by the Federation’s money and willingness to sacrifice—could they not at least defeat the Slads?

Moreover, more small units began infiltrating to sabotage rear areas, destroying numerous bridges, roads, railways, factories, and more, bringing parts of the industry to a near standstill.

Normally, a shutdown would be tolerable—but this was wartime. Even a factory producing screws shutting down was unacceptable, for it meant damaged weaponry could not be repaired.

They were now extremely, extremely on the defensive!

Sometimes the Slads suspected that the Dantelans could pinpoint their targets so precisely because the Federation had leaked intelligence—otherwise, how could they hit every target dead-on?

Under these conditions, Slad’s industrial production and transport capacity dropped another notch; what unsettled them further was rumors that Dantela had dispatched a new delegation to the Federation to restart negotiations on the war.

Thus, after more than half a year of stalemate, a glimmer of hope and turning point emerged—the Slads began renegotiating with the Federation over the question of “who’s the boss,” and were likely to make concessions.

Congress had shifted all its focus here, temporarily neglecting Lans.

Of course, this neglect had its advantages—at least they had no time to care about what Lans was doing, nor could they stop him.

So his plans could now become even bolder!

In the evening, Elvin called.