Chapter 1053: The Mirror

Ross also ran over, looking somewhat disheveled in his pajamas.

They were currently residing in the Presidential Palace. With the exception of Diego's office, which was still considered the collective "restricted area," the other rooms had been properly allocated.

Pedro's office was next to the Presidential Office. Excluding the Presidential Office, his was the largest and most beautiful office in the entire building.

Besides the offices, the Presidential Palace had many bedrooms. Rather than being the Rapa government's office building, it was more like a castle built by the Ravila family to showcase their power.

It contained hundreds of rooms, so vast that it hardly resembled a mere Presidential Palace.

Many people were currently staying in the Presidential Palace, awaiting the formation of the new government.

This included active progressive figures from various regions. After arriving in Zhuolan, they were housed in the Presidential Palace to facilitate ongoing communication with the rebel leaders and other progressive individuals.

Pedro believed that if they were to form an enlightened, egalitarian People's Government, a certain degree of openness and use of the Presidential Palace became valuable and meaningful.

Although Ross opposed this, everyone else supported Pedro, so he had to keep quiet.

Ross's room was only about twenty meters from Pedro's. His face was etched with anxiety and panic. "We were fooled!"

Pedro looked at Ross and walked quickly toward his office. Ross followed closely, speaking as he went. "The moment Diego died, they jumped out! They used us as executioners against Diego, and now they are coming for us!"

"We should go find Lance immediately! Make them give us another batch of weapons and ammunition! Oh, and the Jede side! Didn't you speak with their President?"

"Didn't they promise us supplies?"

"Make them send those supplies over right away!"

The Federal people had completely stopped supplying the anti-government forces before the "Battle for Zhuolan." To be blunt, their current stock of ammunition, medicine, gasoline, and artillery shells was severely inadequate—not nearly enough to support another large-scale battle.

Now, almost all the remaining tribal states had publicly stood up to fiercely oppose them. Ross, woken by his aide, had read the condemnations, which accused them of being reactionaries, thieves who truly jeopardized national security, and scourges destroying Rapa's stability.

He panicked.

A dozen, maybe twenty tribal states—even if each could only mobilize twenty to thirty thousand men—were enough to overwhelm them. Furthermore, they didn't know if Lance and the Federal people were remotely controlling this operation from behind the scenes.

If they were, this was the worst possible outcome!

In this moment, Ross had a bizarre sensation—a delusion of transforming into Diego himself. When he first heard the news, a realization flashed uncontrollably through his mind.

When Diego learned that the rebel army had reached the outskirts of Zhuolan, was he not struck by the same anxiety, fear, and panic, perhaps even feeling the urge to flee?

Pedro suddenly stopped, causing Ross to fail to "brake" and collide with him. "You are too nervous, Ross."

Facing Pedro, whom Ross viewed as his greatest rival, Ross's gaze gradually settled under Pedro's scrutiny. "Yes, I am too nervous!"

He wiped his face. "I'll go change, then come to your office."

Pedro nodded. He watched Ross leave. He had just told Ross he was too nervous, while forgetting that he himself wasn't even wearing shoes.

But such details hardly mattered now.

Once in his office, he immediately called Lance. Lance was also awake, reading the newspaper.

The paper reported on the high political pressure within Dantra: most members of the second-largest political party were allegedly involved in selling out national interests and assassinating the President. Their President was carrying out a political purge.

People were being arrested and secretly executed daily. The situation on the main battlefield had undergone a massive shift!

What was more surprising was that the joint forces of Slad and the Federation had not taken advantage of this opportunity to attack, maintaining the same restraint. It seemed all these parties had negotiated an agreement, quietly waiting for developments.

Lance flipped through a few pages, deciphering much useful information.

Many years ago, when he was incarcerated, he had nothing to do and began reading the news and newspapers with others.

On the surface, it seemed like a leisurely life, but in reality, it was part of their daily routine.

Reading books, newspapers, and watching the news were required learning processes every day.

Initially, he didn't understand, but with the help of some friends, he gradually began to interpret the underlying messages woven into the ordinary text of the newspapers.

The things hidden behind the simple words.

Just like the news article he had just read: without a doubt, the Federation and Slad had negotiated and exchanged interests with Dantra's President.

If they were truly just "waiting," they wouldn't tolerate the President raising the butcher knife to eliminate domestic opposition forces. That was not a correct approach for holding out for a better price.

Once all the opposition was eliminated, no one else could bid, and the President's price would drop. Therefore, they must have negotiated something in places people hadn't noticed.

The war was over.

That was the true message of the news article. Although it seemed to be gleefully reporting on Dantra's domestic political crisis, its real message to certain individuals was that the war had reached its conclusion.

While eating, he looked across the dining table at Roger and the others. "Are there any problems with the factories?"

"Are our goods entering and leaving the port normally?"

Roger nodded. "No problems at all. The rebel army hasn't detained or searched our trucks; they've let them pass right through."

"The port hasn't imposed any restrictions either. We load the ships and leave directly. No one inspects anything or intervenes."

Lance nodded. If Pedro hadn't completely lost his mind, he wouldn't dare cause trouble.

Lance created him, and naturally, he could also destroy him.

Roger hesitated slightly after answering Lance's question, then asked softly, "Mr. Chairman, I heard this morning that the tribal states are declaring war on the rebels..."

Lance put a piece of lightly toasted bread, smeared with various strange ingredients, into his mouth and took a bite. The sauce combined with the slightly crispy texture of the bread—no wonder Federal people liked to toast bread before eating it.

Besides giving it a better texture, it also made it softer.

Many types of bread harden when cooled; only slight reheating makes them soft again.

Butter base, combined with salted cheese and fine dried fragments of mixed vegetables and spices, along with a hint of lemon and a small amount of minced tuna, and some local vegetable shreds—it tasted strange, but also delicious.

"Don't worry about them. No matter how the political situation in that country changes, it won't affect us ultimately."

"However, during this period, if it is not necessary, it is best not to leave the concession."

"Wait until everything stabilizes before considering venturing out."

Roger accepted Lance's advice entirely. Just as he was about to talk about work matters, the butler approached Lance, leaned down slightly, and whispered in Lance's ear, "You have a phone call."

The butler here was the son of Lance's estate butler in the Federation. Their familial relationship was one where the entire family traditionally served the master.

Lance trusted them fairly well.

Hearing the butler's message, Lance put down his slice of bread. He wiped his hands and cleaned the remnants of food and sauce from the corners of his mouth, placing his hands on the chair's armrests.

The moment he stood up, the butler lifted the chair back so it wouldn't make a sound, smoothly drawing it away from under Lance.

Everything was smooth and fluid, almost visually pleasing.

"Please excuse me," Lance said, then turned and left. He took Pedro's call in a nearby lounge.

Two or three minutes had passed from the moment the call connected to when he picked up the receiver.

"It's breakfast time, Pedro. You should be enjoying the best food and time of your day, not bothering others."

His tone carried a lightness, even a playful element, indicating he was in a good mood.

Once Pedro and his group were eliminated, the tribal state leaders and chieftains would gather to form a provisional government.

And he, Lance White, would temporarily serve as the Prime Minister or some other position—but definitely the true leader—of the provisional government, despite being a foreigner.

With this status and position, everything that followed would be smooth sailing. Two years of work were nearing completion, and Lance had no reason not to be happy.

He was about to break through a barrier and enter a higher social stratum, completely saying goodbye to his lower-class self.

Anyone encountering happy news would be this way: light-toned, joking, and full of humor.

Lance's happiness, in stark contrast to Pedro's anxiety, sounded particularly grating to Pedro's ears.

"This is all your doing!" Pedro's tone was heavy. If he still harbored any illusions at this point, the person calling Lance today would be someone else—someone less naive.

Lance crossed his legs and lit a cigarette. Having just eaten, he was craving a smoke. "Don't use such harsh words, Pedro."

"What do you mean 'my doing'?"

Pedro's voice was anxious. "You made them pretend to be neutral, and now they suddenly announce they are attacking us. Isn't this your work?"

Lance couldn't help but laugh lightly twice. "Do you know this?"

"How many years did the Rapa government, led by the Ravila family, rule this country?"

"Do you know how many years the chieftains of these tribal states have ruled their territories?"

"You are the destroyer of order. Is there a problem with them eliminating you, eliminating you unstable destroyers of order?"

"I don't think so!"

"I listened to the live broadcast of the public trial these past few days, hearing how you tried Diego."

"Using things he didn't do, using rumors to smear or demonize him, making them his crimes to build a case against him."

"Diego didn't resist much because he knew this was the privilege of the victor."

"Privilege, do you understand?"

Lance took a puff of smoke, exhaling slowly. His ankle moved slightly. Out of Pedro's sight, his face held an expression of cold indifference mixed with pity.

"The victor decides everything, and the loser can only accept it. That is the privilege of the victor and the bitter fruit the loser must bear."

"A man like Diego earned some respect from me in his final moments, Pedro. I hope you don't ruin my impression of you."

"You shouldn't be a person who only knows how to complain and blame others. You should be a hero to yourself and the people around you."

"The stage for the final act has been set for you. Play it well. Don't disappoint!"

Pedro gritted his teeth. "I am not a loser yet!"

His tone was filled with resentment and hatred, which Lance could clearly hear.

After everything they had been through, they were just one step away from the final goal, yet this single step felt like an insurmountable chasm to him now!

Facing that chasm, he felt only deep despair.

He wasn't Ross or any of the others without a higher education. He had the normal, even superior, thinking abilities of an educated man.

During his time as the rebel leader, his logic and abilities, honed by experience, had grown closer to those of a competent politician than a middle school teacher.

So he clearly understood that he was now facing the same dilemma as Diego.

Diego had been able to struggle a bit because Lance, in order to maximize the consumption of unstable elements and impulsive, idealistic young people in Rapa, had given Diego significant material and financial aid, allowing him to continuously raise new armies to fight them.

But now, Lance no longer needed to consume so many people; the unstable elements had been largely consumed. He would not offer Pedro any aid.

With the supplies they currently had, they simply could not win!

This was despair—deep, profound despair!

You held a small dagger, while your enemies carried rifles and pushed cannons. This was not an even fight; it was a unilateral slaughter.

Lance didn't respond to his claim of "I am not a loser yet." He seemed to fall silent himself.

After a long moment, Pedro spoke in a slightly hoarse voice, "I will make you understand. I am not a coward, nor a loser."

Lance chuckled lightly twice. "I will look forward to your performance, Pedro."

"I heard you referred to yourselves as my students. Then, as my most outstanding student, I hope you can earn my respect."

The call ended there. Lance hung up, then dialed the Minister of Foreign Affairs. "Tell them to start."

On the other side, after hanging up, Pedro immediately dialed the "coalition" command post and ordered military adjustments.

Large numbers of troops, carrying what little supplies they had, left Zhuolan and headed back toward the Reef Horse Bridge area.

It was near the inner side of Reef Horse Bridge that the government army had once built an encirclement and defense line, heavily decimating the rebels.

Now, it was their turn to do the same.

The more he did this, the more Pedro felt a comical sense of being manipulated by fate, because he felt increasingly like Diego. He was encountering everything Diego had encountered, perhaps even worse!

Ross quickly arrived at his office. He seemed slightly calmer than before, but only slightly.

He pushed the door open and walked directly to the opposite side of the desk, sitting down. "What did Lance say?"

Pedro looked at him, his gaze stiff and fixed. "Lance said he looks forward to our performance."

Ross slammed the table hard. "I'll lead men to capture Lance! If we have him in our hands, we won't be so passive!"

Pedro was silent for a while. At any other time, he would have refused, but now, they truly had no better option.

As anti-government fighters who rose from "non-legitimate" roots, they had little reverence for "rules."

Pedro nodded. "Be careful."