Chapter 1054: We Became Him

As Ross led his men away from the Presidential Palace, the phone immediately rang in Lance's office.

The morning in Rapa was exceptionally quiet; the streets were almost empty.

Rapa had just been purged by routing soldiers, and almost every household was nursing its wounds at home.

In the slums, which had mostly been spared by the routing soldiers, people were also largely staying inside or just on the streets outside their doors.

The city center had completely shut down, which meant that a large portion of the slums, which relied on the center for job opportunities, had lost their work.

Diego certainly had many flaws, but the people who lived in Zhuolan didn't feel his tyranny intensely.

The dictator's sword didn't fall upon the untouchables of the slums. The only thing they felt was that the city, because it had Diego and the Rapa government, was becoming increasingly prosperous.

The bustling city provided them with more job opportunities, allowing them to support their families.

While the work they got was neither respectable nor safe or healthy, it at least allowed them to feed their families.

Now, all of that was gone. They would soon face the same problem they had faced before:

No income, inability to buy food, and inability to support their families.

Therefore, from the perspective of these people, there was essentially no difference between Diego and these newcomers, Pedro and his men.

Ross led his group toward the New Federal Center quickly. Along the way, he noticed the common people, the bottom of society, hiding in alleys or behind buildings, staring at them with unfriendly eyes.

If it were just one or two, he wouldn't have cared much, but almost every gaze was the same, giving him an indescribable sense of dread.

He could feel that he, and they, were surrounded by this malice.

He was somewhat confused. He had clearly liberated these people, saving them from Diego's brutal dictatorship. Why weren't they grateful? Why were they looking at him with such hostile, even hateful, eyes?

Even during the public trial, from beginning to end, these people didn't deeply engage emotionally with the judgment. It was laughably strange, as if Diego's death wasn't good news for them.

These despicable commoners!

The thought surfaced in Ross's mind, then he shoved it aside.

More important than understanding why these commoners rejected them was capturing Lance.

As Ross's team reached the entrance to the New Federal Center, they were stopped.

"Apologies, we have no permission to allow passage."

"If you want to enter here, you either show your pass, your residency card, or you can call any official in charge of this area."

The man holding a rifle stood blocking their path. The road was further obstructed by thick chevaux de frise wrapped in barbed wire.

These men, wearing long trench coats and clear insignia, showed none of the unease that ordinary people typically displayed when facing anti-government fighters. Ross hated this.

He had become accustomed to people showing reverence or fear when they saw him and his soldiers. Only then could he tangibly feel the manifestation of power around him.

He watched his soldier argue with the man blocking the way, then pushed through to the front of the crowd. "I am General Ross. I need to see Lance."

When he said this, the man blocking the way couldn't help but laugh out loud.

The laughter was contagious, causing those around him to start laughing too. Some were shamelessly laughing out loud, completely ignoring Ross's dignity.

Ross, who was very conscious of his image now, couldn't tolerate this. His hand went to his gun holster.

The large man standing in front of him curled his lip, giving Ross a look that said, "If you can't handle it, don't play the game." "I shouldn't laugh at you, General... Ross."

He couldn't help but laugh twice more. The instant Ross opened his holster, everyone raised their weapons and pointed them at him.

At the same time, three armored cars drove out of the side alleys and blocked the road.

The machine guns on top were aimed directly at them.

Seeing this, Ross slowly moved his hand away from the holster, while the man in front of him offered a condescending scoff. "Either get lost from here, General Ross!"

"Or we'll throw you into the river nearby."

Ross's face was no longer red; it was white with rage.

He pointed at the man, slowly retreated two steps, and then turned to leave, which caused everyone to burst into even louder laughter.

After putting some distance between them and the New Federal Center entrance, an officer beside him asked, "Are we just letting this go?"

Ross shook his head. "Of course not. Go get two artillery pieces."

The officer paused, but then a hint of frenzy appeared on his face. He immediately straightened up and said, "I'm on it."

The news of Ross mobilizing two artillery pieces reached Lance before the cannons had even left the armory.

There was essentially no difference between Diego's government and the rebel army, which now had immense influence and was preparing to establish a new government.

They were fundamentally composed of three groups of people.

One group was Idealists, like Pedro. He wanted to mold the world to his liking, according to his own preferences.

He didn't care if his understanding or perception of the world was flawed or unreasonable.

He cared only that it would become the paradise he imagined.

The second group was Ambitionists, like Ross. These people successfully raised the banner of revolt using the influence of the famine and successfully captured Zhuolan, poised to become the sole legitimate power here.

They were the biggest enemies of the idealists. They had a clearer understanding, more obvious and intense goals, and were far more ruthless.

For the sake of their goals and ambition, they could temporarily discard certain things, including morality and bottom lines.

They were the most dangerous part of this group.

The third group was Opportunists.

Opportunists were everywhere, whether in Dantra's financial market, various industries in the Federation, or in this officially recognized rebellion that the participants viewed as a liberation army.

Opportunists existed in large numbers.

The opportunists' goal was profit. They had gained substantial profits in the early stages of the uprising by supporting the revolt and Pedro's march on Zhuolan.

In Pedro's plan, these people would become the backbone of the new government, with some contracting various government projects.

After all, many cities had been ravaged by war, and this massive reconstruction naturally meant massive profits.

If these people didn't bet on the rebels to become officials, it was certainly for the money.

They, too, had no bottom line. As long as their interests were secured, or they could break even during adversity, they could completely abandon morality and principles.

These three types formed the composition of the rebel army. Idealists and ambitionists made up the majority, and the number of opportunists was not small.

As they arrived in Zhuolan, occupied it, and everything was moving favorably, the opportunists likely began to sense that something was wrong.

Some of them had quietly reached agreements with the Lance Group.

They didn't even need to take proactive action; perhaps just a phone call, or contacting certain people through their own channels, giving a look or a hint, and a transaction was completed.

This situation exists in any faction facing risk: some want to persevere, some want to flee, and some want to turn a disadvantage into an advantage for themselves.

Pedro also knew about Ross's actions immediately. When he heard Ross was blocked outside the concession and thoroughly humiliated by Lance's soldiers, he did not interfere with Ross's decision to mobilize artillery.

Sometimes, he believed that the Federal people and "invaders" like Lance could not be constantly appeased; they needed to see a strong stance.

If you weren't tough, they wouldn't learn respect, just like they did with the Diego government.

If Pedro and his people continued to retreat, the image of Diego that constantly flashed through his mind would merge with his own—he would become the next Diego.

But soon, the phone on his desk rang. He answered it. It was Lance.

"You've made a very stupid decision. You now have ten minutes to salvage this."

"In ten minutes, the Navy will shell the Presidential Palace."

Pedro's mind hadn't fully processed and analyzed this information before Lance hung up.

He repeatedly pressed the phone's spring switch, but there was no response.

"F***!"

Pedro, who had always been able to calm down quickly, was now losing his composure. He dared not gamble whether this was a "threat" or a "warning." If the Federal Navy shelled the Presidential Palace, the impact on them would be enormous!

They were already preparing to fight the tribal state armies. If news of Zhuolan being shelled spread, morale on the front lines would instantly plummet, potentially leading to widespread routs!

Just like Diego's troops—they still had some fighting capacity left, but the soldiers and officers had completely lost morale and courage, focusing only on fleeing, leading to a complete collapse.

How could he not understand the terror of a situation he had just experienced?

And he dared not bet.

Judging by the current situation in Rapa, Lance, the Federal government, including the tribal state leaders, and the ministers who defected to Lance, simply did not see Pedro and his men as a legitimate rebel army.

These people still referred to them as "rebels" or "anti-government forces," which meant shelling Pedro and his people inside the Presidential Palace would incur no diplomatic responsibility.

Pedro could even imagine that after the shelling, those tribal ministers would claim they had requested it, rather than the Federal Navy acting without authorization.

The invisible constraints were increasing rapidly after entering the Presidential Palace. He was gradually beginning to understand Diego.

He understood the feeling of suffocation Diego must have felt in the Presidential Palace during his final days.

This place, which symbolized the peak of the Ravila family's power, had ultimately become his prison, choking the life out of him!

He put down the phone and quickly picked it up again. "Go to the concession gate, stop Ross, and bring him back..."

"If he refuses, why the hell aren't you using the weapon in your hand?"

"In the name of the Commander-in-Chief, I order you to bring him and his men back, immediately!"

Pedro slammed the phone down. He couldn't sit still. He paced back and forth, looking toward the harbor.

This was one of the highest points in Zhuolan, allowing him to see the warships anchored outside the harbor. He found a pair of binoculars and watched their cannons slowly pivot toward him.

When he saw those dark, hollow muzzles, a surge of heart-stopping terror immediately rose, forcing him to drop the binoculars. He dared not look again.

After a long while, he regained some composure. He couldn't stay here, yet he couldn't leave.

As the current Commander-in-Chief, his every word and action were closely watched.

Despite it being winter and the temperature only in the teens, he was sweating profusely.

He paced back and forth, cursing Ross one moment, Diego the next, and Lance the next.

After about eight or nine minutes, he was so tense he clenched his fists. The phone on the desk suddenly rang. He lunged for it and picked it up. It was Lance's voice.

"Don't do anything stupid again next time. This is the last time."

Again, the phone was hung up after just a single sentence. Pedro wiped the sweat from his face and let out a heavy sigh of relief.

He slumped into his chair, the excitement of conquering Zhuolan and preparing to form the Rapa People's Government completely gone.

Only deep exhaustion remained!

Ten minutes later, Ross stormed in, slamming his hand down on the table. "Why did you send someone to stop me?"

"Have you become timid and weak now?"

Pedro looked at Ross with a complicated gaze. "After you mobilized the artillery, Lance called me. If I didn't stop you within ten minutes, their warships would shell Zhuolan."

Hearing this, Ross, whose face had been full of anger, fell silent. He gripped the edge of the desk and slowly sat down across from Pedro, his face etched with confusion and disbelief.

"Is there... is there truly nothing else we can do?"

Pedro shook his head. "I keep thinking, in his last few days, did Diego feel the same way we do now, facing the same terrible predicament?"

"Unable to leave, unable to stay, forced to move forward like a puppet, being pushed toward a place none of us want to go."