A day later, the majestic Qinling Mountains loomed in the distance, their snow-capped peaks piercing the clear blue sky. While winter had fully embraced the north, Xi’an lingered in the bittersweet transition between autumn and winter, the leaves still clinging to their vibrant hues.

Alam stepped onto the balcony of the Wanderer Base early that morning, the crisp air filling his lungs as the sun began to rise, casting golden rays across the tranquil landscape. The fresh scent of autumn leaves lingered, a reminder of the seasonal change.

“Hello there,” came a soft voice behind him.

Alam turned to see Fang approaching, her movements silent and graceful, like a whisper on the wind. “Good morning, Alam. It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Alam hesitated, then took a sip of his coffee, feeling the warmth seep into him. “Can I ask you something?”

Fang nodded, her warm eyes encouraging him to continue.

“Do I… am I a warmonger?”

Fang took a moment, choosing her words carefully. “You are not a warmonger, Alam. You are a war leader, fighting for what you believe in. You’re not a ruthless warlord; you fight for a cause you believe in.”

“I see…” Alam sighed, contemplating her words. “You know, when I was stranded in the taiga, I noticed our confederacy has a bad reputation in some areas. We need to do something about it, especially as the war drags on.”

Fang’s expression shifted to one of understanding. “It’s true our confederacy isn’t always viewed positively. Many see us as bloodthirsty conquerors, oblivious to the consequences of our actions. But we must consider the perspectives of those who’ve lived under our rule. Many have seen an increase in their standard of living and a more secure social system since we took control.”

“Yeah, I know it sounds cliché, but we must exploit that,” Alam replied, a spark of determination igniting within him. “We need to show them our transformation, put on a propaganda show. And we should play rough—exploit the injustices in Red Nation culture and their segregation. That’ll make the Blood Khaganate soldiers start questioning their overlords.”

“Agreed,” Fang said, her eyes brightening. “We must use propaganda to our advantage. Highlighting our positive changes will soften public perception. We can expose the Red Nation's shortcomings and create dissent among their ranks, weakening their grip and creating fertile ground for our advancement.”

“Good. Do it then,” Alam instructed, a sense of urgency in his voice.

“I’ll prioritize it, Alam. I’ll ensure our propaganda machine runs at full speed, showcasing our strengths while highlighting the Red Nation’s weaknesses.”

“By the way, what did you think about Inat yesterday?” Alam asked, shifting the topic.

“Yesterday's conversation was enlightening,” Fang replied thoughtfully. “It was interesting to see his perspective on war and the Red Nation's chances of victory. There was a hint of sadness when he spoke of his country and army.”

“True. And about our rumor plan—I gained more insight into the Blood Khaganate from him. But before we make a move, I want to meet our second Blood Khaganate general, Qilong, who’s currently our prisoner.”

“I see. But what do you hope to gain by meeting her?” Fang asked, curiosity piqued.

“Ha! You’ll see. Let’s go meet her in the prison.”

“Very well, then,” Fang replied, intrigued. “I’m curious about what you have in mind.”

As they approached the heavily guarded prison, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Wanderer soldiers stood ramrod straight, weapons gleaming. The iron gates looked like they could withstand a siege (or at least a very determined toddler).

Alam nodded to the guards, who escorted them inside. Qilong’s cell was near Inat’s, close enough for them to swap war stories over the prison’s surprisingly thin walls.

Inside, Qilong sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, like she was waiting for afternoon tea. Her face was a mask of indifference, but her eyes held a glint that suggested she could probably field-strip a rifle blindfolded while reciting poetry.

“Hello. Do you remember me?” Alam asked, plopping into the chair opposite her.

“Yes, I remember you,” Qilong replied, her voice as dry as a desert wind. “You’re the one who keeps interrupting my retirement.”

“Good. I’m here about your possible release. The Red Army’s having a bit of a… chilly time in the steppes. I might arrange a parley.”

Qilong raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “A parley? How… charming. I assume you don’t expect me to knit you a peace treaty?”

“Depends. Can you knit?” Alam grinned. “Anyway, if we do this parley thing, I’d be willing to… you know… let you out.”

“Let me make something clear,” Qilong said, her voice dropping a few degrees. “I will not be anyone’s puppet. I negotiate on my terms.”

“Fair enough. Hey, just out of curiosity, are you older than Inat?” Alam asked, leaning forward conspiratorially. “He strikes me as the type who peaked in his twenties.”

Qilong scoffed. “Inat is a child. I’ve been fighting wars since he was still playing with toy soldiers—made of actual lead, back in my day.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“I see. And yet, I’ve technically defeated both of you,” Alam said with a playful shrug.

“Luck,” Qilong retorted. “Pure, unadulterated luck. Give me a proper army, and I’ll show you what real strategy looks like.”

“Speaking of strategy, Inat mentioned General Wu. What was he like?”

At Wu’s name, a flicker of something that might have been sadness crossed Qilong’s face. “Wu was… a force of nature. A brilliant strategist. And a terrible cook. His camp stew could strip paint.”

“And what led to his demise?” Alam pressed, keen to unravel the layers of her thoughts.

“His downfall came from betrayal, committed by one of his advisors. A tragic end for a great leader. It serves as a lesson to us—to remain vigilant and never trust blindly,” she explained, her tone somber.

“Classic—betrayed by a friend. But what caused that betrayal? Pride? Greed? Envy?” Alam asked, his curiosity unabated.

“A mix of all three. The traitor envied Wu's fame and influence, driven by greed and ambition, believing he deserved Wu's position. His pride blinded him to the consequences of his actions,” Qilong replied, her voice steady.

“I notice the cultures of the Blood Khaganate and the Red Nation differ. It seems to me the Blood Khaganate acts as the Red Nation’s strike dog. Am I wrong?”

“You are partially correct. The Blood Khaganate has been a loyal ally to the Red Nation, but we are culturally distinct. We value strength, loyalty, and courage above all else, while the Red Nation is more technologically advanced,” she explained.

Alam paused, contemplating her words. “So, those who betrayed General Wu are still around?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The traitors remain among the top officials of the Red Nation—powerful figures known for their treachery,” Qilong said, sadness creeping into her tone.

“Is Zion among them?” Alam asked, his interest piqued.

“Yes,” Qilong confirmed. “General Zion is one of those responsible for Wu’s demise—a cunning and ruthless individual.”

“Do you remain loyal to Zion?” Alam pressed.

“No. I owe him no loyalty. We may be allies, but I do not trust him,” she replied, a hint of bitterness in her eyes.

“Then why fight for him?” Alam challenged.

“I fight for the Red Nation, not for Zion. I have dedicated my life to my country and will defend it at all costs,” Qilong stated firmly.

“Wanderers were once vassals to Zion’s interests. But we are not slaves; we are free men. That’s why I rebelled. You should know that the main goal of forming the Wanderers and the Blood Khaganate was to pave the way for Zion to conquer Europe.”

Qilong regarded him with skepticism. “I understand the history, but it was a necessary alliance that laid the foundation for our growth.”

“So, you’re okay with Zion’s future conquest of Europe? That would lead to a fourth world war,” Alam warned.

“Zion’s ambitions are indeed a threat, but you must realize that the Wanderers and their allies are also powerful enough to defend against him,” she replied, her tone sharp.

“Ah, so you’re willing to let my Wanderers die first. My gut feeling was right; my rebellion is justified,” Alam retorted, his voice rising.

“Your rebellion is misguided. You claim to fight for freedom, but all you’ve done is bring death and destruction. The true villains are the Wanderers, who only seek to create chaos,” Qilong shot back.

Alam chuckled darkly. “Well, the war isn’t over yet. I’d rather die facing bullets than let the enemy come kill me.”

Qilong sat across from Alam, her expression calm and unreadable, like the surface of a still lake. “If you insist on dying on the battlefield, then you will be granted your wish,” she began, her voice low and measured. “But let me ask you this: what good can come of it? Why waste your life on a pointless rebellion when you and your wanderers could find peace with the Red Nation? Why die for a hopeless cause?”

“It’s not pointless, and it’s not hopeless,” Alam replied, his conviction growing stronger with each word. “Every breath is a chance. They’re using the Wanderers as scapegoats, and I will show the world the truth.”

Qilong remained silent for a moment, her gaze unwavering as she contemplated his words. Leaning back slightly, she replied, “I understand your conviction. You believe in your cause, but I think you’re mistaken. The Wanderer Rebellion is indeed futile, and your efforts will only lead to more chaos and bloodshed.”

Alam smirked, leaning forward. “But I’m the one making things happen faster. Without my rebellion, perhaps you would be the one creating chaos in this region. Am I right?”

Qilong frowned, her tone sharpening. “You assume too much. Your rebellion has already caused significant harm. You think yourself a hero, but you’re just a foolish idealist, blinded by your own convictions.”

“Ha! The dice have been thrown. Want to make a bet? I’ll force Zion to the negotiating table,” Alam challenged, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“A foolish bet,” Qilong scoffed. “Zion doesn’t negotiate. It’s domination or annihilation. You’ll learn that eventually, child.”

“You still don’t see my last trick,” Alam teased, his confidence unwavering.

Qilong narrowed her eyes, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “Your last trick? You’re intriguing, I’ll give you that. What’s your plan?”

With a flourish, Alam raised his hand, revealing a small recorder. “I’ve recorded both your and Inat’s conversations with me. This will be a game changer at the next conference.”

Qilong’s expression darkened, contempt flashing in her eyes. “And how do you intend to use these recordings? You think revealing our dialogue will sway the world’s opinion in favor of the Wanderers? If you believe that, you’re even more naive than I thought.”

“Don’t judge merely by the surface. It’s not over yet, but I won’t spoil it. I’ll give your mind a chance to wonder,” Alam replied cryptically.

Qilong’s gaze remained intense, her expression stern. “You are ambitious and cunning, but your plan is still a mystery. I’m curious about your intentions with those recordings.”

“Yes, well, thanks for your time. Farewell… woman,” Alam said, standing to leave.

“Farewell, child,” Qilong retorted, her chin raised in a scornful dismissal.

As Alam exited the chamber alongside Fang, he turned to her. “So, what do you think of that woman?”

“She’s cold and aloof, like most Red Nation commanders,” Fang replied, her voice thoughtful. “Sharp and analytical, a formidable opponent. But she’s also arrogant and condescending, with a clear disdain for the Wanderers.”

“Yeah, that’s normal. Serve her something fine for today,” Alam said with a chuckle. “Anyway, do you have a better understanding of our opponent, Zion?”

“Yes, much better now. Zion is dangerous and cunning, a tyrant with limitless hunger for power. He’ll do whatever it takes to achieve his goals, no matter the cost. We must be cautious and prepared for anything,” Fang warned.

“Exactly. His throne is illegitimate,” Alam added, a smirk playing on his lips.

Fang’s eyes widened in realization. “Ah, I see. His reign is indeed questionable; he seized power through a coup and tightened his grip with an iron fist. His rule has led to oppression and suffering.”

“Exactly! We’ll use that spicy detail for our rumor project,” Alam declared, excitement bubbling within him.

“But how do we spread the word about his illegitimate rule without revealing our hand? We don’t want our plans to backfire,” Fang cautioned.

“The rumor might be less effective in Red Nation territory, but it could work in Blood Khaganate circles. If Qilong’s voice indicates she’s not loyal to Zion, it’ll make other officers think twice,” Alam strategized.

“Right! That could sow doubt among the ruling elites and even lead them to question their loyalty to Zion. It might cause some to break away,” Fang noted, her enthusiasm growing.

“But it’s risky,” Alam warned. “We have to be careful, especially without knowing how the Red Nation will react.”

“I know. This rumor will strike hard if their morale is low, especially after we crush their army in the steppes. That’ll be the perfect time to spread it,” Alam concluded.

“Timing is crucial,” Fang agreed. “We can’t underestimate how important it is to strike at the right moment for maximum impact.”