Chapter 187: Midnight Operation

Chapter 187: Midnight Operation

Primary Domain of Azerai · Empire of Infer

Rowell, a mechanical factory worker passing by a bakery, instinctively halted his steps as the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air. After a moment’s thought, he dug out the few pennies in his pocket and bought several bread sticks, along with a bottle of blueberry jam.

Upon returning home, his children’s eyes lit up with joy at the sight of the bread in his hands, their gazes fixed eagerly on the treats.

"Here, take them!"

Rowell handed the bread to his youngest daughter, Daina.

"Mom! Mom! Dad bought bread!" Daina happily took the bread and dashed excitedly toward the kitchen, eager to show off.

"And blueberry jam!" His eldest son trailed behind, shouting gleefully.

The kitchen, partitioned from their single-room dwelling, immediately erupted with lively chatter.

Throughout it all, Rowell’s wife never showed herself.

Ever since Rowell joined the Reduction of Working Hours and Increase in Wages Movement, he and his wife had been locked in a cold war.

She disapproved of his participation in such a dangerous movement, urging him to stop this reckless behavior for the sake of their family.

But Rowell insisted on continuing.

Thus began their silent standoff.

Listening to the cheerful voices in the kitchen and his wife teaching the children tricks to stretch their food further, the oil-stained wrinkles on Rowell’s face smoothed into a genuine smile.

Exhausted from the day’s work, he slumped into a chair, though a trace of unease lingered in the depths of his eyes.

Recently, the war between the Empire of Infer and the Farlay Dynasty had intensified, and divisions had begun to emerge among his comrades.

Some argued that the Reduction of Working Hours and Increase in Wages Movement was an internal issue—now that the Farlay Dynasty was invading, they should set aside their grievances and unite against the external threat.

Moreover, the Empire of Infer had already raised the base wage, meaning the movement had, in a way, achieved its goal.

However, most of his comrades disagreed.

The great ideology of Aji De had clearly exposed how those greedy, corrupt factory owners, reeking of the stench of money, exploited the workers.

The current wage increase was meaningless.

Only by putting power in the hands of the workers could their status be fundamentally changed.

Faced with this rift and debate, Rowell hesitated.

His love for his homeland, his wife’s feelings, and the ideology of Aji De—these three forces tore at him relentlessly, leaving him unsure whether to keep fighting or to stop.

As Rowell wrestled with his thoughts, his wife finished preparing dinner.

A large pot of bread porridge sat in the center of the table—a staple made by shredding bread sticks and boiling them with a pinch of sea salt.

A plate of boiled potatoes accompanied it.

The potatoes were finely chopped, though faint traces of black spots were still visible.

It was clear his wife had gone to great lengths to salvage the moldy potatoes by meticulously cutting away the spoiled parts.

Before him, his wife, and their two children lay small plates, each holding two slices of bread with a dab of blueberry jam.

This was a lavish feast!

Compared to flour adulterated with barite, gypsum, or even chalk to increase weight, or noodles dyed yellow with picric acid or urine to mimic egg noodles—

This meal was truly sumptuous.

The children were overjoyed!

They eagerly drank their bread porridge, nibbled on bread with blueberry jam, and chattered about the day's happenings, their little faces brimming with satisfied smiles.

Recently, the situation had been chaotic, but the eldest son was selling newspapers quite well. After deducting costs, he had earned thirteen pennies today.

Since his wife worked at the textile factory, their youngest daughter had to be entrusted to the Original God Church, where the children were taught to read. Of course, most of the time, she had to work for the church, but at least meals were provided.

At the dinner table, his wife remained silent as usual, occasionally responding to the children's chatter.

The eldest son talked about what he had seen during the day.

The youngest daughter mentioned that Missionary Hawthorne had called Sister Judith into the confession room again for a scolding, and Sister Judith had come out with tears still on her face.

As for Rowell, his mind was entirely preoccupied with the Reduction of Working Hours and Increase in Wages Movement, and he barely managed to keep up with the children's lively chatter.

This lavish meal thus passed in a mix of noise and stifling silence.

"Chirp…"

In the dead of night, Rowell suddenly jolted awake from the floor. He scrambled up in a hurry.

On hands and knees, he crawled to the window, pressing his ear against it to listen carefully.

"Chirp… tweet-chirp…"

The lifelike song of a nightingale pierced through the darkness, carrying an unmistakable urgency.

Rowell's expression grew solemn as he listened.

He turned and rummaged out a set of night clothes, quickly putting them on.

Just as he finished dressing, he suddenly realized his wife was standing at the door—he hadn’t even noticed when she arrived.

"It's a level-one assembly order. Just this once, I promise. I can’t betray my brothers!"

Rowell lowered his voice, making a solemn vow—one he had repeated countless times before.

Under the dim light of night, his wife silently watched him for a long moment before finally extending her hand to pass him something.

"This…"

"An empty stomach won’t get the work done," his wife finally spoke, her voice weary.

Rowell froze, then gritted his teeth and took the newspaper-wrapped bread, stuffing it into his chest before rushing out the door without looking back.

Once outside, the cramped slums were already stirring with hushed movements.

There were many like Rowell.

Yet, most of them didn’t know each other.

Only their handlers knew the full roster—this was to ensure that even if someone was caught by the Public Security Bureau, the organization wouldn’t suffer a devastating blow.

Rowell moved skillfully through the alleys, finally stopping at the back door of a cobbler’s shop.

Before he could knock, the door swung open.

"Take a weapon, follow the group, stay silent—no talking!"

The door-opening man whispered his orders.

Rowell nodded and squeezed inside.

The courtyard was already packed with people, and more were pouring in. Once it was full, the officers began distributing rifles.

As soon as everyone was armed, the group set off without a single wasted word.

Rowell followed nervously, unaware of the mission’s objective—nor did he need to know.

All he knew was that Ben Keming would never deceive them, and Aji De’s ideology would light their way!

Yet as they marched, Rowell began to sense something was wrong.

The footsteps were too loud.

Far louder than what their small group could produce.

But where were they coming from?

Rowell glanced around and realized the sound was coming from a nearby alley.

Every time he dashed past the alleyway, Rowell would catch a fleeting glimpse of another group running through a parallel lane.

They wore the same clothes, the same uniforms.

When the group came to a halt, Rowell was stunned.

Peering through the cover of the stairwell, his eyes widened at the sight before him—a massive castle loomed ahead.

This was the historical Imperial Palace of the Empire of Infer.

The sky, which should have been patrolled by dozens of airships as usual, now held only three. And whether it was an illusion or not, the lights within the castle seemed far fewer than before.

Could it be that the Farlay Dynasty had already withdrawn the Empire’s forces?

"Brothers, the great Aji De once said—only by overthrowing the old order can we establish a new one! If we workers want to be masters of our own fate, we must defeat the corrupt and backward imperial family!"

"Ben Keming has already infiltrated the Imperial Palace! When the firework rises, that will be the day of Infer’s liberation! When the time comes, follow me—charge forward and wipe out every last member of the royal family!"

The Leader Cadre kept his voice low, yet it burned with fervor as he revealed the ultimate goal of their mission.

Rowell was dumbfounded.

The entire group was dumbfounded.

A deathly silence fell over them.

Countless men exchanged glances, none knowing what the others were thinking. The suddenness of this mission had caught them completely off guard.

Rowell’s hands trembled.

With excitement—and fear.

After a long pause, he reached into his coat. His movement immediately drew wary looks from his comrades, who feared he might be a spy, a lackey of the Empire!

"Just... eating some bread."

Rowell muttered the explanation as he pulled out the loaf his wife had given him before he left. Under the Leader Cadre’s watchful gaze, his shaking hands unwrapped the newspaper, and he took a fierce bite.

Instantly, rich blueberry jam burst into his mouth—tart, then sweet.

His wife had stuffed most of the blueberry jam he’d bought into his bread.

BANG!

A firework suddenly shot into the sky, blooming in a dazzling display against the night, illuminating the entire city.

The blinding radiance pressed the castle’s shadow firmly against the base of its walls—while fully exposing Rowell and his comrades.

"Brothers, charge with me!"

The Leader Cadre was the first to leap from cover. Raising his steel rifle, he let out a hysterical roar before charging headlong toward the towering castle.

At the same time, the heavy city gates groaned open with a thunderous rumble.

Rowell, his mouth still full of blueberry jam, had no time to dwell on his wife’s care.

He shoved the remaining bread into his coat, gripped his rifle, bared his blue-stained teeth, and roared—

"Charge!"