Chapter Seventy-Three: The Role of Luck x Philosophy

“How did they end up here?”

At the camp near the ferry, Eric, hiding inside a tent and peering through a gap, whispered to Owen beside him.

Gru was shirtless, drenched in sweat, practicing sword swings. That in itself was nothing unusual, but Eric’s attention was drawn to two figures inside a tent opposite—members of the Getini team.

“Let’s invite him to eat with us,” Owen replied. “I’m hungry too; maybe we should go out.”

“Get lost! All you ever think about is food.”

“That just means you want to kill him.”

Indeed, it seemed like their thoughts aligned with Garyville’s. Should they cooperate with them? It might reduce some risk. Tomorrow morning... wait, the Han soldiers are training now, and there aren’t many people around.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Eric saw one of the two guards opposite collapse without bleeding—perhaps unconscious. Behind the other guard, two figures appeared.

Having seen them briefly before, Eric recognized one as Rank’s subordinate, the other from Getini’s team. One wielded a dagger, the other a crescent-shaped blade, and together they struck the remaining guard.

At the same moment, several arrows flew toward Gru, who was still swinging his sword.

All hit their mark.

In that instant, Eric felt a surge of despair. The team’s plan had been utterly ruined.

Another failure after entering. Boss Gary, Boss Moro—what is this all about?

Thanks to you both, Owen and I survived. You said we should make a name for ourselves in this space. But why is our luck so miserable?

“It’s made of sand,” Owen murmured softly beside him.

What was that?

Eric looked forward.

Where the arrows struck Gru, no blood flowed; instead, sand spilled from the wounds. Then, Gru ceased moving altogether, beginning to disintegrate and crumble.

The attackers froze, exchanging glances. Suddenly, one screamed in agony as his ankle was grabbed and he was dragged waist-deep into the earth.

---

Shouts echoed in the distance as many soldiers rushed over. Some attackers ran forward to rescue their comrade; others fled.

In the end, three were captured—dragged into the earth, unable to break free, and seized by the arriving Han troops.

“I think our luck isn’t that bad after all... let’s just last three days and then head back,” Eric said quietly, having witnessed the entire ambush without daring to breathe.

“That must be a magic ability, a very expensive one,” Owen responded.

---

“If we can’t win, how about retreating?” Zhou Yingxiong suggested in Wang Luo’s main camp.

“We haven’t exactly lost,” Wang Luo replied. “Casualties are just a bit heavy.”

“After finishing the catapults,” Zhou Yingxiong continued on his own, “I had them build several boats too. Although the river’s swift and other places are impassable, if we capture the ferry, it won’t matter if we can’t seize their boats—we can build our own.”

“Facing the large Han forces head-on is pointless. Better to join up with the Yellow Turban troops. Whether you want to start a revolution or just bluff your way through, it’ll be much easier.”

Wang Luo studied him for a long moment and sighed deeply.

“Zhou Yingxiong, this is a chaotic era. We are rebels. And the soldiers around us are living, breathing people.”

“But this is just a scenario, virtual, fake,” Zhou Yingxiong muttered softly.

“Until I find proof they aren’t real people, I will always treat them as such,” Wang Luo said, tapping Zhou with his right index finger before waving upward. “What defines a person?”

“Most people, most of the time, are not in a state of thinking. Note, this doesn’t mean they lack the ability to think. It’s because of the conflict between human desires being boundless and energy being limited—they spend most of their time not focusing their energy on thinking.”

“Now, tell me, why would soldiers be loyal to me, their commander?”

“Because you’re their commander,” Zhou Yingxiong said, puzzled.

“What stops the guards outside from grabbing their knives and killing me, their commander?” Wang Luo asked.

---

“Because the space assigns you that position, and you have the commander’s authority,” Zhou Yingxiong answered.

“So, what do you think the soldiers will think of me when we face the enemy and refuse to fight; when we abandon the locals who just got their land divided and support us; and instead join the Yellow Turbans, whom I have always denounced as a cult?”

“Who cares what they think? Haven’t you always been indifferent to your soldiers’ lives?”

A trace of sarcasm tinged Zhou’s expression. Wang Luo took a deep breath.

“You can’t afford that kind of care on the battlefield. Hesitation at the juncture of life and death is the so-called ‘womanly compassion.’ Off the battlefield, have you ever seen me disregard my soldiers’ lives?”

“As I said before, they don’t think. They support me because my policies and actions serve their interests. Plus, my victories align with their interests. Simply put, it’s beneficial to follow me.”

“That’s why they support me. But if I retreat before a strong enemy, surrender, or give up—especially if I join the side that might destroy their interests—do you think they would have any reason not to betray me and choose someone else, someone stronger?”

“If we defeat the Han forces here, when we meet the Yellow Turbans, we’ll look down on them; if we’re afraid of the enemy and go to them, we’ll look up at them. Looking down means we’re in charge and might absorb the Yellow Turban troops for our own use; looking up means letting them dictate and trample us. Do you understand this difference?”

“To humans, betrayal is natural, innate, and needs no justification; loyalty is learned and requires reason. The ideals I propose and the care I provide afterward are meant to unify these soldiers into a whole, making us stronger and more attractive, giving even the enemy Han soldiers a reason to join us. But once we side with the Yellow Turbans, do you think current soldiers or enemy soldiers have any reason to support us?”

“I haven’t seen them surrender yet,” Zhou Yingxiong said.

“Damn it! When I present my ideals and propaganda, I never expect them to surrender immediately.”

“The main purpose of these efforts is to increase the chance they’ll surrender after being captured. No political work or propaganda can realistically make enemies defect on their own—they’d have to trust us, or else they fear being deceived.”

“Moreover, even if they agree with my ideals, why would they join me? With an established force, they could form their own army based on those ideals. But after defeating them and continuing this policy, their mindset changes completely. Then, once they realize I’m sincere, they have reason to join us—and they become loyal. Have you seen any of the former Han soldiers in our camp flee or betray us?”

“The locals definitely act like that,” Zhou Yingxiong admitted, somewhat convinced. “But the Contracted Ones might be different.”