Darkstone Code

The visitor's accent revealed his identity, and only at this moment did the White-Skin-Dog young man raise his head to look at the visitor.

His attire was quite ordinary, a pair of trousers and a brown short-sleeved shirt, looking somewhat casual.

He didn't have any characteristics of a Gafura person, nor did he have the traits of a local; he was just like his accent suggested, a Bailian, or at least a foreigner.

"I don't know you, sir," said the young White-Skin-Dog man, not letting the guy in immediately. Besides him, there were also two young girls inside the house. If this person was not friendly, he wouldn't be able to protect the two girls.

Right now, Gafura people particularly didn't trust him, and locals hated him to death; apart from a few, almost everyone harbors animosity toward him.

There are always people looking to kill him to gain some notoriety, and such things have happened more than once.

After the two stared at each other for a while, the visitor handed over a note, "It seems your guard is very heavy, but it's okay. I'm here only to ask you to make this phone call..."

The young man glanced at the small slip of paper, and the numbers on it were from outside, though they belonged to the Amelia Region.

Since the Amelia Region was marked by Gafura, the Governor directly ordered the destruction of all communication lines connecting to other regions, including wireless transmissions, which are now under regulation. The phone lines in the Amelia Region can only call within the region.

"I don't understand, sir..." The young White-Skin-Dog man had memorized the number but made a gesture to return the slip to the visitor, fearing it might be a test.

Even though he's now quite known among the patrol team, no one from Gafura would trust anyone easily due to their arrogance. He had faced four or five instances where he suspected they were tests.

This might be yet another test, this time they changed to a foreigner different from both Gafura and the locals.

The visitor didn't take back the slip, merely watched the young White-Skin-Dog man, "Someone asked me to tell you one thing..."

"Darkness may blind us to the way forward, but stars will guide our direction; the night will eventually pass, and dawn will always arrive as long as we hold onto hope!"

The visitor seemed to have a bit of emotion himself and didn't speak right away after uttering those words; both seemed to be feeling the strength in those words.

After a while, the visitor finally said, "This phone call will be reserved for you for three days, any time, but after three days, it will be permanently invalid, and you only have three days to decide."

"Well... I should take leave, sir!"

The visitor's semi-smiling expression made the young White-Skin-Dog man pause for a moment, and by the time he wanted to say something else, the visitor had already walked a distance.

Very few people knew his identity; his expression became solemn. If this was indeed a test, it meant there had been a betrayal within the resistance organization he was in!

Upon returning to the room, he comforted the two girls, returned to the bedroom but found it difficult to sleep. If he was wrong, he might hurt other people's feelings; but if he was right...

Besides these thoughts, what was the meaning of this call, who was waiting for him, what would happen if he called, or if he didn't call, who was on the other side...

These questions weighed heavily on him, and he didn't sleep until almost dawn, which made him less spirited at work during the day; he sensed the call was important but couldn't decide yet.

He had spent a lot of time hiding here, even sacrificing some people, not knowing what choice to make.

Three days had nearly passed while he absentmindedly returned home exhausted at night, skipping dinner but instead locking himself in the room.

In these three days, there had been no unexpected tests; he became paranoid, and at this moment, he seemed to have made a decision.

Even if someone discovered his secret, he would only take it to the grave, but if this was an opportunity, he couldn't miss it.

He used the bedroom phone to dial the number, recalling how calls came in at midnight asking him, a local expert, to lead soldiers to capture resistance organizations. Until now, he hadn't moved the phone.

The busy signal from the receiver buzzed seven or eight times, and just when he felt disappointed, somewhat hopeless, and slightly relieved, ready to hang up, the other side connected.

"I thought you wouldn't call me..." a standard lingua franca, the kind you instantly understand.

The young White-Skin-Dog man didn't speak immediately; he analyzed the characteristics of the voice. It was quite young, with a calm tone, yet hidden within was a sense of mastery, some confidence, some arrogance.

After ten or so seconds, the young White-Skin-Dog man asked, "Who are you?"

"Who I am isn't important. What's important is that I'm here to help you..."

The young White-Skin-Dog man immediately interrupted the voice on the phone, "You can't help me, can't help us, you can't help anyone; you don't know what we need!"

"No, I know!" The young man on the other end of the line seemed not the least bit concerned about being interrupted, and his tone carried a hint of amusement, "Money, armaments, supplies, medicine, various consumables; except for people, which you must prepare yourselves, I can provide everything else for you!"

The voice and what it said were so exaggerated that the young White-Skin-Dog even doubted whether he had encountered a madman.

Since Amelia's sovereignty changed, resistance organizations emerged locally, and the Governor ordered a complete gun ban throughout the Amelia Region, destroying all civilian firearms and workshops.

Everyone privately harboring firearms would face punishment, the most severe being dried into human jerky, and reports were encouraged.

If the report succeeded, the informant could gain the reported party's wealth and be credited, improving their social status in the Amelia Region.

With the most prominent reward being anyone gaining thirty-two credits would get the status of a Gafura first-class citizen, allowing them to leave the Amelia Region, go to Gafura for better education, and enjoy a more peaceful social environment.

This resulted in a scarcity of usable firearms and ammunition throughout the Amelia Region, with many resistance organizations owning just a few guns.

Not all desire to oppose the current rulers; many fantasize about becoming a Gafura first-class citizen and then moving to one of the world's strongest countries to become superior.

So when that young voice mentioned these things on the call, the young White-Skin-Dog was momentarily at a loss for words.

This exemplifies the predicament faced by all resistance fighters in the Amelia Region; they lack weapons to resist Gafura's tyranny—though it can't truly be called tyranny, as even current living conditions are better than before, albeit harder to accept emotionally.

Furthermore, they can't get aid from their home country, the Defeated Country; though aware of these resistance organizations, their policy is non-supportive, non-opposing, non-engaging.

Recklessly engaging could escalate conflicts, reigniting warfare. It's wiser to amass strength quietly and await a chance to reclaim the Amelia Region later; endless entanglement is foolish.

As for those resistance groups... better if they perish; they're a bunch of mindless folks.

The isolation of resistors leaves them without supplies, and if they start large-scale resistance against Gafura's rule, restricting the free trade of goods like medicine and food could stifle them to death.

Moreover, they lack replenishments, which is the most fatal part; in contrast, they have no shortage of human resources.

The conditions proposed by the other side of the phone were hard to resist; the young White-Skin-Dog's breathing hastened slightly. He joined the patrol group to find a way into Gafura's arsenal, but now he seemed to have a better choice.

Suppressing the excitement in his heart, he lowered his voice, "What do you want to gain from me?" he added, "I want to hear the truth; those pretentious words are loathsome. I want to know, what exactly are you doing to gain from us or get benefits?"

It's a normal thought; the other side offers so many valuable resources and money—these aren't everyday garbage. What they're giving is too much; if only "supporting a resistance movement," it'd be a joke.

Even their homeland has abandoned them; a Federation person or foreigner, how could they help them resist Gafura, which has nothing to do with the Federation?

The young White-Skin-Dog felt there might be a trap, and he had to ask clearly before considering whether to agree to continue talking.

But his caution quickly turned to confusion because he couldn't figure out if what the other party said was his real intent or just a circle.

"I won't demand any direct benefits from you; my request is merely to unsettle the Gafura people, though my support isn't without demands."

"I will first prepare two hundred Gafura national firearms and related ammunition, plus explosives, some essential medicines, and some money for you. What you need to do is to blow up two copper mines in the xx region."

"Our aid going forward is similar; you complete the tasks I assign you, and you get new support. If unable, there will be no aid."

"Sounds fair, right? At least now you can get all these things I mentioned for free, along with my goodwill!"