Revolution

The streets of Saint Denis, usually a bustling symphony of commerce and casual chatter, were now a roaring, chaotic maelstrom of humanity. Various protest and demonstration groups, their faces contorted with fervent passion, crisscrossed the main thoroughfares, raising strong, guttural objections to Dutch Van der Linde's perceived illegitimacy, their voices raw with defiance.

As time wore on, this initial wave of protest did not diminish; instead, it swelled, growing even larger, like a monstrous tide engulfing the city. The impoverished people who had recently moved into Saint Denis, those who had known the gnawing pangs of hunger and the cold embrace of despair, after receiving work and the unprecedented benefits from Dutch Van der Linde, naturally and wildly turned around to join the protest ranks, their gratitude transforming into fierce loyalty, becoming new, zealous blood in the demonstration teams.

Even more fanatics, their eyes burning with devotion, vied to join the Van der Linde's Guard, clamoring for the chance, wanting to dedicate everything they had, their very lives, to Dutch Van der Linde, their savior.

Although war, a brutal, all-consuming inferno, was visibly on the verge of breaking out, they were fiercely, terrifyingly willing to sacrifice their lives, to throw themselves into the maw of conflict, to secure a better future for their families, a promise of peace.

This was the greatest, most profound manifestation of human nature, a selfless devotion, but at the same time, it was also the most terrifying pursuit of faith, a blind, unshakeable fanaticism.

And the increasingly heightened emotions of the Saint Denis protest teams finally reached their fever pitch, their absolute peak, when Dutch Van der Linde, the very object of their adoration, appeared on the city streets.

Dutch Van der Linde, who was, ostensibly, heading east for the final, dreaded judgment, appeared on the street, walking with a calm, deliberate pace, following behind a visibly trembling Dosia and two other terrified men.

What was supposed to be a simple arrest of Dutch, merely a show, a diplomatic charade, had now completely, horrifyingly, evolved into a situation where Dutch was openly, audaciously holding Dosia and the two others hostage, forcing them, with a chilling smile, to go east, to their uncertain fate.

Dosia and McKinley walked at the very front of the procession, their faces a ghastly shade of green, contorted with troubled sorrow and almost despairing expressions. They looked less like they were making an arrest and more like they were being dragged to their own public execution, their shoulders slumped in defeat.

In stark contrast, Dutch, who followed behind the two, a picture of serene power, was calm and utterly confident, a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips, looking more like the elder brother holding the reins, guiding his reluctant charges.

After Dutch Van der Linde appeared on the street, his presence a spark to tinder, the protest teams on the street were completely ignited, bursting into a roaring inferno of sound and fury.

"Van der Linde!"

"Van der Linde!"

"Van der Linde!"

Loud, guttural shouts echoed through the very sky, shaking the buildings, everyone screaming until their voices were hoarse, their throats raw, their faces red with exertion.

The initial shouts were not entirely synchronized, a cacophony of individual cries, but as the crowd shouted more and more, their collective will asserted itself, and the overall rhythm began to converge until, in the end, it spontaneously became a regular, thunderous chant, a unified roar.

With everyone out on the streets, packed shoulder to shoulder, the sheer density and raw effort of the crowd made their shouts deafening, a physical force, and incredibly impactful, a wave of sound that could break stone.

Dosia and McKinley, those poor, wretched souls responsible for escorting Dutch Van der Linde, trembled visibly with fear, their knees almost buckling.

"Oh, sh*t!" Dosia gasped, his eyes wide with terror, his voice a strangled whisper to McKinley. "How high is Dutch Van der Linde's status here?! Damn it, the entire street is cheering for him, like he's a god!"

"Things have gone bad, Dosia, really bad." McKinley whispered back, his face ashen, his eyes darting frantically. "Dutch Van der Linde's prestige in the west is far more terrifying than we ever imagined. It would have been better if we hadn't taken him away this time; there would still be room for de-escalation, for a peaceful retreat. But now that we've taken him away, I'm afraid the United States will be in complete chaos, torn apart!"

"But sh*t, McKinley, it's not us taking him away now!" Dosia hissed, his voice rising in desperate frustration. "He insists on going east with us! He's forcing our hand!"

"It's not us pushing him to a dead end; he's pushing us to a dead end, by God!" McKinley muttered, his eyes wide with a dawning horror.

The two walked in front, whispering frantic complaints to each other, their heads bowed, not daring to raise their eyes to meet the furious gaze of the crowd.

Von, who had possessed some semblance of backbone at first, that arrogant youth, now lost it completely, his face pale, his bravado shattered.

He had never, in his sheltered, privileged life, seen such terrifying popularity and raw charisma before. For some reason, this entire scene, this frenzied devotion, was completely different from the cold, cynical education he had received since childhood!

Having faith was foolish; this was the fundamental principle his father had taught him. They could use faith, manipulate it, but they could not, must not, possess faith themselves.

This, he now understood, was also the insidious art of controlling people, of keeping them pliable.

He used to not value these so-called beliefs, thinking they were the lowest means, a tool for the uneducated masses.

But now, watching the raw power of the crowd, he felt a chilling realization: he was wrong. Profoundly wrong.

It turns out that faith can truly drive people completely insane! To a terrifying, unstoppable madness!

The shouts on the street, perfectly synchronized, a unified roar, abruptly ceased completely the very moment Dutch Van der Linde, with a calm, deliberate gesture, raised his hand.

The instantaneous, chilling silence that followed was far more terrifying than the previous frenzy, a sudden, unnatural void that made Dosia and the two others' scalps tingle, their blood run cold.

This level of charisma and obedience, this absolute control, already meant that Dutch Van der Linde was the absolute uncrowned king in this city! His word was law, his will absolute.

As Dutch Van der Linde raised his hand, his face transformed into one of profound excitement and eager anticipation, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

Without even waiting for him to speak or signal, Arthur and John, ever attuned to Dutch's unspoken commands, had already moved the sound equipment over, setting it up with practiced efficiency.

"Oh, Dutch is giving another speech," Arthur remarked, a faint, knowing smirk on his lips, taking out his ever-present diary and a pen.

"Yeah, I'm sure the first line will be 'Ladies and gentlemen'," John chimed in, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, a weary familiarity with Dutch's theatrics.

Sure enough, just as they finished talking, Dutch, who had walked up to the sound equipment, his figure framed by the adoring crowd, opened his terrifying, charismatic mouth.

"Members of the VDL Party across the West, I am Dutch Van der Linde!" His voice, amplified by the megaphone, boomed across the silent crowd, a declaration of ownership.

Dutch's voice was impassioned, resonating with a deep conviction. After he finished speaking, he immediately clenched his right fist and held it across his chest, performing the VDL Party's prescribed salute, a gesture of unwavering loyalty.

This was the salute he had meticulously prescribed after the VDL Party was established last time, a symbol of their unity.

After he completed his action, the entire street of Saint Denis, every single member, whether hardened workers or grim-faced gunmen, whether men or women, all excitedly and uniformly placed their right fists forcefully on their chests, just like Dutch, their movements a perfectly synchronized wave.

Everyone's movements were perfectly synchronized; they frantically performed the VDL Party's actions, their faces flushed with excitement, their spirits high, their eyes burning with devotion. This terrifying sight of a populace in a collective frenzy made cold sweat break out on the foreheads of Dosia and the two others, their very souls recoiling.

Demon! Dosia cried out in his heart, a silent, desperate scream. This was a demon! A demon capable of bewitching people's hearts, of twisting their minds!

However, Dutch's speech had officially begun, and there was no stopping it now.

"Ladies and gentlemen. It is a great pleasure to see you all today, and it pleases me even more that your lives are clearly going well now, that you are thriving under my guidance." Dutch's voice was warm, paternal, yet laced with an undeniable undercurrent of power.

"It seems my efforts were not in vain, which brings me great comfort, a deep satisfaction. I once told all of you that I believe every person has the right to a happy life. And now, I believe I have achieved that for you, my loyal flock."

He gestured expansively, encompassing the entire crowd. "I love how healthy you all look now, I love how vibrant your lives are, I love that you can live each day with purpose and spirit, free from the worries of the past! The benefits the United States Government did not give you, I give you; the promises the United States Government never fulfilled, I fulfill for you!"

Dutch's face darkened, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl, filled with a righteous fury. "But, as I once said, there is no essential difference between the highest class in the United States and the lowest bandits; they are all just bandits, preying on the weak, and now, these bandits are attempting to extend their grasping hands into our lives once again, to steal your hard-won peace!"

He pounded the podium with his fist, his voice rising to a roar. "They cannot tolerate our good treatment now, they cannot tolerate us escaping their control, they cannot tolerate our labor not reaching their greedy hands, enriching them! Therefore, now, they are trying to use the rules they made, their corrupt laws, to judge me, to condemn me!"

Dutch's words grew more impassioned, his tone becoming increasingly enraged, a firestorm of rhetoric. His voice stirred up the people on the street, making them filled with righteous indignation, a burning, uncontrollable fury. Just listening, they felt a searing heat throughout their bodies, wishing they could pick up a gun and kill all those damned eastern bastards, to tear them limb from limb.

"I will go to the East, I will confront them in court, I will seek a beautiful future for everyone, even if it costs me my life!" Dutch declared, his voice ringing with a martyr's conviction, his eyes blazing.

"Perhaps they look down on our status, perhaps they will not take my requests seriously. But, I will make them understand that where there is oppression, there is resistance, and the American people are the true masters of the United States! We are the storm!"

The roaring sound on the streets, a furious, collective scream, almost overturned all of Saint Denis, shaking its very foundations.

Mr. Van der Linde's speech was deafening, a powerful, hypnotic performance. Almost every one of his speeches could stir up a fervent craze, a mass hysteria.

And today's frenzy was even more intense than before, a terrifying, uncontrollable eruption.

Because Dutch Van der Linde, after his speech, actually walked towards the train station with three people who didn't look like they were from their Western region, their faces pale and terrified.

Coupled with the news from this period and Mr. Van der Linde's speech just now, the truth was horrifyingly clear.

It was clear then, these three people were here to arrest Mr. Van der Linde!

And Mr. Van der Linde, at this moment, was truly determined, even if it meant sacrificing his life, to go to the West to secure a better future for them! He was their messiah.

"Ahhhhh! Mr. Van der Linde, no, don't go!"

"Damn it, war, war! Start the war! Mr. Van der Linde, I am willing to die for you!"

"No, don't go! They will definitely kill you, let's march east! We will destroy them! We need your leadership!"

"Kill them! Kill them!!!"

Saint Denis was in complete, utter chaos.

Countless people desperately chased after Dutch's footsteps, a human wave. They blocked the very entrance of the train station, a living wall. They stood on the tracks, defying the iron beast. They followed Mr. Van der Linde's footsteps, gathering together, expressing their madness, their raw emotion, their unwavering loyalty, and their terrifying will to sacrifice.

The people of Saint Denis were going completely crazy!

Damn it, they thought, their minds consumed by rage, their lives had just gotten better, just tasted freedom, and it hadn't even been a year or two, and the damn East couldn't stand it and wanted to deal with Mr. Van der Linde, to take him away!

Who could tolerate this? Who could stand by and watch their hope be stolen?

They could no longer endure the terrible life they had before, the grinding poverty, the endless despair. They could no longer endure a world without Mr. Van der Linde, their guiding light. They would rather die following Mr. Van der Linde than endure such a hopeless life again!

The people of Saint Denis went mad, a collective psychosis. Countless people rode fast horses with rifles, their faces grim, following behind the train. If Mr. Van der Linde wasn't sitting inside, if he wasn't their hostage, they would probably have directly overturned the train, sending it to its fiery doom.

Countless people stood on the train tracks, a human blockade, blocking the train's path, causing the train to stop every two meters so that the fifty Eastern 'mib' members on board had to get off and physically clear the tracks of the enraged crowd.

And seeing their figures, these hated agents of the East, the people of the West became even more enraged, their fury boiling over!

Good heavens, they whispered to each other, no wonder Mr. Van der Linde went silent as soon as he entered the train car. It turned out there were so many gunmen hidden on the train, perhaps Mr. Van der Linde was controlled as soon as he entered?! He was kidnapped!

The people of Saint Denis went mad, they frantically blocked the train's progress. Countless people cried and shouted, holding guns and following behind the train, a desperate, armed escort.

Those with horses rode them, their mounts lathered with sweat, those without ran after it, their lungs burning, their faces contorted.

Women squatted helplessly on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, their cries echoing, while men, faces flushed with rage, eyes filled with madness and murderous intent, followed the train, their hands gripping their weapons.

Children's eyes were filled with tears, their faces streaked with dirt, and anxiety and fear permeated their innocent hearts.

The entire Saint Denis was like it had entered an apocalypse, a scene of utter devastation, and a strong sense of despair arose in everyone's hearts, a chilling premonition of doom.

At this moment, they would rather Mr. Van der Linde command them to go to the battlefield and die a glorious death than endure this empty, hollow feeling, as if they had lost all hope of living, all purpose.

The panic and helplessness in everyone's hearts almost visibly spread throughout the city, a tangible shroud of despair.

There were no owners in the shops on the streets, their doors abandoned, no human voices in the taverns, only the distant roar of the crowd. The streets were sparsely populated, a ghost town, and the only women visible were either squatting on the ground crying, their bodies shaking, or had already fainted from crying, their emotions overwhelmed.

Only a few VDL Party gunmen, grim-faced and resolute, were maintaining a semblance of order on the streets, rescuing the ladies who had fainted from the unbearable news of Mr. Van der Linde's imminent departure.

The city no longer had its former prosperity and vitality, its vibrant pulse. All that remained was ultimate despair and the final, terrifying madness before impending destruction!

Finally, after an unknown, agonizing number of times clearing the people lying on the tracks in front of the train, the formidable Van der Linde's Guard arrived at the scene, their ranks orderly, their faces grim.

"By order of Mr. Van der Linde, everyone immediately return to Saint Denis and obey the command of Mr. Hosea Matthews, Minister of Logistics and Education of the VDL Party!" a stern voice boomed through a megaphone.

"All matters will be handled by Mr. Hosea Matthews!"

Subsequently, Hosea, Arthur, Davey, Mac, John, and their group, riding horses and leading a formidable contingent of Van der Linde's Guard, arrived at the scene, their presence a calming force.

They first had people, with great effort, pull away the crowd blocking the train, gently but firmly, and then stopped the even larger crowd following the train, their voices calm but authoritative.

As the train, with its precious, unwilling cargo, headed east under the desperate, tear-filled gaze of the people.

Finally, the electronic loudspeaker Dutch used for his speeches was also brought over, a symbol of his power.

Then, Hosea Matthews, who had never given a public speech before, stepped onto the podium, his face a little pale, but his resolve firm.

"Ladies and gentlemen! I am Hosea Matthews!" his voice, amplified by the loudspeaker, boomed across the still-agitated crowd.

Under the deafening loudspeaker, Hosea's speaking talent actually seemed quite good, a natural orator.

Although he lacked Dutch's raw, magnetic charisma, the old man's calm, reassuring way of speaking made it very easy for people to listen, to trust him.

Hosea looked at the desperate and angry eyes below, at the raw rage and burning flames in their eyes, a mirror of their pain.

He couldn't help but admire Dutch's terrifying ability to control minds even more.

Just as Dutch had predicted, as soon as he went to the East, the people of the West would go completely crazy themselves, a spontaneous uprising.

This war, which was subtly started by Dutch Van der Linde, had now, by some twisted magic, become a spontaneous uprising of the people of the West, a fight for their very survival.

But now, it was Hosea Matthews' turn to perform! To calm the storm, to channel their rage!

Damn it, Hosea thought, a grim determination setting his jaw, Hosea Matthews had endured long enough, he couldn't endure it any longer! This was his moment!

"Gentlemen, ladies, I know your hearts are filled with despair, a crushing weight! I know your emotions are extremely painful, a searing agony! I know you understand very clearly in your hearts, with every fiber of your being, that our leader, Dutch Van der Linde, he is innocent, he is being persecuted by the United States Federal Government!" Hosea's voice swelled with conviction, his fists clenched.

"They use their self-made rules, their corrupt laws, to oppress us wantonly, to crush our spirit! They want us to work for them for generations, to be their slaves, they wantonly strip away the fruits of our labor, leaving us with nothing!"

He pounded the podium, his voice rising to a roar. "Those damned American congressmen believe we dare not resist, those damned American capitalists believe we will only meekly endure, like whipped dogs! Those damned powerful elites, they stand proudly at the high ground of law, demanding to judge Dutch Van der Linde's sins from a condescending position, from their ivory towers!"

Hosea paused, his eyes sweeping over the enraged faces in the crowd. "So, tell me, do you think that Dutch Van der Linde giving you higher wages, free houses and food, free schooling for your children, and a good life free from worries for a lifetime, is a manifestation of sin? Is that a crime?!"

"No!"

"No!"

"No!"

Accompanied by Hosea's impassioned speech, the crowd below became almost frantic, their voices a unified, thunderous denial. They had not yet recovered from the anger and despair of Mr. Van der Linde's arrest, and now hearing this, the anger and madness in their hearts ignited like hot oil, a raging inferno.

"The American elites still believe we dare not resist, they are blind fools! American congressmen still believe we are weak and easily bullied, like lambs to the slaughter! American capitalists still believe we are like dogs, who will weaken with a few bones, a few scraps from their table!" Hosea roared, his voice cracking with emotion.

"And now, I want you to truly consider from your own perspective, I want you to truly decide according to your own hearts, your own convictions!" He leaned forward, his eyes burning with a fierce light.

"Do you want a REVOLUTION?!"

"YES!"

"YES!"

"YES!"

Saint Denis completely rioted, a city consumed by its own fury. The shouts and frantic cries of the crowd, a deafening, continuous roar, could hardly release the accumulated anger and fervor in their hearts, their pent-up rage.

Countless people picked up their weapons, their faces contorted with madness, and shouted Mr. Van der Linde's name, their madness had completely reached the point of eruption, a terrifying, unstoppable force!