In just a few short minutes, the Western Front battlefield seemed to have lived through an entire cycle of reincarnation—from a bleak, inescapable dead end to a pink miracle, and then plunging once more into a harrowing predicament.
If Daie continued in this manner, evading battle while skirting around the perimeter to prevent the Western Front troops from rushing back to reinforce the others, then the slaughter unfolding on the Antarctic Peninsula would continue unabated, ultimately spiraling toward consequences humanity could not endure.
Over a million soldiers, including six hundred thousand handpicked, meticulously trained recruits, would all be lost there.
The resources accumulated by nearly draining humanity's reserves would be cast away there.
And cast away with them would be the faith and hope of all mankind...
"Should we hope for defeat in Antarctica? Once the situation collapses into destruction, Project Fireseed might be implemented immediately—provided, of course, that a mothership can return."
Once again, during a break in the dissection, Zhe Qiuhong had gone to the lounge to rest her eyes for a while when someone whispered into her ear in the Chappell language used exclusively within Voyage.
It was unexpectedly that middle-aged male assistant who appeared to have no filter on his mouth. Zhe Qiuhong slowly opened her eyes and glanced at him. She had no recollection of him.
Evidently, this person had been dispatched into Azure long ago, rather than defecting alongside them later on.
"Are you implying that I shouldn't have voiced that assessment just now?" Zhe Qiuhong paused, her gaze cold with displeasure. "Don't forget, we are not actually on opposing sides with Azure. And besides... my friends are there too."
The last sentence was very soft, almost like muttering to herself. With that, Zhe Qiuhong stood up and walked straight back toward the dissection room.
Daie didn't have a heart! So where on earth was its fatal point?
Or did one even exist?
At Azure Headquarters, the signals from the Rejecters continued to transmit smoothly, relaying news from the distant battlefield.
Inside the small room guarding humanity's deepest secrets, the confidential Council of Elders of Azure—those powerful figures playing the game of chess from behind the scenes—fell silent for a long moment after letting out heavy sighs.
"If I'd known, we should've made him an idiot. When he was sixteen, the thought actually crossed my mind for a split second," one of the old bastards muttered gloomily through gritted teeth.
This "him," of course, referred to Pegmont.
"Bullshit idea. If you'd made him an idiot, how would he ever swell his ego?" another old man with disheveled white hair shot back, adding with a trace of rueful reflection, "Over the years, he's been brainless and illogical enough as it is."
After that brief exchange, the room fell silent once more.
In the end, whether Pegmont actually needed a brain was itself an unsolvable knot.
In the meeting hall of the Azure Headquarters Council, the massive projections across the walls constantly updated with battlefield footage and intel.
Everyone present, including Speaker Kemore and all the councilors and officials, had barely left all day.
Usually, they debated and discussed the future of humanity here—about hopes and hardships, choices and expectations. Yet none of them could have imagined that this so-called future might very well end up buried right here in Antarctica.
Everything happening there, and everything about to happen, was something that Azure—and indeed the whole of human civilization—could not bear.
Tap, tap. Hurried footsteps suddenly sounded out in the corridor outside the meeting hall.
Inside the hall, there was absolute silence.
For when things had reached this point, no one could propose any solutions or recommendations anymore.
What the hundreds of councilors had been doing just moments ago was an hour-long session of mutual blame and recrimination.
And when Speaker Kemore demanded they stop, they quieted down—after which some among them began secretly scheming to use this crisis to demand the speaker's resignation.
Kemore had occupied the seat of Azure's Speaker for a bit too long. Looking back, if not for the checks and balances and mutual compromises among various factions, the obscure Kemore could never have been chosen as Speaker.
No one could have guessed that this stopgap choice from a weak, small country would end up serving for so long. After all, he had always appeared weak and easily pushed around.
For instance, he seemed afraid of Huaxia's Legion Commander. Over all these years, as Chen Buer repeatedly defied the Council's orders—even once sending his Slash-Red battleblade directly onto the dais—Kemore, in his spinelessness, had never voiced the slightest dissatisfaction, let alone pursued punishment.
Another example was his indulgence toward Stream Vanguard later on...
Yet under this very "spineless" speaker's tenure, humanity had faced unprecedented crises one after another, while also achieving unprecedented growth, miraculously winning victory after victory through the dazzling brilliance of geniuses.
The councilors from East Asia occasionally joked that Speaker Kemore was exceptionally tough-fated—so tough that he might well be the most accomplished speaker in Azure history since the founding Three Heroes.
This made it look like Kemore would continue to hold the position and, via special wartime legislation, have his term exceptionally extended.
"Reporting!" As the footsteps came to a halt, a young officer appeared at the door with an anxious expression.
Kemore turned his head and gestured. "Speak."
There can't be any worse news than this, the old man told himself silently.
"A query from the Rejecters: should public information transmissions be halted?" It was likely a matter unrelated to the direct battle, but the officer's eyes were filled with nervous anxiety as he asked.
Kemore was taken aback.
Everyone in the meeting hall froze.
The Lost Continent Expedition was the most publicly disclosed operation in Azure's history; media outlets across virtually the entire world had been involved.
Before the war, people were universally optimistic.
In the early stage of the war, people were collectively optimistic.
And now... although the war correspondents' work had largely ceased, the Rejecters' signal sources automatically transmitting public broadcasts had never stopped, streaming battlefield photographs and even short clips of footage.
Because of the peril and chaos of the Antarctic battle, no one had remembered this until right now.
This meant that while they were arguing and sitting in silence here, the entire world already broadly knew what was happening in Antarctica and the grave crisis humanity faced.
"No, shut it down! We can't let the public see this..." a councilor cried out in panic, jumping to his feet.
"Let them continue," Speaker Kemore decided. When he turned back, his expression was heavy, but his gaze was resolute. "Once panic has set in, any attempt to cover it up will only breed greater chaos. If our soldiers fail to return in the end, people will find out anyway."
"But—"
"And I think," Kemore continued, "since things have already come to this, the blood shed by our soldiers ought to be seen. In the face of a collapsing situation, blindly feeding the public optimism won't make the future any more hopeful. After the agony, the darkness, and the terror, steadfast people will always stand up to hold this world aloft. Besides, this is our failure. We should be candid and bear their fury."
...
"Kill it."
"Kill it."
Footage of the Western Front battle flashed on every television screen. Countless people crouched or stood rigid before their sets, praying and roaring in a myriad of different tongues.
"Kill it."
"Kill it."
The more than two hundred thousand soldiers on the Western Front battlefield roared in unison as well.
Then the Eastern Front.
The Antarctic Peninsula.
At this moment, Pegmont was where all the world's hopes rested.
Chapter 796