Antarctica was no longer recognizable. In truth, this transformation had begun more than a year ago, but today's volcanic eruptions and bloody clashes had left it even more deeply scarred.
Fortunately, this wave of volcanic activity was brief, remaining relatively concentrated in certain offshore seabeds, the western front, and the Antarctic Peninsula. Had it lasted longer, the ecological fallout alone could have wrought unimaginable catastrophe upon all mankind.
The eruption of Mount Erebus continued. Although its intensity had weakened significantly, it had not fully subsided. It was perhaps the only volcano across the entire continent still actively erupting.
Along one corner of the volcano sloping toward the sea, molten rock smothered nearly half the terrain. The old lava had already cooled and crusted over, while fresh magma continued to flow, sending up walls of thick smoke.
The other half, bordering the coast, remained largely a world of ice and snow, though it was no longer pristine.
Grim filth marred the whiteness of the snow, and blood and fire reflected across the crystalline ice.
It was in this surreal, contrasting world that Regiment Commander Storm, Gu Zhazha, Black Tooth, He Guang, and the other division commanders of Stream Blades quietly took their places.
While barking out commands to their units through their shoulder-mounted communicators, they inspected their gear, replaced their source energy blocks, and shifted their secondary weapons into the easiest reach.
Soldiers rose from all directions and walked over in steady, unhurried strides.
The core team's discussion had not been hidden from them.
They had been informed that a small number of slots were available to stay behind, but not a single person had taken the offer. Every bandit was cut from the same cloth. Deep down, they used years of ingrained defiance to crush their terror and inner struggle, silently stepping into formation with their respective units, taking their positions with practiced ease, and checking one another's equipment.
It was an eerily quiet scene.
Six thousand men stood in an oppressive, awe-inspiring silence. One could already foresee what desperate madness would erupt the moment that silence was shattered.
Ashleia quietly recorded everything with her camera. She remarked that this might be the greatest collective silence in human history.
Every one of them knew what they were doing and what they were about to do, how much it mattered, and why. Yet there were no wisecracks to break the tension, nor curses to vent their fear.
There was no pre-battle speech, no resounding slogans, no roaring morale...
Nothing save the sound of breathing—gradually falling into unison, growing somewhat heavy, and condensing into pale mist amidst the wind and snow.
Wu Xu took his place at the very front. Behind him came He Tangtang, Shen Yixiu, Captain Milla, Corpse Man Weize...
The Little Prince, Zhu Jiaming, strode past Wen Jifei with a sullen expression and his chin held high. He stopped hesitantly about two meters to Wen Jifei's right, then turned and stepped up behind him.
"Sigh." Standing at his back, Zhu Jiaming said nothing more, merely letting out a long sigh.
Perhaps he wanted to say that his life had been pure misfortune ever since he met them, but his actions spoke a different truth:
*I'll watch your back in a moment. Don't forget, I'm a peak top-tier fighter too.*
Wen Jifei turned around, smiled at him, and raised a hand.
A high five?
The gesture was quite popular within Stream Blades, but few ever offered it to the Little Prince, who usually carried himself like a figure stepped out of ancient times. Raising his hand with slight reluctance, the Little Prince snapped, "Piss off."
Han Qingyu took all of this in.
Yet he felt like an outsider.
In truth, he had been paying close attention to everything that had happened today.
From the shock Pegament had brought to the western front, Han Qingyu had truly realized for the first time just how much a peak combatant meant to this war, and to all humanity. Of course, he also knew who he was, and what he should have been capable of doing.
When news of Captain Shao Xuan's death arrived, he saw the deep grief and anguish on everyone's faces. He knew he had shared a profound bond with that name. Yet it hurt so much—*Captain Shao, I can't even remember what you looked like.*
Then Wen Jifei made that agonizing decision.
Then the warriors of Stream Blades began assembling into formation.
Even Ashleia and Ian strapped on their heavy packs, found a spot, and stood in line.
They intended to march with Stream Blades into this suicidal offensive.
They wanted this story—destined to be cut abruptly short—to have faces and voices, a beginning and an end, so that the people of this world could hear it, see it, and pass it down as legend forever.
"I'll... go give it a try." Han Qingyu gritted his teeth and stepped toward the ranks.
He had no idea where he was supposed to stand, so he figured he would just find a random spot near the front.
"Qingzi!" Wen Jifei shouted.
Making no attempt to hide his voice, Wen Jifei walked over, offered a smile, and said, "No, Qingzi. You aren't coming with us... You're going home."
The words caught Han Qingyu completely off guard. He froze on the spot. "I... Plague Chicken, you..."
In that instant, it was more than just confusion; an immense rage flared within him, born of sheer helplessness.
"I'm in charge here right now. Our ten-person Swordfish-class ship is still intact. Qingbai, Rubiazha..." Wen Jifei called out seven or eight names, mainly their pilots, gesturing for them to come forward. "Find an opening and take Qingzi back."
This unfolded right in front of every soldier of Stream Blades, yet not a single person felt it was wrong, nor did anyone question it. Whether it was Han Qingyu or Wen Jifei, both had accomplished far too much in the past. Neither needed anything to prove their valor.
Before Han Qingyu could speak, Wen Jifei turned back to him.
"If I were standing here today purely as your friend and brother, I wouldn't tell you to leave. But speaking on behalf of all mankind, Qingzi, you have to survive."
"...Don't forget, you once saved this world with your own hands." As he spoke that last sentence, Wen Jifei was already turning away, walking back to the front of the ranks and refusing any further discussion.
Han Qingyu was left standing there at a loss, accompanied by Yang Qingbai and the others.
He stood beneath the silent gazes of Wu Xu, Rusty Sister, He Tangtang, and Captain Milla.
*Swish!*
With a sudden, crisp rustle, the entire six-thousand-strong battle formation of Stream Blades turned in unison to face him. Their gazes were steadfast, filled with unwavering trust and pride.
"And don't forget—we are your soldiers! Major Qing!" Black Tooth bellowed.
With that roar, he snapped his arm up in a sharp salute.
In the next instant—*boom!*
Six thousand men raised their hands in salute at once.
*When we chose to follow you, we were proud.*
*Now that we are parting ways, we haven't brought you shame.*
*We'll take our leave first... King of Stream Blades, forever!*
***
"Rejectors' battlefield report: casualties on the Antarctic Peninsula have exceeded three hundred and fifty thousand, fast approaching four hundred thousand."
"The western front is organizing a sixth desperate breakout attempt. In addition, Lieutenant General Anton has succumbed to his severe wounds and made the ultimate sacrifice."
"The peninsula main base launched a successful counterattack, but held it for less than ten minutes. The position has fallen once again. The space carrier Boomerang is declared destroyed, with all personnel aboard confirmed killed in action..."
Inside the Azure Headquarters Assembly Hall, the eight hundred council members, including Chairman Kemore, sat in dead silence, as if all life had been drained from them. Even the members who had been furiously denouncing Chairman Kemore just moments ago had abandoned all resistance.
There was nothing left for anyone to do.
Only the communications officer standing by the entrance continued to read out the battlefield dispatches from the Rejectors.
In a home within the ordinary world, a father hurriedly led his wife and child out the door, intending to seek shelter. Yet the family stood on the chaotic street for ten whole minutes, having no idea where to go.
In the end, they returned home and turned on the television.
In another household, a child stuffed inside a cellar pushed open the iron hatch with all his might, his eyes blinking wide. "Daddy, Mommy, how much longer do I have to hide down here?"
Both parents looked at each other, utterly speechless.
"Yao Yue, let's die hugging each other! Second Lieutenant Wen won't mind me holding you as we die, right?!" At the Azure Antarctic front-line main base, the frenzy of the Great Spike swarm was beyond containment. The Doomsday Great Wall rolled and tossed violently as Lin Ya clung fiercely to Yao Yue and cried out.
*Tick, tock, tick, tock...*
The clock on the wall kept its steady, rhythmic pace. In the conference room at the Huaxia Sole Witness Legion Headquarters, the eyes of every young staff officer were fixed upon their chief of staff.
Yet Xu Xiaohong sat completely motionless with his eyes half-closed, as if oblivious to the catastrophe unfolding across the world.
"Don't be afraid. At a time like this, no news is good news," an elder of Fenglong'ao said for the twenty-first time.
Han Qingyu's parents gritted their teeth, staring unblinkingly at the television screen without uttering a word.
*Chzz, chzz-chzz...*
The faint static of a fluctuating signal suddenly crackled through television sets and across front-line and rear-echelon communicators throughout Azure.
In the Azure Council, Chairman Kemore slowly raised his head...
At the Huaxia Sole Witness Legion Headquarters, Chief of Staff Xu Xiaohong finally opened his eyes. In that brief moment as he turned his head, a single cloudy tear slipped from the corner of his eye.
Inside the violently tumbling Doomsday Great Wall, the lurching abruptly froze for an instant. The clatter of impacts and screams hushed for several seconds as a sharp click resonated from the high-mounted public communicator.
On the black-and-white television in the Han household of Fenglong'ao, static flickered briefly across the screen, then cleared up before Han Youshan could even deliver a slap to the casing.
In that nameless home, the child poking his head out from under the cellar hatch looked at his parents in confusion, then peered past them toward the television set.
Across the entire globe, the Southern Hemisphere, the Northern Hemisphere...
Across the entire battlefield, the peninsula, the western front...
"Bzz... Latest battlefield bulletin from the Rejectors: Antarctic theater, eastern front operation. Our Azure allied force, Stream Blades, six thousand strong, has commenced a decapitation strike against the Great Spike towing field at the South Pole."
The announcer struggled desperately to rein in their emotions, their voice trembling yet striving for composure as they relayed the battlefield update in formal broadcast protocol.
"Latest battlefield bulletin from the Rejectors: one minute ago, Antarctic theater, eastern front..."
*Clatter!* With a sudden scrape, the sound of the microphone being seized came through. A different speaker took over.
An aged voice sounded:
"Antarctic eastern front: six thousand warriors of Stream Blades are currently assaulting the Great Spike towing field... Antarctic eastern front: six thousand warriors of Stream Blades are charging toward the South Pole..."
"Antarctic eastern front, standing before all mankind—Stream Blades charges into hell!"
Chapter 802