On the battlefield seen through satellite imagery, nothing could truly be distinguished.
Back when the ten-thousand-man battle formation had still been outside the Great Spike swarm, it had at least retained a shape and a cluster of faint light. Though small, it let everyone in the world know that humanity's soldiers still had not given up.
Yet the moment they all plunged into the Great Spike swarm, they were completely submerged.
In the contrasting image on screen, the dominant element was the magnificent glare of the super traction field and the billowing, near-tangible surges of source energy. The lesser part was the dim, indistinct, oppressive mass of the Great Spike swarm under the canopy of light.
There was no sign of human figures.
Not a single one.
All except for the occasional streaking beams of dead iron weapons cleaving through the air whenever top supers clashed in combat—flashes that cut through the sky, and through the fearful yet clinging, expectant eyes of everyone across the world.
The Rejectors' broadcaster continued to deliver battlefield updates in a voice that was still official and seemingly calm... but every now and then, an involuntary slight tremor on a trailing syllable or an overly long pause laid bare pain, sorrow, and a despair that was growing harder to hide.
***
In an ordinary home in a small Eastern Europa nation, a little boy about seven or eight years old sat cross-legged on the floor, looking up at the television screen. He had very short, straw-yellow hair and wore a grimy horizontal-striped long-sleeved shirt whose overlong cuffs were bunched up inside his fists.
This was perhaps the epitome of every ordinary person in the world right now.
Far away in their homes, in public squares, in roadside shops, or beside strangers' windows, they watched helplessly as this final offensive, which had just been officially confirmed, played out. They watched those ten thousand human warriors submerged beneath the traction field, along with so many brilliant names.
In truth, they were also watching their own fate and hope...
Plunging into darkness.
Submerged.
Occasionally, a few beams of light would burst forth.
Only to be quickly submerged once more.
They hoped,
their hopes were dashed,
and despair gradually began to creep in, only for another sudden streak of light to flare...
Humanity had not yet given up.
The picture on the aging television was not very steady. The little boy, named Poldi, blinked his blue eyes as if they were stinging with fatigue. He rubbed them a few times with his hand, then turned to look at his grandfather.
"What kind of person is General Siglo?" It was a child's question—simple, direct, and lacking any specific angle.
"Probably one of the most exceptional human beings. No, not probably—he was." Grandfather pondered for a moment, reached up to nudge the silver spectacles that had slipped to the tip of his nose, and stared blankly at the television screen with an unfocused gaze. With a wistful, sorrowful expression, he said, "It is just that when such excellence and effort are still not enough to sustain the arduous cause he led, along with all those who followed him, placed their hopes in him, and trusted him... the kind heart and great sense of responsibility he carried became the very factors that ultimately destroyed him."
"You should remember him in the future of humanity's survival," Grandfather said, looking down at Poldi. "He wrote a page of history, a very brilliant stroke, whether as a general or as a soldier."
Grandfather's words sounded a bit complicated and hard to understand, and his tone felt different from usual. Poldi looked at him and nodded blankly.
"Then what kind of person is Major Qing?"
"Naturally one of the strongest. Whenever we speak of the hope and future of this world, he is a name that can never be left out. And you and your friends—don't you always use his name, his weapons, and his combat arts when you play and roughhouse together? You all aspire to be him," Grandfather said, smiling at him.
"Yeah!" Poldi blinked, nodding vigorously.
"People also say he is cold and aloof. Back in April, because of an official announcement, crowds gathered in the streets of the capital to welcome him, but they say he never showed up..." The old man took another glance at the television, knowing full well the man was right there in the footage, yet unable to see him. Forcing a faint smile, he said, "Still, I think, how could a truly cold person throw himself into battles like this time and time again?"
"And Pink Peg! They're fighting together today!" Hearing his grandfather mention this battle, Poldi grew a little excited and brought up Pegmont on his own initiative.
Although Major Qing's name was the most widely known, Pegmont's image was actually far more concrete and relatable in the eyes of the world's children.
He had a tuft of pink hair. Among the strongest people in this world, only he had that, which was simply too cool.
Moreover, after those three books became global bestsellers one after another, every single child knew at least a joke or two about Pink Peg.
"Indeed! Pink Peg, the only peak human combatant with his very own joke collection. What a rare, delightfully approachable figure he is." This time, a genuine smile spread across Grandfather's face. Chuckling, he said, "I've read those three books. He did some funny things, and quite a few truly annoying things, but I think he must be a good person at heart."
"Yeah!" A child's attention was always easily diverted, even from fear and sorrow. Poldi seemed to become engrossed in this discussion and understanding. After agreeing with full force, he asked, "What about Marshal Hua?"
"Whoa! A fellow that everyone envies and resents!" The old man leaned back, a sly, knowing grin appearing on his face as he made an expression shared only between men. To his eight-year-old grandson, he said, "Now that is a formidable fellow every man wants to be! They say he has willing, deeply devoted lovers in countless places all over the world... That's why he never marries, so he won't break the heart of a single one."
"See? How romantic is that? How tender?" the morally questionable old man said with a wink at the boy, seemingly encouraging little Poldi to grow up and become that kind of man.
A bashful look crossed the boy's face, but his eyes remained enthusiastic. Marshal Hua—white clothes, the bird of paradise, the super assassin wielding short blades—was just as much a legend in the eyes of children, an idol of admiration and longing, and someone they loved to imitate.
"I hear people say that he's the kind of man who, once young maidens see him, appears in their dreams. And then, once those maidens get married... he appears in other men's wives' dreams." Talking about this subject seemed to bring the old man's youth rushing back, his gaze carrying both mischief and envy.
"What about Lieutenant Wu Xu?"
"No one truly understands him, child. But I'll pass down a timeless word of caution to you. It goes something like this: never, ever ask Lieutenant Wu Xu for directions. Because out of helplessness and sheer reluctance to explain, he might just show you the way like this..." Grandfather pointed his fingers a few times, then turned his head to gesture in a direction with his eyes.
"Haha!" Poldi laughed as he watched. He knew about that story. After Pegmont's joke collections became popular, people around the world had fabricated plenty of jokes and pinned them onto him. One of them was about him going to the Stream Blades base to look for Major Qing, asking Lieutenant Wu Xu for directions, and ending up all the way in Mauritius.
"What about Second Lieutenant Shen Yixiu? She's always inside the iron armor..." As Poldi asked, he made a gesture meant to represent sheer toughness. Because of the iron armor, that was always how the world perceived that girl.
"Ah, yes, that little girl beneath the iron armor. I imagine everyone around the world who has heard her story feels heartache and wants to protect her—except for that bunch of bas... fellows beside her, and the girl herself." The old man turned his head to glance at the television screen once more. The mood he had managed to escape for just a brief moment sank back into gloom.
He and his grandson had just been discussing those legendary names. All of those names were right there on the television screen at this very moment, yet none could be seen.
How many of them were alive right now, and how many had died? No one knew. Perhaps they would never return.
"Can Lieutenant Wen's sniper rifle kill a Red Shoulder?" the boy continued to ask.
"I hope he can," Grandfather said, watching a streak of light across the television.
"Is Major General Aiselin Pegmont's girlfriend?"
"I don't think so."
"When will the Great Kidney Striker become a super combat power?"
"Soon, I think. Maybe next year, or at most the year after. In any case, it shouldn't be too long."
"..."
Chapter 841