Pegmont had chosen an excellent time to set out. As his legion marched, the final afterglow of the red death star’s setting sun shone before him, retreating in step with his stride like subjects backing away from their king, following closely pace by pace.
Night followed in his wake, like a burgeoning abyss of silence, gradually cloaking the barren, boundless surface of the alien world.
Darkness crept silently over rolling mountains, over endless isolated boulders, over shattered stone and gravel, over volcanoes and canyons, burying the dirt and footprints...
These were the footprints of a human soldier.
The footprints of the war planet’s sole human armed with source energy fell alone across this desert spanning over a hundred and forty million square kilometers, stretching ever outward.
Stretching onward... toward that predestined battlefield. A battlefield that held the future fate of two races, two civilizations.
The remnants of the Great Spike forces from Antarctica had established a tractor field here, and it was likely nearing completion. If they were not stopped, the next batch of Great Spikes would arrive shortly, followed by the one after that... until this place was completely overrun, turning it into their forward base for a full-scale invasion of Blue Star.
That time would come soon.
"That won't do. I, Pegmont, a human, discovered this place right along with you bastards. No way am I letting you hog it for yourselves."
Pegmont muttered to himself as he walked at an unhurried pace. Over the past few months, he had long become an expert at talking to himself. Occasionally, when his temper flared, he could even pick a fight with his other self.
The T-type mothership had already faded into the distance behind him.
Over the past few months on this unfamiliar planet, the Great Spike mothership had served as Pegmont’s shelter of rest... This time, he probably wouldn't return. Naturally, there was no sentimentality in this parting, nor any halting to look back. Pegmont knew full well that his true home would always be that blue, vibrant world.
It was a land one took for granted in daily life, but now missed terribly.
"Whether I can see you again or not... I'll fight for you." Looking up at the night sky, Pegmont saw a scattering of stars begin to emerge at the horizon, and he spoke casually toward one of them.
The tip of his tied-back hair trailed at an angle—a single lock of pink. This planet possessed no pink of its own, or at least none that Pegmont had ever seen.
Who could spot a supposed blue star amid a vast sea of constellations?
It didn't matter. At the very least, they could now see a streak of pink on Mars.
It belonged to Pink Peg, to the mighty Pegmont Legion. Indeed, even those bastards from the Stream Vanguard had voluntarily dyed their moth-to-the-flame insignia a deep crimson because of it.
***
The final ray of twilight lingered stubbornly on the surface like a reluctant lover, resting roughly where the decisive battleground would soon be.
About three kilometers from the battlefield, the view was obstructed by two rocky hills. The wind began to pick up. A sandstorm blew in from the distance, sweeping through the mountain canyon as dense gravel pelted his face and body.
Pegmont came to a halt. Standing amid the swirling sand, he pulled the communicator from his waist and looked down at it resting in his palm.
"Hello, hello, can anyone hear me? This is Pegmont. I'm on Mars—probably, anyway. Those Great Spikes that routed from Antarctica built a tractor field here..."
The loop-call function configured on the communicator continued to execute its directive over and over, carrying sound waves outward, only for them to vanish silently into the vast depths of the cosmos.
From the other end of the communicator, there was still no reply.
"What a shame. Can't even get a call through in this godforsaken place. Otherwise, Shorty Bochen and that amnesiac major ought to come over and give Legion Commander Pegmont a proper salute."
Pegmont chuckled at the thought.
He remembered his fifteenth birthday. It had been during a sunset just like this when a short, stocky man in his thirties pulled him out of a street brawl and asked:
"Kid, you can really take a beating. Seriously extraordinary. So, interested in learning how to become a superhero?"
"Not interested." Having answered, fifteen-year-old Pegmont dove right back into the fight.
The short fellow followed, casually knocking brawlers to the ground as he walked. Peg had watched with his own eyes as someone lunged with a knife to stab the man—and then the blade snapped.
After a beat of dazed shock, the brawling crowd scattered in a frenzy. Only Peg remained where he was, held fast by the collar in the short fellow's grip.
"So, interested in coming with me to be a superhero now?" the short fellow asked again.
"Not interested. I'm going to be the boss of the Glen neighborhood," Pegmont still refused.
"Is that so..." The short fellow pondered for a moment before saying, "Well then, how about joining a gang? Interested in joining the most powerful and mysterious syndicate in the world?"
"Really?!" Fifteen-year-old Peg grew thrilled.
That was where everything began for Azure's only super combat power to have his own joke collection—the King of Courting Death and a hero of humanity, Dario Pegmont.
"You're the greatest genius in human history, the future number-one God of War of humanity," that short bastard would always say to him afterward.
"Cut the crap," Pegmont would always reply. He had firmly believed it all along... until one day, he suddenly heard about another Huaxian bastard named Han Qingyu.
"Find your way here, you bastards. Please, make sure you find this place."
After mumbling to himself, Pegmont used his blade to dig a hole beneath a massive boulder, arranging stones into a sturdy enclosure. He placed the communicator inside—still looping its transmission—then sealed the opening and covered it with sand.
***
Clouds blotted out the last trace of light as Pegmont rose to his feet.
Night had fallen. "Time to set out and crush those bastards."
Pegmont skirted forward, cutting through the canyon between the two rocky hills. Under the cover of night, he finally stood on tonight's decisive battleground.
Less than a kilometer ahead of him was the encampment guarded by the Great Spikes' circular formation.
There were at least ten thousand Great Spikes—Red Shoulders, blue-sheened Great Spikes, and Black Armors. Among them, even the ordinary black-armored Great Spikes were far taller and burlier than Pegmont.
Thus, as they stood clustered in heavy armor, arrayed layer upon layer in formation, Pegmont's distant figure appeared extraordinarily tiny, fragile, and alone by comparison.
Furthermore, it wasn't just a horde of Great Spikes gathered there now; an impenetrable black wall built from the hulls of medium and large source energy airships served as their defense.
The thick, towering iron rampart formed a complete ring around the area, resembling the citadel of a demon lord beneath the night sky.
At the same time, over a dozen Great Spike vessels of varying sizes hovered or patrolled in the air.
Less than a kilometer away. Measured by Pegmont's combat strength, this was well within striking distance for a surprise assault. But a surprise attack, especially one intentionally launched under cover of night...
Hunched over, Pegmont moved forward slowly and cautiously, observing as he attempted to spot a flaw.
Night had only just begun. No rush.
"He's here." In the distance, the Red Shoulders watched him with tense vigilance.
Naturally, Pegmont had no idea the Great Spikes were watching him, until... *Flash.* It was an utterly silent scene, yet light broke through.
A moon had emerged, appearing with startling suddenness.
It was not the moon seen by humans, but Mars's own moon. In fact, two of them appeared.
Moonlight fell across the earth, illuminating Pegmont's form.
Since that was the case...
"All right then." There was nothing left to do but truly lay out the field and stage an open clash between two armies—a decisive extraterrestrial battle between humanity and the Great Spikes, between two great civilizations and races.
Pegmont slowly straightened his posture, turned square, and stood with blade in hand. Then, his gaze lifting, he raised his chin slightly... standing tall to face the fortified city and its ten thousand soldiers.
Chapter 878