"A drone?"
The colonel froze for a moment, then exhaled in relief. He couldn't resist spitting out a curse, followed by another, and then another, before slumping back into his chair. "Shoot it down! Fuck, these Mid-Continent bastards are out of their goddamn minds!"
Without the slightest hesitation, the anti-drone countermeasures fired up. Before long, an armored suit descended from the sky, confirming the shattered wreckage of an FPV racing drone smashed into the mud.
Unlike the commercial turnkey models growing increasingly popular these days, everything from its rotor blades to its microchips had been assembled from piecemeal components, showing clear signs of meticulous tuning. Its top speed could actually reach three hundred kilometers per hour—they were truly getting out of hand!
"Investigate it. Have the Defense Division dig all the way to the bottom." The colonel's face was dark. "Reckless bastards. Once we catch them, execute every last one by firing squad, suppliers included."
"Yes, sir."
The clerk began running the procedure, but the document had only just opened when the monitor abruptly flickered, trembling ever so slightly.
What the fuck was that?
Bewildered, he looked up at the flickering lights overhead.
Immediately after, violent tremors roared in like a tsunami!
Within seconds, the entire base was plunged into violent upheaval. The walls groaned and rattled; chandeliers and ceiling fans swung wildly.
"An earthquake?"
Crouching instinctively beneath his desk, the clerk poked his head out—and only then heard the piercing sirens abruptly blast across the base.
Flashing red lights
illuminated the colonel's livid face.
Emergency.
Amid the rumbling tremors, Tang Qian—having just changed into a plumber's uniform inside a toilet stall—froze where he stood. He instinctively picked up his walkie-talkie: "What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? You didn't actually launch a missile strike on an Imperial garrison base, did you?"
"A missile strike would be useless. Imperial interception technology wouldn't give it a chance. It'd just be a wasted effort, running around for nothing with zero results."
Through the walkie-talkie, a voice speaking mangled Federal answered nonchalantly.
"So?" Old Tom asked blankly.
"So, I blew up Grand Creation's crude oil processing plant."
On the other end of the line, Ji Jue, disguised with a thick beard, stood atop a roof holding binoculars. Looking out past Tacheng into the wilderness, amid cluster after cluster of oil wells, he watched a mushroom cloud abruptly rise, its terrifying blaze gradually scorching the overcast clouds into a searing red glow.
And through the walkie-talkie came a barrage of curses.
This son of a bitch wasn't human anymore!
What the fuck do you mean bombing the garrison base was useless so you blew up the refinery—you might as well have bombed the base, damn it!
Even at their wildest, the White Nation Restoration Front was never this unhinged!
The roars continued unabated.
At first, it was merely a leak in a single cylindrical crude storage tank, catching fire uncontrollably, spiraling out of hand, and promptly spreading.
It triggered a chain reaction with pinpoint precision, sympathetic detonations erupting one after another.
Across the wilderness, the earth shook violently as plumes of dust and flame erupted into the sky from the soil.
Workers fleeing in emergency evacuation scattered in panic, while the alarms and distress calls they had already sent out had long been severed, dead before they could arrive.
Only the pipeline running straight from the refinery to the port was bursting section by section like a string of firecrackers, exploding relentlessly...
Amid the rumbling din, Tacheng was swiftly thrown into turmoil as well.
Countless people rushed dazedly to their windows, staring into the distance—mistaking it for the opening salvo of war, and breathing a sigh of relief only when they saw no shadows of airships raining down bombs.
And then, once again, their hearts leapt straight into their throats.
Gazing in the direction of the firelight.
Dumbfounded.
Wait, no way... Are they mad? Who did this?!
Have they got a death wish?!
No, if you fucking want to die, don't drag the rest of us down with you!
In the dead silence, not a soul spoke another word.
Just imagining the Empire's coming response was enough to see the bleak future draped in blood...
They were doomed!
"Time to move."
Inside the base, the piercing sirens that had suddenly erupted echoed endlessly. Over the walkie-talkie, that oddly accented Federal sounded beside Old Tom's ear once more:
"Remember, not a word of White Nation tongue."
Because Ji Jue couldn't speak it.
Although he had put in some occasional hard study recently, bringing his reading and listening up to par, a language was not something you could master merely through study; it required long, extensive practice. No matter how smoothly Ji Jue could write it, speaking that same language would easily give him away.
Even a ghost could tell something was off.
In that case, it was better to speak Federal openly and shamelessly. As long as one paid slight attention to pronunciation, anyone could pass as a local Federal pro!
As an old Federal saying went: "Hee-hee-woo-zhe, Wei Junjie"—who Wei Junjie was, Tang Qian had never heard in his life, but right now he barely even knew who he himself was.
Getting swept up in a hot-headed moment to meddle in this goddamn mess—he was out of his mind!
In the midst of the chaotic crowd, clutching the work order just assigned to him, he stumbled and tripped as he blended in, bolting forward in frantic haste.
The alarm had been raised; the entire base had entered a state of emergency.
According to military regulations, all garrison personnel outside the base had their leaves and itineraries canceled, ordered to return immediately. Meanwhile, all on-duty personnel inside the base had to assemble at their posts within ten minutes; being late was treated as a violation of military regulations punishable by court-martial.
Right now, inside the military barracks, figures rushed frantically into the stairwells. Some couldn't even wait, jumping straight from the second floor while hitching up their trousers. After taking a hard spill, without even bothering to curse, they scrambled up on all fours and sprinted wildly toward their posts.
Everyone was completely bewildered.
They didn't know what had happened, didn't know why an emergency had been declared, and didn't know what would happen next.
In this chaotic state, an individual's capacity to think was no longer important. In its place were the instinctual reflexes hammered into them through repeated drills and day after day of routine training.
Five minutes to reach their stations; ten minutes, full muster; by fifteen minutes, the entire base had sealed off its interior and perimeter completely, locking out the large number of personnel who hadn't made it back in time.
On the internal airfield, amidst the blaring sirens, one airship after another was towed out of the hangars by tractor trucks. Then their tethers were swiftly unfastened; fully inflated, they rose into the sky.
Like enraged beasts crawling forth from their lair.
The First Combat Formation had already surged at full speed toward the exploding refinery.
Meanwhile, the members of the Second Combat Formation had assembled in the briefing lounge.
"Pilots whose names are called, step forward—"
The formation captain roared at the top of his lungs, trying to drown out the shrill alarms: "Albano, Kawalec, Erika, Ramte—all of you, prepare for takeoff!
Briefings will be provided to you en route! The rest of you await orders! Move, move, move! Get moving, hurry—"
"Me?"
Amid the crowd, Erika was taken aback. Looking at the briefing slip handed over, bewildered, she paused for a fraction of a second. "Sir, I'm a Bat-class pilot. This isn't a bombing mission."
"The system says you've flown Pyrite reconnaissance craft before. Extenuating circumstances—consider yourself a substitute!"
The officer's face was livid as he cursed, "That piece of shit Ranabil is outside the base and can't get in! The bastard can look forward to court-martial!"
Erika hesitated, but under the officer's glare, said nothing in the end.
Turning around, she sprinted toward the hangar,
preparing to board.
Her teeth were nearly ground to dust!
Damn it all, who could have guessed that a hiccup would appear on the very first step—she was actually being forced onto duty! If there was ever a prime example of plans failing to keep up with changes, this was it.
Still, it was fine. It was well within manageable limits.
No matter how formidable the Empire was, they couldn't force a dead person onto duty, could they?
On the runway outside the hangar, amidst hurried preparations, 'Erika' leaped deftly, stepping onto the boarding ladder. Just as she was about to drop into the cockpit,
her movement suddenly paused.
Immediately after, a violent shockwave and crimson flames abruptly erupted from the runway.
The reconnaissance craft, in the middle of refueling, detonated with a deafening roar!
A searing tempest of gale and fire gushed forth. Caught in the blast like a fallen leaf, Erika was flung backward, crashing to the ground engulfed in flames.
And the chain-reaction explosions continued.
This time, from within the base itself.
Amid screams and tremendous crashes, countless people were caught in the blast, while lucky survivors looked on dumbfounded at the inferno consuming the runway, chills running down their spines.
Something was wrong...
The target wasn't just the refinery—the Imperial base was under attack as well?!
"Sound the alarm! Sound the fucking alarm! This isn't just any regular terrorist attack!"
The first officer to react roared, rushing toward the flames by instinct. "Everyone, clear the runway immediately! Where's the fire brigade? Notify them at once! And an ambulance, get an ambulance!"
Within the entire base, the already boiling chaos overflowed once more.
The sirens grew higher, more shrill.
A further escalation.
State of war!
"Medic! Where's the medic?! Hurry, someone's still alive here—"
From the blazing wreckage, a firefighter dragged out a shattered, charred figure that was barely in one piece. After identifying the ID from the glowing, twisted dog tag around the neck, the arriving medical personnel promptly lifted the body onto a stretcher and into an ambulance, speeding away.
"Morphine, cardiotonic, and epinephrine, hurry!"
Inside the ambulance, the doctor, drenched in sweat, looked at the maimed body. Glancing at the photo displayed on the monitor, he couldn't help sighing at the tragic fate of a pretty young woman, his hands working without pause.
Unfortunately, the vital signs were growing steadily weaker.
The heart had almost stopped.
A goner.
"Call off resuscitation,"
the exhausted doctor sighed, letting go. "Notify the hospital that the operating room can be cleared."
"Don't do that, Doctor."
Amid the racket, the charred corpse seemed to twitch. Suddenly, its eyes snapped open.
As if breaking into a grin.
Wolfish.
"I think I can still be saved..."
The doctor froze in place, his eyes widening instinctively.
In the next instant, the charred body on the stretcher lunged at his face. Sharp canines sank into his neck, drinking deeply.
In the blink of an eye, the blackened, charred shell rapidly peeled away, revealing newly grown flesh and bone beneath.
Before the doctor lost consciousness entirely, the final face that appeared before his eyes was so familiar.
It was his own.
"Thank you for the treat. Tasted great."
The 'doctor' wiped his mouth. He hadn't drained him completely, merely sampling enough, before turning his head toward the petrified, terror-stricken nurse with a faint smile.
A snap of the fingers.
The nurse slumped to the floor, unconscious.
She caught only the final whisper:
"Sleep now. Have a sleep, and everything will be over."
Some were able to sleep peacefully in their dreams, while others were jolted awake from theirs.
Opening his eyes.
Duke Passarella snapped awake from a light slumber, looking toward the command headquarters. In an instant, every piece of information carried in the alarm flashed into his mind.
Then, he fell into bewilderment.
It was not that he lacked decisiveness or was at a loss for what to do. As a titled border duke with real landed authority, even having failed in the bid for the imperial throne, Passarella still retained ample power and standing. Across so many years of military campaigns, he had never lacked resolve.
It was simply that because he understood the consequences of a decision all too well, it was almost impossible to believe.
Having instinctively worked through the process of elimination, only one conjecture remained.
"—Has the Federation declared war?!"
Chapter 596