What Kind of Ridiculous Bug Is This Now?

Inside the camp. The gunfire had gradually subsided, though fires still burned in pockets across the grounds. A Wilant soldier lay sprawled on his back. The armor plate across his chest was shattered to pieces, and blood gushed from two bullet wounds in his right thigh. His face was contorted in agony. Catching sight of a suit of power armor striding past nearby, terror flickered across his eyes. He swiftly drew his sidearm, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Yet all that came from the chamber was a sharp, empty click of the firing pin. "Dammit—" Spitting a mouthful of bloody phlegm, he cast the pistol aside as though making up his mind. With a trembling right hand, he wrenched a grenade from his battered armor plate and ripped out the safety pin. A streak of madness crept onto his pain-twisted face. Facing the suit of power armor, the Wilant soldier let out a hysterical roar. "Long live the Marshal—!" *Bang!* A curt gunshot cut short the soldier's final burst of fanaticism. "You're shouting for the wrong guy." Holstering his smoking pistol, Lao Bai extended his steel-clad right hand and scooped up the unpinned grenade from beside the limp arm. Then he squeezed. Like an aluminum soda can, the grenade crumpled under enormous pressure into a mangled clump. The detonator, striker, and delay tube burst straight out from the casing all at once. Tossing the ruined grenade beside the corpse, Lao Bai turned toward the rally point without looking back. Not far away beside the road, over a dozen officers crouched on the ground with hands clasped behind their heads, their faces ashen. Four players in exoskeletons stood watch over them. Seeing Lao Bai approach, Ye Shi, sniper rifle slung across his back, ambled over while cursing up a storm. "These bastards are absolute scum. They smashed their comms gear to bits and torched every map and document! We only managed to salvage a few charred scraps." "Doesn't matter. Whoever burned them can just rewrite them from memory." Lao Bai swept his gaze over the row of crouched officers. "Where is he?" Ye Shi knew who he meant, and grinned. "Caught him. The guy was about to slip away with his adjutant, but I'd had eyes on him with a drone from way back. To his credit, he was sensible enough to surrender the moment he realized the game was up, which saved me a ton of hassle... Look, that's him on the far end." Lao Bai followed Ye Shi's gaze and saw a disheveled old man crouching in the dirt. If not for the uniform and the flashy epaulets, he never would have guessed this fellow was a Legion Myriarch—a rank on par with Dillon, who had formerly led the Bone Chewer tribe. Streaked with gray, his hair was a tangled mess. His sunken eye sockets held dull, lifeless irises that resembled dusty stones. Across that heavily lined face, not a trace of former pride remained; he looked no different from an ordinary old man. "Speaking of which, why are these guys so weak?" Kuang Feng grumbled, looking equally depressed. "Plus one. Was there really a directly attached cohort here?" From the moment their boots touched the ground until now, they hadn't encountered a single shred of decent resistance. It felt like they had wasted a day taking leave from work for nothing. Lao Bai made a helpless gesture, looked at the highest-ranking old officer on the ground, and asked in broken Human Alliance language, "Why are there so few men here?" Realizing the suit of power armor was speaking to him, Sovt froze briefly, staring up with a rigid expression. His voice trembled with indignant grief. "You won. Why must you humiliate me by asking questions you already know the answers to...?" The players exchanged puzzled looks. A peculiar look crept onto Lao Bai's face as well. "What do you mean?" "Griffin... it was his order. He transferred my directly attached cohort to the ridge seventeen kilometers to the south," Sovt snarled through gritted teeth. "He swore in his telegram that the Alliance paratroopers would definitely drop there." If he had still held his directly attached cohort, there was no way he would have been run over by a mob of paratroopers dropping right on his face. And even if he couldn't have won, he would at least have had the chance to slip away. Lao Bai and Ye Shi exchanged glances, both wearing expressions that wavered between laughter and tears. *Unbelievable.* They had thought they were finally going to have an epic show of force. Instead, they had ended up playing bystanders again! Seeing that the armored soldier said nothing more, Sovt hesitated a moment, unable to hold back the burning question in his heart. "I don't understand... If you are here, who is attacking Hill 330?" He simply could not fathom it. If that was an airborne assault as well, the Alliance's airborne forces were absurdly massive. To carry out two consecutive drops with less than an hour between them... Just how many runways had they built, and how many transport planes did they have prepared?! "The Death Corps," Lao Bai said casually. "The De... Death Corps?" Confusion washed over Sovt's face. *Not the Burning Corps?* Evidently, the reputation of the Death Corps had not yet reached the ears of the Legion high command; they were known only in the southern reaches of River Valley Province. Lao Bai chuckled and added, "Yeah. Those folks are a bunch of lunatics too. The suicidal way they fight, I honestly think they're crazier than us." Sovt pressed anxiously, "But how did they reach Hill 330? Impossible! You must be lying to me! I've studied every road between here and the frontline! Unless your trucks can fly through the air, there is no way you could have covered that distance in such a short time!" That was a hundred and fifty kilometers! Factoring in the winding gravel roads, the actual route could easily be twice that length! Where on earth had these people materialized from?! "Why would they have to take the road? Couldn't they just—" Ye Shi stared at him strangely, about to mock him, but a soft cough from Lao Bai cut him off. "Even if I told you they marched to Hill 330 on foot, you probably wouldn't believe it," Lao Bai said, shrugging at the crestfallen Sovt. "In any case, it's over. How they pulled it off hardly matters to you anymore." *** On the bridge of the *Heart of Steel*. Chu Guang, who had been waiting quietly for news, finally received the first victory report from the front. "...The Legion 4th Legion forward command post has been secured! Myriarch Sovt, his adjutant, staff officers, and other personnel have all been detained! We captured maps and a large volume of documents from the command tent, though much of it was burned." Listening to Lao Bai's report, Chu Guang nodded in approval. "Well done." Lao Bai said respectfully, "Requesting further instructions!" Chu Guang glanced at the holographic map deployed before him, pondered for a moment, and gave his order. "Establish a defensive perimeter on-site. Detail a few men to inventory the spoils." Lao Bai answered crisply, "Understood!" The enemy's highest forward command post had been dismantled. This meant that across the entire defensive line from Position 40 to 49, every logistics hub and support battery within a depth of one hundred and fifty kilometers had lost the coordination and direction of their command network. Their positions were even laid bare on the captured maps. The 4th Legion was effectively crippled. And the *Heart of Steel*, serving as a mobile command post, could now safely and smoothly advance into what had been the 4th Legion's strategic depth, continuing its push forward. The only vulnerability of this behemoth was its propellers. Repairing them was an immense hassle, yet they served as the airship's sole propulsion system. If it broke down at the front line, even if the Legion couldn't pierce the deflector shield right away, things would become exceedingly troublesome. Watching the arrow thrusting deep into enemy territory on the strategic map, Chu Guang couldn't help feeling a surge of emotion. It was just past nine in the evening. Less than twelve hours had elapsed since the launch of the general offensive, and they had not only shattered an entire legion but had also driven the frontline forward by one hundred and fifty kilometers. No matter which world one looked at, such an achievement would be hailed as a miracle in military history. "...Our original plan was to have the paratroopers coordinate with the armored columns in breakthrough operations, but now our tanks are chasing after our paratroopers." Standing beside him, Vannus offered no comment. Truth be told, he was equally astonished. While plans frequently failed to keep pace with changing situations, it was exceedingly rare to encounter a scenario where plans had to be drastically altered because things were going *too* well. According to the original offensive plan under Scenario 3, the Alliance was supposed to spend a full day completing Phase One by taking Position 40, and only initiate Phase Two on the third day by assaulting Hill 330, seventeen kilometers short of the enemy command post. Yet no one had anticipated the battle progressing so smoothly. They had settled the second phase of the operation in a single day. Chu Guang tapped his index finger against the holographic display. There was no word from Hill 330 yet, but aerial drone footage relayed by Xiao Qi showed only scattered flickers of flame across the ridge. The fighting there was essentially over. On the other hand, unlike the ground forces' smooth sailing, the Goblin Corps was locked in an uphill dogfight against the Legion's flight formations. Although the pilots flying the W-2 were skilled, hardware disparities could not be bridged in short order. The Legion's Hawk fighters had served in Sunset Province for eight years or more, whereas less than a year had passed between the initial design and production of the W-2 ground-attack aircraft. And that included the time the Goblin Corps engineers had spent "excavating" designs from their other world. While subsequent variants incorporated some new technologies supplied by Shelter 101, having an advantage in just one or two components had a very limited impact on overall performance. Production and technology were often mentioned in the same breath, but in truth, they belonged to two entirely different dimensions. Looking at the five surviving W-2 aircraft on the display, Chu Guang issued an order. "*Heart of Steel*, weigh anchor and advance one hundred and fifty kilometers. "Also, notify the Goblin Corps that their mission is complete and tell them to return immediately." Xiao Qi's energetic voice chimed in his ear at once. "Right away, Master!" Luo Yu's status remained unknown. Neither the Alliance's Lingyun nor the Legion's Saber had appeared on the *Heart of Steel*'s radar from the outset. By now, they had flown beyond communication range. A dogfight conducted at a kilometer per second looked like a clash of immortals to anyone watching from the ground; it wouldn't be surprising if they ended up fighting their way into an adjacent province. Without satellites, Chu Guang could only use the Administrator system to vaguely sense that the player was still alive. "...If Luo Yu reenters comms range, instruct him to return to the airfield on the ground." Xiao Qi: "Understood!" *** Hill 330. Fires burned across the cratered positions. Beside collapsed sandbag breastworks lay corpses and dark blood churned into the mud. Flicking the blood from his entrenching tool, Brother Edge glanced down at a mangled corpse on the ground and quickly looked away, unable to bear the sight. The game model's realism was almost gratuitous. Every time he cleared a battlefield, he couldn't help recalling the burning structures he had pushed through in his past. The suffocating stench in the air was identical. By comparison, he much preferred the leisurely exploration this game offered, but all those pleasures were built upon a foundation of peace. Someone had to do this dirty work. A strange thought suddenly crossed his mind. If the developers kept their promise and never wiped server progress, and the closed-beta players managed to fight and win every war before the open beta launched—leaving the dev scratching his head unable to come up with new content—could this game still be called *Wasteland Online*? Or would they simply change the title to something else? Like *Brave New World*, perhaps? Just then, the voice of a teammate drifted over, pulling his straying thoughts back to reality. "Holy crap, it's finally over!" Rifle in hand, Laplace strolled toward him. The miner exoskeleton he had worn earlier was gone, likely discarded after breaking down. Regardless, avoiding a catastrophic explosion had been a stroke of luck. As for his mount— It had abruptly lost control halfway up the slope, and he had been forced to put it down himself. "Where's Dayan?" Brother Edge asked. Laplace chuckled. "Yang Youbao said he spotted him. The dude led a squad of newbies on a suicide charge. The newbies actually made it up, but he ended up eating dirt halfway up the hill." Brother Edge gave a dry cough. "Bullets don't have eyes... perfectly normal." Hoisting the rifle onto his shoulder, Laplace grinned. "So what's the play? Push forward, or dig in here?" Brother Edge pondered for a moment. "Let's wait for Construction and the others." The battle had lasted a solid hour. Although they had successfully secured Hill 330, the Death Corps had suffered heavy casualties as well. Attacking uphill was brutal work. The five hundred infantrymen in the diversionary assault had taken over sixty percent casualties, one hundred and twenty of the five hundred Wolf Cavalry were dead, and seventy-eight Deathclaws had perished. Most of these were Deathclaws not equipped with exoskeletons; using flesh and blood to weather the barrage of quad-mount autocannons had proven too much to ask. Compounding that, the EMP had caused their neural interference devices to malfunction, forcing several players to put down their own mounts. Just then, Yang Youbao, who had led the diversionary assault earlier, walked over to report the battlefield sweep. "Captured four mortars, an antiaircraft gun, two light machine guns, and a bit of ammo... What about headquarters? Any new orders?" Before Brother Edge could answer, Laplace grumbled, "Our VMs have been fried white, what orders do you expect? Damn, those guys had some serious firepower! They sure didn't look like they were running low on ammo." Yang Youbao scratched the back of his head. "Did their supply line get restored?" Brother Edge smiled. "Doubtful. It's normal for elite divisions to carry a larger basic load of ammo than line-fillers. Our guys carry twice as much ammo as the Lion Kingdom's infantry, don't they?" Still, these Wilant soldiers had indeed been diehards; not a single one had surrendered. The Chiliarch boss had not only refused surrender but had shown zero intention of retreating, fighting to the bitter end alongside his personal guard. Whether in combat effectiveness or morale, this cohort had been completely different from the units they had tangled with at Oasis No. 9. "Hey, looks like a fire broke out to the north," Laplace said, glancing north of the hill, where points of flame flickered in the distance. "Probably the 4th Legion command post," Brother Edge said, peering through a pair of binoculars. "Earlier, I saw the Goblin Corps escorting transport planes that way." It was almost certainly the Burning Corps. With those monsters on the job, even an elite directly attached cohort wouldn't have stood a chance. In the time it had taken them to sweep this battlefield, that fight was probably already wrapped up. Yang Youbao clicked his tongue enviously. "Damn, those guys beat us to the punch again." "They're the damn devs' pet favorites, after all," Laplace echoed with equal envy. "Don't put it that way," Brother Edge said, chuckling as he patted his shoulder. "We're all one team, each with our own role. There's no point in bickering over who gets there first." The Skeleton Corps, meant to be the main assault force under Scenario 3, was still stuck in traffic on the roads, while the two infantry detachments had already cleared the board for them. If anyone had it bad, it was Brother Mole... *** At the frontline airfield. One after another, transport planes dragged their battered airframes back to the runway. Ground crews waiting by the tarmac swarmed forward. Watching a pigman pilot leap down from the cockpit, a young mechanic in overalls couldn't contain his curiosity and spoke up. "How are things at the front? Is it going well?" Although the pilot had a rather "ferocious" appearance, working alongside him for so long had accustomed the ground crew to it. Besides, after spending time around him, the mechanic had discovered that the pigman pilot was surprisingly good-natured and easy to talk to. Sure enough, the pilot answered his question. "We won." "Really?!" Looking at the thrilled lad, Amateur Anti-Bun grinned. "Would I lie to you? We wiped out the entire 4th Legion. Once we get past Hill 330, it'll just be a race between their two legs and our tank treads... It's too long a story to tell now; just read about it in the papers in a couple of days!" Hearing the victory report from the front, the ground crew members broke into radiant smiles. It was plain to see that these desert survivors harbored an intense hatred for the big-nosed Wilants. Several men pumped their fists excitedly, while others whistled with glee, shouting and running to spread the good news to everyone within earshot. Just as Amateur Anti-Bun was wondering whether he had bragged a bit too hard, Starry River strolled over from the side, eyeing him with an amused smirk. "You guys wrapped that up way too fast." Amateur Anti-Bun gave a hearty laugh. "Naturally. How long could it possibly take to drop a few paratroopers? Speaking of which, what are you doing here? Not helping out the army boys?" The two had known each other before joining the game, both hailing from army aviation—one flying helicopters, the other flying fixed-wing transports that hauled helicopters around. However, while in the game, they usually kept talk strictly to gameplay, rarely mentioning the real world. Starry River made a helpless face. "I'd love to, but they didn't deploy us." During the day, they had supported the frontal armored assault with a flank raid, but before they could push far into enemy airspace, headquarters had ordered them to pull back. Still, he understood the rationale behind the command. The battlefield role of an ornithopter dictated that it could never match a fixed-wing craft. Even with its wings swept back in fixed-wing mode, the Cloud Dragonfly's maximum speed hovered around Mach 1, making it a sitting duck for supersonic fighters capable of breaking Mach 3. In fact, before switching to cruise mode, even propeller-driven fighters posed a severe threat to them. Until the Legion's Saber fighters were eliminated, Alliance aircraft would find it hard to operate freely over the enemy's heads. Seeing his friend's gloomy expression, Amateur Anti-Bun nudged him playfully. "Why not join Mosquito's Goblin Corps for some fun? Those guys get plenty of frontline action, and I hear they've cooked up a bunch of flashy gear." "More like plenty of chances to get killed," Starry River retorted with a roll of his eyes. "Besides, those planes fly way too slow. No fun to pilot at all." Amateur Anti-Bun laughed. "No matter how dull it is, it's still fixed-wing. A lot faster than your transport helis." "True enough... Anyway, how's this ride of yours? Handles well?" Starry River clicked his tongue in wonder, glancing at the propeller transport beside them, riddled with cannon holes. He could count over twenty shell holes just at a glance. To nurse an aircraft back in such a mangled state was genuinely impressive. "You mean the Dragonfly? It's decent," Amateur Anti-Bun said, glancing back at his craft with a grin. "Factory 81 upgraded it a few times. Back then it could barely stay airborne, but now it actually feels like a proper plane." Ever since becoming a pilot in *Wasteland Online*, not only had he grown fond of their red-and-green color scheme, but his flying skills and understanding of piloting had also sharpened considerably. Nothing was harder than "making a brick with a propeller fly" or "saving a brick that just lost its wings"! Particularly when it came to managing emergencies. Many maneuvers were rarely practiced in routine drills or ordinary flights, but in *Wasteland Online*, he encountered "once-in-a-lifetime" crises every few days. He had once even experienced a case where, right after taxiing to a stop on the runway, the aircraft had powered down only to start rolling forward on its own due to an electrical short... Huh? Lost in thought, Amateur Anti-Bun looked toward the distant tarmac and froze. A transport plane parked beside a hangar was slowly rolling out onto the runway, its spinning propellers beginning to pick up speed... And shockingly, there was not a soul inside the cockpit. Thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him, Amateur Anti-Bun instinctively rubbed them. But before he could open them again, Starry River's bewildered voice spoke up beside him. "...Do you guys have another sortie scheduled for tonight?" They had both seen it. It wasn't a glitch in his helmet's visor. Amateur Anti-Bun glanced down at his VM and shook his head, utterly dumbfounded. "No..." He had seen an H-1 Dragonfly roll on its own from a short circuit, but this was the first time he had ever seen one try to take off by itself. What kind of ridiculous bug was this?! Because the sight was so utterly absurd, he even wondered whether Factory 81 was field-testing some uncrewed black tech. That was, until he saw a low-level player clutching a late-night snack sprint out from the direction of the mess hall, dashing toward the runway for dear life. As he ran, the player wailed like a grieving ghost: "My plane! My plane is flying away!"