Inside the dimly lit hotel room, a ray of morning sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains.
Opening his eyes, Lao Bai found a quilt covering him. Shaking his groggy head, he woke from his slumber.
"You really sleep like a log."
Hearing the voice beside him, Lao Bai turned his head to see Chen Yutong leaning back on the sofa not far away.
A blanket was draped over her knees, her calves curled up beneath it, and she was still wearing yesterday's clothes.
It was already October, and temperatures across the River Valley Province had begun to drop. By routine, this year was supposed to be a warm winter, but snow would fall by early December at the latest.
Embarrassed that he had let her spend the entire night on the sofa, Lao Bai cleared his throat softly and said, "Sorry, I had a bit too much to drink last night..."
It couldn't be helped. Not only that little girl named Lisa, but all the tavern patrons at the Highway Town inn had been waiting for his tales.
To make the stories sound convincing, and to cover for Pangolin's true identity as a spy, he had to bite the bullet and graft the exploits of Brother Edge and various other players onto Pangolin.
Thus, the murderous rookie butcher from Position G53-7 transformed into a valiant warrior who charged in and out of Hill 330 seven times.
If anyone traveled several hundred kilometers away to the Lion Kingdom, they would probably hear completely contradictory rumors from the locals, bewildered as to why Pangolin was fighting for the Alliance one moment and helping the Legion battle Alliance soldiers the next.
But it didn't matter.
It perfectly fit the guy's profile as a double agent anyway.
On the wasteland, anyone with a mouth could brag, and no one had the means to verify which rumor was true.
Besides, someone with too much time on their hands would eventually piece together a self-consistent version based on their own understanding.
What puzzled Lao Bai, however, was why he was here.
As everyone knew, the game dampened certain sensations that could cause players discomfort. While this enhanced gameplay, it also made it hard for players to judge their physical condition through nervous system warning signs.
The most direct result was that once you got drunk, you essentially blacked out.
And there was no stitching those memories back together no matter how hard you tried.
Normally, when a player got drunk, Old Hook or other players would tacitly help haul their game character to a guest room to rest.
Yet somehow, this time, they had hauled him into an NPC's room.
"Don't worry about it. I'm not picky about where I sleep. Traveling on business all year round, I often just make do with a night in the car. This sofa was actually quite comfortable... Is the upholstery made of mutant fur?"
As she spoke, Chen Yutong pressed down on the soft armrest.
Seeing her completely unaffected expression, Lao Bai suddenly remembered that she had drunk quite a lot last night too. He couldn't help asking, "Maybe mutant beast hide... Speaking of which, didn't you feel drunk at all?"
Chen Yutong paused slightly. "Me? Not really. My bionic prosthetic liver has plenty of alcohol dehydrogenase to metabolize alcohol, and without activating CYP2E1 enzymes to generate reactive oxygen species, I basically don't feel anything..."
Uh-oh.
His head was starting to ache again.
He really should have chosen Constitution-type back then...
Seeing Lao Bai pressing between his eyebrows, Chen Yutong couldn't help smiling faintly, teasing, "It's quite difficult to drink me under the table."
Lao Bai hastily cleared his throat and explained, "I wasn't trying to."
"Just a joke, don't take it to heart," Chen Yutong said with a faint smile. "By the way... that drink really was interesting. Even though I didn't experience the tipsy feeling you described, it gave me a different, wonderful sensation. Thank you."
"You're welcome. I promised to buy you a drink."
Lounging in someone else's bed felt awkward, so Lao Bai pushed himself up with both hands. Shaking his head, he picked up the VM from the bedside table and strapped it onto his muscular forearm.
After a brief loading bar finished, a faint blue glow lit up the screen.
To Lao Bai's surprise, a brand-new red notification dot appeared over the taskbar icon this time.
[New Quest: Take the earliest flight to report to the front line.]
His eyebrows twitched up slightly, an excited gleam flashing in his eyes.
Noticing the shift in his expression, Chen Yutong asked curiously, "What is it?"
"Leave has ended early. The Administrator is summoning me to the front," Lao Bai grinned and continued. "Looks like they need me over there again."
The objective of the next operation was the royal palace of Falcon City.
The Goblin Corps had organized over a hundred W-2 attack aircraft to coordinate with them.
Also operating in tandem was the Storm Corps, which would ride aboard the Heart of Steel to punch straight through to the rear of the Legion's defensive line at Oasis 2.
This would be a strategic gamble.
Pull it off, and it would be the Battle of Crete; screw it up, and it would be Operation Market Garden.
Evidently, command was aiming for something huge this time.
With battle fervor boiling in his eyes, Lao Bai threw off the quilt and climbed out of bed, grabbing his coat hung nearby and slipping it on.
Guessing something from his expression, Chen Yutong said nothing and showed no worry. She simply curled her lips slightly and said in an easygoing tone, "Stay safe. Next time you come back, it's my turn to treat you to a drink."
Pausing at the door, Lao Bai grinned and made a gesture. "I'll hold you to that."
...
Shelter 404.
Floor B3, Medical Lab.
Sitting on a folding chair, Luo Yu watched Yu, who lay fast asleep on the scanning bed, with a worried look on his face.
"Is it... all right?"
Standing by the console, Heya was busy logging experimental data, answering casually as she worked:
"Better than ever. Even stronger than before."
As the final inspection wrapped up, she tapped a blue button on the screen.
Several flexible metal conduits retracted from Yu's forehead, chest, and skirt hem, withdrawing into the silver-white laboratory equipment overhead.
After that came compiling the experimental data and drawing conclusions.
Research on Yu was the top priority of the Alliance Institute of Biology. It tied not only into the Alliance's understanding of mutant slime molds, but also into whether she could successfully secure the biological laboratory on Floor B6.
Once the conclusions were finalized, she would also need to organize the phased findings into a report and send it to the endlessly busy Lord Administrator.
Sometimes she truly admired that guy.
His brain was like a multi-core, multithreaded CPU, capable of juggling matters across economy, industry, military, scientific research, culture, diplomacy, and numerous other fields simultaneously.
The secrets that man harbored fascinated her even more than the broodmother in Qingquan City. Too bad that whenever the topic came up, he always brushed it off with a claim that he didn't really know either.
Noticeably catching sight of the worried look on the shelter resident's face, Heya recalled Chu Guang's prior instructions and casually offered a word of comfort:
"Don't worry. Today's examination was just a routine checkup. Your Yu won't come to any harm."
Though still looking uneasy, hearing words of reassurance from the "Chief Biologist of the Alliance" allowed Luo Yu's frayed nerves to ease slightly.
Watching Luo Yu relax, Heya paused for a moment and continued, "However... its DNA is entering an unstable phase. It's best to avoid taking it to dangerous places for now. Especially the front lines—without the protection of fruiting bodies, an isolated mother entity is quite fragile."
Luo Yu nodded solemnly.
Yet out of curiosity, he couldn't help asking, "That unstable phase... what exactly is it?"
Could his Yu evolve even further?
That would be absolutely incredible.
Seeing Luo Yu turning optimistic, Heya shook her head.
"I don't know. The data I have on hand isn't enough to explain this condition. I can only make a rough conjecture based on limited clues."
Luo Yu swallowed hard, waiting for her to continue.
Organizing her thoughts for a moment, Heya paused, then spoke again:
"A mother entity's growth follows a cycle—short or long. Once that cycle concludes, they transform into another life form, which is what we call a broodmother... like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, transforming from a pupa into an adult."
Luo Yu immediately pressed, "What triggers it?"
Heya shook her head.
"I don't know, but my guess is that it's a choice of future path."
"A choice...?"
"Exactly," Heya nodded. "Nature is no longer its primary threat. Perched at the top of the food chain, it's no longer bound by ordinary environmental pressures, which means it must choose its own path of evolution. This is an innate capability bestowed by its nature, as well as its mission.
"The genetic information gathered from nature, the memories, experiences, and knowledge stored in its neural tissue... all of these serve as references for its evolution. Prior to this, it has already accumulated those elements. Simply put, it has to decide whether to become a cute little mushroom or a lethal man-eating flower."
Blankly looking at Heya and then at Yu lying on the scanning bed, Luo Yu nodded half-comprehendingly.
He didn't really understand those complex theories.
He only cared about one thing.
"When all this is over... will it still remember me?"
Heya replied without hesitation, "Of course it will. Like I said, memory is a reference for its evolution into the next stage of life—and a very crucial one at that... Even so, you still need to prepare yourself mentally."
Luo Yu grew tense instantly.
"Prepare for what?"
"Transforming into another life form means the biological bond between the two of you could be severed. It might no longer be as affectionate with you as it is now; it could even view you and other humans as prey. Even if memory is part of the inheritance, even if it still remembers things about you..."
Heya phrased it in the most accessible terms she could.
Hearing this, Luo Yu fell silent, his thoughts tangled up like a messy ball of yarn.
He remembered everything that had happened before...
Taking it to the outskirts to level up for the very first time, teaching it how to fight for the first time, introducing it to human food...
If those memories could be supplanted by something else, he would rather it stayed just as it was now, without evolving any further.
In truth, he didn't particularly need a companion to fight alongside him.
He could fight just fine on his own.
By now, Yu on the scanning bed had slowly stirred awake. The tentacles dangling over the edge twitched gently, and an unconscious, murmuring "Ee-woo" escaped its mouth.
Perhaps sensing his presence, the drowsy creature pushed itself up from the scanning bed.
The moment it caught sight of Luo Yu, joy and delight blossomed across its abstract face. It immediately dragged its heavy body and slid off the scanning bed.
"Ee-woo!"
Perhaps having just shaken off the anesthesia and not yet fully attuned to its waking body, it stumbled and fell when getting down.
Looking at its pitiful expression, Luo Yu couldn't help smiling as he stepped forward to support the stumbling creature, which acted almost drunk.
"Careful, you... It's not like I'm going anywhere."
"Ee-woo!"
Tentacles coiled around his arm, and Yu rubbed its head against his chest, its aggrieved look melting into satisfaction.
Watching its endearing clumsiness, Luo Yu felt the dark clouds and uncertainty in his heart vanish without a trace.
Much like human birth and death, the cycles of life would not bend to fondness or dislike; what was destined to come would arrive eventually.
No matter what the future held, at least right now, this little guy relied on him completely.
Perhaps...
He ought to place more trust in it as well.
Sharing those memories, they could face the unknown future together.
"I understand..." Stroking Yu's smooth head, Luo Yu turned to Heya beside him and said with a resolute gaze, "Even if it turns into a different life form in the end, I won't regret anything... I'll look after it to the very end."
"I'm glad you see it that way."
A smile touched Heya's face. Looking at the brave young man, she patted his shoulder. "Keep it up."
...
On the fringes of Oasis 2, in Bister Town—fortified into an iron bastion by concrete walls.
Standing beside a bunker, Widlier gripped his binoculars, tensely scanning the boundless dunes in the distance.
The soldiers around him looked equally nervous.
In just three short days, well over ten thousand Legion soldiers had passed through here, yet not a single unit was willing to stay and stand with them.
The new defensive line lay along the perimeter of Oasis 2. Rather than concrete fortifications, General Griffin seemingly preferred anchoring his defenses to the Prosperity Era "river dikes."
Yet that meant this fortress lying outside the oasis had lost its purpose.
What disappointed Widlier wasn't just that no one was helping them, but that not a single soul had told him what to do next.
They had been completely abandoned...
Just then, a dispatch runner came jogging over.
"Report! An order from Supreme Command—"
At that voice, a flash of joy immediately surfaced in Widlier's eyes.
Like a drowning man spotting a floating straw, even though he knew the hope of retreating was slim, he still recklessly lunged forward and grabbed the runner's collar.
"Quick! Tell me! What did Lord Griffin say?"
Trembling, the runner pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over.
Sensing something amiss from the runner's expression, Widlier quickly released his grip and snatched the paper away.
[...Effective immediately, the garrison of Bister Fortress will seal all eastern checkpoints and must hold the fortress for at least fifteen days, awaiting reinforcements!]
[Note: In critical conditions, warehouse supplies and fuel must be incinerated. Officers holding the rank of centurion and above are permitted to surrender after suffering casualties of ninety percent or greater.]
After reading the final line of the telegram, Widlier's face looked as if it had been whitewashed, drained of all color.
No one else was retreating from the front lines anymore.
This place had become the new front.
Those Wilantes had thoroughly abandoned them...
Widlier's pallor gradually turned to sheer despair, his hands trembling uncontrollably. Right then, an overwhelming sense of dread crawled into his heart.
Another dispatch runner rushed in frantically from the southeast. Without even saluting, he cried out in terror:
"Tanks! Alliance tanks! They're advancing on our positions from the southeast!"
Widlier asked instinctively, "How many?"
"I don't know... maybe fifty, maybe a hundred or more!" the runner stammered.
Those sergeants and soldiers standing nearby gasped in unison, holding their breath involuntarily.
A hundred tanks!
The last unit retreating through here had taken nearly all the Panzerfaust rocket launchers; their remaining anti-tank munitions wouldn't even total a hundred rounds!
Widlier felt his heart skip a beat, standing frozen in utter helplessness.
The entire garrison of Bister Fortress amounted to only three hundred men.
Even if he threw in the laborers who lacked any military training, they couldn't scrape together a single millennium!
Those anti-tank obstacles wouldn't stop the Alliance's steel torrent at all.
The enemy wouldn't even have to breach the perimeter—they could just sit outside and bombard them with tank guns for a few volleys, inflicting catastrophic casualties...
The adjutant standing beside him looked nervously at Widlier. "Sir... what should we do?"
"What should we do... what should we do... I'd like to fucking know what to do too!"
Suddenly, like a fuel drum struck by a lit cigarette butt, Widlier exploded under everyone's astonished gazes.
"Those big-nosed brutes, cowards, spineless bastards! In moments of crisis, all they do is run away and leave us to take the hit!"
The more Widlier spoke, the angrier he grew, his emotions boiling over until his whole face flushed bright red.
With the war dragging on to this point, all experienced officers had been transferred to the front. Rumor had it that even retainers had been stamped with ranks of decurion and centurion and thrown into regular battalions.
A logistical unit commander like him, pushed forward merely to make up the numbers, had barely even touched a gun. What was he supposed to fight the Alliance with?!
"...And that Griffin! That lying fraud! We suffered through over a decade of hardship with them, and this is what we get in return?! Where are the reinforcements from Triumph City? Where are the tens of thousands of Conqueror tanks? Is this the 'invincibility' he kept bragging about?!"
No longer hiding the fury in his heart, he hurled curses at the Wilantes—who were normally untouchable and sacred—before the stunned stares of his retainers.
From ordinary Wilante soldiers all the way to Griffin, he cursed every single name he could think of. If he hadn't run out of spit, he would have spat on every one of them twice.
Noticing all eyes staring at him, Widlier took a deep breath and regained his composure.
After a long pause, he calmly issued his first order:
"Lower the Legion's flag."
The soldiers and sergeants exchanged glances. No one dared move, not even shifting a leg.
Widlier realized to his embarrassment that no one here was listening to him.
Fortunately, right at that moment, muffled rumbles like rolling thunder echoed in the distance, followed immediately by shrill whistling sounds slicing through the air and fiery explosions bursting along the southeastern perimeter of Bister Town.
Just as he had anticipated.
Those concrete obstacles and bunkers were utterly incapable of stopping the Alliance's steel torrent. The Alliance had no intention of throwing infantry forward to storm their bunkers; instead, they chose to blast away to their hearts' content from well out of range.
Who knew what kind of monstrosity they had mounted onto those tank treads?
A flash of blue electric arcs leaped from a forked barrel, and a half-meter-thick concrete wall was pulverized until only dangling rebar clung to shattered stone.
Soldiers crouching behind the concrete wall were turned into sieves by flying shards of masonry, to say nothing of the vintage machine guns mounted on the bunkers.
Involuntarily ducking to dodge the flying grit, Widlier bristled like a hamster whose tail had been stepped on, screeching in a panic:
"What are you waiting for?! The Wilantes have abandoned us! Do you want to be buried alongside those cowards?! For the sake of the Spirit of the Sand Sea, take that flag down... find anything white and hoist it up! Fast!"
Confronted by Widlier's bellowing, the surrounding sergeants and soldiers finally snapped into action. Scrambling to the fortress's highest vantage point, they ripped down the Legion flag hanging there.
Yet right then, the soldiers lowering the flag discovered that there was nothing around that could serve as a white flag.
Suddenly, someone mentioned that Lord Widlier's shirt appeared to be white. So they rushed back over to Widlier and, ignoring his protests, stripped him stark naked, finally carrying out the lord's order.
The Wilante commissars had long since departed with the last evacuating column, leaving no one to stand in the way of their surrender.
Their earlier hesitation had stemmed merely from a soldier's honor and loyalty to the royal house...
As for now:
When even a nobleman like Widlier—who supposedly "valued honor above life itself"—had capitulated, they naturally had no reason left to hold out.
Their only hope was that the Alliance truly treated prisoners well as rumors claimed, and wouldn't make life difficult for powerless pawns like them who had no say in the matter...
...
"Tch, why'd they surrender already?"
Half of his torso poking out of the tank turret, Brother Mole held his binoculars and clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction at the sight of the white flag rising in the distance.
Just the other day, the Death Corps guys were bragging on the forum about taking a city in two hours.
After getting the rundown on Bister Town's defensive layout from Brother Battlefield, he had intended to show off with his boys, but the enemy hoisted a white flag after just a single artillery volley.
These guys couldn't take a hit at all!
Not far away, a disheveled man leading a few soldiers emerged from behind a shattered checkpoint with his hands raised.
His waving gestures seemed to plead with them not to shoot.
Having no interest in slaughtering unarmed men, Brother Mole waved his hand.
Three armored trucks clad in steel plating drove forward and pulled up in front of the disheveled man.
Submachine gun in hand, Elaina was the first to hop down from a truck. Just as he prepared to tease the officer-like man before him, the man suddenly dropped to his knees with a thud.
Pressing his forehead tightly to the ground, disregarding the sand and dirt, he sobbed with snot and tears streaming down under everyone's astonished gazes:
"...Spirit of the Sand Sea above, you've finally arrived!"
Completely thrown off by this seamless display, Elaina froze on the spot.
Swallowing the mockery that was at the tip of his tongue, he gave Elven King Fugui beside him a bizarre look.
"Holy crap, what's going on here?"
Brother Fugui stared back, equally baffled. "Hell if I know..."
The players disembarking were all dumbfounded.
The man wept so bitterly, as though wronged beyond measure, that they felt embarrassed to even mock these guys.
Widlier stole a glance at the stunned soldiers. Seeing that they weren't shooting, he sighed with relief, though he kept the same tragic, aggrieved look plastered across his face, kowtowing and pouring out his grievances through tears and snot:
"This humble one is a baron of the Falcon Kingdom, named Widlier. For generations, my ancestors ran farms in the nearby oasis. We were honest, dutiful farmers, living a peaceful life apart from worldly strife... until one day, the Wilantes arrived here!
"Those big noses deceived us with sweet talk, took our King and his court hostage, seized our shops and estates, forced us to labor for them, and made us bleed for their ambition to conquer the world... Praise the great Lord Administrator! Praise the glorious Alliance! Thank heavens you have finally come!"
Elaina's expression turned indescribably weird. He cleared his throat and said, "Anyway, get up first."
Instead of rising, Widlier pressed his head even flatter against the dirt, rambling non-stop. This time, even the translator couldn't parse what gibberish he was spewing.
Standing to the side, Elven King Fugui sighed. He walked over, tapped the fellow's knee with his boot, and pointed to the side of the road.
"We're not interested in messing with you. If you like kneeling, we won't stop you, but take it over there... Don't block our path."
Hearing the first half of that sentence, Widlier broke into a smile through his tears. An ingratiating grin spread across his face as he scrambled frantically toward the roadside.
"Thank you for your mercy, my lords! We'll get lost right now! Please... right this way!"
...
Bister Fortress fell.
The Skeleton Corps took the position without shedding a drop of blood, at the cost of merely several dozen 155mm artillery shells and a handful of sixty-kilogram mass projectiles.
In fact, it was only because they had fired too quickly.
Had they waited a few minutes longer, they might have saved the shells altogether.
The defending troops stationed here trickled out of the fortress, leaning their rifles against the roadside before squatting outside the bunkers with hands behind their heads.
Their dusty, bedraggled state made it genuinely hard to despise them.
Over the comms channel, Elaina, who was rounding up prisoners, complained to Brother Mole trailing behind:
"Man... we didn't get to witness the grand spectacle of welcoming the royal army back at Oasis 3, but we sure got it here at Oasis 2."
"Shows that it's almost over," Brother Mole chuckled in reply, waving forward.
The armored panzergrenadier trucks rolled ahead, swaggering right through the fortress's main gate checkpoint.
After confirming there were no ambushes inside the compound, Brother Mole picked up his walkie-talkie and ordered the tank units to advance closely behind.
Passing by that officer named Widlier, he signaled the driver to pull over to the roadside.
Looking down at the man hastily prostrating on the ground, he rummaged inside the turret, pulled out a blank notebook, and tossed it onto the ground before him.
Hearing something slap down in front of him, Widlier reflexively shrank his neck. Only after realizing his head was still attached did he nervously peek up.
Wasting no words, Brother Mole looked down at him and commanded succinctly:
"Here's your chance to redeem yourself.
"Every single unit that passed through here over the past week—their headcount, unit designations, equipment, which road they arrived on, which gate they exited from, how much supply they carried, whether they stepped out with their left foot or their right foot first... write down everything you know in this notebook."
Widlier nodded repeatedly.
"Yes! Yes, my lord! I will carry it out immediately!"
Seeing that the fellow was about to start kowtowing again, Brother Mole waved his hand impatiently.
"Cut the crap. Get moving."
Chapter 487