Airship from Triumph City!

In the square before the castle. Looking out from the gatehouse tower, an endless sea of people stretched across the plaza, packed so densely that even the approach roads were completely jammed. Ever since the Wartime Regulations had been enacted, spontaneous mass gatherings of citizens like this had not been seen for a very long time. Everyone had lived in terror of being pressed into service, or rounded up as spies by Count Cromwell under the King's appointment. Only now that the war was over did people dare to wander the streets without fear. Staring at the gallows in the center of the square, the surrounding crowd whispered with excited anticipation, trading gossip they had overheard. "Have you heard? Matnil's been sentenced to hang!" "That baron?" "I think Hunter's whole family died by his hand." "Their youngest daughter was such a sweetheart... what awful luck that the scoundrel took a fancy to her." "Poor Hunter... I heard his eldest boy died outside the Capital of Abundance, burned so badly they couldn't even find his corpse. He lost an arm himself during the retreat, but was cursed to survive the battlefield." "The Second Myriad, right? Tragic beyond words." "...And in the end, it was their enemies who avenged him." "Bah! Matnil... that bastard! I remember him! My wife was—" A gaunt man spat viciously, but cut himself off halfway through. Perking up at his words, the people around him pressed in with curious, sympathetic stares. "What happened next?" "Go on, tell us." The man's face flushed crimson. Annoyed by the prying, he finally spat out a curse, waving them off. "Tell your mom!" Near the gallows not far away, under the gaze of thousands of eyes, the late-arriving "stars" finally took the stage. Five nobles singled out by the Alliance soldiers were shoved onto the scaffold by furious citizens. Facing inescapable death, even the fiercest of them turned pale and ashen, his lips trembling. One baron closed his eyes, while the man beside him pissed his pants in sheer terror. The stench leaking down his trouser legs made the executioners escorting him scowl in disgust. The wretched display of those five nobles drew a roar of excitement from the crowd below. Never had they seen these respectable gentlemen look so utterly pathetic; it was more thrilling than watching crickets scrap in the mud. It turned out that even these finely dressed grandees feared death just like anyone else. They were not nearly as noble as they claimed. Before the grave, they wept and begged for mercy all the same. Yet even with their begging, the enraged citizens had no intention of sparing these wretches. It was they who had marched the young men to the front lines, and sent fattened cattle, sheep, and maiden daughters to the military camps just to flatter the Wilante. Unable to defy their Wilante masters, the nobles had instead passed every ounce of misery down onto the innocent populace. Five men... It was still far too few! Lacking rotten eggs and withered vegetables, the crowd hurled whatever stones they could snatch from the ground to vent their rage. To prevent the condemned from dying before their execution, the militia standing nearby had to step in and form a cordon between the crowd and the prisoners. The executioner bellowed a long list of their heinous crimes committed throughout the war—murder, arson, assault in broad daylight, rape, looting—each charge stoking the fury of the mob even higher. "Kill them!" "Off with their heads!" "Hang them from the lampposts!" "Silence! Quiet down, everyone! Listen to me!" A man in his thirties or forties, clad in rough linen, stepped out before the crowd. His name was Taut. Before the Wartime Regulations, he had been a papermaker. Because he was literate, Alliance soldiers had pulled him aside to serve as a representative for the committee. "Our friends... from River Valley Province tell us to remain civilized—even when dealing with jackals and hyenas! We shall end their lives the civilized way!" The five nobles had been gagged, denied even the chance to plead, before hemp nooses thick as bowls were slipped around their necks. Taut turned toward the scaffold and swung his right arm down hard. "Execute them!" Amid thunderous cheers, the trapdoors dropped heavily. The floor fell away beneath their feet, snapping their necks, bringing their wicked lives to an end on the gallows. "Long live the Alliance!" "Long live the Autonomous Committee!" "Well killed!" Deafening cheers erupted from the crowd below. Several figures in the crowd exchanged uneasy glances, slipping away with pale faces. Inside a mansion not far from the square, Count Cromwell stood by a window, his hand clutching the sill and trembling uncontrollably. For now, the Alliance had only executed those who committed outright atrocities during the occupation; they had not conducted a bloodbath inside the palace. But what about after the Alliance left? These armed rabble were already out of their minds. To ensure the mobilization decrees were enforced, he had killed many people on behalf of His Majesty... What terrified him most now was that these commoners would turn to settle scores with him. Behind Count Cromwell, his white-haired old butler murmured softly, "My lord... I suggest leaving the city to lie low for a while." His master had been a favorite of the King. Yet at this critical juncture, staying too close to that doddering old man was hardly wise. The Alliance's attitude remained impossible to read. Their sudden move against the city's nobility and decision to put rifles into the hands of commoners boded ill. Count Cromwell remained silent, eyes churning with conflict, before finally gritting his teeth in resolve. "I cannot leave." Seeing the butler's surprise, Cromwell paused and continued, "Tomorrow... tomorrow at the latest, the Heart of Steel will arrive here. The Alliance's supreme commander—perhaps even that Administrator himself—is very likely on that airship." The King's words no longer held any weight. To survive, one had to curry favor with the new masters... Otherwise, fleeing anywhere would be futile. A shroud of gloom settled over the count's face. Unfortunately, intelligence on the Alliance was scarce. He had no idea what that lord preferred... *** Once the trial and hangings were over, Taut instructed the rifle-toting youths to drag the corpses out past the river embankment and bury them anywhere convenient. If any kin came to claim the bodies, they could take them... though at this stage, their families would probably wait before daring to retrieve them. Under the Alliance's direction, the Falcon City Autonomous Committee had established a new militia regiment. Most of these militiamen were young men who had previously been forced into hard labor. Answering directly to the Autonomous Committee, their primary task was maintaining law and order in the city. Watching the empty nooses swaying gently on the gallows, Taut gradually calmed down, only to feel an icy chill creeping up his spine... Only now did he realize what the Alliance had thrust into his hands. Killing those men had certainly felt satisfying; he hated those tyrants as deeply as any ordinary citizen did. Yet now that it was done, fear crept in. The Alliance could not remain here forever... What would happen when they left? Would His Majesty spare him? Would the nobility spare him? "Straighten your back." Seeing Taut's slightly pale complexion, Lao Bai clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "You've got guns in your hands. What are you scared of?" Taut offered a bitter smile. "Th-this isn't just about guns... Those men were nobles ennobled by His Majesty, after all." "So what? Are they Awakened, or do they command several divisions?" Lao Bai shrugged. "The Alliance doesn't have a king, and we get along just fine." Taut and the other guild representatives around him were so stunned by the treasonous remark that none dared utter a word. Yet on second thought, it seemed to make sense. With guns in hand, what did they have to fear? At that realization, they gripped their rifles tighter, as though holding their very lifelines. Lao Bai patted the NPC named Taut on the shoulder with a chuckle. "Starting today, you're the committee chairman. Remember, even if we leave one day, you mustn't surrender this authority lightly... not for our sake, but for the oppressed people standing behind you. Don't let them down." Taut nodded nervously. "I swear it!" Looking at the middle-aged man, Lao Bai nodded. They would not linger here for long. The Falcon Kingdom was simply too far from the Alliance—so far that these people could picture an imaginary bearded man as the Administrator. In the end, people had to achieve their own redemption. All they could do was drop a seed onto this soil. As for what would grow from it... That was entirely up to them. *** The Citizens' Autonomous Committee was merely a minor interlude in the Alliance's occupation of Falcon City. Under Chu Guang's orders, the Burning Corps did far more than that. Every piece of machinery in the royal capital capable of producing seamless steel tubing or stamping cartridge cases was destroyed. Any factory or workshop tied to the munitions industry—or even tangentially related—was demolished with explosives. As for the artisans and engineers trained by the Falcon Kingdom... Killing them outright would hardly be appropriate. After a call between Lao Bai and Chu Guang, it was decided to find them a new home—resettling them near Bist Town. By sheer coincidence, Commander Spring, who had just arrived at the William Industrial Zone, was inadvertently doing something very similar. Inside the William Industrial Zone. Because the surrender broadcast had arrived here first, when Spring assembled three centuries preparing to storm the area, he discovered that the garrison stationed there had already disbanded. Not a single guard could be seen across the vast industrial park. Inside the First Royal Foundry. Workers sat idly around the workshop floors. The moment they saw Alliance soldiers enter, they crouched meekly on the ground. Seeing the grim posture of the newcomers, Factory Director Bowman hurried over with an obsequious smile. "My lords... we have already surrendered." Spring glanced at him. "I know." That had happened last night. During his offline rotation, he had checked the forums and already knew the Falcon Kingdom had surrendered, with an entire army of eighty thousand men holed up outside Bist Town. All the construction materials sent there had already been put to use. Watching the soldiers burst into the workshop and start ransacking the place, Bowman's smile turned to mounting panic. He looked helplessly at the man before him. "Th-then... what are they doing?" Before Commander Spring could answer, I'm the Darkest chimed in with a grinning quip. "Taking war trophies, of course. Any problem with that?" The director wore a face between laughter and tears. If you want war trophies, go rob the rich noble lords! What can you find in a factory? Just then, Kakarot walked back from the front workshop with a rifle slung over his shoulder. "Found two rifle production lines... At full capacity, they can turn out three hundred rifles a day." "Three hundred?!" I'm the Darkest stared at him in disbelief, muttering, "That's enough to arm a myriad in a month." "Pretty much," Commander Spring agreed, then turned to Kakarot. "What about ammunition and artillery shells?" Kakarot replied, "The ammunition lines are here too, good for two to three hundred thousand rounds a day without issue, plus one-hundred-millimeter artillery pieces and shells... Good thing they ran out of resources. If these lines had stayed at max capacity, this war would've dragged on into next year." Commander Spring nodded, impressed. "Well, well, there's quite a lot of good stuff here." Credit where credit was due: while the Wilante didn't treat outsiders like humans, their support for vassal states like the Falcon Kingdom wasn't half bad. The industrial equipment in this park had clearly not been made by locals; most of it had been shipped in from west of the Great Desert. That included steel mills, chemical plants, and the like... If they had possessed a few sulfur and iron mines, they might have held out a while longer. Unfortunately, reality had no room for "what ifs." If Oasis 2 had truly possessed such abundant resources, they wouldn't have needed to submit to the Legion, let alone expand outward. Just like the Lion Kingdom. Watching the Strength-type players haul out rows of industrial equipment and machine tools of various models from the workshops, I'm the Darkest suddenly remarked with regret, "Blowing all this up would be such a waste. Why don't we haul it away?" According to the lifestyle players, although they had secured some precision production gear and machine tools from the Enterprise, there was still massive demand for heavy industrial equipment. You could never have too much of this stuff. Kakarot stared blankly at the fanciful dreamer. "How the hell are we supposed to move it?" Broken Leg Kevin couldn't help chiming in, "Exactly. Where would we even put it?" I'm the Darkest scratched the back of his head. "Don't we have an airship? A ship that huge... it shouldn't be too hard to sling them underneath, right?" Earlier, to fit all those gliders, the Heart of Steel hadn't carried much ammunition. Now that the gliders were gone and the troops had disembarked, the freed-up space ought to hold some cargo, shouldn't it? Spring considered it and found merit in the idea. After a moment's thought, he settled on a compromise. "Haul away whatever can be hauled, and blow up whatever can't!" Hauling it straight back to the Alliance would be difficult, but they could ship it next door to the Honey Badger Kingdom first. Renting some land shouldn't be too hard. If the Administrator planned to keep Bist Town, supplying it from factories in the Honey Badger Kingdom was the best option. With that, Commander Spring walked up to the director and announced his decision. "Your equipment might be a bit outdated and look a bit shabby, but it's still usable. Blowing it all to pieces really would be a shame." Hearing that the corps commander intended to spare the machines, the director beamed with joy. Before his delight could settle, however, the man continued. "...So we've decided: what we can haul away won't be blown up, and we'll only demolish what we can't. Pick a few knowledgeable engineers to assist us and save everyone some time." Never having heard such a shameless demand made with such casual entitlement, the director pleaded with a woebegone face, "Take me with you too." Surprised by how cooperative he was, Spring smiled warmly and gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder. "Sure thing, no problem! We're glad to see you see the light. We can even help bring your family along!" Director: "???" Ignoring the bewildered director, Spring shot a glance at I'm the Darkest and deliberately spoke in the Human Alliance language. "Go with the director to his home. Remember to be polite." I'm the Darkest chuckled and adjusted his rifle strap. "On it!" *** Clearing the cables tangled in the propellers took longer than anticipated. The Heart of Steel remained halted seventy kilometers east of Falcon City for nearly twenty hours, barely arriving over Falcon City before dusk on the following day. "My apologies... esteemed Administrator, for keeping you waiting," the acting captain said sheepishly before Chu Guang. When the Administrator had asked him earlier, he had confidently declared it would be fixed in twelve hours. Yet the steel cables had proven far more stubborn than expected. In particular, the airship's forward inertia had caused the propellers to reverse-spin and bind the steel cables tighter, forcing the engineers to endure several extra hours in the biting wind. "It doesn't matter. It was only a short delay." Gazing at Falcon City close at hand, Chu Guang narrowed his eyes pleasantly and added with mild warmth, "Just remember for next time: when I ask, give me your most assured estimate." The captain snapped to attention with solemn precision, pressing his right fist to his chest. "Yes, sir!" The Alliance had possessed the Heart of Steel for only a few months. Its crew had been patched together from army and air force personnel, so operational rough edges were only natural. Chu Guang had no desire to berate his hardworking subordinates. Still, the bad habit of boasting had to go; they couldn't narrow their own road like the Wilante had. Only by knowing the ground truth could he make sound decisions. That was precisely why he had chosen to travel to the front lines alongside his players. Standing nearby, MacLaren was gripped by mixed feelings. Only now did he finally understand the Alliance's operational plan. Yet what stunned him most was not the strategic audacity of the Alliance, but the fact that his Heart of Steel could be used in such a manner. The glider assault tactic in particular had been an absolute revelation. Looking at the bridge around him, MacLaren felt a sudden sense of estrangement... This was unquestionably his Heart of Steel, yet he could no longer recall what it had originally looked like... It had completely assumed the Alliance's shape. While the bridge of the Heart of Steel looked down on Falcon City, the citizens and aristocrats below gazed up at the colossus floating above the clouds. The shadow cast from the heavens engulfed the entire district before the castle. Sitting on the throne in the castle court, King Menggote stared blankly through the window at the approaching airship. It seemed to have started right after the noon hangings... He had abruptly realized that although he still sat upon this throne, he had lost all control over this capital—and indeed over the entire kingdom. First, the nobles had begun conspicuously keeping their distance, turning instead to flatter the Alliance. And not just the nobles. Even the servants in the castle—even the pet dog he kept—had begun wagging their tails at their "new masters." At the thought, a self-deprecating smirk touched King Menggote's lips. Come to think of it, it had been much the same when the Wilante first arrived. How bitterly ironic... Just then, Midal walked slowly in from outside. "Your Majesty." Menggote looked at him and let out a soft sigh. "In times like these, only you still remember that I am King." Midal sank onto one knee and said respectfully, "You will always be my sovereign." Menggote nodded with gratification. "Very well... speak. What news do you bring today?" Midal stared down at the floor with a conflicted expression for a long moment before slowly speaking. "The Alliance's Administrator will arrive at the castle in two hours. If Your Majesty goes outside the castle to welcome him in person... it may show greater sincerity." Menggote's expression stiffened slightly. Though he knew Midal meant well, his current plight left his chest churning with bitter humiliation. After a long silence, he placed both hands upon the armrests and slowly rose from the throne. His tottering movements looked as though he had aged ten years overnight... changing from an imposing monarch into a frail old man with one foot in the grave. "I understand." *** At the very moment the Heart of Steel entered Falcon Capital, far away in the western wastes of the Great Desert, another airship no smaller than the Heart of Steel was advancing steadily. Its name was the Judgment, hailing from distant Triumph City. Compared to the Heart of Steel, its firepower was notably weaker: it possessed neither a 400-millimeter main gun nor provisions for a forward underslung gun pod. Yet while its ground-support capabilities lagged slightly behind, it would never take second place against a rival airship of similar class. A phase energy commutator mounted on the airship's belly could project quark-gluon plasma encased within a gravitational field. While it caused limited physical damage and persisted only briefly, it could effectively paralyze deflector shields and anti-gravity units—devices reliant on gravitons and gravitational-field interference. Its effect was far more direct than an EMP, and nearly impossible to counter through conventional means such as Faraday cages. Unfortunately, in the wasteland era, this aerospace-grade weapon had long become obsolete. Against mutants and alien species, it was less useful than crude black powder. Across the entire planet, perhaps only the Great Rift Valley's Aegis System and the Legion's own airships offered any application for it. Strictly speaking, the only real threat it posed was to the Legion's own vessels, since the sheer scale of the Aegis System placed its shield at a power rating on an entirely different level from shipborne weaponry. Triumph City rarely dispatched Judgment-class airships to the front lines, unless circumstances arose where that phase cannon might actually be needed. Such as now... Though departing a month later than the supply columns sent to the front, this airship had overtaken the lumbering trucks by several days. Two men stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bridge. The one on the left had a thick beard, a burn scar beneath his right eye, and a menacing countenance. His name was Joseph, a general of the Eastern Legion, sent to succeed Griffin as supreme commander in Sunset Province. The other man held an even more formidable status: he was the Governor of Sunset Province, personally appointed by the Grand Marshal—even if his jurisdiction covered an oasis spanning less than seventy thousand square kilometers. The two spoke in casual tones, though every exchange carried mutual probing beneath the surface. "...I do not despise the Eastern Expansion faction. I even sympathize with them. But their foolishness is an indisputable fact; we have been dragged into a dangerous war devoid of benefit." "And what do you believe should have been done?" Joseph asked, glancing sideways at the governor. Cohen continued impassively, "They should have tightened their grip on their vassals and avoided direct conflict with the East Coast's Enterprise until Sunset Province was fully secured. In fact, had they not greedily attempted to swallow both the Pioneer and Vault 0 at once, they would never have ended up in their current state." Joseph's brow twitched. "Then are we to sit by and let the Enterprise seize Vault 0?" Cohen did not answer directly, offering an ambiguous reply instead. "That depends on what they can recover from there." He did not believe any skeleton key existed to resolve every crisis; the wasteland's troubles were far beyond what a few extra black boxes could fix. The Grand Marshal held the same view. Had Vault 0 truly been that vital, he would not have been the one dispatched here today. Joseph felt a twinge of disappointment. He still could not discern the Grand Marshal's true thoughts through this man. Realizing further prodding would yield nothing, he asked point-blank, "Which faction do you belong to, then?" Cohen answered tersely, "I belong to no faction. I stand forever by the Grand Marshal's side; his position is my position." Standing behind them, Captain Adria found himself utterly unable to interject, left with nothing to do but watch the scenery beyond the bridge to pass the time. One was a four-star general, the other a five-star governor. In standing and backing, neither was someone a mere three-star captain could compare to. Just then, his adjutant jogged over and whispered in his ear. "...The Heart of Steel is hovering over Falcon City." Surprise flickered across Adria's face. "MacLaren is still alive?" The adjutant said with an uneasy grimace, "Unclear... It's flying an unfamiliar banner." After a brief pause, Adria nodded. "Leave it to me." Stepping beside the two dignitaries, he reported in a low voice, "My lords, Falcon City lies ahead... The Heart of Steel is hovering over the city. Judging by the banner it flies, it is likely held by the Alliance." Cohen's brow furrowed. Wanting to assert some small measure of presence, Adria asked deferentially, "Should we open fire?" Joseph glanced at him with an amused smirk. "Ambitious, aren't you." Adria blinked, staring blankly, unsure of the general's meaning. Gazing through the windows at the boundless sea of sand and the faint silhouettes rising along the distant horizon, Cohen issued his order without expression. "Reduce speed." Whether to fight or not, they had to understand the situation over there first... At that very moment, amid the endless yellow sands. A suit of silver-gray powered armor slowly raised its head, turning its gaze toward the glow of sunset swallowed by rolling clouds of dust ahead. His eyes were not fixed upon the black dust clouds tumbling like crumbling towers, but looked right through them toward the flying fortress advancing through the storm. A solemn look settled over Yun Song's face. "The people from Triumph City are here." The synthetic soldier beside him nodded slowly. "Yeah..." A century and a half. After all this time, they were clashing once again...