At the military harbor of North Island in the Southern Sea, a majestic warship stood anchored at the center of the bay.
Its name was the Haiya.
A hull nearly four hundred meters long and a displacement of close to seventy thousand tons made it look like a monster coiled within its lair. The cruisers and destroyers moored beside it were utterly overshadowed, appearing like eggs it had laid.
Angular, sloped armor encased every inch of the hull, and thick, elongated gun barrels bristled fore and aft of the bridge, angling up toward the sky.
The most eye-catching among them was undeniably the colossal cannon mounted on the foredeck!
Mere caliber was no longer enough to describe its might; a barrel as massive as a locomotive had no business appearing in conventional naval warfare.
And that was indeed the case.
The Human Alliance era had no such thing as a navy to begin with. This gargantuan gun had originally been stripped from a starship, so its destructive force naturally could not be measured by ordinary armaments.
At that moment, the crew aboard seemed to receive a signal. The battleship, having rested quietly in the harbor, sounded an alarm. Driven by its nuclear fusion reactor, its immense bulk slowly got underway, drawing about three to five hundred meters out from the pier.
Immediately after, the angular barrel slowly elevated, then split along both sides, parting down the center like an opened belly to expose the sealed gun bore to the open air.
Fierce electrical currents hissed and crackled, setting the surrounding air into agitation, and the wildly oscillating magnetic field scattered schools of fish.
On the bridge of the Haiya.
The captain stared intently at the firing solutions and predicted ballistic trajectory displayed on the screen.
In the imagery, an arc-centered cone swept across the curved sea to blanket the skies above an island.
That was Anle Island!
The second-largest naval harbor in the Southern Sea, and the stronghold of the rebels and their counterfeit administration.
Upon learning that the submarine Cold Night had been sunk during a mission near Coral City, President Zhalas had immediately issued orders to bombard Anle Island!
They would avenge the fifty fallen comrades aboard the Cold Night!
Just then, his executive officer approached from the side, saluted with a resolute expression, and reported:
"Calibration complete!"
The captain gave a slow nod. Pausing for barely two seconds, he gave the decisive order:
"Fire!"
Blue plasma had been gathering terrifying power deep within the bore, and the instant the order came, it was unleashed!
Buzz—!
The waves rolling toward the bow were instantly driven back by the terrifying blast, shattering against incoming swells into a mist of fine spray.
The seawater nearby seemed to collapse downward by two meters before surging violently back up. From the center of the rippling waves, a scorching white beam shot toward the horizon, violently tearing through the dark clouds overhead.
Even the seventy-thousand-ton battleship shuddered under the monstrous recoil.
And that was merely the first shot!
In less than ten seconds, the capacitors completed their recharge, and another streak of blinding white light soared into the clouds.
Not far off on shore stood onlookers, mostly service personnel from the nearby naval base and harbor workers.
Following the coup at dusk, President Zhalas had declared a curfew, leaving the streets deserted. Yet the windows of buildings were cracked open here and there, eyes watching the thunderous flashes rising from the sea.
Watching the distant battleship that made the night sky tremble, a man on the pier shook his head.
"...Using that thing for a strategic strike is such a waste. It'd be better to send a cruiser over to launch a few drones or missiles."
His name was Varo, a marine corporal currently clad in an ocean-blue exoskeleton, with unexpended ammunition still hanging from his belt.
Hours ago, they had carried out the mission to seize the presidential palace, witnessing firsthand the collapse of an edifice and the end of a brief, beautiful era.
Though Zhalas still referred to himself as president and everything seemed unchanged on the surface, everyone knew he had transformed into a colossal kraken.
There was no longer any force to check him.
"Without submarine cover, relying solely on a few destroyers for escort is probably still risky..." Beside Varo, Staff Sergeant Wang Pa peered through binoculars at the warship, the corners of his scruffy beard twitching into a grin. "If nothing unexpected happens, that's about as far out as she dares to go."
Above the sea, it was beyond-visual-range warfare; beneath the waves, it was the same.
Even the Federation's mightiest battleship, the Haiya, couldn't withstand a few nuclear torpedoes.
If the Federation's battleships existed to hunt the Legion's airships, then the Federation's submarines had been designed to counter the Federation's battleships.
Shelter 70 had always worried that 'outsiders' would steal the treasures their ancestors salvaged near the Tianting space station, so over the past century, this sea had spawned quite a few bizarre brainchildren.
Among them were 'cargo ships' like the Dolphin that could dive to the seabed at any time, attack nuclear submarines developed with their own warships as hypothetical enemies, destroyers designed to counter their own submarines, and cruisers designed to counter their own destroyers.
On paper, the Anle Island authorities had two fewer ships than the North Island authorities, but those three extra submarines were a massive headache—especially now that North Island had lost its only submarine, the Cold Night.
Clearly, Mr. Zhalas was well aware of the cards in his hand.
Varo turned to the superior beside him and asked in confusion:
"If I recall correctly, that main gun is meant for anti-ship combat. It probably won't be very effective against ground targets. And from what I hear, each shell isn't cheap."
Lowering his binoculars, Wang Pa narrowed his eyes and replied succinctly:
"The value of a strategic strike isn't measured solely by how much it destroys."
"...What do you mean?"
Wang Pa looked at his subordinate and said meaningfully:
"Aside from North Island where the capital is located, why do you think seven governors are standing with us?"
Varo said, "Isn't it because of Mr. Zhalas?"
"It's because they're all within a thousand kilometers, and because they have to be responsible for their own residents. That's all."
Pausing, he smiled faintly and patted Varo on the shoulder.
"Just like you and me. We have to answer to who we are, too."
With that, he walked past Varo toward the barracks.
Honestly, he agreed that the survivors of the Southern Sea should decide their own destiny, end internal strife, and expand outward, but he didn't agree with Zhalas's methods.
Even if President Mengge had his faults, he should have stood trial under the law rather than face the Marines' vigilante justice.
Unfortunately, he was only a staff sergeant. Above him were master sergeants and the people who actually commanded them.
Things had come to this.
No matter how his children might judge them in the future, they could only keep fighting for now.
He just had a premonition.
This war might prove far more difficult than anyone imagined...
***
On Anle Island.
Thunderclaps shattered the quiet as deafening booms struck the sea and land.
The half-ton kinetic slugs were like man-made meteors. Even without any explosive payload, their sheer kinetic energy wrought immense destruction!
The front of each slug compressed the air into a near-solid barrier, while the rear carved out a vacuum wake. The monstrous pressure differential violently battered the projectile's nose, scorching what little ablative coating remained.
Throughout this process, the shell's temperature continued to rise until it reached a critical breaking point—
One of the kinetic slugs broke apart and detonated in midair, erupting into blistering white light and molten metal that showered over the island's buildings like fireworks.
Two others slammed directly into the island, kicking up twin plumes of billowing dust with thunderous roars.
As for the remaining seven shells, they all plunged into the sea, vanishing after throwing up boiling columns of water.
Even with meticulous calculations that factored in Earth's rotation, a distance of over a thousand kilometers was simply too vast. In a certain parallel world, it would be equivalent to shooting from the Paracel Islands all the way to Brunei.
The actual distance traveled through the air by those ten kinetic slugs was far greater than a thousand kilometers; having three strike the island was already practically a miracle.
The two rounds that directly struck the island carved massive craters into the mountainside. Fortunately, they missed the harbor and submarine yard nestled behind the ridges, inflicting no casualties.
Instead, the round that detonated in midair caused greater damage. Windows across many nearby buildings were shattered, and rooftops were left riddled with holes and scorched metal slag.
Having long anticipated a strategic strike from North Island, the Anle Island authorities had evacuated the island's tens of thousands of residents to the vicinity of the submarine yard south of the mountain.
Since most of these residents were families of military personnel or dockyard workers, they possessed strong discipline, so the evacuation hadn't caused much chaos.
Inside the command post, Commander Li Minghui stared at the sea chart spread across the desk with a furrowed brow, the ashtray beside him overflowing with cigarette butts.
What troubled him wasn't solely North Island's battleship, but also the grim tidings from the southern hinterland—
In the final telegram, the governor of Ring Island stated that the residents of Ring Island had joined the Southern Sea Alliance.
This was undeniably terrible news.
Not only did it mean Anle Island would face North Island's eight settlements and naval supremacy with only four settlements of its own, but he also had to worry about the impact of Ring Island's secession on the legitimacy of their 'Manifesto.'
This was no small matter.
After all, their Manifesto was their constitution; the legitimacy of the Anle Island authorities was granted by that very text.
Zhalas could afford to dismiss legitimacy because he had enough naval guns.
Li Minghui could not afford to dismiss it, for a very realistic reason: their fists weren't big enough.
Forget building more submarines—if this dragged on for another two months, feeding their people would become a struggle.
Just moments ago, Zhalas had signed his first presidential decree since taking power, declaring martial law and a curfew on North Island, fully seizing control of the situation.
Meanwhile, the first order Li Minghui had signed was to ration food and supplies on the island, asking locals to tighten their belts to support his war effort.
Fortunately, this order hadn't been broadcast over the airwaves; Zhalas probably didn't know about it yet.
If that fellow knew, he would probably burst out laughing...
Just as Li Minghui was racking his brain over how to resolve the immediate crisis, his guard stood at the door and saluted.
"Report! A message from Shelter 70!"
"Shelter 70?" Li Minghui froze, genuine surprise plain on his face. Recovering quickly, he asked, "...What did they say?"
The guard reported faithfully:
"They request a radio call with you!"
Li Minghui pondered for a moment. Without hesitation, he put down his pen and followed the guard to the communications room.
Ordering the guard to watch the door and let no one approach, he picked up the headset hanging by the radio and placed it over his ears.
"This is Anle Island Naval Command. I am Li Minghui, officer in charge. Who is this?"
A response came quickly from the other end of the channel.
"Chen Jianhong, captain of the Dolphin, resident of Shelter 70, and their tentatively trusted representative."
Li Minghui frowned and asked in a heavy voice:
"What do you want to say?"
"...An idea that might surprise you, but also the best solution we can think of right now."
"Go on."
"Let's join hands. Or to put it more precisely, I want us to unite."
Silence settled before the radio, leaving only the faint hiss of static for a long while.
"Unite..."
Squeezing the word from between his lips, Li Minghui's facial muscles twitched involuntarily, his tone strange. "Isn't it a bit late to bring that up?"
"I don't think it's ever too late. We studied your Manifesto and drafted a new one. Going forward, the shelter administrator will no longer hold administrative power over affairs in the Southern Sea, managing only the internal affairs of the shelter according to shelter regulations. At the same time, all Southern Sea survivors and shelter residents will enjoy equal rights—not just in education and healthcare, but also in legislation, becoming commanders, and more... Isn't that what you've been fighting for?"
Here, Chen Jianhong paused before continuing:
"We've already taken off our coats. What about you?"
Li Minghui narrowed his eyes.
"Who can guarantee you'll keep your promise?"
A chuckle came over the radio.
"Aren't you right there? Or are three submarines not enough to give you a backbone?"
Li Minghui laughed as well, though his expression grew chilly.
"...Don't forget, I'm the one who trusts you least, or I wouldn't be sitting in this seat."
"That's great. If you were the kind of guy who just obeyed whatever we said, I'd hesitate about whether taking off this coat was premature... See, it's not like we've done nothing good. At least the first Administrator had you all educated, or you'd be just like those folks in Brahma Province."
At that point, Chen Jianhong seemed to recall something and added:
"Right, I got so caught up in winning you over that I almost forgot the main business. We formed the Southern Sea Survivors Alliance, or the Southern Sea Alliance for short. After this, we plan to rebuild the ocean current power station, starting from the seabed section we control, then restore Coral City and its production facilities, and ultimately defeat the northern enemy alongside our allies."
There was half a sentence he left unsaid.
To achieve that goal, they needed Anle Island's three submarines.
Without submarine protection, several dozen mutants would be enough to cause serious trouble.
Even if the Alliance would support their defense, he couldn't bear to watch those people dueling mutants on the seabed with small peashooters.
Those noble people ought to carry their nobility into the new era, not perish alongside wild beasts...
Li Minghui narrowed his eyes, turning those words over in his mind.
It was indeed a sound idea.
When discussing matters with his staff earlier, he had also considered leveraging Anle Island's undersea advantage to restore production at Coral City and Anle Island's factories as quickly as possible, churning out a few more submarines before North Island's destroyers began rolling off the slips in bulk.
And securing the Alliance's support was the linchpin of that plan.
After all, mining seabed deposits right now was unrealistic; the primary processing facilities were in Zhalas's hands, and with only the island's stockpiled materials, they probably couldn't build a single submarine.
"The Alliance... You've already made contact with them?"
"Yes," Chen Jianhong admitted candidly. "And not just the Alliance, but also Ring Island, which is already on our side. Next, I plan to win over the other three settlements standing with you. In the most optimistic scenario, we bring you on board as well, giving us six settlements including Coral City. Even if Zhalas remains tough to crack, our strength will be far greater than it is now."
"They won't stand with you," Li Minghui scoffed coldly, though he felt a lack of conviction, so he added, "Why shouldn't we approach the Alliance ourselves?"
Chen Jianhong chuckled.
"Do you think they would choose you?"
Li Minghui gave a cold scoff.
"Why wouldn't they? They can even ally with feudal lords in Sunset Province. Even if we're not as good as during President Mengge's era, we're definitely far better than a feudal kingdom!"
Chen Jianhong sighed.
"If you only look at the surface, that's true. But if you'd actually been to Sunset Province, you wouldn't say something so foolish."
Li Minghui frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Chen Jianhong continued:
"The reason a royal house still exists in Sunset Province is because the local survivors chose their traditions and faith from the bottom of their hearts, and they weren't afraid of bloodshed or sacrifice for it. If the survivors of the Southern Sea truly rallied around you from the bottom of their hearts, the Alliance naturally wouldn't mind cooperating with you. But look around you—are there people like that beside you? Or rather... do you possess that degree of 'legitimacy'?"
Pausing, he hit the nail on the head:
"Moreover, they never allied with the king; they allied with the local survivors all along. They built railways, schools, and hospitals for the locals, and abolished slavery—was any of that for the king? Kings have no use for that stuff! They simply didn't coat their equality onto bullets and force-feed it to the locals!
"If this sea would be better off without you, I don't see any reason for them to let a middleman take a cut. They could easily try what they did in Falcon Kingdom, like handing a gun to the people behind you. Those folks would dare shoot you—would you dare order artillery fired at them?"
Li Minghui was struck dumb, staring blankly at the radio, at a loss for words.
Indeed...
The Southern Sea and Sunset Province were entirely different places.
There was no feudal tradition here whatsoever, and their literacy and education rate even exceeded that of the Alliance he so desperately wished to win over!
The war between the island survivors and Shelter 70 had been waged for equality; the war between Anle Island and North Island was likewise fought to defend that hard-won right from being usurped by an ambitious schemer like Zhalas.
If he ended up becoming an ambitious warlord just like Zhalas, launching a war in the name of the Manifesto and then discarding the Manifesto in the name of war, ultimately seizing all power for himself... those four governors wouldn't stand with him at all. Even if they stood with him now, once they came to their senses, they would definitely turn against him.
After all, if both sides were equally rotten, why not side with the one boasting the larger caliber?
Between faith and the sword, one had to choose.
Supporting the Anle Island authorities wasn't without risk; they all had to be responsible to their own residents.
But if he chose to be completely different from Zhalas, becoming a hero who genuinely fought for the constitution and honoring the pledge from his inaugural oath once it was all over—refusing compromise born of lies and demanding genuine unity...
Then that was essentially no different from accepting the olive branch from the Southern Sea Alliance right now.
Regardless of how things were before, the residents of Shelter 70 were now fighting for the same ideal of equality, and they had voluntarily taken off their coats.
If so, why not fulfill that promise right now?
He only needed to nod and keep his word, and they could achieve true unity, while he could step down as a hero when all was said and done...
A look of inner struggle crossed Li Minghui's face. Involuntarily, he clenched his fist resting on the radio console.
Had he faced this choice a day ago, he probably would have agreed without the slightest hesitation.
Yet now, he had finally reached the pinnacle over tens of thousands... whether he had been hoisted up or had secretly craved it in the depths of his heart.
He wasn't a saint, after all...
This was too difficult!
Sensing his indecision, another earnest word of advice came through the radio.
"Face reality. This isn't Sunset Province, nor is it Brahma Province. Neither Zhalas nor you has any chance of becoming king. The first fellow whose seat got too hot already dropped his hat and ran.
"If you think you're more capable than that guy, you're welcome to gamble on your unrealistic ambition. But while he could run, you definitely won't! Either that, or fulfill the promise you made in your broadcast and see what was started through to the end!"
Chen Jianhong pronounced each word deliberate and clear, repeating what he had heard in the broadcast.
Regardless of whether it had been that fellow's heartfelt thought, at least it had come from his mouth.
"...We will never compromise with beasts, nor will we ever again accept a truce maintained by lies.
"What we need is true unity!
"True unity!"
***
"...We will never compromise with beasts, nor will we ever tolerate the Church of the Torch continuing their foolish experiments, watching as they drag the last pure land beneath our feet into an irredeemable abyss!"
Dawn City, the auditorium of the Anti-Slime Mold Community Building.
Over two hundred people sat in the semicircular conference hall as a solemn, resounding voice echoed above every attendee.
Seated here were representatives from various settlements.
The furthest had traveled from Triumph City and Ideal City; nearer ones hailed from the neighboring kingdom, and even Garbage City just east of Dawn City, as well as Bugra Free State, slightly further out, attending on behalf of the Great Rift Valley.
Beyond them were numerous survivor factions from across the Eastern and Western Provinces. Their strengths varied, but most played relatively significant roles in their respective regions.
The entire conference building had been constructed jointly by construction teams from the Enterprise and the Academy, with a Legion centurion serving as project supervisor throughout; as a result, a project that should have taken only one month ended up taking two.
Yet compared to the building itself, which was of little importance, the more than two hundred people seated in the conference were largely the fruits of the Alliance's diplomacy.
After all, whether they had been drawn here by the Legion, the Academy, or the Enterprise, in the final analysis, it was the Alliance that had gathered them from across Mid-Continent.
And right now, that esteemed Alliance Administrator stood at the podium in the center of the hall, delivering an impassioned speech.
Countless eyes converged upon the man. The Academy representative in particular listened with exceptional focus, having even activated the recording function of his bionic eye and the vertical stabilization of his neck cybernetics to ensure the camera wouldn't shake.
As if this were some crucial sociological data.
Of course, it was also possible he was simply accustomed to doing so; people said everyone from the Academy was like that.
Slouching in the front row with his legs crossed, Bannote curled his lip dismissively, not listening particularly closely.
Perhaps that fellow was right—the survivors on the wasteland really ought to join hands and do something, uniting at least on the issue of the 'mutant slime mold,' which threatened everyone's survival.
But was this something that could be resolved simply by flapping one's lips?
Count every person sitting here, including the one standing on the stage—which of their respective collectives had made greater sacrifices to deal with the mutant slime mold than the Wilante?
Was it the Enterprise, living carefree behind closed doors? Or the Academy, 'building ships behind closed doors' hidden behind Wandering Marsh?
Not to mention the Alliance, which had only been founded a few years ago. Fewer people had probably died to the slime mold in their lands than by their own hands. Let them wait fifty years before daring to compare themselves!
Some young officers might have forgotten, but he knew the Wilante's history of blood and tears all too well.
The folks on the Reconstruction Committee had 'created' them specifically to fight the slime mold; the reason their nasal bridges had turned from former shackles into today's badges of honor was that they had hammered it out punch by punch!
As for his 'ally' sitting beside him—that empire of theirs—Bannote couldn't be bothered to spare him a glance.
Brahma Province had no mutant slime mold at all. Those folks spent their entire lives fighting each other; if they lacked labels, they fabricated labels, slapped them on, and fought again, only quieting down in recent years. Though according to the governor Triumph City sent there, fighting seemed on the verge of erupting again lately.
Bannote couldn't help yawning, his bored gaze drifting toward the Enterprise representative also seated in the front row.
He didn't even need to guess—that guy had probably reached some private agreement with the Alliance before the meeting and would definitely cast a vote in favor shortly.
Just as he yawned, the fellow sitting beside him—the one he despised most—had a completely different reaction to the voice on the podium.
Staring unblinkingly at the figure on the stage, Niyang, attending the conference on behalf of Duke Garava, held his breath involuntarily. His smallish eyes brimmed with fanaticism and longing, like a rat panting hungrily in the shadows of a hearth before an oil lamp.
If only he could follow at that lord's side, he would gladly remain a Ratkin for ten more lifetimes...
That cadenced voice was like a beating war drum; merely listening to him speak made Niyang's heart pound wildly, as if it were about to leap out of his throat.
Compared to that great lord radiating warm light all over, his 'noble' duke was utter trash!
No—
How could that sickly weakling even dare compare himself to this lord?
Not only was that guy unfit to be mentioned in the same breath as this lord, but even the big-nosed brute sitting next to him was nothing more than a gutter rat in front of this lord.
In terms of lineage, who could possess blood purer than that shielded by a shelter?
In terms of ability, they had risen from the ruins in just a few short years!
Knowledge and experience went without saying; the cleverest people on the wasteland scrambled to flock to them. Even the greediest, most contemptuous folks to the north had grudgingly admitted they possessed knowledge they themselves lacked, and were willing to offer genuine treasures in exchange.
When it came to understanding the Alliance, Niyang, who never missed a single newspaper, could confidently say he knew this place better than the people living here, and knew that lord even better than they did!
Without question, he was a true fan of that lord!
Even though he knew his station well—just a humble Ratkin...
As for the filthy bandit sitting next to him, Niyang didn't bother to spare him a second glance.
Duke Garava couldn't see clearly, and his Majesty couldn't see clearly, but Niyang knew better than anyone which brute had brutalized his kin the most.
Standing on the podium, Chu Guang suddenly felt an unprovoked chill, as if something were peeping at him.
It proved that having Perception too high wasn't necessarily a good thing; it made one paranoid.
Almost everyone sitting here was staring at him, listening to every word and sentence he spoke.
There was no need for anyone to stare covertly...
Though puzzled, this was hardly the time to mind such trifles.
Reaching the end of his speech, Chu Guang clenched his right fist and brought it down firmly yet measuredly onto the lectern.
"...Everyone, since the dawn of the Wasteland Era, we are facing the gravest crisis in two hundred years!
"If we do not strike while its wings are yet unformed and strangle it completely in the cradle, all our efforts to rebuild this world will come to naught!
"We will take the initiative and launch an offensive from the north against the Church of the Torch's sphere of influence! Yet relying on our strength alone will not be enough to solve every problem. I need you to set aside your unresolved contradictions and disputes for now, at least for this moment—
"Let us unite once again for a common goal!"
Sweeping his bright gaze across the entire hall, Chu Guang rested both hands on the lectern.
Just as he expected, applause began from the front row and rippled through the entire hall in an instant.
Be they their allies, former adversaries, or even the empire with whom clashes had just occurred...
Without exception, everyone cast their vote in favor—for this righteous war.
In truth, from the very beginning, Chu Guang had never doubted for a moment that the Church of the Torch stood not the slightest chance of victory.
Those lunatics had exerted every effort and schemed exhaustively, only to win over a few islands, and even that was an alliance divided in spirit.
In contrast, on his own side, through the victory four months ago and four months of lobbying and mobilization, a force far mightier than the 'Heaven' those lunatics spoke of had already coalesced.
No matter what struggles those madmen planned to put up.
From the moment they attempted to make enemies of every survivor across the wasteland, their doom was already sealed!
Chapter 725