Battlefronts Blooming Everywhere

A night had passed since the fierce battle north of Laishan City. The Slime Mold Community's first battle on the Church of the Torch's "homeland" had ended in a draw. At a position halfway up Mount Lai, Jenin of the 31st Myriad pulled out his binoculars and glanced down the mountain. This was already the thirteenth time he had done so today, and it was still only morning. He had arrived at the front lines from the western reaches of the Mid-Continent just a few days ago, having journeyed over ten thousand kilometers, yet to his regret, he had still missed the decisive battle on the Weifu Wasteland. Word had it that every brother previously in his current decury had been wiped out, leaving only their centurion, Oliver. A deep scar ran across the man's face, supposedly left behind during a clash with a mutant brute—back when Oliver had still been a decurion. As expected, the battlefield was where promotions happened fastest. Looking at Officer Oliver standing not far away, Jenin's eyes held a touch of reverence. Ever since hearing of his commander's exploits, he had become a true admirer. Those were monsters that could regrow severed heads. To put down a thing like that, their centurion was truly a ruthless badass! "There probably won't be any major battles for the next few days, right?" Standing beside Jenin, a fellow comrade from the same recruit training camp spoke in sheer boredom. "How did you figure that?" Jenin asked out of curiosity. "Isn't it obvious?" The man shrugged and popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth. "Enterprise and the Alliance fell flat on their faces down there yesterday. Even if they don't plan to swallow that humiliation, they'll have to put their heads together and hash out a plan before making another move." "After all, they're just good-for-nothings from Ideal City and their little friends. Lose two guys and they can't take it anymore." "Hahaha." A group of recruits chatted and laughed, clearly having no respect for Enterprise or the Alliance. A few veterans who had spent more time on the front simply chuckled without bothering to explain. They didn't think much of Enterprise and the Alliance either; in their eyes, the Legion's army was the strongest on the wasteland. Still, it had to be said that these greenhorns were taking their opponents far too lightly. If the enemy were truly so brainless, what did that make the Legion, who had tangled with them in the desert for months? Though also a new recruit, Jenin, having graduated from an officers' academy, held a different perspective. The situation in Haiya Province was indeed unusual. The enemy didn't even maintain a fixed front line; even he couldn't devise a better strategy. Especially now, with the highway and railway through Ten Peaks Mountain still under construction, ferrying rear-area supplies to the front faced real difficulties, so a stall in the coalition's offensive was entirely understandable. Hearing his recruits chatting, Centurion Oliver, inspecting the front line, merely curled his lips as if listening to children joking around. "You're underestimating those people far too much." He had been on Mount Fu that night and witnessed with his own eyes what the Alliance's true elites were like. Compared to him, who had barely escaped with his life, those guys clad in heavy exoskeletons and carrying large-caliber shotguns were the real badasses. The mutants were like baby chicks waiting to be slaughtered before them, butchered one by one inside the caves with movements so practiced they seemed rehearsed tens of thousands of times. It was hard to imagine what kind of hellish crucible those people had endured. It was true that he had slain a greenskin brute, but the total number his entire squad eliminated wasn't even a fraction of what the fellow who fished him out of the cave had racked up. Speaking of which, it was lucky that man had grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the trench. Even today, he clearly remembered how, shortly after he evacuated from that corpse-filled trench, over a dozen "zombified mutants" had stormed the very spot where he had fought, clashing violently with the guys wielding heavy shields. Only later did he learn that while he was trapped in the trench caught between a rock and a hard place, those mutants had already chased the main force behind him all the way to the foot of the mountain, nearly seizing back the positions on Mount Heiyun... Hearing Officer Oliver chime in, a recruit shouted for permission to speak and asked with a grin, "Sir, do you think they'll attack again today?" Seeing all the young men looking his way, Oliver offered a faint smile. "From what I know of them, yesterday's level of attack counts as a probe at best. Barring any surprises, they've already figured out the enemy's bottom line." Pausing, he added curtly, "You'll understand after spending a few more days on the front." Yet even Oliver himself didn't expect that shortly after his words fell, movement stirred at the positions at the base of the mountain. A troop of soldiers clad in pitch-black exoskeletons, carrying supply crates taller than themselves on their backs, came streaming one after another along the rugged mountain path. As fate would have it, judging by the armbands on their shoulders, these soldiers belonged to none other than the Alliance's Storm Corps! Aside from the men themselves, trailing behind them was an enormous creature whose lower body bristled with tentacles. The thing looked rather grotesque, though its round, bulbous head grew strangely endearing if one stared at it long enough. If he remembered correctly, that creature appeared to be the undeployed state of an "incubation chamber" produced by the Qingquan City broodmother. Once fully deployed, it could convert organic matter delivered by fruiting bodies into new fruiting bodies. According to intelligence disclosed by the Slime Mold Community, the Alliance had already neutralized the Qingquan City broodmother. In that case, this "incubation chamber" was likely safe as well, and the gnawers and Crawlers it spawned probably wouldn't attack friendly personnel. Even so, Oliver still felt a pang of surprise at the Storm Corps' appearance, given that he hadn't heard of any coalition offensive scheduled for today. Unable to contain his curiosity, he called down to them, "Got a mission today?" Hearing the shout from the position halfway up the mountain, Kakarot glanced up, flipped up his helmet's tactical visor, and grinned. "You bet. Got ourselves a big gig." A big gig? Oliver blinked, not quite understanding what he meant. Yet the man offered no further explanation, leading the more than two hundred brothers behind him straight into that murky wilderness. Not long after that group departed, another rowdy bunch emerged along the mountain path below their position. They wore no exoskeletons, carrying LD-47 rifles across their shoulders, with a few RPGs strapped here and there. Their only protective gear was the gas masks already strapped to their faces, making them look like people playing at war. Numbering about a hundred, they babbled and clamored loudly, heaven knew over what. "Boss, do we really not need any armor?" Fiddling with the gas mask strapped to his face, a player marching in the ranks couldn't help complaining. His ID was [Born in Spring]. He had joined the game during the Beta 0.7 update and had been playing for a month now, having just reached Lv 5. Joining the game alongside him were [Born in Summer] and [Born in Winter], who were at the same level. As for the guy walking ahead of him whom he called boss, his ID was [Feels Inferior to Rick V], leader of the Abstract Corps. He was a veteran Constitution-type player who had joined in Beta 0.5, and also the big brother guiding them through the "Passing the Torch" quest. He remembered that when he first joined the game, he had idolized this veteran who claimed he could solo a Yaoguai—until that one time on the Weifu Wasteland when they actually encountered a real Yaoguai. It was on that very occasion that he realized how unforgivingly realistic this game was. Even a "top powerhouse" with a second awakening could fail to dodge because he got careless, sent flying over a dozen meters by a single swipe from an enraging Yaoguai... "What do you mean, no armor? You make it sound like I'm a cheapskate. Aren't you wearing gas masks?" Hearing his minion's grumble, Rick rolled his eyes in defense, not expecting his words to set off an uproar among the group. "Holy crap?!" "You call this armor?" "We got this for free, alright?!" In the "Endless Mode" mob-grinding event, the gas mask was the only piece of gear you could claim for free—and it was the exact model used by the Alpha Special Task Force, OEM-manufactured by the Daybreak City industrial zone. [Born in Spring] seriously suspected that if it hadn't been free, this guy would have skipped the gas masks too. Actually, there was logic to it. Setting aside Constitution-type players, given their base attributes, even without gas masks they could still hold out for three or four days inside the Phase Four domain of Heaven. Under normal circumstances, with their combat strength, they wouldn't last that long anyway. Before Na fruit mycelium could even infect them, they'd likely be eaten alive and skinned by the fungal variants roaming the domain. Only those veterans in exoskeletons could probably count their survival time in days. Seeing the noisy rookies, Rick coughed to cut them off. "Alright, alright! You should be grateful you've got free gear to use—stop whining! Don't spend all day demanding this and that; ask what you've done for our corps first! Take my advice: high-end gear is too much for you to handle right now. Start by honing the fundamentals and building a solid foundation. Sooner or later, you'll become a powerhouse in your own right, just like me." Hearing that, everyone rolled their eyes at him in unison. Seeing no one arguing back, Rick perked up again and shouted to the crowd of brothers, "Listen up, boys! In a bit, we'll tail right behind the big shots of Storm Corps! Wherever they plant their purification base flag, we'll plant ours right on their six!" Born in Summer: "Wait, boss, don't purification bases and purification stations need to be at least six hundred meters apart to register in the system?" Rick answered with a cheeky grin, "Easy fix. We just toe the six-hundred-meter line, simple as that! Why else do you think I dragged us out of bed this early?" The players stared in stunned silence. Damn. A true master of freeloading points! Watching those rowdy fellows march into the wilderness, a Wilante soldier crouching by the trench exchanged a glance with the comrade beside him and muttered, "What the hell are they babbling about?" "Ghost knows..." "Think they can pull it off?" "Ghost knows..." "..." This time Oliver didn't join in his subordinates' conversation. He merely stared with an odd expression at the rabble-like crowd. He was certain these men were all fresh recruits, likely greener even than the good-for-nothings from Ideal City. Throwing such inexperienced recruits onto a battlefield, not one in ten would return alive. Was this really how the Alliance trained its troops? Wasn't this approach a little too crude...? ... Oliver's surprise proved to be nothing more than an opening interlude. For he soon discovered that his astonishment was hardly worth mentioning. Just as his subordinates were discussing setting up a betting pool on how many of those Alliance rookies would make it back, another massive wave of people traversed the rugged mountain path, striding proudly into the wilderness festering with plague and curse. The newcomers were loud and clamorous, speaking in tongues the Wilante couldn't understand, yet their boisterous laughter sounded not at all like men marching off to a man-eating battlefield, but rather guests arriving at a grand banquet. Their cadenced voices rang with utter contempt for death. Ready to die without hesitation, they carried the ideal of saving all humanity in their hearts, caring for everything except their own safety and survival. At first, the Wilante soldiers watched them with mocking stares, but soon they began to feel that their ridicule only made themselves look like clowns, and gradually the laughter died on their lips. These men were true warriors! When confronted with a crisis common to all humanity, they hadn't merely paid lip service to unity while skulking in cowardice; they had stepped to the very front without hesitation. Even if most Wilante soldiers had zero interest in the ideals proclaimed by the Alliance, and even spat upon pipe dreams like "equality," they found it impossible to harbor any contempt for such genuine heroes. They respected true powerhouses! And out of respect for the strong, they quietly dismantled the betting pool on how many would return... The front-line Wilante troops weren't the only ones astounded. Even General Lium, seated aboard the airship Loyalty, was deeply shaken. After hearing the reports from the front, he held his tongue for quite a while before finally asking the adjutant beside him: "...Just how large is the Alliance's population?" The adjutant froze, hesitating for a good while before venturing, "A million?" Maybe 1.5 million. Ever since the Slime Mold Community conference had convened, survivors had flooded into the Alliance in a steady stream. He had even heard that the overseer of a certain vault had relocated to settle near Dawn City. Because the Alliance maintained fairly lenient background checks for incoming survivors, their population figures changed by the day. As for exact numbers, to say nothing of an outsider like him, he suspected even Chu Guang himself might not know down to the digit. With an odd expression, General Lium looked away from the adjutant and turned toward the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the front lines blanketed in grayish-green mist. According to reports from the Mount Lai positions, as of moments ago, the Alliance had deployed nearly an entire myriad of troops to the front! Part of them were regular army, but a far larger portion looked more like wastelanders bringing their own weapons and dry rations... The only gear they collected from coalition logistics was a single gas mask. Things like rifles and ammunition were prepared entirely on their own... "...Is this the Alliance's mobilization capability?" A glint of awe stirred in Lium's eyes. Even in Triumph City under the rule of His Great Excellency the Marshal, such a spectacle was unimaginable... While General Lium marveled in shock, combat near Laishan City raged white-hot. Fungal variants driven by Na fruit mycelium crawled endlessly from the earth, trying to exterminate the "heretics" encroaching upon the domain of Heaven. Yet the combat effectiveness of those "heretics" far exceeded the apostles' wildest imagination. These beings were clearly living flesh and blood, yet they fought tirelessly like the living dead. Looking at a rifle barrel glowing nearly red-hot, [Born in Spring], firing from behind a crumbling dirt wall, couldn't help yelling over his shoulder, "Captain! Call in an airstrike, quick!" Not far away, [Born in Summer] yelled as well, "We can't hold out much longer!!!" "Hold on a little longer!" Rick stole a hurried glance at the numbers on his VM. Though feeling immense pressure himself, he gritted his teeth and hollered back, "Just two hundred points to go! Once we hit a thousand, I can call in an airdrop!" Word was that Airdrop Crate C2 contained a "Ripper" heavy machine gun and three thousand rounds of ammunition! With only their current weapons and ammo, they couldn't last long. Even if he called in an airstrike or two, it would clear away minor mobs at best. Only by securing heavy firepower from an airdrop could they hope to hold the line longer! As for the 100-kilogram aerial bomb costing five hundred points, that was reserved for evolved organisms! He had meticulously planned how to squeeze maximum value out of every single point! Just as Rick was thinking this, a savage roar erupted from behind the dense fog nearby. "Roaaar—!" Before he could even ask what was going on, the dying screams of [Born in Spring] and [Born in Summer] tore through the air. Immediately following, a colossal beast crouching on the ground filled his vision. The creature resembled a crocodile, yet possessed a torso and legs as stout as an elephant's. Its three-to-four-meter-long jaws smacked together, savoring the taste. Dangling from its jagged fangs were shredded flesh and fabric—precisely two portions' worth... Dark green mycelium stitched its pitted, cratered body together. As it glared at its prey, an eerie greenish light glinted in its pupils. Locking eyes with those ghastly green orbs, Rick reflexively held his breath, feeling a chill run through his limbs. He instinctively glanced at the reading on his VM. 975... Just twenty-five points shy of the heavy machine gun! There was no time to hesitate. Screaming "Holy shit" in his mind, he blew five hundred points on an airstrike. Yet when he saw that the strike would take three minutes to arrive, he nearly coughed up a mouthful of blood. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" The crocodile-like monster paid him no heed, lunging with gaping bloody jaws straight at the position he was directing. The 7mm rifle rounds bounced off its hide like harmless toys, while the RPG rockets couldn't arm properly at close quarters due to their arming distance. Rick yelled frantically for the rookies to spread out, attempting to draw the beast's attention while updating bombing coordinates for the airstrike arriving in three minutes. Hopelessly, however, with so many Abstract Corps players on a battlefield for the first time, their defensive position dissolved into complete chaos. The purification station manned by the remaining ninety-odd players was torn right through in an instant. Scattered rookies carrying RPGs, stripped of allied cover, were swarmed and devoured like an all-you-can-eat buffet by walking corpses and corpse hounds. In desperation, they squeezed their triggers with their dying breaths, blindly launching anti-armor rockets into the fray. The three minutes finally elapsed. The scream of a dive bomber echoed overhead, followed by the release of a 100-kilogram aerial bomb. A warhead packed with solid hydrogen and azide compounds was no laughing matter; in seconds, it flattened the imperious monster straight into the dirt. Watching the raging flames and the beast thrashing in agony, the grievously wounded Rick could hold out no longer. A surging Crawler pounced on him, snapping his neck in one bite. Converting their remaining points into survival time, they had held on for just over an hour in total. Factoring in the difficulty multiplier, the 105 players split an 110,000 silver coin reward pool, averaging around a thousand coins per person. Deducting the cost of bullets, clothes, and remaking their VMs, it was technically a small profit. Though barely any... Six hundred meters ahead of the Abstract Corps' purification station, across the open wilderness, the battle outside Storm Corps' purification base was equally tense, thrilling, and bustling. Here, however, the players were seasoned veterans after all. Their field commander, Kakarot, was an old hand with extensive frontline command experience, and their tactical style was naturally nowhere near as chaotic—or "abstract"—as Abstract Corps'. Still, while their allies' performance had been rather amateurish, they didn't look down on the rookies. After all, who hadn't started out as a rookie? That was how most people played this game: You died and died, and then one day, you were suddenly strong. "...Brother Ka, the guys leeching points behind us seem to be going under. Should I take a few men back to help?" Wiping away slime stuck to his helmet, Shengdan Laoren looked at Kakarot. Compared to the rookies, the pressure on their end was far more manageable. Moreover, the incubation chamber had begun functioning, producing gnawers and even Crawlers carrying the Type B strain. Though small in number, they relieved a share of the burden. Up to now, they hadn't suffered a single casualty. He even suspected that the bastards hiding in the Sanctuary had realized Storm Corps was too tough a nut to crack and deliberately singled out the rookies trailing behind them. After all, Heaven wasn't a natural phenomenon; it was guided by a conscious will. Kakarot chuckled. "No rush. Let them hold out a bit longer. How can they grow if they never face an uphill battle?" He had a feeling Torch was trying to bait them into detaching forces to reinforce their rear allies. Splitting their strength now might play right into the enemy's hands. Standing nearby, a player lowered his binoculars and spoke to his captain: "...No need to help. Looks like they're already gone." Kakarot's expression turned slightly sheepish. He coughed dryly before continuing, "In that case... take a few guys to salvage their gear. Once you're done, I'll call in an artillery strike to saturate the zone. Can't let their sacrifice go to waste." Recovering their VMs would help cut down some of their financial losses. As for whatever weapons and ammo remained, by convention, the salvagers could use them in the field and return whatever was left once the mission was over. The moment he heard about opening a teammate's blind box, the player perked right up, accepting with enthusiasm: "On it!" With that, he hailed a few nearby teammates, hoisted an empty supply crate taller than a man, and bolted toward the position six hundred meters back... In the span of a single day, the Alliance deployed over a hundred "units" into the Laishan City sector, unleashing a dense, tide-like onslaught against the Church of the Torch's Heaven. These units were like iron nails driven deep into the Church's flesh. Although not every nail managed to take root, the agony inflicted upon Torch was severe enough... Observing the battlefronts blooming everywhere, a flicker of astonishment crept into the Human Sovereign's calm, impassive eyes. "...Are these people insane?" Trading lives for lives just to bleed his chess pieces... In a single day, he had lost dozens of evolved organisms and nearly six hundred thousand "puppets"! Even with hundreds of millions of pieces at his disposal, such casualties could hardly be called light. Worst of all, the Alliance had a habit of sanitizing the field with incendiaries immediately after every engagement. That meant he had to commit his pieces with extreme caution and be prepared never to recover any card he played. He could commit neither too many nor too few at once. After all, once Alliance soldiers took root in an area, they would funnel in endless filthy contaminants... The look of shock gradually yielded to a trace of wary dread. Yet that dread lingered in his eyes for mere seconds before dissolving into an unfathomable madness. Ignorant fools who knew nothing of the world... A war of attrition against him? They were begging for death!