An Unidentified Fleet

Across the surging sea, towering warships cleaved through the waves. They were the fleet of the South Sea Alliance, and the only organized naval combat force in these waters. Leading them as flagship was the cruiser *Harpoon*, which had rendered distinguished service during the civil war. Trailing behind the cruiser were four destroyers. Setting aside their homeland defense forces, the South Sea Alliance had deployed nearly every warship it could muster. Beyond the surface vessels, three submarines lurked in dispersed positions beneath the waves. Back then, the Alliance had contributed greatly to the unification of the South Sea Alliance. Now that the Alliance was in trouble, the South Sea Alliance was naturally willing to put their lives on the line for their brothers. Although the survivors of the southern islands had little interest in conflicts on the mainland, they were well aware that the Legion's ambitions would never stop at a single old-world province. Bit by bit, the Legion would test the bottom line of the eastern survivor factions, exploiting the weakness of the Academy and Enterprise to push forward relentlessly, squeezing the living space of the civilized world. The South Sea Alliance would not let the Legion have its way. The Representative Council understood deeply that helping other suffering survivors was helping themselves. However— The opening of this campaign was far from promising. Inside the bridge of the *Harpoon*, President Li Minghui, clad once again in military uniform, squinted slightly at the signals flickering across the radar and sonar screens. "...Heh, looks like we're in trouble." Five hundred kilometers away, no fewer than twenty signal sources matching the profile of warships flickered intermittently. The hulls of these vessels were coated in radar-absorbent paint, indicating no small amount of technological sophistication. Not only that, but at the exact moment they detected the unknown force, the other party had clearly detected them as well. They were cautiously maintaining their distance, circling toward the northeast. Their intention was obvious: to escort transports traveling between West Sail Port and Evernight Port. Originally, according to plan, the South Sea Alliance fleet was supposed to sail into the shipping lane between West Sail Port and Evernight Port to blockade the harbors and surrounding waters. Now, however, it seemed matters wouldn't be nearly so simple... After a moment's contemplation, Li Minghui picked up the communicator resting on the console and issued a crisp command. "Deploy a reconnaissance drone!" An immediate response came through the comm channel: "Yes, sir!" As the order was given, the destroyer *Reef*, sailing alongside, elevated the launch tubes on its bow. With a bang and a puff of white smoke, it launched a sword-shaped missile into the airspace dead ahead. After flying a short distance, the missile unfurled folded wings from both sides, soaring above the cloud deck like a petrel as it rapidly closed in on the radar contacts. Inside the bridge, Li Minghui stared unblinkingly at the twenty flickering contacts on the radar screen, both hands propped on the central console. Seconds ticked by, and the tension in the bridge grew suffocating. Naval warfare was vastly more monotonous than fighting on land. There were no flashy tactics. Spotting an enemy could take a split second, and being spotted took just as little. A single minor mistake could turn the painstaking labor of tens of thousands into scrap metal sinking to the seabed. Sweat gathered in the palms of the weapons operator, but his clenched fists never left the console. This war was not as simple as they had originally imagined—not just dropping depth charges on a few fish in the Polo Sea before heading home with medals. For them in particular, this was not a battle to defend their own homeland, but someone else's. If they ended up in the belly of a fish, it was hard to say whether anyone would even remember their sacrifice. It was precisely at this moment that these young men finally understood what their "big brother," the Alliance, had felt back then. Gambling one's life for a shared destiny was no easy task... The drone continued flying forward for several dozen kilometers, picking up the fleet's heading. Li Minghui picked up the communicator again, his voice calm and steady. "Activate active illumination radar!" As the order was given, a hatch opened under the drone's belly, deploying a fist-sized pod. Electromagnetic waves fanned forward, blanketing the twenty-odd flickering signal sources. Yet at that very moment, something astonishing occurred. The instant the echoes returned, all twenty flickering signals abruptly vanished from the radar screen! "...Our drone detects no enemy vessels! Requesting further orders!" Stunned expressions appeared on every face. The officers in the bridge froze in unison. Including Li Minghui. His pupils dilated slightly for an instant before quickly contracting. "Most likely electronic warfare..." the captain of the *Harpoon* murmured beside Commander Li Minghui, his brow furrowed deeply. Li Minghui nodded, gripping the communicator to issue his next command. "Shut down the active illumination radar and switch to optical cameras... Fly closer to the target zone and take a look." "Yes, sir!" The acknowledgment came through the comm channel, and the crew operating the drone aboard the destroyer *Reef* promptly complied. After flying a bit further, the reconnaissance drone quickly reached the target sea area. The result was just as Li Minghui had anticipated: the entire surface of the water was empty, with nothing to see except rolling waves. By this time, the enemy seemed to have noticed the drone's deployment, and the faint signals that had previously appeared on their shipboard radar vanished completely. Li Minghui's brow knitted tightly. After a moment of thought, he said, "Submarines, most likely..." The adjutant beside him swallowed nervously. "Should we send our submarines over to check it out?" Dispatching submarines to scout ahead was standard practice. They could disengage faster than destroyers, and in deep waters, hunting down a submarine determined to flee was notoriously difficult. Yet before the words were fully out of his mouth, the captain of the *Harpoon* cut him off without hesitation. "Better not. This could very well be a trap. If I were their commander, I'd certainly have laid an ambush nearby!" Just then, a staff officer standing nearby spoke up. "Is there a possibility... that they don't actually know where we are either?" A murmur ran through the room. Li Minghui pondered this for a moment and nodded, his voice grave. "I was considering that very possibility. What initially picked them up was our passive sonar. It's highly likely they deliberately generated noise using acoustic decoys." And the reason the other side had chosen this method of probing was, in all probability, because they were in the exact same predicament. Both sides knew of each other's existence, but neither knew the other's true disposition. Which meant... "This exchange ends in a draw." It seemed there was always someone better out there. He had to admit that the opponent he was facing this time was far more formidable than Zhalas. Relying purely on tactical finesse to outplay them was unrealistic. Still, that wasn't entirely bad news. Evenly matched opponents tended to exercise restraint. The other side likely had no desire to trigger an unintended escalation either. After all, in name at least, this was a war between the Xilan Empire and the states of Bolo Province. Until the Legion openly tore off the mask and declared war on the Alliance, the South Sea Alliance fleet could at most enforce a blockade on the harbors, raid strategic facilities belonging to the Xilan Empire, and sink a few supply ships. They could not launch a blatant bombardment of the port itself. This war had not escalated into a total war. And as a supporting faction, they had no reason to take the initiative in escalating it. "Troublesome... We'll have to see what our allies say." Li Minghui pulled a cigarette from his pocket, flicked open a lighter, and lit it. There probably wouldn't be a fight today. The other side was waiting for them to take the bait while simultaneously trying to bait them into firing the first shot. The staff officer frowned, still deep in thought. "The tricky part right now is... we can't even be sure whose ships those are." Li Minghui's deputy looked at him. "Does it make a difference?" The staff officer nodded. "Of course it does... If it's the Western Legion, we'll need to watch our backs." Right now, the South Sea Alliance had only one destroyer and one submarine left in the Southern Sea. Aside from that, their only reliance was the air force on Ring Island and land-based missile launchers. But relying on those alone was not enough. The bridge fell into a brief silence before hushed whispers broke out again. Although the Eastern Legion had reached a private agreement with the Alliance, the other two Legions had yet to state their stance. "...I heard the Western Legion is on the New Continent." "Yeah... on the other side of the planet." "Has anyone ever been there?" "Not that I know of... It's too far whether you head east or west. There aren't any resupply points along the way, and nobody knows where their ports are." "Wonder how far they've developed..." "If only we had satellites to take a look." Watching the men converse, Li Minghui did not join in, merely smoking his cigarette in silence. The captain standing beside him stayed quiet for a long while before sighing softly. "If only the *Haiya* were still around." That had once been the South Sea Alliance's only battleship, and the only weapon built specifically to counter the Legion's airships... Yet their own warmongering militarists had turned it against their own people. Then again, looking at it from another angle, Shelter 70 had kept them working behind closed doors for far too long. Airships built around starship cores were no longer the Legion's only trump card. And they themselves were only now stepping out from their islands... *** Meanwhile, on the front lines of the battlefield, the 17th Myriad under Myriarch Olette had taken Sulak County in northwestern Lion State, opening a breach for their northward advance. The defensive line organized by Bolo State's 1st and 2nd Myriads had folded like paper. First blasted into disorientation by artillery barrages, they were then cut apart and encircled by spearheading armored units. The Southern Legion's greatest strength lay in its artillery; armor served merely as support. Even so, against a Bolo State that possessed virtually no tanks, the hundred-plus Conqueror 10s spearheading the breakthrough were nothing short of an unstoppable iron tide. The first to enter Sulak County was the 171st Millennium, commanded by Chiliarch Ross. In the local culture of Bolo Province, "Sulak" meant "lion's head." The surname also belonged to a prominent local clan that owned over a million mu of fertile farmland and tens of thousands of tenant farmers. Ross did not know whether the surname Sulak had come first or the bizarre idiom for "lion's head," nor did he care. As a conqueror, he cared only about whether the locals complied with his conquest. If they didn't, he wouldn't mind mounting this "lion's head" on his trophy wall. Curiously enough, however, when his troops entered the area, they encountered no resistance whatsoever. Instead, they were greeted with enthusiastic welcomes from every Sulak they saw. In the county's largest village, a man around sixty stood in the middle of the road leading a crowd. He wore an opulent robe and carried himself like an elder of the clan. With gray hair and beard, his weathered face was plastered with joyous delight, radiating what seemed like heartfelt enthusiasm for the arriving Wilante. Seeing that these people carried no weapons, Ross waved a hand, signaling the armored personnel carriers to follow the tanks into town. He stepped down from his jeep and walked over to the old man with several officers in tow. Seeing the Wilante officers approaching, the old man tottered forward two steps, looking ready to drop to his knees. "My lords... you've finally arrived! Those Heavenly Kings made our lives utter misery!" He was telling the unvarnished truth on that front. The men under the Heavenly Kings slaughtered every noble they saw and looted every bit of grain and coin they could find. They had terrified him so badly that he had hidden in the mountain forests for half a month. Only after hearing that Janusz was dead and the Heavenly King Army had scattered like monkeys from a fallen tree did he dare bring his family back. Ross had no interest in whatever had transpired here previously. He eyed the man. "You're the local nobility?" The old man offered a fawning smile and nodded repeatedly. "Yes, precisely... I am Cham Sulak, a viscount personally enfeoffed by His Majesty. Everything within a hundred li falls under my estate." Ross didn't waste words. He merely cast a glance at the officer beside him, who tossed a requisition list directly into the old man's hands. Looking at the stunned old man, the officer spoke succinctly. "We are of the Southern Legion. At the invitation of your Emperor Akbar, we are heading north to suppress bandits on your behalf. Your Emperor requires you to cooperate with us to the fullest extent, or face punishment under imperial law. "Additionally, we require rations for one hundred thousand men—primarily wheat flour, supplemented by meat, as well as vegetables, fruits, and other provisions. Please have your people prepare them." Hearing that number, Cham jumped out of his skin, nearly collapsing to the ground. "O-One hundred thousand?!" He wasn't the only one terrified; the Sulaks behind him froze in shock, whispering in panic as if the end of the world had arrived. Looking at this chattering nest of mice, Ross pointed impatiently at the list in the old man's hand. "There are prices listed. Prepare everything according to our requirements, and we will pay you." Though constantly imitated by marauders, they were not marauders after all. For lands of practical value, they generally had no intention of overturning the existing relations of production. They would even spare petty handouts skimmed from other colonies to buy off the locals. Naturally, once the war was over, this investment would be reclaimed with interest. The local survivors would pay for this momentary foolishness and fleeting sweetness with the blood and sweat of generations to come. Hearing that these big-nosed foreigners were paying, Cham finally breathed a sigh of relief. Color returned to his face, and his broad smile came back as he bowed and scraped. "Rest assured, my lord! Our county is rich in resources—the one thing we don't lack is food! There are other counties nearby as well; we can certainly gather all the supplies you need!" Ross nodded. Having no desire to chat further, he dismissed the man and turned to give brief patrol assignments to his subordinates. The Legion's logistical supply lines had been raided by Alliance aircraft, preventing the supplies originally destined for the front from arriving on schedule. They needed to rest and refit here briefly until logistics caught up before pushing further north. Sulak County was a solid location, well suited as a staging ground for forward supply. Perhaps they could build a temporary port along the western coastline to relieve logistical strain on West Sail Port. Just as Ross finished assigning tasks to his subordinates, he noticed a group of bare-chested men and women kneeling by the roadside. None of them were very old, all appearing to be in their early twenties, and every last one was bound with rope. Those fifty-odd people were tethered like livestock in a pigpen, their numb faces drained of color. If not for the faint rise and fall of their chests, one might have wondered whether they were even alive. Ross's brow lifted as he looked toward Cham, who was still trailing him step for step. "Who are they?" Seeing the Wilante inquire about them, Cham immediately replied with a servile grin. "My lord, these dogs are Heavenly bandits! Filthy scum, the lot of them—they were trying to egg us on to fight you!" *Heavenly bandits?* Ross blinked, taking a second to realize the man meant the Heavenly King Army, before narrowing his eyes. Come to think of it, that bunch still owed them a blood debt. "Drag them outside and shoot them." "Sir!" The centurion beside him snapped to attention with a salute, then led his men forward, marching menacingly toward the kneeling captives. The prisoners followed meekly. Before long, a volley of gunfire echoed, and they crumpled to the dirt. Thick blood soaked into the soil. Living corpses had become real ones. In the distant fields hid a crowd of onlookers—some farm serfs from the paddies, others tenant farmers from nearby estates. Having never witnessed such a bloody scene, they watched with curious eyes, expressions split between fear and morbid excitement. Having fired their volleys, the Wilante soldiers grabbed a few onlookers, tossed shovels to them, and ordered them to find a spot to bury the bodies. The serfs nodded frantically and, without asking for payment, began shoveling vigorously right there on the execution ground. Some even covertly reached out while digging, secretly pocketing handfuls of blood-soaked soil. Taking in the sight of these pathetic creatures, a Wilante soldier standing nearby curled his lip, his contempt barely concealed. "...Leaving this fertile land in their hands is an insult to the soil." Another Wilante soldier, rifle slung over his shoulder, let out a dry chuckle. "Nobody gave them this land. If I remember right, this used to be a zoo. They crossed the mountains and crawled in on their own." "Hahaha!" "If I were their ancestors, I'd be rolling in my grave. Turning out like this, they'd have been better off dying in the desert." The slaves digging the pit said nothing in response to the brazen jeers, nor did they feel any resentment. The soldiers were talking about refugees from the Era of Prosperity; what did that have to do with them? Only on occasions that called for bragging would they mention that their ancestors had come from the heart of the civilized world, boasting of General Lowell's legendary exploits in the freezing wastes to mock how miserable other races beyond the Zhuobar Mountains were, chased around by mutant horrors with three heads and six arms. Yet at other times, they would spit on Lowell's name, cursing the Reconstruction Committee for abandoning them, resenting the Era of Prosperity for leaving behind not a scrap of inheritance. Just as they would occasionally remember they were Bolo, and at other times draw sharp lines between themselves and other Bolo, or other breeds of rats. Some made memories into boots to tread underfoot so they could journey further; some wove memories into fine clothes to wear for appearances. But they, in their own unique ingenuity, had stuffed memories into a pillow, tossing and turning merely to sleep in peace... And now, they truly slept in peace. Standing to one side, Pete smoked a cigarette, taking no part in the soldiers' banter, his chest heavy with irritation. He didn't give a damn about who these people's ancestors were, nor did he care who this land belonged to. All he wanted was to fight a real opponent. Whether it was the Alliance or the Enterprise, at least give him someone worthy! Fighting unarmed people like these brought him not a shred of pride—only humiliation. In particular, that radiant figure in the courtroom lingered unshakeably in his mind. Lately, he had been plagued by nightmares, dreaming he was back in that courtroom, only standing in the dock as the accused, with the jury box behind him filled with the dead. Among them were Wilante, as well as others whose noses weren't quite so high. Though it was merely a dream, it still left him drenched in cold sweat. Just then, the centurion's voice called from a distance. "Pete! Finished digging yet?" Snapping back to his senses, Pete hurriedly replied, "Almost done!" The centurion shouted back, "Leave the slaves to it, let them dig! Fall back in, double time!" "Yes, sir!" Answering crisply, Pete ground out his cigarette butt under his heel and led his soldiers quickly back to formation. A sharp-eyed slave nearby caught sight of the discarded butt. The moment the soldiers were far enough away, he lunged to snatch it into his pocket, and a brawl immediately broke out over "first come, first served" versus "share and share alike." The sight of them rolling in the blood-stained mud was both absurd and pitiful. At the same time, urgent telegrams radiated from Tiandu toward Golden Gallon Port and every corner of Bolo Province, carrying news of the war to every inch of the four million square kilometers. That same day, Golden Gallon Port's *Survivor Daily* rushed out a special extra edition, using a rare line of blood-red headline: *Brazen Invasion! The Southern Legion Attacks Without Declaring War!* The dripping red of the ink looked uncannily like the blood of the pilots and soldiers. "This is pushing people too far!" Sitting in his study, Axin cursed fiercely, slamming the newspaper down onto the desk. He rarely lost his composure like this. Yet at this moment, the fury in his chest could not be contained. He was not the only one burning with rage; millions of people standing tall felt the same. From the harbor district, Tulip Street, Knight 1st Road... all the way to the reed marshes at the mouth of the Yongliu River, righteous indignation was written on every face. Where some chose to bury their heads, others would unyieldingly hold their chins high. They too were Bolo. And they were Bolo who had awakened! Standing on the street with textbooks tucked under his arm, Suni looked with warm gratification at the youth standing among the crowd. When he was sixteen or seventeen, he had possessed none of this magnetic authority; if he remembered correctly, he had been skipping class at the docks, teasing seagulls and soaking up the sun. He was immensely glad for the choice he had made back then—boarding the ship to Golden Gallon Port, becoming a teacher in a public school, and happening upon that essay titled "Red Soil," which he had shared in his classroom. It hadn't been an earth-shattering deed, merely a mundane routine after a lunch break. Yet to this day, he could not forget the burning light in the eyes of those boys and girls. The hope breaking through the soil was sprouting at this very moment! It was a seedling he had tended with his own hands— "We saw off our emperor, and now the Legion wants us on our knees! Tell me! What is your answer?!" Standing on an elevation, the youth roared with all his might. The answer that met him was a tidal roar: "Never!" His thin arm thrust high into the air, but he was not alone. Soon, stronger, firmer arms rose beside his. Among them were people in long sleeves, short sleeves, and no sleeves at all. Fingers curled into fists, holding up the sky. "What must we do?!" "Fight them to the end!"