Expansion Update! "Southern Barbarian Invasion"!

"Fire!" Just as the survivors in Golden Gallon Port were boiling with outrage over the Legion's invasion, far away in the mountain forests along the border between southwestern Dog State and Lion State, artillery pieces lying dormant in the woods unleashed deafening roars at that exact moment. A rain of fire surged into the sky before crashing heavily onto the earth, engulfing a battlefield thirty kilometers away in churning flames and billowing smoke. Those were 155-millimeter artillery pieces sold to Mammoth State by the Alliance. At that moment, twenty-four of them were deployed on the front lines, forming a full-strength battalion-level fire group! Gun after gun fired ceaselessly, unleashing twelve dense barrages in total. The shelling coordinates were within Lion State, right on the positions recently evacuated by Bolo State's 1st Myriad. Although that was Bolo State territory, now that the Southern Legion had torn off its mask, the Moon Clan Resistance fighters didn't care about such formalities. With the dumping of these twelve barrages, the offensive of the Legion's 172nd Millennium finally stalled, suppressed into the trenches abandoned by Bolo State's 1st Myriad. After an unstoppable rush of more than three hundred kilometers, the Legion's assault had finally hit an impediment. And this was likely the greatest, most direct resistance the Southern Legion's front-line units had encountered since landing ashore. Standing near an artillery team, Battle-Hardened Wolf sat beside a tree stump, eyes closed in "meditation." Having received a message offline from Brother Dog at the front, he immediately logged back in, opened his eyes, and called out to the battalion commander beside him. "Time to pack up and pull back!" The Southern Legion reacted swiftly. Even while their mobile forces pushed forward, they could still methodically deploy their artillery batteries. Although their iron airship was currently tied down near West Sail Port, that airship was by no means the Southern Legion's only support weapon. According to the recon intel Brother Dog had gathered, the enemy artillery units had already completed preparations for counter-battery fire. It wouldn't be long before the spotting rounds came crashing in. The battalion commander had been watching his men load and fire with ferocious enthusiasm. Hearing this warning from his good Alliance brother poured cold water right over his head, and his face instantly turned stern. "Understood!" Without the slightest hesitation upon receiving the tip, he gripped his walkie-talkie and barked out the order to retreat. Soldiers in exoskeletons rushed forward to fold up the artillery stabilizing legs, skillfully hitching them behind light trucks. They had rehearsed this sequence countless times, putting it into real practice again and again while fighting the Gray Wolf Army. In under a minute, the entire battery was packed up, and truck after truck towing artillery pieces sped away along pre-cleared dirt trails. Not long after they pulled out, a deafening roar erupted not far behind their heads. A spotting shell slammed into the forest first. Then, in less than half a minute, a rain of fire even fiercer than before blanketed the area wave after wave. Explosions and shrapnel ripped through the woods, blowing towering ancient trees to shreds. Watching the trembling mountain forest behind them, the soldiers riding in the trucks wore varying degrees of lingering dread on their faces. The Southern Legion's reaction time was far faster than the Gray Wolf Army's. When waging guerrilla warfare against Alaiyang's troops, they had even had time to smoke a cigarette before pulling back. Here, not to mention smoking a cigarette—if they had been just ten or twenty seconds slower, they probably would have left an arm or a leg behind in those woods. "Did we hit them just now? Were enemy losses heavy?" The battalion commander sitting in the truck showed no fear at all. Instead, he turned eagerly toward his Alliance brother, asking with an ardent expression. Battle-Hardened Wolf glanced at his VM. Seeing there was no signal for the moment, he replied calmly, "Our scouts are confirming it right now. No rush." In fact, while offline, he had already confirmed the results of the shelling. The earlier barrage had genuinely stung the Legion, and the counter-battery fire raging right now clearly carried a tinge of exasperated fury. However, his Human Alliance language wasn't great, and explaining all that was too troublesome, so he didn't bother. The battalion commander didn't press the matter, merely turning his gaze toward the roaring forest behind them. The booming artillery had been thundering for a while now, showing no sign of stopping. It was clear the Legion was well-prepared; this posture looked as though they intended to level the entire mountain. Yet this also proved their strategic objective had been achieved. Well before the clash, Laxi had issued instructions to the front line, directing combat units of all levels not to fixate on rigid front lines, but to utilize long-range firepower and terrain to stall the enemy's advance as much as possible. The brothers of Bolo State had already proven that positional warfare could not stop the Legion's offensive. They had to replace rigid fortifications with more fluid, flexible lines, dispersing small units across a broader depth, waiting until the enemy's main force penetrated deep into the hinterland before lunging in to take vicious bites out of them, grinding down their effective strength through repeated pushes and pulls. The gunfire behind them continued to roar, though to their ears it grew increasingly distant. They would head to their next position and await the division headquarters' next orders. A young soldier of about fourteen cradled his rifle, muttering with his head down, "Say... just how many Wilante landed this time?" He was a recruit who had enlisted only a few months ago, a local from the Northern Three States. Earlier, when the little emperor had come and wanted to build a temporary palace, he had been conscripted to do hard labor. Later, when the Moon Clan Resistance swept in, the little emperor fled with his pack of nobles between his legs, leaving the boy nowhere to go. After that, a fellow about his age found him, shoved an LD-47 into his hands, and told him that if he had nowhere to go, he might as well join the Resistance—they not only provided meals, but also allotted land. And so, he had joined up. The veteran beside him was slightly older, though still only in his early twenties. After thinking for a moment, he said, "By our organization, probably around thirty divisions." Thirty divisions... Hearing that number, quite a few men in the truck involuntarily swallowed their spit. Even battle-hardened Resistance veterans grimaced. They had thought their own numbers were large, never imagining the enemy had so many as well. At present, Mammoth State had only ten divisions, and only five were deployed at the front, while the other five were still marching in from the east. Although neighboring Bolo State had over a hundred divisions, more than half of those troops were merely making up the numbers; an army of a million men couldn't even scrape together equipment for a hundred thousand. What was worse, they faced another severe problem—rearming their troops. Although the rifles of both the Legion and the Alliance used a 7mm caliber, they were not the same ammunition type. Even the gray uniforms were issued to only a third of their forces; the remaining two-thirds looked little different from ragtag militias. Even with Alliance aid, this remained an overwhelmingly lopsided battle. A recruit couldn't help muttering, "...Can we win?" Battle-Hardened Wolf had originally wanted to speak the truth—that it was probably going to be tough. After all, even the Alliance had never faced a fully unified Legion head-on, and it was hard to say how much chance of victory a fractured Brahma Province had. This was purely a rational analysis. Winning one artillery duel couldn't possibly turn the entire tide of the war. Less than a single day into the war, the Southern Legion had already seized the entire coastline of northwestern Lion State and pushed the front line to the vicinity of Sulak County. Even if the Alliance had fought this campaign, their advance might not have been any faster. But before he could voice his misgivings, the battalion commander beside him placed a hand on the recruit's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "We definitely can!" The voice was unshakably resolute, just like his steady, unwavering gaze. His sight peered past the present, as if he could already see a bright and wonderful future. He believed it without the slightest shred of doubt. Battle-Hardened Wolf sat beside them in mild astonishment. He didn't know where this guy drew such confidence from, but to his surprise, he realized that this ragged rabble had somehow acquired faith. A bunch of guys who couldn't read a single word and knew nothing of ideology or theory had actually forged genuine conviction in combat! It was incredible... Like many new players in the Alliance, he had once looked down on the Moon Clan Resistance, believing that without guiding doctrine or theoretical foundations, they were at best bandit kings; holding off the Gray Wolf Army had been pure luck. Yet now he realized that might have just been his own arrogance and prejudice, assuming that "an imperfect ideology" meant "a complete lack of thought." The Alliance hadn't been built in a day, either. Back when the Pioneer land fortress rumbled past Qingquan City, they too had been as insignificant as ants by the roadside. Noticing the surreptitious gazes turning toward him, Battle-Hardened Wolf fell silent for a long moment. Then, a faint smile surfaced on his face, and he delivered the most fluent sentence he had spoken in recent memory: "Don't ask such pointless questions..." "Those beasts just have slightly sharper teeth... If having sharper teeth were all it took to win, you and I would still be hanging out in trees." Hearing this amusing analogy, cheerful laughter rang out across the jolting truck bed. Many of the Moon Clan soldiers were tickled by the Alliance brother's humor, smiles softening their tense faces. The artillery battalion commander laughed hardest of all, letting the cigarette dangling from his lips drop. The boy, on the other hand, was utterly bewildered, looking at the Alliance brother in total confusion. "Why would we be hanging out in trees?" In his mind, the brothers from the Alliance were the most knowledgeable people in the world; from platoon leaders to division commanders, everyone treated them with deep respect and listened carefully to their advice. Looking at this kid who should have been sitting in a classroom studying, Battle-Hardened Wolf grinned and showed off what little learning he possessed. "There are many theories about the origin of humans. One says that humans evolved from monkeys." The boy's eyes widened. "But I'm from the Dog Clan..." "That's got nothing to do with what you believe in. It's that, uh... whatchamacallit—science, right?" The battalion commander, having popped a fresh cigarette into his mouth, chimed in with a grin. A fellow villager of his had visited North Island in the Southern Sea, and the word "science" was something he'd heard from him. That stuff was supposed to be amazing. Rumor had it that survivors in the Southern Sea relied on that "science" thing to live far more comfortably on a palm-sized patch of land than those who sat on vast plains, wearing clothes worth more than a man's life. And that was after their bankruptcy. Before they went bankrupt, word was the people there were several times richer than they were now. Battle-Hardened Wolf: "...Strictly speaking, it's considered a hypothesis, since nobody was around in the past to see it with their own eyes. I don't really understand this stuff either. You'd better wait until you go to school someday and ask your teacher." The boy nodded half-comprehendingly, then asked curiously, "Then... why did we climb down from the trees? Wasn't staying in the trees nice?" Battle-Hardened Wolf laughed heartily. "Well, that's a long story. It starts before the Era of Prosperity... even further back than the Classical Era..." ... The setting sun sank below the sea, and the sky heavy with dark clouds finally unleashed a torrential downpour. The pitter-patter of rain drummed into the muddy trenches, where a puddle held a severed arm abandoned by someone unknown. Not paying attention as he stepped across the trench, a Wilante soldier tripped over the severed arm, stumbling and nearly face-planting in the mud. Fortunately, the decurion beside him grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back up. "Watch your step! If that had been a landmine, you'd be fucking dead!" Rumor had it the Alliance had artillery-delivered landmines, and those things weren't hard to deploy. Swallowing spit mixed with rainwater, the soldier hung his head in shame. "Yes, sir..." Pete cast a glance at the greenhorn and said nothing, merely turning his gaze toward the devastated battlefield ahead. This had previously been a Bolo State position. Bolo State troops had barely pulled out when their friendly unit, the 172nd Millennium, moved in to occupy it. Yet shortly after that, artillery shells came raining down from the forested mountains to the northeast—over twenty 155mm guns, firing a full twelve barrages. According to reports from friendly forces, one of their Centuries had been caught right in the center of the barrage and had lost contact by the second salvo. They hoped the neighboring 171st Millennium could dispatch a detachment to check on their status. The 17th Myriad had advanced too fast, and with airstrikes hitting their rear, much of their support had failed to keep pace. They were forced to halt their advance and consolidate their current positions. The soldiers of the 172nd Millennium couldn't easily leave their trenches right now, so they had to rely on friendly units from the same Myriad. The Century that took the shelling had been exceptionally unlucky. Pete heard they were busy cataloging the junk captured from the Bolo Army positions when, right after laying hands on the scrap, they hit the jackpot and got singled out by enemy artillery. For artillery coverage to arrive so swiftly and strike so decisively, recon scouts from the Moon Clan Resistance were almost certainly spotting nearby. Upon detecting the enemy artillery and the radio signals coordinating the strikes, the 17th Myriad immediately deployed their own artillery batteries. But before their counter-battery fire could begin, the enemy had already ceased firing—most likely displaced. These bastards were as crafty as rats. He had to admit they had underestimated the enemy. Still, it wasn't too late to correct that. After rejoining his unit, Pete was immediately assigned a new task: head to the friendly position that had been shelled. They needed to assess the situation of the friendly forces while cooperating with any survivors to ferret out the enemy's spotters. "Damn it..." Looking at the pulverized battlefield, Pete cursed under his breath, but still signaled to his squadmates and pressed forward into the search. The rain fell harder, accompanied by howling gusts of wind that made the search extraordinarily difficult. Above all, they had to stay vigilant of their surroundings. They might not be the only ones operating out here. Mammoth State scouts could very well be nearby, and Bolo soldiers might hear the shelling and circle back to recover equipment left in the trenches. That was precisely why the 172nd Millennium dared not move recklessly. Until their airship returned to the front line, they had to exercise extreme caution. Just as he approached a dugout shelter and prepared to lean in for a look, a rifle suddenly pointed straight at his head. "Don't move!" In the darkness, he saw one fierce eye, while the other was masked by blood. Noticing the high-bridged nose, Pete eased his grip on his rifle to show he meant no harm. "Friendly." Even before he spoke, the man standing in the shadows had apparently recognized his identity. Lowering the barrel aimed at Pete's forehead, he spat bloody saliva onto the ground. "Damn it... I just realized. Which unit are you?" "A Century under the 171st Millennium." Only now did Pete notice that this agitated man was a centurion, one rank higher than himself. "The 171st?" The centurion paused, frowning. "Where are our own guys?" Pete kept it brief. "They can't get away right now, so they asked us to check on you... How many of you are left?" The centurion curled his lip. "Casualties aren't too catastrophic... nine dead, but quite a few wounded—around a dozen. The sanitation here is terrible, and it's raining. I'm worried they won't hold out long." Did only nine really die? Pete gave him a suspicious look, suspecting the man hadn't even checked properly. Still, he didn't press the matter, instead saying immediately, "Send them to the nearby farmhouse. We've set up an operating base there with medical personnel. Once the transport convoys from the rear arrive, they can be evacuated." The centurion's eyes lit up at that, and he agreed without hesitation. "Good! I'll leave them to you!" "What about you guys?" Seeing that the centurion had no intention of pulling back, Pete asked instinctively. A ruthless glint flashed in the centurion's eyes, and he ground out through clenched teeth: "...Those bastards blew my brothers to pieces. I can't just let this go." The losses among friendly troops were one thing, but the sheer humiliation was another. With that barrage earlier, his unit had probably accounted for the entire Myriad's casualties for the whole day. If he didn't avenge this loss, he wouldn't have the face to remain a centurion! Pete wanted to urge him to calm down, but knew this guy wouldn't listen to a mere decurion. "...You'd better watch out. I have a feeling the Alliance might already be here." "Heh, good! Let them come!" The centurion curled his lip, clapping Pete on the shoulder. "The wounded are in the dugout... I'm counting on you." With that, he climbed out of the trench into the pouring rain and hollered across the position: "Anyone who can still move, get up on your feet! Those sons of bitches have finally stopped farting their shells! Follow me and let's go fuck 'em up!" "Oorah!" "Fight them to the end!!" Rousing roars spread across the position. Soldiers clad in body armor and exoskeletons crawled out of the trenches one by one, gathering with murderous momentum toward the north. Those spirited battle cries pierced through the heavy curtain of rain, drifting into the neighboring fields. Lying prone in the fields, Jerking Dog wore a regretful expression as he recalled the small drone floating in the sky and shut off the faintly glowing VM screen. "Damn it, what a waste..." That barrage earlier had probably killed only twenty or thirty men. An average of one kill per five shells felt rather wasteful. If only there were more artillery in the area. Judging by the big-noses' movement heading north, another salvo right now could probably have wiped out this entire Century in one go. However, the artillery battalion ambushing in the mountains had already relocated. For now, there was nothing he could do except watch from the sidelines. Climbing up from the field, Brother Dog carefully skirted around the bloodthirsty Wilante soldiers and crept toward Sulak County. Earlier, a Millennium had reportedly marched in that direction. He planned to scout the area before logging off to see what was going on over there... ... Just as the Southern Legion's front-line troops were cursing up a storm under the artillery bombardment, the Wasteland Online official website in another world was celebrating like a holiday. It turned out that human joys and sorrows were not shared. Unlike the Wilante and Bolo peoples waiting in torment, the players of Wasteland Online couldn't wait to jump in and "break up the fight" even before the brawl had formally started. Months ago, several forum heavyweights had predicted that sparks would inevitably fly. And now the restless Legion had indeed moved as expected—the trash dev's broadsword could finally no longer be restrained! [Expansion Update: "Southern Barbarian Invasion"] [Description: The Southern Legion has propped up the puppet emperor Akbar Xilan to re-establish the Xilan Royal Court, launching an armed invasion against survivor factions in Brahma Province under the banner of the puppet Xilan regime! This is not only a provocation against the peaceful order of the wasteland, but also a betrayal of ancient covenants! The survivors of the Alliance will not permit the Legion to expand east of the Great Desert in any form. If they enter the battlefield under the guise of mercenaries, then we shall show them the strength of volunteers!] [How to Join: Sign up as a volunteer via your VM and head to the front line to participate in the expansion event. Expansion quests will be issued through the VM.] [Event Rewards: Beyond the base rewards for completing quests, points earned can be exchanged for additional rewards after the expansion concludes. Stay tuned for details.] [Risk Warning: This event area has few save points and extremely complex conditions. Participating players are required to be Tier LV10 or above and possess over 3,000 contribution points.] [Currently Registered Players: 27,155!]