Galloping Steel!

East of West Sail Port, a five-meter-wide brook cut across the endless farmland. To the left lay a picturesque rural landscape; to the right stretched a mess of shell craters and billowing smoke. The entire wilderness seemed split by the stream into two starkly contrasting worlds. A bridge cast of reinforced concrete linked heaven and hell. It was a bridge built by the Legion for the empire. And now, heavy trucks with six pairs of road wheels were rumbling across it, marching eastward in a grand, formidable column under the numb gazes of tenant farmers and serfs. This was the Southern Legion's 30th Myriad. It was also one of the few armored myriads in the Southern Legion. Carried on the trucks were not only fully armed soldiers and snarling artillery pieces, but also gleaming Conqueror 10 heavy tanks! This endless serpentine column was headed directly for Lion City, the capital of Lion State. Although the Bolo Republic had not originally been part of the Southern Legion's first-phase offensive, plans could never keep up with changes. The Alliance bombers taking off from Ox State's airfield posed an enormous threat to the Southern Legion's supply lines leading to the three northern states. True to the Legion's usual style, when there was a threat, they eliminated it. At worst, they would fight a two-front war, hammering both the east and the north simultaneously. And so, the day after Myriad Commander Olet fought his way to Sulak County in northern Lion State, General Gulyon deployed five more myriads to the eastern front, led by Ryan, Myriad Commander of the 30th Myriad, intending to seize all of Lion State and Ox State further east in a single stroke. According to intelligence, Yudono, who was stationed in Lion City, had gathered an army of two hundred thousand to defend it! That was nearly a tenth of the Bolo Republic's total military strength, yet Ryan didn't care in the slightest. Word had it that this two-hundred-thousand-strong host couldn't even scrape together twenty thousand rifles. Many were slaves and farmers coerced by the Heavenly King Army, whose combat effectiveness couldn't even match their own clone cannon fodder. Numbers were utterly useless for such rabble. They were merely two hundred thousand head of cattle; at most, slaughtering them would take some time. Sitting inside his command vehicle, the burly man looked at the military bulletin in his hands, a contemptuous sneer curving his lips. After a moment, he chuckled, turning a page of the newspaper. "...They only caught an Alliance spy, yet look how worked up these folks are." This man was none other than Ryan, Myriad Commander of the 30th Myriad, holding the rank of One-Star Myriad Commander. Sitting beside him was his staff officer, Fevret, a man with glasses and prominent brow bones. Watching his superior's disdainful sneer, Fevret pushed up the frames on his nose. "I heard that fellow is an Alliance diplomat. Unfortunately, his mouth is exceptionally tight. No matter how the interrogators tortured him, they couldn't pry out a single useful word." Toward such loyal men, even if they were enemies, he felt a measure of admiration. Still, admiration was just admiration. From the enemy's standpoint, he found this blind loyalty both pitiable and foolish. It was a pity the lad had followed the wrong people. Seeing his staff officer's lamenting expression, Ryan sneered, his tone indifferent. "My view differs from yours. Those fools are just wasting time. Isn't General Gulyon's intent clear enough? If you can use force, don't waste your breath." Fevret gave a helpless shrug. "That's true, but if we could pry some useful intel from the captive's mouth, it would be quite helpful. For instance... the exact deployment of the Alliance 'volunteers.' That would benefit our subsequent plans." Like most Southern Legion officers, he had never taken the local resistance in Bolo Province seriously. However, he could not ignore the threat from the Alliance. Those people were truly ruthless. And not just ruthless—rumors said they could directly control clone soldiers, employing sophisticated equipment in battle. If the rumors were true, this fight might not be as easy as the warmongers imagined. A legion composed of "immortals"... Just thinking about it was chilling. Unlike Fevret, who harbored worries, Ryan didn't take it to heart, merely curling his lip dismissively. "Doesn't matter. Whether we see their cards or not, this victory holds no suspense for us... Those folks have sat on their high horses for too long. They don't even look at what kind of cattle they're protecting." This was his first time stepping onto this land, and the survivors here felt to him like maggots squirming in a cesspool. As a radical among the warmongers, he looked down on all races other than the Wilante. Yet rarely had he despised a group so much, to the point of disdaining MacLaren for going soft on them. Wasn't that fellow going soft? That Millennium Commander named Ross couldn't see through it and had been run in circles, but Ryan had seen it at a glance. From the moment he came ashore, that man had been spewing nonsense. One minute he shouted that killing them outright was too easy on the locals and that Gray mercenary contractors should be used to torment them for satisfaction; when that idea proved impractical, he changed his tune, demanding they dig their own graves... Toughness wasn't demonstrated through shouting. All of that man's seemingly tough posturing was just theatrical showmanship, and every seemingly vicious scheme yielded only delays in the end. Ross hadn't even realized he was being played. He had no need to take orders from an Eastern Legion officer, yet he was stalled until the Alliance envoy arrived, followed by some dragged-out trial. They had no need to negotiate at all. A wholesale slaughter followed by exorbitant demands would have been enough. Others might hold different views, but to Ryan, it was precisely because that clumsy trial hadn't killed thoroughly enough that some Family Association popped up later, forcing them to unleash another bloodbath before finally putting the squirming maggots in their place. Just as he was thinking this, an ear-splitting explosion came from up ahead, the violent shockwave shaking even his vehicle's compartment. Ryan's face changed, and he snatched up the communicator, roaring, "What happened up front?!" A hurried voice came over the channel. "It's a mine... Our mine-resistant vehicle triggered an anti-tank mine planted in the middle of the road. Fortunately, the mine detonated early. No casualties, General." Hearing there were no casualties, Ryan breathed a sigh of relief, though his vigilance flared. The Bolo Republic had laid mines along their march route, clearly anticipating the Southern Legion's movements. Narrowing his eyes, Ryan ended the call and dialed his subordinate 1st Millennium. "...Rekton, have your men dismount and scout ahead of our convoy. We're about to engage the enemy." A crisp, prompt reply came from the other end. "Yes, sir!" ... At the very moment Myriad Commander Ryan issued the order, Conqueror 5 light tanks were being unloaded from transport trucks. The armored unit fanned out in century-sized arrowhead formations, spreading an "umbrella" of steel across the front of the main force. Not only that, but over a dozen Greyhound reconnaissance vehicles carrying scout teams cruised ahead of the armored spearhead. Those compact wheeled armored vehicles were like nimble sled dogs. The antennas atop their turrets swayed back and forth like fishing rods, while their short, thick twenty-millimeter gun barrels gleamed with a chilling aura. Watching the murderous armored force, Ye Shi, lying in the grass in the distance, couldn't help smacking his lips, muttering under his breath. "Holy crap... Didn't they say the Southern Legion's main force is artillery and infantry? How does it feel like they have more tanks than Griffin?" Kuang Feng, lying beside him, gave an affirmative grunt, silently keeping his binoculars raised. Long before the expansion pack began, the two had transferred from the Binghai Special Administrative Region in the Wandering Marsh to Bolo Province. In fact, they weren't the only ones who had come; several Academy NPCs had as well. That ancient covenant had, after all, been signed under the witness of the Great Rift Valley and the Academy. If the Legion thought the only obstacles to their eastward expansion were the Enterprise and the Alliance, they were sorely mistaken. Those escapists in the north had never ceased interfering in wasteland affairs. In fact, they were the most active meddlers of all. While the Enterprise's council was still holding hearings over the budget, the Academy's research vessel had already crossed the Zhuobar Mountains in southern Sunset Province, ready to stir up trouble. Ye Shi had no idea what trouble they were brewing; what little he knew had come from Jiang Xuezhou. A low-ranking D-class like her naturally lacked clearance for matters involving secret pacts between the Academy and Alliance leadership. In any case, none of that was their concern. After rejoining their unit, the two had taken a plane to the front lines and parachuted into western Lion State under cover of night to carry out reconnaissance and behind-the-lines sabotage. Such work was second nature to veterans who had fought in the Battle of Sunset. That anti-tank mine earlier had been planted by Ye Shi. Although it was a pity they hadn't caught any big fish and had only disabled a mine-resistant vehicle, delaying the Legion's advance was an accomplished objective nonetheless. Watching the grand convoy move into the distance, Kuang Feng lowered his binoculars and spoke in a hushed voice. "...The Legion must have committed at least five divisions this time. Lion City is probably in serious danger." The bionic chip implanted in his cerebral cortex was linked to a fixed-wing drone cruising at high altitude. While observing through his binoculars, he was also taking in a bird's-eye view of the ground through the drone's feed. Ye Shi studied the map for a moment, muttering, "...Two hundred thousand men should hold out for a while, right? Besides, Fang Chang and the guys are there to help them." Kuang Feng shook his head. "Hard to say... The armored division that just passed in front of us had over three hundred tanks alone. That's already more than all the tractors in the Bolo Republic combined." And that was counting only tanks, excluding the support companies' self-propelled artillery, as well as the scout companies' reconnaissance and armored vehicles. Not to mention the skies. While the armored units were speeding forward, the airship *Clarion* was also slowly advancing. Still... Just as Ye Shi said, Fang Chang and the others were there to help. Even if they couldn't stop the Legion's iron tide, buying some time wouldn't be an issue. ... Just as Ye Shi and Kuang Feng packed their gear to relocate, the 301st Millennium led by Rekton was already exchanging fire with the Bolo Republic's 3rd Myriad! Learning from their previous defeat, the Bolo Army no longer attempted to halt the Legion's offensive with fixed positions. Instead, taking a cue from the Mammoth State, they adopted an "elastic defense" strategy, using small detachments to bite at the Legion's armored spearhead before bringing artillery down on stalled units. To be fair, the strategy was effective. The airship required a safe firing distance; no matter how fierce the *Clarion*'s firepower was, it couldn't drop shells right onto friendly troops, serving at best as a counter to Bolo's long-range artillery. As long as Bolo's long-range artillery was deployed far enough away, the Legion's airship could only watch helplessly. Yet while the strategy was sound, it suffered from a fatal flaw. Neither Absaik himself nor the subordinate officers from the Gray Wolf Army possessed any guerrilla warfare experience. Although Rasi had sent several Moon Clan resistance officers to assist, Absaik didn't trust them, relegating them to advisory or instructor roles. This led to an extremely awkward situation: before the anti-tank teams armed with RPGs and recoilless rifles could even get close to Rekton's millennium, they were caught red-handed by the patrolling reconnaissance vehicles. Seeing their unit exposed, the Greyhound reconnaissance vehicles flanked around like a pack of hunting wolves. However reluctant the Bolo centurion leading the vanguard felt, he had no choice but to blow the whistle to attack. *Tweet—!* A shrill whistle echoed across the battlefield. Hearing the attack signal, soldiers wearing straw hats rose halfway from the tall grass, hoisting RPGs onto their shoulders in kneeling firing positions. "Fire!" With an almost desperate roar, a decurion squatting on the front line pulled the trigger first. An RPG rocket trailed a thick streak of backblast, darting like a released bolt toward a scout vehicle a hundred meters away. Yet to his despair, the maneuvering scout vehicle merely accelerated, casually dodging the speeding rocket. Far from scoring a hit, he hadn't even scraped the vehicle's taillights! The flash of his shot gave away his position, and a dozen armor-piercing incendiary rounds came raking toward him. Before the decurion could even utter a grunt, he was shredded by the volley, leaving only half a torso pinned beside the bushes. Seeing their officer killed before their eyes, the soldiers squatting nearby were instantly enraged. Ignoring the grisly remains, a soldier rushed forward to snatch the dropped launcher and the ammunition pouch packed with rockets. The other rocket-toting soldiers pulled their triggers without hesitation, desperate to avenge their commander. Rocket after rocket flew toward the Legion's scout vehicles. Unfortunately, the targets were too nimble and the distance too great; most of the rockets struck empty ground. Looking at the "toothpicks" poking out of the grass, the Wilante centurion sitting in the command vehicle let out a mocking chuckle, unhooked the radio from the turret side, and ordered: "The 'rats' have left their holes early. Maintain safe distance. Cleared to engage!" Static crackled over the radio. "Copy that!" The moment the order came through, the dozen or so Greyhound scout vehicles dropped all pretense. Maintaining their flanking maneuvers, their raised gun barrels erupted with tongues of flame. *Thump-thump-thump!* The booming cannons beat like a continuous drum. Streaks of tracer fire swept down like a sudden squall, plunging into the Bolo century crouched at the edge of the low woods. Soldiers in the front ranks were instantly torn into bloody mist, followed swiftly by those behind them. There was no chance to dodge, and no cover to hide behind. The anti-tank troops whose positions were exposed were soon crushed into pulp alongside the nearby tree trunks by the roaring storm. Watching his men fall one after another, the centurion holding a short whistle between his teeth widened his eyes, his gaze burning with rage. In less than half a minute, half of those familiar faces were gone. Unable to contain the fury in his chest, he grabbed a recoilless rifle, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and crawled out of the blast crater. "We can't let these big-noses push through untouched!" "Even if we die! We take down one of their damn vehicles!" Unfortunately, that recoilless rifle shell missed. Not only that, but almost the second he pulled the trigger, thick tracers swept toward his position, tearing him and the recoilless rifle on his shoulder into pieces. Yet though the shell had missed, his death ignited the fury in every soldier's heart. A fifteen- or sixteen-year-old soldier gritted his teeth, crawling forward beneath the blazing fire overhead until he reached the minimum arming distance for his shaped-charge warhead. Watching a scout vehicle roll past his forward flank, he propped the rocket launcher across his body from a prone position and pulled the trigger without hesitation. The rear backblast scorched half his buttocks, the pain nearly causing him to black out. However, the scout vehicle he aimed at fared far worse: the rocket, surging upward from below, slammed squarely into its front. A scorching metal jet punched through the hull, instantly flooding the cabin. Two of the three crew members died instantly and the third was critically wounded, leaving the disabled scout vehicle dead on the roadside. The youth was about to cheer in triumph, but before he could even open his mouth, a hail of gunfire from the side hammered him directly into the dirt. "Aaargh! Dammit! Die, you bastard!" Seeing their comrades' vehicle knocked out, the Wilante spotter beneath another scout vehicle's turret saw red, his finger squeezing the firing trigger hard enough to snap the steel tab. Listening to the clatter of incoming rounds on the hull armor above, the driver stepped on the gas and yelled back: "Enough! Jimmy, that guy's dead! There's another one on our forward flank!" "Copy!" Gritting his teeth, the spotter abandoned the pile of minced meat, re-aimed at the target to their forward flank, and poured all his fury into the flames spewing from the cannon. "Damn it! I'll take you bastards with me!" With blood drawn on both sides, everyone was fighting in a frenzy. Yet this asymmetric battle itself held no suspense. As a Conqueror 10 heavy tank and a Conqueror 5 light tank rolled into range, the guerrilla unit's doom was sealed. Two ear-splitting roars rang out. Thigh-thick trees collapsed in swathes, and the soldiers sheltering nearby had their internal organs rattled by the concussions, completely incapacitated. Over twenty Wilante soldiers in exoskeletons quickly leaped down from the armored personnel carriers, splitting into two squads to sweep through the woods, mowing down the few remaining Bolo soldiers. To avenge their dead comrades, the enraged Wilante soldiers had no intention of taking prisoners. To drag out the agony of these insolent wretches, they deliberately avoided vitals and aimed for the groin. Coincidentally, the Bolo soldiers opposite felt the same—none of them had any intention of surrendering. Over a hundred of their brothers were already dead; what did a few more matter? Facing the Wilante encirclement, they did not flee. Clutching their crude weapons, they fought to the very last moment, only to be slaughtered in the most brutal fashion by their besiegers. The encircling Wilante failed to notice that while these men were still Bolo natives, they were no longer the same people from the Xilan Empire era. Though their gear remained crude, they possessed a cohesion they had previously lacked. Even when faced with a hopeless battle, they no longer scattered like frightened rats... The entire engagement lasted only fifteen minutes. The anti-tank century of the Bolo Republic's 3rd Myriad was wiped out to the last man—not a single survivor! Rekton's millennium, on the other hand, had suffered only one disabled Greyhound scout vehicle and two dead crewmen. The critically wounded radio operator was out of danger after emergency treatment and was sent back to West Sail Port along with the disabled Greyhound. The unexpected shaped-charge warhead had only wrecked its engine without detonating the fuel tank or ammo rack. Towed to a repair depot and fitted with a new crew, it would soon return to the front. The same went for the radio operator. The metal shrapnel extracted from his body would be used to forge a medal of honor. The Southern Legion would equip him with cybernetic prosthetics far superior to severed limbs, allowing him to return to the glorious battlefield once healed. Learning of the front-line situation, Millennium Commander Rekton showed no change of expression. He simply reported the casualties up the chain of command, then proceeded methodically with deployments for the next phase. A mere century was hardly a grasshopper in his path. Given the Bolo Republic's military capabilities, only myriad-level forces were worth his notice. Being held up for fifteen minutes by a century, and losing two men in the process, only made him think the scout century's commander was an utter idiot. To let a pack of rats bite two men to death—the fool might as well shoot himself in apology... Having regrouped, the armored millennium led by Rekton continued advancing toward Lion City. Twelve Dagger fighters escorting two reconnaissance aircraft roared overhead above his armored column. Before long, their comrades in the air reported recon intel: a dispersed skirmish force was blocking their path directly ahead, numbering around ten thousand, equipped with a certain amount of anti-tank weaponry. This unit was likely the Bolo Republic's elite, quite possibly accompanied by Alliance "volunteers." Upon receiving the news, both Myriad Commander Ryan in the rear and Millennium Commander Rekton at the front curled their lips in cruel smiles. What was a single prisoner? This time, they could capture at least a hundred! Taking down the radio hanging on the turret, Rekton held back his surging battle lust, issuing orders in a ringing, forceful voice: "All units, attention! The enemy's main force is five kilometers directly ahead!" "You are authorized to engage suspected enemy targets at will!" "Unless they belong to the Alliance, there is no need to keep them alive!" A chorus of unified shouts rang through the comm channel. "Sir, yes, sir!" The grind of treads and the roar of engines resounded across the wilderness. The galloping steel was like knights preparing to charge, bearing sharpened lances and drawn blades. In stark contrast to the earth-shaking roar, a patch of woods four kilometers away lay dead silent. Unless one looked closely, one wouldn't even spot the armor concealed beneath the green canopy. Leaning against a thick pine tree, Lao Bai, who had been "resting with his eyes shut," suddenly opened them, giving Fang Chang beside him a knowing look. "They're here." The moment the words fell, the visor on his power armor snapped shut. Unslinging the Pigeon missile launcher from his back, Lao Bai expertly loaded a "Pigeon" in just a few seconds. At the same time, pairs of closed eyes snapped open all around. The silent suits of armor in the forest seemed infused with souls, stirring like awakened heroic spirits. Beginning yesterday morning, five hundred elites of the Burning Corps had been airdropped into this area by plane, methodically assembling. While on standby, half had remained online on guard duty, while the other half waited offline. Lowering the visor on his exoskeleton helmet, Fang Chang tapped his helmet twice with his index finger, switching the comm channel to all-hands, and spoke with ringing clarity: "...The Southern Legion's armored column is right ahead! Those drunks are charging fast, leaving their friendlies in the dust and treating us like air. Somebody needs to step up and sober them up!" "Everyone, prepare for battle!" "Bring out your best tricks and take out as much of their armor as you can!" "Rip right through them!" The fighting spirit blazing in every pair of eyes was no less fierce than those roaring armored beasts. Facing the rolling clouds of dust, high-spirited shouts echoed over the comm channel. "Kill!"