On the barren outskirts west of Golden Gallon Port, a group of Wilante men in prison uniforms was hard at work on a construction site.
As one of the Alliance's subordinate partners, Golden Gallon Port carried on its glorious tradition: POW camps were always built by the prisoners themselves, and only once completed would they have a roof over their heads.
Here, distinctions between centurion or myriarch ceased to exist. There were only overseers and convicts.
Even Woolf was made to do the same manual labor as his men.
By the gate of the POW camp, an on-duty soldier sat on a bench with one leg crossed over the other, reading a newspaper in his hands. Suddenly, he couldn't hold back a furious curse.
"What a fucking waste of space!"
Printed on the front page was a startling headline in bold black letters on white paper:
*Absaik Changes Commanders on the Eve of Battle! Akale County Falls!*
Only half a month ago, the headline printed here had proclaimed a great victory in Akale County.
In a mere two weeks, that good-for-nothing had squandered all their advantages.
And worse, what infuriated him even more was the text of the article itself!
The 50th, 51st, and 52nd Divisions—their ten-thousand-man units—had suffered over fifty percent casualties, and the Death Corps had been completely wiped out!
If the 11th and 3rd Divisions hadn't marched north to relieve Mammoth State and had instead held the line alongside the three reinforcing divisions, how could the Legion have driven them into such a total rout!
Besides, claiming it was to send reinforcements made no sense at all. Who didn't know that the Southern Legion's objective was Tiandu?
Heading north under the pretext of aiding allies at a time like this was clearly nothing more than preserving his own core troops, planning to double back and reap the spoils once Tiandu fell!
The clicking of him punching his calculator could be heard all the way here in Golden Gallon Port!
Seeing his comrade's indignant scowl, a soldier leaning against a post let out a dry chuckle and teased, "When did you ever get the illusion that guy wasn't a waste of space?"
A soldier with a rifle slung over his shoulder chuckled along. "What the hell does a dockworker know about fighting wars? Even I'd do a better job than him."
The soldier leaning on the post tried to smooth things over. "Can't be that harsh on him. He was a soldier before he ever worked the docks."
"Oh, the Gray Wolf Army... So after all that, he was just a champion swimmer, huh?"
"Hahaha, damn!"
"Sigh... Why do we always get stuck with useless dolts like that? Can't we just get a normal person to lead us?" The soldier with the newspaper sighed, his face a portrait of helplessness.
It was always either someone who knew how to fight but couldn't govern, or someone who could govern but didn't know how to fight.
It wasn't as if the Alliance hadn't put in the effort to help them. Even the Legion that was currently pummeling them had lent a hand here and there.
He always felt things shouldn't be this way.
So many of their people had clearly awakened, yet they could never seem to find a saint worthy of their loyalty.
A veteran who had kept silent tossed his spent cigarette butt to the ground and remarked calmly, "Maybe that's just fate."
He had been around since Duke Nihak's era, already a soldier back then.
Compared to these young recruits, he had a much more detached perspective.
Absaik had ten thousand flaws, and even if he had taken a swim in the river, he was still vastly better than Wutuo or Nihak.
In his view, a perfect human being who possessed no moral shortcomings, worked diligently with selfless devotion, and had superhuman strength combined with supreme wisdom was either a god or a fraud.
Only the profession of a con artist could satisfy every single demand people threw at it, no matter how harsh or absurd those fantasies sounded. Especially skilled con artists—they could always talk their way around things the moment their victims began to harbor doubts.
From that angle, Absaik truly wasn't very clever. He had only managed to trick the Legion once. If he had possessed the talent to spin black into white, nowhere near this many people would be cursing his name.
Hearing those exasperated voices, the prisoners shrank away one after another.
For a multitude of reasons, the survivors of Brahma Province had developed an unprecedented hatred for the Wilante of late. Locals couldn't even catch sight of their prominent noses without spitting or hurling objects at them.
Though the guards kept the mobs at bay, they rarely showed them any warmth either.
It felt as if everything had regressed two centuries, back to the era when the Wilante held the lowest status.
Perhaps even worse than back then.
None dared to cross the frustrated guards. Heads down, they kept to their chores, pretending to be utterly preoccupied.
A few secretly relished the moment, cheering inside.
After all, for these Brahma locals to be this furious, it could only mean they had suffered a defeat at the front.
For men confined to hard labor in a POW camp, there was no sweeter news.
Once Myriarch Ryan's army swept through, they would be taken home!
At six in the evening, with the sun lingering on the horizon, the camp bell chimed.
It signaled the end of work and announced that dinner was served.
The guard by the entrance tossed his tattered newspaper aside, exchanged salutes with the relief watch, and slung his rifle over his shoulder to head for the neighboring barracks.
They had to turn in their weapons and uniforms before calling it a day, after which came their personal time.
As for the discarded newspaper on the ground, it instantly became a prized treasure to the prisoners.
Crowding in, they scooped it up and peered eagerly at the pages, desperate to learn what had happened on the front line.
And just as they expected, the sensational development was splashed across the headline.
Excitement flared in dozens of eyes, and many clenched their fists in quiet jubilation.
"Damn, that feels so good!"
"Beautifully fought!"
"Wipe those bastards out!"
Excited though they were, they were prisoners on enemy soil after all. None dared to celebrate too openly; they only stole smiles in places shielded from the overseers, passing the good news around in secret.
Page by page, the paper eventually made its way into Woolf's hands.
Stripping off his blackened work gloves, the haggard old general skimmed the print. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he shared in their brief joy.
Before long, however, a faint trace of worry crept between his brows.
"...The 30th Myriad was delayed in Akale County for nearly half a month. That is not a good sign."
The adjutant standing beside him arched an eyebrow. "Do you think Ryan might lose?"
Woolf shook his head and let out a sigh. "Hard to say."
According to the original plan, they should already be knocking on Tiandu's gates by now, yet they had been snagged by the stubborn nail of Akale County for this long.
From the very start of this war, their plans had lagged perpetually behind changing circumstances.
Including the earlier bombing of Lion City.
Ryan had intended to shatter the resistance of Brahma Province's survivors that way, only to produce the exact opposite outcome—forging a scattered heap of rats into a single unbroken cord, which ultimately caused them to stumble for the first time at Akale County.
His appraisal of Absaik differed completely from the locals. The man was a sly old fox to the core.
Had their opponent been Janusz instead, the victory would never have been earned at such a grueling cost.
Just then, the rumbling of heavy tires echoed from the road outside the camp gate.
Woolf looked toward the road outside and saw a convoy of military trucks packed with soldiers speeding past toward the river pier.
The expression on his face froze slightly.
It wasn't because of the military trucks carrying troops, but because of the soldiers sitting in them.
Those pitch-black gas masks triggered an instinctive dread in his chest...
It was the Death Corps!
Hadn't they been completely wiped out?
How were they back again?!
Woolf was far from the only one stunned. Millurion Taute and other Wilante officers who had clashed with the Death Corps were equally bewildered.
Their faces wore varying shades of sheer disbelief, as if they were looking at ghosts.
"Dammit..."
A millurion clenched his fist, disbelief and dread flickering in his eyes.
Just how many of these bastards were there?!
Meanwhile, atop a truck bounding toward the dock, Brother Edge squinted toward the pier not far ahead.
In the last battle, before he could even have his fill of the fight, a 200 mm shell had carted him off.
Hopefully, during this defense of Tiandu, his luck wouldn't be so rotten...
***
After a week of repositioning, the resurrected Death Corps once again set foot upon the soil of Brahma Province and headed straight for the front line.
Nor were they alone.
The Skeleton Corps, which had also been wiped out earlier, was rolling back to the front in freshly minted tanks straight off the assembly line.
The decisive battleground was set at Tiandu.
It was not only the heart of the State of Brahma, but also the vault holding the gift the Academy had prepared for the Legion.
A clash of unprecedented scale was brewing.
At the same time, along the great river's bend in Akale County, three airships with broken wings had finally completed their final repairs.
Those towering steel bastions resembled man-made thunderclouds, their bristling artillery barrels leveled from afar toward Tiandu.
Furthermore, the railway linking West Sail Port and Lion City had been restored and extended all the way to the Everflowing River.
Trainloads of brand-new materiel rolled continuously to the front, including munitions needed by ground troops and airships, alongside self-propelled artillery and tanks shipped past the naval blockade.
In the face of absolute power, flashy tricks were nothing more than paper tigers.
The Alliance's campaign against the Southern Legion's supply lines had produced some disruption, yet it had failed to stop the steady advance of the Southern Legion's frontline.
Inside the command vehicle, looking at the deployment of combat-ready units displayed across the holographic screen, Myriarch Ryan's mouth, tight for days, finally softened into a smug grin.
He wanted to see how those grasshoppers before the chariot's wheels could possibly withstand this unstoppable tide of steel!
With that thought, he raised his right hand and swept it forward in a deliberate motion.
"Move out!"
Sitting beside him, the adjutant's face flushed with excitement upon receiving the order.
The 30th Myriad's chance to wipe away their past disgrace had finally arrived!
Straightening his back, he roared with resounding force, "Yes, sir!"
As the order to advance went out, all five airships hauled up their anchor chains and surged toward Tiandu.
Concurrently, the ground forces swept forward in a vast, rolling tide!
Trucks ground through the mud, their wide tires carving deep ruts into the soft plains.
The cargo beds were filled with Wilante soldiers armed to the teeth.
Some wore refined exoskeletons while others donned heavy bulletproof armor. Their fierce, predatory gazes mirrored hungry wolves on the prairie, burning with impatience for the impending hunt.
Alongside the Wilante soldiers were troops of the Glorious Army.
Their eyes gleamed with equal ferocity, like hyenas tailing a wolf pack for scraps.
Their glittering bayonets were their fangs!
They were designated for the hardest nuts to crack, destined to pave the Southern Legion's path with their own flesh and blood!
Beyond the infantry and artillery, the pride of the Wilante advanced in a rolling wall of steel!
Nearly eight hundred Conqueror 10 tanks, screened by close to two thousand light tanks and armored vehicles, moved forward like a roving fortress!
These armored units had arrived mainly from factories under the Western Legion, delivered to West Sail Port by freighters that had braved the blockade.
The roar of engines and the rumble of tracks rattled the earth like a tremor!
Watching the sight from afar, the peasants working the fields blanched in terror.
Never had they witnessed such a terrifying spectacle, and none could fathom how such a monstrous adversary could ever be overcome...
Facing this concentrated thrust by the Legion, the remnants of General Yudono's forces waged a desperate battle.
Nearly one hundred thousand troops mobilized from across a front stretching hundreds of kilometers, throwing themselves in relentless waves across the corridor from eastern Akale County to the western outskirts of Tiandu.
Supported by the Alliance Air Force, they staged dozens of delaying actions along the hundred-kilometer line of march.
Even if their resistance amounted to mantises trying to halt a chariot, they did not flinch. Even if they battered themselves bloody, they were determined to tear a mouthful of flesh from the Southern Legion's arm!
Thick blood paved a highway of death, and nearly every inch of soil swallowed human bones.
Among them lay men of Brahma, Wilante soldiers, clones, and players alike.
Both sides were soaked in bloodlust!
Over the course of this month-long butchery, both the soldiers of the State of Brahma and those of the Southern Legion underwent a profound transformation.
Early on, it took an entire ten-man squad of Brahma soldiers to trade for a single Wilante infantryman; later, that ratio dropped to 5:1, and eventually to 3:1.
Previously, none had believed they could achieve ultimate victory, yet through relentless combat, they not only honed their instincts but forged an unshakeable resolve to prevail.
Among the Wilante, the picture was starkly different.
Sustained casualties and the grinding crawl of their advance made the broadcasts from high command sound increasingly hollow.
The local survivors were far from the pushovers the Southern Legion's leadership had claimed.
They dug tunnels and pitfalls through the forests, dropping without warning from tree branches, or lunged on suicidal assaults clutching rocket launchers or satchel charges... fighting like unhinged madmen.
Confronted by such harrowing warfare, even veterans from the colonies were thrown off balance time and again.
In just one month, the feverish bloodlust burning in their eyes had gradually given way to numbness and dread.
Especially among the fresh recruits.
Fortunately, this bloody torment did not drag on indefinitely.
After breaking the remnants under Yudono and punching through the 150,000-strong army led by Myriarch Duwata, they finally pushed the front to the northwestern outskirts just twenty kilometers outside Tiandu.
A riverside town named Luder had once stood there, home to twenty or thirty thousand survivors.
Yet plague and warfare had left the town abandoned, reduced to crumbling brick and shattered tiles.
Corpses washed down from upstream drifted along the banks, and the murky water gave off a rank stench of rot, resembling the River Styx winding into the underworld.
Sitting in his command vehicle, Myriarch Ryan looked through the holographic screen toward Tiandu, so near at hand, and the palace hovering above it. His grin widened.
At long last...
One more step forward, and the capital of the State of Brahma would change masters.
It would mark the turning point of the entire war, just like the triumph he had seized at Akale County.
Though they had unfortunately failed to locate Woolf and the other captives, General Gulion would hardly hold it against him so long as total victory was secured.
Just as Ryan was debating whether to uncork a bottle of champagne, a communication request from the captain of the *Horn* popped onto the holographic display.
"We're right on Tiandu's edge. I'm wondering when you plan to enter the city."
Ryan gave a succinct reply. "Darkness will fall soon. I intend to rest the troops overnight before resuming the advance."
Clones did not excel at night fighting.
Only in daylight could artillery bombardments and mass clone charges achieve maximum effect.
Due to relentless guerrilla ambushes, his units had absorbed considerable casualties throughout the push.
If possible, he wanted the final battle to be executed with a little more ease—or rather, with undisputed swagger.
At the very least, he didn't want another drawn-out slog like Akale County.
In his eyes, Tiandu was already his for the taking.
He could take it however he pleased.
Noticing that Myriarch John on the screen seemed to have something on his mind, Ryan arched an eyebrow and teased, "What? Growing impatient?"
John shrugged. "Hardly. I only wanted to remind you not to forget our agreement."
Per the pact struck between Myriarch Ryan and the air fleet, the floating palace would go to the air fleet as a prize of war, to be used in constructing an unprecedented steel airship.
In exchange, the Southern Legion Air Fleet had petitioned the general staff to prioritize supporting the eastern front, throwing everything into securing Tiandu before diverting resources north.
Now that they were at the city gates, mere steps from total triumph, John feared that a maniac might lose his temper in the heat of battle and blow the Heavenly Palace out of the sky.
Given what the man had done at Lion City, the concern was far from baseless.
Hearing John's reminder, Ryan gave a low chuckle. "Rest easy, I haven't forgotten. Besides, I have no interest in that contraption."
John said meaningfully, "I know. What I mean is, I hope your men show some restraint once they enter the city. Don't torch the Heavenly Palace."
Ryan promised solemnly, "I will keep them in check."
He wasn't a pyromaniac, nor would he set a city ablaze without cause.
Unless, of course, the survivors in Tiandu put up resistance far beyond his expectations.
If that happened, he might indeed consider tampering with that floating palace to break the locals' will.
Bringing it crashing down, for instance.
Once the call ended, Ryan was about to instruct the frontline units to launch a feint against the western suburbs of Tiandu, ensuring the defenders spent an agonizing night on edge.
Right then, an unfamiliar communication request flashed across the terminal.
The signal originated from outside the military encampment.
There was only one plausible explanation: this call came from the Alliance!
Staring at the blinking prompt, Ryan narrowed his eyes. With a sneer, he tapped the accept button.
Taking a call wouldn't give away his position; the receiver wasn't mounted on his vehicle anyway, and the relay was at least three kilometers out.
He was genuinely curious to see how his adversary would beg for mercy at this eleventh hour.
To his surprise, however, the figure that materialized on screen was no Alliance officer, but a middle-aged man in a white lab coat.
His features were utterly ordinary, his nose bridged by a pair of plain glasses—the sort of person who would vanish into a crowd the second he changed his clothes.
Eyeing the odd fellow, Ryan narrowed his gaze and probed in a dangerous tone, "...You're with the Academy."
The man smiled faintly and nodded slightly. "Indeed I am. B-tier Researcher Yang Kai, Department of Research, currently overseeing affairs in Brahma Province."
As if he had heard a hilarious joke, Ryan snorted in disdain. "Overseeing Brahma Province affairs, is it? Just how many myriads do you have to your name, that you think you're qualified to speak to me?"
Yang Kai shook his head, his tone mild. "Regrettably, violence is not our forte. Neither the esteemed Chief nor Dr. Conclusion saw fit to grant me a single myriad."
Ryan's eyes narrowed into slits, a flicker of guarded apprehension passing through his gaze.
Truth be told, compared to the scheme-weaving Academy, he would much rather face Enterprise.
At least the latter was a foe one could see.
"I warn you... this is no place for your kind. If you want to keep living your comfortable lives, you'd best keep your noses out of this."
Yang Kai smiled faintly. "How could this be considered meddling? We are among the witnesses to the ancient covenant, as well as the Falcon City Armistice... When someone tears up the treaty, it falls upon us to do something about it."
Pausing, he added, "Did you truly believe our comfortable days fell out of the sky?"
Ryan curled his lip and dug at his ear with his pinky finger in disgust. "I don't understand a word of your babble. Besides, did I sign any of those scraps of paper?"
Yang Kai let out a soft sigh of regret. "Tsk, tsk... I knew you'd say that. Reasoning with your kind is like playing a lute to a cow. When dealing with uncultured beasts, one must resort to rifles and whips."
Ryan sneered and snapped, "If you have the guts, bring real steel and fight me face-to-face. Stop spewing hot air!"
Yang Kai nodded. "As you wish."
Leaving behind those three words, the pale blue silhouette vanished from the holographic screen.
Ryan froze momentarily, his brow furrowing with suspicion as he surveyed his surroundings.
His instincts warned him that those swamp slugs had played another trick.
Yet he waited a full minute, and absolutely nothing occurred.
The parting remark seemed to have been an empty threat that fizzled out without consequence.
Relaxing his tensed nerves, Ryan scoffed. "...Hah, trying to scare me."
He had spent his life on campaign, surviving a hundred battles. How could a petty slug intimidate him!
Meanwhile, aboard the research vessel stationed on the Heavenly Palace Plaza, Yang Kai, reclining in his cockpit lounger, slowly opened his eyes.
Jiang Xuezhou stood beside him holding a tablet, his face solemn. "Professor, the apparatus is ready... Should we activate it now?"
"Yes, no need to wait. Waiting longer is pointless; we've given those big-noses ample opportunity."
Nodding slightly, Yang Kai gripped the armrest, sat up from the lounger, and took the tablet from his student.
Tapping the screen twice with his forefinger, he ran a quick check over the configured parameters, then dragged the hovering energy bar from 0% all the way to 100%.
With that done, Yang Kai turned leisurely back toward the night sky beyond the canopy, wearing the amused expression of a spectator waiting for a show.
"As for the efficacy of this 'gravity well'... we'll trouble you, General, to demonstrate it for our allies."
Chapter 876