Counteroffensive!

The viewing room on Floor B4 of Shelter 404. A holographic screen hovering over the coffee table displayed footage of the airships crashing, including the sea of flames that erupted after their impact. Heya clicked her tongue, casually dropped a remark about how cruel it was, and then turned to leave the viewing room, heading back to her laboratory to continue her work. War was not something that interested her. And graviton-related technology was not her field of study. As for Yin Fang, he had his arms crossed, staring blankly at the airships while seemingly calculating something in his head. Chu Guang, seated on the sofa, also watched the holographic screen, though his focus differed from that of an ordinary observer. For instance, the first thing he noticed was that the velocity curve of the falling airships was not uniform; the acceleration kept changing, fluctuating quite wildly. This was actually easy to understand. First, deflector shields had different deflection efficiencies for different materials; generally speaking, the higher the atomic number, the stronger the deflection effect. Deflector shields were based on graviton interference, and gravity wells operated on a similar principle. By the same logic, materials with higher atomic numbers were more strongly affected by gravitons, producing a stronger macro-level interference. For example, metal would fall faster than carbon-based organisms. Furthermore, the uneven acceleration of the falling airships was likely related to an uneven distribution of gravitons across the gravity well's plane. On top of that, the airships experienced a degree of aerodynamic drag as they accelerated. However, pursuing that line of inquiry further would be too academic and beyond the scope of his knowledge. Just as Chu Guang was about to ask Yin Fang for his thoughts, Yin Fang suddenly lowered his arms and sighed. "...I never imagined the Academy's database actually contained technology like this." Chu Guang didn't find it particularly strange; after all, he had been in this world for so long that he had seen far stranger things. "Is there something special about this technology? I mean... compared to deflector shields, antigravity devices, and other equipment based on manipulating gravitons." "Well... you've given me a tough question. Put it this way: theoretically, we could use a gravity well to create a singularity of infinite density..." Seeming to worry that Chu Guang might not grasp the concept, Yin Fang pondered for a moment before continuing, "In other words, it can be used not only to alter the forces between macroscopic objects, but also to create black holes." Chu Guang understood just fine. In short, this was a force capable of destroying planets. "Though that shouldn't be easy, right? From an energy consumption perspective, that is." Yin Fang nodded. "Indeed, it isn't easy. To create a black hole capable of swallowing a star system, you would think you'd need a stellar-class reactor at the very least... Of course, that's just my speculation. I can't give a definitive answer without experimental verification." Perhaps in the distant future, humanity would gain deeper insights into gravitons and wouldn't necessarily require a stellar-class reactor. Just as people long ago believed it was impossible to fuse two atoms together, yet now they could even harness that power to produce usable energy. The Human Alliance of the Era of Prosperity had merely touched the periphery of graviton technology, and the applications developed from those immature theories were largely like the blind men touching an elephant—they had never truly stood in that unseen dimension. "...To be honest, what surprises me most is that the Academy would actually hand over technology like this to us." "Is there a problem with that?" Chu Guang asked. Yin Fang nodded, his expression complicated. "Of course there is—a massive one... After all, compared to plasma technology or electromagnetic acceleration, this technology that touches the domain of singularities poses the greatest threat to them." Pausing, he continued: "Neither missiles nor railguns can stop a starship equipped with a warp drive and deflector shields, but gravity itself can. With just slight refinements to this technology, we could not only use it to shut down the hyperspace corridors of the Earth-Moon system, but also pull starships hovering in high orbit crashing back to the ground." In Yin Fang's view, that was the most inconceivable part. The Academy had placed a dagger capable of slitting its own throat into the hands of the Alliance. Given how those people usually operated, Yin Fang instinctively suspected that there might be a trap, or that the Academy had hidden some other contingency within it. Upon hearing Yin Fang's explanation, a trace of surprise surfaced on Chu Guang's face as well, but it was quickly replaced by an amused smile. "Perhaps that was their calculation after weighing the pros and cons." Annoying as it was to admit, the Academy had indeed read him accurately once again. Just as they had predicted he would intervene once he learned of the situation in Jinchuan Province, they were certain he would never deploy this epoch-making technology where it didn't belong. If the probability of a risk occurring was zero, then the risk itself was negligible, leaving only benefits. Both sides could get what they wanted from each other. The Alliance needed the Academy's technology to reshape a dying old world, while the Academy needed the Alliance to construct their ark to the new world. And in fact, they had indeed gambled correctly. Chu Guang truly had no interest in harming others without benefiting himself. Or rather, it couldn't even be called a gamble; it was an open stratagem. The footage on the holographic screen continued to play, but beyond that point there was nothing new to see—only a raging inferno. Having satisfied his curiosity, Yin Fang, like Heya, didn't linger in the viewing room to watch the spectacle and turned away to attend to his own duties. Unlike a certain person with morbid tastes, Chu Guang had no interest in watching the agonizing writhing of those Wilante engulfed in flames, so he reached out and shut off the screen. Most of them were merely ordinary people swept up in the tides of the era. The people who truly deserved to die weren't in that fire at all, and bringing them to justice would come after everything had concluded. Xiao Qi, who sat perched on the pen holder with her chin resting in her hands, had remained quiet for a long time. Only after the viewing room fell silent again did she let out a faint sigh. "...I wonder how many people will burn to death in this fire." "Who knows? Maybe ten thousand, maybe tens of thousands." After tossing out that casual response, Chu Guang's gaze suddenly fell upon another report resting on the corner of the desk. It was the report on the West Sail Port Massacre, dating back several months. At the time, the report had been placed on his desk alongside a large stack of documents. Most of them had already been archived; only this sheet had remained here. So much had happened during this period that he had even forgotten why he had left the document behind in the first place. Chu Guang reached out, picking up the document and flipping through it. The fire that swallowed three thousand lives seemed to have been the fuse for everything. And the price the Wilante had paid in this conflagration had already far exceeded that number of three thousand... ... While Chu Guang was turning off the holographic screen, the fire in the western outskirts of Tiandu was still blazing fiercely. Although Myriarch Ryan had issued the order to retreat, retreating did not mean surrendering, and the Wilante soldiers pulling back from the epicenter of the explosions were far from giving up resistance. To cover the main force's strategic retrograde, small detachments of the Southern Legion remained entrenched, putting up stubborn resistance against the attacking Army of the State of Brahma and the Alliance volunteers. However, without artillery cover or air support, such resistance was largely futile. Facing the bombs ceaselessly ferried in by the Goblin Corps and the shrieking rocket artillery, the centuries left behind to hold the rearguard could scarcely hold out for five minutes before being overrun and wiped out by swarming Brahma soldiers. Inside an abandoned little village. The face of Millurion Peteruk of the 311th Millury was etched with lingering shock. An hour ago, covered by two centuries, he had fled here with his personal guard. Yet before he could even catch his breath, crackles and pops of gunfire echoed outside, followed immediately by the roar of propellers and the thunder of autocannons overhead. The Alliance air force hounded them relentlessly, as did the Brahma soldiers who gave chase with rifles in hand. It was as if those men intended to avenge every ounce of humiliation they had suffered recently, giving them no chance to breathe. Peteruk watched helplessly as a burst of orange tracer fire rained down from the sky, collapsing the tiled-roof house directly outside his window; not a single soldier inside made it out alive. A gap was blown in their defensive line. With no time to mourn their fallen comrades, two machine gunners scrambled over the rubble and tiles, only to run headlong into Brahma soldiers charging in; an intense firefight instantly erupted in the narrow alley. Under the cover of his guards, Peteruk relocated to another half-collapsed cowshed. The chaotic battle made his eyes widen uncontrollably, brimming with dread. Beside him, his adjutant panted heavily, unholstering and racking his pistol, darting nervous glances in the direction of the gunfire. Yet the gunshots didn't come from just one direction—they came from all sides. "Damn it! There are people everywhere outside!" The adjutant groaned in a trembling voice, his dust-caked face plastered with terror. Peteruk seized the radioman beside him and bellowed: "Where's headquarters?! Have you reached them yet?!" The radioman shook his head nervously and stammered: "Not yet, sir... something might have happened to their radio." "Fuck!" Peteruk spat a curse. He glanced up at the shooting stars streaking continuously across the night sky, then turned his gaze forward. "Staying here is a death sentence! We have to find a way to break out!" The adjutant nodded tensely without saying a word. That was obvious. The question was how to break out... Just as everyone was panicking like ants on a hot pan, distant houses and courtyard walls collapsed with a thunderous crash. Imposing steel armor and tracks bulldozed straight through from the front like the blade of a dozer. Seeing the imposing cannon barrel and the menacing coaxial machine gun, all color drained from their faces. Poking his head out of the turret with his arm resting on the hatch, Mole gripped the loudspeaker's microphone and shouted at the Wilante men who looked like officers: "Listen up, you guys ahead! Drop your weapons and surrender." "This is your last chance. I'll give you three seconds to think it over." Mole cleared his throat and was about to count down. Before he could even count "one," Peteruk instantly threw his pistol to the ground, snatched his adjutant's sidearm, and hurled both right in front of the tank's tracks. "I surrender!" Shouting up at the man on the turret, Peteruk raised his hands under the astonished gazes of the officers around him. He recognized the design of that combat vehicle. Surrendering to Alliance troops was infinitely better than being captured by Brahma soldiers. Looking at the sensible fellow before him, Mole curled his lips into a half-smile. "Pal, consider yourself lucky you ran into us." Capturing prisoners alive yielded massive score bonuses, and the higher the rank, the more points they were worth. The points awarded in expansion events could ultimately be exchanged for cash and contribution points, so as long as enemies could be captured alive, players generally didn't give prisoners too hard a time—especially veteran players. With the friendly forces next door, however, it was an entirely different story; getting beaten black and blue was getting off easy. Leaving those words behind, Mole had no time to admire the prisoner's expression. He slipped back into the turret and closed the hatch. Immediately afterward, several players carrying assault rifles emerged from behind the tank and restrained the Wilante officers, whose hands were clasped behind their heads, one by one. All the prisoners were rounded up in the center of the village, guarded by two squads of players. As for the remaining players, they boarded infantry fighting vehicles and continued advancing behind the tanks. The Goblin Corps' planes had already marked the next location for them; up ahead, heaps of walking contribution points were waiting to be harvested. Meanwhile, shortly after the Skeleton Corps departed from the village, on a small earthen knoll not far away, an unfortunate group of Wilante was caught red-handed by the guard unit personally led by Myriarch Pikli. Two hundred men encircled twenty tightly, leaving not a single gap in the perimeter. Prone behind cover, the twenty young Wilante men had attempted three breakouts, but achieved nothing beyond leaving behind three corpses. Seeing that reinforcements were nowhere in sight and their ammunition had run out, the expressions of the seventeen young men gradually shifted from initial resolve to utter despair. Resistance had lost all meaning. Eventually, someone faced reality, tossed his rifle out of the trench, and raised his hands while shouting, attempting to crawl out and surrender. Yet barely had the words of surrender left his mouth, before he could even crawl out of the trench, the rifle was hurled right back, striking him squarely in the head. "Damn your mothers! Who gave you permission to surrender?! Pick your fucking gun back up!" "Weren't you bastards acting all tough?! Keep shooting!" Stepping forward himself, Pikli picked up the rifle, threw it back, and cursed as he holstered his sidearm. Then he snatched a rifle from a guard beside him and fixed a bayonet onto it. "Fix bayonets!!!" The sudden, thunderous roar startled the adjutant standing next to him. There was no time to stop him. Seeing the lunatic charge forward, all the adjutant could do was yell "Charge!" and scramble after him. Led by Myriarch Pikli, the two hundred men of the guard unit swarmed forward with furious roars, hacking the seventeen young Wilante men hiding in the trench to mincemeat. Pikli, throwing himself into the fray, had completely lost himself to bloodlust. When he walked down from the position clutching a severed head, an embedded reporter captured the moment on camera. Noticing the lens pointed his way, Pikli even grinned. Drenched in blood from head to toe, he looked like a slaughtering fiend straight out of hell. The man was undeniably ruthless. There were plenty of Brahma officers who dared to lead charges in person, but a myriarch who dared to plunge into a mob for hand-to-hand bayonet fighting like this was rare indeed—at the very least, his superior, General Duvata, would never have dared. The fire blazing across the open wilderness burned for a full night, scorching the earth pitch-black and melting steel into molten iron, dying down only reluctantly with the rising of the dawn sun. According to battle reports compiled by the Alliance, in this single engagement alone, casualties of the Southern Legion exceeded forty thousand, while losses of light and heavy vehicles reached over 1,200. For the State of Brahma, which had endured immense pressure for months, this victory was an exhilarating breath of relief and triumph! By eight in the morning, the last millury holding out stubbornly had surrendered as well. Upon hearing news of victory on the front lines, Absaik, who hadn't slept all night, finally breathed a long sigh of relief and stepped out from the basement of the governor-general's residence in high spirits. Yet before he could even celebrate, a piece of catastrophic news arrived from the Heavenly Palace. The Heavenly Palace, hovering a dozen-odd meters in midair, was going to collapse in twenty-four hours...