Decisive Battle Mission

Leaving the Court of Honor, Harogen got into the car parked at the foot of the stone steps and headed straight back to his manor. Without lingering for even a moment, he went immediately to his study, powered up the panoramic conferencing device, and contacted Legion Commander Tyr far away in Avent City. Looking at the holographic bust materializing in the pale blue light, Harogen's expression promptly took on a deferential air. He bowed his head and reported, "Your Excellency, Triumph City has rejected our request to reopen the border." Tyr spoke slowly. "Did that Archon state a reason?" "The reason remains that Death Agent. The Praetorians insist they have obtained conclusive intelligence that the stolen genetic source code has already been used to manufacture a bioweapon targeted against the Wilante." Harogen's expression wavered slightly, and he lowered his voice. "I didn't get the feeling that Commander Raizer was lying... I was wondering if we should look into it as well?" Although he didn't doubt the capabilities of the Southern Legion's intelligence division, he likewise found it hard to believe that the Praetorians would make such claims without solid evidence. Above all, his family was still in Avent City. If the Death Agent truly existed, it was impossible for him not to worry for their safety... Commander Tyr watched him in silence, apparently lost in thought, offering no response for a long while. Harogen had the sense not to disturb him, but just then, he suddenly recalled something else. "...By the way, Commander Raizer asked me to pass a message along to you." Commander Tyr finally seemed to react, looking at him expressionlessly. "What did he say?" Harogen reported faithfully, "He said... His Majesty the Marshal is watching you." The moment he heard those words, Tyr's face remained impassive, but his heart shuddered despite himself. Yet it lasted only an instant. He knew that was impossible. The Marshal was dead, and had been dead for over a century. There was no mistaking that fact. Attempting to rattle him with the name of a dead man... A chilling sneer curled at the corner of Tyr's mouth, sending an involuntary shiver down Harogen's spine as he stood in the study, as though he were facing a viper coiled to strike. What had come over his respected legion commander? Countless doubts rushed into his head, especially as he recalled Commander Raizer's meaningful glance. Harogen's Adam's apple bobbed. He wanted to voice the confusion churning inside him, yet his throat felt stuffed with cotton, unable to utter a single word. Tyr offered no explanation whatsoever, simply cutting off the unpleasant subject without expression. "Understood." Seeing that Tyr intended to end the transmission, Harogen quickly added, "I'll make another attempt... Perhaps there's some misunderstanding involved." "Mm." Tyr gave a brief nod without further comment, and the pale blue holographic projection dissolved from Harogen's study. Evidently, the Praetorians had caught wind of something through their intelligence network, which was why they had turned his own scheme against him. Though he did not know how the leak had reached Triumph City, now that it had happened, Tyr harbored no remaining hope for a diplomatic resolution. However— If those weaklings thought he would simply roll over and give up, they had sorely underestimated him. Southern Legion General Headquarters. Tyr rose from his desk and walked to the window. His gaze swept over Avent City, a forge world cast from metal and concrete. Every inch of this soil flowed with Wilante blood. Compared to Norton City, whose very name meant 'conquest,' this place was the true City of Conquest! "The Southern Legion will not concede defeat. Even if our old allies abandon us, we will still, in the name of the Legion, launch one more charge against the enemies of the Wilante." He raised his head toward the sky, staring at the increasingly heavy storm clouds, his rugged, cold face written with unwavering resolve. "The ultimate victor will be us." What needed to be done next was obvious. Without a shred of hesitation or reluctance, he turned and stepped out of his office, heading straight for Institute No. 68, not far from General Headquarters. The institute was located in the dead center of Avent City, on the sixty-eighth floor of the World Tower. The entire skyscraper was sheathed in alloy, its silhouette resembling a colossal blade driven straight from the heavens into the earth. A century and a half ago, the survivors of Avent City had used remnants from the Era of Prosperity to forge this alloy monolith, intending it as a 'vertical manufacturing center' to store black boxes and other relics salvaged from Batoya Province, hoping to rebuild the Era of Prosperity of their imagination. Later, constrained by harsh reality, the grand undertaking had inevitably stalled, left uncompleted. When the Legion conquered Avent City, they upgraded the entire tower, successfully transforming it into a military-industrial complex integrating production and research! The research and development conducted in this tower went far beyond just the Death Agent. It was simply that, for now, the Death Agent offered the highest probability of implementation among all their decisive-battle weapons. Seeing Tyr appear in the laboratory, Martin immediately put aside his work and came over. "You're here? I was just about to go report to you. As you ordered, 476 carriers have already been dispatched. Once they reach Triumph City, it's expected that every survivor in the city will contract it once, with symptoms emerging within fourteen to thirty days... By the way, is it really fine that we don't have the genetic source code? Though it's too late for regret now anyway." Even with the genetic source code, there was no guaranteeing the Wilante would be one hundred percent immune, but at least their cases would not have been as severe as those of the other survivors. Facing his inquiry, Tyr remained unmoved. "It's fine. I intended it that way from the start... If anything, this is better." Just as Raizer had deduced, he uttered those words in cold blood. Martin stared at the respected legion commander for a moment, then gave a soft sigh. "You really are a madman. Aren't you worried about catching it yourself?" Then again, even if this man caught the Death Agent, he wouldn't actually die from it. Martin realized he had asked a rather stupid and redundant question. Even if it came to organ failure, the man could simply swap in bionic replacements; if it proved truly incurable, he could lie in a hibernation pod and stay frozen until a cure was found. Although a virus with such wide-ranging lethal effects had an immense area of effect, its lethality against any single specific individual was actually quite limited. It was precisely for this reason that he had predicted in his infection model that the virus would ultimately stall at Ideal City. Most residents there were fitted with bionic organs, and their healthcare system was the most advanced in the entire wasteland. Not that it would matter by then. Ideal City was invincible only when standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the wastelanders; isolated and cut off, they were negligible. "You don't need to fret about me. We're facing another problem now." Sure enough, Tyr didn't take Martin's concern to heart, ending the topic in a single sentence before continuing after a brief pause with the latest situation. "The Praetorians have locked horns with us. Triumph City has closed its borders to us... I want to know if there's any other way to spread the Death Agent without going through Triumph City." Hearing this, Martin's expression turned grim. He stroked his chin, thought for a moment, and shook his head. "That will be tough... Triumph City is the best choice—essential, even." Tyr pressed on, "What if we don't use humans as vectors? Birds, for example, or fish—" Before he could finish, Martin interrupted him without ceremony. "Out of the question. This is the wasteland out there. We're in the Wasteland Era! Did you think Batoya Province is the same place it was three centuries ago, with thousands of daily flights?" The wasteland environment was rife with uncertainties, to the point that native species rarely ventured beyond their familiar habitats, while those species prone to long-distance migration had vanished early in the Wasteland Era. At present, the only species retaining both the capacity and the motivation for long-distance migration was mankind. If they wanted to spread the virus into the eastern part of the Great Desert, Triumph City was practically indispensable to their plan. For only there did the railway lead to the Eastern Empire, and currently only the Eastern Empire maintained trade routes reaching east to the Alliance. Having heard Martin's explanation, Tyr nodded with a solemn expression, then spoke slowly. "Looks like we have no choice but to use that move." Martin, still racking his brains, turned to him and asked curiously, "Which move?" Tyr paused for a moment, his voice calm to the point of utter coldness as he continued. "...The quarantine zones have a limit to what they can handle. As long as we evacuate the Wilante of Batoya Province to Wilante Province under the pretext of 'making a pilgrimage to Triumph City,' and provide them with enough vessels to cross the Whirlpool Sea... even if Triumph City mobilizes the entire city's armed forces to maintain order, their perimeter will be overwhelmed by sheer numbers." Clearing out Avent City's 'useless population' would also minimize Avent City's losses in this crisis, improving their odds of victory in the ultimate contest. Yet the moment Martin heard those words, he was utterly stunned. Was this man insane? Sending all the Southern Legion's civilians north to launch a human wave against the spiritual homeland of the Wilante! What kind of... absolute madness was this! He had thought his own ideas were anti-human enough, never expecting this legion commander to surpass him by far! Millions of elderly, women, and children uprooted from their homes—hunger, cold, and accidents along the journey alone would wipe out more than half of them before the virus even had to do a thing. Even if the blood of genetically engineered soldiers ran through their veins, these people were still human, not aliens or alien variants. At the thought of that hellish scene, Martin's shoulders trembled with twisted excitement. "You are an absolute genius..." To Martin's praise, Tyr showed no reaction. "You flatter me." He had no time to hesitate or take things slow. After all, the Death Agent had already been deployed; soon, infected cases would appear in Avent City or in the quarantine zones along the coast of Wilante Province. Considering the proportion of Wilante among them, Wilante victims would undoubtedly turn up. When that time came, even the high-ranking officers of the Southern Legion who were originally loyal to him would gradually realize that the Death Agent struck indiscriminately. The only reason the clinical trials in the laboratory showed that outlanders—especially the Polos—suffered greater effects was purely due to the Wilante's superior physical constitution. If one used an Awakened with an enhanced immune system for the test, there was just as much chance they would shrug it off after a single sneeze; that proved nothing at all. It was precisely because of this that he had to push things past the point of no return before anyone caught on to the truth. Only in this way could he prevent those short-sighted fools from leaping off the carriage... *** As it turned out, Tyr was not joking. The very next day after the Southern Legion envoy's fruitless negotiations with Triumph City over reopening the border, Tyr's personal guards took to the streets of Avent City wearing armbands. Launching a special operation codenamed 'Decisive Battle Mission,' they began shouting through megaphones across the thoroughfares. Awoken and unable to sleep through the raucous din, an old man of about sixty pushed open his front door. His name was Bazel. Thanks to the 'brilliant strategies' of those two fools Tyr and Gulion, two of his four children had died on the front lines in Brahma Province, one was still missing, and only the one who had gone to the New World was still alive and well today. Others might not dare stand up to the guards, but he had no intention of indulging these lapdogs. Standing in his doorway, Bazel was about to vent his fury at the patrolling soldiers when one of them called out to him first. "Why haven't you left yet?" Old Bazel froze, his brow knitting tightly. "Left? Go where?" The soldier took it for granted. "What else could it be? To attend Marshal Julius's funeral, of course! His Majesty the Marshal gave his entire life for us; at this final hour, the least we can do is see him off." Seeing that devoted look, Bazel's demeanor softened, and he muttered under his breath, "Marshal Julius... We should see him off, yes, but I don't have relatives in Triumph City. Going there would only burden people. He'll understand my difficulties; my wife and I will mourn him at home." Hearing the old man's excuse, the young soldier smiled. "Don't worry! Commander Tyr will take care of your food and lodging in Triumph City, including the boats to get there." The old man frowned, eyeing him with suspicion. "Truly?" The youth answered without hesitation, "Of course it's true! Would Commander Tyr's word ever be false? By the way, if you insist on staying home to show your loyalty, you can, but war and plague are both drawing near lately... You must have heard, right? Avent City will be placed under martial law in a few days." The old man looked at him in shock. "So suddenly? Is this Commander Tyr's order, or the consensus of the Southern Legion high command—" "Does it make a difference? It's all the same to me." Seeing that the old man was still hesitating, the armband-wearing soldier pressed on, "If you want to go, you'd better hurry. There are still buses heading to the docks right now; wait any longer and there won't be any left." "Fine, at least let me pack some luggage..." Unable to withstand the urging, the old man grumbled, shut the door, and turned back into the bedroom. Watching her husband pull out a suitcase, his wife, well past fifty, looked on with eyes full of worry. She had been listening to the conversation downstairs all along, and based on her years of experience, she felt things were far from simple. "Dear, I really feel something's wrong with this..." The old man grunted. "Of course I know. Something terrible is probably brewing in Avent City again." That kid was too young, clearly having seen nothing of the world, actually blurting out foolish nonsense like 'Would Commander Tyr's word ever be false?' By Marshal Julius above, had a single word of truth ever come out of Commander Tyr's mouth? He couldn't even be bothered to argue with the boy. After all, judging from this posture, Commander Tyr was clearly playing for keeps. Without a doubt, someone had backed that man into a corner. "Then why are we packing our bags?" His wife stepped up behind him, her voice fraught with worry. "I'm afraid that if we leave this time, it'll be hard to ever come back." While packing his luggage, the old man answered without a second thought, "What else, stay behind? Don't be foolish, hurry up and pack... Let me think if there are any relatives we can still contact. First thing is to get out of this damn place." While the old man was packing, similar scenes played out in households across the city. The guards taking part in the operation had no idea what the true objective of the so-called 'Decisive Battle Mission' was; they merely carried out the tasks assigned by their superiors and handled their duties. The coordination between administrative levels ran as smoothly as interlocking cogs on a chain. Some were responsible for mobilization, some for spreading rumors, and others for intimidation and coercion. War and plague were closing in on Avent City! If you didn't want misfortune to fall upon you, head to Triumph City to attend Marshal Julius's funeral! This was what the Wilante ought to do in the first place. They promised the citizens that travel expenses would be reimbursed, and vehicles and vessels would be provided to help them cross over to Wilante Province on the other side of the Whirlpool Sea. And once Julius's funeral concluded, everything in Avent City would return to normal. As for those who stayed behind, they would be subjected to wartime regulations and maximum harassment—after all, the Praetorians had lost the Wilante genetic source code, and these were extraordinary times. Whether out of fear of war and pestilence, or out of loyalty to Marshal Julius, the citizens of Avent City took the initiative to leave their homes and set out toward Triumph City without needing much persuasion from the guards. Most of these Wilante were connected by kinship to the residents of Triumph City, or were immigrants who had moved south from Wilante Province to begin with. After hearing news of Evernight Port's fall, many had already contemplated leaving Avent City. Consequently, when they heard the series of promises made by the Southern Legion high command, they wasted little time on mental preparation, quickly packing their belongings and departing. Not only that, they had even planned out which relatives to seek refuge with upon reaching Triumph City. Yet at this very moment, none of them knew that Triumph City had already sealed its borders. And the transportation promised by the Southern Legion high command would likely amount to nothing more than wooden rafts without propulsion. In just a single day, a fifth of Avent City's population had departed, while the remaining four-fifths were either lining up or waiting to see how things unfolded. To address the shortage of transport vehicles, the Southern Legion even requisitioned trucks from military barracks. The massive, surging columns stretched out like unending serpents winding into the distance, vanishing beyond the horizon. Meanwhile, as hundreds of thousands of residents relocated toward the northern reaches of Batoya Province, a force of one hundred thousand auxiliary troops was deployed to the north as well. They would be responsible for erecting twenty encampments, constructing watercraft for the northbound Wilante civilians, and driving those reluctant to leave across the sea. Such work naturally could not be entrusted to the Wilante. After all, bound by morality and honor, some Wilante soldiers would refuse orders from their superiors—even among the personal guard. There was precedent for this, and whenever it happened, major chaos ensued. Therefore, assigning it to outlanders was the most suitable choice. Against the Wilante, they would show no mercy. It had to be admitted that the Southern Legion possessed formidable mobilization capability, and its social control surpassed that of Xilan and the later State of Brahma by miles. Driven by a mix of loyalty, coercion, and inducement, the Wilante of Batoya Province converged on the wide coastline in steady waves, like devout pilgrims. Nor was it just the Wilante; a small number of outlanders joined the migrating hordes as well. Some were violently driven out, while others fled out of terror instilled by the Southern Legion's propaganda concerning the Alliance's allegedly bloodthirsty regiments. On the third day after Operation Decisive Battle Mission began, the first wave of the 'beach landing force' had already been forced onto the rafts. Watching the countless wooden rafts emerging along the horizon, Malok, standing on the deck of his destroyer, saw the color drain completely from his face, his eyes widening in maddened disbelief. "Damn it all..." Spread before him were several hundred craft at the very least! Having realized ferries were no longer viable, those bastards had adopted a disperse-and-swarm tactic! Forget his lone destroyer—even if every airship from Triumph City were scuttled across the water, they couldn't block this many vessels! Those people were Wilante after all, sharing the same blood that ran in his veins; he couldn't very well fire artillery to sink them! Never mind opening fire—if these people fell into the water, he would have to go fish them out! "These madmen... have they lost their minds!?" Malok cursed incoherently, his hand slamming down onto the comms unit on his shoulder as he reported the situation to the Coastal Defense Fleet Headquarters. The message climbed up the chain of command, soon reaching Triumph City and then the Court of Honor. When he learned of Commander Tyr's next move over the phone, Battlefield Guy's eyes went wide, and he couldn't help blurting out, "Holy crap!" This guy wasn't just flipping the table—he had completely lost his damn mind! He was actually resorting to de-urbanization! Thank goodness the two provinces were separated by a sea that was only two hundred kilometers wide at its narrowest point. If the distance had been twice that, not a single one of these cannon fodder would ever reach shore; they would all drown halfway across! Raizer's brows knitted tightly as well, his hands gripping the chair's armrests with such force that, with a sudden crack, he crushed the wood to splinters. "This is genocide against the Wilante. We cannot allow this madman to continue his rampage!" Looking at the stunned Archon, the 172-year-old elder radiated a chilling, suffocating murderous intent, his voice colder than it had ever been. "Mr. Archon, declare war on the Southern Legion!"