CHAPTER 864: CHAPTER 864: PEOPLE ARE THE FUTURE

The fire rain that filled the sky was like a star river falling from the Nine Skies.

The rainwater on the ground evaporated, the steel melted, and the earth was roasted black.

In the face of that deadly high temperature, no living thing could survive.

Not even the Red Soil.

That was a more direct damage than radioactive dust.

Gazing at the burning earth ahead, the Ten Thousand Leader Wolfe of the 36th ten thousand troops squinted slightly, and a faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth, though it quickly faded away.

Even if he had no doubt that the Southern Legion would ultimately secure that final victory, it was difficult to interpret the current battle as a victory.

Faced with the combined siege of three ten thousand troops, the opposing side managed to cut off their supply lines despite suffering high losses.

The critical thing is, this was just an armored team of a thousand from the Alliance!

Even if there were a few more, it would at most be considered a "reinforced formation," nowhere near the size of a ten thousand troops.

No matter how the Triumph Report dresses it up, the battle report is hard to lie about.

And it’s hard to say if the Triumph Report will help them as it did before this time.

After all, this time was different from the past; they had offended too many people, even their allies from the east weren’t fully on their side.

But so be it. If you’ve offended them, you’ve offended them.

He consoled himself with the thought that as long as they achieved the final victory, all those who were superficially united would change their minds.

But how long until victory?

This is just the beginning.

There’s no telling what else awaits them ahead.

Watching the gradually extinguishing flames, the strategist sitting beside him slightly tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"...Finally over."

The difficulty of the opponent far exceeded his expectations.

"Hmm."

Wolfe nodded, saying nothing, just watching expressionlessly.

Glancing at him, the strategist said softly.

"Their technological advancement speed is faster than we imagined. According to intel provided by our eastern allies, during the previous battle, they only deployed a single vehicle-mounted railgun as their ace, yet this time they equipped an entire armored unit."

Pausing, he continued.

"I reasonably suspect they have more... It’s a threat to us."

Conqueror No. 10’s gap armor has almost absolute defense against armor-piercing bullets, which are nearly the limit most Survivor Forces could reach with primitive industrial technology.

As for the kinetic cannon, the conventional caliber and charge can’t even touch the gap layer of the armor, easily deflected by the hard shell.

Thus, the impenetrable armor of Conqueror No. 10 is like a "Wall of Sigh" that most survivors cannot conquer.

To defend against "free-fall bombs" thrown from abandoned buildings in city battles, they even specifically reinforced the tower’s roof!

But all these targeted designs became a joke in the face of weapons based on new technological principles.

The Alliance’s railgun penetrates everything in one shot; shells with static charge ignite sparkling fireworks upon grazing the ammo rack, one of the reasons their armored unit was continuously destroyed.

Theoretically, the penetrating effect of the railgun is adjustable, and with special warheads, it can even break through the air resistance, making its destructive effect limitless.

Worrisome is that the South Sea Union reportedly possesses this technology, implemented on their battleships.

Previously, they didn’t take the fishermen in the Southern sea area seriously, but since the Alliance’s arrival, those hiding on the islands, the Starfish, suddenly became bold and are now venturing out.

Should these technologies spread, the Army’s century-and-a-half advantage would vanish!

To tackle this unprecedented threat, they should at least break away from the "Conqueror" series design concept and develop new equipment based on "tactical needs."

These preparations should have been made before the war, yet he saw none of them.

While their opponents earnestly pondered their equipment, the Army’s leaders simply procured a large batch of Conqueror No. 10 from the Eastern Legion.

Maybe the leaders had other cards up their sleeves, or perhaps they never intended to win with the advantage of armored units, betting instead on other trump cards, but the current battle situation indeed left him with concerns.

Even though he was equally certain of Vellante’s ultimate victory, he couldn’t help but worry they were overconfident, ignoring even the objective laws of development.

No matter how much they chanted otherwise.

"...It’s just a tactical threat," the deputy corrected with a grin, dismissively continuing, "Strategically, it’s another matter altogether. Like now, whether it’s the railgun or something else, the end result is still a pool of molten iron. They may win ten times, but Lion City is in our hands now."

In terms of firepower, the Southern Legion will not lose to anyone!

He had absolute confidence in this.

Even if the opponent’s railgun is a bit strong, it won’t close the firepower gap!

"That’s true," the strategist didn’t refute his statement but rather asked, "But what if they have other cards?"

The deputy laughed.

"Do you mean the phase gun? Such things are indeed a threat, but we are not unprepared."

The strategist shook his head.

"I’m afraid of other things."

"What?"

"I don’t know."

The vagueness of the answer left the deputy momentarily stunned.

"You don’t know?"

The strategist nodded, his expression somber.

"Not knowing is the scariest part... Haven’t you noticed yet? Our opponents understand us, but we’ve never tried to understand them."

He always had a feeling the alliance had infiltrated their ranks.

This isn’t surprising.

There were quite a few Vellante people hostile to the Alliance, but quite a few viewed them favorably as well.

These individuals were the easiest to bribe.

Some didn’t even require a bribe; they were willing to help outright.

Whether acknowledged or not, such groups exist in the Army, and as their actions grew crazier, so did the resistance against them.

Conversely, in the Army, let alone bribes, hiring a brewer from the City of Dawn to work in Yavente was a challenge...

...

The boiling flames turned enemies to ashes, finally resolving the anger in people’s hearts.

Not just the officers in the command vehicle relaxed their tense brows; the soldiers of the 36th ten thousand troops also relaxed their taut shoulders, lowering their raised gun barrels.

It was a brutal battle, the sudden arcs in the dark and the flying turrets became an unshakable nightmare for them.

The distant flames gradually extinguished.

As everyone prepared to withdraw, a staggering figure suddenly appeared on the pitch-black wilderness.

The person’s arms were securely tied with ropes, walking in a disoriented gait over the muddy land, as if they might collapse at any moment.

The frontline reconnaissance team spotted him first.

The Vellante soldiers standing beside the reconnaissance vehicle exchanged glances, seeing the surprise in each other’s eyes.

Someone is still alive?!

"Captain, there’s a live one!"

"...Seems like one of ours."

The Centurion sitting in the vehicle frowned, observing through the machine gun’s scope.

Mud covered the person’s body, there was a wound on their face, and a large wet patch on their pants, resembling a wild dog that rolled out of a mud puddle.

Both the high bridge of the nose and the military uniform betrayed his identity.

This guy was his compatriot.

Though he dearly hoped he wasn’t.

"Stop!"

As the person came closer, the Centurion disembarked personally, gesturing with his gun for him to halt.

"I... cough!... I’m Quincy... I’m one of us!"

The young fellow named Quincy was fraught with terror, his eyes as vacant as coal, his grimy faced like a snotty slug.

He didn’t want to be like this.

But he was indeed terrified.

Not just because the guy earlier shot a burst at him with his mouth, but also because of the artillery that rained from the sky.

It was entirely unlike what he had seen in exercises; it wasn’t him charging at the shells, but shells descending upon him from all skies.

The burning white phosphorus almost grazed his heel; he narrowly escaped death at the hands of his own people!

"Your serial number."

The Centurion stared at him unblinkingly, looking at his pathetic figure, the disdain written in his eyes.

"The 34th Mechanized Ten Thousand Troops... Third Thousand..."

"Third Thousand what? Can’t you even say your number?" The Centurion coldly stared at him, lowering the muzzle of the gun in his hand, "And your exoskeleton, your equipment, where the hell did all that go? Did you give it away?"

"...In, maybe in the fire." Quincy swallowed with difficulty, not daring to say it might have been picked up by the Guerrilla Team.

The Centurion didn’t pay attention, just looked at him with those contemptuous eyes.

"Oh, really, then why aren’t you in there?"

"I..."

"I’m truly ashamed for you, that a cowardly bastard like you is one of our kin."

The Centurion drew a captured pistol from the waist of a subordinate nearby, threw it in front of the guy who looked like a stray dog, and said with disdain.

"Our 36th Ten Thousand Troops doesn’t have such a pathetic guy like you, we’d rather die on the battlefield than surrender."

He said nothing, yet it was as if he had said everything, quietly watching the scared young man before him.

The Vellante individuals nearby felt the same.

At first, they had some sympathy for this poor guy, but after listening to the captain, they weren’t so sympathetic anymore.

This pathetic guy is actually a Vellante?

They tainted their noble blood!

Better to just shoot himself, dying at the enemy’s hands could at least count as being a warrior.

Quincy trembled as he picked up the pistol from the ground, pressing it to his own jaw, yet his index finger, feeling like it was filled with lead, trembled for ages without having the courage to pull the trigger.

He looked pleadingly at his compatriots standing around, hoping they would stop him, only to find they were just looking at him mockingly, as if urging him to just get on with it.

Why is it like this?

He clearly fought for the Vellante people to live under the sunlight, so why did he become the enemy of the Vellante after surviving?

He felt as if something in his heart shattered, suddenly collapsing and shouting out.

"Aaaaah!!!"

Summoning his courage, he finally pulled the trigger decisively but heard only a "clang" sound.

The crisp sound buzzed in his head, as if he’d been kicked by a donkey.

The gun chamber was empty...

He’d been played.

Even being dull, he realized it; these old soldiers were purely playing him for laughs.

Quincy blankly looked at those guys, suddenly feeling as if all strength had been drained from his body, collapsing onto the ground with a thud.

The Vellante soldiers glanced mocking final looks at this coward, not saying a word, turned and got in the vehicle, starting the engine and driving off.

The soldier at the driver’s seat observed all this, glanced at the disappearing figure in the rear-view mirror, with a bit of reluctance in his expression.

"Shouldn’t we care about that guy?"

The Centurion hadn’t spoken, but another youngster sitting beside him sneered.

"You want to ride in the same car as that mud person?"

The machine gunner laughed and quipped.

"He ran all the way here, just let him keep running, maybe he’ll run all the way back to Triumph City."

"Hahahaha!"

The car was filled with wanton laughter.

The young men of the 36th Ten Thousand Troops returned to the camp with the glory of annihilating the Alliance’s trump card, even though this hard fight cost them quite a lot.

Meanwhile, on the other side, north of Sulak County, the 17th Ten Thousand Troops stationed there finally reunited with the reinforcements from the rear, launching another invasion towards Dog State in the Northern Three States!

The Moon Clan Resistance Army stationed on the border of Dog State only put up limited resistance before retreating from the battlefield.

As planned, they decided to use movement warfare to counter the Army’s offensive.

Extending the opponent’s supply lines as much as possible, and then using artillery and guerrilla teams to wipe out the opponent’s viable forces.

Just like their strategy against the Grey Wolf Army along the border of Mammoth State.

Though this made their battle reports look really bad, the front line nearly "collapsed at a touch."

Compared to the stable as an old dog Laxi, Absek was clearly more restless.

If not for the Alliance elite forces having reached Tiandu, he might have already done a bunk like Shaluk.

Tiandu was well connected, to the south was his hometown, Wolf State, to the east lay the affluent Elephant State.

If he needed to run, he had somewhere to run to; if worse came to worst, he could go to Jinjaron Harbor and live as a recluse.

The entire Tiandu was in a state of panic.

Just as everyone wanted to leave, someone who could leave, instead chose not to.

Office of the Governor’s Mansion.

Yishel stood before the desk, looking at Absek seated behind it.

"I want to go to the front line."

Absek paused his pen, looking up at this youngster for a couple of seconds.

He had some impression of this guy, seemed to be one of Anvo’s slick operators.

A few days ago, Anvo had sent a telegram to transfer old subordinates to help in Jinjaron Harbor.

Such a minor matter wasn’t worth obstructing, besides he also needed someone to go to Jinjaron Harbor to sell a sob story on his behalf, so he generously approved it.

Though he hadn’t expected, on the day of departure, Yishel refused to leave.

"Go to the front line? Going to the front line at this time, are you sure about that?"

Facing Absek’s slight smirk, Yishel seriously nodded.

"I’m sure."

"Alright, ambitious! I won’t hold you back then, go with the Alliance people."

Pausing, Absek’s eyes twinkled, and he continued.

"You’re too low-ranked, it’s beneath your capability, as of today, you are a Ten Thousand Leader, in charge of reorganizing the shattered Third Ten Thousand Troops!"

Yishel stood straight, his right fist pressed firmly to his chest.

"Thank you, Great Leader, for your promotion!"

Absek smiled, waving dismissively.

"This isn’t a good job, don’t push too hard, just get those green recruits oriented... never mind, I trust you understand, take care of yourself."

Yishel knew what he wanted to say, and understood why he was suddenly promoted to Ten Thousand Leader, handed a bunch of rookies to train.

Moreover, they were using the old number of the Third Ten Thousand Troops, known for heroic sacrifices.

The Great Leader was quite displeased with Anvo’s arbitrary decisions at West Sail Port, but in his heart, still treated them as his subordinates.

In other words, protective.

Everyone knew the current front was a mortal pit, where no amount of kindling was enough, he’d at least secretly hint at not going, if unable to persuade, he’d find a way to keep him safe.

Yishel nodded, expressed sincere thanks, and then turned away from the office.

Watching the young man depart, not particularly older, Absek sighed with an exaggerated mature demeanor.

"...Not all of us are crafty, still there are a couple of good kids."

But it’s a pity.

On Poluo Province’s land, good people generally meet bad ends.

A few months isn’t enough, years aren’t enough, it would take decades, even centuries.

The day folks like him get guns pointed at them by good men, that’s when Poluo Country is truly saved.

Absek chuckled, shook his head, picked up the pen, and continued writing.

[...To Kaba Ha, Educational Commissioner.]

[The university thing looks promising, but the Poluo National Treasury really doesn’t have extra funds; you’ll have to let me delay a couple of years, I’ll owe you this money then.]

[Besides, I’ve heard Mr. Mouse organized a Mammoth State University in Mammoth Nation, recruiting students across the Poluo Province. Given this, we might as well borrow their classrooms and desks, for "joint schooling," teaching our students in their place.]

[You cultured folks should communicate more, like how I get along with Laxi, if you lowered your face, I’m sure Mr. Mouse wouldn’t refuse, shouting at me yields no silver coins.]

[Tiandu is ablaze with war, truly not a place for education or nurturing people, plus rebuilding the bombed teaching buildings is a waste, better to rebuild after it’s all over.]

[Consider the university issue approved, first select the suitable-age students, while the budget isn’t enough to construct buildings, organizing some exams and scraping up travel and living expenses is doable. Be sure to pick real talents, send them to Mammoth University, learning from their teachers, then once they’re educated they become our teachers. Don’t fear they won’t return, fear they end up in trenches with our kind and never back... whether Poluo Country or Mammoth Nation, those people are our future.]

[Let this matter be your sole responsibility, any tricksters trying to meddle come to me, and I’ll skin them alive!]