Chapter 941 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 941: An Unprecedented Alliance in a Century! Southern Legion Headquarters. A towering figure stood before the command table, his deep-set eyes fixed intently on the sand table sprinkled with faint blue light particles. Under his personal command, the entire Bartoya Province— and even the northern shore of the Vortex Sea— had been turned into one expansive chessboard. With the continuous spread of the "Death Agent" virus, the chess game had reached its final stage. At this moment, on the organized chessboard, the flag representing the 117th Legion had been marked with the gray symbol of a rebellion. The pieces with the weakest resolve were the first to be removed from play, and those currently besieging them were the 10th Legion of the auxiliary army and the "Iron Crossbow" rapid response unit. At this time, a faint blue silhouette appeared beside the command table, a seemingly ordinary-looking man slightly nodding his head. That man was one of the chess pieces on the board— the commander of the "Iron Crossbow" rapid response unit, Heinz. Staring at his confidant, Tier asked with an expressionless face. "What’s the reaction from Triumph City?" Heinz respectfully reported. "No movements for now." No movements... Upon hearing this response, a trace of surprise flashed through Tier’s eyes, and his expression gradually grew solemn. He moved away from the sand table and paced back and forth twice in front of a bookshelf nearby. Then he returned his gaze to the sand table, his eyebrows deeply furrowed. There were only two possibilities. Either Triumph City was mired in internal chaos, unable to extricate itself, or his opponent was more formidable than he had imagined. This confrontation had reached a point where, for the first time, he felt it a thorny problem. Through the floating faint blue particles on the sand table, he almost seemed to see his opponent. A man who betrayed no emotions, like a seasoned hunter unfazed by the provocations of his prey. That hunting bow was concealed beneath the shadow of a cloak, ready to deliver a lethal strike at any moment! He could sense that tense trigger finger drawing the bowstring tight, yet he couldn't quite see the hidden sharpness. And this was precisely the most dangerous part... "...Why is he still not making a move?" Murmuring under his breath, a rare flicker of irritability appeared in Tier's heart. Over the past month, the majority of Bartoya Province’s population had been gathered to the north, with the ports nearly overloaded as they ferried refugees northward, yet they still hadn’t penetrated the twenty quarantine zones set by Triumph City... And now, signs of mutiny were emerging within his own forces. Perhaps he should hold out a bit longer. After all, every force acts in opposition; surely, the enemy was also under immense pressure. However, there weren't many "bullets" left to use. “How is the 117th Legion holding up?” Heinz, lost in thought while waiting, snapped back to attention when Tier’s voice cut through, promptly replying. “The rebels are still holding out; the situation is at a stalemate...without support from heavy equipment, it’s proven difficult to rely solely on the auxiliary forces to wipe them out.” Tier pondered briefly before speaking. “I'll allocate a thousand-strong artillery unit from the 120th Legion to you, but don't use them just yet. Let the auxiliary forces wear them down a bit more, pushing Triumph City to make the first move if possible.” “Yes!” Heinz hesitated briefly upon hearing the order, but nodded in acceptance nonetheless. Meanwhile, on the northern coast of Bartoya Province, gunfire raged furiously. Tracers streaked through the sky like willows, and dense smoke merged into an impenetrable wall. “Charge!! Slaughter those traitors! Cut off their heads!” Staring at the rock-hard defenses ahead, Muir's eyes glowed blood-red as he grabbed the communicator, shouting in a frenzy. The other side was equally impassioned. Young Lieutenant Porphyka, having assumed command of the 117th Legion, immediately established defenses and repelled wave after wave of assaults from the 10th Legion of the auxiliary troops with tiered firing lines. “Brothers!!!” “That dog Tier has driven Marshal Julius’s children into the sea; this demon in human disguise has betrayed the marshal and betrayed the Velanters!” “Today, it’s your neighbors who perish; tomorrow it will be your children, your parents!” “We will never hand over the tens of thousands of survivors in our encampment to them! Never—!” Though it was heavy to war among themselves, it was some comfort that the doubting heart of Tier had not dared to deploy regular troops for suppression, instead tasking the auxiliary army with this dirty work. Faced with foreigners, they would not show mercy. And, of course, the other side was the same. To prove their worth and to climb to a higher position like a pangolin aiming for a higher ironclad hierarchy, Muir and his followers, too, became bloodthirsty like starving wolves, launching wave after wave of fierce assaults on the 117th Legion’s fortifications. The entire coast of Bartoya Province turned into a meat grinder, and the thick blood stained almost every inch of earth and sand red. Yet ironically, this was not a battle between the Southern Legion's counterattack alliance and Triumph City nor one fought between the Southern Legion and Triumph City. A wildfire spiraled out of control, engulfing everyone caught within and growing ever fiercer. And in those raging flames, not just the Velanters’ flesh burned, but their collapsing spirits as well. That was not limited to only the Velanters. It also included those subjugated alien troops. Observing the entrenched defenses and the heavy casualties amongst his subordinates, Muir’s bloodshot eyes, filled with ambition, quivered for a moment in uncertainty. He felt his opportunity to ascend had arrived, yet it seemed quite the opposite now. Seizing the communicator, he contacted Commander Heinz, who had ordered the assault and roared at the top of his lungs. “My men are suffering heavy casualties, we need artillery support! Otherwise, we cannot continue the assault!” The fierce battle persisted throughout the night. It wasn’t until the horizon blushed with a streak of pale white that Muir, with eager anticipation, finally heard the artillery at dawn. However, to his dismay, every shell missed its mark, either splashing into the sea or crashing onto deserted beaches. Due to severe casualties, he finally ordered the advance to halt. As the 10th Legion's offensive faltered, the beleaguered 117th Legion soldiers at the sea-facing postures received a reprieve, managing to hold onto their precarious positions and protect the tens of thousands of survivors within their encampment. Simultaneously, colossal shadows appeared on the distant ocean horizon. Taking temporary command of the 117th Legion, Porphyka gazed at the expanse of the sea, his pupils alight with a flame of hope. Reinforcements! Their compatriots from Triumph City had not abandoned them, and that governor hadn’t deceived them! Standing from the trench, he shouted into his communicator. “Brothers! The ships to take us home have arrived! Hold on!!” ... The tides of battle along the northern coast of Bartoya Province shifted instantaneously with the Unified States fleet advancing into the Vortex Sea. The imposing silhouettes stood steadfast on the turbulent waters, resembling formidable moving bastions of steel. Even without firing a shot, those massive gun barrels themselves served as an intangible deterrent, sending shudders through the ranks of the auxiliary force's 10th Legion. Upon sighting the warships emerging on the ocean’s surface, Muir was stricken dumb and rendered at a loss. And it wasn’t just him. Heinz, the commander of the “Iron Crossbow” rapid reaction force, and Tier, orchestrating strategies from Arvent City, were equally stunned. Especially the latter, who, upon learning of the New Continent’s alliance joining the fray, stood frozen before the command table, speechless for a good while. The New Continent had only recently declared independence, logically remaining on guard against Triumph City. At least, on an official level, that should be the case. Yet, the fact that Triumph City’s governor had managed to draw these “rebels” into his camp— and that they, notorious for their mercenary outlook, actually agreed— was beyond all expectation. How on earth did he persuade them? Tier was utterly dumbfounded. Simultaneously, aboard the flagship of the Unified States fleet, Captain Kirk stood at the ship’s bow, peering towards the coastline with a telescope. The pervasive smoke obscured his view, allowing him only glimpses of the area near the docks. Nonetheless, even amidst such ruins, the sight was profoundly shocking. “Roderick, do you remember what Bartoya Province used to look like?” The adjutant shrugged slightly beside him. “Who knows, I’ve never been there... Besides, does it even matter now?” Kirk curled his lips into a faint smile. “Couldn’t agree more...” No matter what Bartoya Province used to be, it has now become a living hell. Previously, Bartoya Province, as the first "overseas" land conquered by Marshal Julius himself, was seen by countless Velanters as the place most likely to end the Wasteland Era first. For a long time, the Southern Legion indeed led the rest of the forces within the legion. In a certain sense, their presence also foreshadowed the legion's almost inevitable future— After reaching the pinnacle of madness, leading to eventual demise. ... As Kirk gazed towards the shore, the people on the shore were also looking in his direction. Figures emerged from the black smoke, gathering towards the dock. Most of them were elderly, children, and women. Even amidst the battlefield, they lined up orderly, quietly awaiting the ships coming to take them. "The waters up ahead are too shallow. We can’t get close," said a frowning Roderick, the adjutant, observing the faces on the shore. Kirk responded with a faint smile, directing his telescope northward. "Don't worry, we’re not the only ones here." Roderick instinctively looked up, spotting tiny black dots coming from the direction of Velanter Province. He took out his telescope, watching as large and small boats approached them. Amidst the Unified States fleet, these small boats were like ants beside elephants, but more than enough to ferry the people ashore to the warships. These boats had been requisitioned by the Southern Legion earlier to transport refugees to Velanter Province. Now, over a month later, the southern isolation zones in Velanter Province are complete, and resources from the North and East Empires are sufficient for Triumph City to sustain millions of new residents. Moreover, the earliest refugees have begun leaving the quarantine zones, with various parties, including the Alliance, willing to help share the refugee influx burden, accommodating those flowing out of Bartoya Province. Following the refugees' wishes, some will leave Velanter Province for the New Continent, or even cross the sea to the Eastern Zyphyr or Haiya Provinces. At this point, the influx and outflow populations of the quarantine zones have reached a dynamic balance. Triumph City no longer needs to control the refugee influx from Bartoya Province and can even aid the Southern Legion in relocating these displaced survivors. Yet, on the Southern Legion's side, their "Final Mission" plan at all costs has already declared bankruptcy. Under the unified will of Triumph City, the "Death Agent" was firmly contained within the quarantine zones. Even though researchers from the Academy and Alliance have yet to develop a reliable cure, those infected with the "Death Agent," mainly the weak and elderly, can no longer serve as ammunition for the Southern Legion. In fact, from the moment the "Death Agent" was contained by Triumph City, the Southern Legion had lost the war. Soon, as the incubation period passed and the peak of illnesses arrived, they would be forced to swallow the bitter results of their own making... ... With the help of the small boats, hundreds of thousands of survivors stranded on the northern shore of Bartoya Province finally escaped, boarding the ships from the New Continent that came to fetch them. Facing the pressure from the warships, Muir ultimately decided against ordering further attacks from his troops, and Heinz, who supervised from the back, didn’t urge him either. These refugees were destined for the north. Now, the other side willingly sent ships to fetch the people, which played into their hands. However, Muir wasn’t aware that this orderly evacuation was exactly what Legion Commander Tier had not wanted... On the other side, on the northern shore of Vortex Sea, the southern quarantine zone of Velanter Province, rows of clean and neat tents were set up not far from the beach. A little over a month ago, this was barren land, but now it surprisingly has a thriving vibe. Nearly 300,000 survivors lived here, organized into communities of tens of thousands. These communities housed hospitals, canteens, police stations, temporary classrooms, and even community centers. Though the facilities appeared somewhat simplistic, everything operated in an orderly manner. Nineteen similar quarantine zones lined the coastline, accommodating various numbers of people. Zones with earlier numbers no longer had new patients and were permitted to leave. Everyone packed their belongings, cleaned their tents, and awaited buses to take them to areas around Triumph City outside the quarantine zone. Once they left, the newly arrived survivors from Bartoya Province would move into their tents, awaiting the now well-practiced medical staff for health checks. With over a month passed since the "Death Agent" outbreak, some new refugees were already entering the symptomatic phase. Many of them were frail and weak, disoriented, with signs of organ failure. It was fortunate that these people boarded proper ships. Had they attempted to cross the sea on rafts tied together with ropes, their chances of survival would be virtually non-existent. For those already showing symptoms, medical staff from Triumph City administered the Alliance’s developed inhibitors to stabilize their conditions, preventing further deterioration. As the tens of thousands of civilians safely disembarked, the soldiers of the 117th Legion, also on the last ship, began to step lightly onto the port. Not far from the deep-water port, a convertible jeep parked by the roadside. Inside the car sat a general from the Eastern Empire. He squinted towards the deep-water port, a cryptic smile on his face. He had two missions. One was to support Triumph City in aiding the compatriots of Bartoya Province; the other was to observe the situation along the Vortex Sea coast to determine how much longer the Southern Legion could hold out. Commander Salen had a keen interest in the Southern Legion’s legacy, a pursuit not conflicting with their aid to Triumph City. Interestingly, it had been half a century since the Eastern and Western Legions had any cooperation, and now, this first close collaboration unfolded after the legion’s fragmentation. Yet this was also where the comfort lay. Though they had been accommodating each other for nearly a century, when it came to saving compatriots, consensus was rarely in question. Even the most isolated Northern Legion sent three ten-thousand-strong troops and supplies for a million people to assist Triumph City in maintaining quarantine zone order and overcoming the crisis. In the years following Marshal Julius’s disappearance, such unity was unprecedented. "Teer is finished," the general in the car chuckled, squinting his eyes as he added, "and thoroughly so." His adjutant beside him shot him a curious glance. "How can you be sure?" The general seated in the back chuckled, speaking in a conversational tone. "See those young men? I have no doubt if you hand them a gun; they'd turn on Tier in a heartbeat." Not just those young men but also the civilians in the quarantine zones and everyone who rushed from across the world to lend a hand. These people would tear Tier to pieces. Just like when they faced the Torch Church, when all differences dissipated before a common enemy, severing the Southern Legion and Tier, those two tumors, became paramount. At this point, the general paused, then continued in a half-joking tone. "And besides, that fool’s opponent is Julius. How could he possibly win?" The adjutant paused, his face turning to astonishment. “Julius… but wasn’t he already deceased?” "Whoever unites the Velanters is Marshal Julius." The general lifted an index finger to adjust his hat brim, a faint smile gracing his lips. “He indeed left.” “But he’s returned again.” To be continued.