Chapter 964 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 964: The Southern Legion's Last Stand The quiet frontlines were steeped in a chilling silence, with trenches carved into the earth like unsheathed blades ready for battle. In just five days, the Alliance had encircled Avante City with a web of trenches, cutting off all possible escape routes to the outside world. On the frontlines, soldiers of the Southern Legion witnessed the engineering machinery, equipped with tracks and half-man-high drill heads, burrow into the earth with a thunderous roar, carving out trenches beneath their watchful eyes as easily as someone would “pull” at clay. The Alliance's troops were already in place, with the sound of artillery growing increasingly urgent, like a rhythm heralding the impending clash. Without a doubt... This was the final battle. Quincy felt neither fear nor dread; instead, he experienced a strange sense of relief. About half a year ago, his 340,000-strong unit had been decimated by the Skeleton Legion near Reedbull County in the Barrow Province, marking the start of his nightmare. First came the humiliation from the front-line soldiers of the 360,000-strong unit, followed by the cold shoulders from the logistics staff at West Sail Port. Even though he fought bravely to the very end and tried to explain that his adversaries were not the Barrow people but the Alliance volunteers, he could not shake the stigma of cowardice. In his compatriots' eyes, he remained a disgrace to the Valenland people. When he presented his discharge papers due to injury at Eternal Night Port, his fellow citizens mockingly asked why he did not just die. The young men of the Southern Legion charged toward the frontlines with unwavering loyalty and fervor, yet he stood apart, like a contrarian weaving against the flow on a busy highway. Later, he traveled to a convalescent home on the outskirts of Batoia Province to heal, residing with other wounded soldiers who had retreated from the front. Although the facility housed some occasionally deranged individuals, the majority lay quietly in their beds, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was not until then, being pushed around like a soccer ball, that Quincy experienced a semblance of peace. Though soon, he realized that this wasn't true peace. It was being forgotten. Not only had Tyr forgotten about them, but the entire Southern Legion had also participated in a tacit conspiracy, marginalizing these "failures" from society. They were like sugarcane leftovers from a juicer, discarded into a white plastic bag of a trash bin to quietly rot. Ironically, just as he was about to resign himself to such a fate, those who had abandoned him retrieved him from the waste, awarding him a centurion's medal. The Southern Legion had reached the end of the road. Once before consumed, they now must burn again. Quincy had no other thoughts, wordlessly loading his rifle. Hurry— End this torment! The shelling grew closer, the resounding explosions and rising smoke visibly distressing the recruits behind the fortifications. Some even wet their pants in fright. Amidst this chaos, a hoarse roar broke through the intermittent broadcast. "Soldiers! Behind us is Avante City!" "Your parents, your children, your loved ones live there!" "Our enemies want to wipe us off this planet! We must not let them succeed!" "Today, we defend not just the glory of the Legion! But also the honor of Marshal Julius! The dignity of the Valenland people!" "Fight, descendants of Julius! Let them see clearly that Valenland is invincible!" In the eyes of recruits who wet their pants, the desire for battle reignited, while elders over fifty gingerly reached out, painfully retrieving guns leaning against the barricades. Quincy's heart, however, remained unmoved. He had heard words like these too many times and was numb to them. Suddenly, a bizarre thought occurred to him. Perhaps— The survivors of Avante City once said similar words. History, like a circle, had come back around. "Prepare for battle—!" Almost at the same moment that the frantic roar resounded, a shell landed near Quincy's barricade. Two recruits, emboldened by their commander's speech to peek out and fire, were blasted into the air like kites with broken strings. "Take cover! Stay in the trenches! Wait until they get closer to fire!" Quincy, his eyes bloodshot, yelled at the terrified recruits, forcing them back into the cover. Shells landed one after another, thoroughly sweeping their positions. Meanwhile, a dozen bulldozers roared to life, pushing heaped sandbags like small mountains towards the defensive lines at the edge of Avante City. Through the cracks in the barricade, Quincy squinted, shocked at this unexpected tactic. An anti-tank infantryman raised a rocket launcher, firing at one of the bulldozers. The speeding rocket struck the sandbag wall like a shield, only causing a burst of orange-red sparks, hardly leaving a mark. The armor-piercing rockets, highly effective against solid armor, proved useless against sandbags. The Southern Legion's tanks were spent; Avante City barely had any infantry and light armor left. Faced with such a contemptuous tactic, the Southern Legion's officers were utterly helpless. The soldiers of the Death Corps emerged from the trenches, grabbing rifles and following behind these cheap, utilitarian bulldozers. Meanwhile, the Skeleton Legion's armored units launched their assault! Chimera armored vehicles led the charge, launching white smoke curtains and firing 37mm autocannons at the entrenched forces within the city. Orange-yellow tracers danced across the ground, pinning down the city edge's defenders. Following the frontal advance, the bulldozers finally reached the edge of the defensive line. Leading the charge, the vanguard shouted into the communication channel. "For the Alliance!" "Awwooo!" The cries of charge and battle echoed, as nearly a thousand Death Corps players simultaneously surged from their cover, launching an assault on the Southern Legion's positions just a few strides away. The distance between both sides was less than ten paces! With the crossfire approach gradually taking shape, the barricade wall had lost its effectiveness. But it didn't matter— Close-quarters combat and street fighting were the specialties of the Death Corps! Almost simultaneously with the Death Corps' charge, the machine guns on the Valenland positions rattled to life. In the face of the Alliance's suppressive fire, they had hunkered down under the rubble for long enough; now, it was finally time to retaliate. Deadly tracers, like shivering willow catkins in the wind, aimed back at the Death Corps, claiming several lives in the blink of an eye. Yet, in those brief moments, the Alliance's shells seemed to find their mark, landing near the machine gun nests. Explosive blasts and roiling smoke erupted sequentially, with flashing fire almost grazing their own lines, obliterating those machine gun nests along with nearby concrete defenses. Southern Legion recruits were left dumbfounded, while even the seasoned veterans were at a loss. Including Quincy— Watching the Alliance soldiers racing with artillery strikes, disbelief was etched across his face. These guys... Weren't they afraid of dying?! Indeed, that was the case. Soldiers in gas masks and bulletproof vests fearlessly charged into the hail of bullets and grenades from the Southern Legion. The first line of defense was engaged! Alliance soldiers storming into the concrete ruins immediately engaged in close-quarters combat with Southern Legion troops hiding behind shooting barricades! Gunfire erupted in rapid succession, echoing with the blast of shotguns, machine guns, and rifles. A soldier in a gas mask was riddled by machine gun fire, but before they fell, another rushed forward, shotgun in hand, blowing apart the machine gunner’s head. The battlefield descended into chaos! Blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, staining the shattered concrete positions. Even the most fanatical soldiers under Tyr's command were paralyzed with fear at this moment. These foes seemed endless! Under the ferocious onslaught of the Death Corps, a breach rapidly formed in the first line of defense. Without hesitation, while observing from afar, Mole seized the opportunity and immediately issued the command to advance. Flanked by thirty Chimera armored vehicles and twelve tanks, they moved as a steel-forged dagger, piercing through the opening carved by the Death Corps. "Hahaha! Die!" The gunner inside a Chimera armored vehicle pulled the trigger, and within moments, a volley of 37mm armor-piercing incendiary rounds obliterated an entire squad of ten hiding behind cover. The stench of charred meat wafted from the rubble-covered tunnel below, where charred black corpses lay. Amidst the pile of bodies, a Southern Legion soldier attempted to retaliate with a rocket launcher, only for it to fail to penetrate the Chimera's armor due to the close distance. He was then shot by infantry following the armored vehicle. Facing the encroaching armored units, resistant Southern Legion soldiers fell into despair, either launching suicidal attacks or fleeing, throwing down their weapons as they retreated. The battle quickly shifted from fierce fighting to a one-sided confrontation, with distant artillery fire gradually ceasing. In less than half an hour, two player corps had captured the primary southern entry to Avante City, dismantling three battalions stationed there. Edge Dweller gathered the captured prisoners in an open clearing, directing his remaining comrades to use the bulldozers' sandbags to erect makeshift defensive positions, should the retreating Southern Legion forces regroup and counterattack. However, the likelihood of that happening was slim. Judging by the equipment seized from the front-line positions, the weaponry and ammunition of these three battalions couldn't even compare to Evernight Port's city garrison, not to mention the low quality of the soldiers, many of whom were sent to the front simply to fill numbers. Six months ago, this type of assault battle would have taken at least half a day, with the outcome uncertain. After a simple interrogation of the prisoners, Edge Dweller approached Mole to share the valuable information he had extracted. "…The units we just encountered were three battalions from the 200,000-strong Home Guard under Centurion Baldwin." "Baldwin?" Mole expressed surprise, "That name rings a bell." Edge Dweller chuckled. "Remember the great victory in Akale County with the 370,000 troop unit from the Barrow Province theater? We caught Wolf from the 360,000 units, causing the incoming 370,000 unit to retreat… We crossed paths there. He's an old acquaintance." Upon hearing the mention of the Akale County victory, Mole recalled the name, his expression turning to realization. "Oh, oh, I remember… damn it! When you fought that battle, I was probably waiting for a respawn!" It seemed that Wolf, the military criminal, led the 360,000 troop unit that claimed his life at the time. However, he didn't meet a good end; he's now serving time in a prisoner of war camp at Golden Gallon Port. "Haha." Edge Dweller laughed heartily, "Seems like it!" That battle was a turning point in the Barrow Province theater and marked the Death Corps' debut victory there. At the time, the Golden Gallon Port's *Survivor Daily* dedicated three full pages to describe the conflict, with corpses littering the river turn and blood flowing like rivers. It was also then that he met Ishael… Thinking of his deceased comrade, Edge Dweller's smile slowly faded, the uplifted corners of his mouth gradually drooping. As they traveled this path, some companions suddenly vanished. "…It's the last battle, I thought they'd pull out something new." Mole could sense from Edge Dweller's lost smile that he was probably remembering someone, so he tactfully changed the subject. "What new tricks could they have? If they had something, they'd have used it already." Possibly portable anti-tank missiles with tracking capabilities counted as something. Using those, the Southern Legion successfully took down two of their Type 3 tanks. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, what did it matter? Total war is a confrontation between systems; a couple of pieces of equipment or a handful of individuals rarely alter the course of war. Even strategic-level lethal weapons like the "Death Agent" couldn't accomplish that. Edge Dweller, slightly defiant, commented. "Isn't that how games usually go? The strongest always comes at the end…" Mole shrugged helplessly. "You said it yourself, in most games." RTS games aren't. This includes strategy, management, and farming-simulation genres. Take *Civilization VI* for instance. Once a player discovers nukes, unless aiming for achievements, cultural victory, or an off-world aspiration, the game is practically over. The grueling early groundwork becomes a curse compressing game time in the late stages, leaving only one optimal choice—to start anew… Which is a curse any strategy game can't escape. Nonetheless, watching that snowball grow is quite satisfying. If the snowball couldn't expand beyond a mere speck, what meaning would the struggles have held on their journey? "Me, I'm curious to see what five light-years away looks like, to see if A-Guang really made this dream a reality." Edge Dweller scratched the back of his head. "What I'm concerned about now is if there will even be a public test." Mole chuckled. "Haha, does it matter? The Wasteland Era is concluding." The fragmented legion only had the Southern Legion left, a stubborn mule clinging to past ways; beyond that, there would be no adversaries for the Alliance requiring their full might. The Eastern Empire? The New Coalition? Perhaps competitive rivals. Barrow Country? If they keep playing battle royale among themselves, who knows how many decades it will take. Of course, if A-Guang decides to whip something up, it could easily rebrand the game as *Starry Sky OL* or *New Era OL* and enter another testing phase. But what was A-Guang’s goal with all this painstaking effort? Even now, he couldn't fathom which mysterious company developed the game. Perhaps, as rumors suggested, it was a blind box gift from an advanced civilization to humanity. Maybe A-Guang… Doesn't exist at all? That peculiar thought popped into Mole's mind, sparking an urge to draw a new comic for the first time in ages, hands feeling rusty. As the two old cronies marveled at how fast time flew and how close they were to clearing the game without ever knowing what exactly happened between Crow and the mutant leech, Irena, having cleaned the battlefield, prepared to head to the mobile save point. Just then, she spotted a familiar face among the squatting prisoners and stopped. Looking at the dust-covered young man, she called out. "Hey, haven't I seen you somewhere before?" The young man in the dirt, Quincy, raised his head to look at Irena, clearly startled. Gradually, his expression changed. "You… you're…" "Oh, I remember now," Irena grinned mischievously, miming a gun with her fingers. "You're that rookie… from the 340,000-strong unit." Fate seemed to have her compelling hand, for she had last seen him northwest of Reedbull County by the rail station. Almost like a mirroring survival from each side—he was the last survivor of his unit, just as her Skull Legion was ground down to one. Since the strategic goal was fulfilled, killing or sparing him made no difference, and Irena, on a whim of fortune, let him escape. Who would’ve thought they'd meet again? Quincy was dumbstruck, a look of bewilderment plastered across his face as he asked why. "…You're still alive?" He'd witnessed the 360,000 troop unit's rocket artillery bombard that position, melting even steel to slag! How could this guy possibly be alive?! Irena didn’t answer directly but murmured, scratching her chin. “To live… hmm, isn’t that an interesting question. If death defines life, can those who can’t die still be truly alive? This question's bugged me forever—what am I to this 'world'? A foodie?" Finding no immediate answer, she squatted down, patted the young man's shoulder with a smile. "Why don’t you figure it out for us? Anyway, when you reach the New Era, you'll have plenty of time to ponder it." Quincy stared at her blankly, eventually nodding slowly. He had heard the rumors of the Alliance deploying clones in battle, yet he’d never seen a clone this intelligent. Seeing the NPC so docile, Irena humorously placed a piece of candy in his hand. “Consider it an advance payment; no need to thank me. I got it from Big Eye… hahaha!” With that, he waved cheerfully, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and strolling off, humming a tune. The once formidable fortress had a crack, and the increasingly louder artillery gave the survivors hidden amidst the ruins a glimpse of hope for an end to it all. Simultaneously, in the northern part of Batoia Province, a grand scale amphibious operation was underway. Months ago, having refused to fire upon their fellow citizens and subsequently defected to the Valenland Province, the 1.17 million-strong unit, led by Centurion Berfica, was returning on landing crafts. Watching the fleet of warships spread across the sea, the face of Centurion Muir, who led the 100,000-strong auxiliary army, was filled with despair. That was the South Sea Alliance's fleet! As he hesitated, the overwhelming onslaught of the long naval guns and cruise missiles rained down upon his positions. The roaring artillery tore the beachhead defenses to shreds, allowing the 1.17 million-strong unit to reclaim the very ground from which they once fled! Marching ashore were not only infantry but also the "Shortnose" amphibious armored vehicles made on the North Island of the South Sea Alliance and the "Sea Lion" power armor fueled by deuterium-tritium fusion. Facing this tide of steel crashing with the waves, the 100,000-strong unit crumbled almost immediately, unable to mount any effective resistance before being scattered. At the same time, passionate roars echoed through the communication channels of the 1.17 million troop unit. "For the glory of Marshal Julius!" "For the glory of Valenland!" "For liberation!" "Let us save our compatriots from this hell! Crush these vermin!" The Valenland Alliance had already withstood the refugee assault launched by the Southern Legion. Allies from the East were now on the brink of Avante City, no longer needing to hold back. Standing on the steps of Glory Hall, Governor "Pangolin" gave a speech condemning Tyr’s numerous crimes, including orchestrating the West Sail Port massacre and using civilians as cannon fodder. On behalf of the Valenland Alliance, he declared war against Tyr and his cohorts! While the advance contingent consisted only of the 1.17 million-strong unit, twenty more contingents of similar size would soon head to the frontlines! Unable to withstand the fierce onslaught, Muir had no choice but to retreat towards Avante City. The Valenland Alliance troops pushed south with unstoppable momentum, coordinating with the alliance forces that had already infiltrated Avante City's outskirts! And it wasn't just on land— The hunt for the Southern Legion's steel airships was also ongoing. With the academy's help, the Alliance successfully mounted phase cannons on trains. In the face of an irreversible defeat, ten out of the remaining twenty airships of the Southern Legion turned. Half joined the Eastern Empire, while the other half defected to Kytron City. Tyr was now akin to a tiger with its teeth pulled, caged and without any chance of a comeback. Even his trump card, the "Death Agent," was now physically contained in the south of Valenland Province—reduced to a punchline, less significant than the red soil of Biroville. Tyr's last ace had been spent. There was no one left to charge with him again... To be continued.